Sorry, my mother in law stopped by unannounced.
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Sentir looks at the imposing tracks. Trolls. He had never seen a troll in real life. The alchemist wondered if they smelled as bad as the stories claimed. He hands Gavril some of the alchemist fire, having been the one to oversee it on this cold and tortuous journey.
Sentir pulls his cloak closer about his neck. The fur trimmed clothing helped keep him warm, even int he worst slush. "This isn't that pleasant but I'd rather keep going and see if the weather breaks."
Ok, so I know this is bad timing but I will be out of town and unable to post from April 7th to the 15th. This is a rare event for me, we just have bad luck it happens right when I join. I'm sorry GM!
At Gavril's glib reply, Sentir barely manages to avoid rolling eyes. While he enjoyed banter as much as anyone, was this really the time? Also, that pun was terrible. Deciding to ignore it, he turns to the Viscountess and bows, formally, "My name is Sentir Damutu, of House Damutu. As a traveler and hopefully new citizen of this area, I thought it wish to present myself before you and to offer my services." He grins, "My skills are many. I am a master builder and alchemists, capable of making many potions and other magical items. I've spent many years delving into the secrets of chemicals and their reactions. I hope to gain your permission on opening a store in town and perhaps offering my aid on any public works projects you have in mind. Aqueducts, wells, public baths, that sort of thing." He bows again, 'I would also like to congratulate you at creating order out of chaos. Making a kingdom in the Stolen lands is not a simple undertaking. Your success reflects on your determination and intelligence."
Sentir bows slightly and is unsure which question to answer first. "Are you familiar with the Damutu family perhaps?" He says politely, "I am of that house. Sentir is my name, if that helps. And yes, I'd like to speak to your Viscountess, if she is not otherwise engaged."
Sentir tugs at his collar, made of the finest silk. While his wardrobe was a sad shadow of what it once had been, he still had this one outfit left for important occasions. And this was an important occasion. The young man looks in the mirror, appraising himself. Young, or reasonable good looks. Brown hair braided back in what he hopes looks stylish (the real reason is to prevent it from dipping into reagents). His eyes linger on the many burns and scars on his arms and hands, relcis of his rather dangerous hobbies. It'll have to do He thinks to himself then leaves the half-unpacked workshop into the streets of Concord. Today was the day he introduced himself to the Council. His goals were three fold. One- To ingratiate himself with the local power players. The son of a noble Brevoy family, he knew the importance of knowing the right sort of people. Two- To gain commercial concessions. This new Vicounty was a ripe market for everything from alchemical creations to constructs. Getting in on the ground floor could be a mint. Three- Sound them out on the state of worship. A devoted follower of Svarzic, it would be good to know the lay of the land here, before he went too far. Nervously he spots the Viscountess herself sitting on the edge of the town square, idly talking with the other Council members. Gulping, Sentir strides up. As a respectful distance he waits for an opening in the conversation, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
One post coming up.
Ok, Sentir is ready! Stats are on his page. Two questions! 1. I have alot of crafting abilities and stuff. Do you mind if I craft some stuff at half price to start? I'm ok if you say no, but I figure at level 6 he has had some time. 2. How much written backstory do you want? he is the formerly spoiled child of a Brevoy family but has come here to A. Avoid charges for various alchemical accidents, b. Spread his faith. So other then equipment (waiting on crafting ruling) I am ready to post!
Looking forward and hope to be picked.
Since a stonelord was misplaced, here is Sentir Damautu, a brawler from Rahadoum with a taste for alchemy and atheism. Crunch:
Sentir Damutu
Male human brawler 4 LG Medium humanoid (human) Init +3; Senses Perception +7 DEFENSE
OFFENSE
STATISTICS
Equipment:
112gp 9sp/145gp Backstory:
”The man is dangerous.” The two cloaked figures stood on the rocky outcrop of stone, clothes whipping in the wind, one dressed in bright white, the other in midnight black. Arms tucked against the wind, they both stare down the slope, toward a man toiling up the steep road. Ignored behind them, the Rahadoum capital of Azir stands, a hive of activity. ”He is a formidable warrior.” the white figure says in response, peering at the figure below. The black-robed figure snorts, ”A warrior I could deal with, direct, control. The man is a fanatic.” The other man raises an eyebrow and remarks, ”Is it a crime to be committed to the Laws of Man?” ”No, but this Sentir takes it too far.” The reply comes quickly, ”When even the Pure Legion thinks you are too extreme...the man wants to destroy Shepherd's Rock! He is out of control. He'll have us involved in wars with Thuvia, or worse, Cheliax, before long. You heard how he stormed onto that merchant's ship last week, and confiscated all the artifacts.” ”Illegal artifacts,.” The other remarks, gazing down the hill side. Below, the man was making good headway, revealing a muscular build. 'Yes.” the other said with exasperation, ”But you know as well as I do we must make compromises, or we'll have every church in Golarion arriving with complaints, or worse, armies.” 'I suppose.” ”You disagree? Do you honestly think otherwise.” The other man lets out a heavy sigh before answering, ”No, I suppose not. It just seems a waste.” ”Not a waste.” the first man corrects, black robe flapping in the wind ”This is a real mission for Rahadoum , even if a...distant one.” They go silent, as the man clambers up the final rocky stretch, nimbly jumping from rock to rock. Shortly he arrives at the crest, not even winded from his climb. The man is powerfully built, with long muscular arms and thick legs. His dark skin gleams with sweat, reflecting in the harsh midday sun. His armor is a formalized version of that of the Pure Legion, perfectly kept and shined to gleaming. He wore no sword, but both men knew his hands were the true weapons. They had seen those hands, with a grip like iron, rip limbs like a normal man pulled weeds. A firm face, with intelligent eyes, shows curiosity and suspicion. ”I hope I did not keep you waiting. My experiments demanded some last minute adjustments.” ”No, your alchemy does you credit, Sentir.” One of the black cloaked figures says. ”The quest to find ways of magic and power outside those of the gods is of paramount importance. Only through our own intelligence and effort will we succeed in life.” He says this with learned rote, a familiar speech. Then Sentir frowns, ”But you did not summon me here to talk of alchemy.” 'No, we did not.” The black-robed figure says, ”We summoned you here...” ”To tell me you agree with my proposals? That searches should be further instituted on foreign merchants?” Sentir breaks in, excitedly. ”No.” the robed figure says, shaking his head, ”Actually..” ”Then we go to war with Thuvia? We rescue those lands from the ignorance of god worship?” ”No!” the figure says again, more forcefully, ”Now listen....” ”Just listen, Sentir.” The white-robed figure interjects, with a warning glance. The soldier takes a formal parade ground stance, hands clasped behind his back, eyes forward. He nods crisply, silent. The black robed figure rolls his eyes but says, ”No, we have a new task for you. Andoran has a new government project. They are starting a colony in the ruins of Azlant, they call it Talmandor's Bounty. It is supposed to be a thriving port, built on the relics of ancient man. It is fresh ground, newly claimed for civilization. We want you, Sentir, to go and be the representative of our nation and its ways. “ Sentir frowns, ”Truly?” ”Yes. We have paid the Bountiful Venture Company a sizable sum to allow this. Apparently they have had problems with settlement, dangers and the like. We even hear rumors of attacks. They have asked for warriors, so we send one of our best. We sent you.” There is a moment of pride on Serntir face but then it darkens, 'Azlant? It is so far away...among the god worshipers...” He trails off, eyebrows furrowing. The black-robed figure quickly cuts in, ”Yes, but think of it. A new land, that is untainted by religion. Many of the other colonists will be god fearers, yes, but they are still creating realms of men, worthy ones. Besides, with you among them, leading by example? Perhaps we can create another outpost of rational thought, were the Laws of Man reside in power.” The heady thoughts seem to overwhelm Sentir for a moment. Then he salutes saying, ”I would be honored. I can be at the docks within the hour. “ he bows then hurries down the hill, nearly running in joy. The black-robed figure lets out a heavy sigh and says, 'Well, that is one less thing to worry about.” Sentir Damutu Personality:
Sentir is a generally good man, if firm and generally unbending. While an ardent advocate of the Laws of Man, he does understand not everyone follows them, and they aren't the laws of Azlant so he can work with the 'god-fearers' as he calls them. His lacks much of a sense of humor so he is often the straight-man, even in jokes at his own expense. A warrior of some ability, he also enjoys intellectual pursuits, feeling that discovered information is a route to lessen the divine influence on the world. His personal interest is alchemy but admires talents in others. As you can see above, he can be a bit clueless with subtle politics and can be a bit blinded by his mission. Sentir Party Role:
As a brawler, he is a front-liner, able to dish out damage and adapt to changing circumstance. He is really good at debuffing, via maneuvers, dirty tricks. Very mobile, he can help defend the more long-range members of the party, controlling the fight. Also his alchemy may add a useful resource not only for the party, but for the colony at large. RP Goals:
Coming to terms with his own strict beliefs and the shades of gray the world actually has and learning to work well with very religious people. I think the RP between him and non-humans as well as divine casters would be hilarious and enjoyable. About Me:
1I am GM Mowque and have been playing on this site for a solid 3 years or so. I mostly GM solo games (just me and the player) and a few have hit the 1.5 years mark. I have recently been looking to play more and have been enjoying the one other group game I have been in. I post every day, usually multiple times in games. I know how to push the story forward and play well in a group. I will happily track look or any other 'work' that needs done, having been there as a GM and knowing the load. I am a librarian in EST. This game and group look really good and it would be a blast to be a part of it. Any questions, please send them my way.
Ah, you know the problem is I have never opened a real rulebook in my life. I have been a digital player so I rarely consider sources and just try to avoid dumb or OP stuff. I didn't notice you had source limitations. Well, that throws Sentir right out. His entire build is based off that archetype. Do you want me to re-build or have I already failed the test?
Sentir Damutu, Shadow Walker rogue. Backstory:
Sentir Damutu stood on a rocky plain, surrounded by the fallen corpses of friend and foe. A black sky covered the battlefield, only allowing irregular shafts of yellow light to play across the dead. Tattered war banners flapped in the breeze, Taldan and Qadrian. Just like the dead. What was the difference anymore?
A dream or reality? Sentir wasn’t sure. He has spent his life caught in the pointless struggle between the two empires and was long past the point of caring. Who, on either side, remembered what victory looked like, who recalled what this war had been about? Now, it was only blood. In both his dreams and waking life, all was death and blood. In the distance, Sentir saw a row of glittering horsemen riding across the body-strewn plain. Focusing, he saw himself among the number. A younger man, singing with the joy of battle. The symbol of Sarenrae on his chest. The Cleansing Light. How long had it been now. Decades since he was such. Riding off to war, confident that this new faith was a firm and strong purpose. Sentir shook his head as the youthful man rode past, talking grandly of upcoming victories and triumphal marches. A naïve fool. A child. Then his perspective shifts. Was he waking? Was he falling asleep? He is in the middle of battle. Chaos and confusion surround him, a press of panicked men. The sword in his hand is bright and clean, unsullied. Trant, his first sergeant is bellowing orders, desperately trying to keep order. The stench of death fills the air, mixing with burning tar. Sentir grips his sword tighter. This was his first battle. Into the panicked ranks a enemy horseman charges in, laying about him with a heavy mace. Faces are crushed, heads smashed, arms snapped like twigs. The horseman’s heavy black armor turns the feeble attacks on him, the undisciplined footman breaking. But not Sentir. Instead he runs toward the imposing foe, sword in hand. Nimbly he ducks the mace, feeling the breeze ruffle his hair. Half sliding, he sweeps under the horse and then reaches up a hand to the saddle. With a great heave, he launches himself upward, climbing up the horse’s side. The enemy knight curses and tries to turn, heavy armor hindering him. Sentir finds a perch behind the knight, sword held high. There is a rightness here, in that moment. The moment before death. Maybe, maybe if he kills this one cleanly, quickly, the fight will end. Maybe victory is that close, if he seizes it. With a plunge, Sentir stabs the sword downward, into a weak point in the plate. The knight screams in pain and blood spurts out of the wound, splattering Sentir. He ignores it, jamming the blade home. Abruptly the man is silenced and lurches out of the saddle. With a crash he falls to the ground, Sentir following, leaving behind the panicked horse. Feeling strangely empty, he kicks off the fallen man’s helm, and inspects the foe. He is dying, but still breathing, barely. With a quick motion he slashes the throat, finishing the job. The cut seems strange, not right. It is jagged, not smooth as it should be. It reminds Sentir of the legs of some insect…. Trant runs up, pounding him on the back, praising him. Sentir ignores him and looks around. All around the battle roars on. What was one swordsman in a battle of thousands? Sentir looks down, overwhelmed and focuses on that strange wound…. The scene shifts again, The dark fortress corridor is cool and quiet, empty save for himself. The darkness was no problem of course. Sarenrae had blessed him, given him eyes that needed no light. At least that is what the priests had said long ago, in his village. Those lessons, about honor, glory and righteousness seemed dim to him now. If that was true and he was here fighting for her…why was this his mission? He glanced out the sole window and saw a raging firestorm outside, consuming dozens of army tents. Men ran this way and that, futilely trying to controlled the inferno. An inferno Sentir had started. A distraction from the crimes he was about to commit. His goddess was the Cleansing Flame but this did not seem clean… Sentir shook himself and felt the weight of the sword in his hand. This was no time for such doubts. This was a time for action. And yet, even as he approached the wooden door the thoughts gnawed at him. Years of war, for what? A few miles of barren scrubland? The glory of men who earned none of it? Then he is at the door, throwing it open. Inside, three men stand to attention, turning from a table covered with maps. They wear military uniforms, the local Taldan high command. His mission as to kill them, and he would, but did it matter? Were there not always more men to take their place? Did this shorten the horror outside. Or the horror inside? The men reach for their swords and Sentir looses himself in the violence. That at least had not changed. The purpose may be gone, the thrill dissipated, but the killing remained the same. It w s why he was sent on this mission, alone. Sentir was good at it. He dove under the first man’s desperate lunge, slicing his stomach as he passed. The second man screamed and turned for another door. Sentir stabbed him in the back, twisting the blade, a curtain of blood filling the air. As the dead man fell Sentir turned to the last foe, the tallest of the three. His sword was in a dueling position, held low and steady. For the first time Sentir felt the ember of his old emotions re-light. A challenge. Perhaps slaying this man would bring some meaning. They clashed blades, steel on steel, the ringing sound filling the room. The other man was strong, stronger then Sentir. The Taldan man slammed the blade again and again, driving Sentir back, trying to corner him. Sentir whirled away from the wall, deflecting a blow. He rolled across a table, scattered battle maps in a flutter. His foe’s blade slammed into the table and then, by bad luck, stuck in the table’s surface. In that instant, as the Taldan tugged at his blade, Sentir struck, sword plunging into the man’s side. With a groan the commander fell to the floor, clutching his side. Sentir let out a breath and surveyed the dead men. His foes, conquered, defeated. It did not bring him happiness or sadness. He was long past both. This war has driven it from him…Then he noticed something odd. Bloody footprints, his footprints, covered the rough stone floor of the chamber. Here and there they danced, re-tracing the fight both his effortless slaying of the first two and his desperate struggle with the last. For some reason those shimmering red footsteps sent a chill down his spine, and then he saw why. They led out of the chamber, bright red, his feet covered with blood long before this fight…. The scene changes. Sentir warms his hands over the campfire, trying to ward off the cold desert air. He sat alone, shoulders hunched toward the dancing flames. Around him other fires burned, surrounded by soldiers. He heard laughter, shouts and cries from them. The sounds of an army at rest after a day of fighting. Sentir looked at the empty blankets around him, the remains of his squad, set up the night before. Now their owners would never return. The last had died today, a spear through the throat during yet another pointless assault. The last man from Sentir’s home village, the last of his friends. No one else from that proud group, those who spoke Sarenrae’s name with such fervor, drew breath. Sentir reached for a bottle of wine he had saved, hidden among his blankets. His nimble fingers found the cord unerringly and pulled. He lifted it too easily. The wine bottle had shattered, trampled by some careless foot, staining his blankets with a dark red stain, like blood. With a curse Sentir through the bottle into the fire, making it swirl. The weight fell on him. Why was he here? What was he doing? The cause was long dead. This was endless, meaningless. No victory would end it, no amount of killing would satisfy, no amount of blood enough...what drove him? There was no purpose. Why should he stay? Why not simply leave this behind, go elsewhere and seek his fortune? His eye swept the darkness and he saw, distant, the watchposts on the edge of camp. They did not keep the Taldan out, but kept the Qadrian troops in. Desertion was punished by execution on the spot. Was it mere fear that kept him here? Was he fighting, killing and dying every day because of simple fear? Why? No, tonight…tonight he would go. He would walk past the watchpost and dare them to kill him. What was another drop of blood in a sea of crimson? Just as he began to stand he felt something land on his shoulder. He brushed at it, and his fingers came away red and sticky to the touch. The wine? No, blood…Another drop fell on him, this time spattering his neck. Sentir looked up into the dark sky overhead and saw….Him. It is almost too enormous to comprehend: a titan nightmare clad in blood-red armor, a typhoon of grasping claws and toxic stings. Its legs are shuddering pylons, trees whose trunks bear bark of polished chitin. Its eyes are faceted crystal domes, lit from within by angry volcanic fire. A massive set of mandibles drip blood in torrents, coating the empty landscape Sentir stands in. He is transfixed by this thing, this horror beyond his imaginings. ”No.” It booms, voice filling Sentir’s mind. ”You will not die this night, by your own hand. I will take you and give you purpose.” Suddenly Sentir felt a change, a weight drop from his shoulder. This was not a bumbling High Command, seeking impossible victory. This was not the endless slaughter of the battlefield. This was purpose, this was order, this was clear and clean. This was violence directed in a way he had not felt in a long time. Without hesitation Sentir knelt, and as he did so he felt much fall away. His bitter despair. The dark depression, the pointless blackness. His old faith to a shattered goddess who had done nothing for him. His allegiance to an army long past the point of caring. He left all behind and gave himself utterly to this great being that promised so much. He would be forgotten here, nothing left but a ghost, a wraith. ”Go.” And Sentir went, to find his destiny. Build:
Human Rogue (Shadow Walker) 1
LE Medium humanoid (human) Init +8; Senses Darkvision 30ft, Perception +1 DEFENSE AC 18, touch 14, flat-footed 10 (+4 armor, +4 Dex) hp 9 (1d8+1) Fort +1, Ref +6, Will +1 OFFENSE
STATISTICS
Hard to Kill (Ex): Whenever you're below 0 hit points, you automatically stabilize without needing to attempt a Constitution check. If you have an ability that allows you to act while below 0 hit points, you still lose hit points for taking actions, as specified by that ability. Bleed damage still causes you to lose hit points when below 0 hit points. In addition, you don't die until your total number of negative hit points is equal to or greater than double your Constitution score. No One of Consequence (Ex) (DC 14)
Minor Gear-
About Sentir's Build:
Sentir's main style is control of light and darkness. Right now he only has Darkvision but his archetype, in a few levels, will allow him to cast spells such as light, darkness and a few others. It also gives him bonuses when acting in varying degrees of illumination. I think it will really lend to the stealth and disguise aspects of this game. He is also a social creature, with high ranks in most of the social skills. In particular his mythic power makes him hard to remember and place, which should be very fun to play and very useful for infiltration work. Sentir's Character:
Sentir does this because he trusts in the Red Mantis to give him purpose, to direct his talent in a direction. That purpose is not always clear and certainly not always good, but it is there. The Law of the kill is vital to him,a s well as following the dictates of the God that saved him from self-destruction. About Me:
I am GM Mowque, and I've been playing on these boards for a few years. I mostly GM solo games, which I think is the best way to do PBP, generally. Some of my games are hitting the 1.5 year mark, really enjoying them. You don't have to worry about me vanishing or leaving the game. I post daily, and check the boards all the time for my own games as well. Feel free to look through my Campaigns and see those games. I am a librarian in EST. I really look forward to playing in this game. I have long wanted to play this sort of game and will give it my all!
I had a feeling.
May I present Sentir Damutu, former Castellan of House Aulamaxa, and former thief, now crusader for Milani (mostly). Sentir Damutu Stats:
Favored Class Cavalier
Age 26
Male Chelish Human Cavalier (Castellan) (Order of the Flame) 2
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Armor Check Penalty -5 SQ Cavalier/Archetype Stuff Challenge-Once per day, a cavalier can challenge a foe to combat. As a swift action, the cavalier chooses one target within sight to challenge. The cavalier’s melee attacks deal extra damage whenever the attacks are made against the target of his challenge. This extra damage is equal to the cavalier’s level. The cavalier can use this ability once per day at 1st level, plus one additional time per day for every three levels beyond 1st, to a maximum of seven times per day at 19th level. Challenging a foe requires much of the cavalier’s concentration. The cavalier takes a –2 penalty to his Armor Class, except against attacks made by the target of his challenge. The challenge remains in effect until the target is dead or unconscious or until the combat ends. Each cavalier’s challenge also includes another effect which is listed in the section describing the cavalier’s order. Tactican-At 1st level, a cavalier receives a teamwork feat as a bonus feat. He must meet the prerequisites for this feat. As a standard action, the cavalier can grant this feat to all allies within 30 feet who can see and hear him. Allies retain the use of this bonus feat for 3 rounds plus 1 round for every two levels the cavalier possesses. Allies do not need to meet the prerequisites of these bonus feats. The cavalier can use this ability once per day at 1st level, plus one additional time per day at 5th level and for every 5 levels thereafter. Order Of the Flame-Order of the Flame Castellan-
At 11th level, these bonuses increase by 1. At 16th level, he gains improved evasion instead of evasion. Both the evasion and improved evasion abilities work even when the castellan wears medium or heavy armor. This ability replaces mount Languages Common
Star Stuck (Campaign Trait)- You gain a +1 trait bonus on Knowledge (local) checks.
Ambush Training- You gain a +1 trait bonus on initiative checks and a +1 trait bonus on weapon damage rolls during any surprise round in which you act. Feats
Toughness- Benefit: You gain +3 hit points. For every Hit Die you possess beyond 3, you gain an additional +1 hit point. If you have more than 3 Hit Dice, you gain +1 hit points whenever you gain a Hit Die (such as when you gain a level). Escape Route (Teamwork feat)- You do not provoke attacks of opportunity when moving through spaces adjacent to allies ================================================= ================================================= Carrying Capacity:
-------------------------------------------- Combat Gear: (54 lbs)
Ammunition: (6 lbs)
___________________________________________________________________________ _______
Sleeves of Many Garments(200 GP) 1 lbs Stubborn Nail (100 gp) 1lb Consumables: (0 lbs)
----------------------------------------------------------------------- Other: (22 lbs)
Wealth: (--)
Description::
Sentir is not a pretty man. He was born with a heavy jaw, deep-set eyes and wide shoulders. Straight brown hair lies thickly on his scalp, but he shaves his face when he can. He always seems hunched forward as if ready to charge at any moment. Short stubby fingers and thick arms give him a slightly ape like appearance at first glance. Life has not improved his look. The most obvious is his missing left eye, covered with a black eyepatch. His fingers are covered with scars from long hours of training (and later digging through trash).
His street clothes are a simple brown or gray, but clothes for home are often vibrant colors and trimmed with fake gold. Sentir enjoys the finer things but knows he can't wear them in the street (and can't afford really nice things anyway). Silk pajamas (and a feather bed) are a life goal. He nearly always goes armed if he can, feeling much better with steel at his side. Personality::
Sentir has nearly a split personality. When times are good and his mood fair, he is a jovial companion, interested (if not very knowledgeable) about art, music and fine foods. He can be garrulous even, if the mood strikes him. A hard worker, he knows skills are gained after long work and his patience is nearly endless.
On the flipside, he is greedy, even now. A taste for fine things that are out of his reach will often drive him into periods of depression or despair (music is often his only solace in these times) He also holds a deep grudge against the inherited rich, doubly so for the Aulamaxa family (see below). When this mood comes on him he turns aggressive, violent and ready to fight at the drop of a hat. Background::
The Damutu family was one of those un-named, un gloried families, on the borders of tapestries and edges of stories. They had served for three generations as the loyal guards and wardens for the Aulamaxa family. It was they who tended the family manor estate, their assorted keeps and holdings, as well as served in the Aulamaxa hunts (a point of pride for the family). Indeed, at the Counting House, it was custom to see a Damutu in arms besides every Aulamaxa, silent and stern. Well-trained and provided, time and custom had bound the two families together both giving honor to the other. It was the relationship of servant to master, but the Damutu were good servants, quiet, respectful and willing to die for their leiges. Sentir was raised with the full expectation he would join this chilly relationship, as had his father, and grandfather. The Aulamaxa (simply called the ‘Family’ by the Damautu) hired some of the best teachers and trainers for their men-at-arms so Sentir received a full martial education. He proved quite adept with sword and shield, fighting with a reckless, aggressive style. While young Sentir did wound a few trainers, all marked him for future greatness in combat. It was clear he would be an asset to the Family as he aged. Sentir has a weakness however, a taste for the finer things in life. It was not totally unexpected, for he, in his service to the Family, was often surrounded by the best finery Kintargo could supply. In his duties he accompanied Aulamaxa to the great Opera where the finest musicians played, Whitegate Market with it’s collection of jewels and elegant noble goods, and the great temples to Asmodeus and Zon-Kuthon. It turned the young man’s head and he soon desired far more than was allotted to his station. This turned to envy as he watched the rich Aulamaxa casually spent fortunes on trivial items, and then forget them. Every purchase Sentir was forced to watch or every fine wine drank in front of him, cut the young fighter. Why was he denied? Why should such fine things only be allowed to the Aulamaxa? He turned to haunting the taverns and bars of the Dock’s, in particular the Thrashing Badger. He became a familiar sight there, a hulking young man, still dressed in his family colors, marking him as a leigeman of Aulamxa. It did not take long for him to make friends, friends who spoke of ways to become rich. Sentir fell in with the River Talons, a gang of toughs and thieves in the city. Quickly a plan was hatched. Whenever Sentir guarded the Family warehouse, he would ignore a certain door. As he guarded the manor rooms, he would pocket expensive perfume. Even among the famed kennels, he stole trophies of this hunt or that. The thrill excited the young man and he grew bolded by the day, For months he supplied all sorts of goods to his new ‘friends’, and they paid him well. Finally he could eat what he wanted, buy what he wanted, enjoy the pleasures of life. It could not last. Finally he was caught, by his own father, after trying to engineering the theft of a hunting mastiff. Shocked and horrified, his father took him to see the head of the family, Victor Aulamaxa. The stern matriarch was inclined to kill this untrustworthy servant but his father, not knowing the extent of his crimes, pleaded for his life. The sight of his most loyal and trusted man-at-arms, usually so reserved and emotionless, begging on hands and knees was too much. Instead of death Victor Aulamaxa called his other guards. As they restrained a now struggling Sentir, Victor took a heavy iron poker, heated it slowly and then proceeded to, quite calmly, blind one of Sentir’s eyes. This done, the wounded and bleeding man was thrown naked into the street. His father sternly closing the door, disowning his thieving son. Sentir, in pain beyond belief went back to the Thrashing Badger, looking for his friends. But with Sentir now being useless, they deserted him. It was a dark time. Forget the finer things, not Sentir struggled to survive. He lived on the streets desperate for work but his reputation preceded him. No one would hire a known thief for a guard. Months passed and his situation became ever more desperate. He took to eating garbage and lingering in back alleys, out of sight from the common folk, who commonly spit on him. It was in one of these dark alleys that Sentir was found by a few young men, carrying swords. Instead of attacking him however, they took him into a warm house, fed and washed him. The one-eyed man soon found out they were of a church he had never heard of before, the Rose of Kintargo, who worshiped Milani. It took little convincing for the young man to join them, and he eagerly took up a sword again. While the faith itself did little to inspire him, he was devoted to repaying the debt to these men who had saved him from a life on the streets. Besides Milani didn’t seem to care for the rich and powerful anymore then he did. Now with a safe home, he took to wandering on the grounds outside the city, reliving his younger days with the hunts. With new sparring partners he once against became a terror with a blade, a master of the attack. Still, he was surrounded by men who respected and knew him, dare he call them friends? Real friends? Then Barzilli came. Terror seemed to pass over the city. To escape this dread Sentir went to the countryside, hoping the storm would blow over. When he returned the Rose was gone. Every safehouse (that he know of) plundered, every contact vanished, all supplies gone. He had never risen very high and did not know if it was just his cell or the entire city. Still one thing was clear, a war had now come to Kintargo and he intended to fight in it.
Please tell me if I messed anything up, I tried my best to copy everything into your preferred format! Really look forward to this game.
After sleeping on it, I've decided I'd rather like to drop out of this game. Sorry everyone, just not doing it for me. I wish you well, and have fun being ghost-busters!
Would you take it personally if I dropped out?
SOrry everyone. I've been busy at work, my budget is a total mess and I've been trying to save my employees from hitting the axe. My PBP priorities are, obviously, on the games I am GMing. As I said above it is hard to maintain enthusiasm for this game which is just ghost filled room after ghost filled room for 5 months. I will try harder.
I have to say, this endless dungeon crawl is getting a bit dry. In a Real-Life game we'd be doing this for two-three sessions, tops. Here, we've been opening doors and killing ghosts for something like 5 months? Just hard to keep up enthusiasm. Not your fault, but the AP doesn't translate well to PBP, at least this part.
Sentir passes, just a bit amused they have been halted by a little throwing poltergeist.
Sentir almost laughs. 'Throwing bottles is a step down from dying of freezing cold." but he too waits to see what tara does. This seems to be personal for the cleric.
Agreed. Sentir adds to Vivian's plan.
No wizards with prestidigitation, eh? Great spell for cleaning up ala the Sorcerer's Apprentice. Best I have is Create Water to wash away some stuff. I used that in another room.
Sorry everyone. Had a family emergency come up that involved a lot of emotional stress and driving. Should be back int he swing of things now.
Sentir brings up his crossbow and tries to land a shot over Drace's shoulder.
The shot goes wild however and careens off the wall.
"No use re-covering old ground and wasting resources again. Agreed"Sentir says. 'Did anyone get a good nights sleep last night?" he adds conversationally.
Senit agrees then says, 'You look a little beat up Teil. Let me help you..". Sentir cats Cure Light Wounds on the Occultist.
Sentir wakes up in a hot sweat, trmebling from head to foot. Fire, so much fire...it hurts. His burned hands ache, combined with the terror of the dream. There is no chance of falling back asleep. He wanders the house in the pre-dawn light, watching the mist play over the Lorrimor grounds, waiting for the others to wake. Wondering hat tomorrow will bring.
"And some smaller ones..." Sentir adds wearily. "But a rest sounds like a good idea Vivian. It is so good to be out in the clean air again, and not in a rotting hulk.."
"Let's open the doors going outside. Will be good to open a line of retreat and get some fresh air..." Sentir says.
"I say we try another door. As mentioned before, the village is being plagued by all sorts of dangers. Who knows what another night might bring. That said, we do have to be careful before we have used up all our spells and supplies....Perhaps just one more?" Sentir says, wondering if he will regret it.
"I think we should avoid going in there again. Do you need healed, Teil? You look a little frosty..." Sentir asks, looking at the chilled teifling carefully.
"I think we should get out here. This 'small' haunts are wearing us down." Sentir shouts between suddenly chattering teeth.
Sentir takes the siphon gladly, holding firmly in his burned fist.
Sentir looks around wildly at the chill, "I think you may be right, Dr."
”I did not wish to be paralyzed again, my good Doctor. It isn't a fun experience. “ Sentir says a bit tartly then retracts it, ”But I believe you are correct. Let's see what is performing in the auditorium?”
"Ah, I seem to have saved us some more trouble." Sentir says as he stows the siphon away. "That said, I think that siphon is used up..." He adds, a bit worried.
Sentir opens the Haunt Siphon, remembering being paralyzed with fear. Even as the Doctor unleashes a powerful spell he adds the magical devices affects to the attack.
Sentir pulls out his Haunt Siphon. "Begone foul shades!" but doesn't use it...yet.
'Actually, most authorities agree funguses is equally valid, Tara." Sentir added as he crossed the moldy floor. He nods to Stefan, "One door as good as another."
'How big IS this place?" Sentir says, looking at the macabre room, not eager to step into the disgusting fungus.
Sentir nods and agrees with Teil, still a bit confused at being semi-useful.
"This is odd." Sentir says as he pokes around the rubble and timbers. "This isn't natural collapse. This was a planned fall, designed and triggered. perhaps it was a safeguard against prisoners from the lower level? That makes me hesitant to go poking around down there without stocking up on correct tools."
Sentir stands behind the two heavily armored figures, hoping he can help if they find another nasty surprise.
I will be out of town from Friday night to Sunday night. Probably not posting, please bot me if required!
Sentir watches the Doctor work, skillfully. "You are useful to have around, Doctor. Even in a place such as this.Here, let me help." He offers to cast Create Water to re-fill the used waterskin.
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