Search Posts
Due to some changes in schedule and habits, I'm going to have to withdraw from this game. I'm just not on this site as often as I used to be. I've had fun playing so far, and I'm sorry this has come so suddenly, and after a long gap in contact. Edit: on the bright side, I'm spending more time on my second book.
Sheridan stops short, and waits for instructions.
Sheridan points toward an alcove and cups his ear, then points to himself and makes an angry face and curls his fingers like claws, miming a roar. Unless he's stopped, he slowly approaches the center of the room and lets out a low, dual tone note from deep in his throat, climbing to an unnatural roar. His skin cracks with heat, and his hair wreaths his face like a smouldering mane.
Regular everyday intimidate mechanics: The DC is 10 + the target’s Hit Dice + the target’s Wisdom modifier. If successful, they are shaken for 1 round plus 1 round for the Thug's Frightening feature, plus 1 round for every 5 by which he beat the DC.
Once located, Sheridan takes his time crossing the narrow edge. Once across he turns to the others and points ahead with a question in his eyes.
"Left would likely rejoin with the path we didn't take at the last fork. Let's go Right."
I'm wondering if we can flood them out, but that's not something Sheridan would suggest.
For my part, we're headed into a scenario where we are in a lot of danger with very little information. This wouldn't be an issue with a more optimal party of murderhobos, but means and motivations aren't lining up for Sheridan.
"We have sort of lost our ability to negotiate without Bookend. That one knew all the words." Sheridan returns to Sheaorlis' side, ready to advance into the cave, but wary of the tight quarters. "Without communication, we're just the murderous adventurers they were rallying for fear of..."
Sheridan shoots like a comet across the bank, hoping to club one of the kobolds over the skull.
Sheridan is stuck between a lake and a small hole.
Sheridan looks around. "We'll be at a disadvantage, squeezed into that cave and at the mercy of their security measures... Why not lay in ambush, or take the time to secure those we have subdued?"
The ifrit's capering intensifies as he ducks and dodges the spears that surround him. He hopes Sheaorlis can work his way around the crowd taking advantage of his positioning, because from where he is now, it's all he can do to continue to harry them. In the flurry of movement, the sap swings wildly at the yellow kobold.
Spinning out of the way of the orange kobold's spear, Sheridan swings at the passing yellow lizardling.
The complex maneuver brings the ifrit in range of the red kobold's spear, and in all the blur of blades and bludgeons, the ifrit takes the only scratch.
What makes a man turn neutral? Lust for gold? Power? Or were you just born with a heart full of neutrality?
Disappointed, Sheridan charges at the nearest kobold he has a clear shot at, bringing his sap around to strike at them.
"Uh, on the bright side? We've found them. Can't say I'm thrilled by our diplomatic opportunities... or the head room. Should we stop to deal with those incoming, or head further in?"
Good to have you back.
Sheridan stays near Sheaorlis. "I do hope we are able to convince them to leave. I can't imagine what their corpses would attract."
Sheridan looks at the water with a grim expression. "H-have I ever told any of you why my surname is Driftwood?" He laughs, but it's a hollow thing. "I was found on a rocky shore in a storm. The han of hans said they followed a column of steam. I don't remember anything before then. Later, when I met another of my kind, she said my hands were cold..." As he relates the story, the ifrit eyes the cliff above the entrance, looking for convenient piles of rocks.
Sheridan blinks at Sheaorlis. "Deadeye is this one." He points at Yantri. "Both for her skill with long-ranged weapons, and her gorgeous facial scarification. She doesn't like calling attention to it, so I should probably stop talking." The ifrit buries a hand in his hair and looks down at the ground.
Sheridan nods, peering into the depths of the recesses from a distance. "I try to assume the worst, especially on the job. I'm usually pleasantly surprised."
"Deadeye's a fair hand at tracking. If our information is good, they should be around here somewhere... We could try to have them find us. They did say they capture people from the village."
"Oh, no... I have no idea what killed the kobolds in the forest. Forests are really very dangerous on their own. The kobold I disceplined under the tower told us their tribe was called Blood Vow something, but wouldn't tell us what the actual promise was. I also don't think the recently deceased wizard knew about the, again, purely hypothetical dragon, or he'd have gone after the hoard..." "The dyer... or maybe the tailor... married couples really get me confused... One of them mentioned a haunted crypt in a place they called the Dragon Fen... And a really-" The ifrit performs an embarrassed cough like someone who has never actually coughed before. "-nice blacksmith named Big Bull said the Tula one who I guess the crypt is for was a dragon slayer, so I figure there is probably a non-zero amount of dragons in these parts. If they're the one that got slayed maybe they're also a ghost-dragon, so we should consider asking for more gold if it turns out we have to re-slay them..." Shrugging deeply, Sheridan circles back to a summary. "I'm suggesting the kobolds accepted the promise of gold they were supposed to find in the basement of the tower. They, that is the tribe, not just the three we found, accepted a promise because they were desperate. The wizard never intended to pay them, and tried to backstab them, and got killed in the process-" The theory is cut short as Sheridan realizes several things in quick succession. "He might have gotten bitten by that big undead thing. Are you okay, Sarge? Didn't you get bitten by that thing? We should really get you looked at by a cleric. Undead are no joke."
"If I know one thing it's spoils. Been on tons of raids, been hired for countless jobs, and this one felt like a share-in-spoils kind of job. There wasn't anything else down there. The sly caster one was counting on there being a treasure to split, which suggests the kobolds needed gold." Sheridan shrugs. "But gold's not something a tribe of kobolds needs. Least not any kind of need that risks being run off by the village. You don't make that kind of risk for gold unless you've got something scarier you're paying off. Now, I heard something about a dragon fen? If I had to guess, and this is purely deductive speculation, the kobolds have got a blood vow to a dragon, and it's the kind of dragon who demands tribute." "Anyway, that's why I think it's important we figure out what the court caster was offering, so we understand the tribe's motivation. We could go through all this and put the village in a tougher spot than when we started. Getting burninated by a dragon, for example."
Sheridan remains quiet during the walk back. There were a few things weighing on his mind, not the least being his choice to leave the kobolds with a single blade between them. When it comes time to share the news, his only contribution is a doubtful, "The leader may have survived. It was hard to tell just how many kobolds had died, only that the trail we were following ended."
Sheridan nods. "I see your point. I guess we should start tracking while you have light."
Sheridan listens closely, and lets the dwarf work her way around her idea. It was important, he knew. He knew because he already had seven reasons to shoot the idea down, and he wasn't sure what she was trying to accomplish. When she's done, the ifrit chooses his words carefully. "Before we pursue this, I should give you my professional opinion. That kobold is a tough nut to crack. We could see a new moon by the time I've broadened their view of folk who deserve to live. Sheaorlis may have some tools or tricks that can shorten that time, but even if we could magic them into a friendly attitude, they are fiercely loyal to their tribe. The only way I see the pieces fitting is if we could put them in charge, like you said, and while that sounds convenient to you and me, we are ignorant of the tribe's laws and taboos. She may be disqualified by default." "That said, I have finished my business in town. Should we see if Sheaorlis is available?"
Goodness, that's the second DM this week. Take your time. I hope you get well soon.
Sheridan nods emphatically. "Oh, that sounds excellent. I think you'll be coming into a lot of the baroness' coin, I travel with an inquisitor by the name of Shaorlis, as well as a cleric who could both use a skilled smithy." Recognition flashes behind the ifrit's eyes. "Oh, my companions! I had almost forgotten. I should check in at the inn when I'm done here..."
Anyone object to me buying the chainmail? It is like a third of the loot... It'll be the end of Sheridan's shopping spree.
Sheridan holds fast as the half-orc approaches, maintaining a cheery demeanor even as his skin cools visibly. "Afternoon and well met, Big-Bull! I am Sheridan Driftwood. I suppose you could call me Sheri. My traveling companions and I came to Belhaim for work and have found it at Duchess' behest. While rooting around in that tower up north I came upon these beauties." Sheridan offers the daggers for Big-Bull's inspection. "I've been told I should know metals better, given my heritage, but beyond knowing it's got a weight no dagger it's size has a right to, and an edge that takes little honing, I must confess I'm not sure how it was done. I've been working with this shirt here for protection, and I was wondering if you've got something similar that's made how those daggers were. I'd be willing to part with the daggers in trade... or as materials, if the metal is rare." "I should be upfront. These were a key to a mechanism in the basement of the tower, and therefore may have been made here by a predecessor of yours. I don't know if that would be noteworthy to you."
Clothed once more, and with his chainmail and daggers in a bundle under his arm, Sheridan enters Baccus Smithy. He's drawn to the place, as he was drawn to Arslan's forge when he was young. It's the beating heart of the village in the ifrit's eyes.
Until now, Sheridan has been polite as a matter of etiquette. The clothes and the colors are part and parcel to his work. They weren't for him. The compliments to his hair catch his attention, and when Mafellen reveals the magical dye, it catches his eye in a way the ifrit cannot fully understand. The patch stands out against the form of the world like nothing else he's seen. He is fascinated. The price sobers him, but he is still determined. "These clothes are functional, and I am supremely grateful, but for dye like this? I would want it applied to something... which elevates the craft. The baroness said she is paying well. I will be back within a week with a share I could spend on something so luxurious."
Sheridan is delighted that such a personal treatment doesn't get awkward. During measurements, he compliments her professionalism. "That's the sort of thing I'm here for. That tower's basement was full of bound elementals and clockwork guards. It was quite a deathtrap. It's good to be able to settle folks' suspicions. I just wish we had found the baron. Now, we may never know what happened to him. -This one feels nice. I'd like something with some freedom of movement." When the cloth is chosen, and the cut determined, he thanks her and confirms the directions to her husband's shop. Sheridan arrives at Mafellen's shop with the cloth held carefully in his hands. "Hello! Your wife has put me at your mercy. I haven't the sight for color, but I would like the clothes she is making for me to be something flashy..."
#bookkeeping
As Stone and Sheaorlis talk about weird secretions, Sheridan takes his leave with an abrupt, "I'll be at the inn where bookend was staying." As he leaves, he's mumbling to himself and counting on his fingers. He makes his way into town, and makes a beeline for the first tailor he finds. "Hello! I recently came into a job with lots of hazard pay, and I've got a lot of business in town. I'd rather not wear my work in front of polite company, so I though to seek your expertise. Do you have something in a light-weight cloth? Preferably not too many harsh lines. You'll have to help me with the color..." The ifrit hopes his openness and interest in the nuance of the craft makes a good impression.
I definitely think I've been playing more lawful neutral... I'll have that changed. I'm hoping to have some time in the morning for a shopping post.
Sheridan lets Stone and Yantri lead the way, and trails behind to speak to Sheaorlis. "Hello, I'm Sheridan. I adjust attitudes for money." It's clear the ifrit is bursting with questions, but he bites his lower lip and folds his hands behind his back. He knows better than to come on too strong with the strong silent types.
Sheridan is dumbfounded. Heat returns to his skin in a bloom of amber tones. His eyes take in the line of Sheaorlis' shoulder, and the blade of his battleaxe. He mouths the name, Sheaorlis, as if he's learning a new word for fire. Everything else happening in the room goes completely over his head.
Sheridan cracks a satisfied smile (some might say smug) but waits for someone else to respond first.
Sheridan grows cold, as if the baroness' words were a chill wind. He continues to speak, but without the cheery tone, like a bronze statue. "There was a kobold who spoke common, they agreed, after some interrogation, to tell us what they could in exchange for their life. I could not guarantee their life and bring them here. They confirmed several details we did not mention to them, such as Hunclay's stated motivation. They told us the location of their tribe, their involvement with Hunclay, and how their tribe will be agitated by this failure. They assume you will call for the extermination of their tribe." This, the only inflection in his voice, suggests Sheridan sees no reason yet to think her better than the kobold's estimation. "They left headed away into the forest."
"Who'd we lose?" Sheridan looks around, alarmed. "Wait... there were more than two of you before..." He narrows his eyes. "I distinctly remember dividing the coin by four." He counts on his fingers. "Myself, Sarge, Yantri... oh, Bookend! I really did think, uh, I liked him. I hope he catches up soon." The ifrit looks as though he can think of several nice things to say about Kane, but is choosing not to admit out loud that he would opt to keep someone around solely on their looks. "Sorry about that, your, uh, royal highness?" He quirks his shoulders apologetically. "I hope you'll excuse our manner. We inspected the ruins of the tower, and found the remains of two human bodies. The first was found in a poor state, carrying this key." Sheridan offers the key found on the corpse in the iron maiden. "We were not able to identify that body, but it can be inferred that he was claimed by a demonic spirit which inhabited the interrogation tools found in the- well, the basement was a prison with an interrogation room, you see? Further into the basement, in a tunnel dug out by the kobolds, we found the body of Hunclay, killed in the collapse. The sorcerer paid the kobolds who died in the collapse. There were other creatures in the basement, but they were more like features of the dungeon rather than being involved in the collapse. Uh, there is still a very expensive-looking clockwork sentry down there if you can find someone who can move it safely. The rest of them did not survive our investigations." Sheridan looks up and counts on his fingers again to make sure he's covered everything. "Anyway, it's pretty clear that sorcerer was dead-set on seeing the stars, like you said. This whole ordeal probably has the kobolds on edge, since it didn't look like an accident, and we found a bunch of dead kobolds. Don't know what pushed them to take payment to do something so dangerous--I usually do it for food and shelter--but it should be sorted out before it boils over." He smiles sweetly at the Duchess and folds his hands behind his back. He's come just short of telling her what to do, and hopes he's framed the information in a way that leads her away from calling for the genocide of a historied people.
"Convenient how we would never know of their innocence if we had killed them. Dead men commit no crime? I'll shoulder my share of guilt, but it is their mistake to make." Sheridan looses the kobolds and returns to them one blade for survival. Once they catch their bearings and are ready to move on, the ifrit makes his suggestion. "To the baroness with our report? I'd like to sort out any claims to found property before it's time to pay for a bed."
Re: Shopping and resources Count me in for distributing equipment to those who can best use it, especially when we find things mid-mission. That said, Sheridan isn't really going to use the daggers much, so I would count them as treasure, since they're almost a third of the loot. Stuff I have my eye on:
I'm not terribly experienced with equipment, so any recommendations y'all have are welcome.
"Do we have something identifying from Hunclay's remains?"
The ifirit's entire countenance has returned to a subdued, self-satisfied glow. At Stone's questions, he blinks a few times before replying. "With our current jobs, I'd imagine we'll also continue to threaten the lives of others, some of whom may not be adults of their kind. It is not so easy to tell in some cases, like centipedes..." It's abundantly clear that Sheridan is referencing the giant centipedes which were executed in the room with the iron maiden, but there's no judgement in his tone. "You thinkin' of retiring, Sarge? We're in the business of doing unsavory things for others. When we get caught up in something like this, I hope those who stop us know better than to kill skilled labor." "As to what I would tell her ladyship, I would tell the truth: that the culprit died in the collapse. When she asks how he did it, I'll tell her he hired kobolds. If, against reason and persuasion, she uses that information as reason to hire us to murder all the kobolds," Sheridan shrugs, "she'll have to pay the usual rate. I'm not- I don't do a lot of math, but that would be a lot, right? More, I think, than we're being paid for this task." He shrugs again. "-and if that upsets someone else with the means to mount a counterattack, well, that's why I would personally advise against attacking the kobolds. They are the Blood Vow Tribe. It would be safe to assume this captain's vindictiveness is cultural." "Oh." Sheridan turns back to the lead kobold with a sickly sweet smile. "What's the blood vow your tribe is named after? Anything specific?"
"Imprison them on what charges? The wizard tore down this castle. You wouldn't punish a blacksmith for their involvement in a murder. I say we get the information we need from these folk, and we send them off to make their mistakes elsewhere. If they don't learn their lesson here, they'll find their way into the dungeons on their own terms."
Intimidation Mechanics:
Sheridan looms over the kobold. His skin cracks with heat, and his molten locks splay about his face like a mane of white-hot brilliance. The ifrit steps forward, the kobold's spittle sizzling underfoot. " Do not mistake my distaste for petty violence for weakness. You shall leave my presence tempered... or not at all." "You overestimate the humans' concern over your tribe. Their desperate clawing is as the wind upon their gates, and if the kobolds lash out, it will only amount to a handful of casualties. -Less than they lose to winter. Betraying them has not bought your life. Your tribe lives because no one has bothered to pay to have them snuffed out. -an acceptable level of vermin. -not worth the resources. Yet here you choose provocation. You choose bitter, unrequited loathing." He points to Kane and Stone. "They could not care less. If you are asking to die, beg. I will not grant that favor for the price you have offered."
Sheridan disarms the unconscious kobolds and binds their ankles as a precaution. Their party had enforced their control over the situation by violence, and they could not afford to rely on the gratitude of the spared kobolds. Fear is a tool and like any other tool, it is most useful when used in careful measures. "The town will hear what we tell them. Your tribe was hired by the wizard, this tragedy is on his hands. Their leader will be glad to hear a rival was buried in his own foolish exploits. Is there some forgone payment your tribe was counting on? If the risks were obvious, I can't imagine what brought your kin to accept this task." Sheridan sounds concerned. "Perhaps the balance of your mission is still yours to tip? "
|
