Sickly Sam Smith's page

It was fun despite being useless! Thanks for running!

As Sam is raised to the top, he pulls out his trusty mahogany wand and offers it to Sundr. "A little help, please?" he asks as she heals him up.

3 charge to full! (Silently weeping over here that my HP is so low.)

Once his wounds are healed, Sam stows the wand and bows. "Thanks."

"Wait, does that mean we are done?" he asks the team.

"I'd probably just die! That creepy lady said so!" he bellows back to Jaysin.

Sam is starting to realize that he is not a primary target at this point and decides to keep his yelling to a minimum and only tactics-related. "Oi! Can you tell me when it's safe to come up?!" he yells to a team he can't see.

Sam remains a weak, cowering heap at the bottom of the pit. Coming to the top is likely a death sentence so he stays safe in the bottom. "You can do it, team!" echoes from the 30' deep hole.

Sam will peek from behind his shield. "Is he dead yet?!" asks the weak man hiding behind a metric ton of steel.

Total Defense.

Sam is burned by the splashing liquid as his favorite country song fades from his mind. "Ow!"

He sees the impending fight at the top of the pit and decides to remain at the bottom, holding his shield above his head. "Don't kill me! "

Total Defense. @2 HP.

-Posted with Wayfinder

Let's see if I'm doing this correctly...

Sam is enraptured by Jaysin, thinking that his babbling sounds like his favorite Androran anthem. He sings along in his head, bobbing it up and down.

I stay up too late, got nothing in my brain
That's what people say mmm, that's what people say mm
I go on too many dates, but I can't make 'em stay
At least that's what people say mmm, that's what people say mmm

But I keep cruising, can't stop, won't stop moving
It's like I got this music in my body and it's gonna be alright

'Cause the players gonna play, play, play, play, play

Will: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3

-Posted with Wayfinder

Sam cowers in the pit, unable to see. Can he be fascinated if he can't see?

Will: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 = 21

As he cowers, he thinks he can make out shapes once more.

Reflex: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 5 + 2 = 8
Damage: 3d6 ⇒ (6, 3, 5) = 14

CRAAACK!

Sam plummets into the pit and nearly passes out from the pain as his ribs crush under the weight of the fall. "GAH! BLIND AND BROKEN! I AM DEAD!" he bellows as he slowly stands up, still blinded.

Will: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10

@3 HP

Didn't realize that, but it makes sense. Sam still hides in the corner.

Sam hides behind his shield as he cowers in the middle of the room.

Will: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13

Will Save: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12
Will Save: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9

"Oh gods!" Sam yells as his eyesight leaves him. "The crazy man has cursed me! This is it, Pharasma! I shall be taken to your abode far sooner than expected."

Blinded (-3 AC for Dex and -2 for penalty) and Total Defense (+7 AC) so my AC is 24, I believe.

He tries to stumble away from the fight and runs into Sundr. "Ah! sorry!" he yells before nearly falling to his feet just past her.

Will Save: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20

"Stop, babbling!" Sam yells as heswings his pick around wildly as he focuses on defense, trying to impale the head of the guy behind him. "GAH!"

Pick | Fighting Defensively: 1d20 + 8 - 1 - 2 ⇒ (15) + 8 - 1 - 2 = 20
Damage: 1d6 + 4 - 1 ⇒ (4) + 4 - 1 = 7

AC is 27.

Sam merely follows behind the more adept trackers as he is hopelessly lost in the labyrinth. "All of these *cough* languages and transparent people *cough* give me the creeps..." he mutters.

Survival Aid?: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6

Sam cowers away from the lady despite her stated diplomatic attempt. "I *cough* don't trust ghosts."

Sam retreats from the woman towards the back of the group. "Ghosts *cough*. Why so many ghosts?" he asks to no one in particular as he keeps his shield up.

Perform: 1d20 + 1 - 1 ⇒ (8) + 1 - 1 = 8 There's a chance!

Sam listens to the instruments, but his time in the mines and the over-protectiveness of his father leave him a bit unsure of their purpose.

As Druthane explains the sadness of the celedons, Sam feels bad. He approaches the statues and bows to them. "You should *cough* not lose faith. *cough*" he implores them.

"I'm sure that *cough* Besmara has a purpose for you and that you will fulfill it with glory!" he says.

"No one *cough* said that it came from ghosts!" Sam says, shying away from the orb. "At least, *cough* we have Venture-Captain Bennary's folding boat." he remarks.

Sam keeps his distance from the front, wary of drawing the first attack again, but he easily keeps up with the group.

Will Save: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16

Sam begins to spin around the room, holding up his shield in a defensive stance as he is pushed around, aided by the Crane Style that he picked up in training at a monastery in the River Kingdoms.

"Help *cough* me!" he wheezes.

Total Defense+Move Action - AC 27

Provokes from Red. (Marked Em)

Hearing the warning and knowing that his shield and armor are no match for a ghost, Sam hightails it out of the room. "AHHHHH! GHOSTS!"

Sam stays on guard, scared to lower his shield around the ghosts. "Please *cough* don't come closer!" he says to the approaching apparition.

Sam is absolutely no help for this! :(

Sam wanders around with the group as they try to deduce the labyrinth, but the ex-miner just feels lost in this area. "Do *cough* we know where we *cough* are?" he asks.

Sam will hold on to the longspear for now, considering its defensive capabilities.

He begins to feel better as the party heals his wounds with his wand.

Taking 5 for four charges + 4 from the assist!

"I can *cough* continue if the group wishes." Sam concedes as he stands back up, wounds sealed.

I don't understand the map, so I don't know where to go next.

Sam slouches down and rests as the exhaustion and wounds have caught up to him.

Hold Action.

In the stairwell, Sam nearly keels over. "Ugh... Father always said I was too dumb to die properly." he says as he pulls back a hand covered in blood, but the wound seems to have staunched itself.

Sam, on the verge of death, hides in the stairwell.

-Posted with Wayfinder

Fort: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
Reflex: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (3) + 5 = 8

Sam learns his lesson as the fog invades his body, ravaging his already weak immune system. "A-heh... A-heh... Water is the essence of wetness." he says, remembering his father's parable.

Staggering by the longspear that stabbed his kidney and the hungry mist invading his lungs, he flees from the fight.

Standard Action Withdraw. 30'

*cough* "I cannot let this *cough* pass!" bellows Sam as he figuratively charges the creature in the hungry ... fog? ;-)

As he strikes, you see that his form actually looks it take on a martial fighting stance.

Defensive Pick to the Face! @ Glowy Eyes: 1d20 + 8 - 2 ⇒ (1) + 8 - 2 = 7
Damage: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5

As he cleaves forward, he trips over a rock though and nearly tumbles to the ground, saved only by the point of the pick lodging into the stoneworked floor.

AC is 26. +4 to AC from Crane Style+Fighting Defensively+Acrobatics 3 Ranks.

Wheezing, Sam coughs loudly as he brings his kerchief to his mouth. The blue cloth comes away, stained with purple flecks.

Looking like he is gathering energy, Sam stands up and rejoins the group. "Have we found our next avenue of investigation?" he asks of the others.

As Sundr's song fades, Sam's body shrinks back down a bit to his still hulking form, but it appears that his innate sickness is still a problem.

"You *cough* should use it, Sundr." Sam says.

Feeling weak after the rush of power, Sam moves to take a seat on a nearby fallen log, clearly catching his breath and ignoring the investigation.

Sam coughs as he swings his pick. "*cough* You should have backed..." he starts as Sundr's song empowers him with rage. "You will be destroyed!" he bellows, his tell-tale cough vanishing.

"RAAAAAAAWR!" he screams as he wildly swings his bloodied pickaxe once more at the injured man.

Pickaxe @ Red: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (3) + 10 = 13
Damage: 1d8 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10

@EF: +2 to hit and damage in the readied attack from the rage.

-Posted with Wayfinder

Sam draws his shield and pick, stepping in front of the ranged fighters after they loose their attacks. "I will pro... *COUGH* protect you." he tries to reassure the other Pathfinders.

Heavy Pick-Ready to First in Range: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20
Damage | PA/FF: 1d8 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 4 + 2 = 8

Sorry for the delay! I forgot to dot!

At the briefing a sickly man with a stout set of armor and a pickaxe is thrust into the room.

" *cough* I am Sam... *cough* I hope to be of *cough* assistance." remarks the man.

Sickly Sam Smith of the Smithville Smiths
PFS # 73433-23
Init: +3
Per: +2

I am late, but still sick.

Sam finally coughs up some foul black miasma as it splatters on the ground near his feet. "I think I'm feeling a bit better..." he says as he takes another swing at the hobgoblin.

Concealment - High Hits: 1d100 ⇒ 75
Warhammer | Fatigued: 1d20 + 5 - 1 ⇒ (14) + 5 - 1 = 18
Damage: 1d8 + 6 - 1 ⇒ (2) + 6 - 1 = 7

Should I even try at this point?

Sam continues to swing around, finally seeing the magically-inclined hobgoblin through the cloud.

Concealment - Low Hits: 1d100 ⇒ 74
Warhammer @ Hobgoblin: 1d20 + 5 - 1 ⇒ (8) + 5 - 1 = 12
Damage: 1d8 + 6 - 1 ⇒ (1) + 6 - 1 = 6

Sam continues to blindly swing his hammer around the area, apparently unsure of what to hit.

High Misses! : 1d100 ⇒ 47 F@~$ yeah!
Stop Hammer Time: 1d20 + 5 - 1 ⇒ (1) + 5 - 1 = 5 Is Paizo f%!@ing with me? What the f*~~...

-Posted with Wayfinder

I see that Sam has contributed nothing so far! Let's try again from my rolls!

Sam tries to take another swing, having been fatigued from dropping out of his rage. "I *cough* can *cough cough* do this." he says, the fog getting into his lungs and causing him to swing errantly once more.

Concealment-Low Misses: 1d100 ⇒ 20 WHAT?!?! That's like 800 freaking misses from stupid 20%! Dammit, Paizo! I put up with goblin splash pages all day to have this happen. :(

Miss - High Hits : 1d100 ⇒ 17 I'm done with this game...

Sam swings once more at the shadows deciding that he is leaving this lair now.

-Posted with Wayfinder

As a heads up, I will be taking the Illinois Bar Exam on Tuesday and Wednesday and travelling to Chicago on Monday. I am aiming to still get posts up, but I cannot promise that it will happen.

Sam, frustrated by the cloud, starts swinging like a mad man, letting loose his inner rage! "BRAWR! %$!@#*$@!##$ FOG!"

Miss Chance-LOW HITS!: 1d100 ⇒ 28 Woo!
Warhammer @ Zombie | Rage/Flank/PA/FF: 1d20 + 5 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 5 + 2 + 2 = 10 MOTHER-A!@#$!@#^!#GQ!YT%WDFAYTAW$#$T^!@#GRAGT#$@T^$#!

Sam continues to swing his hammer blindly, just trying to keep the zombie from hurting him like that last batch of undead. "STAY *cough* AWAY!" he yells.

Miss: 1d100 ⇒ 18 Sigh.... Does this dice roller think I'm rolling a d20? Next time 1-80 hits! I'm calling it now!

Sam sighs in relief as the zombie lurches forward and his claw clangs uselessly off his armor. "Just *cough* go back to *cough* being dead." he says as he takes another swing, but he whiffs as the cloud cause him to misjudge how far the undead is from him.

Miss: 1d100 ⇒ 12 Three consecutive misses from Concealment on a 20% chance. *sigh*

Warhammer @ Z | Prone/PA: 1d20 + 5 - 1 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 5 - 1 + 4 = 16
Damage: 1d8 + 6 ⇒ (8) + 6 = 14
Concealment-High Hits: 1d100 ⇒ 1

Sam tries to slam his warhammer into the zombie as it stands up behind him. "Gah! How many bashes does it need!" he yells as he tries to take another swing.

Warhammer @ Z: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (5) + 5 = 10
Damage: 1d8 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9
Concealment-High Hits: 1d100 ⇒ 8

The clouds scare Sam as his swings blindly through, missing the rising creature.

Sam cringes as the hobgoblin cuts him, fearing that any more of his blood spilled might cause him to die and in his anxiety, he bashes the creature in the face.

Warhammer @ 3: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (18) + 5 = 23
Damage: 1d8 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 4 + 2 = 12
Concealment-High Hits: 1d100 ⇒ 84 Success!

If the hobgoblin falls, then Sam will close in on the caster, choosing to step into the hallway with him.

If the hob sorc has no weapon out, then he will circle around the man.

Sam, seemingly forgoing all safety of the wall, steps into the doorway, to confront the injured hobgoblin. "At least, *cough* these aren't skeletons." he mutters as he swings his hammer.

1d20 ⇒ 4

COUGH!

As he swings, his lungs cause him to violently expel mucus as he coughs in the hobgoblins face, causing the hammer swing to slam into the doorway instead.

Sam moves into a flanking position with Ayo and sees her blade flash at the hobgoblin, choosing to try and time his strike with hers to fell the creature that wants him dead. "I shall *cough* aid you!"

Warhammer @ 3 | Flanking/PA/FF: 1d20 + 5 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 5 + 2 = 13
Damage | PA: 1d8 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 4 + 2 = 13

Sam moves as quickly as he can, barely making it to the hobgoblin.

*cough wheeze cough*

"I think *cough* I'm getting the hang *cough* of this." he remarks as his bad lungs seem to worsen with the cardiovascular activity.

As he moves around the altar, he takes a swing at the hobgoblin nearest to him.

Warhammer @ 3: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 24
Damage: 1d8 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7