Sieghart Aetheredge's page

Sieghart Aetheredge wrote:

Sebecloki wrote:

I'm moving ahead since we haven't heard from Sieghart.

Seeing the success of their comrades, five more of the Dhakaani robbers attack Tyrant.

1d20+15
1d20+10
1d20+15
1d20+10
1d20+15
1d20+10
1d20+15
1d20+10
1d20+15
1d20+10

7d8+42

Tyrant takes 81 damage from the five orcs.

If that really does mean he's down an out, then Tyrant, for now at least, is going to be shortly resurrected as a ectoplasmic creature. Let me know how you'd like to handle that -- template/switch out an archetype, etc. I saw that this In The Company of Spirits (PFRPG) exists. The idea is not really to make the character undead, but more like a creature made out of some kind of transitive plane substance like shadow, astral material, or ether, mirrors etc..

I'm here. I thought there was still a baddy ahead of me. I must've misread.

Sieghart's aurora flares as he revs the engine on Fenrir hard.

"Fenrir, charge in!" Sieghart shouts. The bike roars down the hall towards the nearest (and, hopefully, least-damaged) orc as Sieghart winds up a powerful swing with his gunblade, finger preparing to pull the trigger at the moment of impact. Activate aurora for +2 AC and Fast Healing 2. Knight's Charge, Power Attack, Trigger Attack. Knight's Charge neutralizes the attack penalties from PA and TA. No AC penalty.

If this doesn't hit, I'm spending a Hero Point to reroll.

You'll have to reroll. I'm going to go ahead and get the next round started while you do that to move things along.

Hero point spent. Rerolling attack.

I'm moving ahead since we haven't heard from Sieghart.

Seeing the success of their comrades, five more of the Dhakaani robbers attack Tyrant.

1d20+15
1d20+10
1d20+15
1d20+10
1d20+15
1d20+10
1d20+15
1d20+10
1d20+15
1d20+10

7d8+42

Tyrant takes 81 damage from the five orcs.

If that really does mean he's down an out, then Tyrant, for now at least, is going to be shortly resurrected as a ectoplasmic creature. Let me know how you'd like to handle that -- template/switch out an archetype, etc. I saw that this In The Company of Spirits (PFRPG) exists. The idea is not really to make the character undead, but more like a creature made out of some kind of transitive plane substance like shadow, astral material, or ether, mirrors etc..

I'm here. I thought there was still a baddy ahead of me. I must've misread.

Sieghart's aurora flares as he revs the engine on Fenrir hard.

"Fenrir, charge in!" Sieghart shouts. The bike roars down the hall towards the nearest (and, hopefully, least-damaged) orc as Sieghart winds up a powerful swing with his gunblade, finger preparing to pull the trigger at the moment of impact. Activate aurora for +2 AC and Fast Healing 2. Knight's Charge, Power Attack, Trigger Attack. Knight's Charge neutralizes the attack penalties from PA and TA. No AC penalty.

Attack: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (6) + 11 = 17
Slashing damage: 1d8 + 9 ⇒ (4) + 9 = 13
Fire damage: 1d6 + 6 ⇒ (3) + 6 = 9

If this doesn't hit, I'm spending a Hero Point to reroll.

Sieghart guns the engine of his bike for a bumpy ride up the stairs. Taking 10 on a Drive check. 21 is more than high enough to just ride a motorcycle up a flight of stairs. At the sight of the Khyber-spawn, he grit his teeth and readied his gunblade.

"The preacher at the gates was right. Keep a look out for reinforcements. They could've set up an ambush!"

Initiative: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 4 = 13

I'm going to assume Sieghart runs into no problems while grabbing his bike. If this is not the case, feel free to correct me.

Sieghart returns to the manor only as this exchange meets its end.

"Great. Someone opened the door for us." he says, gunblade over his shoulder and elemental weapon trailing behind him. "And of course there's something untoward going on. What do you think we're doing here? Plus, if this person is up to no good, there's no safer place for them than with us, right?"

"It's just as well." Sieghart says, following close behind. "It wouldn't be the first time a community has done away with members who've fallen out of favor by denying them the protection of the law." Once he had left the building, Sieghart briefly broke off in the direction of the stables to retrieve Fenrir.

With the hallway clear, Sieghart focuses for a moment, and is cloaked in a fiery blue aura. The small injuries inflicted by the quills immediately begin stitching themselves back together. Spending a use of Aurora. Just getting Fast Healing 2 for about twenty seconds.

"Now that that nuisance is over and done with, do we start on the downstairs, or do we find a window and see what this mess looks like from the outside? If we're under attack, I'd like to get to the stables and grab the weapon I left there."

Umm... What? Okay, never mind. I understand now. Somewhere in there, the dice expression wasn't properly-closed. This should actually work.

Fortitude: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (8) + 12 = 20

Sieghart Aetheredge wrote:

"If you don't mind, Miss Tannenbaum, could you tell the other guests and the staff to stay in their rooms while we sweep the hallway for any more traps and unblock the doors?" Sieghart asks. "Someone or something trapped us in our rooms and put up this dart-thrower in the hall, and the culprit might still be inside." Sieghart strains his ears to try and pinpoint the direction of the second scream, or at least if it's coming from inside the building.

Perception: 1d20 + 11d6 - 1d6d6d1d20 + 12 ⇒ (5) + (2, 2, 4, 6, 2, 3, 4, 4, 6, 5, 3) - (15, 16, 13, 18, 5, 12, 17, 10, 20, 20, 11, 14, 13, 6, 13, 19, 11, 7, 20, 10) + 12 = -212

"If you don't mind, Miss Tannenbaum, could you tell the other guests and the staff to stay in their rooms while we sweep the hallway for any more traps and unblock the doors?" Sieghart asks. "Someone or something trapped us in our rooms and put up this dart-thrower in the hall, and the culprit might still be inside." Sieghart strains his ears to try and pinpoint the direction of the second scream, or at least if it's coming from inside the building.

Perception: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (14) + 11 = 25

Fort save: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (7) + 12 = 19

Sieghart emerged from his room, discarding spent brass from his gunblade's cylinder and reloading the empty chambers with fresh cartridges. His first order of business was checking if everyone was alright. After that, he'd need to signal Fenrir. He headed down the hallway towards the others, hoping to find a window facing towards the stables.

Still waiting on confirmation from Seb on the door being destroyed.

Funnily enough, it looks like Sieghart only did 14 damage to the door (at most). Ranged attacks do half damage, so the physical portion only did 3 damage, and if we assume the fire attack still does full because it's a suitable element, it's 11.

But there's nothing stopping you from just hitting it again for that last point of damage, since I don't think we're in Initiative or anything. Guiscard took two turns getting through, technically, since he cast a buff before Stoning the door, so I think it's safe to assume you busted through.

The standard gunblade can't make ranged attacks. It's just a sword-swing with the added elemental damage from the bullet charging up the melee attack. Even if the elemental damage was cut in half, it would still would've added up 17. Either way, it wouldn't exactly be hard to break through so long as each attack overcomes hardness.

Should I just assume that Sieghart's attempts at destroying the door were as successful as everyone else's?

Sieghart Aetheredge wrote:

Sieghart had just finished doing maintenance on his weapon. The finely-crafted steel sword was meshed with a mechanism resembling something from a House Cannith workshop. Six chambers were specially-fitted for loading cartridges filled with a substance processed from soil and mineral taken from Manifest Zones. Earlier in the night, he had taken the weapon apart, cleaned and oiled each of the weapon’s moving parts, and then reassembled it, only having finished checking the pull on the trigger mechanism when the scream cut through the meager light. Sieghart bolted up in his seat, rocking the tools on the desk he’d co-opted as a workbench. And he was just about to head to sleep, too.

“That didn’t sound like the usual festival noise.” he said, getting to his feet. He took a look out of his room’s window while donning his armor and coat, and left his room. A local would probably know whether or not this kind of commotion was normal. If it was really cause for alarm, he’d need to signal to Fenrir quickly.

Sieghart's door has been blocked.

“You know, I was just starting to think the night was starting to look up.” Sieghart tapped the flat side of his gunblade against his shoulder, lining up a powerful swing to break through the door and whatever was behind it. “If anyone's alive on the other side of this door, I'd recommend moving. But, this is kind of your fault, anyway." He planted his feet and placed one finger on the gunblade's trigger. "I was so looking forward to getting a good night’s sleep, too.” He gripped the gunblade’s handle in both hands and swung it down against the door with all of his strength. As he swung, he pulled the trigger in the handle, releasing the condensed magical energy in the loaded cartridge and sending a booming explosion of fire magic along the edge of the blade.

Damage to door: 1d8 + 13 ⇒ (4) + 13 = 171d6 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11

Full-round action to line up the shot and automatically hit an inanimate object. Power Attack, Two-Handing, Trigger Attack. The d6 damage is fire.

Sieghart had just finished doing maintenance on his weapon. The finely-crafted steel sword was meshed with a mechanism resembling something from a House Cannith workshop. Six chambers were specially-fitted for loading cartridges filled with a substance processed from soil and mineral taken from Manifest Zones. Earlier in the night, he had taken the weapon apart, cleaned and oiled each of the weapon’s moving parts, and then reassembled it, only having finished checking the pull on the trigger mechanism when the scream cut through the meager light. Sieghart bolted up in his seat, rocking the tools on the desk he’d co-opted as a workbench. And he was just about to head to sleep, too.

“That didn’t sound like the usual festival noise.” he said, getting to his feet. He took a look out of his room’s window while donning his armor and coat, and left his room. A local would probably know whether or not this kind of commotion was normal. If it was really cause for alarm, he’d need to signal to Fenrir quickly.

"I have no need for a private room. I will insist on a place to bathe,however." Tyrant will grab whatever coin would be required and pay.

"Right. A bath. I could actually use one of those, too, if possible." Sieghart pulled a few extra coins from his wallet, both to cover the cost and a little extra as gratuity for the extra work at the late hour.

Sieghart glanced at the others while taking account of his own personal finances.

"I'd also like a private room, if possible. I want to do some maintenance on my gear before I go to sleep, and I wouldn't want to keep anyone up."

Now properly-full of food and drink and starting to feel the night doing its dark work, Sieghart cracked his neck and suppressed the urge to yawn.

“Hey, proprietress.” he tried to grab Aria’s attention. “As much as I’d like to enjoy the entertainment and the company a bit longer, I put a bit too much road behind me today, and it’s about time I start thinking about getting to bed. So, where should a guy go to bed down in this place?”

Yeah. I’m cool to bed down for the night.

The Mistress Aria Tannenbaum of Tannenbaum's Chalice grimaces slightly at Guiscard's description of his original mission.

"Oooh, that's really quite unfortunate... not that the Lantern Bearers are eager to trumpet this information about themselves, so it's no fault of yours that you're not aware of this, but the division of the Illuminated Scribes that is in charge of the sorts of materials you'd be interested in looking at is... is really odd, and probably going to be difficult to approach productively outside of a very specific set of circumstances."

"They're known as the Order of the Veil, Mask, or Cloak, and they're easily identified, as they have metal visors which cover their eyes, and are also mute and deaf. They communicate and navigate with powerful psychic abilities, and they're not exactly eager to share whatever knowledge they unearth. They're incredibly invested in uncovering various kinds of illicit or forbidden arcana -- demonic pacts, blood magic, fleshweaving, that sort of thing."

"However, I have come into possession recently of some relevant knowledge regarding the investigations of a small cabal of the Illumined Scribes of the Order of the Veil which may be of interest to you -- it seems that some of them have either uncovered ancient arts relating to a form of tattoo magic, or have developed it themselves. The procedure seems to be that willing or unwilling recipients are covered with tattoos and then dispatched to dangerous locales that might somehow 'trigger' a mystical effect where those tattoos will resolve themselves into powerful, novel spells. I heard a strange, and frankly disturbing story about a cadre of prisoners who were released to conduct what was effectively a suicide mission after they had been covered with these markings by the scribes -- all but one perished in the demon-haunted ruins of Haka'torvhak, and the sole survivor is said to have returned with a very potent new spell written on his skin."

Sieghart listens intently, especially once Aria begins talking about tattoo magic.

"That sounds almost like a Dragonmark. And these scribes are investigating it?" Strictly speaking, this was not actually Sieghart's problem. His unique condition rendered him a member of a Dragonmarked House in name only, and it wasn't as though magicians weren't marking themselves up with magic all the time. But... "Sounds like ghastly business. These Scribes are just allowed to do that to people?"

"Sharn over in Breland?" Sieighart asked, cocking an eyebrow. "I spent a bit of time in Sharn myself after the Last War ended. It's quite a trip from Sharn to Q'barra. What brings you to the area?"

Guiscard is begrudgingly impressed as the muscular dragonborn manages to crack a dartboard in half with a throw.

"Hand it here" he calls out "A little time magic and it will be as good as new. Or at least as it was yesterday."

Sieghart glanced at the dartboard pieces and hands them over.

"Time magic, huh? This I have got to see." he said without a trace of sarcasm. He stepped back, to avoid getting in Guiscard's way. "Go for it. Can't say I've ever seen the flow of time distort before."

Tyrant the Kobold wrote:

Sebecloki wrote:

The corsair chuckles at the interruption in Tyrant's luck.

"Well, then, noble warrior, what has brought you to this fair city?"

Noble warrior. That was more like it. "I came to resupply before returning in my search for the next challenge. I'm out to find the biggest threat I can and eviscerate it, absorbing its essence in the process."

Tyrant tried his hand at darts again.

[Dice=Darts]1d20+7
[Dice=... confirm?]1d20+7

His excitement calmed, and his hands no longer shook.

The dartboard cracks into two perfectly apportioned Hal especially and tumbles with a loud crash from its perch.

The serving staff turn, one or two with an accompanying gasp, at the disturbance.

Once Sieghart, slightly drunk and a bit settled-in from the hearty meal and drink, was certain no one's looking, he picked up both split halves of the dartboard, whistling at how cleanly the board had been cleaved.

"Mr. Tyrant, was it?" he asked the warrior. "I hope it wouldn't hurt your pride if someone fixed this. I just wouldn't want anyone to have to pay for damages."

Sieghart Aetheredge wrote:

Sieghart left Fenrir parked at the stables, having stashed a few of the more valuable items from the saddlebags in his pack, and took a seat the bar in the common room. He looked over at whatever his immediate neighbors were eating and took a whiff of whatever was making in the kitchen.

“I’m starved.” he said, feeling his mood improve already. “I’ve been living on a soldier’s field rations for days, so I’ll eat just about anything freshly-made. Oh, a drink as well, if you could. Whiskey if you have it, but I wouldn’t turn down whatever you have.”

Several serving girls lay out steaming tranchers of meat and roasted vegetables, along with foaming glasses of a chill draft, and simmering boats of spicy gravy. One of them winks coyly at Sieghart as she sets down one tray of food.

Sieghart rolled up his sleeves and dug in. While he feasted, he exchanged travel stories with a few other outlanders at the bar, recounting stories of expeditions into the Mournland and narrowly-avoided Valenar warbands, albeit with a few creative embellishments. Everyone has a story, and learning other people's stories was one of the great pleasures of traveling.

"Sieghart Aetheredge." he introduced himself after a particularly-harrowing tale. "Outrider and part-time mechanic. It's a pleasure to meet you all."

Sieghart left Fenrir parked at the stables, having stashed a few of the more valuable items from the saddlebags in his pack, and took a seat the bar in the common room. He looked over at whatever his immediate neighbors were eating and took a whiff of whatever was making in the kitchen.

“I’m starved.” he said, feeling his mood improve already. “I’ve been living on a soldier’s field rations for days, so I’ll eat just about anything freshly-made. Oh, a drink as well, if you could. Whiskey if you have it, but I wouldn’t turn down whatever you have.”

“Right, right. Terrors of the Moonless Night and all that.” Sieghart muttered to himself as he followed behind Aria, Fenrir in tow. He wasn’t about to rock the boat, but after a long day on the road, he was eager to get some real food in his stomach. Hell, even if Tannenbaum’s Chalice did have the last beds in the city, so long as he didn’t have to worry about getting rained on or his throat torn out in his sleep, it would practically be paradise. “Say, Ms. Tannenbaum, if you don’t mind, what’s the stabling situation like at this place? I’ll need to put my partner here up for the night.” He gestured towards the two-wheeled steel mount following at his heels. “He’s not the type to start a fight either, so you won’t have to worry about him making trouble.”

Finding a decent enough avatar was way harder than it had to be. Why are all of the white-haired guys either old or half-elves. It’s almost like this art wasn’t made with Final Fantasy people in mind or something.

Sieghart could only curse his luck for arriving on the night of a festival. Certainly, it would be difficult to find reasonably-priced lodging for the night. As the evangelist continued to preach towards the incoming crowd, Sieghart at least went through the motions of prayer. He was not typically one for religious observation. He attended services and feasts of the Sovereign Host about as often as any other Cyran, but this was more a matter of community than one of faith.

As Sieghart approached the gate, he fished his travel papers from one of the inner pockets of his coat. Strictly-speaking, they should’ve served as validation enough anywhere included the Treaty of Thronehold, and he could only hope that any inspection of his person or possessions spared Fenrir from any indignity. He cocked an eyebrow at Aria’s offer. This couldn’t possibly be true, could it? Surely, with so many revelers and worshipers arriving for the festival, every empty bed in the city was already filled twice over. Sieghart closely observed the woman’s words and mannerisms, looking for any inconsistencies or anything to help discern whether or not she was hiding something.
Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20

Edit: Oh hell. I got the bonus wrong for that Sense Motive. Don't know if some flaw in the system will cause this to reroll, but the initial raw roll was 12, so the total is 20. Measure twice, cut once, I guess. Sorry about that.

Sieghart’s mobile elemental weapon came to stop near Daal-Aryn’s gates, wheels and elemental chamber still casting off electrical sparks and the smell of burning ozone. He had ridden since nearly sunup with barely a break, and Q’barra’s rough, unpaved paths hadn’t been kind to his joints. It had been a long ride from New Cyre in Breland, nearly a month away, and with nothing but smoked sausages, jerky, dried fruit and oats in his stomach since the last city where he'd stopped, he was eager for some properly-prepared food. It was still a ways from Newthrone, but it wouldn’t hurt to spend a night or two on the town.

As he disembarked his bike, Sieghart pulled the goggles off of his face and slipped his facemask down to his neck. Riding through the coutryside, dust, pebbles and flying bugs were always a concern. A little protective covering was a necessity. He was dressed as much for combat as for travel, with a blackened alloy chestpiece, vambraces, and knee- and shin-guards, all shaped and custom-fit for his use, atop his sturdy, durable, mostly-black clothes and worn and weathered military boots. The holster at his hip held an ergonomically-crafted Cannith war wand, and the bandolier about his chest was empty. On top of it all, he wore a gray overcoat which nearly reached his ankles. Much of his equipment was either in the saddlebags on his bike or, in the case of his weapons and tools, stored in the magical space inside of the crossbody bag strapped across his torso. Sieghart’s armor, his sturdy, muscular build, and strange technomagical mount made him an impossible-to-miss presence at the city gates.

“Keep close, now.” he whispered to Fenrir, the vehicle that served as his faithful mount and companion. He gave the bike a pat and waited in the line to enter through the gates, hoping that what stares or unwanted attention he couldn’t dismiss with a polite word would be warded away by a stern glare.

Alright. Everything's migrated and Sieghart should be completely finished.