Sindre Oddrson's page

Count me in as interested. This character hasn't gotten much PFS love--or I may make a new one. If it's Quest for Perfection, I'm running that with another character in a month or two.

By the way, the big Flaxseed PFS thread is a great place to find games and offer to GM:

Spellcraft: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20

"Ranged attacks have a lesser chance of hitting him--he is surrounded by chaos right now," says Sindre grimly.

"However, my 'frostflowers' never miss." He focuses on the other caster, maintaining the previous spell on the unconscious magic missile-thrower, just to add insult to injury (or death.

Snap on Fallen Caster: 1d4 ⇒ 2 no need for a Reflex save on the guy as he is unconscious or dying or both...

Snap on the Entropic Shield Guy: 1d4 ⇒ 4

DC 15 Ref or Dazzled, DC 15 Fort or Slowed

And Sindre is now all out of Irrisen Ice Magic...

Sindre winces and frowns. "That caster is going to kill me unless I am healed quickly," he says matter of factly.

He casts Snapdragon Fireworks again, this time at the spellcaster, and maintains the original spell on the fellow with the club.

Snap on Club: 1d4 ⇒ 2
Also, DC15 Ref or he stays Dazzled

Snap on Caster: 1d4 ⇒ 3
And, DC15 Ref or Dazzled, DC 15 Fort or Slowed
All damage is Cold damage.

I don't think the dude can draw his weapon AND move in the same round whilst Slowed…also, ouch!

"Hmm….I trusted that they would appear. Hello," he says in his slow drawl. Sindre waggles his fingers, muttering in a strange tongue. A glittering comet of tiny frosted dragons zig-zag over to the central hooded figure, exploding in a shower of icy dust.

Snapdragon Fireworks, Irrisen Icemage, CL2. DC15 Reflex or be Dazzled, DC 15 Fort or be Slowed. And…

Snap Crackle Pop Damage: 1d4 ⇒ 1

Sorry, ultra busy day yesterday! hang on a sec...

Not sure what your role is, but may you succeed in effecting justice. :)

I will be in court tomorrow, actually, mainly for moral support for my daughter. Children's court; she's a foster--for now. My wife and I shall adopt her and certainly won't let her awful bio mom get near her.

"I don't trust the lack of guardians," says Sindre. "No beetles. And why carve a cave that is obviously behind a secret door? Unless there is another way in."

"Muzhaa'f," says Sindre, his eyes widening a bit. "You have something now to write on the door."

Sindre follows Muzhaa'f. "Do gnomes usually leave arcane traps in their houses, Eponine?" he asks drily.

Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 15

Just spoiler #1 if I read it correctly.

Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 4
Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 10

"Those are rather large gnomes," says the sorcerer of the statues, not seeing a thing out of the ordinary.

Sindre nods and hands Hironaki 10 gp. "I am sorry I cannot give you more," he says.

"So...I guess Arkath was hired to build a secret chamber in the Arcanamirium, and then Fimbrik added something," says the sorcerer. "I wonder if it's Eylysia's storage room for..something. The fake names are there to tell...someone...where to get it. Who and what are they? Whatever is in there is centuries old, unless it's something...someone...is replenishing. Hmmmmmmm," he says in his drawn-out Ulfen way.

Spellcraft: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (10) + 5 = 15

Sindre is stymied as well by the coin.

"Please excuse my friends--they are unhinged by their sorrows. What they are attempting to say, is, can we split the difference? Twenty-five," says Sindre, unruffled.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (10) + 9 = 19

"Ah, how fortunate we are to find you here, O Priest of the Disciplines," says Sindre, looking far less of a lanky youth than usual. "We are here to pay respects to Arkath, the stonemason. Perhaps there is a donation we may make, so that we may honor him in private, within his tomb."

"At least no one attacked us," says Sindre, nodding in agreement.

"……."

Sindre looks, then laughs.

"Draw a doorknob?"

"Write 'Open' on the board?"

He opens his hands.

Pan's Labyrinth or Beetlejuice? :D

"Save the weapons and explosives for after going through this door," says Sindre with a crooked smile. "And I don't see it either."

"Everyone get ready," says the Ulfen, cautious of danger.

Sindre draws his liquid ice vial and looks around at the nameplates for the Failed non-gods in question. "Be careful," he intones.

"there is a fellow who wants to try the Test," says Sindre. "Coincidence?"

"It is a riddle, maybe," says Sindre. "But it doesn't form a sentence.. I wonder if you read them from 4330 to 4332...'rot', 'blade', 'silence and serenity'."

"I don't know, but as I see it, if there is anyone watching, there's a greater chance they are at Skyreach. However, I don't know. Perhaps every place is equally dangerous. As Muzhaa'f says, how would they know what we are doing? Unless we make a rubbing of the names and speak them out loud in big voices," he says, grinning.

"If we go to Skyreach, we risk alerting any moles that have been inserted in the Society long ago," says Sindre. "I might try getting some evidence first." He opens his hands, the Ulfen equivalent of a shrug. ("as you can see, I have no weapons," though in his case, no weapons are needed.).

"So this is why Dreng kept the true purpose secret--there have been false Pathfinders since its founding," says Sindre. "It seems we should go to the mausoleum of Arkath, or to the Arcanamirium. Where should we go first? And eventually to the Hall of Names, with a chisel," he says, his usual mild manner replaced with a dangerous cold tone.

Perception: 1d20 ⇒ 20

"Ah, I see it," says Sindre without elaborating what it is, after rifling through a few things.

"I did not expect that," says the sorcerer. "I wonder where they came from, or who put them here. Alarin, are you well?"

"Let me add to that," says Sindre, tapping Alarin.

Cold Steel, +1d6 frost damage to every attack that hits.

We totally ruined your darkvision. It really only seems to work for scouts and all-darkvision parties. :P

"I think they serve that at the bar," says Sindre, grinning.

"You have an appropriate light source," says Sindre drily to the fire cleric, clinking his own frosty light.

"Selmius!" says Sindre in an excited whisper. He casts Light on his liquid ice vial, bringing it up in one hand with a blue glow.

While Sindre is intrigued by the tiny fact of Foster's financing of the tavern, he's also pleased to get away from that particular conversation, and enjoys the cool air of the cellars.

"Looks easy enough," he says, but doesn't go across the plank first, in true caster fashion.

Sindre nods, smiles, and realizes he is trapped among non-spontaneous arcane casters--bookworms all, in his opinion. "If you'll excuse me, I must refresh my drink. May I get you anything?"

Too late, Sindre realizes the trap, and feels the tendrils of boredom wrap around his mind! He struggles to keep his eyelids open and his smile affixed.

"Ser Gill, that is quite fascinating. I was wondering, do you know anything of the history of the Wounded Wisp itself? I've heard Selmius Foster used to room here," he says, in an attempt to change the subject and learn about the hidden room...well, at least the hidden room he imagines is in the tavern's guesthouse somewhere.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (16) + 9 = 25

Sindre flashes a winning smile at Yargos. "Ser Gill, an honor to see you here. I'm Sindre Oddrson, a student of arcana. How fares your studies of Absalom's history? I would love to hear about it," he says, courteously and compellingly.

"My experience with the Society is limited, but things are rarely what they seem. Sometimes our missions are just a...gambit...for something larger. And ye-es, the wine may be secondary," says Sindre. Despite his odd Ulfen accent and prior terseness, he seems to have some talent for eloquence and charm after all.

"My guess is there is a bit of the usual mix; find something, save something, kill something. Although it will be nice to have a drink as well," he says, beaming.

"Spare rooms mean hidden things," says Sindre, revealing nothing in particular about his last mission, he swears, "I would like to see it when we get there." His long legs easily keep up with Muzhaa'f and, presumably, Alarin.

It occurs to me that a six person PFS party is a fun place to try an all-arcane caster party, something that has been mentioned on the boards before. (Not that this should/would happen as it's first come first serve.) As long as you have someone who can spam CLW with a wand. Beware the Mage Collective!

"Ye-es. What is the parcel?" And why do six Pathfinders need to pick it up? Sindre keeps the second question to himself.

And now we just need a Stone Oracle to complete the quad!

"Trade Prince Muzhaa'f, a pleasure as well," says Sindre in his slow, almost mushy way. "If you are of Sarenrae then we are near opposites in evocation. That will be fun." He grins a gleaming white smile.

Whoaaa…if Sindre doesn't get it with frost, Muzhaa'f will surely incinerate it with flame shortly thereafter.

A very tall, spindly pale young man appears, his impish smile taking away any cold that might radiate from his icy blue eyes on another occasion. A small jar of blue liquid sits on his belt in a holster that might carry a weapon on someone more armored.

"Hel-lo," he says slowly in the languid drawl of the eastern Linnorm kingdoms, "I am Sindre. Nice to meet you, Eponine." His "l's" are long and glottal and his "s's" have the whisper of snow slush to them.

Yay!

In the interests of full disclosure, while this recruitment was under way, my other character started up...Wounded Wisp. If that's a problem, let me know. I won't pass info from one to the other!

PFS # 135388-2
Day Job: none
Init +6
Perc +0 yes, a whopping zero.

Or, for more Ulfen flavor, my rime blooded sorcerer is available. :)

Hmm, looks like we have a bunch of melee already...how about Sindre Oddrson, frosty sorcerer? :) Fresh off the Fallen Fortress and ready to go.

"Wulfgar, I have a spell. It is called Prestidigitation..."

"Where did that troglodyte go, I wonder," says Sindre. He looks up at the broken tower. Assuming we are on our way back. "They ought to knock this down."