Sorry for your loss, GM. Take care.
Search Posts
Tarrow unleashes a hearty laugh and pats his friend on the leg. "You hardly fared worse than I. And see there, we'll grind those up in the mortar to add to the meal offered our beasts of burden. Except for that fine feather. I expect you would have use for that, but if your collection is full, may I have it for my formula book?" Tarrow returns with Avogadro to the clearing and unpacks his kit, then looks to his tall companion. "See this glass stirring rod?" He produces the fine instrument for the magician. "Would you create a duplicate from thin air? It's the one thing in my kit that if it breaks I would be hard pressed to do without. And besides, I won't have to clean yours afterward." The halfling begins the task of brewing beer by alchemy.
The spring water and fresh ingredients produce an exceptional batch, a clean, rich ale with earthy tones.
Tarrow hums softly while the hunters do their thing. Having failed to find neither the source of the spring nor the cavern into which it fed, he scours the local wood for herbs, berries, mushrooms, and other edibles.
"A natural spring," Tarrow observes from about the level of Braggi's knee. "I wonder if there's a cave around here..." The halfling promptly finds a long, narrow stick with two short ends in a Y that can be easily carried with both hands. After a bit of trimming he points the stick at the large rock and observes whether the end of the stick droops toward the stream as expected. If so, he slowly and steadily witches the channel of water. +1 from Adaptable Luck for good measure = 20 If nothing comes of it, he'll fill his iron pot with stream water for a fresh evening brew. A golden ale sounds like just the thing tonight!
If he were in the business of showing his hand, Tarrow would admit he steered for that rut on purpose. He looks away from Avogadro and smiles to himself. "Eh? What's that now? Oh good, Silas, you're awake. Fear not, you've missed nothing of the road. It's as if we have not moved for hours, and yet, we make good progress."
Tarrow shrugs. "I don't speak bird. Clever enough, though, for it to settle at this moment, as if summoned. Can you get it to wake Silas? It's past time for him to take a turn at these reins."
Tarrow looks to the trees north of the road. Or perhaps through the trees at some unseen point in the distance. He smiles. "I fancied a return to my homeland," he says with a touch of melancholy. "The road gets me halfway there. Figured I might as well pick up work on the way. With the muscle Silas hired I don't fear we have much to worry about if trouble calls." Gripping the reins a little more tightly, he tries to forget the notion. "What about that bird?"
As it so happens, among Tarrow Harfoot's varied set of skills is wagon driving, a discipline learned out of necessity, as pub owners typically do not permit beer to be brewed on premises. Fermentation only adds to the bad odors choking such establishments. That Tarrow had learned to accelerate the process through alchemical means did not tip the scale in his favor. So he had long since purchased the necessary barrels which kept in his small closet in a warehouse at the south dock in Cassomir. From there he would tip coppers to a few stout lads to load a rented wagon and repeat the process at each destination. With the journey underway he had come to see Silas Gibb in a different light. Of course he was half-drunk when they first met. The man seemed charismatic, almost, or at least competent. Now... Hmm. The snoring didn't bother him in the slightest. He lived in a common house among halflings. To hear one snore was to notice the night. But Silas was also quite lazy, and consumed most of the beer Tarrow produced nightly. He was rather annoying, but the pay was good. Deferring the lead wagon reins to one of the larger folk, Tarrow occupied the bench beside Avogadro, who seemed hellbent on commanding the halfling's attention at all times. He looked down at the spread of cards between them. "Bun the Baker indeed. Well you're really quite good at this game, friend," Tarrow replies after revealing his card. "Astoundingly so. There's more to you than card tricks though, or you wouldn't be here. What's your reason for joining this caravan, if you don't mind me asking?" As usual, Tarrow is obtuse to his own bluntness.
@GM, would you consider opening Gameplay for us to rp until the adventure starts?
Tarrow can hardly believe his luck. At nearly the precise moment he was considering leaving Cassomir for a season to travel back to his homeland for some desperately-needed resolution, in walks that swell character, Silas. It was when the barmaid nearly doused the charming fellow in beer, saved only by the young halfling's reflexive interception of the unexpectedly air-born pint, that the dashing gentleman's interest piqued. A day later Tarrow had gathered his few belongings and set out on the road with Silas' modest caravan en route to Wispil. Why not get paid to travel? Though his profession as local brewmaster comes with the burden of having to sample much too much of his own inventory, for which he has gained a noticeable paunch despite his youth, Tarrow is surprisingly fleet-footed, having no problems with the pace of the group. He carries in-hand at most times a trusty shortspear that doubles as a walking stick for the ready, just in case. He's not overly chatty unless engaged, and then he can be quite amicable. Something clearly haunts his manner, but he breaks out of it easily and whatever thing troubles his mind disappears with a smile. In the evening he makes quick work helping around camp, but the majority of his efforts go to the production of beer to supplement the nightly meal. You'll find he crafts a decent lager and can be pressed to make a stout, for those inclined. His methods involve an alchemy kit, and appear almost magical.
Is it weird I'm checking this thread hourly?
Zen Archer is clearly ranged and not melee. I wouldn't put a paladin into divine just because he has loh. As a divine hunter, he belongs into the ranged category, too. Vivisectionist should go into melee. And yes, it seems, we're lacking a trap disable (the only reason that there even should be a "skilled" category). I concur that vivisectionist is primarily melee, though Tarrow's main weapon is a short spear which grants some amount of flexibility. Progression could give him the ability to create buffs for others as well. "Other" is a good fit. He carries in his equipment a set of common Thieves Tools for traps and doors with +7 Disable Device, so he's also got the rougue-thing covered. He's a good toolbox kind of character like a halfling should be.
Tarrow is complete. As a vivisectionist I settled on "You've got Local Connections" as no one seemed to go for that and any character can hate dragons. While he awaits Silas' decision, he'll be down at the local pub indulging in a sampling of his latest brews with its owner. "What's that you say? A bit too much pepper in the pilsner? Confound it, that's a prickly problem..."
I'll brew the beer!
Tarrow is nearly complete, just spit and polish in profile cleanup left to do. Male Halfling Vivisectionist Having lost his family and friends when his home town was destroyed by a dragon, Tarrow is harrowed but eager to prove he can survive in the world by his own wits and skill. He exhibits bravery to the point of foolishness, determined never to cower in the face of evil. Occasionally, his wit and tongue are sharp for those with whom he loses patience, but he is quick to forgive and to beg forgiveness. A shock of unruly chestnut hair crowns a youthful face that belies his personal tragedy. Tarrow is thin by halfling standards but very quick. Campaign Trait could be either "You've Always Hated Dragons" or "You've got Local Connections"
I'm leaning toward converting my little thief into a vivisectionist for this, and will continue to work on the crunch tomorrow. For tonight, here's a little background. Tarrow really hates dragons.
Tarrow's Story: "Have a look at this, lad. Now see how it turns from murky brown to clear amber?" The elder halfling plucked the glass carafe from a perch above a small coal fire, then swirled it with his gloved hand.
Tarrow watched his uncle work, astute to the process and mindful of his place so as not to disturb the many bottles and containers of alchemical ingredients crammed onto every shelf and table. "What is it?" asked the younger halfling. Uncle Gannor elevated the concoction to the sunlight filtering through a crack in the shutter. It gleamed and bubbled, still very hot. Satisfied, he poured the contents of the carafe into a copper mug and set it to cool. "Beer, my boy! This one we can drink, but not yet." Gannor settled into a wooden chair covered by a threadbare blanket and folded his hands. "Now, have you gathered the ingredients I sent you to look for?" Tarrow unslung the sack from across his shoulder and opened it. A fluff of milkweed burst into the room. "Mostly. Dry rot had got most of the grape leaves over spring, and then there were the locusts." "Ill omens," replied his uncle. The old halfling looked wistfully around his laboratory. "We are the last true craftsmen of our clan, Tarrow. And one day soon we may be forced to leave these plains which have been our home now for twenty summers. When that happens, you will need to be prepared to carry on the tradition as Master of Potions." "Why are you telling me this, uncle?" Gannor smiled at his nephew and turned his gaze to the shard of light which pierced the room from the window, dust floating in space. "We've been lucky. Twenty years on the plains is a very long tenure indeed. Eventually our luck will run out." The old halfling reached for the copper mug and tipped the warm beer past his lips. "Hmm," he mused. "Here, you try it." -------------- The attack came at night. Autumn fields of dried corn stalks burned with the ferocity of wildfire caught in the wind. The small community of halflings could do little but grab themselves up and flee with the few precious belongings which could be scooped up on the way out of their thatched hovels. But the dragon was on them before they could get far, with monstrous wings and breath like a stoked forge, killing every one in sight. Tarrow had fallen asleep beneath the big table in his uncle's lab when the screams of his clan roused him to the horror. Gannor was already at work, but instead of gathering the most valuable treasures in the room, he was mixing ingredients in small cistern and stoking coals beneath it, moving with frenetic efficiency that belied his years. He kicked his nephew. "Now run lad! Run from this night, and do not stop until the sun breaks above the eastern hills. Go!" Gannor kicked him again, with terrifying urgency. Tarrow obeyed, and burst forth into the inferno. Pillars of flame seared the sky, the dragon swooped down and circled around, and halflings - young and old alike - were knocked down and turned to ash where they lay. He could hear it coming, and he turned to face his death. It was a black thing in a black sky, with only the searing light of flame marking its descent. But then the lab exploded! A blue fireball billowed out, consuming everything within twenty paces and causing the dragon to veer away. The force of it knocked Tarrow backward half as far as he could throw a stone. With the last of his wits he gathered himself and ran for the hills, and he did not stop running until the first rays of the sun warmed his face. Tarrow collapsed and raised his eyes back toward his home. All that remained was a thick plume of smoke rising out of the distance. Everything he had ever known was gone. The next weeks he scavenged and scraped to survive, his weary legs drawing him toward the sea where he knew other halflings lived. -------------- Eventually his flight took him to Cassomir. There he learned to blend in, to become unseen when necessary, even as he walked casually among the humble people who made the town their home. Tarrow would do the same, copping alchemical formulas for coin, and in this way he managed to survive. A year passed. He made friends and earned his keep as a working alchemist, specializing in beer. His customers were mostly tavern owners and the odd drunk. The next season he planned a journey home to pay his respects and perhaps find peace, but before he could venture out he heard of a man named Silas Gribb recruiting for what sounded like simple protection work out into the country. Tarrow made his acquaintance and expressed his interest; might as well get paid to travel! What could go wrong?
Very interested! My precocious halfling rogue needs a new adventure! Will reset level 1 crunch tonight.
This game was never marked inactive? Anyone see GM return to the forums?
Has anyone heard from GM in any other games?
Take care, GM. Love this game and will be excited to continue the journey.
Deciding that the lynx should not suffer for its loyalty, and if not that, its random arrival in this place at this moment, Tarrow takes the time to save its life.
With the animal out of imminent danger of death, Tarrow runs toward his companions.
Having little confidence that he could take all four legs out from under such a formidable beast, Tarrow opts for the simple jab with his rapier.
The serious end of the weapon plunges into the side of the lynx.
Bump for Eilyne
Tarrow shrugs, having just avoided the bear trap. "I wish I knew. But it probably has to do with that lynx about to pounce." He points at the cat for Arkhan to follow.
Senses straining toward the source of the commotion, Tarrow looks back to see where his friends are and spots the faintest movement in the brush where others once stood. He watches an extra moment. There, another ripple of leaves, and three feet further back, another, and it's moving closer. Then, through a gap in the foliage he sees it, a wild cat larger than any he'd ever imagined, stalking the group. Abandoning stealth, he flies from his position among the pear trees back toward the party. "Eilyne! Beside you! Look out!"
Tarrow draws his weapons and quietly strides east for the stand of fir trees. As nimbly as possible, he weaves from one to the next until he has a view between the two buildings while keeping an eye out for potential trouble.
With the Edran issue resolved to no one's satisfaction, Tarrow sets about helping to relieve the hobgoblin corpses of valuables and take stock of what they may have learned from this ambush. At some point later he approaches the core team. "It's worrisome that they have gotten ahead of us, it seems, and either know our path or lie in wait where we may likely tread. We can never let our guard down again. Perhaps we would be wise to send scouts ahead of the larger group. Barhador is the ablest, and I would volunteer to walk ahead as well."
"That does not seem an unreasonable position. Now, if no one has a more damning and specific accusation, I suggest we return our attention to the more pressing matter of the group's survival. Of course it had struck Tarrow when they first encountered him that Edran's story seemed unlikely. How was he able to elude the enemy chasing him, when it seems no one else could? There was more to that story, but now, while his defenses were peaked, was not the time. The halfling would come 'round to it later.
I'll leave Vane as is. I'm already starting to feel uneasy about treating him like a potion dispenser. My vote is to leave them as true NPCs.
I setup Vane as a buffer. If I were to run him as a quasi-pc, he would be manufacturing extracts for use by the primary PCs and throwing bombs during combat, first using the mutagen to gain Dex bonus. Can anyone gain the benefit from Enlarge Person? Barhador, maybe? Tarrow would use the True Strikes for Trip attempts. Related, GM: I allocated ability scores based on what I think were your original allocations according to Vane's stat block. Do we have freedom to re-allocate? I'd give him the pip to Int to get one more bonus extract and bomb.
I'm not the most detail-oriented person. Hope I didn't miss something. Vane AC:15(FF:13/T:12)CMD:14 BAB:+2 Init: +7 Saves: FO:+4 RE:+5 WL:+4 HP:9/21
GM, are you open to considering 3rd party classes? Your original comment in Recruitment was "if... I think it works." I'm thinking more about Tarrow but could also look for alternatives for this NPC build.
I was thinking Gidget or Vane, but you just helped me make the decision. Vane makes more sense for Tarrow and gives me better character connection for my eventual dip into vivisectionist.
"Very well, let's clear this up. What say you, Edran?"
"Good riddance." Tarrow heads over to give his profound thanks to the refugees who battled with them, and he steps into the conversation involving Edran the juggler. "What is the reason for this discord?" he asks, his temper roused.
Tarrow wipes the blood from his rapier with a patch of moss, then sheathes it. Turning toward his friend Rand he says, "This isn't about who we are. It's about what they are." The halfling looks to Rhynna. "You have the right of it. But we must keep our heads, and what Barhador says is true. Perhaps if we spared this one we might learn of its purpose, but what of it? For now we must survive, foremost, and trust that their ranks nor reach be endless. To keep this one would only serve to divide our company, and that is the surest path to Hell. "Wake it, that it may see its death. We can spare that much honor, but no more."
"Stay thy hand!" Tarrow tells the others reluctantly. "I find myself in rare agreement with Barhador. But perhaps this cur can extend its own life by proving to be of value. We should interrogate it, and thereby gain safe passage through these woods. If the information proves false, then those that wish it dead may have satisfaction." The halfling raises his rapier away from the hobgoblin leader's face. "Hold nothing back, but know we suffer no insult. Tell us, by what magic did your horde come to this land, for what final purpose, and where are the rest of your scout teams now?"
Tarrow trusts this hobgoblin monster about as far as he can throw it. While it stands on two legs it is a threat to all of them. He advances to its position, he lunges with his sickle, slicing its legs out from under it.
He thrusts his rapier at the hobgoblin leader's face and spits, "If you stand, you die!"
"Ha!" Tarrow jumps for joy when Gidget rushes back into the fight wielding her blade with deadly accuracy. When the song of this battle was written by the refugees, fearless Gidget would be foremost among its heroes. With the Scouts dispatched, Tarrow rushes alongside Arkhan, his sickle swinging at the legs of the hobgoblin captain. Move 20', then Trip Orlu.
AOO:
With the scout staggered and gravely wounded, Tarrow slashes at its feet again with his sickle.
This time he is clumsy, his attack indecisive.
Would it be okay to also bold Ethan and Brunner at the top of the order right away?
"No, you fiend! Face me!" Tarrow cries out when Gidget is struck. The bravest among them, her wound afflicts the halfling as if it were he that felt the blade. When he sees Barhador go down he tumbles to get behind the hobgoblin.
He doubles his effort to bring down the hobgoblin, sweeping at its legs with his sickle, and then waits poised to strike with his rapier if the opportunity is offered.
AOO:
No worries, GM.
I had a problem with Roll20 a few weeks back where the screen was just black, but it has since fixed itself. It's working for me now, using FF.
When the dog, taller than Tarrow at the shoulder, attacked the halfling's flank and scored him with its terrible claws, he yelped with pain. And when his comrade stepped away from the fray, leaving him alone at the front line, Tarrow felt the pain of despair, that same powerlessness he had felt years ago when his family was murdered by these goblins, and all he could do was run for his life. But he would not run today. He steeled himself against the fangs and claws and against the bitter iron of the hobgoblin soldier, to hold as long as he could and keep these two from attacking the townsfolk, if he could manage it, for as long as possible. But then he heard the rallying cries from those very friends who had welcomed him into their little community and helped to heal his bruised spirit. It was Gidget, the rancher's daughter, that turned the tide. The young girl fearlessly launched her small frame at the wretched dog, swinging no more than a heavy stick at it. But so inspired by her courage were Clive and Wilbur that they too joined in the fight! At once, the whole of the refugees of Phaendar had thrust into the conflict, shooting arrows, throwing bombs, and swinging whatever weapons could be brought to bear. A swell of joy filled the halfling's heart. "We will win this day!"
GM, very much appreciate the amount of work on your part to run these combat sequences. I didn't think about how many NPCs we were burdening you with!
Sorry for the uninspired post. Battling stupid covid right now.
Total defense action.
|