Tekumsah La'Awethikah's page

When the sensation and vision come in, Tek has just turned to smile at Trakas's suggestions... and then he shrieks and falls onto the table, rolling and kicking. One little arm comes up, and it grows--explosively, violently--into a writhing tendrilous mass. The heavy, thorned vines flail about in the air, and then come down on the table with a sharp crack, splitting the wooden surface deep across the entire breadth. Then Tek rolls over, falls off the table to the floor, and just as quickly the vines disappear, retracting into his tiny body.

The petrifern pushes himself to his feet about the time Silvertail is finishing up her speech. He clambers up a chair, and then back onto the table, where he gingerly retrieves his wands and slings the case over his shoulder. Then he looks up at the others, his eyes watery. "Otto dead. Find Morken?" He tugs on the strap of his wand case, and the leaves atop his head quiver--Tek's equivalent of a deep breath. "Where is he?"

Tekumsah hops up and down at Silvertail's suggestion that fire may be in high demand soon, and he begins to hop back and forth, waving the wand like a fighting staff of some kind. In short order, he notices a word repeated several times in conversation, and begins chanting it himself, accentuating his display of martial prowess.

"Excrement!"

Tekumsah beams and jumps up and down, his fists clenched in excitement. "I win? Make fire now?" He turns and dashes to his spot at the table, where a leather case about as tall as Tek himself rests. He throws open one end and pulls out a thin wand, longer than he is tall, carved from ash and detailed with flame motifs. Everyone else present knows very well that it's the newest in a line of simple wands that Tek has been given by his master, thanks to his insatiable love of the things.

They also know that Tek isn't nearly as capable with a wand as he likes to think, and is as liable to cause a mishap as he is to actually use the thing properly.

The petrifern raises the wand like a spear set for a charge, and looks around the table, awaiting confirmation that he should, indeed, make fire now.

Tekumsah frowns when Silvertail comments on his card, and he withdraws it with a sad sigh. When Eirish speaks up, though, the little petrifern eagerly nods and trots back to his deck. With every step, tiny flowers and sprouts of green appear from the table, easily plucked but marking his path as he goes.

Tek picks up a card and sets it before him. He looks at it for a few seconds, and then picks up his other cards, walks forward, and tosses them all down on the table.

The Hand: 1d20 ⇒ 11

"Good?"

Hurray! Also checking in. I look forward to a fun adventure with all of you, and hope you like Tek as much as he likes you.

I also have no gold, but I'll play Tek in pretty much the opposite way of Anaxian.

Also at the table, seated atop its surface near one edge, is a tiny plant in the shape of a person. With wiry vine-wrapped arms and legs, ending in tiny fingers and toes, and a leafy tendrils something like hair on its bark-covered head, it leans over to peer at its cards with bright green eyes, shimmering with simple curious joy. The cards in question are face-up on the table, plain for all to see, although it doesn't really matter. Tek has no money, and barely follows the concept of gambling. He's here for fun and companionship, and because he usually serves to lighten the mood and raise some laughs among the others. He gets a hand from a spare deck when the others are dealt in.

So when Zizi puts forward her low black dragon, Tek eagerly stands up and lifts one of his cards, stepping forward on the table to lay it down. "Good?" he asks, his voice like a forest breeze. A beaming smile is on his face.

The card isn't one he could play, even if it were his turn.

Loup Blanc here with my submission, finally. Obviously went through some iterations, and ended up quite different from my original concept, but I like it. Tek here is a curious petrifern (with GM permission his backstory will clarify him as a slight variant of the usual creature) who took up as a wizard's familiar because he was taken with magical items; in turn, his wizard was interested in the natural world and fascinated with its smaller and more curious denizens. It results in Tek being a strange and quite tiny--although surprisingly, terrifyingly deadly--addition to the potential cast of familiars.

Sorry, today was game day with a Discord group.

Tekumsah takes a moment more to stare down the dog creatures, and then he chuckles at Twitch's comment about claws. "That's interesting, mate. My da practically raised me on how to get dirty with my fists. Sometimes I wonder if he'd be proud o' how I bloody 'em now." He flexes the fingers again and casts one more look toward the strange beings before moving toward the door.

While the others scope out what's beyond the portal, Tek cracks his neck and considers Twitch's question. "Must've taken a good crack in the shell or summat, coz yeah, can't fink of a bleedin' fing since the ship went all pacty. Summat ain't right."

Edit: Apparently p-a-c-k-y is considered a slur by the Paizo filters. I'm unfamiliar with why.

Sorry for the delay.

Tekumsah had taken some umbridge at the ensign's glance his way, and even had a snappy remark on his tongue, but he let it go as the fear in the man's eyes became more obvious. With a hooked thumb he'd made his way with the others back toward their rooms, ducking inside as he heard the gunfire. On his bunk, he'd taken a quick swig from his flask, replaced it, and double-checked the scattergun's load. Then he'd waited... and then he'd started cursing and helplessly activated his armor's life support, and hoped for the best as the ship came apart around him. Well, it ain't how you saw yourself wearing the flag, but it beats prison, innit?

- - - - -

In the stone room, Tekumsah sputters alive with a start, rearing up in his pod and ripping the tubes from his face. He practically crashes to the floor, nearly turning the container over with his bulk, and his tail writhes in agitation and confusion as he casts about, clear lids invisible over his eyes. He catches sight of the other familiar faces, but then his gaze settles on the doglike creatures. They might look sort of like the ysoki... but they also look angry and liable to attack.

So Tek does hat his people do best, besides staging military conquests. He pushes himself to his feet and rears up to his full size, over seven feet of bristling, powerful muscle. His jaws open in a fearsome snarl as his teeth show, and his tail snaps through the air as he cracks his knuckles. The entire display is designed to cow the enemy, startle and shock and browbeat them into submission without even raising a weapon.

Intimidate: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23

No problem, GM. Also sorry I wasn't on yesterday.

As far as gear goes, Tek probably has all the essentials on him. He might be missing his backpack and hygiene kit (and probably the compass) but everything else, he's got on his person. The serum is slotted in beside his flask in his leg.

Tek stands when the officer comes in, not bothering to grab his chips. They could always begin again later, and right now it seems there are more important matters. When Twitch suggests otherwise, Tek looks down at the ysoki and his tail sways behind him. After a moment, he shrugs and bares his teeth in a frightening "grin," and scoops a handful of the tokens into a pocket. "Might as well. Lookin' forward to losin' some more?"

As he turns to head for the foyer, the vesk cracks his knuckles and jerks his head to the door, looking at the others. "Best get a shove-on, eh? Dunno 'bout you lot, but I ain't ready to wear the flag just yet."

"Hey, Akiton, Absalom Station? Nice digs, eh? Fink I been to Akiton once, runnin' a deliv'ry after the war ended. Grew up Vesk Prime meself. Course, I got outta there when I was pretty young. Got a job, y'know." Tek gives another raspy chuckle and leans forward, a twinkle in his eye.

"Now, if you're sayin' you wanna play a hand o' cards, you can deal me in now, bruv. An' get ready to lose whatever we're playin' for." The vesk seems to just keep staring forward, but a keen eye might notice clear eyelids slip across his eyes for a moment, and someone familiar with vesk culture would recognize their equivalent to winking.

The fourth figure in the room is in stark contrast to the others--especially the pair of ysoki. The vesk is large, over seven feet tall and more than three-hundred pounds of muscle and scale. Hunched over on his chair, he looks comically oversized compared to the furnishings, built well before there was peace between the Pact Worlds and the Veskarium. The scars visible on his snout and arms make it clear he's no stranger to fights, either, although the only weapon present is the scattergun holstered on one large hip.

At the offer of the cracker, Tek shakes his head, and he chuckles--a deep, raspy sound--when Tuk'yik proclaims it as an offering of peace. Trellik's oranges give him pause, but when the ysoki offers one to him, Tek accepts, carefully taking it between two massive fingers. He sets his drink on a nearby table and nods. "Thanks. I'm Tek, least that's what you can call me. I don't really worship nuffink. Not like I've got a problem wiff it, just never really had the time, eh? Drink to ol' Bess ev'ry now an' agin, though."

He only tries to peel the orange for a moment before grunting, wiping it on his vest, and then popping the whole fruit in his mouth. He chews for a while, and then swallows with a slight grimace. "Kinda bitter, innit, if you can't get the peel off."

Hope the artistic license with the accent is okay--I like the idea of the Vesk speaking with reptilian lisps but British accents, and I've envisioned Vesk having a Cockney accent from the start.

Whoo! Very excited to be here and play with all of you. I'm not as familiar with Stargate, but John Carter's certainly interesting and I'm looking forward to trying Starfinder in general. I think Tekumsah will be a fun character to play and I'm interested to see how trying to punch everything will work in a world of laser rifles and energy swords!

Here's a vesk soldier reporting for duty! I hope he has a touch of personality about him that you like. Let me know if you need anything more!

Loup Blanc's submission here. It ended up being wildly different from my original concept, because I got another one along the way that I liked a lot. Ten-minute background is in the profile, and I'm hopefully going to get up a little in-character background/RP element as well. Profile image is subject to change if there's a better one available. Let me know if anything needs changed/explained!

Tekumsah shrugs and moves as indicated. The strange creature might say he won, but Tek knows a defeat when he has one.

Same here, kind of in the middle--I like the idea of the PvE elements, but they do drain on stamina, time, and resources. Maybe some sort of system where clearing a PvE encounter heals you, or gives some tangible bonus like a temporary item or something? Make it more attractive to fight, add in a strategy element. Maybe it starts looking more like Battle Royale than Gladiator... but then, is that a bad thing?

"Lizard?" Tekumsah turns to Flint, and his eyes flash with seething, barely-controlled rage. "Maybe we do not agree, that is fine. But never call me lizard." He continues to stare at the human for a few moments longer, then turns to also regard the strange image in the mirror.

"Playing the crowd is a victory, no?" Tekumsah cocks his head to the side and gives Kabuusah a curious look. "Otherwise it is just violence. This is close, true, but it is something more as well."

Reflex: 1d20 + 8 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 8 + 1 = 10 Well that's me, folks.

Tekumsah staggers down the stairs, his senses trying to make up for the lack of light, but it's not enough. He feels the vines take hold, winding up his legs, and they trip him just enough that he falls forwards. His other wounds and the poison in his veins make his body betray him, and his final sensations in the arena are the pain of the acid and the dull, crunching impact as he slams into the stairs...

I'm fine with it being not just PvP--that was clearly meant to be part of it from the start, and it's part of the reason I threw my hat in. The opportunity for PvP is fun, but a good game needs to have more than that going on, and this one does--and should. That'll include some tough environmental factors, NPC enemies, all sorts of stuff. I like the idea of that. (I'm also looking forward to hopefully teaming up with the others to take on combats as a team of gladiators--at least I figure that'll happen eventually.)

A first combat that brutally stomps us and makes us hurt is rough, but in some ways it does give us a good in-character look at this arena. It's about the show, but it's about more than simply being good at fighting. (That said, our characters are primarily built toward fighting, so maybe a little more of that would be solid.)

I imagine that if there are a number of different dungeon environments, we'll all have our chances to use our skills. Being that we're all mainly martial types, it does mean we're at a disadvantage for some things, and exploration isn't necessarily a strong suit... but I think we all have a skill or two here and there that can help in the long run.

I mean, sooner or later there'll have to be a Mega Awesome Shaolin Showdown of Death on bamboo poles over a spiked pit, right?

...I hope?

Tekumsah starts to feel worse--or just stranger--as he moves down the stairs, and it sets him even further at unease. Nothing about this place makes sense, even the combat. He has little choice but to press on, though.

Perception: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18 with low-light vision, for what that's worth.

Hmm. On second thought, darkness doesn't poison your lungs. With another annoyed sound, Tekumsah spins on his heels and returns to the darkness, stepping down the stairs with caution and balance.

Acrobatics as needed: 1d20 + 18 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 18 + 1 = 31

The nagaji makes a hissing noise as he looks down the stairs, descending into darkness. His eyes are more keen than a human's, but he can't see in the pitch black. With a clicking tongue of annoyance, he turns to try the metal doors, hoping they lead to a passage with more visibility.

Tekumsah looks around the room and sniffs, his mouth slightly open. He stares at the portrait for a few moments in curiosity, and glances at the chest, but ultimately decides against it. He moves to the wooden door first and tries to shove it open, and if it doesn't give he moves to the metal doors. May not be in great shape, but still need to find something to fight. That's the point, isn't it?

Tekumsah almost cheers inside as he gets the door open and steps into the hall. He waits a few moments more for the smoke to dissipate, and then takes an explosive breath, welcoming fresh air into his lungs once more. "There! That was exciting, wasn't it!" He calls out to... to the crowd, in a way. Even if he can't see them, Tekumsah knows they're watching his movements. His first job is to live through this and come out on top, but a close second is looking good doing it.

He looks around and decides to move toward the doors. He doesn't know much about runes, but he's sure something bad is going to happen here; he'll deal with it when it does.

Performance: 1d20 + 8 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 8 + 1 = 11 And we're back down to neutral. The crowd is as fickle as my dice.

Tekumsah grunts as the door gives but doesn't open, but he just as easily senses that he's losing the attention of the crowd. Standing around in smoke, shoving at doors. Not really what people like to see. Still, it doesn't seem there's much more for it, so he gives the door another slam.

Strength: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10

Woops, I thought I'd posted.

Still holding his breath, the nagaji looks for a lock on the door, hoping to smash it or wrench it free; if not, he tries to force it open with his shoulder.

Strength: 1d20 + 6 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 6 + 1 = 18
Round 2/14 holding breath.

I should have thought of that sooner, to be honest. Oops.

Fortitude vs. Poison: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (19) + 13 = 32

Tekumsah breathes heavily for a few moments more when the last of his attackers falls, and then, with a cough, he takes one more gulp and holds his breath. His eyes are able to pick out details in even dim lighting, but the smoke doesn't do him any favors. He stumbles toward where he guesses the steel door is located, hoping he can find it and open it to leave before his breath runs out.

Acrobatics: 1d20 + 21 ⇒ (10) + 21 = 31 To move full speed while blinded, since it seems I'm there (or close) functionally.

Round 1/14 holding my breath.

Tekumsah lets out an outright growl as a gnoll connects again, the nagaji’s deadened reflexes once more failing him. For all his training, he’s never been as skilled at dealing with multiple foes at a time, and this is straining his abilities. Deciding this fight’s gone on long enough, he lets out a ki-infused shout as he explodes into an even faster flurry of strikes, his first spinning kick filled with enough power to paralyze whoever it hits, even as smoke begins to fill the room.

Fortitude vs. Poison: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (19) + 13 = 32

Ouch.
Fortitude 1: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (3) + 12 = 15 Well that's not good
Fortitude 2: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (11) + 12 = 23 But hopefully this one's good enough

Tekumsah hisses as the poison flows through him, and its effects are soon apparent--his reflexes are dulled. It isn't much, but it's enough to slow him down, and the gnolls' continued assault leads to a couple more hits against him. With another spin on his foot, he continues his assault against the creatures, hoping to wrap things up.

Tekumsah gives another hiss-click, this one sounding more annoyed, as the gnoll withstands his first onslaught, and the others surround and assault him. He weaves back and forth, avoiding most of their attacks, but one connects, drawing blood from one shoulderblade.

Fortitude: 1d20 + 10 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 10 + 2 = 15 That's not good

He feels the bite of poison in the wound, entering his veins to weaken his abilities. He fights back nonetheless, beginning with a sudden, spinning kick that catches one gnoll off-guard before returning to the first he struck, moving on to a new target if his furious assault brings it down.

Performance for Door Smash: 1d20 + 4 + 2 + 2 - 1 ⇒ (13) + 4 + 2 + 2 - 1 = 20
If I'm reading all the rules--including your notes in Campaign Info--correctly, that's a success, as the DC would be 19 (15 base+4 for a Massive Mob). No more penalties! I'm also assuming/hoping that this doesn't count as a swift action for my first round of combat.

Tekumsah crashes through this door in a shower of splintered wood, his agile steps belying the sheer power surging from his body. As the gnolls react and move to engage him, the nagaji smiles and lets out a pleased hiss-clicking sound. He drops low for a moment, his whole bearing changing as he enters the fight, and then he leaps forward, leading at the nearest gnoll with a flying kick. So swift action to enter Dragon Style, followed by a full-attack flurry of blows, with the first attack being my style strike, in this case flying kick. If the first gnoll drops midway through my attacks, I'll switch to the second. Rolling in a spoiler because the full routine can get a little long. Also, Tek uses nonlethal damage by default against living opponents.

Tekumsah takes a moment to sniff the air, his mouth opening to catch more scent, and he cocks his head to the side as he catches the faint sounds of what could be a battle. After some debate, he decides to take the left-hand path, heading for the nearer doors--although if the sound grows noticeably fainter, he doubles back to try and find it. He's moving at his full pace, now, his powerful, loping strides carrying him up and down the halls with ease and speed. When he reaches a door, he slams it open with one hard fist as he did the last, barely slowing to make a path.

Yeah, I deserve that one.

Fort Save vs. Poison: 1d20 + 10 - 1 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 10 - 1 + 2 = 24 Hopefully that succeeds against rotten food smell.

Upon opening the barrels and seeing the rotten food, Tek hisses and steps back, forcing himself not to wretch. He quickly turns to smash open the door and exit the room, prepared to move forward from there.

Alas, it appears it wasn't in the numbers.

Rolling Swim untrained in case that's allowed...
Swim: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 = 8 C-C-C-COMBO BREAKER

Heh, I have none of those. Not actually that many skill points as a monk, I'm afraid, especially when you've dumped Intelligence as is their wont.

Tekumsah blinks several times after he focuses his energy to provide protection, and glances around the room. The first thing he does is knock over the barrels, trying to see if there's anything of use or note inside, and then he walks over to the door and slams it open with a powerful kick. Might as well give them a show, let them know who they have here.

Strength if Needed: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (11) + 6 = 17

The sudden transportation throws Tekumsah off for a moment, but when he sees the clock it makes sense. Preparation. There isn't that much the monk needs to do: he twists his feet and stamps, dropping his pose and focusing his spirit to improve his capabilities, both offensive and defensive.

Likewise, Flint. It's actually a very nice difference to so many Arena games where everything's furtively squirreled away in spoilers and private messages; we all know more or less what the others are capable of, so there's much less reason to try and hide it. As far as Tekumsah's prep time goes, I'm moving into Dragon Style--assuming that's acceptable since we're "in combat" and there isn't really any wording saying you can't use a style outside of combat anyway--as a swift action. A standard is being used to expend 1 point from the ki pool to cast barkskin, which gives me a +4 bonus to AC and lasts for 100 minutes.

I'm here, I've just been going through finals at school so I haven't had much time and didn't have anything important to say. They've over now, though, so I'm back!

Tekumsah is content to watch on as the fight in the mirrors unfolds, although he also looks at each of the others. He's moving into the fighting state of mind, the competitive thought process that fills him before any tournament. That this one goes to the death is intriguing, different, but that only means he won't have to hold back once the foe is unconscious, or that he won't have to hold back at all; his training was very much fit for lethal combat as well as tournament fighting, as he'd proven in his short adventuring career.

While the others start asking questions, he starts his pre-fight ritual of "meditation" and readying his psyche and body for what's to come. It doesn't look much like meditation, more a slow build-up to a frenzy: he begins to clench and unclench his muscles, breathing deeply in and out in bursts that grow more and more powerful as time goes by. "I assume we cannot form some truce to not fight, the one the other?" It's his only question as the creature starts to leave, asked on the exhalations of his exercise.

"What makes you to think the losers would die?" Tekumsah turns to regard Misriel with a curious expression. He's so far seemed to take everything in stride here, having started to more fully understand things once he knew it was a coliseum. "Would it be not to blood, or to the yield, or to one proves superi... they are best?" He folds his arms and looks to the guide. "It would be a waste if the loser were dead, no? Waste of money and of time."

Tekumsah has trouble parsing meaning from the creature's words--two new speakers from different languages doesn't usually lead to clear communication--but he steps forward, understanding the general idea. He also knows enough about potential injuries to realize the luck involved in Flint keeping his fingers. "Sharp wings. Not for touching, yes?" The reptilian man moves to join the tall creature in walking toward the wall. "Maybe we fight not until we know what goes on here?"

Tekumsah makes a thin, soft hissing sound, running his tongue along his teeth, in response to Kit's reply. "My apologies--to watch us fight, I was meaning. My skill in the western tongue is not as good as yours, it would seem." He looks on as Flint begins to make a spectacle and question the winged humanoid, and subtly shifts his feet in preparation to defend himself, should trouble break out.

Tekumsah moves in a group with the others, similarly controlling his speed to remain even with them. He glances to Flint as he comments on following crowds, but remains in silence until they reach the sand mount, and he stares down at the building in confusion. It's entirely unlike anything he's seen, and he doesn't fully understand until the images show a warrior attacked by a beast, fighting back and stabbing it with his spear before succumbing to its claws. Most of the tournaments and fights in Tian Xia were more organized, had procedures of honor and were about skill, but entertainment was a factor, and the familiar scene and setup finally click for the nagaji as he looks on.

"I think," he says, turning to Misriel, "we find for what they need us. To watch." Tekumsah shrugs his shoulders and cracks his raw knuckles, rolling his neck and shaking out his full body. Am I glad? At the least it is familiar.

Tekumsah staggers out of the cage and immediately regrets tearing the rags into their new form--it's cold out here, and he has to steel his mind against shivering. Glancing around, he takes in the strange spectacle: the cages, the desert, the lines. None of it looks familiar, not the location, not even most of the creatures around him. The kitsune was recognizable, at least, but the humans were clearly not from his lands, and he'd never seen one with four arms. As for the gray-skinned creature...

The others begin speaking, and Tekumsah forces himself to his full height and steps up to join them. As the four-armed man asks a question of the gray-skinned being, Tekumsah turns to Kit, speaking in accented but workable Common. "No, it does not. Does any of you know why we are here?"

Tekumsah fought, at first. He fought tooth and nail against his copies, thrashing them with fist and foot, driving them to the ground in a pulp of muscle and bone. His style was more focused toward single combat than facing groups, but he could fix this, if only he struck down each foe in turn. But there were too many, every image of himself was replaced by more, and when his own allies lashed out at him in confusion, he knew deep down that he wouldn't win. He fought on, unwilling to lay down and die, but when he finally collapsed, there was no surprise.

He fought after awaking. Death this may be, but Tekumsah would be no more quiet in the afterlife than he was to begin with. Naked and alone, he slammed his fists against the metal floor, broke his knuckles and knees across the walls, the door. When he fell to his knees, exhausted, he spat the question that had formed in his mind. "Is this death?"

When the answer came, the alien voice, it was met with a metallic slam before it had even finished. Pressed against the door was a full-grown nagaji. Tekumsah hadn't been aware of that last reserve of energy, but the first contact provoked yet more fight from him. "Who are you?" But the only reply was a plate and bottle, quickly slid through the the window at the door's bottom, and when Tekumsah felt his forearm splinter with one more punch against the sealed metal portal, he dropped to the floor and began to eat.

So it was for the time that came after. The food was tasteless, neither ocld nor hot, and it barely gave him energy, but it kept him alive. The drink didn't taste like water, but it quenched his killing thirst. They didn't come every day, but when he was at the edge of death, they arrived. He pushed himself there, day after day, expending his energy in katas and exercise, hardening his bones with fractures against his prison. His meditations were contemplations of rage, of inner power seeking release. Maybe he would never escape this place, but Tekumsah La'Awethikah would not give in.

And then, today came. And the door opens, as Tekumsah lies on the floor, nearly devoid of energy from his daily work. His skin is crawling, his striking points raw and bloodied, his eyes narrow and hateful. He hisses at the light, and snatches at the rags thrown him. When it becomes clear the door will remain open, though, he rises to a kneel, then pushes to his feet. He looks down at the rags in his hands and tears them into strips, ties them about his waist for what modesty is demanded, and steps out into whatever lies beyond.

I'm guessing Gameplay with a post up means we should begin posting in there as well? Reacting to the rags and internal thoughts, I presume.

Hey all, I'm here! Sorry for the delay in posting, I'd forgotten to keep checking in after Thanksgiving weekend and all, but Chess PM'd me and I'm very excited for this. It seems like it'll be a lot of fun going through the game, especially alongside the rest of you.