Terry Listantabulous's page

:( Sorry Rick, these things happen.

Terry holds up a placating hand to the guards. "Good sirs, it's just a simple parlor trick. We mean no harm."

Sick for a day or so, be back Monday

At Anja's first question, Terry shakes his head emphatically, indicating she's not being unreasonable at all.

Terry grins widely for the first time since entering the slaver's camp. "Good thinking. The more we butter up this master of flesh the better - make him think we're wealthy enough to be good friends."

When Jacen returns, Terry asks him about what he learned. "I like the look of these slaves not at all," he offers. "Such willingness to be pressed into servitude strikes me as unnatural. When can we be off?"

"Purple skin...now I've heard of everything," Terry mutters into his food. "Are we beelining there, Anja?"

Terry's not interested in anything beyond bed. He's not even going to take his clothes off before passing out as soon as he's able, unless he's needed for a watch or something.

Terry tugs on Anja's sleeve. Sotto voce, he mutters, "I don't like this. Something feels wrong, very wrong. Let's accept our host's hospitality for as long as we need and no longer."

"Slavery in exchange for rescue offered under duress is still slavery," Terry growls. His expression is grim.

"Wait!" Terry calls after him. "How will we know how to find you when we're ready to depart?"

Terry narrows his eyes in disgust. "These slaves yours, centaur?"

Terry will hand it over to the next party member nearest to him - probably Jacen - after he gets his face good and wet, probably before 10 minutes go by.

Terry's grumpy expression fades away immediately with a happy sigh as he discovers the rainfall. "Now, that is a neat trick..." he mutters, his eyes closed as he holds his face up to it.

Terry thanks him as graciously as he can when he is presented with the sun-umbrella. He holds it aloft, thinking, If my parents could see me now...trudging through the desert with a parasol...

Terry sighs in relief as Anja shakes the centaur's hand. "Good, good, now can you PLEASE find us some SHADE?"

Terry cocks an eyebrow. Finally, something he likes, the halfling thinks to himself.

Terry turns his pockets inside out. "We're not exactly rolling in dough here."

Terry, too, draws his weapon. "Enough of your games, centaur!"

"She means the air elemental. We drove off the air elemental for you, thus saving your life." Terry speaks slowly, as if talking to a child.

"Let us worry about what services we can provide, and take us to the shelter merchant." Terry grumbles. As an afterthought he adds "Please?"

"Emphasis on the shelter, please, sir. My hair is getting bleached white by this constant sun."

"It didn't seem very interested in making any big speeches," the sarcastic halfling goes on. "Mostly, it seemed to prefer making big shouts. Aaaagh, and goooo awaayyyyyy, that sort of Scooby Doo nonsense."

Scooby Doo is a halfling folk tale about a young halfling and his dog who solve mysteries from the Mystery Carriage.

"I'm exhausted too, thus demonstrating my usefulness last fight," Terry comments drily.

Terry crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. "Air elementals," he mutters. "'Flighty' doesn't begin to cover their behavior."

He turns to the group. "Be warned. The creature is a spirit of the very air we breathe. It's invisible and discorporated now, but one never knows when it decides to re-form itself."

He nods at Jacen. "I agree, friend. We should seek shelter with that centaur, and hopefully get some answers as to why the elemental was so incensed."

Frankly, Terry is more accustomed to conversing with elementals of the air than battling them. His spells are ineffective and largely exhausted anyway. Halfheartedly, he looks down at his small light crossbow, and back up at the elemental. It hardly seemed bothering.

In Auran, he shouts, "WHAT IS IT YOU WANT?"

Sorry for my absence guys. I was trying to think of something my exhausted oracle could contribute, but came up with zilch.

Terry moves as fast as his legs will take him - it'll still take 5 rounds to get within casting range. Then, he will cast Searing Light, attempting to blast the air elemental to pieces with Gozreh's majesty.

Searing Light ranged touch attack: 1d20 + 8 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 8 + 2 = 11

Damage: 4d8 ⇒ (4, 7, 2, 5) = 18

Terry follows last, feeling angry. "That air elemental needs to be taught some respect!" he cries out as he follows after Jacen.

"A common trait among centaurs," Terry comments wryly, rolling his eyes and smiling a little at Anja. "I tried to get the elemental to back off and leave us alone, and act with the dignity that a creature of the skies should possess. However, something has enraged it. I don't know what...." he gazes off in the direction of the rapidly retreating air elemental and centaur thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.

Terry glances off in the direction of the centaur. "Meh, he seemed a little ridiculous to me, maybe a little bit off in the head. Still, anything to break the monotony of trudging through the desert..."

He regards the air elemental. "These creatures are mysterious to me, but I have made some study of them. If I can understand what is aggravating it, perhaps we can avoid having to fight it. Fighting air is not an easy task."

He turns to Valeeran. "Valeeran, I've traveled with you long enough to know you're more well-read than I am. Is there anything you can think of that would provoke this elemental into attacking us? Any knowledge we could use?"

As he speaks he considers his remaining spells. Have we had time to rest and replenish since I used my spells back at the mountain?

The voice of the air elemental is a thundering gale. Despite the onrushing wall of sound that is its voice, Terry remains defiant. He shouts once more.

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13

Terry's ears perk as he hears the wind pick up. He turns around. Recognizing a wind elemental instantly, he cries out, his voice easily carrying over the rushing sound of the wind.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (16) + 9 = 25

"Maybe you could sell us some blasted nighttime, Nightpeddler?" Terry asks, glancing at the sky overhead. "Eternal day is unnatural. I don't like it."

"No, Valeeran, I decided my arm needed exercise," Terry comments, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The past 24 hours have been trying on his normally easygoing attitude.

Terry is just glad of something to break the monotony of hours of duneswalking. He waves back, uncertain if someone of his height would even be noticed at this distance.

Terry can't maintain his usual level of cheerful sarcasm for more than 16 hours. Even Gozreh's orisons can't keep his forehead cool in this weather.

Eventually his patience begins to fray. "Valeeran," he begins, trying to make his voice pleasant and failing, "Don't you have some sort of spell prepared that could take us across this blasted endless abyss any faster?"

For an oracle of Gozreh, the breeze is a friend to cool one's brow, and with the Create Water spell Terry is able to remain more or less comfortable during the journey. However, being a halfling, he does not wear shoes - so he has had to put on sandals to protect his tough feet from the searing sand.

"Not a problem, Jacen," the oracle says, calmly calling upon Gozreh's divine waves. Water flows from his palms and he fills his waterskin, taking care to let as little of it go to waste as possible. Once he's cleared the danger of parched throats, he pours some water on his hood so it sits wetly atop his head, to ward off the worst of the heat.

"Anja, are you going to be okay in all that armor out here?" he asks, glancing over at the half-elf. While talking, he scans the horizon for anything out of the ordinary sand-dune landscape. Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18

"She was a bard," Terry comments, shrugging. "Bards never know when to shut up. The world of a bard's imagination dwarfs anything in heaven and earth, as my father liked to say," he mutters.

Oops, my bad. I never dotted the recruitment thread ^_^;;

Terry cocks an eyebrow. "Nice cantrip. And you are?"

Terry's mouth waters at the mention of a beer machine. "Before we go, I'm going to need to have a look at this machine," he says, matter-of-factly.

"Very well, where can these worms be found?"

Terry looks upon the man with pity. It must be difficult to go through life with a speech impediment like his.

"Clearly you're more knowledgeable than we are about these strange...things," he finishes his sentence lamely, not really knowing the right word for what he's looking at. He scratches his head. "Can we help you in some way?"

Good luck with your difficulties man.

I'm definitely still interested. Like Anja said, it was a holiday weekend - I wasn't near a computer since Friday afternoon basically.

Terry is too busy admiring the fire to pay attention to his surroundings. If something were to happen, it'd catch him off guard.

Terry tries to sneak out and rejoin his friends during the chaos and confusion of the firefighting efforts.

Alright, enough creeping around. I'm tired of this bar and I'm tired of these sons of b%#@%es blocking us. It's time to light some fires.

Terry casts Gozreh's Trident, and after a moment a bolt of lightning springs forth from his palm and rests lightly like a spear.

He moves over the crates, rubbish, etc. and begins moving the electricity of the spear over them, igniting them wherever he can. Once the fire's lit, he'll boogie to a safe place and wait out the fire!

Good, nobody's noticed me. Anything else in this room besides big giant face?