The Black Hart's page

There's not power to that mummy...that'd be poppycock

Great table everyone

Hart nods agreement That bog...is home to little but undeath. Do not send people out into the bog

Hart casts magic missile at smelly 1 and gets a little closer.

Magic Missile: 3d4 + 3 ⇒ (2, 3, 4) + 3 = 12

Hart shrugs and pets shmee the monkey on the head to drain him to regain a spell

And then they cast Gust of Wind again

Hart uses the staff to cast Gust of Wind again keeping the further pair of undead at bay.

Hart studies the undead.

Religion: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (2) + 8 = 10
Cognitive Crossover Arcana: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (4) + 13 = 17

Hart is really just desperately unsure of the properties of lead.

But they are sure under are mindless and conjures a gust of wind to slow the skeletons.

Hart looks around and snatches the badges We probably want to give these a proper burial later if we can... they say somewhat surprisingly.

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (19) + 9 = 28

We should especially do that because we have found our way into the garden of lead - between that and the report of the fey we should be ready for undead.

Hart, who is at best bemused by these fey antics, continues on in their business like manner.

Well, Rusylflick, we are looking for another group of humans - they might have been wearing badges with snakes on them, and sneaking around like they were up to no good. Hart says evenly.

I was more angling for a craft check to see if she was made of lead or not but I take it not.

If we allow the Aspis to investigate these bogs, it is true that they will likely meet their end. Traversing these bogs has gotten many unprepared fools killed over the years - and thats not taking into account that is an area supposedly plagued by undead Hart says quietly.

You see, we are not far from the Garden of Lead, an incredibly haunted stretch of land. I heard tales of it when last I visited several centuries ago

Hart shakes their head. Its just a poor unfortunate corpse.

Or was it.

Hart tries to examine the corpse. Is it really a bog mummy after all...or is it made of lead?

Good with calling it.

Hart lobs fire at number 3.

Produce Flame: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (18) + 10 = 28

Produce Flame damage: 2d4 + 4 ⇒ (3, 1) + 4 = 8

They then casts shield

Hart winces from the assault

Fort: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26

Hart unleashes a Burning Hands out of their staff

Burning Hands, DC 20: 2d6 ⇒ (6, 5) = 11

Flat: 1d20 ⇒ 20

The Black Hart nods Fire? Say no more fam.

Hart waves the staff around and focuses, lobbing a flame from their staff at the mist.

This is either at number 3 if its still alive or at number 1 otherwise

Reach Produce Flame spell roll: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 10 = 16

Hero Point if that misses

Reach Produce Flame spell roll: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (18) + 10 = 28

Fire Damage: 2d4 + 4 ⇒ (3, 2) + 4 = 9

Hart begins to examine Doors and Windows

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26

They harumph No signs of a break in. Whoever did this would have needed to have a connection inside here. Not likely to have been the big dweller given that...

The Black Hart nods impassively It does somewhat. But the Aspis, they usually need some sort of motive. What would they want with the bog-mummy. They only do things that would reap them serious profits. What would you theory of that be? Because no motive, no crime. That's just basic.

Your racism against elves is most unappreciated too. they say with a withering glare that pierces the mask.

Hart has no skill with medicine and merely nods along.

They peak in on the traumatized girl and observes.

The Black Hart bites their tongue. It takes all of their self control not to guffah when they call what most of the world would call trash their "greatest treasure".

But that did suddenly pique their interest. Why did the Aspis want this worthless, if mildly tragic, artifact.

They considered the evidence carefully. Given that The Black Hart lacked social skills that the bevy of bards possessed they headed to the crime scene.

The Black Hart quietly puts away the jolly roger for the time being (actually handing it off to Jolly Roger, their capuchin monkey familiar), realizing it probably isn't helping the others arguments that the party isn't here to pillage their village.

But, as they are not well gifted with gab, they do not speak up.

But under their breath mutters something about having no interest in a stinky bog-preserved body anyway.

The Black Harts featureless mask betrays no emotional response, but they nod along Well...one does have a lot of experience fighting off underhanded so-called scalawags. Very well. Off to Anactoria.

The Black Hart is sure to purchase a lesser antivenom just in case they encounter poisonous vipers or insects.

Hey GM me too - though mine are Arcana and Religion

We have so much knowledge.

The most learned party Ive been in.

I have Ancestral Longevity, so if it takes longer than a day to get to Anactoria, I would like to take Anactoria Lore as my Trained Skill from that feat.

The Black Hart nods. They had been to Anactoria at least once before, though it was many moons ago. They would have to meditate on that in order to recall more about the place, but they were sure that it would come back to them.

Not that I...object to going to play guard duty for some sort of local superstition - which I am sure is every bit as much the poppycock as Astrology and Straw Dolls and whatever else this society sends me to deal with. But I must ask...what's our angle Captain? A pirate like me is always looking for a percentage and I can't say I see one going into a peat bog moss farm like this. Is this really just to play tit for tat with the Aspis? I thought they weren't really a threat anymore! They say in an evenish tone that only really inflects at the end of sentences to indicate inquisition or exasperation.

The Black Hart turns to Parnes You can state in your tale about me that The Black Hart is nobody's fool.

I have two Glyphs, I will give those hero points to Teja and Emmanuel

The stoic and chilly exterior of The Black Hart strikes any who see them. They stand at a lithe and thin 6 foot tall, dressed in purples black and greens in typical pirate fare, a jacket, V neck puffy shirt with laces, a corset and short practical sailors breeches with boots that have plenty of tread that seem to have been treated against water with some kind of alchemy. Setting them apart is a wooden mask adorned with the antlers of a mighty stag or hart and a pirate flag depicting a broken heart with a cutlass run through it. Their dark skin and pointed ears give the only real tells toward their true identity, obviously an elf from the Mwangi.

Hart stands with a customized staff topped with a black hart-shaped gem and a large book with weathered looking pages at their hip.

You may call me The Black Hart - yes that Black Hart, the one and only. I am an associate of Calisro Benarry and I suppose that makes me a Pathfinder Field Agent these days. I find myself uneasy hear in Ustalav - the incredibly wealthy living in opulence while the street is crowded with refugees seems to be a recipe for 'social change' - or revolt.

They look up with some unease at the lodge being a mental asylum. We should be careful we don't get too comfortable within these walls. But I am a master of the elements. Fire, wind, water...and of course the hart. they say with an expressionless masked face that make it impossible to tell if that was a joke or not.

The Black Hart, reporting for duty.

Still need to update my sheet somewhat