Noted. If you're willing to allow slightly contradictory archetypes, would you allow me to take my first level in Unchained Rogue and then just take the rest of them in the normal Ninja class and let them stack? That might be a more elegant solution to what I proposed in an edit above.
Sorry for all the questions. Theorycrafting Diablo hacks with Pathfinder mechanics is something of a hobby. I still think the best way to do a real Diablo tabletop is just to homebrew the everloving love out of 4e, which is about the only time I've ever advocated for 4e.
Eli seemed to be doing alright. Everything was pretty much normal for him, as far as anybody could tell. Maybe he was a little shook up from recent events, but who wouldn't be? When Vick woke up, Eli was smiling by his bedside, talking him through the aftermath. At Shayera's funeral, he was there to give Bronwyn a reassuring smile - everything was going to be alright. Everywhere he went, that goofy smile never left his face. After all, life goes on, doesn't it?
Doesn't it?
= = = = = = = = = =
It wasn't Eli's fault, really. Shayera - Wingblade - was gone, sure, and that was terrible. It stung, a little, when he thought about it. But he didn't think about it much. It was hard to think about something sad like that when the world was just so great! The sunshine was always warm on his skin and there seemed to be music in the air everywhere he went. When he bit into a piece of chocolate, or an ice cream cone, or sipped an eggcream, the flavor practically exploded on his tongue! Somebody must have turned up the color brightness knob on the world, and had Bronwyn's Tropical Passion ever smelled so sweet?
When Eli woke up in the morning, he was up. When he brushed his teeth, his mouth felt so clean his teeth must have had smiles! Breakfast fell upon him like so much manna and quail, gifts from Heaven, and it seemed like his whole life before was spent wandering in the desert and he'd finally come into the Promised Land.
After the team recovered the data on the power-enhancing drug, the Defenders had upgraded each of them to full members, spinning them off into a covert strike force operating out of the Clocktower. Wingblade was team captain, naturally. Missions kept rolling in, and before long they were trotting the globe to stop supervillains in their tracks. They fought off a mutant T-Rex in Tokyo, hunted down a shape-shifting alien parasite in Antarctica, and rescued the Holy Grail from some Nazis outside Istanbul! Meanwhile, Marco and Bronwyn drifted apart, but Eli was there for support. Graduation came too soon, and Eli scored a full ride to the Halcyon Institute of Science and Technology, and when he came home for ChristmasHannukah winter break, Mom was home. After a tearful reunion, they were a family again for the first time in over a decade.
= = = = = = = = = =
An untraceable anonymous tip patched through to the Clocktower and broadcast to the remaining comm units. Urgent help needed at 1400 Greenwood Avenue. Eli's house.
They found him in the lab. He was lying in his bioanalysis unit, that goofy grin still plastered on his face. He wasn't moving. The unit's display showed a chart of Eli's blood chemistry, gnarly sinusoids fluctuating dangerously before hitting a flatline. At the desk, the computer monitor flashed and angry red, blaring an emergency message: TOTAL ENDOCRINE SYSTEM FAILURE.
I'm marking the Doomtrack for overexerting myself.
I'd like to craft a dose of Alchemist's Kindness and prepare Remove Sickness. Between those and Johannes' alternate channeling, drunkeness won't be much of an issue.
Craft (alchemy) DC 20:1d20 + 9 ⇒ (17) + 9 = 26To craft a dose of Alchemist's Kindness
"No need," Johannes says to Lys, pulling out a small sack. "I got what he'll be needin' right here." Grimacing, he sizes up Dante from across the bar before making his approach. "Careful, now. I'm gonna sober 'im up, but he may not take kindly to it."
His instructions relayed, he makes his way over to the drunk and pulls up a human-sized chair. "Dante, right? Johannes Appleseed, Cayden's cleric. Pleased ta meetcha. The lovely lady is my associate, Lady Lys. Mind if we have a seat?" Though, of course, he's already taken one. "Yer lookin' a bit outta sorts, Dante. Might be that cheap brew yer drinkin'. Don' get me wrong, the cheap stuff's all well and good at the proper time and place. But how 'bout I pour ye one o' me personal brews instead, and tell me what's got ye so low? No charge, o' course, 's all part o' spreadin' the good word."
The plan is to try to some bartender therapy, sober Dante up a little bit and get him to talk about what's going on. I'm going for a soft approach, take it slow at first instead of just leaving him stone-cold sober all at once.
F Lashunta Icon Mystic (Xenodruid) 1 | SP 0/6 | HP 6/6 | RP 4/4| Spells 1st: 2/3| Fort -1, Ref +2, Wil +5 | Culture +2, Diplomacy +5, Mystic +6, Life Science +10, Medicine +5, Mysticism +7, Perception +7, Pro (Vid Personality) +4, Survival +9
Karine groans inwardly at Zye's grandstanding, and Basoro's not much better. Karine's father had perfected his signature style of action-packed nature documentary that Wild Wild Life was known for, but it didn't work if the subjects seemed to be aware of the camera. Karine had yet to pull it off herself. Her mother could probably edit that part out later, but Karine preferred continuous-shot footage when she only had one camera angle.
Attack:1d20 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5 Damage:1d4 ⇒ 3
The disruption costs her her concentration, and her shot goes wide.
F Lashunta Icon Mystic (Xenodruid) 1 | SP 0/6 | HP 6/6 | RP 4/4| Spells 1st: 2/3| Fort -1, Ref +2, Wil +5 | Culture +2, Diplomacy +5, Mystic +6, Life Science +10, Medicine +5, Mysticism +7, Perception +7, Pro (Vid Personality) +4, Survival +9
As the team pushes forward into the Eoxian ship, Karine activates her helmet-cam. "The Endless Threnody - an Eoxian Corpse Fleet ship, disabled out in the fringes of the Drift," she says, the helmet-mounted microphone recording her monologue. "Not the kind of place we usually go, but even dead worlds have a touch of Wilderness." She looks around, moving her head in slow, smooth sweeps, making sure to capture the interior of the ship in all of its horrifying necromantic glory.
The feed is grainier than if she had an actual camera crew with her, but Karine's father always felt that, used sparingly, the helmet-cam drew the viewers in more, got them more invested when they could see wild worlds through his eyes. Karine tended to agree, and even now, watching some of her father's point-of-view footage helps her feel closer to him.
"The ship itself is exposed to the vacuum of space." Panning, there's nothing separating those in the ship from the void of the Drift. "The Corpse Fleet isn't known for having large crews of warm, breathing life-forms like us. As such, their choices in ship design tend toward the dramatic."
I think Eli would get a lot of mileage out of all the build-up. Haunted houses are more fun when you can convince your mind that they're real. He'd probably take it easy on Halloween itself, staying in with his dad and watching old monster movies. His dad gets a kick out of hosting a sensory illusion of Elvira in their living room. In recent years, it's become something of a family ritual to watch Young Frankenstein. Eli used to really enjoy the original, but ever since getting his powers, it touches a nerve.
Eli stared at the computer screen in mute disbelief. He knew using his powers was damaging to his cells, but the rate was comparable to the rate his body could heal, and so it was kept at bay. But he'd had to push himself to save Blink. He'd pushed harder than ever before, accomplished things he hadn't thought possible. And today, he was five years older because of it. Happy birthday to me.
He leans back in his chair and closes his eyes. He imagines walking into his house, returning from saving the day. As he walks in, "SURPRISE!" When he opens his eyes, there they are. Everybody's there in his house - Vick, Blink, Bran, Wingblade, the other weird flying girl, his dad. "Whoa! Is all this for me?" he asks.
"It's not every day you turn twenty-one!" says his dad.
"Hey, birthday boy." Eli turns around, and suddenly Bronwyn's there, dressed in form-fitting black dress. She slinks her way over, wraps her arms around his neck, and pulls him in for a kiss. Eli can feel his whole body burning up as his blood vessels expand underneath the surface of his skin, turning him bright red. She smells like flowers and tastes like cherries. "What about Marco?"
She giggles, her finger tracing little circles on his shoulder. "What can I say? I prefer older men."
Eli opens his mouth to say something, but it's drowned out by Vick jeering. [B]"Get a roooom!" Suddenly, a warm smell drifts in from the kitchen. "Is that... chocolate cake?"
"Your favorite!" says his dad. "There's some Bailey's in it too, for a little kick, since you're finally legal. And that's not the only surprise." The next thing Eli knows, his mother walks out from the kitchen, wearing an apron and carrying a plate with a massive cake. "Happy birthday, Eli," she says with a loving smile. Setting the cake down, she strikes a pose with one hand on her hip. "Come give your mother a hug!"
Trembling, Eli embraces his mother, and he suddenly realizes his cheeks are wet. "Mom, I thought -"
"INCOMING CALL FROM...NUMBER UNLISTED."
Eli whips around, and there's his mom's computer, displaying a video call. He's back in the lab, alone, and the party is gone. His cheeks are still wet. And then she's there, on his screen. Dressed in a stark white lab coat. His mother.
"Hello, Eli. It seems you've been busy."
=====================================
At Defender's HQ
Eli is sullen during the meeting, seemingly not even listening. It was his first time seeing the rest of the others since they had saved Whippoorwill and Blink. He'd been given a spot on their team, and taken to Defender's HQ for a special mission briefing. He ought to be over the moon, but instead his head's somewhere off in space. In the past three days, he'd saved Blink's life, lost five years off his own, and been branded a terrorist for the effort. With all that going on, he's got a lot on his mind. Not to mention the call with his mother...
He snaps to attention when Bran says his name. "Huh? Oh, yeah, the drug. I don't know what it was, but it gave him some crazy kinda high. I could... feel it. Just from his memories. I don't think it was magic."
The weird flying girl - Thor Girl, as the papers were calling her - Skuld, as she'd introduced herself - seemed to confirm the choice for the lab. Internally, Eli's relieved. He hadn't like the looks of that transport facility, from what little he had absorbed. He had an idea about who might be funding a place like that, and if he was right, it wasn't anywhere he wanted to go. "What are we waiting for, then?"
F Lashunta Icon Mystic (Xenodruid) 1 | SP 0/6 | HP 6/6 | RP 4/4| Spells 1st: 2/3| Fort -1, Ref +2, Wil +5 | Culture +2, Diplomacy +5, Mystic +6, Life Science +10, Medicine +5, Mysticism +7, Perception +7, Pro (Vid Personality) +4, Survival +9
Karine watches in barely-concealed horror as her fellows begin introducing themselves, but by the time they're through, it seems that sanity weighs out in this crowd. Quickly, she jots down some notes on her data-pad, not realizing she's narrating them out loud.
"Update - Baskoro is an opera singer; earlier singing unlikely to be mating call, but it's still too early to rule out. Two of three vesk are sane, one is explosion-prone."
With that complete, she turns back to the rest of the group. "Oh, sorry. I'm Karine Iwrin! I hope you don't mind if I take some footage for my holovid show, 'Iwrin's Wild Wild Life'! We probably won't be making it to any undiscovered planets on this mission, but my producer says I have to ask or the lawyers will get mad."
Karine bounces out of her seat and starts packing her things. "It sounds like we'd better get going to find this Julzakama. If that seller gets off this station, we're dead in the water!"
As it turns out, there apparently was a way for a complete success to solve Wingblade's power problems with no continued contact and no complications. Since it wasn't a complete success, now there are...complications. I was thinking maintaining skin-to-skin contact would be required because completely nullifying the obstacle for free seemed like poor sportsmanship or something. I guess all I had to do was think less about what I thought the issue could be, and more about what would be most convenient for me. /shrug
I should probably develop a coherent, itemized explanation of how I imagine Bioshock's powers work, but for now let's see if I can sketch out some quick-and-dirty IF-THEN logic. At this point, anything to do with his own body shouldn't require a check as long as everything is normal. He can stimulate his own nervous system to his heart's content. Things like causing somebody else to experience single-sensory hallucinations shouldn't require rolls as long as skin-to-skin contact is maintained, and quick-contact things like simple memory modification or standard blood chemistry alterations shouldn't be an issue either. But any time he's doing something big or extensive with somebody else's nervous system, or doing something that involves both his and their nervous system, should probably require a check. A good example would be reading somebody else's memories (like he did with Haxor) or forcing somebody else to use their powers (like with Hashtag). I imagine that, because everybody's brains are different, he actually has to take time to map their nervous system before doing anything big.
F Lashunta Icon Mystic (Xenodruid) 1 | SP 0/6 | HP 6/6 | RP 4/4| Spells 1st: 2/3| Fort -1, Ref +2, Wil +5 | Culture +2, Diplomacy +5, Mystic +6, Life Science +10, Medicine +5, Mysticism +7, Perception +7, Pro (Vid Personality) +4, Survival +9
Karine looks up from her datapad, tearing her eyes away from the latest volume of the Intergalactic Journal of Xenobiology. Is that...singing? Suddenly, a great hulking vesk barges into the room and presents himself to... well, to the whole room apparently.
"Nice to meet you! I'm Karine," says Karine. "But enough about that! You're helping Luwazi Elsebo? You must be a Second Seeker, too! I woulda figured a vesk for the Acquisitives, maybe the Exo-Guardians, but hey, it's a big universe," she jabbers cheerily. "Quick, tell me everything you know about the Scoured Stars Incident! I want to know absolutely everything! See, I'm searching for my father, Storvus Iwrin. Do you know him? He was a Starfinder too! He went missing with the rest of the Scoured Stars expedition, but I'm gonna find him, and the rest of the expedition, too! And you're gonna help me! Tell me everything!" Already, Karine is fishing around for her recording equipment, preparing to do a full interview with the vesk - whatever his name was (obviously he's male - you can tell by the robust crest of spikes, they're shorter on females by at least 8 centimeters on average) - and record everything he says. If she's lucky, she'll get some new clues out of it to help her track down her father, and if not, it should still make for some great footage for the show! She'd have to get him to sing some more. Unless it's a mating call? It didn't sound like a mating call...
"Pretty words from a pretty girl," Johannes winks at Lys. It's grim work they have to do, but after the short prayer, the little halfling really does feel a smidge better. "There's a cup to be raised to each of our gods at the end of this mess," he says, descending the stairs. "Bottoms up!"
Stealth:1d20 + 9 ⇒ (2) + 9 = 11
Topped up on righteous courage, Johannes hums a jaunty tune to himself. Perhaps he feels a little too good. Though his footfalls make no noise as he goes, it seems he's become tired of the stealthy approach and would rather just fight off all the goblins in the place in melee combat.
Apparently reminding Johannes of his god isn't what you want when you're trying to sneak around.
Ismene scoffs along with Gerya at the appropriate moment, as if to say "Some nerve!" "Thanks for the information. We've already caught wind of their plans for the armory. If they do try to keep the weapons here, let them, and I'll take them off your hands. An unarmed rebellion is less likely to get themselves killed," she reasons. "I'll leave you to it. You've got a man to see about some taxes," she says, pulling out a sack of gold. Dropping it on the desk, she takes her leave, eager to get out of the place.
Three hundred gold pieces was a high price to pay for intelligence that was old news. But it wasn't just about what Gerya could tell them. Now they had her gratitude and good public relations. Even better, they had leverage. Madame Cembers and her staff make for passable spies, and Ingoe Zoags was even better, but Gerya Rohalendi was a veritable mouthpiece without Allomar around. It was a devil's deal Gerya had made, and she didn't even know it.
We have a couple of options for dealing with the Armory raid. We could interrupt it and put it down, we could avoid it and simply collect the weapons the next day, or we could interrupt it but let them think they've pushed us back before collecting the weapons the next day and crush their morale.
Sister Ismene bursts out laughing at Gerya's offer. It was a pretty good joke, she had to admit. After fifteen seconds or so, she finally manages to calm down. Wiping the tears from her eyes, she realizes that it wasn't a joke.
"You're serious? Wow!" The time frame was way too long and the payout much too small to make that worthwhile; Ismene was hoping to be on her way out of Longacre long before then. But before she rejects the offer outright, it occurs to her that maybe the real value here wasn't the coin to be had.
"Sorry, you caught me off guard. I realize things are tough right now. Help me help you. There are things happening in Cheliax that are bigger than you or me. The situation is, the Glorious Reclamation's angling for a fight, and between you and me, the Archbaron's looking to give it to 'em. But they're not swooping in with an army from the outside. Gerya, I know that you know they're trying to rally Longacre to their cause. If the GR and the Archbaron get what they want, a lot of people are going to get hurt. We're talking about the people of Longacre, friends and neighbors." Ismene sighs heavily. They weren't her friends or neighbors, but still.
"Here's my counter offer. I know you've got a lot of pull in town. The people, they'll listen to you. Some of them are too far gone, but there are a lot of good, law-abiding people in Longacre that don't have to get caught up in this. Talk some sense into them, help us all avoid disaster. I want to know who the rabble-rousers are, but the others don't concern me. You do that for me, your little tax problem goes away. No interest, no payment plan. Whaddya say?"
@Hashtag
How you feeling? I'm sure life's been requiring some adjustments that probably aren't much fun. If you're up to it, I could launch us into another scene to flesh things out. Either that, or we could handwave the development of Hashtag's and Bioshock's friendship off-screen.
@Wingblade/Hashtag
It seems that Wingblade's ghosting Hashtag for now. It also seems like there's an unspoken agreement that, at least during the "downtime", there isn't much of a team. Hashtag, if you and I do end up continuing the scene a little, it might be better if Eli doesn't meet Shayera yet (yet being still months before she transfers to Halcyon High), in keeping with what's been established. What do the two of you think?
@Atoms
At the rate your powers are developing, and given the distance between your character and (former?) teammates, you're headed for rival-turned-antagonist XD Like an anti-Magneto.
@Bran
That was a great curveball! It sounds like it's a good thing Eli and Vick weren't around. We're squishy, and that entropic decay-beam sounds nasty! It's too bad there's no entropy control power; aside from actual god-mode (lookin' at you, Damien Xavier), entropy control is probably the single most OP power there is.
@Thor Girl
Are you getting lonely up here in the popcorn gallery, too?
@DM Default
How'd the move back to university go? The worst part about summer for me was always transitioning back, but the early to mid fall was also my favorite, once you can start to settle back in.
Elijah's first month at Halcyon had been great. Just what the doctor ordered, as they say. Franklin wasn't a bad school, but Eli never felt like he fit in there. Things between him and Pete hadn't been great since Eli discovered his powers, and they'd barely spoken since freshman year started. Pete was just jealous, and it's not like it was Eli's fault he was a genetic experiment gone just wrong enough and Pete was a normal human with a mom that was actually there. It was hard to make new friends at Franklin. His best friend since elementary school had ditched him for having super powers, so what kind of idiot would share that with total strangers? He was different from all the other kids, but he couldn't tell any of them about it, and things just never seemed to click. But all that had changed since starting spring semester at Halcyon High.
From day one, things at Halcyon were better in every way. The campus was bigger, the facilities were better, and maybe it was just Eli, but he was pretty sure the girls were hotter too. Plus, it was an open secret that a lot of kids had powers like him. And, to top it all off, there was Bronwyn. Eli had been expecting they would send some obnoxious preppy class president-type to show him around, but instead he got to spend his first hour at Halcyon with a totally chill track star with killer legs, an independent personality, AND a functioning brain. And judging by the adorable giggle when he casually asked if she had a boyfriend, he was pretty sure she was single. So far, so smooth.
He was strictly on observation-only status with the Gifted program for the first semester, so he wouldn't be enrolled in any special classes until sophomore year, but that was just fine with Eli. Classes were awesome - they must have had to adjust the curriculum to account for supergenius teen supers, because he actually had to crack a book once or twice before his first tests, and he felt like he was learning new material for the first time since middle school. And he must have made a good impression on Bronwyn (girls love it when you can guess what culture their names are from), because she'd actually deigned to hang out with him after their first meeting. She seemed really down to earth, and he felt like they had a real connection. He had met some of her other friends, too. Mary-Beth was a total nerd, especially about mythology, but in a cool way. She'd even taught him a thing or two - apparently the people of Melanesia had a myth about a magical eel that could make tidal waves with its tail. Elijah couldn't even find Melanesia on a map. He couldn't get much of a read on Marco. He never seemed to be around when Eli was with Bronwyn, but that didn't bother Eli much. He had a suspicion that Marco had a crush on Bronwyn, and any time he was around, Eli's adrenal gland started overreacting.
Things were going well enough that Eli was thinking about asking Bronwyn to be his date for the upcoming dance. He had the perfect ask all planned out - when school let out for the day he would just so happen to be on the side of the school where her last class was and offer to walk her to practice. The route to the track field conveniently took them past the giant banner announcing the dance, and he could ever so casually ask if she had plans to go with anyone. She'd say no and he'd make a joke about how dances were lame anyway, but hey, maybe going could be some ironic fun, and how would she like to go with him? Completely, totally, one-hundred-percent fool-proof.
His plan went off without a hitch. He'd had to come up with an excuse for getting out of class early and dump some epinephrine into his system so he could get to the other side of the school in time, but no big. And then he'd had to throw in some acetylcholine and a little serotonin to get his heart-rate to slow down, but no sweat. Actually, the acetylcholine did increase his his perspiration, so he wiped his sweaty palms on his jeans before giving the hair a once-over just as the bell rang. Aaaand there was Bronwyn, as expected. They were walking, they were talking, an extra little shot of some depressant cocktail to counteract those rising cortisol levels and calm his nerves, hey check out that sign for the dance, you thinking about going? "Yeah, me nei- oh. Marco asked you. Cool."Be cool, you're cool, play it off, keep that adrenaline under control, manage that corti - s+@# s#$@ s!$! not a f%~*ing discharge!
He needed some time alone, so he'd called his dad and told him he was going to walk home instead. Sometimes he liked to run the three or so miles so he could practice with his powers - his best time so far was just under 13 minutes, and he was pretty sure he'd be able to get it lower. But today, he was taking it nice and slow, giving himself plenty of time to beat himself up. On the plus side, he didn't have to remember whatever meltdown he must have had after his discharge. On the downside, whatever it was, it was bad enough that he had erased his own memory of it afterward and it still tied his stomach in knots. Of course you'd have a discharge right then, they ALWAYS happen at the WORST possible moment! I mean really, you didn't see this one coming? F&!&ing Marco, OF COURSE he asked her. He was so mad, he just wanted to punch something, but the last time he punched a wall when he was angry he broke his thumb for a week. Where was a random alley mugging or purse-snatcher when you needed one?
Click click click. PSSSSSSSSSSHHHH. PSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHH. Click click click. PSSSSSSHHHHH. What was that? It sounds like...spray paint?
Oh yes. There IS a G-d!"Nice paint-job, a+$&!%@! How'd you like a new face to go with it?
Sister Ismene sighs, letting her breath out in disappointment. Ismene frowns down at the girl, more confused than angry. "Jemmy, what the hell are you doing? Was this your big plan? Throw piles of horse crap at us until we leave?" Ismene shakes her head. It brings a small amount of pride to her heart that she's scary enough to make small children burst into tears without so much as raising a fist, but terrorizing this girl wouldn't be any fun. Instead, she sits down next to the girl, folding her legs to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. I'm just going to assume that the girl is on the ground after being run down."Kinda dumb, but you got guts, kid. I respect that. Little Jemmy Kemmaino, gonna take on the Sinister Seven all by herself, with nothing but horse crap and a head full o' the same. Who woulda thunk it? Oh, quit yer cryin', kid, I ain't gonna hurt ya. You remind me too much of me when I was your age. Well, maybe more like when I was half your age. By the time I was your age, the Sisters had pretty much beaten all the tears outta me." She cracks a grin at the girl, looking back fondly on the childhood beatings.
"I guess you're not too happy with what happened yesterday, huh? To be honest, neither am I. I'm sorry you had to be there for that. That's not the sort of things nice kids like you need to see. If you want to know the truth, Allomar wasn't half bad in my book. But she went around stirring up trouble, what with all that Angel Knight stuff. But that's not why we had to do it. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but you can keep a secret, right Jemmy? The Allomar brothers tried to take us down the other day. Maybe you heard about it. One of them kicked the bucket in the fighting. Well, Tileavia Allomar wasn't too happy about that, so she tried to bring him back from the dead, only it went bad. We were out patrolling town when we saw a bunch o' Iomedaens fleeing from the church, screaming about a monster. When we got there, we found that Mommy Dearest had accidentally turned Lacall into some kinda ghoul or something, and he was attacking everybody. We tried to put him down, but Loran and Mommy tried to protect him, even when he was attacking their own congregants!"
Ismene sighs again, more sad than angry. "I know what you probably think about us, Jemmy. I know what your parents have probably said, and what the other grown-ups think about what we're doing. But we're just trying to make sure everybody follows the law. I'm not from Longacre, you know. I was born in Isger. You heard about the Goblinblood Wars? They teach you about that yet? I've seen what happens when there's nobody to protect the law, Jemmy. It doesn't go well for nice girls like you, and I'm living proof of that. And when nobody follows the law, we've all got to be strong enough on our own to protect it as best we can. My parents weren't strong enough when the goblin armies burned our town to the ground. The Sisters of the Goldin Erinyes took me in and made me strong. You heard of them? They call us the Devil Nuns. Maybe that doesn't sound too good, but it was devils that saved me from goblins, kid. And the other night, at the church? It was devils that saved the whole town from a zombie that your Fifth Sword Knight Allomar accidentally made from her own dead son. It's a messed up world is what I'm trying to say, Jemmy. Maybe you'll understand that when you're older. You can hate me for right now, if that's what you really want. I know it's what your mommy and daddy want. You're lucky to have them, you know? Take it from somebody who doesn't have her mommy and daddy anymore. And they're lucky to have you. You've got moxie, and that's more than I can say for most of the grown-ups around here." Unfolding her legs, she stands up again, the spoils from their last payment jangling in her robes. Thinking for a moment, she reaches her hand into her robes and fishes out a gold coin. "Asmodeus rewards strength. This is your reward, Jemmy," she says, holding the coin out for the girl to take. "You don't have to share it with anybody if you don't want to. When we don't have anything else in the world, all we have is our own strength. Be strong, Jemmy, and nobody can ever take that from you. Now scram."
The Butcher of...? Ambrose's scowl only deepens with the nickname, and thin tendrils of smoke begin to leak from the corners of his red-on-black eyes as he turns his baleful gaze on his fellow tiefling. He bares his teeth at Lcase as he carefully enunciates his words. "I am Lieutenant Ambrose Lucien Trelawney Jeggare, of the Korvosan Jeggares, and I am many things. I am hellspawn. I am Asmodean. For the moment, I may even be a pirate. But mark my words carefully, I am no damned Chel!" He punctuates the last word with a sharp exhale of smoke, stinking like brimstone, and after a moment, he releases his hand from the sword he did not realize he was gripping.
At an earlier time, a younger Ambrose might not have thought twice about drawing steel over such an insult. But it was that recklessness and lack of discipline that had gotten the spoiled aristocrat pressed into service aboard ship in the first place. It could thus be said that that is what arrived him at his current predicament, forced to serve aboard his second pirate ship in under a month, serving under an absolute brute of a captain who would not be fit to shine shoes in Korvosa. Of all the abominable places in the Inner Sea that Ambrose would rather be, even Cheliax would be a step up from the Shackles.
After a few moments of deep breathing and scornful glowering, the more even-tempered Lieutenant Jeggare comes to bear. "But I believe I agree with your assessment. There is little love lost between our Captain Plugg and our fellows, save for the likes of Ms. Bansion, Ms. Lonegan, and Messers Chumlett and Jape." Looking back to Sandara, he raises the obvious question. "What do you propose to do about it?"
I'm just making assumptions about those four, no clue about who else.
Ismene continues to beat on the wolf, but without knowing where to strike, her attacks prove ineffective. "Hey Greed, can you move Lust's dead weight outta the way here?"
While Muziel's busy giving out directions, Sister Ismene positions herself uncomfortably close to Lucky Marcus. Squinting, she inspects him carefully, prodding his arms, legs, and torso. "Why do they call you Lucky Marcus?"
Sister Ismene frowns, scrunching up her horse-like face. It's not a good look for her. "I dunno, never been nice before. I guess I could try it, though." Coughing, she clears her throat, hawking into her now-empty cup.
Charisma check:1d20 - 1 ⇒ (15) - 1 = 14
"Yoo-hoo, Madame Cembers," she croons. Waving her hand with a floppy wrist, she beckons the proprietor over to their table. "I don't know what you did since the last time we were here, but the food was simply to die for," she gushes. "And I'm so glad that business has picked up! It's no wonder, as good as the food has gotten all of a sudden! The Archbaron will certainly hear about this! It's too bad we'll have to tell him that you don't have the proper permit to host such large crowds," she moans. "But after he tastes the food, he couldn't possibly have you executed like that other tavern owner, could he, Sheriff Cimri?"
I realize that it's only been a month since my last big announcement, but I'd like everyone to know that I've just received my invitation to serve in the Peace Corps! I will be teaching secondary-level science classes in rural Cameroon, and once I depart from the USA at the end of May, I'll be overseas for 27 months.
I don't leave until May 21, so this affects absolutely nothing until at least then. Many volunteers have some kind of internet access at their post, but I won't know what my situation will be like until I get there.
If you, as a player, don't think that PvP would be a fun way of handling the situation, then find a different outlet for your character. There's no such thing as being bound by "what the character feels", because you control that.
We don't have much info on the specific situations in question here, so we don't know if your character was asking for help and the rest of the party explicitly denied that help or if it was more that they had other stuff going on at the time or what. CN might be selfish, but they might also be a self-sufficient type. Your character survived - might that actually prove that she didn't need their help anyway? Why does your character interpret the party's actions as a personal slight against her?
Furthermore, is this really something big enough to even be worthy of Calistrian vengeance? Calistria is vengeful, but that's different from being petty. In fact, petty vengeance might be condemned for cheapening acts of meaningful vengeance. Do you castrate your lover for glancing twice at another attractive person as you walk down the street? No, you wait until you have proof that they're two-timing on you. Then you ensure that they contract venereal disease and spread it to their partner, and arrange for their tryst to be exposed in the most humiliating and publicly devastating way imaginable. Ideally, both of their lives (or at least their reputations) are destroyed, and neither of them is going to be getting very much action on account of public knowledge that their no-no zone is a no-no zone.
Calistrian justice should be saved for those who really, really deserve it, because that is a sting to be savored.
[Raúl Juliá voice]For you, the day Bison beat you with a crowbar was the most important day of your life. But for me... it was Tuesday Friday.[/Raúl Juliá voice]
"Sounds good to me," Cimri says. "Whether Greed or Envy does it makes no difference to me. I'd rather have a drink than watch, though, especially if Envy does it." She starts following Ismene to the Last Stand. "Gluttony can stay at his precious Arch and Lark, I think. If he wants to be included in the shop talk then he needs to stick around for the work, too," she mutters as those heading to the Last Stand pass by the other tavern.
Once at the Last Stand, Cimri jumps behind the bar and starts pouring drinks for everyone who want to join in. She takes a drink of something stiff, sniffs a little as it goes down, then sighs as she leans against the bar. "Not quite the same without music and the crowd, is it?" she muses whistfully before taking another drink. "Though free is nice." After a moment she seems to return to the present. "So I'm thinking it might be better to stay the night at the Jail tonight. With the Castle Gate closed I'd rather be closer than a half hour away if something does go down. Having prisoners isn't nearly as fun as it seemed like it would be." She pauses another moment for another pull from her glass before continuing. "I also admit I don't much like the thought of trying to sleep with Razelago possibly upstairs anymore. I liked him better as a silhouette."
Ismene shrugs, accepting the drink the Cimri slides across the bar. "I dunno. Accuser devils are creepy looking, sure, but I wasn't so keen on that silhouette. At least now we know what he is."
She takes a swig from her glass, letting the alcohol work its magic. She looks around at the room, still in disarray from the disturbance earlier. "Cripes, it's been a long day." She sighs, exhausted from the emotional roller-coaster ride. She stares into her drink for a while, her chin resting on her hand and the weight of the world resting on her shoulders.
Breaking her somber silence, she asks, "How long do you think it'll take? Crushing the rebellion?"
Aside from the examples already mentioned, Rovagug provoked a war between the gods that resulted in many deaths on both sides. The names of the dead gods are long forgotten, but we know that Rovagug was opposed by Abadar, Apsu, Asmodeus, Calistria, Dahak, Desna, Dou-Bral (later became Zon-Kuthon), Erastil, Gozreh, Pharasma, Sarenrae, and Torag. And they maybe couldn't defeat Rovagug even then, as Rovagug was imprisoned rather than killed outright. It is strongly hinted that Golarion is his prison, and Asmodeus has the only key.
Lore on the gods of Golarion is strewn throughout the product lines that cover Golarion. If it's not part of the Core line, there's a good chance it's got deity-related lore. Some of the main sources besides the Inner Sea World Guide and Inner Sea Gods are the Book of the Damned line of books and the Adventure Paths. While the deity articles presented as backmatter in the AP issues were reprinted and expanded in Inner Sea Gods, the info about Rovagug that I posted above originally comes from the inside covers of the Legacy of Fire AP.
The PathfinderWiki is a searchable lore wiki, with helpful citations that can help you find Paizo products that contain the material you're looking for.
I'm dropping by to voice my support for pepperoni and pineapple as the best combination. It's the only thing in this thread that I care about, or am likely to care about. Pineapple is srs bzns.
Alright, here's the background portion. Statblock to follow. Right now I'm favoring wizard/swashbuckler with the Inspired Blade and Noble Fencer archetypes.
Wall of text:
Ambrose straightened his shirt, making small adjustments as he walked through the halls of the Jeggare estate. He had been summoned to his father's study moments before, and judging by the servant's manner, it had to be something important. Ambrose had been anticipating this for some time now, years, really. It was finally time for the meeting. There came a time in every young heir's life when his father, a shrewd and wealthy master of mercantilism, would send for his son and draw up the contract that would begin the transfer of power from father to son. Naturally, there would be a transitional period during which the son would work under the father, learning the ins and outs of the family business. And, of course, sometimes those periods could last for many years until the father finally retired gracefully in old age. But there was no doubt in Ambrose's mind that, once he stepped through the wide oak double doors of his father's study, it would only be a matter of time before it was his study. Approaching the doors, he paused to admire the brass handles. They were a matching set, an imp and a pseudodragon locked in an eternal struggle that reached a ceasefire only when the doors were open and resumed once they were closed again. Ambrose tugged on his white gloves, running his fingers over the red pentagrams emblazoned on the back, and knocked.
"Come in, come in," came the voice from the other side of the door. Obeying, Ambrose threw the doors open, interrupting the battle for his own personal glory. Confidently, he strode into the study where his father sat at his grand desk, head bent down over an important-looking document. Behind him, the window's rich velvet curtains were drawn back, offering a spectacular view of Korvosa beyond. Ambrose could barely keep from grinning as his father, Lord Aloysius Jeggare, looked up at him, dropping his quill back into the inkwell on his desk.
"Ambrose."
"Father." Ambrose did his best to imitate his father's stoic bearing and somber tone of voice, but he lost the battle as his father wordlessly handed him the document.
Ambrose's grin fades as suddenly as it appeared as he reads the document, an expression of confusion replacing it. "I don't understand."
"Those are your orders." Lord Jeggare laced his fingers together, folding his hands on the desk in front of him. No hint of mirth tugged at the corners of his mouth to betray a joke.
"You cannot be serious," Ambrose protested, though he could see for himself that his father was very serious indeed. The document he held in his hand was no laughing matter. Instead of the ownership contract he had been expecting, his father had handed Ambrose orders assigning him to a junior officer's post aboard one of his merchant galleys, the Imp's Purse. "You are pressganging me?!"
Lord Jeggare pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, wincing and sighing. Suddenly, he appeared very weary. He looked at his son, not unkindly, but pushed well past his limits.
"Ambrose, I understand that things have been... difficult for you as of late. I have tried to be patient with you, shown you leniency more times than can be counted. But I cannot allow it to continue. After what happened in Egorian, after you disgraced our family! Starting brawls, Ambrose?"
"It was not a brawl, father, it was a duel. A duel I won!"
"You cheated."
"I hardly think overpowering your opponent with both martial and arcane superiority can be considered cheating. And Narcissa's father still refuses me her hand, even after I trounced her ponce of a-"
"Enough!" Lord Jeggare was not a man who often raised his voice, much less against his own son, but he had had his fill of his son's complete and total lack of self-discipline. A certain amount of carousing and misbehavior was to be expected from a young man of Ambrose's age and station, tacitly encouraged even, but this latest embarrassment had been too much.
It was a shock when young Ambrose, a bright (and, importantly, human) boy of twelve when he left for the Acadamae, returned a decade later as a devil-summoning, devil-worshipping tiefling! They had tried to be understanding of their new misanthrope of a son, welcomed him back into the family as if nothing had changed. Lord Jeggare had ignored his son's diabolism, raised no objection when he had begun building a summoning circle in his bedchamber, even allowed him to attend Asmodean services instead of joining the rest of the family at the Abadaran temple. It was only to be expected, really. While he had hoped his son would study divination or transmutation, the Acadamae had a certain reputation for turning out top-shelf conjurers and devil binders. Ambrose had even graduated near the top of his class!
In hindsight, Lord Jeggare had to admit that they should have delayed Ambrose's induction into Chelaxian society, but he never would have predicted the reactions Ambrose provoked from the assembled nobles. His appearance was striking, but he looked mostly human, if you ignored the vestigial horns, the barbed tail, and the red-on-black eyes that smoked up the room when Ambrose became angry (which seemed to happen rather a lot). It had been terribly rude of Lord Leroung to withdraw his daughter from the arranged marriage between Ambrose and Narcissa. That contract had been signed years before Ambrose had left for the Acadamae, a strong match for both families! But dueling over the slight? And cheating? Ambrose had dealt a nasty blow to the family's reputation. He simply wasn't ready to inherit the family business, and some years at sea would teach him the discipline he sorely lacked. One day, Lord Jeggare assured himself, Ambrose would thank his father for this.
But today, Ambrose would have none of it. His eyes swept over the words that had so suddenly altered the course of his life, but he did not see them. Thin tendrils of smoke began to leak from the corners of his eyes and he turned on his heel, stalking out of the room without another word.
* * * * *
The Imp's Purse was scheduled to leave within the week. During the interim, Ambrose considered vanishing in the night, but discarded the flight of fancy as ridiculous. Instead, he was determined to keep a stiff upper lip. It would only be a matter of days after setting sail that his father would realize his error and recall his son back to Korvosa, and Ambrose's position would be the stronger for it. A week at sea might even do some good. After being confined to the estate after the incident in Egorian, a cruise on the open sea would be a refreshing change of pace. He was appointed to apprentice as ship's mage, his Acadamae schooling warranting a junior officer's position, and so his duties would not be too strenuous, and the Imp's Purse had just come off rotation with the Korvosan navy, so it was sure to be easy sailing in a purely commercial fashion. And so it was with smug optimism that Ambrose accepted his father's parting gift, a rich red uniform coat with black trim, perfectly tailored and customized with a waterproof pocket for a spellbook. Bidding his parents goodbye and fully expecting to be back in a week's time, he stepped foot in the carriage to board ship. Little did he know that it would be a week of years and more before he would see home again.
Life at sea was remarkably different from what Ambrose had pictured. Rather than the easy days of studying his books in a cabin under the tutelage of the ship's mage, he found his duties were far more laborious. Rather than studying magic, any study time Ambrose had was wasted learning about navigation. His day was filled with endless measurements of the sun, coordinate calculations, and reading the log for ship speed. Much to his chagrin, he was also required to learn about the ship and sailing, as if one day he would actually take the Lieutenant's Examination and assume command of a mast. The other officers were unsympathetic with his situation, giving him none of the respect and deference that was his due as their social better. The crew's treatment of him was even worse. The superstitious, unlettered mariners considered him bad luck, and he suffered umbrageous abuse from them. The evenings were closer to bearable; after supper when the sun had finally set, he had license to stargaze. Of course, even that was accompanied with the expectation that he would learn the constellations and positions, but Ambrose found it a reprieve nonetheless.
To Ambrose's initial dismay, the days aboard ship turned to weeks, and eventually into months. Once he realized that his father was not, in fact, going to send word to return home, Ambrose applied himself more fully to the study of the ship, if only to end the worst of the crew's abuses and in time he metamorphosed into a truly able seaman. After a full year, the Purse was up again for a military rotation, and Ambrose was drilled in naval combat and schooled in strategy alongside the other officers. There was rarely any serious naval action along the Varisian coast; Taldor's days of conquest were long behind it and Cheliax certainly had no intention of attacking its own colonial city-states. There was the occasional spat with pirates from Riddleport, but they lacked organization or conviction and were repelled easily enough. Ambrose took and passed the Lieutenant's Examination, hoping that a successful promotion would convince his father that he was ready to come home, but he was to have no such luck. When Imp's Purse once again began commercial operation, Ambrose took it upon himself to learn the family business from the other end. After all, once he was in control of the business, he might find personal knowledge of the trade routes and relationships in other port cities to be quite valuable. When the Purse received her orders to make a run down to Sargava, Ambrose found himself excited for the journey. In his time aboard ship they had made countless trips around the Varisian Gulf to Magnimar and back and a few voyages down to the Inner Sea, bouncing back and forth between northern Garund and southern Avistan. But traveling to Sargava would take Ambrose across the equator for the first time, and unlike their usual runs, Ambrose had orders to assist the captain in selling off the cargo and replenishing along the route as they made their way back. After more than two years at sea, Ambrose dared to hope that he might finally be nearing his voyage's end.
Traveling south to Eleder was a dangerous voyage. The Inner Sea had its own dangers, of course. There were raiders from the Linnorm Kingdoms up north, pirates from Katapesh to the south, and there were a number of treacherous passes along both coasts that could be challenging to navigate. But the run down to Eleder was a gauntlet of maritime hazards. Plenty of ports down that way were open to trade, but few were friendly. Between Ilizmagorti at the northern end (rumored to be under the sway of the infamous Red Mantis Assassins), to Bloodcove in the south (openly controlled by the prickly and aggressive Aspis Consortium), there lies the Shackles, an archipelago swarming with pirates that prey on merchant vessels without opposition. And even getting to the Shackles was an undertaking. On account of the Azlanti ruins and the infestation of horrible sea monsters, a ship had to make its way around the edges of the Eye of Abendego, a permanent hurricane that had turned the coastline of the whole region into drowned swamps for dozens of miles inland. But the difficulty of the run was the primary factor in its lucrativeness. Goods from Eleder, imported from the jungles of the Garund's interior, sold for outrageous prices in the Inner Sea. From exotic fruits, spices, and woods to luxury commodities and even curios, the expected return on investment from a run down south could measure many times the journey's cost, even after the dangers were considered. It would be an excellent opportunity for Ambrose to prove his value to his father and earn his place at the table.
It was also an excellent opportunity for the pirates that marked them on their way through the Eye. The ship appeared seemingly from nowhere, as if emerging from the waves below, or perhaps even a product of the storm itself. Caught in the fury of the storm, the Imp's Purse stood not a chance. Ambrose was in the rigging, drawing sail as the pirates closed. Fire belched from the enemy's ship as volley of explosions sounded. Moments later the ship shuddered as if hit by lightning, wood splinters filling the air. His mast began to fall and Ambrose was cast into the sea as another round pounded the hull. The sea, whipped into whitecaps by the storm, began to carry Ambrose away from the scene as he clung to a piece of the wreckage for dear life. Ambrose could barely make out the ship's name as he floated away - the Filthy Lucre.
For days, he drifted in the ocean aboard his makeshift raft. Miraculously preserved through the storm and battle, it seemed he was cursed only to die a slower death on the open water. Without food, he could only subsist on the small amount of freshwater he could create by magically freezing the ocean water. Unwilling to surrender to Pharasma just yet, he called out for help in prayer. At first he prayed to Asmodeus, and for many days received no answer. Then he entreated Gozreh to carry him to shore, again receiving no answer. In desperation, he called out to any power that would answer. Nearing the brink of death from exhaustion, he spotted land on the horizon, and Ambrose knew that something out there had heard him.
Sister Ismene nods along at first, beginning to get a feeling for where Caggan was coming from. But she begins to frown as somehow she and her friends become the villains of his story. It actually kind of hurt, coming from him like that. It was only two or three days ago that she and Cimri were in his bar, knocking back pints like normal. It was probably the only fun thing to do in this whole town. They'd been regular customers for a long time now, and none of that meant anything? He just doesn't get it. He can't see two feet past his own porch to see the bigger picture here! Sitting still, she practices remaining calm. She closes her eyes and takes a breath before letting herself speak.
"I can see you're a man with principles, Caggan. I can respect that. I know about bullies, too. Growing up, I was bullied. My family was bullied, my village was bullied, my whole country was bullied. Armies of hobgoblins and their pyromaniac midgets rampaging across the countryside. And you know who stopped them? Cheliax. House Thrune brought order back to Isger, but the damage was already done, and the church of Asmodeus raised a whole generation of Isgeri orphans."
Still sitting cross-legged in front of the pilloried bartender, she pulls out her five-pointed pendant. She toys with it, rubbing her fingers on it and tracing the star as she talks. "Asmodeus has a thing or two to say about the weak and the strong. He's got a lot to say about power, too. About getting it. And about keeping it. But, the thing is, it's not about power for power's sake. It's about keeping order. Those with power should be in power. Because if they're not? The whole system comes a-tumblin' down." She waggles her fingers in the air, pantomiming falling rain. "Crash!"
She looks back up at Caggan, looking him straight in the eye. "Here in Cheliax, Thrune is in control. They keep the peace. And right now, somewhere out there, there's a gang of thugs calling themselves the Glorious Reclamation trying to tear this country apart. And they're trying to bring the fight here. They've got Kels playing their song in your bar like a dancing monkey, riling up the peace in my town. And I've got a f!!@ing hobgoblin sitting in jail saying there's a whole army of greenskins just waiting to join that fight."
Sister Ismene's jaw clenches involuntarily as she fights to stay in control of passions. "I've already lost one home to war, Caggan," she says, shaking her head. "I don't plan on losing another. I don't know whose side you're on or if you've even picked one yet. But I want you to think about that while you sit here." She uncrosses her legs, standing in one fluid motion. Taking a step toward Caggan, still stuck in the stocks, she jabs him in the forehead with her index finger. "Think about it." Without another word, she stalks off, leaving him in the company of her harmless companions.
Ismene doesn't like the gobbo, Penelope doesn't like the bartender. We've all got our issues. What's important is that we support each other.
While Penelope deals with Kels, Ismene waits patiently for Caggan to wake up. When he finally does, she's sitting cross-legged in front of him "Well look who finally decided to re-join the land of the living. How was your 'nap'?" After exchanging some smug pleasantries, she gets down to business.
"Here's the deal, Caggan. You've been convicted of harboring a gathering of dissenters and breaking curfew. Here's the thing, and I'm gonna level with you here. The Arch and Lark sucks, but with you in the stocks, we don't have anywhere else to go for lunch. Penelope's not too happy that you tried to dump chili on her, and I gotta say, it was a tragic waste of a tasty lunch. But I've always had a soft spot for your fine establishment, and I'm inclined to be lenient. So tell me everything you know about the Angel Knight and the Glorious Reclamation, rescind your ban on us, and apologize to Penelope. If you do, I'll let you go and we'll call this water under the bridge. Sound alright?"
Perhaps we should open up a discussion on Bluff here so we can get this taken care of. Before I launch into this, I'd like to say 1) I am not the GM and 2) I'm amused by Reuleaux so far and not put off.
Bluff rules are here. Reuleaux is correct as far as the numbers are concerned. However, the issue of how to adjudicate social skills between PCs is contested. We're not the first table to run into this, and we won't be the last. In some circles, players are allowed to use social skill rolls against each other in the manner that Reuleaux is advocating. In others, there's an understanding that other PCs have a certain degree of narrative agency that protects them from having to abide by the Bluff/Diplomacy/Intimidate/Sense Motive results and that those rolls only affect NPCs.
Reuleaux's character concept seems to revolve around being a masterful troll. By dint of his being here, the GM has given his tacit approval of this, at least where the NPCs are concerned (though I don't know that anybody, GM included, was quite prepared for Reuleaux as he is). As a social character, social roleplay is where he shines, and it would hamstring his approach to completely shut his antics down. What he's done so far has been harmless and I personally doubt that he'll intentionally derail the story in any way by his actions. (say, by stealing plot-important items and selling them for personal profit).
Personally, I would advocate that we limit "social skill combat" in the same way that we do PvP. I'm willing to play the gullible straight-man to Reuleaux, simply because that seems like it would be more fun for me personally. Even if everybody else is willing to allow their characters to be fooled by Reu, I still think it would be funny for Zoisa to get a pass. Zoisa being the "only sane man" seems like it could be fun, especially being the only other gnome, and a bit of a psychonaut at that.
I am not gonna lie. This is hard for me. I have started this campaign a number of times PBP. I have a number of concepts and the candy store of conflicting ideas is crashing about in my head.
I believe we played alongside each other in one of those. How is Terz?
Ismene blushes, embarrassed. "I just meant..." She wants to defend her point, but it's too early to risk losing Fex's approval, so she drops it. From the sounds of it, the Sinister Seven would be responsible for keeping the law. It wouldn't be difficult to simply overlook certain technicalities as long as the Archbaron wasn't going to loom over them himself. Razelago must be providing him with intelligence. I wonder if he can turn invisible?
For clarity's sake, Ismene was worried about the accusation about congregating. The edict states that the the rule about congregating can be exempted for individuals undertaking the natural course of their business. If Bolgart is punished for breaking that law, then taverns - and by extension, any business - is limited to twelve persons, including proprietor and staff, and the aforementioned provision is null and meaningless. It should also mean that every person at the tavern should be punished, but it looks like we're only going to selectively enforce the edict.
Ismene gladly accompanies the others to the Last Stand. She and Cimri are regulars, as are many of the townsfolk, what with it being the only decent watering hole in town. The Arch and Lark was expensive and stuffy, just like its clientele, but the Last Stand was always good for a drink (and a brawl if you were lucky). Picking a seat with a decent view of the stage, she flags down a wench. "What's a Sister got to do to get a bowl o' stew around here?"
Waiting on drinks and food, Ismene joins in the sing-along chorus, pounding on the table in time with the tune, paying no mind to Nikolai's grumbling.
Exactly right - and in the face of constantly being told not only that it would never happen, but even why we were so wrong for even asking for it. I, for one, never think its a bad thing when customers want to tell a company what they are eager to spend their money on.
This is the second time you've expressed this sentiment. I'm sorry you personally feel persecuted for having wanted to see this product. However, there was very good reason for reminding people of the party line. In fact, the constant reminding may have been one of the key factors in ensuring that the book got made.
The issue is this: the hardcover editions of the adventure path function similarly to trade paperbacks in comics, and are fraught with the same vulnerabilities; namely, the risk that the consumer base will refuse to purchase the individual issues on the assumption that they will be able to purchase the collected trade paperback. Paizo's business model is reliant on the monthly income from the Adventure Path subscribers, and if it became commonly-held belief that every AP would simply be reprinted as a hardcover in a few years, that source of income would dry up and the hardcover would never happen.
The problem with people constantly asking for the hardcover is that it helps perpetuate the perception that the hardcover is on its way, which may prevent people from subscribing. This is not merely hypothetical - it was a main fear of Paizo's the first time around, and they were very clear about the danger that such an attitude posed to the product. Aside from the subscriber problem, Paizo also has backroom stock that they're trying to sell; any issue of an AP that isn't sold represents a monetary loss, not just on production but also in stocking and in destruction costs. One of the important contributing factors that helped both RotRL and CotCT get re-published was the fact that they had mostly become unavailable and prohibitively expensive to acquire on the second-hand market. The enduring popularity of these APs, the lack of physical access to the product, and the timely milestone anniversaries meant the stars aligned to make both very special products happen.
Enjoy the CotCT hardcover. I know I will. And many of those who vigilantly reminded people not to get their hopes up are just as happy to see this product as you and the others who were so vocal in their support for it. Please don't feel that you were the personal target of any attacks. Because the same risks to the company still exist, and they're arguably even more likely to come to pass due to this new book, which means that many of us will continue to remind the rest of you that a Second Darkness/Legacy of Fire/Kingmaker/etc. hardcover is not likely to happen. And when and if those products do eventually see release, we'll all celebrate together again.
Male Human Warlord (Steelfist Commando) 5 | Init: +3 | HP 60/60 | AC 19; T 15; FF 15 | CMB +7; CMD 20 | Saves Fort: +6; Ref +5; Wil +5 | Perc: +8 |
On the Ride:
Zohruk the Scapegoat herder wrote:
“Aww, I don’t think you’re givin’ this idea its due, buddy. She’s just a lovely she-wolf that would probably really like to get a little fox in her,” Zohruk says, his smile widening. “You’ve got that wiry build she likes, you’re a liiitle short, but not enough to break the deal, you’re brave as all hell, good with a knife… I don’t see any real downside here. Now, Yhrrilka doesn’t have any brothers, but as her cousin, Haazek would probably step in for the fight...” Zoh notes the alarmed look on Grimold’s face. “What? Just a little tussle with Haazek, you know, a, whaddya call it, a ‘test of mettle,’ yeah. You two throw some punches around, so’s you can show you’re tough enough. I’ve seen you lump up bigger guys than him…!” If that’s actually true, Zohruk can’t recall precisely when it was.
Grimold balks at this new turn of events. A little fox? Now he's trying to throw me to the wolves!"Hold a moment there, when did this become about me?"
Rataji the Reasonable wrote:
Zoh’s banter with Grimold is amusing, but Taj can’t help feeling for Yhrrilka. “If we’re not careful, all our pelts will be collected. I know how I’d feel if you were taken from me and I was given a substitute -- no matter how attractive -- in your place.” She nods at Grimold. He was a handsome boy, but he wasn’t Zoh. The one who held her heart. The one she loved. “If Ril is anything like me, and you said she was... She’s going to be hurt and pissed. And I’m the one who did this to her...”
Grimold wasn't really worried about Yrrilka being the one who got hurt, but he vigorously nods his agreement. Relieved that Taj seems to be on his side, he lets her fight this battle for him - she's doing a much better job than he would, anyway.
Zohruk wrote:
“OK, let me think… So, what if we got to the Aghash Rukon camp, and while we’re there, Grimold and I, we fight, right? And he lays a whuppin’ on me. And oh, whaddya know, he does it right in front of Ril. And she goes, ‘Oh Grimold, you’re so dreamy, I just want to cut you into pieces and eat you up!’” (Zohruk’s voice is in a high falsetto for that last bit.) “There’s really only a... a very small chance she’d mean that literally.”
Grimold's eyes go wide again, and he and Rataji share a glance. If it were anybody else, Daen perhaps, he might find the joke funny, but being offered up as sloppy seconds to an angry she-orc was an arrow Grimold wasn't interested in taking, even for Zoh. He breathes a sigh of relief as Zohruk lets it go.
Grimold is all too eager to let Zoh and Taj drift off into their awkward mind-link conversation, but he can't help but imagine what he'd look like with his own tattoo spread. His people had long held their own tattoo tradition, but it was mainly a sign that the wearer had sorcerous powers. As far as Grimold knew, he was magically incompetent. In his first few months at the Bonewatch he had tried to learn from Dazen in his spare time, but it never seemed to take.
But Grimold liked the tattoo idea - it would make him feel more... Varisian. His parents had never told him the reason they had forsaken the road and taken up in Vigil, and much of Grimold's energy was spent trying to recapture the connection to his culture that he felt had been missing all his life. He felt that connection most strongly when he played Papa's violin, felt most like himself when he could put bow to string. But chasing that feeling had gotten him into trouble, falling in with the Sczarni after playing with Jorge and Felipe. And it was the same thing that happened back in Ustalav when he had been undercover. After Allie had disappeared and Zoh had been reassigned, he'd fallen prey to it again. The Sczarni mask went on a little too easy and fit a little too well. He'd almost forgotten that he was Grimold the Knight, and he still harbored guilt over it. Even though the mission was ultimately a success, he hadn't told Daen or Kassie how close he had come to turning.
Shrugging off the bad memories, Grimold decides that tattoos might be a good idea someday. It might help Grimold the Knight feel a little more Varisian, a little less distant from his own heritage. Maybe then he wouldn't need other masks to make him feel like himself.
Rataji the Resourceful wrote:
Taj grins. “I would love to hear the tale of Keaton the Spirit Fox. Even more, I’d love to hear the tale of Grimold, former criminal turned Knight. And are there tales that you’d like to hear in return? I’m not as gifted a tale-spinner as Tam, but I remember all the tales the old man told me. Maybe we call all share stories?”
Grimold runs a hand through his hair, scratching the back of his head. This wasn't the first time Taj had asked him about his story, and it seemed like she wasn't going to let him dodge it forever. He knew that, one day, he would have to come up with a version worth telling - every hero had an origin story, and if the bards were going to immortalize him then he needed to make sure his was memorable. But for now, all he had was the truth. So Grimold told Rataji about growing up Oathless in Vigil, and how he had fallen in with Felipe and Jorge and the others. He told her about the night in the rain (had there been rain? Surely there must have been rain, it was much too dramatic for clear skies...) and the job gone bad, and how Allie saved him by offering him a spot in the Bonewatch. Looking back on it, that particular plot twist made even less sense than it had in the moment, and he couldn't help but glance over at Allie, silently thanking her.
When he'd finished his story, he looked back to Taj, grinning sheepishly. "So that is it, the origin story of Grimold the Rag Knight. It will be a legend one day, but you heard it here first! Now if that satisfies your appetite, I would love to hear about life in the Mwangi Expanse. Books about your people are not easy to find here in Vigil."And yet it is so easy to find certain texts from Vudra...
While the others stop to interrogate the prisoners, Grimold stays in cloud form and acts as lookout, patrolling the halls around the prison to make sure nothing sneaks up on them from above or below.
Male Human Warlord (Steelfist Commando) 5 | Init: +3 | HP 60/60 | AC 19; T 15; FF 15 | CMB +7; CMD 20 | Saves Fort: +6; Ref +5; Wil +5 | Perc: +8 |
On the Ride:
Rataji the Pants-wearer wrote:
She turns to Sir Grimold. “As the only one of us who ever had actual criminal connections, perhaps you can advise us. What should be done with two unrepentant thieves, who’ve irrevocably stolen each other’s hearts?”
Grimold rolls his eyes at the lovebirds. At this rate, Zohruk would be reduced to a domesticated farmer living on a ranch with thirteen cows before the month was out, hadrly of any use in a rescue mission. "In my professional opinion, you are both guilty of the far worse crime of stealing my breakfast." Placing a hand on his stomach, he mimes vomiting over the side of his horse.
Zohruk of the Burnin' Love wrote:
"You're absolutely right about one thing," he says out loud. "I do have to find a way to make right by Yhrrilka." Zoh looks over at Grimold, whose facial expression has changed to more than a little amused over this whole exchange. "Grimold, man, we should swing up to Burning Sun territory, and you should meet Ril! Oh, this is the best idea ever!"
Strike that. Zohruk wouldn't live to see the ranch. As much fun as it was to joke, the thought of actually meeting this Yhrrilka was terrifying. The only thing Grimold can think of that would be worse is the fear that Zoh might try to set him up with an orc girl. Luckily, there was no reason for them to go near Burning Sun territory on this mission. "Zohruk, my people have a saying. Love makes lambs into wolves and wolves into lambs. It would be a shame for you to throw yourself to a wolf when your spring wool is only just starting to come in."
Rataji the Resourceful wrote:
The words strike her, hard. Taj is transfixed. “The Song of the Spheres?” The idea that a goddess can be the song that her ancestors have been singing... “The more I hear of your goddess, the more I want to learn. Can you tell me more of her stories and mysteries on our journey?”
Grimold smiles at Rataji, encouraged by her eagerness. "There are so many stories to be told! But Desnan tales are best shared under stars' light, so that the Great Dreamer herself might enjoy the telling from her palace atop the Stair of Stars, and bless those who listen with good dreams as they drift off to slumber with the glow of the stars' song still warm in their hearts." He was beginning to look forward to his next watch with a new stargazing companion. Not wanting to let her down entirely, he adds, "But my people have many stories that I could tell you now." He pulls the fox mask out of his saddlebag, holding it out to Rataji. "You wanted to know about my mask? It is just a simple mask from Minkai with the face of a fox, but it always reminded me of the tale of Keaton the Spirit Fox, master thief of the First World. Would you like to hear his story?"
Oy, now I have to figure out how to write a proper folktale. This one could take a little while :P
You're also ignoring the planar conflicts that do exist. The qlippoth and the daemons, for example. Then there's the part where Golarion is both a physical and metaphysical cage for Rovagug, who would completely devour the multiverse if he were to escape.
Male Human Warlord (Steelfist Commando) 5 | Init: +3 | HP 60/60 | AC 19; T 15; FF 15 | CMB +7; CMD 20 | Saves Fort: +6; Ref +5; Wil +5 | Perc: +8 |
On the Ride:
Rataji's perspectives on interracial attractions are interesting, but Grimold has had about as much of that discussion as he can stomach for the moment.
Rataji the Resourceful wrote:
“I’d love to hear more about the constellations up here. Please, show them to me! Does Desna talk about the songs the stars sing, or just their wanderings through the heavens?”
The question gives Grimold pause for thought. "Desna herself is often called the Song of the Spheres. Perhaps it is she who sings, or she is their song? For us who worship Desna, it is about the journey, not the destination, and so too it is about the mysteries, not the answers." While he'd grown up worshipping Desna as Mama and Papa had taught him, it wasn't until the Knights had indoctrinated him into Iomedae's theology that Grimold had begun to truly appreciate the Desnan point of view. Iomedae was a young goddess, rigid and inflexible, and her faith was occupied with the details of her mortal works and her ascension. Allie had said it best in one of their occasional religious discussions: they are too occupied with facts to leave room for truth. But Desna was older than the stars, perhaps as old as Pharasma herself. There were more tales of her works than could ever be told, more to her creations than could ever bee seen. With her smile she bestows fortune's favor, and her laughter brings low petty thieves and mighty kings alike. With all of the questions one might think to ask, did the answers even matter?
At Taj's beckoning, Grimold joins the others, opting for a clap on the shoulder instead of a hug. He breathes a sigh of relief when Daen proposes that they'll be able to offer aid once they rescue the Lord Watcher. "Surely the Lord Watcher will see the strategic value of having an orc tribe on our side. Their war intelligence alone would give us a more accurate picture of what we face on the other side of the Hordeline."An enraged Yhrrilka might be just the thing we need to turn the tide of this war!"Should we saddle up or do we ride with the dawn?"
Male Human Warlord (Steelfist Commando) 5 | Init: +3 | HP 60/60 | AC 19; T 15; FF 15 | CMB +7; CMD 20 | Saves Fort: +6; Ref +5; Wil +5 | Perc: +8 |
Was the current date ever established? In Table 2's gameplay, Precentor Hailu indicated that we were less than a month away from the flooding season, which occurs for two months in the spring. That should put us in either Calistril (February) or Pharast (March), depending on if the floods were early or late spring.
DM, I'd recommend an official date kept for both tables. If there's ever any cross-over, it will make it much easier to determine how events in each game correspond. It would also help me figure out which constellation of the Cosmic Caravan is currently visible :P
Taj, I'm not sure what to do about Allie. If she leaves, it will be more difficult to integrate her back in should her player return. But botting means somebody has to control her actions, or else she's just off-screen.
EDIT: More on the calendar. In this thread there are links to an Excel-based calendar for Golarion, including holidays and the phases of the moon, as well as the online calendar based on the Excel sheet.
EDIT II: Son of EDIT: The most likely candidate is that The Newlyweds is prominent (17 Calistril–11 Pharast), which I find amusingly appropriate. The second most likely candidate is The Bridge (12 Pharast–18 Gozan).
Male Human Warlord (Steelfist Commando) 5 | Init: +3 | HP 60/60 | AC 19; T 15; FF 15 | CMB +7; CMD 20 | Saves Fort: +6; Ref +5; Wil +5 | Perc: +8 |
On the Ride:
Rataji the Resourceful wrote:
Her stomach drops. “It is different where I come from. There are some orc tribes on the border of the Mwangi. They allied with us against an incursion of lizard folk. They’re our trading partners. My childhood guard, Tam, was vukhrov like Zoh. Everyone respected him.” Then she raises her eyebrows. “Wait a minute. Do they see other vukhrovs the same way? Me? Sir Daen?”
Grimold shakes his head. "Half-elves are not as looked down on. While they have their own problems, people are not surprised that a human could love an elf. With orcs, it is different..." It was great for Zohruk that Rataji thought nothing of his orc blood, but her acceptance was beginning to push his limits of understanding. Was it really so surprising that half-orcs were often the product of rape? All you had to do was look at an orc, and it should be obvious. Elves are lithe and beautiful; orcs are tusky and violent. Were they considered attractive where she comes from? Grimold has difficulty wrapping his mind around that idea.
Rataji the Resourceful wrote:
“I’ve always been curious about your Desna. When my ancestors are done helping their descendents, our tradition states that they take their place amongst the stars. The heavens call to me. When I was a child, I told my great uncle that I could hear them singing to me. He told me that maybe it was my ancestors calling me to let me know they’d made their journey safely. Could... could you tell me more about your lady of stars? I’d also like to hear more of Sarenrae and the Burning Mother that Zoh speaks of, but Desna is the one you worship, yes?”
Grimold nods. "For better or for worse, Desna holds my fate in her hands. She likes to play with it, like a toy. I pray to her, and she hears my prayers in her starry palace. Sometimes she smiles, sometimes she laughs. The Stair of Stars points the way to her home - Cynosure, the North Star. She placed it there among the rest of her creations, all of the stars in the heavens. I can show you tonight after the sun sets, and you can borrow my copy of the Eight Scrolls if you want."
While Precentor Hailu briefs them, Grimold stoically keeps his place in line. He lets Daen ask all the usual questions, trying to pay attention despite the distraction posed by the Precentor's tight-fitting dress. When she presents the letter, his eyes flit sideways to Zohruk, who takes the news far better than Grimold would have expected.
Once dismissed from the tent, he goes outside to console his friend, but stops short when he sees that Rataji has the situation in hand. It was probably for the best; Grimold wasn't sure what he could have said that would help matters.
Male Human Warlord (Steelfist Commando) 5 | Init: +3 | HP 60/60 | AC 19; T 15; FF 15 | CMB +7; CMD 20 | Saves Fort: +6; Ref +5; Wil +5 | Perc: +8 |
On the road:
Rataji the Resourceful wrote:
She looks at the young knight. “Grimold, may I ask you something? We weren’t there long, but I didn’t notice a lot of vukhrov people in Lastwall, and hardly any with orc blood. This close to the border with Belkzen, I expected more. Were there many other knights like Zoh?”
Grimold glances quizzically at Rataji, startled by the question. Slowly, gently, he shakes his head. "Zohruk is the first half-orc Knight in at least a generation." He averts his gaze, letting his eyes trail off to the road ahead. "This close to the border, people do not trust half-orcs. Perhaps... perhaps it is different where you come from. But here, they do not often come from... happy families."
Half-orcs were rare in Lastwall, but at least they were tolerated so long as they bore the Sheild-mark. Things were far worse for them in Ustalav. It was difficult for Grimold to forget the way the common folk had treated his friend, despite being a Knight. It had made undercover work easier; even if their cover was blown, nobody would have believed the truth. She thinks nothing of it. She looks at him and sees Zohruk instead of just a half-orc. As the realization sinks in, Grimold begins to appreciate what Rataji could mean for Zohruk. Yhrrilka is not going to like this.
After a silent moment, he turns back to Rataji. "My turn," he says. "What gods do you worship? Our religious studies class did not talk much beyond Iomedae and Aroden. Bards tell tales of ancestor worship in the Mwangi jungles. Are your spirits also your gods?"
When he's finished prancing around with Sandja, Grimold pulls her up next to Kassie's horse. Throwing his leg over and hopping out of the saddle, he whispers encouragement in her ear and pats her neck before letting the attending boy take the reins. Removing his mask, he grins at Kassie. "That was fun! We should have another race sometime, you and me. You have to give me a chance to catch up!" In their cohort's ongoing series of horse races, Grimold was losing to Kassie by two, but they hadn't had a chance to go head-to-head since the Bonewatch. It wouldn't be the same without the others, but now that he had Sandja to ride and Jalen wasn't around, Grimold thought he might stand a chance of tying it up. "You too, Rataji. You did great! That flag might come in handy."
Inside the command tent, Grimold grins at Daen as he falls in line. I should have asked if Alacarty had a book about fun for him to study.
Male Human Warlord (Steelfist Commando) 5 | Init: +3 | HP 60/60 | AC 19; T 15; FF 15 | CMB +7; CMD 20 | Saves Fort: +6; Ref +5; Wil +5 | Perc: +8 |
On the ride:
Grimold gets a good chuckle from the image Rataji paints of the elves. His guard lowered, he's surprised when she sneaks in with her questions. "Oy, one at a time, yeah? You could teach Allie a thing or two about conducting an inquisition!" Once the words are out, he winces inwardly. He'd meant it as a joke, but to his ears it sounded like a jab.
As he thinks about which question he should answer, his hand drops down, his fingers brushing against the mask peeking out of his saddlebag. He wished he was wearing it right now, but hiding like that wouldn't be fair to Rataji. Grimold thinks back to meeting Zohruk and that visit to Alacarty's Scriptorium where he'd purchased Contortions of a Vudrani Acrobat. He and Zoh had had some fun with that in their time at the Bonewatch, but that probably wasn't the kind of thing he should be telling Rataji. "Me and Zohruk are the rag knights. Our friendship probably came from survival instinct more than anything," he laughs. "He has been a good friend, though. When we met, I was in some trouble. It is a long story..."
Grimold sighs and runs a hand through his hair as he tries to think of how to tell it. "In the Bonewatch, there are these storage spaces and sub-basements. I needed something from down there to trade for information I needed about some friends who were killed. I was still new and did not have many allies among the scrubs. Zohruk showed up a week or two after me, and I tried to rope him into some harmless exploration. At first, he was worried about getting caught and being scrubbed out, but when I finally came clean and told him the truth about why I needed his help, he was all in." Grimold burned with some of the old shame as he remembered how he had tried to use his friend, and some embarrassment at how the half-orc had seen right through him. "That is the kind of guy Zohruk is, you know? We did not know each other very well, but he stuck his neck out to help me. It would have been over for us both if we had been caught, but he had my back." He looks at Rataji, considering her situation. "From what I know about your story, it was not so different for you."
Male Human Warlord (Steelfist Commando) 5 | Init: +3 | HP 60/60 | AC 19; T 15; FF 15 | CMB +7; CMD 20 | Saves Fort: +6; Ref +5; Wil +5 | Perc: +8 |
The next morning:
After waking, Grimold cooks up a camp breakfast. Some nearby bushes yield some berries, supplementing his restocked store of spices to flavor an otherwise bland pot of ration gruel.
Survival:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16
When Taj and Zohruk join the living, Grimold brings over some food. "How are you feeling?"
Heal:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (8) + 4 = 12
A quick examination yields no information about what disease she suffered. "Whatever it is, you seem to have overcome it. Those spirits are pretty useful, eh?"
On the road, he finds himself riding near Rataji. With Zohruk gone ahead as the self-appointed scout and Daen in tactical discussions with Eilidh as he plans their approach to the orc fortress, there's little Grimold can do to avoid their new standard bearer. He suddenly realizes how uneasy he's been around her, and it's all he can do to suppress Mama's voice in his head from berating him for his behavior. He should be more welcoming, making an effort to make her feel comfortable among them. Kassie and Eilidh were doing their part, and Rataji was already becoming a central figure in Daen's battle plans. It's been so easy for her. With the exception of Zohruk, it had taken months for Grimold and the others to develop a mutual trust. But she shows up with Zoh one night out of the blue and she's in like Flynn. Who in the Hells is Flynn, anyway?
Sighing to himself, Grimold casually awkwardly draws Sandja up next to Rataji's horse to talk. "Zohruk says your color spray spell packs a whallop."
As the Wall comes into view, Grimold's heart sinks. Lastwall's defensive perimeter had been reduced significantly; it hardly resembled the glorious bulwark it was always depicted as in murals and stories, defending the good and righteous against the massed forces of evil beyond it. Instead, it was just another reminder of how desperate their mission was, of how much was resting on their shoulders. He raises a hand in salute to the men they pass, drawing the his yellow fox mask over his face to hide his grim expression.
Since becoming a Knight, the mask had become something of a signature for Grimold. Depicting the smiling face of Keaton, the fey fox, it answered whatever danger he faced with playful nonchalance. In a past life, he had worn it to disguise his identity in Oathless black markets and Sczarni dealings. Once a symbol of his checkered past, it now embodied his public persona; if they managed to pull off this rescue mission, it would become his personal legend. Grimold, the Fox of Ozem, would go down in history.
From behind the mask, he answers Rataji. "We could. Or we could give them something to really cheer about. Come on!" Whipping his reins, he urges Sandja into a gallop, standing up in his stirrups and showing off for the troops.
M Human Swashbuckler 12 | Init +9 | Percp +9 | HP 93/93 | AC 27| Fort +9, Ref +16, Wil +6 |
I fully trust that the GM won't be forcing you into annoying morality traps, and none of us are particularly prone to solving problems in evil ways. As long as we're all reasonable people, it shouldn't be a problem.
Btw, much respect for translating Pathfinder into Italian.
