I want the lesser restoration potion for my medicine bag. I think I earned it.
Also I think you should all pay for my outside-inning. And buy me a pony.
Actually, I want Bartleby's.
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"I say, are you two alright?" the Vicar asks in the general direction of the clients.
"I can work with this," says the Vicar, pleased to at least be a smaller target at this point. "Gentlemen, madame, I leave this too you," says the Vicar, his voice 1/4th as deep. He stumbles back into the safety of the zone of darkness, where he will stand as near to the clients as he can manage preparing to channel energy if either of them takes damage.
The Vicar takes a 5-foot step back into the black, then blindly rushes through the sphere of magical darkness, taking care not to bump into where the clients were the last time he had a sense of their location, and pops out the other side near Jack. The Vicar converts the stored prayer energy of his Summon Monster I spell into pure positive energy so he can heal Jack. Or turn him into a rabbit, the way things have been going.
The immeasurable power of blind idiot god Azathoth, Lord of All Things, encircled by his flopping horde of mindless and amorphous dancers, reverses the power of time and unmakes several of Jack's wounds.
The Vicar takes advantage of the uncertainty of his opponent and, given no other reasonable alternative, is forced to pull his trump card. The Vicar pokes the Mongrelman in the eyes, three stooges style.
"I wish I could say I shared your optimism, Mr. Bob, but I fear that we may not live long enough for your stoic bravado to pay off. With our magic unreliable we will need some manner of tactical advantage to compensate for our numbers." Bits of viscera drip from the horrific looking inside-out man as he opines thus.
"Would that I wasn't inside out." The Vicar channels positive energy again; at least this time it will have some effect.
The Vicar walks up closer to the two researchers, and casts his other Shield of Faith on Rohkar.
"I'm pleased for you, sir," says the Vicar.
He casts Shield of Faith on Erika.
"I suppose your healing services have no secret price tags involved, hmm?" "You wound me, Mr. Bob. Not all Chaos cultists are evil, that is an ugly stereotype. But I will rise above your base prejudices, Mr. Bob. I am nothing if not a gentleman."
"I do not 'fight', Mr. Bob, I am merely a vessel for the power of the boundless daemon sultan Azathoth, whose name no lips dare speak aloud, and who gnaws hungrily in inconceivable, unlighted chambers beyond time and space amidst the muffled, maddening beating of vile drums and the thin monotonous whine of accursed flutes." He adjusts his sleeves. "That is to say, Mr. Bob, I'm a healer."
"What kind of joker party is this? a child with a pony and a fancy dressed priest? This is gonna be interesting..." "I think you will find Mr... Slasher is it? I think you will find Mr. Slasher that I am precisely the appropriate level of dressed."
"Hello Vicar, a fellow man of faith! Shall we discuss coordinating the blessings of our deities to maximize our success?" "Alas, Mr. Nutmeg, I think you'll find the particular blessings of the amorphous blight of nethermost confusion which blasphemes and bubbles at the center of all infinity often prove resistant to coordination." He clears his throat. "Perhaps, since you seem to have a not-insignificant edge on me in terms of magical potency, you could supervise the healing of the main party while I stay closer to the clients and insure their safety. Unless, of course, you have an alternative plan."
"Very whimsical, Mr. Nutmeg."
The Vicar is, as always, impeccably dressed and ready to go.
I want to replace Charlemagne with The Vicar on the list because I like this new character more. He's the gentleman's prophet of doom. Edit: At level one, I have a +11 Will save vs. Phantasm Illusions. That's a very specific situation but +11! |