Thurim of Cryingleaf's page

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (12) + 9 = 21

"GROG, NO! CROSSBOW BOLT!" warns Thurim with alarm!

Thurim follows, lending his gaze to any further surprises.

Take ten perception is 19

I lost the login for Mapotools again, can someone just move me in behind the bulk of the party?

Thurim goes to stop Grog, but realizes the futility of it all. "Gods have mercy on us all."

Touch vs Green: 1d20 + 2 - 4 ⇒ (12) + 2 - 4 = 10
Damage: 1d4 ⇒ 3

Thurim launches another bolt of energy and squints. Did it hit?

"No" laconically answer Thurim as another bolt of energy whizzes by harmlessly.

Touch vs Green: 1d20 + 2 - 4 ⇒ (3) + 2 - 4 = 1
Damage: 1d4 ⇒ 3

Arcane bolt vs Orange: 1d20 + 2 - 4 ⇒ (19) + 2 - 4 = 17
Damage: 1d4 ⇒ 2

"There Grog" states Thurim dryly. "That's the spine. Aim there."

"Hit it in the spine Grog! In the ... Let me show you."

Ranged Touch vs Orange: 1d20 + 2 - 4 ⇒ (7) + 2 - 4 = 5

The bolt of energy goes wild. "Not there" comments the elf.

Sorry for the delay, lost my roll 20 login and didn't have the opportunity to reset it until now.

Knowledge (Religion): 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (13) + 9 = 22

Thurim steps up from behind. "The restless dead should stay dead."

Magic missile vs blue: 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3

Thurim slowly rises from the ground, wincing as he rubs a nasty bruise.

"It's all that trail food we've been eating. It sticks to your sides."

***Sometime later***

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (3) + 9 = 12
Heal (Untrained): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9

Thurim shrugs at the scene of the carnage, but remarks: "Perhaps we should bury those beasts. Unless we want to attract more wolves."

Thurim, noticing Ignacius' slow pace, decides to mimic him.

Acrobatics #1: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (20) + 2 = 22
Acrobatics #2: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 = 21
Acrobatics #3: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4

Reflex #1: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12
Reflex #2: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20
Reflex #3: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (19) + 2 = 21

Thurim keeps to himself, pondering the meaning of the dead body. "Cannibals, animals or the restless dead. Wait... What... Damnation. My apologies, I've been... Distracted for lack of a better word."

He frowns, irritated by his innatentiveness. "Do we really want to use a camp that has not been used? I'm sure it's not used for a reason, and I'm not sure I'm entirely keen on knowing what that reason is."

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (15) + 9 = 24

Thurim sighs. "If that is the way of things", he says as he douses the creature with another color spray for good measure, then gingerly helps shove it off to the side.

"Could we roll it away perhaps? I'm not one for wolf whispering." asks Thurim, who elects to carefully step back from the creature he has brought down.

Thurim solemnly stands and steps up. "WOLF!" he shouts, before letting loose a blast of coruscating energy.

If the wolf could give me a DC 15 Will save?

"Perhaps it stems from our belonging to a realm that is almost dream-like in it's perfection. Thus sleep is unnecessary, for we are already of sleep" replies back Thurim with an affable smile.

Thurim, looking aghast at the spectacle of Grog's feeding habits, makes a quick note in his book before answering. "Truth be told, I think I would prefer taking the first watch. We elves do not sleep, but nonetheless, I do need to undergo the regimen of the Sar-Dath."

At Ignatius's blank look, the elf elaborates. "The rest regimen for someone who practices magic in the way I have learned it."

Hurrying along, Thurim is barely able to catch up with Grog and the others. "The good... News... Hah... Could we not march as if our lives depended on it? The good news is that... Our skulking smoker smokes the same kind of mix as the old wizard... Holgast, at the edge of town. Perhaps we should pay him... A visit?"

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (18) + 9 = 27

"Interesting. We are being harassed by a skulking smoker" comments Thurim, contemplating if he has smelt this aroma before in town.

Thurim closes his eyes as his head is about to roll. "The gods are indeed cruel" he thinks as his last thought.

...

.....

He opens an eye, puzzled. Is he dead? If so why are the orcs transparent? Perhaps because he is dead, and they are among the living? But then, he turns to look at his travelling companions.
Why aren't they transparent? Is it because... Oooooh...

"These things don't exist! They are figments of the imagination!"

Stunned, unconscious and all that: 1d4 ⇒ 4
Stunned and all that: 2d4 ⇒ (1, 3) = 4

Thurim, seeing that the fight is actually not going very well at all, steps upright next to Nat and weaves the threads of arcana to create a spell. Colored light emanates from his fingers in a cone that barely misses Grog.

DC 15 Will save from red and green please.

1d20 ⇒ 13

Thurim frowns. "Can someone tell me if they are just saying hello in orkish or if the sound of those words is as mean as I take it to be?

If I could make a suggestion? Using Google Drawings or Google Slides might be easier that trying to feed you enough information to move our icons on the map.

"No" offers Thurim laconically, making up for his sparse words with the efficiency with which he picks up an empty book and begins jotting down a new entry. Once a few notes have been made, he nods, as if prodding for Ignatius to continue his story.

Thurim, realizing suddenly that the journey might be a tad longer than expected, looks into the cart to take a quick assessment of what supplies are available.

Thurim looks around, curious as to see who else is stepping up to the challenge.

"Of course. Dead people aren't known for their prose" deadpans the elf.

Stepping through the crowd, a rather frail-looking elf man steps up to the cart.

With this I will certainly be able to impress my way into the ranks of the Pathfinders, that is certain.

"I am Thurim, once of Cryingleaf. I'll be there to watch. And then record. That is, when I can reasonably afford a journal. And help, of course; I'm not a savage."