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"Damn you, and your multiple legs!"
How wrong was he on his steps. Tybain thought he could dance his way past the creature's spear, but instead he got skewered. Had the creature's aim been just an inch to he left, the cold blade would have bitten Tybain's heart. But now he still lives, and the horrible pain makes him feel very much alive. Blood floods plenty on the masked man's armor, and he knows he will not have many moments left. But the blood is already on his hands and feet, making his footing slippery and his arms unsteady. Tybain tries to punch the opponent again, but has little success.
”What manner of creature is that? This place gets stranger every passing minute!” Without any better plan, it looks like the best way to resolve the situation is to kick some butt. Or whatever equivalent this creature has for a behind. Tybain leaps forward, trying roll under the enemy’s longspear. And once closed in, he delivers a swift kick at the four-legged monster.
Tybain dances around his opponent, trying to find a weak spot somewhere. With the monster's attention focused on poor Edgar, Tybain is fairly free to move and launch a series of soft punches to test where he could get through. But for all his effort, the masked man begins to think fist does not beat clay.
"Is this soldier of clay a trick of shadows, like the belkers? Or can there be something real in this place?" The theoretical discourse on the topic can wait. Tybain stands in front of the large statue, which is most likely going to attack him. And the masked man happens to be a devout believer of 'offence is the best defence', so he better get working. Since only thing better than forward attack is a flanking attack, Tybain takes a couple running steps to get behind the warrior statue and from delivers his attack from this more advantageous position.
I only hope that hurt the statue even remotely as much as it did hurt on my fist... "Why must the archive be so eager to get rid of us? I've always wanted my name in the history books! (Although enjoying life for quite much longer as well)."
Ugh, now we need some creative thinking on how to beat creatures in gaseous form... Since no one has magic weapons (?) doing any damage past that DR 10/magic is unlikely. Energy damage should work, unless Belkers have some resistances. And I think oddly the gaseous form doesn't give any immunities to combat maneuvers, so they could be grappled and dirty tricked :P
Remember, the pain is just an illusion. This is not real. Just shadows. His lungs beg to differ, but Tybain repeats the thought in his mind like a mantra. He will survive as long as he remember this is not real. In an attempt to retaliate his painful experience, Tybain sends his fist to cut the smoky creature. But soon he realises the futility of the attempt, and digs up an alchemists fire for a more fiery approach.
"Elementals, you say? I... I believe I have fought such enemies before. Somewhere..?" Reaching down the lane of foggy memories and forgotten past, Tybain tries to remember how to best fight Belkers. And at the same time, he readies himself to deliver punishment should the creature come within striking distance.
"Potion? Of magic? Some of you dreamed of flying, now is your chance! Or can we see creatures of air without magic in our eyes?" Yuul's warning makes Tybain's senses sharpen. Are they about to be attacked? The masked man takes a defensive position behind his shield, and tries to scout for enemies. And just in case the enemies will be flying, he grabs a wushu dart from his belt.
”I am Tybain!” the masked man declares, and bows deep enough for his metal-clad face to touch his knees. But the words have barely escaped from his lips when a flash of memories conjures. Whether this is a trick of his fragile mind, or something conjured by the minds cape, he cannot know. He is standing again on the stage, breathing and sweating heavily from the effort. His sword rests by his side, slippery from all the sweat and blood. Is the blood his own, or someone else’s? Around him, scores of grotesque creatures lie motionlessly, slain and vanquished. Is it over, did they win this trial? He must gather his senses, his line is coming up. He is just waiting for the cue. The crowd is somewhere in the dark. He cannot see them, but he can feel their hungry gazes. The crowd wants more, their bloodlust far from sated yet. And he must give the audience what they want, he must makes this the finest performance ever. But what is this? A smell of sulphur and brimstone. A ball of fire expanding. Mad cackle echoing from the darkness. The fire eating away everything. The awful smell of burning flesh, and the unbearable pain. And then… Nothing. The figment is gone, as suddenly as it appeared. Tybain stands again by his Pathfinder allies, carrying only memories from past events. Memories, and one painful revelation: Tybain was a character from the play! I am not Tybain! Suddenly weak in the knees, the masked man falters and falls against the wall.
"Of all the means of transportation, this is the most strange." And coming from a pathfinder, that's saying a lot. Since no one really knows how this works exactly, all they can do is fumble blindly onwards. Already standing by the shelf of books, Tybain grabs one of the Pathfinder Journals. And without coming up a better idea how to concentrate on a book, he starts reading it.
For a moment, Tybain stands ready to strike Yuul as she raises - only to find out this is not going to happen. His companion's assault was efficient enough to completely obliterate the Venture Captain. Or the creature pretending to be her. "A trap well planned, but poorly sprung. Was this creature our Venture Captain all along? Why bring us here, in this mindscape? And more importantly, how do we get back?" Many questions, but the answers unlikely are found from his team. Tybain abandons his battle stance, and moves on to study the room in detail. Apparently the door wasn't quite a door, and thus meaningless. So best start from the windows. Is anything real in this place?
Of course... Magic always leads into trouble. Whatever has happened to their surroundings, it looks like it's not too different from the normal world. At least his companions attempts for unusual means of movement had failed quite badly. Then, a fight is a fight, and Tybain feels right at home. The man takes a quick step forwards, and dives at Wulessa, using a circular kick to make the creature lose its footing.
"What manner of creature is this? "
"To gamble away our bodies and souls? The stakes are indeed high. But what are a few years to men, who look death eye to eye every day. Pharasma will be collecting far before it is the weight of years that push us down." Tybain is amused of this turn of events, but is happy to let Nugats and Vorathan do the gambling.
"A price paid in years? How odd. But what is time to those, whose lives are claimed by bolts and blades, far away from the end of their years. We accept, and return triumphant! Fare thee well, master merchant!" The speech, spoken like to an audience, finishes with a deep bow combined with a retreat from the shop. Whatever it was that unblocked his speech, didn't reduce his theatrical habits. "Anyone speak gnollish?" the grippli asks, becoming nervous once more. ”I do. As long as the gnolls speak the finest language of creation - Taldan. And if they don’t, we’ll teach them! We will do fine, my small frog-faced friend!”
Wanting to pose up as a man of a very valuable skillset, Tybain glances to the nearest mirror to check his looks. But the reflection in the mirror horrifies him. He stares at the image for a longest time, not recognizing the person. He raises his hand to touch his face, but feels only the cold metal surface, instead of warm skin. Who is this? Is this me? If so, then who am I? His hand starts shaking, and he removes the fingers from his mask. The fingers close into a fist, but the hand keeps shaking. Shards of memories strike him painfully, images of the stage, of the fire and magic, and of pain. The glenched fist shakes, and is just about to smash the mirror into pieces when the sound of clapping hands awaken Tybain from his mesmerized daydreaming. His mind back in the merchant's shop, he sees Murqual wobbling in voiceless laughter. Apparently the negotiation is over, and their note of ten thousand pieces of gold accepted. With terms, it seems. "No magic!" he shouts instinctively, immediately after the servant has listed the choice of tasks. His voice still gets the metallic resonance, being spoken behind the mask. But now the words are clear, and spoken without difficulty. "We'll do the other two. You want merchandise to be delivered and purchased. What is the nature of the items?"
With steady steps, Tybain walks in front of the others into Murqual's shop. His shield rests easy on his side, but the arm carrying it is ready to bring it to defense should the need arise. But all seems to be safe now. Upon receiving the welcome from the merchant and his servant, Tybain responds with a gracious bow - in his own theatrical manner as always. Just like Glarifyr, the masked man assumes the role of a bodyguard. He steps aside, letting the more talkative members of the party take their seats on the sofa.
Tybain follows the others into the courtyard-come-tavern, and the idea of a cold drink quite attractive indeed. The half-elf takes his seat, and observes the others ordering their drinks, learning what the place has to offer. Once the three-toothed barkeep comes approaches Tybain, he picks up a stone tablet from a nearby table and a piece of chalk from his pouch. Quickly he scribbles some letters on the tablet, and presents the result to the barkeep. "BeeR"
Once his order arrives, he lifts his mask ever so slightly to be able to get the straw into his mouth. And then he begins happily slurping the cold bewerage, the eyes behind the mask wandering towards the belly dancer. It takes a while until he is able to take his eyes off the hypnotically swaying voluptuous body. It looks like the others are playing a game of sorts. Or is it a game or a poor excuse for touching the girlflesh? No matter how poor the excuse, Tybain will gladly join this game.
Deciding to move closer, Tybain watches the snakes and their patterns, and tries to make his moves so they cannot possibly strike him. And there he is quite successful, but unfortunately in his care is only able to snatch one button.
Cool, Nugats. I've been toying with the idea making a geokineticist, so I'm really curious how it plays.
I might also be rebuilding Tybain somewhat. The group has quite many frontliners, so I wonder if it gets crowded in the melee. Especially when going underground in standard-issue 10ft wide hallways. A thrower would fit the Tybain character, and fit in the group. The Shield Champion Brawler archetype might be effective, but I'd need some vision to avoid the inevitable Captain America vibes. Swashbuckler-based dagger-thrower would be pretty cool as well. And Tybain will also get back his ability to speak :P And nice spreadsheet, GM. Why didn't we think of that before :)
Hot... But at least it's dry. Humidity would make wearing the mask quite uncomfortable. Now the weather is almost bearable, as long Tybain keeps in the shadows. "...TER..." Tybain hears Bugdip discomfort, and offers the grippli his waterskin. Then he pulls his hood deeper to shield his mask from the sun, and tries to look for Farseer Tower. Or any tower that might pass as one. But it's sure nice to be travelling
Oily blade..? More foul play, then.. He is better off without his weapon The enemy's kama leaves an oily streak on Tybain's shield, but his flesh is quite safe from the supposed poison. Before Eenie has time to recover from his failed attack, Tybain's hand darts to grab the enemy's wrist and twists the poisonous blade off his hand.
It all happened very fast, the Aspis agents pouring in from seemingly all directions. And one of them was casting a spell! How distasteful! Using magic to take away the flair of an honest battle. Nay, 'tis ought to be fought man to man - fist to fist. A mettle of physical prowress, not tricks of arcane foolery. I challenge thee, sir Spellcaster, to fight your battle with your body! Tybain runs through the platform, and jumps down like an avenging angel - his cloak casting long shadows as it descends after the man. And unaware his frog-like ally had prepared to deal with similar arcane tricks he now so disdains, he launches his attack at Moe. Just as his feet touch the ground, he springs back up delivering his knee straight at Moe's face.
Tybain stands by the door, unarmed but for his large shield. The masked face betray no emotions as he watches Ifrain try to win the newcomers' trust. For quite some time he just observes the interaction taking place, unsure if he should join in the attempt.
"DRRRUGSS ... BAD!" Want as he might otherwise, this is all he can muster.
Yeah, that sucks!
Mine only failed to start until it was two hours on the heater... Lucky I have old enough car so it doesn't have too much electronics :) Important thing is that you're ok, Steve!
So likely both Kortos So it's likely both Kortos and Aspis are now coming in at the same time? I agree the truth is the best approach with Kortos, but how we'll deal with Aspis if they come at the same time? Stall them, beat them up, or let them join the talk? And Tybain can take the office door. Hopefully he is joined by someone who can smooth-talk. (or just talk in general...)and Aspis are coming in at the same time?
Building the stage, how interesting! I've never been involved in this part before. Let's make this a show to be remembered! Tybain eagerly joins Amin in moving the crates. He does a few ideas of his own how they should be placed, but being unable to express them, he just follows the dwarf's instructions.
Tybain accepts the invisibility potion from Delroya, and gives her a polite nod. "E .. N... MY ...... MA.. GCK? " Tybain puts out the effort to voice out the words, but still they do not come out right. He would just want to know what kind of opponents they are up against. Mere guards, or will they be wielding magic? He thinks further questions are better left to the others, so Tybain moves already to investigate the crates. He moves from one pile of crates to another, reading the labels and peeking inside.
The fire brings unpleasant memories, but otherwise the bomb causes only minor wounds. At least Lazlo’s hostility is certain now, and therefore Tybain can concentrate on bringing the man down. Just a step, and the alchemist is again within Tybain’s reach. If Lazlo saves against the color spray:
Fighting fair is for those waiting to get their butt kicked. Lazlo doesn’t seem like particularly strong opponent, but those bombs could do serious damage. So Tybain thrusts with his outstretched fingers, and aims for the eyes. If he doesn’t: Lazlo looks like he is quite helpless. Much easier for Tybain to hit him, then. Not bothered about conscience or morals, Tybain gathers his strength and kicks Lazlo with all his might.
That little one, all alone against the alchemist! I must move in to help him...
Even behind the mask, the smell of sewage feels quite overbearing. Worse is when the fumes get in, and starts condesating into mist of water and filth against the cool surface of the steel mask. Eventually, the mist turns to droplets that roll down Tybain's damaged face. The man coughs, and leaves himself a few paces behind the rest of the group, under the pretence of readjusting his shield. Behind the shield's cover, he quickly loosens the mask and wipes his face before continuing. By the time he catches the others, they have already met the man in the lab coat. Perhaps it's just paranoia after breathing too must sewage chemicals, or perhaps it's warrior's sense, but Tybain gets a funny feeling from the way the so-called patients react to Lazlo's vial. And the way Lazlo is drinking the contents of his vial doesn't make him any more comfortable. Preparing for the worst, Tybain moves next to Edgar and lets out a threathening growl to give support for the boy's words.
Being spotted, Tybain has to stop his jump and withdraw. Disappointed in his failure, he starts slowly limping back to the pier. There he chooses a big enough crate to sit on, and waits and observes. Even if he couldn't get in to help the others, at least he can offer them a distraction when they need to get out.
Walking to Blue Dragon’s Bite via it’s gangway unnoticed is just not going to happen. A long time ago, Tybain could’ve easily used his mummer’s skills to fool his way in, but such tricks are history now. If the Dragon is too well guarded, same cannot be said of the next ship in the dock. The deck of the Sea Chanty is completely empty, no crew to be seen. There is some distance to the Dragon, but nothing one couldn’t cover with a decent running jump. Once no is watching, Tybain hop onboard the Sea Chanty, and stays still for a moment watching the Dragon’s crew coming and going. He gets into position, waiting for the opportunity to make the leap. And then, just as everyone has their backs turned, he takes off. After a few running steps, he leaps from the railing, and flies through the air. Unfortunately, the jump was much harder than it looked, and Tybain’s body merely smashes to the Dragon’s hull and falls down to the water.
Tybain pauses for a moment, his head turning to Amin, Glarifyur, Nugats, Bugdip and the dwarven pilot. The mask on his face hides his thoughts, but body language speaks of puzzlement. More dwarves than a varisian sideshow. How odd... Am I in right play at all? Are we to dance and sing? ... NO, no... remember. Pathfinders.. This is a mission, not a stageplay! Tybain assumes at least one of the new dwarves is part of their team, so he gives a deep, welcoming bow to each of them.
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