Warshawski's page

Holding to see what the others do, first.

I am if I'm welcome.

Hey all.

Life has been life. There was surgery for breast cancer in my family, followed by many medical appointments and radiation which is still ongoing.

The company I found a job with went out of business just a few months after hiring me.

So... yeah.

I'm sorry for my absence.

Surgery. Not me but someone close. Pretty much eating up everything. Will be back later this week. Thanks.

This wasn't the first time I'd cornered a rat who wanted to escape. I went through the mental checklist. The first was always to cut off the escape routes.

"There'll be three primary ways for him to escape." I said outloud. "Out a window with a fly or feather fall spell. Teleportation or dimensional travel magic. Or by going through the walls, ceiling, or floor either intangibly or by blowing a hole there. What do we have to counter him?"

Not too long ago, Marsh and I were at each other's throats. Now here we were, him practically begging me for help because Sebastian's diving off the high cliffs of madness into the ocean of insanity.

"We'll keep him from turning into a monster." I promised March. I bid our new darkling friends to get to safety. Then we hurried. Monsters. Vats. Destruction. Death. I wrapped up my battle scarf and rushed through the streets along with everyone else.[/i]

And what had been a pleasant moment of non-violent investigation turned into Bacarov's crazy crusade with a twist of the knife. I turned to our little friends, conveying our thanks to them before the spell wore off.

"Get yourselves somewhere safe. We're going to take care of the problem but you don't want to be caught in the middle."

"The spell only lasts so long." I reminded everyone. "Let's break bread with our new friends, get what descriptions we can, and then move forward."

When I felt the spell slide over me I began to slow, bringing the dance to a halt. My chest was heaving and my heart pounding. I had to down a swig of water before I spoke. I could feel the sweat running in drops down my face and arms.

It was glorious.

"Friends," I said to the darkdwellers, my arms spread wide. I kneeled down to be on their level. "Thank you for dancing with me. My companions and I seek to stop the evil thing. I would like one of you to tell me about the old men. And the other to draw us a map of these tunnels. The best you can. Especially if there are any hidden passages we can use that the old men don't know about."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (16) + 8 = 24

Dramin, who are you casting tongues on?

I had danced the previous evening, as I always did, in honor of the Blessed Spark but I this moment, right now, was the first time I had truly enjoyed myself in a while. I laughed and took the hands of the strange little people. I pulled them in to dance with me.

"Maybe someone should run up to the surface and buy a scroll of a translation spell?"

They looked small and pathetic but I knew just how deceiving looks could be. Goblins were small and pathetic and they would sing songs while eating your eyeballs from your still breathing body.

But we needed information and our actual enemies were nastier, tougher, and meaner than anything we'd ever fought before. Making new enemies was like pouring coffee into a cup with a hole in the bottom. A waste of being awake.

"Some things are universal. Let me try something. Bacarov, back me up. Remember when you used to be happy."

I made a show of disarming myself. The silver dagger. My battle scarf. I left those on the floor. Then I walked in, just a few steps, and began to dance. A simple dance, designed to entertain. The sort of steps which lifted the spirits and made the heart beat. Festival dancing.

Dance check: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (17) + 9 = 26

BUDD, can the lock be picked from this side?

Right now I'm under the effects of Comprehend Languages... which, in hindsight does not let me speak it. So I guess Bacarov did translate for me. Ugh. Brain is tired lately.

I listened as the mooks on the other side of the door babbled at us, translating for everyone else.

"They want us to leave. They think we're with... someone.... and will rouse the dark thing from the altar and it will eat everyone."

"These wretched souls sound terrified. Maybe we just need Marsh to chase them away. Without hurting them."

Bacarov's words startled me. Not because he suggested diplomacy but because, so often lately he seemed to be on a mission to burn down the corrupt... and he hadn't yet figured out there was corruption everywhere in the world. I nodded.

"Give me a minute. The spirits can translate for me." I closed my eyes and reached out, drawing the spiritual essence of the dead to me. It was dangerous, down here where madness seemed to reign, but I wadded into the shallows and not the depths. One friendly spirit touched my ear and my tongue, giving me the gift to speak any language for a brief period."[/b][/i]

"Hello!" I shouted through the door, "We come in peace! We only want to talk and learn about this place. We won't hurt you if your intentions aren't to harm us. Please, can we discuss things with you?"

Diplomacy with Guidance and aid: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (2) + 11 = 13

Pfft! They don't like girls down here!

I stared at the mess. Paintings. Bugs. Catacombs. Rat catchers and undead. Things merging together into a mess.

"In Ravenmoor, she turned believers into a cult and warped their beliefs to her own ends. Has she done the same here? I want to say we should consult with the local temples and bring the power of the gods to bear here but how do we know who to trust?"

K (planes): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (8) + 10 = 18

Budd, is this likely a planar portal of some kind and, if so, can it be shut down or dispelled?

I could feel the cold from here. Sucking at my soul the way ice sucks at the heat of a candle. Linking my arm with the Captain's to help Dalton draw her out, I turned and I fled. Am I a coward? No. I'm just not an idiot.

Would this be the moment? I could feel the weariness dragging my soul down but I wouldn't throw myself into the middle of this mess. Yet.

I moved over towards the Captain and spoke gently into her ear.

"The woman in the painting, whose voice we just heard, is a corruption. Not a god. Not a demon. Something else. She forms cults around herself. We've already broken one. Apparently she's here as well. She... slips into your mind. Through her books. Through her words. Be on your guard."

Sorry. Between the holiday and dying internet. Back.

We're falling apart. Dramin and Bacarov both to different madnesses. Who knows who else is affected. Am I? I've been told before the spirits were in my mind. Not really there. How do I know I'm talking to something real? Something solid even as it is corporeal.

I close my eyes and try to push it all away. The world's collapsing and every step we take down into these tunnels seems to draw us further into madness.

One.
Two.
Three.

I open my eyes. It is all still there.

The show was impressive. I just hoped the undead didn't look behind the curtains. Was he evil? Not all men were so why should all undead be? Could one be redeemed? I honestly wasn't sure but I knew we had a long journey ahead of us. Any fight which could be avoided should be."

Yarresh's aura read like nothing I'd ever seen before. I expected to see trickery or hunger. What I saw was something else instead.

I moved up to Bacarov and whispers into his ear.

"Its undead but its nervous. I don't think its involved in whatever this is. Probably just lives down here and wants to be left alone. I wouldn't be surprised if its more vulture than wolf, picking up what other things kill instead of hunting."

I think I specifically have to choose emotions for my ability.

The whatever it was in front of the altar could talk but it didn't sound humanoid. Didn't really look like it, from what little I could tell. We needed information. Slowly, I breathed in and out, letting my eyes slip from this world to the world of souls.

Aura Check: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (13) + 11 = 24

Trying to read the thing's aura according to Occult Adventures. I can do this once per day without hurting myself.

Watching Captain Roslyn vanish into the shadows, I couldn't help but admire the woman. We were seeking out the darkness but she did the job out of duty. I wish our motivations felt that pure.

I followed Bacarov into the darkness, literally and maybe figuratively, too. My ioun torch orbited slowly around my head, providing enough light in the gloom that I didn't trip over my own feet.

Looking About: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (10) + 10 = 20

That's 22 if there's something about to surprise us.

The world came back into focus as I forced the roar of voices to dim to a mere whisper in the background.

"That's all they're saying." I said as I moved up to join the others. "I agree on the stairs. Whoever's taking up rear guard needs to keep a sharp eye out, though, to make sure someone doesn't come through that door and sneak up on us from behind. We aren't being quiet here."

I could feel my eyes rolling up into the back of my head as the murmurs of the spirits flowed into my ears. Ever since the standing circle, I'd been able to hear them more clearly but at the price of being physically affected by those cold, unearthly words.

"... a horror came from below... called by the sick men... flesh eating abominations in a one-tree grove somewhere below..."

I used to take comfort from walking through tombs and graveyards. Listening to the spirits of the dead whispering in words only I could hear. This place, though, wiggled fingers of cold dread up along my spine and into my brain. I didn't want to listen. Didn't want to hear.

Spirits could be mad, too.

Still, my job. My job is to listen to the dead. Even the dead that babble and moan and gurgle dark secrets that no mortal should ever hear.

So I closed my eyes. And I listened.

Perception on listening to spooks: 1d20 + 12 ⇒ (16) + 12 = 28

I was as ready to go down into the depths of this infested city as I ever would be. Our last adventure had taken lives from us and maybe a piece of our soul. What would this one cost us?

Just letting everyone know I'm still here. :) Just waiting for the boys to finish having their fun so we can join back up.

I'm pretty proud of Call to Arms Ropes. And I'll be glad to give what advice I can. :)

Hey, a year ago I was starting. Now I've got this...

As writer...

... as well as the Letters from the Flaming Crab line as developer under my belt. You can move pretty fast in this tiny little industry.

5e is a big deal for 3e right now because there's a lot less of it out there. AAW is converting all their stuff as we speak, for example. And the new OGL for 5e is pretty standard. Hopefully the new CEO won't change that.

Congrats on joining the ranks of the published! It's a small, poor paying world but we like it. If you want, I might be able to put you in contact with a few more names that are looking for writers.

While the boys went off to play with the criminals, I decided to focus my efforts on finding out what made the victim so special. Assuming he was the one killed on purpose, I made my way through the city to Marshan's house. Since I was on official business, I didn't worry about propriety. Some things might have gotten damaged so I could get inside.

Once in there, I started to look around. Something made this guy special. Was in blood? Was it occupation? Was in his date of birth? Something made this guy a bane to an immortal, invulnerable creature from beyond the veil. I had to find out why.

I've got three hours, so I'm gonna take 20 on the Perception check if I may, to search the place. That's 31.

Here are rolls to help me translate any information I find.

K (local): 1d20 + 1d6 + 8 ⇒ (9) + (1) + 8 = 18
K (history): 1d20 + 1d6 + 8 ⇒ (15) + (4) + 8 = 27
K (planes): 1d20 + 1d6 + 10 ⇒ (2) + (4) + 10 = 16
Lore (spirits): 1d20 + 1d6 + 10 ⇒ (16) + (6) + 10 = 32
Appraise: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22
Linguistics: 1d20 + 1d6 + 8 ⇒ (1) + (4) + 8 = 13

Also going to look for any ghosts and communicate with them if I can. I'm looking for any information on Marshan and why he died.

Perception for spirit checking: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (13) + 13 = 26
Diplomacy for talking to the spirits: 1d20 + 1d6 + 8 ⇒ (15) + (4) + 8 = 27

I'll post tomorrow. Sorry. Spent most of the day at the ER. Not for me but it was exhausting.

Okay. Does anyone mind if I instead go to Marshan's place and look for anything that might suggest how he was a "weakness" for the monster?

I apologize for being confused. Whose house is this?

Things were going south. Fast. I reached out and touched the Captain's arm.

"Give us a few hours before you go down. Unless there's something we don't know, the sage is the one that was the likely target. A warrior knows not to go into battle without a sword in her hand and we need to find the sword. Give us three hours to look through the man's things and find what we can. Then we will all go down together. Please. I know you worry for your city and hunger for revenge but we need to do this together."

Diplomacy check!: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (12) + 8 = 20

The spell-slinger had a point. We couldn't wait too long. There's a difference between going in unprepared and negligence.

"We need information on each of the victims. Who they are. What they did. Any background. Honestly, this part of the job is more Bacarov's gig than mine. He's the one who tracks down serial killers. This is the same thing."

I agree, we don't want to take too long. But I'm hoping our GM will reward us instead of punish us for actually being smart about this. :p

Finally. That sounded like Sebastian Bacarov, inspector, and ot Sebastian Bacarov, zealot.

"I agree. We have to remember we aren't a war party. We are investigators. We fight our enemies by being smarter than them, not by charging into them."

I stood up, hands on my lower back as I stretched.

"I don't know which two of the deaths were mistakes but, Sebastian, I think you're onto something. If we can find out everything possible about each of the victims and look for commonalities, maybe we can discover this thing's weakness. Yes, we risk it killing again while we investigate but... well, if we go unprepared all that happens is we die and then it kills more anyway."

The priests didn't like me. That wasn't surprising. The clergy of Pharasma usually like to think of death as a nice, neat box that souls get stuffed into. My lady, the Great Spark who dances in the moonlight had taught me differently. The spirits that now rode in my body as if I were a carriage gliding through the night confirmed it.

I rejoined the others and listened to them discuss their findings. Underground. Away from the moon. Lovely.

When Marsh mentioned the need for light I slipped my hand inside one of my belt pouches and drew out an old, grey crystal. I tossed it to him to examine.

"Ioun torch. I prefer to keep my light hands free."

"The dead aren't resting well, with this thing out there. They called it a child of something greater than a god. A formless thing that has to take a form while in this place. Something ancient that doesn't fear fire, ice, magic, or even enchanted weapons. It has a weakness and that's what its hunting. It wants to kill its weakness and consume them. If it kills them and eats them, it gains more power. Two of the deaths were errors, though. We can't see it unless it wants to be seen or we have some special way to do so. I don't know if that's invisibility or something more powerful."

Warshawaki has an ioun torch. You would all know that by now.

Just the basics, really. Do they know anything about the recent murders. What did it? Does it have any weaknesses? Can we protect ourselves from it? Why? That sort of thing.

Budd, how would you like me to catch up on getting info from the dead? Or can we assume the priests wouldn't let me into the crypts?

I'm sorry everyone. My family got some news this week that's outright world shattering. Its stage 2 and there's going to be a long road to recovery. I need a few days. I'll be back by the end of the week, I promise, but I just need a bit of time to acclimate to the new reality of it. Y'all have permission to run Warshawksi in the meanwhile. I hope you understand. Thank you.

Sorry all. Had a family emergency come up. Still working on what it means. Will try to catch up tomorrow.

Could I have stats on the knife again?

And possibly a +1 scarf?

If I didn't know better, I'd think Marsh's need to give me protection was touching.

"We've both investigated before, Marsh." I pointed out to him. "I think we can handle it again."

Finally updated Warshawski with another level of medium.

Remind me, what magic items did I get? The dagger and what else?