Wesh Theron's page

Wesh leans in close to the monument, and - after a careful glance around to ensure nobody is watching dips his finger into the blood and sniffs it. Then he reluctantly touches his bloody fingertip to his tongue trying to determine if the blood is human...

Knowledge nature? 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (14) + 6 = 20

Taking careful note of the names - because the talkers will be sure to ask - he heads back via the crow filled tree. As he catches the first glimpse of it and ensures it remains filled with the creepy unnatural behaving birds. Once he sees that remains the case he casts entangle and watches the ensuing frenzy of writhing branches flying feathers and dismayed cawing with an evil grin.

He and Ramon then dash forward and the young druid begins flinging sticks at the birds, "Shitting carrion eating ill omened buggers. F~##in' glare at me, like yer spies. Shittin' eat this."

Ramon entertains himself pouncing on a few birds which tumble to the ground and cheerfully maiming them. As the vigor of the branches begins to ebb the two retreat feeling a little better for having vented their frustration and set off to find the rest of the group.

Wesh glowers at the murder of crows for a time seriously considering casting entangle upon the tree, but in the end he reluctantly concludes that he would feel very silly for having wasted the spell should it prove potentially useful amidst the graves.

With a pair of lingering glowers at the carrion eaters he and Ramon step back into the mists and make their way to the grave yard to await their new companions.

Wesh stands scowling and fingering the hilt of his scimitar as the old wind bag of a priest insults the old man, knowing that his tongue will only cause more trouble he keeps silent. Instead he thinks on the yappy elf's words, prodding at them like a sore tooth.

As they head out into the air again, rejoining Ramon Wesh speaks his voice thoughtful, "I get what you mean. If anybody who is powerful enough can nip into a Church and become a god why should they have any right to be worshiped. God means more than just really powerful to most people I think, and I don't think grantin' divine power to clerics and shit qualifies, afterall I 'ave divine magic and it don't come from no god. I mean I respect Gozreh, but I don't know that I really worship 'im, I respect Gozreh because of what he does not of because what he is sorta thing - if he told me to sacrifice a baby I'd tell him to shittin' go f%+& himself."

He shrugs, "Anyways, me 'n' Ramon 'll take a sweep around the Village, be good to know the lie of the land. We want to meet up somewhere? How long they need to be book botherin'?"

Looking up from his meal Wesh speaks - potato tumbling out of his mouth as he does so, "I ain't no talker, and I don't want to leave Ramon if I can help it. Maybe I can scout," he waves a hand vaguely, "sommat. I'm a good scout. Got a good eye."

Ramon is busy giving the heap of potato and hotcakes before him a tentative lick, before wrowling in disappointment and looking to Kendra with an expression of pleading hunger - he even appears to be sucking his stomach in. Wesh glances over and sighs, "Got any meat? We can always catch sommat later, but..."

Wesh catches the Father's words and huffs dubiously. "For a number of days? I still say we don't need to stay here, ain't no good reason. We should head away from this ill omened place to somewhere less accursed."

"But if you say there ain't to be no more hauntin's I'll believe you, for the time being. Bloody place. Wake me when I need te take a watch." He growls before stalking back to his room, leaving the bed flipped over - so nothing can lurk there and dumping himself back down in the blankets...

I'll edit if his door is stuck

Wesh explodes forth from his room - more than half naked - followed by Ramon. He storms out into the hallway and bellows,

"Show yourself you shitting ghosts, cowardly shitting dead bastards! Come out and face me you son of a b!@%#!"

Grr, you need to be able to select a default ID per thread...

Wesh follows grumpily along, and his eyes are drawn to the old man's room as if by magnetism as soon as it is forbidden to him, but he is tired and a little light headed from the wine and the lure of sleep is greater still.

Entering the nearest room he shuts the door, gives the bed a disgusted look and drags the bedding off onto the floor before stripping off his armor and lying down next to Ramon who is already curled up upon the sheets. Tuggin a bit of blanket over himself and with the warmth of Ramon, the wine, and the vibration of the cougar's habitual sleeping purr he quickly sinks into a deep - if uneasy - slumber.

Wesh will take a morning watch if that's okay - and will probably prepare his spells during it. He will prepare Speak with Animals and Shillelagh. Light, Know Direction, and Spark for cantrips.

Wesh nods, "Right, sounds like we have a plan then. You have some place we can sleep Kendra? Ramon and me'd be just fine kipping down by the fire, we don't much go in for beds - it don't feel right lying on something that soft, its creepy."

Wesh is prevented from responding to Kendra's chasisement by a full mouth, and then by the horrific display of the turkey leg he is holding turning into a rotting mass writhing with pale gross maggots. Swallowing involuntarily he could swear he feels the things writhing down his throat and turns pale.

The appearance of the apparition furthwer disturbs his equilibrium and when the necklace banishes it he gags. The acrid taste of vomit fills his mouth, but gritting his teeth he swallows it back down and - defiantly - takes another mouthful of wine to wash away the taste. Though he feels suddenly sober.

"I don't think heading out to a grave in the dark is anykind of good idea. But watches sound sensible to me, I ain't keen on anything gettin' in here with us all asleep."

Spellcraft 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (13) + 5 = 18

Wesh takes a seat with little ceremony and snatches a turkey leg eagerly with his fingers beginning to eat with all the frenzy and finesse of a malnourished piranha. Glowering at anyone who meets his gaze as he does so he passes down a constant stream of tidbits to Ramon.

The lion himself sits besides his master head resting upon Wesh's thigh wearing a comically plaintive expression, only occasionally leaving this pose to spare Kendra arduous cleaning duties later.

Eventually Wesh's immediate appetites satisfied - not that this stops him eating - he offers Kendra what his Da always thought of as the highest of compliments; a contented belch accompanied by a thumbs up delivered by a hand midway to ferrying a dessert spoon full of mashed potatoes to the young druids waiting maw.

Between mouthfuls Wesh steals furtive glances at Azuk'ai, and ensures that he is drinking more than his fellow teenager, guzzling wine like water. It is not long before he becomes glass eyed and begins to hum tunelessly drumming his greasy fingers on Ramon head - which causes the lion to vacate his faithful friend position with an irritated yowl and vanish beneath the table.

A few moments later Melk finds an apparently starving cougar looking up at him beseechingly.

Lol, pretty much, Ramon is very laid back and typically feline as opposed to an obnoxious teenager.

"So bash the boney ones and slash the gooey ones. Got it." Wesh says distilling the pertinent information. "Did someone mention food? I could go try to get some fresh meat, you can't trust town meat, they leave it hanging around for ages."

"He ain't he's a lazy good for nothing." Wesh responds to Azuk'ai, punching Ramon playfully in the side, only for the lion to take hold of his arm and growl warningly. "Ha, sure you will fuzzball, if I had one arm you might actually have to pull your weight in this partnership. And don't drool on me."

Looking up at Azuk'ai he asks, "Didn't you say you were somekind of undead hunter or somethin'? Does that mean you know how to fight'em? Because I ain't sure how much good my scimitar is going toi do against a skeleton, or somethin' that can vanish into thin air. How do you hurt 'em?"

Ramon stalks over to the fire sniffing as he goes and after looking to Wesh questioningly, and receiving a nod in return, he lies down in front of the fire and stretches luxuriously.

Ramon blinks at Melk and glances at his hand the up at his face wearing an expression that somehow clearly conveys his disappointment at the proffered hands lack of content.

Wesh snorts and sits down resting his back on the lion.

Earlier

Wesh kicks the wall angrily, "Shit on it! How could he just disappear, that ain't bloody right... It ain't right."

While the others collect and examine the journal fragments the young druid stalks backwards and forwards stomping and muttering darkly, and shooting Harrowstone wary glances.

"Ah, damn it I'm fetching Ramon. I ain't going to feel right without him, he may be a lazy good for nothing most of the time, but he's handy in a pinch. I'll be back soon, I ain't abandoning you, he's holed up a mile or so away..."

He breaks into an easy lope and is soon disappearing from sight into the countryside. It does not take him long to reach the little cave where Ramon sleeps contentedly.

"Oi, get up you lazy lump of a lion. I've got to stay with these bookish buggers so that means you gotta to. Had a scrap that you missed." Wesh says plonking himself down next to the cougar and tugging his ear.

Ramon cracks his eyelids and gives an inquiringly wrowl.

"Oh I ain't speaking lion? Fine hold on." Wesh chants and waves his hand impatiently as he feels his vocal cords shifting.

Growl, purrr, arrrr, grrr, urr, hff, arrrarraggar.... He begins explaining the situation as he sees it to Ramon, who consents to sit up and pay something approaching attention.

Just under half an hour after Wesh creeps back into town carefully avoiding the sight of any villagers and draping his cloak over Ramon as they arrive on Kendra's doorstep. He raps on the door and as soon as it is opened barges in with a grunt of greeting followed by Ramon - who looks rather apologetic as he slinks in.

Wesh vaults out of the window and casts about for the vanished leader.

How did he vanish? Looks like Wesh could see him from the map, so are we talking poof vainshed, moved away...?

Perception 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22

Did the leader ignite to then? Last thing he was still outside the window with Wesh to go and I certainly don't plan on letting him slip away... Also Hold Person is now a save every round.

Wesh gets to go before he goes again, so he does not seem to have the actions to vanish into the night.

Round 2, Initiative 17
AC 17; HP 11/11

Wesh steps forward and stabs at the cultist before him, effortlessly downing the man with a slash to the stomach, and bellowing to Kendra, "Get you butt behind me woman!"

Before squaring off to the leader, "You ain't orderin' nothin' here dung for brains. Jabber on in gobbledegook all you like."

F%!~ing undead wrong, wrong, wrong, its against nature that's what it is! How dare they, how dare it! I'll send them all back to the grave or die trying! Grr, need Ramon here!

Scimitar Attack 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 161d6 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9

Round 1; Initiative 17
AC 17; HP 11/11

Wesh steps forward pulling free his scimitar and with a feral snarl slashing it across the closest cultist's face! Gore flies, but the man manages to lower his chin just in time to prevent the young druid's blow being truly fatal.

"I don't know who you weirdo are, but it ain't polite to just barge in at a wake. But seems like you intend to be among the mourned rather than the mourning!"

Ha, who is missing out now Ramon? I get to fight murderous nutters. Ha.

Scimitar Attack 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 231d6 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6
Crit Conf. 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 111d6 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6

I did not have these issues with the Kingmaker maps, I could always see them was just an issue of getting signed in with the proper account, but this one I cannot see. Does not show up in my google docs either.

Definitely signed into google docs, etc. And have signed out and signed back in again several times to no avail. This is what I see...

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So I've requested access, but there does not seem to be anything else I can do.

Still cannot see the map, I've requested access a number of times, but no joy. Can anyone tell me if I am doing anything wrong?

Hmmm, it seems like you are saying he can be trained to a purpose, but I would much rather he had the Hunting purpose and Trick set than the Combat Training one. That being attack, down, fetch, heel, seek, and track. I think that would fit a lot better, since Ramon has effectively been more of a hunting buddy than a battle cat. Is that acceptable? I would indeed use the "free trick" for a second attack so he can tackle unusual creatures.

BTW whats your take on trick for animal companions DM Baracus? I've had a range of start with as many tricks as the animal can know - to represent a starting animal having been with its druid for years, etc. - to you only begin with the free trick. I'll be bumping Ramon's Int to 3 so I don't have to worry about them ASAP, but in early play tricks are quite a big deal, especially given the foes we are likely to be facing.

Wesh sighs, "Fair enough, I ain't going to argue the point, but I'm bringing Ramon. If I have to suffer he's going to to. He's a cougar." The young druid folds his arms and glowers at all and sundry defiantly.

"I've been training him anyway, so if I need to be stuck here for a month I'll carry on with that I suppose."

I'm going to refer to Ramon as a lion from now on I just keep picturing Demi Moore whenever I type Cougar.

Wesh frowns mouthing, "A Month?" in displeasure. But the old man helped me learn what I am... And he was a friend, if I did not honor his wishes I don't suppose I could call myself much of a man. Shit on it! Ramon's going to laugh his ass off. Well if that stupid cat thinks I'm going through this along he's got another thing coming.

"I ain't much for towns, but I suppose I could stick around for a month. I ain't going to deny a friend's last wishes, and I ain't keen on leaving you here alone near that haunted ruin. But you sure you wouldn't rather move off to the wilds away from spooks and kooks? I know this is your home and such, but I swear down I just saw a spectre peepin' at us from Harrowstone... Would not take long to set up a cozy camp. Ye could sell this ill omened place and move somewhere where your neighbors are, a hundred percent not the living dead."

Wesh growls something unintelligible and stomps back into the study resuming his seat on the floor by the fire and ramming the poker back into it holder with petulant vigor.

Wesh scowls, "I ain't worried, just sensible to be cautious about things that go bump in the night." His braggadocio wanes as he thinks out loud, "Plus how de ye hit a ghost, ain't they like spectral? Your hand would go right through it, and then it would pull your soul out through your mouth and eat it."

Wesh has a healthy imagination.

"Weren't no normal man, not unless he'd filed his fingers to the bone for the role. But aye we had best shut the door, Harrowstone ain't here after all, and its hardly our problem if its haunted for true. I don't know about the rest of you, but once I've heard what the old man's daughter has to say I'm on me way." Wesh says, still eyeing the window warily.

Wouldn't have to worry none about this if I was a lion. Ramon you lucky git. Lions are sensible once they die they stay dead.

Wesh has not played Red Hand of Doom, lol.

Hehe, be easier if you could pick a default alias for each thread. But hey Verik has the Travel Domain so...
Perception 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

Wesh spring to his feet dropping the poker and points at Harrowstone through the window his features set in an expression of near comical astonishment.

"Shit on it! There's a bloody ghost peeking on us! Crap weasels! I knew I should'a stayed with Ramon. Da was right towns ain't nothing but trouble and bad luck!"

Lol, we are not pretty.

Wesh glances at his arms and looks as if he might cover them idf eh ahd anything handy, "I'm stronger than some, weaker than others," he says modestly, "though I ain't met any of the later."

"What's up with the grin, Besonders? Don't tell me my Da was right and if the wind changes you really can end up stuck that way." He adds tactfully, frowning at Melk.

"I'm Wesh, the old man told me I was a druid, and no offense but I ain't so thrilled to be here. Don't like towns in general and this one ain't changing my mind none - creepy backwaters aren't my idea of a good time." The teenager growls taking a seat on the floor by the fire, and pulling his boots off. He then upends them flicking the water into the fire and causing it to hiss.

"My Da always said take care of your feet and they'll taker care of you." He adds to nobody in particular.

Wesh crams himself in as close to the fire as he can get and begins pulling off his wooden armor setting it down to dry.

"Why did he want us to stay after the funeral? Ain't a wake by the looks of things, I don't smell any shine..." He mutters to nobody in particular.

"I suppose elves spend longer as babies so they are bound to get dropped." Wesh mutters darkly.

Wesh suppresses a shudder at the sight of Harrowstone, not what he would have chosen for a view. That place is creepy, even setting aside its purpose, why didn't they just knock it down? I'd not live in tha accursed place's shadow.

"I don't know how folks can wear all that metal, it ain't right. Makes me feel itchy all over, like I'm cut off from the world..." He says glancing at the armor. "Whatever we are doing let's hurry it along right? This place stes my teeth on edge and my 'airs on end."

Wesh, who used to meet the Professor in caves, and once in his father's tiny rustic cabin glances around feeling profoundly foolish. Why does anyone need so much?

Going quiet he attempts - unsuccessfully - to avoid dripping on the finery and touching it with his damp and grubby personage. His main focus though is locating a fire, if I have to listen to a bunch of ancients yammering I at least want to be dry.

Sense Motive 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10

Wesh glowers after the Sheriff running his fingers over the hilt of his scimitar, and making a low rumbling growl from the back of his throat. As the Sheriff moves away he gives Melk's tears a disgusted look, real men don't cry Da always said.

"Gah, come on lets get out of this rain, I ain't got time to burn you know." he snaps trudging purposefully onwards.

Its quite nice to start off slowly in this instance, I'm still feeling Wesh out as a character. Wesh is fairly irreverent and like many young men is very concerned with what people think of him while desperately wanting them to think he could not care less - hence if he is afraid he is likely to bluster instead of showing it up to a certain point.

Wesh glowers at the tit in the hat and growls, "I b'ain't seein' any reason I should give you my name... But then again ain't got one why I shouldn't neither. I'm Wesh Theron, I'm just here because the old man asked me to be, I'll be out of this miser... place as soon as I can - trust me."

The rain which has long since seeped through to his skin is doing little to improve Wesh's move and it is only out of respect for the Professor that he does not attempt to put the sheriff on his ass.

Wesh glowers at Duron suspiciously suspecting he is being made fun of, but not quite being able to see how, so he settles for an ambiguous grunt and lets the elf take it as he likes.

As the other one - the woman - gabbles on like a turkey he mimes hanging himself, not taking any particular care to go unseen and continues walking with his head lolled to one side, tongue stuck out, and one hand upraised as if holding the imaginary noose.

Wesh frowns at the weirdo elf, "Ain't no Sir, and d'ain't look like one, plus I can tell when I'm being patronized. I'm just Wesh. But ye ain't wrong either, there b'ain't no reason to go disturbin' things if they are doing no more than being spooky. If the dead want to linger here and they ain't in the way I say let'em free and clear, its a nice enough world we got and I ain't so keen to leave it myself - though I might be if I were as old as you sticks.

Wesh grunts, "Prisons ain't right, if a man's done wrong kill him or beat him." He shudders, "All that fecking stone around ye... Not being able to run free, t'ain't right. Though seems like this one didn't do the job to shitting well. Who named the place anyway Captain Ominous? Call a place Harrowstone and its bound to end up shitting cursed. Was Fort Doom taken?"

His eyes stray again to the horizon and he pauses for a moment, but the rain offers enough of a reason to put up with the old man's wishes for a while longer. Ramon's probably laughing his ass off.

Wesh glowers at the elves, why do old people talk so much with so little to say? These elves are supposed to be extra old ain't they, that probably means they are the worst stripe of Talkers. Fecking arcanists to, ain't right.

Scars over there looks properly grim, unlike the rest of the chattering crows. What the hell am I supposed to go back with these old freaks for? I should just leg it. Ramon's probably chin deep in a deer by now, and I've got to mope about with menagerie of misfits. Feck.

Wesh snorts derisively at the tall Varisian's platitudes. Pain ain't always bad whatever people think, shittin' meaningless nonsense sure would not make me feel better. Feckin' talkers, waste of space.

Perception 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (1) + 6 = 7 Start as you mean to go on, lol.

Wesh remains intent upon his boots, sneaking suspicious glances at the weird looking elves. The rain plasters his hair to his face and he scowls unhappy at the prospect of having to socialize with all these old freaks, but feeling obliged to the old man's memory.

He trudges along behind Father Harking shooting a longing glance out over the countryside to where Ramon waits. Oh gods we aren't going to have to talk about our feeling are we? Who knows what those pointy eared freaks will want to do. I wish Ramon were here to suffer with me. Stupid cat git.

A scruffy young man tall gangly and unkempt, looking even worse for an attempt to neaten his unruly hair, steps forward. He has the hard barbaric features of a Kellid, but his coloring is pure Varisian which lends him an unsavory aspect. He is clearly young, a fact proclaimed loudly by a patchy poor attempt at a beard.

Licking his lips nervously he glances about, futilely attempting to smooth down his wild hair before growling, "I ain't much fer speeches, and the Professor knew I say what I think, I don't dress it up none. I don't know many people and I have fewer friends. He was a friend though, and decent for an old man. He helped me know who and what I am and I ain't never gonna forget that. Its shit that he's dead and I wish he weren't, but wishin' don't do a lick of good, so I'll settle for rememberin' him well." He glances around again under his thick black brows and adds, "That's about it I reckon." Before stepping back and studying his boots.

I ended up changing things up considerably with the information from the Player's Guide anyway. Teenage druid with a werewolf mother, should be fun to play surly, lol. Cannot wait to get started!