Yucale's page

"Don't tempt fate," Cereidh tells Thorgrim.

"My vote is for keeping on. We can always circle back, but should something worse be warned of us ... Well, we can't ask it to wait for us." Cereidh gives Thorgrim a quick look, but quickly decides her lover is still hale and capable of looking after himself.

Cereidh glances sidelong at Ingold, and the swiftest of his response; and then at Thorgrim, and the living battle-lust in his eyes. She shrugs, and draws, and fires, one arrow each at two of the remaining orcs.

Bregghar Attack x1: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (4) + 10 = 14
Bregghar Damage x1: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8

Bregghar Attack x2: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (9) + 10 = 19
Bregghar Damage x2: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8

While unenthused by the work, Cereidh throws her main strength behind helping Thorgrim.

"I can't believe those jibes work," Rakbura says. "The ones about their mothers' intelligence would be entirely true if these things were not motherless as well as fatherless bastards - my spells touch the mind directly, I would know."

Cereidh is not shy of stealing valor from Thorgrim in her ire.

Bregghar Attack x1: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (7) + 10 = 17
Bregghar Damage x1: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11

Bregghar Attack x2: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (6) + 10 = 16
Bregghar Damage x2: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11

I sincerely love that Vicious Mockery works on something that can't even understand you. Or understand body language.

Cereidh hurriedly slips Bregghar over her shoulder and rushes to Thorgrim, gripping him by the shoulders to look him over.

"This is no trick of Shadow or Light - you remain as stubborn as ever? You wouldn't leave so soon and miss the telling of this story?"

Her face is composed, voice tense, fingers gripping uncomfortably tight. Her eyes are bright and distant - still off somewhere, partly hidden behind the shield of a warrior's mien - as they scan over his face, then down to his side.

Cereidh's eyes alight with mischief and self-satisfaction, immensely pleased with the titles that Thorgrim has conquered for them. While she has no trust of this place, with Thorgrim charging ahead into it as if it is just such great fun, she is content to follow.

She peers around with the verve of a gossip let into someone else's home.

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23
Insight: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8

Cereidh shoots at the orc engaged with Thorgrim, nearest the archers.

Bregghar Attack x1: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (9) + 10 = 19
Bregghar Damage x1: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

Bregghar Attack x2: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (14) + 10 = 24
Bregghar Damage x2: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5

Cereidh just assumes the suggestion came from Giles' kind nature, and kind of agrees with it - but she probably looks and feels like sh*t, so she's letting everyone else speak.

Cereidh sits and shivers, before pitching forward onto her knees, pressing her hands to her temples. She then reaches for Winter, not to gather the hound who is Amalina's companion to her, but just to touch another living thing for a moment.

She sets her heel into the sandy gravel by the riverbank, but cannot quite bring herself to lever herself up and go about clearing out the bastard step-sibling of a proper campsite.

Hoo boy! Now that was an encounter. Good job everybody, I'm just surprised that we survived.

Cereidh bows, deeply, to this apparition, eyes still on her. "Feredrun, I am Cereidh of the Greenwood, and it would be a privilege to meet you - were the circumstances not so horrible and dark. I am glad that we have all made it from the caves - even if freeing you from your real chains may be more difficult. I mourn that you have not been able to roam far enough to solicit help from my own folk in the Greenwood, or the folk of the Homely House. There are at the least - earnest mortals there, if not as powerful as the Maiar."

Dazed and splattered in gore, Cereidh turns from Gorzim's fallen corpse and rounds on Bron, returning the beastly blows with good clean steel.

Broadsword Attack: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15
Broadsword Damage: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8

Amalina, brilliant roleplaying.

"Excuse me! I'd never turn down the opportunity to listen to your caterwauling - it makes me feel safe, since of course no enemy would come near us while we're being so merry. And possibly for other reasons." Cereidh smiles, settling near the fire herself. "Anyway. What good is beauty without life? And signing always contains life. - Gondril, I imagine we may know some of the same songs? Perhaps you remember some variants that are not so often sung in Thranduil's court. It's something to bring back, if I ever get back." Still, she doesn't seem too absorbed by that grim prospect.

"Elrond speaks the truth. I am Cereidh of the Greenwood; and I have no greater pledge than that the Enemy is the Enemy not only of my people's safety, but our birthright, what we ought to be and that good which we safeguard. - The same, perhaps, as can be said for all Goodly peoples in this time. But I have been sent from my Lord's hall on an errand of friendship, thinking that such might be difficult with mortals and strangers; it is the same errand, and while I grieve that it's become not only difficult but dire, I will not re-name it, for friendship is a good name for standing against such a Shadow as the Enemy. And so, Gylwinth, I welcome you - and doubly so for being of our old elf-friends the Dunedain. Although we will need both old friends and new before the fight of this Age is over."

If I remember correctly, I'm all out of Action Surge or the circlet's powers for the day >.<

Cereidh stares blankly through the spot above Thorgrim as she trains her arrow upon the Dark Work's chest.

"Everyone dies. But we don't die as you wish, you filthy old cave-dweller, forgetting that there will be a dawn."

Bregghar Attack: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18
Breggahr Damage: 1d8 + 4 ⇒ (2) + 4 = 6

Cereidh sketches a shallow but carefully executed and graceful bow to the space immediately between the Lord and Lady, and when they've finished or at least paused in talking to each other;

Traditions: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10

"My Lord, my Lady. I am glad to see you both, but suspect that the cause for this meeting might be less glad?"

She speaks quietly, only turning away from them slightly to address her companions. "These are my Prince Legolas, and my Lord King Thranduil's guest Lady Imwe. I suspect the purpose of this meeting may not be to honor us," slightly sardonic, "but an honor it is, nevertheless."

"Prince, Lady, these disparate companions of mine have brought themselves great honor defending Men from the servants of the Shadow. I'm sure that if I am any use to you here, equally so are they."

Cereidh sits on the nearest flat surface - if it be the back of a fallen foe, then so be it. Carefully, she grips the shaft of the arrow sticking out of her shoulder and snaps off the farther length of it from the air, dropping it at her feet. And then doing the same for the one in her leg.

"Something stronger than ale might be better for cleaning these wounds - which is of main concern to me, should you want my drawing-arm strong and flexible. And the same concern plagues our doughty Hobbit, or it should. And I hope the Beornings' stew doesn't contain catgut! Although fierce Thorgrim may yet correct me on that."

Good luck with 1.), and 2.) sounds like fun!

As far as the question of recruiting goes, I don't have any strong preference for either one. While I really enjoy the energy that the rest of you bring to the virtual table - given that, I don't feel like we're at a standstill. So a new player might be fun, but I feel like we're in a fun spot anyway.

Things that I am in favor of in my games:

Paladins. Psions.

Low-magic, magical realism, or similar settings.

Drow player characters.

Coddling players who want coddled.

Using whatever shitty piece of paper I have on hand for a character sheet instead of using something sensible.

Sacrificing the rules and balance of the game for a good joke or a good thematic moment.

If people are feeling overshadowed, etc., make them talk about their emotions instead of trying to re-balance the game.

Personal arcs for individual PCs.

Arbitrary leveling at GM's discretion.

(I pretty much raised my current batch of players in the ways of PF, so I got a small period of time of having my way).

A somewhat humorous example:

As a one-shot, I had all the players meet up in a prison cell. The group consisted of a cannibalistic elf, an orcish wizard, a psychotic halfling barbarian and a catfolk bard. They were all bored out of their minds (in-game!) when they heard a scratching at the dungeon wall. The bard was the only one who understood kobold when he asked who was making the scratching. When the kobolds asked where they were, the catfolk replied, "uh- a brothel!"
A pause. "We shall soon be done with excavation."
So the PCs were kidnapped by kobolds (to be sold). The escaped once, but returned to the wagon they were traveling in when they decided it was easier than walking. So the voluntary prisoners ditched the wagon again. The kobolds chased them- and suddenly raced back the opposite way. Weaponless and spellbookless and faced with a snarling krenshar, the orcish wizard grappled the krenshar and the elven ranger punched straight through its brain. Then they wore the gore and bones and pelt and returned to the kobold camp, playing the part of the bloodthirsty gods of the underworld. About half the kobolds bolted. The weaponless PCs managed to kill the rest with their bare hands and disregard for personal safety (the halfling had strapped a fang to his forehead like a unicorn's horn and was charging back and forth in the near-lightless cavern trying to hit something by pure luck and failing).
The stole one of the wagons and slapped luminous moss on it and decorated it with the bones of their enemies and became the Traveling Kobold Brothel.

I had the best. gaming session. ever. I'm posting here since my head is still too much in the game to do anything else. I think I remember the dialogue fairly clearly- I have a bad memory for conversation. It gets more serious as the story progresses.

And since I don't want to waste forum space, really, I'd love to hear everyone else's best gaming sessions :)

The game started out as just a long walk back to the city- I had to get a PC who'd been absent back into the storyline. One of the players was gone for now, and my Lead PC was at 1 hp, but was still bored. So we engaged in a bit of idle roleplaying. Zizi the oracle petted her pet sea urchin and tried to get her flask of rum away from Lead PC Ziharc. Nothing much happened- until the important semi-friendly NPC and his friend, who'd been trailing them, disappeared. They didn't notice for some time. Zizi was bellyaching about something or other.
Then, out of character, the player Wibble (yes, that's what everyone is supposed to call him in RL) declares, "one of the bushes starts going rustle rustle". Zizi and Ziharc and the other ranger Isaac continue chatting, punctuated by the "rustle rustle" until Zizi says, "I think that bush is talking. Most bushes don't go "rustle rustle"." Ziharc, consummate Adventurer, goes over to investigate. The pally (sent by the NPC to keep an eye on them) traps his foot with his sword. Ziharc says matter-of-factly, "The bush is attacking me," (because sh&% happens) and starts to beat at it with his sword. Jack the paladin pulls him into the bush and then begins to drag him off by his feet (since his in plate armor and pretty much impervious to normal kicks and punches) to 'interrogate'. Ziharc, unharmed, crosses his arms and waits for the rest of the party to catch up. Because the guy in the armor hadn't tried to really hurt him yet and he was cool with it. 5-foot-four Zizi chases after the plate-mailed paladin and beats at him with her quarterstaff, verbally belaboring him as well.
Ziharc's Player: you can't knock someone in plate mail out. with a quarterstaff.
Zizi's PLayer: but if I hit him in the helmet, and it made a sound like a gong... you know?
Eventually Jack defends himself and ends up knocking her out could. A very exasperated Isaac chases after them and dumps a water flask over Zizi to wake her up. She starts chattering away immediately. Cuna, the DMPC from when the party had about three functional PCs and who they've grown rather attached to, walks up, shakes Jack's hand, and initiates introductions.
Basically, there's overworked witchy oracle Zizi, ADVENTURRERR and tanking ranger Ziharc, naive-farmboy-prince-with-wings Isaac, and their sometimes-guide clue-dispenser person-of-dubious-species-with-a-trenchcoat Cuna. They're off to rescue Isaac's traveling companion and girlfriend (they keep denying it even though a blind man could see it with a cane) Claire. The important NPC the Crimson Marquis sent Jack after her capture had put his militant camp at odds with some shadowy City magicians. Zizi is not happy with having a 'babysitter'. Then again, she hadn't been in a good mood since she'd been unable to save the PC Mika. Wibble has a character accent for Jack. And it's cool- deep and calls women wummin. They roleplay a bit more, comparing scars.
Since they're all at low hp (Ziharc is never at full) and I needed to bring in the PC who's player had just arrived at the table, I fast-forwarded over the three day's journey. They enter the walls of the City by a hole created during the first session for old time's sake.

Zizi: my spirits are sensing *runs hands over eroded edges of hole* vibes here...
Isaac: that's 'cause he burned the wall here with magic *gestures to Cuna*
Zizi gives him a weird look.
Isaac: it's a long story.

Isaac wanted to charge on to find Claire, but Cuna demands they get Raven first (PC who'd taken a hiatus in the City) and free her from jail. He convinces Isaac he could just as easily trick them all into doing what he wanted, and Isaac caves, muttering his hatred of Cuna. They weave erratically through alleys (even when there weren't any guards whatsoever) while Jack goes to question some guards.

Jack: good sir, I notice more guards here of late. Has there been a disturbance?
Guard Played by Isaac's Player: uhhh
Jack: who is the nearest, uh, officer in this area?
Random Guard Played By Ziharc's Player walks up: Sergeant Doo...ey
Jack: I knew him back, uh, in that war- how's the leg?
Random Guard: Good, good.
Jack: Right.
Random Guard: Yup. *beat* *walks away*
Guard: Actually, there was a bit of a.. commotion. If you're looking for a culprit, look for someone with pointy teeth, guns, and a trench coat...
Ziharc walks up and throws an arm over Jack's shoulder: hi, my friend thinks he knows everyone even when he doesn't we have to go now bye

They all make it to the jail, where Jack's high diplomacy modifier once more gets them past the security. They find Raven's cell, but it doesn't seem to be occupied at the moment. The stand there for a beat, until the wall behind them explodes. Raven stands there in all her steampunk-inspired glory, a huge gun on her shoulder. "YOU BASTARDS, TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH."
Cuna: Merp.
Raven: Left me to rot...
Ziharc: hi, she is?
Raven: Who're these people? (She'd been one of the original PCs, along with Isaac and, well, Cuna)
Zizi: I'm Zizi...
Ziharc: And I'm Ziharc. We're adventurers.
Jack: And I am Jack. The guards are coming.
They get out of there, nearly leaving Ziharc standing there holding a bomb. Raven and Jack discover that they do NOT like each other. Cuna implores her to find them all a hiding place, and she leads them to a sort of underground tavern.
(Upon entering the tavern) Jack: *sits like a hipster* bit-ches.
Raven threatens the barkeep over some sort of transgression, leading to a brief spat with Jack about the law, and with Zizi about morality, after which they find they get along swimmingly. Raven leads them to her little bolt-hole stocked with wine. They talk, especially about what they're going to do next.
Zizi is trying to describe her job to Raven. Everyone but Cuna and Isaac add suggestions like 'freak' or 'loner'.
Zizi: I'm more of the village... b*#**? Do you think that fits, Cuna?
He raises his eyebrows a bit and nods.
Zizi: Yeah, I'm the village b*&~~.
Raven grins. "I'm going to like you."
Cuna claps. "They get along!" Then he looks over at Jack, Isaac and Ziharc. "Though, it might be more of trial of us now..."
Raven looks affronted. "Hey, two girls and four guys. That means we're the ones outnumbered."
Isaac mutters, "there should've been three..."
They talk about getting to Claire's captor (Erin)'s lair through the demon-infested dungeon, and of course they go for it. The vault door refuses to budge, and Jack lands on his rear after trying to burst it open. Then they corrode the lock a bit and bust it open. They manage to avoid monster patrols, but when they try and cross a pentagram cut in the floor it summons a demon that attacks them. Raven likes to scare them by pretending she's about to jump on one. Cuna doesn't dissuade her. They can't avoid crossing the pentagrams, as Jack is too heavy for Isaac to fly over and he can't jump. After the second one, Isaac suffers a sudden telepathic connection with Claire. It's... bad. No one but Cuna seems to notice, as Ziharc had gone on ahead and had encountered some sort of trouble.
From his end of things, he'd gone on to scout of the next turn, and tossed his sunrod into the corridor. Shadows had rippled away from it. That was bad, he knew. When he went to retrieve it he found he got trapped in a spell that completely scrambled his sensory input. He couldn't make sense of enough to even walk.
"Ziharc?" Zizi honestly sounded concerned. "We're going to help."
"NO. Stay where you are. I'm serious. Just... don't come over here."
They eventually agreed that the paladin might have some more luck with the spell, so they tossed Ziharc a rope which fortunately landed on his foot, and tied the group together. With some fortunate rolls Jack was able to lead the party through the corridor. Isaac ended up nearly strangled in the rope when they staggered out of the spell.
Isaac: why does this always happen to me?!
Cuna. Cause you're so... innocent. Subtext: and therefore funner for the universe to troll, and I should know
They gathered themselves together and Ziharc and Jack were planning something. Raven considers them for a moment, apparently thinking of their camaraderie.
Raven: Yup, I definitely think there's something there.
The rest of the party: ?
Raven: Chemistry. Why're you two spending so much time together? And being so close? Are you going to go on a date after this?
Jack draws his sword threateningly, while Ziharc just rolls his eyes and goes to scout ahead. "Seriously," Raven adds, grinning, "you might make a cute couple, and after this is over-"
"Don't," Isaac implores. He's seriously begging.
"Are you homophobic?"
"Yes."
"You know girls in taverns hit on Zizi?"
"Yes, but I get that, 'cause she looks like a guy."
Zizi: Hey!
Cuna: We should move on. And Ziharc's no fun to tease about it anyway.
(This whole passage probably resulted from four of the six gamers being teenage girls. And Raven was joking about all of it)
The next pentagram, Raven wants to jump on. Cuna eggs her on with a knowing grin, because his schtick is creating anarchy. She does, and disappears. So the rest of the group has little choice but to follow. They end up in a four-by-four broom closet. They're also very loud. When the finally fall out the door, the demonic guard is too surprised to do much of anything before they tie him up. The entrance room looks out onto Abyssal fires. The guard turns out to be an innocent sort for a demon, and they get his advice with the promise that they'd kill Erin and save him being punished for it. Zizi actually takes a liking to him.
The next room is the second entry hall. It's bare of anything but a fountain of gold and blood. There's a shimmery barrier between them and where a bloodied Claire appears to be alone in a much bigger room. Isaac of course charges straight forward and trips a trap, causing a greataxe to swing down towards his head. Ziharc charges forward and bowls him out of the way, getting the blade in his side and halved hp for his troubles. Isaac stops inside the room long enough to look over at the other ranger. Ziharc just nods "I'm OK", coughing up a bit of blood. Isaac runs over to Claire's side. She pulls him down close enough to say, "It's a trap."
Everyone is inside the bigger room by now. Cuna stands about in the middle of it, and turns to face them. "Of course it's a trap," he says loud and clear. "Did anyone honestly not think this was a trap?" And then Erin, Isaac's brother and someone twice the APL, materializes behind him (by magic or stealth, doesn't matter) and sticks a long bone knife into his kidney. It seems sufficient to send him into shock. He stays standing there with the knife still in him (Erin abandoned it in favor of a whip and longsword) while Isaac puts a thin line on Erin's leather armor and Raven blasts out a sliver of his side, to Erin's surprise. And then Cuna falls over. Jack puts a good dent into Erin's armor (Erin apparently does not like paladins) and Ziharc double-crits, before getting his hp dropped to 1. Zizi is torn between helping Cuna and Claire (very injured, maybe dead or dying), or helping her adventuring partner. Raven, to my surprise, abandons the main fight in a rare display of sentiment to cradle Cuna. Claire leans on her and the hard-edged, pyromanic gunslinger temporarily becomes the center of comfort. The fight goes back and forth. Erin seems surprised by how much damage he's taking, but the party is clearly outclassed. They get in some good moments. Raven declares that she likes Isaac after he domes some good damage, and Claire looks up from where she's bleeding all over her shoulder and says quietly, with a smile, "you should."
My players are awesome roleplayers.
Zizi also says, "I think I love that man," after Ziharc nearly caves in Erin's chest. We are not surprised. There's a lot of blood. Then Isaac rolls a 1 on attacking Erin from behind, and falls at his brother's feet. Erin doesn't even look over, just places a foot on his back and says, "I'm ashamed to have you for a brother." The rest of the group is all no-you-didn'. Ziharc is laughing maniacally now, which he does when fighting something he really wants to inflict pain on. Jack rolls nearly maximum damage on his next attack, but the fight ends when Raven notices the knife Erin'd used to stab Cuna with and attacks Erin with it. She jams it up under his ribcage, and it doesn't seem to be an ordinary knife, because Erin goes ashen and teleports away in a plume of smoke.
The smoke or his absence from this pocket of the Abyss proves more harmful than anything so far, and they all drop to 0 hp. And end up in a sort of doggy pile. After Ziharc knocks himself out banging at the walls and raging, and Jack has to crawl over and stabilize him. Raven doesn't even protest when Jack, who'd been trolling her for a while now, lands on her in full plate armor. They can't tell how much time passes in the Abyss, but it takes a long while to heal to about 6 hp, quite a bit of which is apathy. Raven seems deeply shaken about something :3 and refuses healing. Ziharc and Jack (Isaac stays behind with Claire, though they don't really talk, Zizi is tending to Claire and Raven is trying to get Cuna to say something) go check on the broom closet. The young demon is gone, and Erin left a trite little note with 'PS: Traitors never live' at the end of it. Isaac seemed to think that referred to something other than the guard, so that's another mystery for future games. Raven wasn't having much luck with Cuna, though he'd sat up, until she got out one of her wineskins and offered it to him. He eventually moved his hand to take, and lay back, and drank it all in record time. She smiled a bit. So he seemed somewhat recovered, for now, and then I had to leave. So the group will likely look into the knife-thing and how to get out of the Abyss the next time we can get a game together, which hopefully will be as soon as possible.
It was all very melodramatic.

No school!
Also bought a new Pathfinder book yesterday.

44. A figure dressed in tattered, stained robes slumps against the inn wall, apparently dead drunk. A strange large bowl-shaped hat conceals his face. A strapping peasant, maybe seventeen, stands nearby, obviously agitated, occasionally trying to get the unconscious man to wake up.

45. In a shadowed corner, an old man (though his exact age is hard to guess) sits sipping tea and grinning to himself. He is dressed in mis-matched black clothes, with a tall black hat. He has a large scar across his face.

[other]The old man is an informant for the underground. He knows a surprising amount, as if he were a scholar, and is more likely to aid good-aligned PCs than evil ones. He has a disconcerting habit of reading thoughts, and will dispense philosophic advice at any opportunity.

46. An old man tries to bargain with the barkeep for a meal. A thin, scared young boy follows him closely.