Zeldrith Angothane's page

I apologize for my lack of posting - after some deliberation, I've decided to leave this campaign. Frankly, I must admit to being more than a bit mentally checked-out of this game in the past weeks - it seems to me that there simply hasn't been much of note going on.

To a certain extent, too, a large part of this is how Zeldrith has grown since I submitted him to this campaign - I submitted an early draft, and in the months since, I've made updates that make him more interesting to play and better able to help the group, updates which haven't been reflected in this old draft of the character. In terms of both combat and diplomacy, he feels redundant at best, as there's really fairly little that he can do and Ano can't - bloodrager is essentially a better Eldritch Scion - and though I was offered a chance to retrain (allowing him to more effectively contribute), I've been waiting over a month for said chance to actually come up.

Combine that with what I feel is a somewhat lackluster backstory that was made more lackluster by the negation of his main plot hook from a reason to adventure to a reason not to adventure, and the long and short of it is that I'm no longer having fun with either this character or this campaign. Best wishes to those who remain.

"Don't be openly greedy, we already got a reward didn't we?"

Zeldrith grimaces. "I'm sorry - I'm not trying to be greedy, it's just that, well, Mr. Scarnetti... look, I'll talk with you about it later."

As the mood in the tavern settles down, however, Zeldrith perks up, and after a few more drinks, he starts regaling the tavern with various tall tales from his mercenary days.

Perform (Oratory): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19

He settles on an old favorite of his, a yarn where he and his friend Zenvir killed a Chernasado Ranger by getting too drunk for the archer to aim at them. After a few minutes entertaining the bar patrons with his fabricated tale, he drains the last of his own mug, grinning. "...after all, how could that archer know where we were going to be if we didn't know where we were going to be?"

As the group returns to the Rusty Dragon, Zeldrith sits down at one of the tables with a sigh, seemingly preoccupied - after a few moments, he glances up at Juriya, his brow furrowed in thought. "Hey, Juriya, do you think there'll be some sort of reward for saving the town?" Glancing down at his drink, he scowls, muttering to himself. "We saved that old skinflint's hide - you'd think the least he could do would be to knock a bit off the top of the damned thing."

When the rhyming game starts, however, his head rises, and he smirks, waiting for an opportune lull to jump in. "It's been many years since I played this game - I still remember the rules, all the same." At Gabe's bungled rhyme, Zeldrith grins, nodding to the old man. "If I were you, I'd pick another verse - whatever one you find can't be much worse."

As the conversation shifts to the lessons instilled into each generation by its predecessor, Zeldrith grins, raising his eyebrows as he glances over at Arrian. "Ha! Well, my parents taught me tenacity at least. You know, there have been Angothanes in Magnimar for as long as anyone can remember. Might not sound impressive, seeing as how we're poor as the proverbial temple mice, but when you consider that fully half of my family are complete idiots - pardon the language, Brother Sower, can never remember what scandalizes you cloistered folk - and then it starts to make you think. Why, my great-grandfather used to help out around the temple in Magnimar - you know, tidy up the place, sweep the floors, polish the candlesticks, that sort of thing. He spent most of his time replacing the candles at the altar - they'd burn down, you see, and he thought someone was replacing them with shorter candles. He replaced those candles every hour, on the hour, for forty years. Now that's dedication."

Perform (Oratory): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (3) + 3 = 6

"She is crazy about Shalelu, that is, if she ever gets to meet her. Whenever we're in Sandpoint for any reason, the woman is somewhere else."

Zeldrith raises his eyebrows, finding a seat in one of the chairs around the room. "Shaelu Andosana? She's something else, she is - not too long ago, I saw her pin an invisible demon to the wall with one shot. Say, if you're interested in those sorts of tales, pull up a chair and let me tell you a story from my time in the Molthuni Imperial Army - ever hear of Giselle the Green Arrow? She's one of the Nirmathi Rangers - supposedly, they're the best archers Avistan's got to offer, outside of Kyonin, that is."

As Zeldrith continues to talk animatedly, relating his story, his mismatched eyes begin to mist with recollection, but his enthusiasm still shines through. "It was near Fort Ramgate, I remember - our squad was guarding a pass she wanted to get through. She didn't hurt any of us too badly - she's famous for that, you know, not killing people - but we learned not to get in her way again, that's for sure!" Reaching down, he rolls up part of his pants leg, revealing an old scar midway up his leg, just below his backwards-bending knee. "She actually shot me, you know - right there, you see? My friend Jhindyl was our company healer - he patched me up pretty well, but I still favored that hoof for a month afterwards."

Oblivious to Arrian's discomfort, Zeldrith glances around idly while he waits for the others to finish - it's not that he doesn't care about the Charlestons, but being a man of limited intelligence and even more limited imagination, now that Ethan has made it clear he is qualified to tend to Mrs. Charleston, he considers the matter more or less resolved.

As the Charlestons' youngest daughter rushes in, Zeldrith gives a friendly grin, tipping his hat in greeting. "Hey there, kiddo! You know, my nephew Revek is around your age - wants to be an explorer when he grows up. I've been collecting all sorts of tales for him in my travels - stories of wanderers and heroes, tales from far distant lands. You wouldn't happen to be interested in anything like that, would you?"

His red-and-black gaze flicks up to Farmer Charleston, and he furrows his brow. "Say, if you'd like the kids out of the house for this, I could take them out to the field, bale some hay and tell stories while you and Brother Sower here take care of things. 'Whistle while you work,' my old man always said, 'and work while you whistle.' Words to live by, I've always thought."

"If someone can show me what to do I think Ethan might be the best choice for helping with the baby."

Zeldrith nods. "I'm afraid I'm not much good with kids, but I'm more than happy to help out around the farm." He raises his eyebrows, glancing down at the southern end of the house and the work being done there. "I'm pretty handy with a hammer and nails, when it comes to it - used to do most of the repair work around my parents' shop. Broken shelves, squeaky doors, that sort of thing - anyway, I'd be happy to help out in any way I can."

Apologies for the delay in posting - with all the OoC talk in the gameplay thread, I hadn't realized we were moving forward. Zeldrith will be going with the rest of the group to the farm, however.

Zeldrith scowls at Father Zantus's words. "I'll talk with Banny Harker - I'd think that saving the town is worth a day of missed work, but it seems Lord Scarnetti has different thoughts on the matter."

As the conversation turns to how to neutralize the runewell beneath Sandpoint, he furrows his brow. "Well, I know I'm not the most knowledgeable on magical matters, but sometimes the simplest solution is the best. An old pal of mine from my mercenary company was a sapper - you know, tunnels, trenches, that sort of thing. If my reckoning isn't off, the better part of that complex was a little to the north of the old lighthouse - away from where people live, right? I could ask around, see if I can get back in contact with my sapper friend - if you're willing to pay for quality, I expect he could drop a few tons of rock on that runewell thing with a good pick and a couple of hours." Raising his eyebrows, the tiefling shrugs. "The way they built that place, it might not destroy it, but anyone else who wants to use it would have a lot of digging on their hands, at the very least."

Zeldrith steps into the chapel after the others, nodding thankfully to the elderly priest. "Probably best if we talk things over with you first, Father - there were some... things in there best left untouched." Shuddering, the tiefling's mismatched eyes dart around the room, clearly reluctant to speak on the subject. "Thistletop... everyone just thinks it's a goblin lair, but there were tunnels down there. A shrine to the old gods. Something dark lived down there - we didn't actually see all that much of the complex itself, but those passages seemed to go on forever, and it felt like something was watching us from the shadows, something malevolent." Glancing behind him in the direction of Thistletop, Zeldrith scowls. "We should go back there - burn that entire place. Thistletop is a nexus of evil, and I don't think Sandpoint's misfortunes will stop unless we do something about it."

I'm not sure there's much special historical significance to what we found at Thistletop, at least on the topic of Thassilon. We mostly just entered, got into an extended battle with the majority of the dungeon's residents, had a big argument OoC, and just left most of the rest of the dungeon there - we didn't even open the doors to the chapel.

Zeldrith nods in greeting to Father Zantus. "Hope you're doing well, Father. Ethan here was instrumental in helping us stop the crisis - thanks for sending him our way."

""You... you don't think we need to be discreet aBOUT THE FACT THAT NUALIA WAS STILL ALIVE?!"

Zeldrith nods, raising his eyebrows. "Frankly, I'm in agreement with Donimah here - she's dead, so one way or the other, the danger's over. Besides, she had a lot to say about how the others in town treated her - now, whether or not I feel the same, I at least understand why she went mad. There's a flip side to everything - for all the troubles I've faced, at least nobody's ever expected that much from me, and I can't imagine how tough it would be to live up to the standard they had for Nualia your entire life." The tiefling shakes his head, scowling. "The Mayor can say what she wants - people need to know what happened. So nothing else like this can happen again."

In an uncommon moment of perceptiveness, Zeldrith decides to stay back from the group's interrogation of Nualia, joining Ethan and Arrian near the treeline. Shaking his head, he sighs as he watches the others dealing with the mad aasimar. "Talk about crazy - that one's angelkith, you know, though you wouldn't know it from that arm of hers. She had all sorts of drawings of what she thought she'd become once she burned the town - spikes all over her, bat wings like my cousin Irie, that sort of thing. Respect or no, the townspeople liked her at least - she threw that all away, and for what? Now people who don't know her don't respect or like her because she looks like she's demonspawn, and people who know her mostly want to stab her repeatedly because she's a horrible person. Plus, when she dies - probably within the next five minutes, if Ano's tone is any judge - she's going to a horrible place where she'll suffer forever. I mean, I've got the hooves and all that, but I still have friends and faith and all that - how deluded do you have to be to give up every chance you have for happiness for eternity?"

He shakes his head. "Makes you wonder why the evil gods even make offers like that. Makes you wonder why the good gods don't, at that! I mean, Desna talks a lot about being at peace with yourself and all that, but if Iomedae said she'd get rid of your horns and such and make it so people like you and make sure you go to a beautiful place after you die, why, I'd bet you sails to pinch you'd see demon-blooded tripping over each other building orphanages, giving money to the temple, that sort of thing."

"And my people would know. We Shoanti are the descendants of those who survived. If the Azghat had contingencies to let them return and restore their old empires, they'd have risen long ago!"

Zeldrith raises his eyebrows, interjecting. "The Varisians, too, if the legends are true. Anyway, those ancient wizards were powerful, Donimah - more powerful than you, at any rate. How do you know what they could and couldn't do? In all the old tales, they were always cursing people they didn't like - turning them to stone, sometimes. What if that statue beneath Sandpoint is actually Aldarist or whatever her name was? Those Thassilonians made at least a few things to last - there's that whole dungeon beneath Sandpoint, for one, and they say half the city of Jol is just people living in the buildings of Torandey. What if only some bits broke - the part that keeps those wizards alive stayed together, and the part that lets them out after a few years sunk into the sea? I mean, we've stood on the stones of Thassilon, felt them beneath our hooves - they're still real enough to..." He trails off, glancing down - after a moment, he scowls. "Desna's tears, I think I stepped in something down there - that bugbear's blood, like as not. Prakeikimas, I'll have to take care of that - don't think Ameiko would like me leaving bloody hoofprints all over her floor."

Following behind Donimah is a wiry Varisian man, dressed in the sturdy clothing of a traveler. Below the knee, his legs end in cloven hooves, and blood from a handful of serious wounds along his side soaks his duster, the tiefling wincing at each movement. Though his battered longsword is held at the ready as he emerges from the trees, he lowers it as his black-and-red eyes scan the clearing, seemingly embarrassed to have missed the fight.

At Ethan's offer of aid, he follows gratefully, nodding in thanks to the cleric as a seven-fingered hand comes up to tip the brim of his hat, and he grins - or at the very least, shows an impressive number of fangs, which he seems to think is the same thing. "I'm much obliged to you, Brother Sower. I'm Zeldrith Angothane, if we're doing introductions." His mismatched gaze flicks over to where Nualia is tied against the tree. "It seems you've met our 'friend' Nualia - if you don't mind my asking, Brother, what brings you out here? I haven't heard much of wandering Erastilans; always thought that was more our thing - Desnans, I mean. You some sort of mendicant, friend, or did the Father send you?"

...If there's a new player actively waiting to reunite with the rest of the party, shouldn't we be working towards getting back to Sandpoint, rather than getting sidetracked on yet another tangent?

We can deal with Nualia later, if she even comes up at all - frankly, I'd prefer to face the main threat of this section of the adventure with the aid of a divine healer, not to mention that it seems downright rude to keep our new player waiting forever while we go through weeks of combat against a spellcaster, arguments, interrogations, et cetera.

Zeldrith scowls as Ano bolts away from the group yet again. "Ah, velnias - Ano, come back! There's nothing you can do for her now!" Sighing at the amurrun's impulsive nature, he rushes into the maze after the others, his longsword at the ready.

As the conversation turns to the intricacies of spellcasting, Zeldrith grimaces. "I'm afraid I've never been one for theory - I mostly just do what seems like a good idea at the time, to be honest. I mean, the words feel right, and the way I move my hands feels natural, but I couldn't for the life of me tell you about all the 'thaumaturgical constructs' and 'theoretical bases' for any of it."

"As far as we know, the ancient Thassilonians didn't regard Divination as an equal to the remaining seven Schools. But clearly Tammerhawk's doing SOMETHING right, because he's the best Speaker we've had, and may even be elected for a second term next year when his current eight-year term ends."

Despite his ineptitude in the more intellectual side of the arcane, Zeldrith tries to follow along as best he can, clearing his throat as Donimah expounds on her experience in academia. "Well, I don't know much about the Cyphermages, but back in my mercenary company, I saw the sort of squadron commanders you get when you promote specialists above their level of competence. Promote an infantryman, he doesn't know how to handle spellcasters, promote a cavalryman, the supply line collapses - and those high-and-mighty officer types aren't any good either, all full of ideas out of a book, the sort that only work in your mind."

The tiefling shrugs, tilting his head to one side as he tries to find words for his thoughts. "Maybe this Tammerhawk's so good because he's got an impartial perspective - not too much of one thing, not too much of the other. He doesn't know any of your Thassilonian schools better than the rest, so he can handle all of them. And if he's got the actual front-line experience, as it were, the one of him would probably be worth a dozen bookworm types to your organization. I mean, you just talked about how you deal in the real - you wouldn't want to be put in charge of all those brain-bender types, would you? It's the same principle."

I think that should be most things taken care of at work - apologies again for the delay. In response to Donimah's question, I'm a plasma physicist - our lab's working on coil design and testing for stellarator technology.

I've tried to get caught up as best I can - we're preparing to head back to Sandpoint, yes?

Apologies for my delay in posting - there's been a bit of a workplace emergency at my lab. Nothing dangerous, but one of our instruments failed spectacularly, so my group is on "autopsy" duty to make sure it doesn't happen to the other ones. I'll try to get something posted tomorrow if I can.

Well, if he wants to come back, I'm all for it. I know he had mentioned some health issues, but if he'd like to return, I think that's his prerogative as a recently departed player.

Zeldrith's eyes snap open as Arrian heals him, and he struggles to his feet, raising his longsword in a defensive stance. Noticing the dead goblin and the fleeing enemies, he relaxes, letting his sword drop. "Thanks for the help." Shaking his head, he glances down the passageway where Nualia fled. "Desna preserve us - that's your friend, Ano? I don't know if we can continue like this - we need some help, at the very least."

At Juriya's words, he nods. "Probably just a sellsword, by the getup. Not enough robes or crazy eyes to be a proper cultist, I think. Pay's good, but things start getting strange, you don't know what to do or if you can leave, so you stay on - I mean, with this business, who hasn't been there before? It's all mild-mannered scholars and 'explore the ruins' and 'tenth share of the treasure,' and then all of the sudden you're running for your life through snowdrifts taller than you are with half a dozen madmen chasing after you, all because you didn't step back quickly enough when they asked for a 'volunteer.'"

Realizing himself, he blinks, clearing his throat. "...Not that I know anything about that." After a moment, he moves down the corridor where the man had vanished, calling out for the human. "Look, friend, we can talk this out. You're a mercenary, right? I know the life, and I don't imagine you're getting paid enough for all this cultist stuff. Look - Sandpoint's a nice enough town, and there's a reward being offered to stop your nutty employer. Help us take her down, and you'll get a cut, sound fair?"

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (1) + 10 = 11

Apologies for the delay - Zeldrith is now leveled up and ready to continue!

Personally, I'm in favor of getting this mercenary before we head back, but I can understand if you just want to wait until the recruitment is over.

I'm not trying to be short, but at the same time, I raised my concerns in PMs, and they were largely ignored. My intention is not to metagame, but I think it's worth mentioning that I do have access to the books for RotRL, and most of these encounters explicitly don't group together like this, fortifying their positions when the alarm is raised rather than seeking out the heroes - as much of a meat-grinder as RotRL is, there was at least an attempt at encounter balance within.

Plugging the numbers into the encounter calculator, this fight was initially an EL 9 encounter. After I raised my concerns, it was lowered to 'only' EL 7. That's not a fun, challenging encounter, that's an abattoir.

Indeed. GM, you should probably stop bothering Arrian about Judgement - when Persephone left, it was made fairly clear that Arrian, as our only member capable of healing, was going to be our divine healer, which, while not entirely proscribing him to one course of action, means that as the encounters grow more challenging, he actually spends less time doing interesting things and more time dealing with the party's injuries. The more you punish the entire group for Arrian treating the injuries sustained in your poorly balanced encounters, the more injuries need to be treated, and the less Arrian gets to use his combat abilities.

Quite frankly, I'm on the verge of dropping this game, and I think others feel the same way. Don't punish us because you don't understand how PF1E's combat works.

Stabilize DC 10: 1d20 - 3 ⇒ (15) - 3 = 12

Zeldrith manages to breathe slightly easier, though he's still in critical condition.

...and that's Zeldrith unconscious and bleeding out. Quite frankly, I agree with Arrian - I think it will be a TPK.

Will (Different Creature Type): 1d20 + 3 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 3 + 4 = 11

As the bugbear falls, Zeldrith scowls, but when one of the goblins in the hallway casts a spell on him, he collapses, writhing with choking laughter.

I didn't think I got two attacks, but if that's how Spellstrike works in your campaigns, I guess I'll take it.

Longsword (Weakened): 1d20 + 7 - 2 ⇒ (5) + 7 - 2 = 10

Concentration (2 Hero Points): 1d20 + 6 + 8 ⇒ (8) + 6 + 8 = 22

Zeldrith scowls - trapped between the goblin warlord, the greased floorboards, and the bugbear, he has nowhere else to go. Glaring at the bugbear, he grips his blade tighter, arcane power crackling down its length, and slashes at his foe. "Ever fought in the Goblinblood Wars, big ugly? Let me show you some of the tricks I picked up!"

Longsword (Spellstrike, Weakened): 1d20 + 7 - 2 ⇒ (20) + 7 - 2 = 25 - An additional +3 if he's holding a metal weapon.
Confirm: 1d20 + 7 - 2 ⇒ (14) + 7 - 2 = 19 - An additional +3 if he's holding a metal weapon.
Damage (Arcane Strike): 1d8 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 3 + 1 = 11 - Slashing
Shocking Grasp: 3d6 ⇒ (4, 3, 1) = 8 - Electricity

If that confirms, both the spell and the longsword crit, upping the damage to 22 S and 16 E.

My target will be the mount rather than the goblin - if we can trap him in here while the mercenary guards the tunnel, we might be able to make some progress.

Zeldrith scowls, staggering back as the goblin slashes across his chest - rallying, he retaliates, stabbing the giant lizard with his longsword. "Ano! Ano - we'll get them later. We could really use your help here!"

Longsword (Weakened): 1d20 + 7 - 2 ⇒ (15) + 7 - 2 = 20
Damage (Two-Handed, Arcane Strike): 1d8 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (8) + 3 + 1 = 12

Zeldrith strides forward, his sword raised defensively, only to stop as he realizes that the mercenary isn't making any hostile movements. "Um... mind moving, friend?" He glances back at Juriya, raising his eyebrows. "He is our friend, right? Not about to gut me, yes?" Turning back to the human, he shrugs, readying his sword against hostile foes.

Readied Longsword (Weakened): 1d20 + 7 - 2 ⇒ (13) + 7 - 2 = 18
Damage (Arcane Strike): 1d8 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (3) + 3 + 1 = 7

Condition - Anyone who is not the human mercenary or a member of the party gets within stabbing distance.

Eh... if it didn't, Zeldrith will simply sword him repeatedly - problem solved!

I'm going to wait to see if Charm Person worked before I go - I don't want to attack someone who's already on our side, after all!

Reflex: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19

Zeldrith's hooves scrabble for purchase against the slick cobblestones, and he staggers back out of the spell's range with a curse. Moving around to the side of the table, he fires another spell at Nualia as he glances at the recumbent form of Arrian. "If you can get off that table, we can flip it - archers can use it like a barricade!"

Ray of Frost: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18
Damage: 1d3 ⇒ 3 cold.

Arrian, you can use a move action to move 5 feet, even while prone - if you can get off the table, we can probably flip it to upgrade the level of cover we're getting.

Apologies for the delay. Magi have a lot of options to sift through, but I think this is a particularly good pick, given that Nualia is covered in metal. Shocking Grasp - the armored foe's bane!

Zeldrith scowls, continuing his attack on Nualia - as Donimah and Juriya make their way down the stairs, his mismatched gaze shifts to them, and he motions them down quickly. "Stay clear of the door - hostile mage has us in his sights!" The tiefling's eyes flash white with arcane power, and he reaches out his seven-fingered hand for Nualia's throat, reciting arcane syllables as electricity crackles between his fingers.

Longsword (Weakened, Spell Combat, Concentration -3): 1d20 + 7 - 2 - 2 - 3 ⇒ (9) + 7 - 2 - 2 - 3 = 9
Damage: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10

Touch Attack (Metal Armor): 1d20 + 4 + 3 ⇒ (9) + 4 + 3 = 16

Concentration (Casting Defensively, DC 17): 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18

Shocking Grasp: 2d6 ⇒ (6, 4) = 10 electric damage, no save.

GM, a quick note - attended nonmagical items (which would include the sword Arrian is wielding) do get a save to negate Shatter - they use their wielder's Will save.

I understand if you want to let the ruling stand, but I thought I might as well let you know for future reference.

Fortitude: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16

Zeldrith scowls as the attack drains the vitality from his body, but after a moment, he rallies, vaulting the low table in the center of the room to get protection from the unseen spellcaster. "There'll be more where that came from - clear the door!"

He slashes at Nualia, his weakened muscles still enough to level a powerful blow at the corrupted aasimar.

Longsword (Weakened, Power Attack): 1d20 + 7 - 2 - 1 ⇒ (17) + 7 - 2 - 1 = 21
Damage (Two-Handed, Arcane Strike, Power Attack): 1d8 + 3 + 1 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 + 1 + 3 = 8

Zeldrith scowls, stepping forward to cover both the stairs and the entrance to the wing of the complex where Arrian and Ano wait. "Entrance is clear - move in!"

Casting Shield - AC is 21 for 3 minutes. Also negates Magic Missile for the duration - thought I'd mention with what appears to be a caster behind the woman.

Hearing the panicked shouting from down the hallway, Zeldrith's eyebrows raise - seeing that Arrian has Ano taken care of, he dashes in that direction, drawing his blade. "What's going on? I heard shouting! Not Donimah-shouting, Juriya-shouting, and I think that's bad!"

Seeing the dog-like creature, he scowls, leveling his blade at the monster. "Arrian! There's something here - I don't think it will let us past. I'll hold this corridor in case Ano doesn't come to her senses."

Readied Strike (Dog-Creature Enters Melee Range): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25
Damage: 1d8 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9

Will: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22

As the yeth hounds' horrible baying washes over the group, Zeldrith's eyes widen, and his knuckles go white as he grips the hilt of his sword, but after a moment, he rallies. Glancing around to see the rest of the party in various states of retreat, he rushes after Donimah, as it seems the others are otherwise preoccupied, calling out to the rest of the group as he does so. "Ah, rupūžė - anyone who's able, fall back to the stairs! We can hold out there if we barricade the doors!"

Zeldrith shrugs, gazing up at the tentamort with a critical eye. "It doesn't seem terribly mobile. And there is a door there. We might have to go through this thing later, but if it's so deadly, maybe we check the other doors, see if we can find a way around?"

Zeldrith strides up beside Ano, slicing at the remaining goblin dog in the hopes of killing it before it can turn on them. "And here I thought goblins smelled bad! Watch those teeth - this one's ornery!"

Attack (Longsword): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24
Damage (Arcane Strike): 1d8 + 5 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 5 + 1 = 7

Zeldrith Angothane wrote:

Apologies for my radio silence - the tight schedule at work notwithstanding, I couldn't honestly think of much to say, as the pace of the game has been kind of slow recently. I am still here, however.

Also, I have not in fact received any PMs from Arrian - perhaps you got the wrong address?

I sent a PM to the GM.

Ah. My apologies - I misunderstood you.

Zeldrith follows close behind Arrian, his sword ready. At Ano's words, he glances back at the catfolk, raising his eyebrows. "Actually, if this place is Thassilonian, it would be quite good to know." He grimaces, his mismatched gaze sweeping the room with somewhat greater diligence than before. "They had an interesting sense of humor, those wizards - and they didn't much care for intruders."

Apologies for my radio silence - the tight schedule at work notwithstanding, I couldn't honestly think of much to say, as the pace of the game has been kind of slow recently. I am still here, however.

Also, I have not in fact received any PMs from Arrian - perhaps you got the wrong address?

Zeldrith spares a glance in the direction of the entrance, grinning as the goblins fall like cut wheat and nodding to Arrian as the half-orc steps into the gap. "Just mopping up the stragglers at this point, eh?" He grins at the goblins, or at the very least shows them all his teeth as he blocks a clumsy knife thrust at Arrian by snapping his fanged jaws shut on the offending goblin's wrist. "Tell you what, little fools, why don't you just leap off that cliff there, save us all a little trouble?" He shrugs, slashing at another goblin as he continues to address them in a distressingly cheerful tone. "It's no skin off our noses if you want to fight - we can and will kill each of you little green runts, but we wouldn't say no to your making our jobs a little easier. What do you say?"

Five-foot step to get up next to Arrian. Bite attack against the lower goblin, longsword against the upper one.

Bite: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19
Damage: 1d6 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
Longsword +1: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11
Damage: 1d8 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7

Zeldrith scowls, striding past Arrian and into the smoke. "Pray to your gods, little fools - you'll be meeting them soon enough!" Drawing his blade, he buries it deep into the first goblin he comes across, backing into a corner so he can hold off against the horde.

Longsword +1: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (18) + 7 = 25
Damage: 1d8 + 5 ⇒ (1) + 5 = 6