Brimble watches people and works steadily through his dinner. He doesn’t spend much time talking, having already drawn too much attention to himself. He notes Speck’s reaction... and instinctively understands it. Once the Highcliffs leave, he suspects they’ll all be paying a price for every laborer-raised issue that Alithea brings to the overseers’ attention.
Hannelia perhaps regrets giving carte blanche to a besotted fiancée on the verge of heartbreak to describe her missing paramour. Sophi goes into nauseating detail about Verno’s innumerable deific qualities. Most of the party wish to gaze upon his portrait again when she waxes on about his ‘fate-chiseled jaw’ and ‘unearthly sympathetic eyes’… because none of them recall his features in such an admirable cast. We shall not, gentle readers, repeat all that she said as several of you may have eaten recently and would prefer to keep your victuals in your stomachs. Suffice it to say, Sophi’s glowing account doesn’t help nearly as much as the small cameo, the date the Windswept left Logas, and the fact that Verno was almost certainly as well dressed as Sophi herself. Poured out like a full pitcher up-ended, when Sophi’s devotion of words is down to a few errant drips, Halmam replies. ”Yep, he seems a good-looking kid but, uh, I don’t recall him.” Before Sophi can quail, he quickly adds, ”But, BUT, it don’t mean he wasn’t here. Plenty of other folks coulda run across him what with that chiseled jaw.” He consults his records, trying to be of some help. ”So, the Windswept docked eight days after leaving Logas. That’s pretty typical. She was here only a day before heading up-river to Elidir. She’s been through once since then, another quick stop on the way down-river. Their log got her making a run all the way to Cheliax which, hmm… If they stick to schedule, they should be back in a week – give or take.” Realizing this is a long delay, he continues, ”That’s not all bad, meaning you don’t really need Windswept in port. We keep a log of the boats, not the passengers. That’s kept by the company running the boat. If it’s only on the boat, that’s a problem. But Windswept is part of a small fleet. I think the Barker* in each port keeps a copy of their passengers and manifests.”
”Ol’ Sleevin is the Barker for the ‘Wind Sisters’ boats. I h’aint seen him today. No surprise as none of them is due to dock for a few days. Can’t say where he’s bunkin’ now but you might catch him at Willita’s tonight… drinkin’. They got cheap rotgut. Or maybe at the Witch’s End if he’s been paid recent.”
The kobold casts his long-suffering eyes heavenward (roofward in this case) at the sight of the dressy woman. No one should roam around an active mine without a stitch of safety equipment. His tone is immediately challenging as he strides over to face down this new problem. ”OY! Where’s your helmet and gloves? If you fancy dying by misadventure,” the politest euphemism for ‘sheer stupidity’ Brimble can think of, ”…do it outside of my mine.” Thankfully, Brimble wears a set of large gloves to accommodate his claws. As the girl looks like the sort to be handsy, he pulls his gloves off and pushes them into her arms. ”Put’em on, now.” He sizes up her large skull. ”I’ll get you a helmet.” The kobold gives Phantrel a hard-eyed ‘or else’ look. ”This girl don’t take a step further into the mine until she’s got more to protect her skull than a hairdo.” Without waiting for a reply, he jogs off to where the gear is stored. Likely spotting the equally unprotected other visitor, Brimble makes a note to retrieve a helmet and gloves for him as well. As he grabs up the safety gear, Brimble indulges his pet theory that the reason humans and other strong-talls have been unable to wipe out the physically weaker kobolds is mostly because the tall races are inherently stupid when it comes to underground activities. They just invite death.
Still here.
Senna nods and keeps walking, respecting the other woman's convictions. Eventually, she playfully adds, "So, this horrifying experience that built trust between you two..." she smirks trying to lighten the mood, "was it the first time you put on a corset? I hear they are torture. Naturally, I assume you still had a sword. I don't expect you shattered your image in one go."
She turns her attention to Senna, ”good evening, Miss. You find yourself in august company.” and she gestures towards Mila and Donovan. ”My name is Sophiel Mevyed, and I am the elected ruler of Gliocas. Would you mind explaining what’s going on? Time is of the essence; so brevity would be most appreciated.” She gives a tight smile, but seems otherwise friendly. Senna bobs her head deferentially. ”Good eve, milady. I’m Senna Proviso, tattooist and…” her tone drops, ”sorceress.” Her voice rises to a more normal volume as she works on a concise explanation. ”To the Pitaxians, it seems I’ve thrown my lot in with Gliocas during Rushlight. Your people have been kind enough to let me tag along for safety – certainly mine and possibly theirs – until we get away from here. I’d appreciate a quick exit to unknown lands. I can offer my services in exchange. I’m sure you’ll…” interrogate “have other questions for me. I’ll be happy to answer once we aren’t surrounded by Pitax’s forces.” She looks candidly at Gliocas’ ruler. ”If that’s too much of a risk, say so. We’ll part ways and Lady Shadowfall can repay me another time.” Assuming Sophiel isn't willing to take the risk, Senna considers plan B and C. Teleportation was the safest option but it would be taking her in the wrong direction. With Gliocas being only a couple hundred miles away, she could still head in that direction. It would be taxing in terms of magic, and far slower, but she was confident in her ability to avoid or bury anyone trying to stop her. And now she was curious to see a country with an elected leader... it was a novel concept.
Split the party! That’s fun!
Brimble wasn’t going to drink the wine, but then the local woman looked curious and a bit proud. He didn’t want to seem unfriendly since he was going to be in town for quite some time. The kobold is pleasantly surprised by his first sip. ”Er, you like it, Mr. Lizard? It's local. Seagrape wine. We age it in the ocean,” Lizard wasn’t a new slur… and at least he got a ‘Mister’ in front of it. It could be worse, in Feldspar they called him ‘Geico’, no, ‘gecko’… that was it. In this case, he assumed the woman wasn’t trying to be rude. Better to build bridges than fences. He offers her an understated salute with the glass. ”I don’t know much about wine, but it is tasty! I like the smokiness. I’ve never heard of seagrapes or such a clever way to age them. When I have a day off, I’d like to see how you make it, ma’am, if you'll allow it. And please just call me Brimble. I’m not fancy so I don’t need a ‘mister’ in front of it.” His smooth repartee is almost ruined when he nearly does a spit-take at hearing the GMC lackey mention saboteurs. NOT good.
Senna examines the rod closely, trying to divine its capabilities.
Nah. It’s just some light RP while folks wait for the due date and decisions to happen.
Father Ruvarra is powerless to resist the offer of a warm butter roll… but he insists on getting paid up front so the roll is still warm when he eats it while humming happily. After that he accompanies the Seekers back to Gunty’s. They examine the wall closely which causes some fresh mutterings among the patrons. Even Gunty looks a little irked that they are stirring matters up again, but it can’t be avoided. Fortunately or unfortunately, there are no lingering magic traces on the wall and no hint of evil. A close look at the wall reveals nothing suspicious in the grain of the wood, no curious graffiti, and only the typical signs of abuse one would expect to find on a wooden wall. It all just looks… normal.
Hannelia’s second day in the stacks is a long one. Trying to track down nicknames, figuring out the native languages of various Venture-Captains and then tapping into her linguistical knowledge to determine ‘A’ names in their native tongues takes several hours of effort. As some languages use a syllabary instead of an alphabet, it merely compounds the effort. Tracking down active and retired Venture Captains from adjacent lands adds yet more hours to her day. Hannelia only briefly stops to periodically eat or rest her eyes before continuing the work. At midnight, working by candlelight, the bard begins to consider defeat. All her efforts have come to naught. Too stubborn to quit Hannelia presses on, nodding off as she re-reads years of mundane correspondence related to nearby Lodges… and then she see it, something foreign, innocuous, and yet familiar. It’s an old slip of paper about a set of routine assignments sent to the Elidir Lodge from Absalom. The writing is familiar. Hannelia shoots up, wide awake now. She pulls out the letter from the mysterious ‘A’ and compares the two notes. The lettering is nearly identical, as is the precision of the letter spacing. The bard quickly cross-checks the date the note was sent, the location it was sent from, and the sender, sure that she is closing in on her quarry. Once she has these details locked in, there is almost too much information available in the archive. Finally, she consults a book she hadn’t bothered to open for the last couple of days because of two – quite logical – assumptions. The full truth is revealed. The mysterious ‘A’ (unless there is a remarkable forger) is former Venture-Captain Ambrose A’dair. He became a Venture-Captain in Ustalav at the age of 36… young but not unheard of. At 41, he was posted as VC to the Absalom Grand Lodge – becoming the youngest human to hold that position. The decision caused political waves but, by the accounts in the archive, A’dair proved he was the right choice. He was a brilliant and accomplished pathfinder during his tenure – both in the field and as a leader in the Society. Many of his command decisions are still part of the training curricula for new pathfinders. A decade, ago after being the VC in Absalom for little more than a year, Ambrose A’dair was killed along with fourteen other people in a fire that burned through a neighborhood in the Ivy District where he lived. His remains were buried with full honors by the Pathfinder Society. Hannelia, it seems, has been corresponding with a dead man.
Hûnidark returns to the Baron of Mutton after his dawn constitutional to find the place in an uproar. It takes a moment to sort out what’s happening. He doesn’t try to stop Haldelar as others seem to be engaged in that venture. Rather, he speaks to him quietly. ”Let him go, sir, so we can find the truth. If he sullied Miss, I’ll be happy to pin him down so you can give him a proper beating… But all we know is your girl is missing. That’s the bigger concern, eh?”
IN!
GMC Intake Form:
1. State your name, race, and age for company records. Brimble Palescale, Kobold, 15 years old. 2. Are you able-bodied and capable of lifting, hauling, and moving without assistance?
3. Do you have any special skills that might be useful in the mines?
4. Do you have any past experience working in mines or in similar situations? Please elaborate if so.
5. Do you have any phobias of darkness, enclosed spaces, insects, or other possible hazards of underground labor? Please elaborate if so.
6. Can you read, write, and do basic sums?
7. Are you under four feet of height?
8. Do you have any crisis experience, such as medical or combat experience?
9. What is your current trade?
10. Help us get to know you better to decide where you fit in the GMC family! Please answer the following questions.
My FAMILY say I am (SELECT TWO):
My biggest flaw is that I am (SELECT ONE):
11. If money were no object, I would spend my life… making silly expensive life choices.
Brimble’s profile may get some tweaking but he is 95% ‘there’.
Senna takes Chrysa’s comment at face value. The rumors she’d heard about the Lady of Shadowfall ranged from interesting to quite intriguing - certainly worth private discussion. But, as she was technically on retainer, her comments were more aimed toward keeping Chrysa informed of the gossip rather than satisfying her own curiosity… for now.
The tattooist puts aside her needles for the joust as tattooing in dim lighting was a cardinal sin. Having time on her hands, she works her way down to a seat close to the lists, near enough to hear the competitor’s banter. Cotoio’s condescending false-gallantry sets Senna’s teeth on edge. She debates (and is reasonably confident) that she could knock the strutting peacock through the stadium wall. But it would be a small satisfaction compared to the trouble it would cause her. She fumes for a moment before she decides to hurl some words in response. She yells into the audience and makes sure it carries into the field, ”OY! Listen to that preening dandy! He’s done no better than her in any of the matches and he’s warning her? Sounds like all the tavern drunks who threaten to make the serving wench bowlegged and end up with their pants down in the goat pen instead. And even the goats don’t recall the encounter! Seems like the stiffest piece of wood he can muster is that lance! Go on, ya peacock! Let's see if yur any good handling your own wood!”
"How has the competition been for your business, Senna?" a simple question, a casual raising of an auburn brow. Senna considers the question more seriously than probably warranted, ”Overall, I won’t complain. No offense, milady, but the boasting didn’t spur my sales. Now, if you can convince that tall drink of a druid to pull more shenanigans, I could really turn a profit.” She adds with a hint of mischief. ”That man is money in my pouch. Other than that, the transactions in gossip are more furious than the coin ones, especially since the boasting.” Her pointed look at Chrysa lasts a moment too long. The lady of Shadowfall reads it as an unspoken amendment ... and some of the gossip was about you. She immediately follows it up with an innocuous question, "Have you given any more thought to that tattoo we were discussing?"
Bitiborium notes the orchid's response - a sudden configuration of anthers and leaf flutters - with a smirk. "Glory is fine… but she laughed at being called benevolent." He raises an amused eyebrow at the orchid’s additional commentary. ”Oh, so you’re a salty adventurer now? I see. Well, practice your Common then.” He translates that last into Celestial. After a moment, the lowest orchid petal curls up at the edges. The anthers rearrange themselves above the petal in imitation of a face. Glory looks much like this: :-)
Behind the GM Screen: Celestial Orchid: The orchid is a gift to the team but also to the other GMs. As we go into middle and higher levels, more and more monsters have interesting/nasty abilities that can accidentally kill characters if the team is unprepared, the GM underestimates the monster’s abilities, or the Dice Gods are especially malevolent. We all make mistakes. The orchid is a chance to clean up horrible, accidental outcomes that the GM didn’t want to happen (without resorting to retcon or divine intervention). It also gives the team the ability to ‘punch above their weight class’ in a pinch. The players determine when and where the orchid gets used but the DM controls what abilities are invoked. I’d prefer to leave the orchid’s abilities vague because as the team levels up, we may need to expand them. If you guys would prefer to set them in stone, we can certainly do that. Here are my notes on it: Orchid Rules:
Orchid Abilities: (at CL10 currently)
A free meal and a chance to rest her hand after tattooing and drawing for several hours are opportunities not to be passed up. ”A meal would be appreciated, milady.” Senna follows along to lunch as she alternately flexes then shakes the strain from her hand. She half-teases the druid. ”You’re quite popular today. I’m selling quite a few Tikroch portraits and busty norn tattoos. I expect the Cult of Tikroch will be all the rage with the ladies of the Pitaxian court by next week. At this rate, you'll be married in a fortnight.”
Tanned from constant travel, with dust-stained boots and utilitarian clothing, a petite and vaguely pretty woman with a wild mane of wavy brown hair, sets up a chair and table under an awning among the wandering merchant stalls. She paces before the table, holding loose pages crammed with drawings – hawking her talents loudly: ”Tattoos! Tattoos by Senna! Holy symbols, weapons, phrases, monuments, portraits, symbols of luck, creatures – real or mythical! Ward off evil with a protective gIyph! I can draw anything you describe. Any style, any size! Reasonable prices!” To the casual observer, the woman is merely another peddler at a festival brimming with them. But to anyone with a passing knowledge of equipment… some of her gear is entirely too fine. The holsters on her double belts hold what appear to be an eldritch rod, a folded three-sectional staff, a scroll case, and a curiously shaped blade. She is certainly a tattooist but her gear suggests she is likely something more. Detect Magic:
The tattooist and a fair amount of her equipment light up like flares. Senna works diligently to sell tattoos at the festival as her belt pouch is feeling light of coins at this moment. But she is also observing the coming and goings of the locals and keeping an ear open for any interesting bits of news… and the news she dreads to hear. In a good-natured way, the tattooist continues to pitch to all passersby (especially the ones that scowl at her). ”Madam, your child is lovely! In future years, wouldn’t you like to have a memento of how perfect she looks today? I do portraits at fair rates… Or perhaps you’d like a butterfly painted on her rosy cheek to bring Desna’s favour on her? No needles, no pain, and it will wash off in a few days. Just a bit of paint to brighten her day and make her the envy of her friends…”
Inspire Courage should also affect Ritti's AoO DAM, I believe. So green takes an extra 2 damage. It's not much but every bit helps. :) ALSO, can we make a knowledge check of some sort to figure out what kind of DR the hag has?
What caused the thief to suddenly snap out of the charm – the protective magic of her allies, the cold that was seeping into her bones, the spray from the sleet hitting her face, or Yuto’s words? Ritti wasn’t sure and maybe she never would be. But as she turns to see the fishy hag she’d been hugging like her mom… she is instantly horrified. She also knows she’s been used badly and that converts her horror into inchoate, icy rage. And rage frees her to act. Ritti hisses at the hag, ”I’m gonna break you, b!tch.” She step into the fishwife’s embrace one more time, grabs the shreds of her sodden clothing and headbutts the hag, trying to stun her... She follows that blow with a punch to the gut, another headbutt hoping to break all the sharp teeth in the hag's foul mouth, and a final palm strike to the throat.
BOOM:
Status: HP: 41 / 41 | AC:25 / T:20 / FF:23 | CMD:27/27 (29 Grapple) <- Pro Evil
Sanity Score: 39 / 40 | Threshold: 3 | Edge: 20 Stunning Fist (4): x
Effects:
The gnoll chuffs. He rather likes Ari's bravura and he'd never actually sang before so it would be an interesting challenge. He mulls it, trying to remember the words and cadence of the tune. He clears his throat and his clawed foot begins rapping out the steady rhythm - good for repetitive work on a boat he supposes. Improbably… in an abandoned tavern, in a ravaged dwarf stronghold, miles below the surface of the world, a gnoll starts to sing… Hey HO! Ohhhhh, I’m a flinty sea-dog… I met a pretty lass wantin’ to wed,
Cuz I’m a flinty sea-dog – HEY HO! Some bastards shanghai’d me in ol’ Luskon,
Cuz I’m a flinty sea-dog – HEY HO! I took the helm and sorted the crew.
Cuz I’m a flinty sea-dog – HEY HO! Made it to shore, and I was itchin’ for sport…
Cuz I’m a FLINTY sea-dog – Hey Ho!
The gnoll delivers an absolute tour-de-force of horrendous, off-key, and piss-poor singing… but he maintains the tempo admirably.
Shaggar sniffs. ”The Bedine trade with outsiders at times. The fellow said he was a… troubadour. I’m sure his tale was that of a sailor from a boat on a lake, naturally. Seas are fiction.”
Ritti pulls away from her BFF, trying to console and reason with the fish-hag at the same time. ”It’ll be fine. I’ll be right back. I just need to explain it to Torra. Trust me.”
"Ah, Trinelli? And was the good mayor purchasing goods, or ensuring you weren't a threat to the dignity of the marketplace? I suspect I did your reputation no good with our little joyride last time,” ”Perhaps, it might have been better if she had come to protect the marketplace from incorrigibles like me. She was here to buy but, alas, walked away unsatisfied. As for my reputation…” he shrugs with calculated theatricality, ”so long as I’m able to buy, sell, and trade – I consider a little scandal a tangential benefit.” His wink is quick, as is his quoting of Majara, ”SCIENCE COMING THROUGH!” He chuckles heartily, shaking his head. ”Delightful!” "Have you got anything for sale to tempt me today, on that subject? Or.... the flower, perhaps?" Bit claps his hands, ”Yes, thank you for jogging my memory! The Celestial Orchid is ready for adoption and she is looking favorably on you and most of your friends.” He scurries into his shop and emerges lugging a large, rickety, ladder which he sets precariously against the stall wall. The gnome deftly climbs the shaking ladder. He pulls the potted Orchid off the roof of the stall and comes down the ladder cautiously. He holds the orchid in the rune-scribed pot out for Majara to appreciate in the fall sunlight. ”Now, she has no reservations about you. Certain of your colleagues, however, well… a plant is affected by the soil in which it lives. I’m going to have to make a curious request of you. I need to meet with and your colleagues to ensure she’s being planted in the right ‘soil’, then I can name her adoption price. And, of course, there are care and feeding instructions to discuss.”
Bertram seems buttressed by the team’s resolve. ”I think I can draw some - or most - of them in. If the rest of you are hiding inside and out… once they come for me, you can slam the gate and deal with them. You will need patience... they may get rough with me.” ”Master Oleg, do you have pulleys and rope?”
Bertram enthusiastically taps his cane on the ground at the bird’s zeal. ”Well said! But… uh… you are a bird with a sword and they are rats… expecting mice. You might make them leery. But a blind and clueless mouse could draw such bullies in easier, eh? I’m no warrior but I can be good bait.”
There is something ‘motherly’ about the fish-woman’s lank hair, dead eyes, and sharp fangs. And given how the caravan suffers from the cold, Ritti is fairly sure this poor woman is freezing. A quick hug and brisk backrub to warm her up might be what she needs. Against all reason, sense, and sanity, the thief carefully steps out onto the ice and opens her arms to hug the horrid hag!
Status: HP: 41 / 41 | AC:23 / T:20 / FF:23 | CMD:27/27 (29 Grapple)
Sanity Score: 39 / 40 | Threshold: 3 | Edge: 20 Stunning Fist (4):
Effects:
"No shoulders.. brrr." Shaggar hrmphs. ”She has shoulders… they are just less.” He looks up at the gallerok. ”Do not be concerned; he envies you. Come down when you are ready.” "Looks like someone's overcompensating for something," The gnoll considers her words… an exercise hampered by him having no idea what ‘overcompensating’ could mean in this context. To simplify matters, he assumes Ari must be referring to Rutilux. ”And you,” he says to Ari, ”may rise when you are ready. I will put on tea.”
Like a patient thief, virtually unnoticed, autumn slowly steals its way into Saringallow. The only tracks it leaves are subtle and passing… a shift in the intensity of the breeze off the river, a surprising crispness in the dawn air, a hint of brown on the leaves’ edges. The old timers feel the change in their bones. The young imagine summer will last forever. The dead… well, they haven’t shared their perspective on the season’s change yet. But, for the living, commerce and life proceed apace – morning, noon, and night.
Hannelia’s eyes snap open abruptly. Nothing is wrong, nothing is menacing. It had been a benign dream. She was visiting areas of Saringallow, getting the town’s pulse, checking in with contacts, and chatting with friends. She vaguely recalls sharing lunch outside of Gunty’s with someone that felt like a friend she hadn’t seen in a while, probably one of the Seekers. It was pleasant. They were chuckling together about something. The whole dream seemed normal... and yet, something intangible felt slightly off about everyone in the dream. That realization had brought Hannelia to consciousness. As dreams do, hers would fade by day’s end. But in the first hours of the day, as Hannelia made her rounds of the town, she watched people more closely. She saw and felt no oddness from the locals. Everything seemed normal. ********** On her way to work, Majara swings by the market square. Someone’s timing is impeccable as Bitiborium is just rolling up the door flap to his Item Emporium. Majara also notes that there are a couple potential customers milling about outside the portable shop, anxious to get in. "Sunnyday, Bitbit!" Flap up, Bit waves the customers in before giving Majara a broad smile and his full attention. ”And a sunnyday to you as well, Miss Pricknettle! It is lovely to see you again and a delight to not crick my neck having to look up at you. They grow these humans so tall now-a-days. I heard you have recently returned. Am I your first stop? Should I take that as a compliment to my store or my personal appeal?”
Emma heads to Sarini Manor. She narrowly avoids Shel then runs into Talon. As their conversation winds down, Nerissia appears, lugging her gear up to the manor. Generously, Majara has offered it as a place for the Inquisitor to stay and help repair. This seems fortuitous because, during Emma’s and Talon’s quick tour of the home and its history, Emma spots a fresh crack in the wall near the piano. Given the general state of the house, she might not have noticed it except there is a respectable pile of plaster dust below it on what were swept floors.
Locals gather around the tables at the Witch’s End for food, drinks, warmth, and a bit of camaraderie as the evening grows chillier. Roger’s stories improve the festive air and inspire a smattering of guffaws and some applause. Hannelia and Emma share some public and quite a few private words. Who else will enter the Witch’s End this night? None can say.
Welcome! Since this is my first turn in the big chair for this group, this adventure is somewhat exploratory so I can get a handle on how you guys play, think, and what resonates with you individually. To that end, I’ll be testing out different story elements, play pacings, depths of description, encounter types, shifting spotlights, and anything else I may think of. In my opinion, the biggest downside to PbP is the lack of feedback, both from body language clues and ‘table talk’. At a table, these clues let me know what I’m doing right or wrong and help me to micro-correct in real time. So, feel free to talk either publicly or privately to me. If you aren’t engaged, are super engaged, hate something, love something, are lost, or want a change of pace – let me know. I won’t take it personally and I have an incredibly thick skin for criticism. My goal is for everyone to feel they had a great adventure – period. You guys biting your tongues when unhappy isn’t going to get us there. Related to that last point…. I rarely do straight-forward adventures. There are usually at least a few twists, and the clues pointing you in the right direction may be subtle. At table, when players bat theories around about the plot, that gives me the opportunity to nudge the group in the right direction if they are missing something or veering off course. It lets me figure out a sly way to provide additional clues. In PbP, that mechanism doesn’t work well. So, if you are confused or feel rudderless… it likely isn’t you. I probably failed to give you sufficient clues or my writing was unclear or open to various interpretations which I didn’t spot. I’m happy to clarify, restate, or provide hints. Just let know if you are feeling stuck (not in a good way). Without going into detail, you guys are about to get wrapped up in a mystery… which means clues. As I said before, I don’t do straight-forward adventures. I’m also a planner who is looking ahead to the next adventure when you are 11th level. Sooooo… in this adventure, you will encounter clues related to the mystery you are trying to solve, red herring clues, distractors, and clues related to the next adventure(s). In other words, don’t assume all the clues you find are related to the mystery at hand. If you do, you will spiral down rabbit-holes that lead nowhere. I don’t think it will be a problem for this crew, but I need to mention this. I don’t believe in the heroes winning every encounter. As in great stories, the heroes are sometimes stymied, face setbacks, are overmatched, or fail before they finally triumph. Victory is sweet when it comes after the bitter taste of defeat. So, you may face encounters that are extremely difficult to ‘win’ in the conventional sense… but they are an opportunity to learn important facts - facts that will enable you to prepare yourself for the next encounter and lead to your eventual triumph. OK, that went on too long. Sorry.
On a crisp autumn morn, as the Saringallow Seekers are falling back into their ‘town lives’, Hawkren packs his kit and heads to the dock. As much as he affects a devil-may-care lifestyle, he is capable of extraordinary focus when it matters. And this matters. Nevertheless, he has to put on a show - so his hat is set at a jaunty angle and he puts some extra bounce in his step. He purposefully passes Wilitta’s House to observe the early risers amongst the ‘soiled doves’ and offers them a rakish, sweeping bow and a grin. He enjoys the wolf-whistles and the lewd offers in passing. Yes, young lady, that WOULD wake me up faster than coffee. He jumps aboard the first boat heading down river. His plans are simple. Get to the Irrica estate and keep his promise to Althea. He fervently hopes it will put her spirit to rest. She was the only Irrica he’d met or heard about that he actually likes. After that he would head north, back to Varisia: the Sonos Forest, Markham’s Abbey, home. After visiting his parents and inscribing Ladunappindon’s name in the family ledger… well, that’s when matters got interesting. Reflecting on this bout of adventuring, there were too many times when Hawk was scrambling from one physical threat or another. It was a helpless feeling when all he could do was ineffectively swing a stick at a measly skeleton. The unstated Hargraves family motto was “more magic” but Hawk had doubts. Dodging a problem seemed simpler than slinging more and more spells at it. So, maybe it was time to take up the Abbot’s offer…
The next DM rubs his hands, eagerly waiting to see the revised character sheets...
After two days of wandering about within the palisade, Bertram was becoming familiar and somewhat comfortable with the buildings in the modest fort. The proprietors felt a little standoffish, but Bertie was used to being the cause of some apprehension… as if his blindness was somehow contagious. Still, he kept his senses open, trying to determine if their ill-ease was his fault or some other concern. They doubtless had many worries on the edge of the Deep Green. Ferreting out which one this might be was a good distraction while he waited for the next steps in his journey.
But patience requires practice… so the Oracle perks up when old Xochitl is the first to announce ‘guests’ are coming. Unlike mortal friends, the spirits have clear priorities. Who is whispering in his ear is just as important as what is being said. The First Father delivering this news meant these were people with which Bertram needed to establish a good footing. To relieve his anxiety, he straightens his burnoose and adjusts the lay of the hood a half dozen times. He finds a spot in the sun and lightly leans against the palisade’s inner wall, his clothes blending in with the wooden structure. Then, he waits and silently practices his introductory words…
Standing to one side, near the rough-hewn wall, is a light brown mouse in a dark brown traveling burnoose. Beneath the burnoose are glimpses of medium brown leather armor. Even his walking stick – more of a cane really – is a rich brown. Brown seems to be a theme for the slender mouse. The only pop of color on him is a liberal splash of white around his nose and whiskers that goes down his neck before vanishing beneath his attire. At first glance, it looks like he sloppily guzzled a glass of cream and didn’t bother to wash up afterwards. The far more startling pops of color are his milky white eyes. The pupils are difficult to see, making it nearly impossible to determine where – or if – he is actually looking at anything. But, as the group approaches, the angle of his nose shifts until he is generally pointing in the explorers’ direction. He wrings the neck of his cane a little nervously and offers a quick half-bow roughly towards the team. ”” jumps out of him a little too eagerly before he masters his nerves. ”I’m, um, Bertram Bricabrak. We… I’ve been asked to accompany you on your journey. It’s an honor.” He bookends his abrupt statement with another awkward half-bow. Redwall Abbey Locals or Frequent Visitors: With his white eyes, cane, and odd mannerisms, you recognize this fellow. Bertram or ‘Bertie’ is a known character in Redwall Abbey. The locals debate whether he is somewhat unhinged or if he argues with actual ghosts and spirits. Despite his eccentricities, he is regarded as a skilled healer with a somewhat unorthodox bedside manner. It’s generally accepted that he has a good heart as he regularly treats the destitute for free. Some Redwall citizens also rely on him as a soothsayer.
Hi guys! Delighted to be playing with you all! Obrigado pelo elogio, CaioCC.
Hûnidark leaves the pleasantries to the more talkative folks while he inhales the fresh-bread smells of the bakery with great satisfaction. He stands at the back of the group with the wooden chest on his shoulder, looking for all the world like an armed porter.
Ritti doesn’t have any words for the caravan’s guest immediately. Like Ameiko, Atsuko, and some others… she doesn’t like the feel of the man. She’d heard that rangers – in their element – were surprisingly stealthy. But this fellow didn’t seem a ranger. So, how’d he manage to sneak up on all their scouts? The obvious choice is his skillset is similar to Ritti’s or a ninja’s. That was concerning. And then there was the feeling of dishonesty and the lies… How could a local trapper have only visited Rimakak a couple of times? It wasn’t like there were a lot of places to trade out here. Even looking Erutaki meant nothing. Ritti had met a few people who could make you think they were your own sister. Maybe he was some odd hermit out here, but the better bet was he was in league with the necromancer… and that bet was weak compared to the very strong possibility he was an assassin, here for Ameiko. Hope for the best, plan for the worst. If they were using ‘Riddleport Rules’, they’d jump Inuliak in a group and stab him ‘til he stopped breathing. But this wasn’t Riddleport. Utter vigilance and paranoia were the way to go. So, yeah, Ritti doesn’t have any words for the caravan’s guest immediately… but she watches him constantly, looking for ‘tells’ in his behavior, how he moves, and what he watches.
When she can get a moment with Yuto alone, she conveys her concerns. She’s paranoid enough that she doesn’t use Ameiko’s name. ”I’m betting that fella is an assassin. We all need to keep one eye on your girl and three eyes on him. She goes nowhere alone, ever. Best if there are two people with her at all times. And they don’t leave her side, no matter what. If he’s gonna make a move, it’ll likely be in town. Tell your girl.”
I changed my equipment a little bit, reflected in both my character sheet and online build sheet.
"…I'll stable the mule and mare together for 7 silver a day. Food and grooming included. The big lad will be double that! Har!" Hûnidark offers a chuckle around a canine-heavy, toothy smile. ”Seems a fair deal for the ladies. Guess I’ll just roam in the pasture and crop grass.” He pulls seven silver coins from his purse and puts them in Nafton’s hand then follows him to the stable to see to the animals.
"Jenneleth lass! Not seen you in months! Back from the City League I'll wager and with new friends... Looking to stable that horse an' mule I'll also wager!" The half-orc attempts to deploy humor, ”Nah. The horse an’ mule want to stable us… They said you look reputable and to let you know my coat could use a good curry-combing.” Status: HP: 13 / 14 | AC: 13 (12 w/o DEX)
Stun (1): Fate (3): x
Erol! Otus! :D I get this joke... VERY old school.
OK, here’s my first go at the ship’s stats: Hunchback (Tier 3)
Speed 10, Maneuverability Good (turn 1) ; Drift 1
Systems: basic long-range sensors, Mk 2 Armor, Mk 3 Defences, Mk 2 trinode computer (tier 1), crew quarters (good) Expansion Bays: science lab (general), tech workshop, guest quarters (good), cargo hold Modifiers: +2 Computers, +1 Piloting, +2 to any three checks per round (trinode computer) Build Points: 95 of 95
Crew of 5: Captain, Engineer, Gunner, Pilot, Science Officer OK, so we have a speed of 10, can maneuver well, and have good long-range sensors. She is only lightly armored and has no shields. My thinking is she has the capability to spot the enemy a long way off and ID them (courtesy of our Science Officer, the +2 for the sensors, and the additional +2 by the trinode computer). So, we can run or approach based on what we see. In either case, I opted for long range light weapons with good average damage so we can ‘plink’ baddies from a long way away… whether we are coming or going. I merely slotted the Particle Beam facing forward as a placeholder. If our plan is to run from any fight, we could have it facing aft. :) The problem with any of the builds is not power (our Core is really good) but Build Points. Just swapping out a light weapon mount for a heavy weapon mount is 4 BP or 6 PB for a turret. And the weapons are quite a bit heavier (more BP), so I reluctantly had to stay with light weapons. There are ways to economize if we want a bit more armor, actually get a shield (which are comparatively cheap in terms of BP), or something else. Some options:
I included none of the counter-intrusion stuff (bio-locks, a lockout or firewall on our computer, etc.) Each of those things cost at least 1 BP and since we are part of a fleet most of the time, I figured they weren’t critical. Also, when we level up, our craft will too so we will get more points to spend on upgrades… so I’m trying to view the ship as a work in progress. I’ll need to read it again but I’m not sure if our Pilot can fly and shoot the forward gun at the same time. If he can’t and we have only two people with Piloting (for gunnery) then the solution may be to make our two guns a matching pair (required) and pay the cost to link the guns together. Then when I spin the turret to the front, I can fire both weapons from my station. Anyhow, I’m happy to keep playing with the build until we get the right balance of defense, offense, and cool. I’ll love to hear some feedback and consensus on what we want or don’t want before I iterate the ship again.
From Burlap's backstory... Lisandra: A gas giant with several orbiting gas and rare element mining platforms. If you don't like the name, feel free to change it.
I'm delighted to be playing!
I have limited experience with Starfinder. The one or two games I joined died quickly. That said, if you don't mind having a relative newb along while I move up the learning curve... I would enjoy dusting off (and leveling up) this Ysoki Mercenary-with-a-heart-of-gold Soldier/Sniper for a romp with the "ragtag fugitive fleet searching for a home". I think his backstory is still solid, just need to change the place names.
”They’re persistent.” Cenna notes with respect. It was a trait she admired... just not in creatures trying to eat her. In the swirl of melee, threading the needle with a spell was possible… but it wasn’t elegant. And the trolls were doing a credible job of tearing the men apart. Cenna would normally prepare people for what came next but she just didn’t have that kind of time to waste. She pulls the rod from its holster and triggers the eldritch object, weaving its power flawlessly into her spellcasting. An ember flies between the four combatants and explodes. The trolls, along with Christian and Bydar, are engulfed in a large globe of fire, like a miniature sun. Inside the globe, in all directions, there is only a loud roar and roiling flames. The fire consumes everything it touches… except for the two men. The flames somehow refuse to touch them even as they devour the trolls and incinerate the wagon.
Status: HP: 40 / 40 | AC:23 / T:18 / FF:20 | CMD:22/19 (24 grapple)
3rd Spells (4): xx
Effects:
The ranger listens, without comment, until the women seem to be at the point of taking action. ”Grob or I might have an opinion you want to hear first.” "Blasted, nymphomanic furball. Can't believe the empty-headed idiot--" His eyes light on Moon. "Moon, aye? Mind if I borrow ye fer a moment. I have need of yer skill with a blade." Moon’s eyebrow rises. Doffery hadn’t spoken to her previously, that she could recall. ”Certainly.” She moves to follow the fae creature. ”What’s the matter?”
”…and were going to take a couple of us as slaves.” The half-orc growls his dissent. ”Slavery? Are you sure?” ”No. We don’t all agree. They had manacles, nothing more. Banditry, yes. Extortion and ransom, maybe.” Hûnidark follows the constable. ”That one is alive - the ringleader. Marko’s friends are dead, buried with three more bandits beside the road near Lyrchwood and the start of the New Mire. I can take you there. Marko said he was hired by Carlanis to ‘protect Haranshire from bad folk’. He wanted common people, not thugs, maybe to make them look like real militia not bandits. He found them at The Silver Crown.” Status: HP: 13 / 14 | AC: 13 (12 w/o DEX)
Stun (1): Fate (3): x
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