While the idea of a Pool its good, i think that most of the abilities granted are a pretty powerful and in the end the points are pretty useless since you can select "Permanent" enhacements.
IMO i would drop the Armor bonus, add the double strike / double oportunity and focus on another ability to make up for the loss. (Maybe converting the AC bonus to CMD and/or CMB in XYZ manuvers)
As i said before, as it is its pretty powerful for a lvl 6 Prestige, and the pool its kinda useless.
Funny Death:
I was GMing, it was a long campaing and the players were facing the captaion of the BBEG forces, in a floating island. In order to dimish the power of the captaing they went to engage his dragon mount first.
The wizard casted fly on the party, in order to avoid a sure fall or a bullrush. (My dragons were famous for bullrushing PCs into lava and such)
After a few rounds of combat, the dwarf fighter was crushing the dragon. So the dragon tried to fly away and escape. The fighter went for the kill and after a few rounds of chase. the dragon turn around and dispeled the fighters Fly. Only to be disintegrated by the wizard.
Sadly, the wizard didnt prepared Feather fall, so the dwarf became a bright red spot on the landscape.
+1 regarding Burning Wheel as a better System for that setting.
Otherwise, i think that you should ban most of the Spellcasting classes, until the Magic is back into the world.
In order to keep my comment spoiler free, i would state that its a Low magic setting while the dragons are dead. As its said in the books, "magic died with the dragons"
48.An Archeological Dig finds a huge crystal with someone trapped inside (I´ve used amethyst). After some probbing a few mages manage to crack the crystal open to find a dead, long lost hero. This hero suposedly defeated a great evil long time ago, however evidence suggests that he lost the battle and was trapped into the crystal...
This Evil, is now a (God/King/etc)
(Orignially i was thinking leaving the hero alive, and in shock, when faced with the facts.)
Do what all Forever GMs must do, week in and week out.
Start running the game.
Be the hero that Gotham deserves.
This!
I always felt that 4e was a lousy MMORPG port to tabletop RPGs. Edition Wars aside, He´s just being a teenager. As someone said before, hopefuly he will grown out of it.
In the Spelljammer series, the accessory Practical Planetology suggests the tarrasques originate from the planet Falx. Several hundred tarrasques live there in a docile state, where they are silicavores (rock eaters); upon removal from their homeworld their temperament changes to the violent, rapacious one better known elsewhere in the Dungeons & Dragons universe.
Also, I believe that here you can find a few tarrasques with class levels.
I am not a very spell slinger oriented dm also. I may need some help with this, i am thinking of making him a 14th level wizard necromancer. any suggestions for spells and what to throw at a party of adventures that have been gaming for a real long time? besides fireball lol
Also, Strahd is an Ancient Vampire. Checking the table for a Vampire of that Age. (400-499 years old) he has the following modifications
Str Dex Int Wis Cha Speed Dmg red F. heal Turn Res Ac CR
Ancient +8 +8 +4 +6 +6 +20 25/+2 6 +6 +7 +3
The +2 translates into Silver, right?
Also he has several powers based on his age. There was a book of Ravenloft for 3rd edition, that stated Strahd, was (something) of the Mists. I´ll see if i find it on my bookshelf and upload the data for you. But he was at least CR15 Ftr2/Wiz11 At least. I also remember that he waa specialized in a school other than necromancy.
He was an overwhelming foe for anyone native from ravenloft. Also Ravenloft is a low magic setting, i do remember that his most powerful item (Other than artifacts) was a +3 longsword.
I have some experience managing big groups. it´s true that for more than 6 players, its hard to keep the pace (combat, im looking at you!!!) however, my bests experiences came, when a friend wanted to stand up and GM too.
What we did, was awesome, we split the table in two parties of five players each, and each party started in a different city, (This was done in the Realms, for those who know a bit of the setting, Arabel and Daggerford) we crafted a story where both parties needed to work togheter in order to preserve their realms/kingdoms. A few political assasinations later, both parties were cooperating between themselves to find clues, often sending emisaries to the other table with clues and information to strength the bonds.
By the end of the campaing they mounted a coordianted assault between their forces (and kingdoms) while one party assaulted the walls, the other sneaked inside the castle via a secret passage, in order to open the gates.
It was really amazing, seeing such cooperation and roleplay.
a few tips:
*focus on roleplaying, rather than rollplaying.
*Make sure that all the groups have cooperative objetives. (Its ok to follow your own agenda, but when it starts to break the group cohesion... it just sucks.) -You can handle backstabbing in a small party, but in a larger one, its just a waste of time, unless you can use it to thick the plot a bit.
*take special care in crafting bonds between the chars.
*use an aide to keep track of the combat stuff. we used a whiteboard with all useful data (Hp, init, Attack bonus, Saves)
also, keep in mind that the grand conjunction adventures, are brutal AND LOVELY! however, people die... a lot. i havent tried them in PF, maybe i should give them a try *evil grin*
Oh well, you got me, saturday night, my players will find a thick white fog coming for them.-
Paladins are a bigger issue than Inquisitor in that setting...
Fair enough, though I doubt anyone in my group would play a Paladin anyway. It's something to think about.
@Utgardloki-My concern revolves around the following. It will probably be a low treasure game, there won't be magic shops and players will have to do with what they get or can manage to craft. Bane from the Inquisitor lets them make their weapon effectively +2 better and deal a ton of damage. They have spells that often specifically target undead or fiends. They have an ability that makes is basically evasion for will/fort saves (and would foil a lot of Horror/Madness effects). They also have Stern Gaze and later Detect Lie which makes intrigue plots hard to pull off.
On top of that, they have greater magic weapon and magic vestment as spells 3rd level spells (level 7), meaning they can easily just cast both of those spells and be magically equipped for the next 7 hours. At 8 they can have a +2 shield, a +2 suit of armor and a +2 weapon for 8 hours. At 12, they can use extend metamagic with those spells to have +3 weapon/+3 armor/+3 shield for 24 hours.
They really quickly break out of the "low magic" spectrum if you consider them to be selfish casters.
aye, Aye, thats why you should ask for arcane - and obscure - material components. Like "mandrake root, touched by full moon´s first light". Or therwise, ban the access to spells. Maybe rework some of the spells, or even lower the duration to 10min/lvl.- Its not that hard, and ravelonft its a wonderful setting.
IMO i think that just for the fluff of the setting, inquisitors should be either stripped of their spellcasting and domain, or have it reworked as arcane (Same spell list, arcane source) depends on wicked and evil you are!
You might as well play a rogue or bard in those cases.
Yes, keep in mind, that any creature with an Aura, and specially paladins ping asap in the Darklords radar as soon as they enter her domain.
I think that inquisitors, would make an excelent addition to any Ravenloft games. However, keep in mind a few things.
Spellcasters ARE rare, an inquisitor should be a rare finding, also keep in mind that divinations works diff. in ravenloft. The evil/good axis works as law/chaos. So, keep an eye on those abilities.
IMO i think that just for the fluff of the setting, inquisitors should be either stripped of their spellcasting and domain, or have it reworked as arcane (Same spell list, arcane source) depends on wicked and evil you are!
They feel more like hunters - Van Richten comes to mind - than Church´s inquisitors to me (At least in this setting).-
No, if you keep takin levels in you current class, if you want to multiclass or take a level into a prestige class. Either find a teacher or a fellow party member with that class.-
Silent image for decoy, Alter Self, Silence. A few rays of enfeeblement and coup the grace that goodiness out of him.
Nah, that's too brutal. Plus, just wait for the sucker to be asleep and kill him with his own weapon. Way funnier.
However, if the wizard in question is level 11 or up, I have a far better idea: Wait until he's asleep and then geas the sucker!
Nobody even needs to know. You geas him that he can never harm or cross you. As long as he never harms you, it won't ever come up. And when he wants to, he finds out he suddenly doesn't want to. He can't overcome the spell.
Yes, but think about the paladin being too weak to move around in his shinning fullplate - its like a metal turtle!!!- Maybe you can teach him the meaning of fear, when you kill him with his own weapon.-
Of course, following this path, its like free falling into the darkside xD
The tactic, was a solid one, i dont see any way that the paladin has offended his deity or failed to adhere to his code. He should, at least, talk with the sorcerer about the fireball.
However, if the sorcerer percieved them as a treat to the hostages, i dont see it wrong either.
But, as a GM, you can be as picky as you want with it.
Your character in not a lvl 1 character. The negative levels never means an effective level loss instead your char only has -2 to all checks (Sv, skills and attack), -10 hp and -2 caster levels.-
Well, tethyr could be a choice, but you´ll need to wipe a few epic chars keeping a eye on them, same goes with Cormyr. I just dont think that it would fit easily.
For me, the idea of a rising Nar/cheliax under a proper guidance and unchecked is far more plausible than the corruption of one of the greatest realms (or empire- if you take 4th edition in account) of the realms, as is Cormyr. Tethyr on the other hand, Its current ruler, is Elminster´s former apprentice, so get yourself a few demons and you´ll have Harpes, and at least 3 of the seven sisters meddling around the issue.- Oh, and dont forget that elminster helped to raise Cormyr too, so he will be sticking his pointy nose over there too.-
Why not just raise Cheliax as a Remanent of the Narfell empire?
Maybe linking them as a new potency that rises over the years w/o the spellplague, they quickly conquer Vaasa and Damara. Maybe the rites of the Rotting Man went too bad, and a demonlord managed to escape.-
Thats a solid artifact in my book. Not world shaking - but a good one. Ill go for spell storing too, seems to fit the "fluff" and also is a solid choice for a gyth/EK/Slash n cast character type..
Keep in mind that Distance/returning and throwing are specific to the weapon of choice, even if the rules allow it, sword are not meant for Throwing xD (Maybe you can "pre-select" a few forms for the weapon to take)
Sounds fun, yet i dont see the tank part, seems to be more a support/dps class.
In order to be a tank, i think that he should get a better defense/armor class/abilities.
however, your idea, gave me another What do you think about changing the staff to magic/elemental bolts -a la warlock - and make him a ranged dps/buffer? (Maybe im playing too much DA2 - with my mage)
I would say, neutral if she fought them before surrendering, Evil if she initiated the conversation and was attacked by the monk. However, not aligment changin evil (I usually use 3 strikes before that - so, this would be strike 1).
Mmm, Polymorph the party into fire elemental/noble salamander + normal ones. And intercept one of the ships in the elemental plane of fire, for a surprise inspection/customs/etc. Get inside the ship, and use disintegrate to place a few "airvents" into the hull.
Tp away, rinse and repeat.-
I never saw an issue with this ability, actually if you think it for a sec. how can you produce a burst of "positive energy" that harms undead, but do not heals or think it backwards, how can you produce a burst of positive energy that heals but do not harm undead.
I mean, it was just changed ´cause of the "cleric hate" that came back from 3.5 not really because it is game breaking.-
Sure, you can drop it at lvl 10 or 11 if you think that fits your game, its your cal after all. For me any1 that get channel does harm/heal from the same lvl that they get the ability.-
Strength
9
Dexterity
14
Constitution
10
Intelligence
18
Wisdom
12
Charisma
15
About Cassandra_Tyche
One week earlier:
May 10th, 1925
Shadow boxing, Jakob sweats profusely as he readies for his upcoming bout. An older man walks into his dressing room, about middle-aged, short, stocky, sporting a whitish/reddish beard, and leans against the wall before crossing his arms, watching and waiting.
Keeping to his routine and without missing a beat, "What's up, Mickey? Is it showtime?"
Sighing, "Aye. It is, lad. Are ya ready?" he asks, his Irish accent coming through clear.
With a few more rapid jabs to the air, he stops and wipes at the sweat with the towel around his neck before cutting his attention to his manager. "You know I am, Mick. This bloke is nothin'. And I know he's caught a couple of second-place finishes - not sure how, but whatever - but that's still second place. And when I do finish him off, it'll be huge for me. That's gonna get me to the next level. This is what we've been waitin' for, Mick." He gives him a friendly pat on the shoulder while grinning. "It'll actually be good for both me and Lizzy. With the money involved that comes with fighting better talent, I can take care of her better. It'll be good."
Mick sighs, scratching at his beard while he's mentally focused somewhere else.
Narrowing his eyes at the older man, "What is it, Mick? Why you actin' all dodgy? Somethin' wrong?"
Sighing heavily, he looks up at his protégé and grins weakly. "Ummm, I don't know, lad. Have ya heard the odds between you two?"
Taking the towel and wiping it across his forehead and face, Jakob shakes his head. "No. Why?"
"Well, laddie, the odds are extremely favorable for you."
Narrowing his eyes as he ponders that for a moment, "Well... okay. So what's your point?"
"Well, if I were ta put money on ya, I'd barely win a few shillings."
Still not understanding, and starting to get a little irritated, "Spit it out, Mick. Stop dancin' around and tell me what it is you're tryin' to say. I don't get your point."
Sighing again, Mickey decides to quit beating around the bush. "Okay, here it is, lad. With the odds stacked in yer favor, if somebody were ta bet on Hans Schönrath, then they'd win a small fortune. And there are shady types out there - shady types who might be considered quite dangerous - who would love ta make that kind of money. Basically what I'm sayin' is, I was contacted by these so-called 'shady types', Jakob, and they're wantin' me ta ask you ta throw the fight." Mickey's heart drops at the poisonous words he just spoke. Never in his life would he ever have Jakob throw a fight, but these people scared him, and he feared for Jakob.
With an incredulous look, "Throw the fight?! No way in Hell I'm throwin' the fight, Mick. You can forget it! This is my big break! My chance to move up and, in turn, be able to take care of Lizzy far better. You can forget it."
Rolling his eyes in frustration, "Look, lad, I'm just concerned about ya is all. There is no way in all the world I'd ever ask ya ta do somethin' like that if I wasn't a bit worried about what these people might do. They scare me, lad. And rumor has it that," he looks around out of habit, lowering his voice, "Hitler is behind it. Or possibly one of his people. Doesn't really matter, either way, it all leads to some bad people. Did ya hear that he was released from prison just a few months ago? Right around Nollaig(Christmas), he was."
Not having any of it, "Hitler can sod off. He's nothing more than a prat anyway. No idea how he got out so early after being sentenced to 5 years, but I'll not be throwin' the fight, Mick. Not for him, not for anyone. I won't do it."
With another heavy sigh, "Ya know, I didn't expect ya to, lad. And I don't blame ya. But I will ask ya this: Just think about it. That's all. The ONLY reason I ask ya is because I have a bad feelin' about this. There's something about this that don't add up and I'm worried for yer safety, Jakob. So all I'm gonna ask is ya think about it."
With a look of defiance, Jakob takes a moment or two to think about it before, "Fine. I'll think about it. But no promises, Mick."
Nodding, "That's all I ask."
The Fight:
As Jakob enters the ring, "Yay! Jakob!" he hears to his right. Looking over, he sees Elizabeth near the front row cheering for him. Smiling, he gives her a wink before noticing two men a few seats behind her staring at him. Both were looking quite 'official'. They didn't appear to be your typical boxing fans. "Hey, Mick, who are the suits?" He gives a nod in their direction.
Mick takes a quick glance before, "Doesn't matter, lad. Just well-dressed lads, I guess, who are probably lost. You get all kinds o' weird ones in here."
Jakob stares a moment before eventually nodding. "Yeah... I guess so."
He then turns his focus upon his opponent... Hans Schönrath. He's not nearly as built as Jakob, but he is taller. Jakob has no concern about losing to this guy, but the thought of throwing the fight to him troubles him immensely. The idea of throwing any fight troubles him immensely, but to this guy? His stomach churns at the thought.
When the ref calls them forward and explains the rules, Hans grins cockily at Jakob. "Ich werde dich brechen, Junge."[Translation: "I'm going to break you, boy."]
With a wry grin and an incredulous look, "Are you aware that the betting odds are in my favor? Probably not because you're daft. Let me explain it to you. EVERYBODY thinks I'm going to win. Which means NOBODY thinks you're going to win. So, good luck with all that 'breaking me' bit."
Moving to their respective corners, they both await the bell. Looking over at Mickey, his manager and long-time friend, he simply gives him a nod. Just as Jakob nods back...
The bell sounds! And Jakob and Hans head toward each other and begin. In the first round, Jakob throws a couple of quick jabs, working to understand Hans' tendencies. They both get a few decent shots in on the other, but not enough to make any difference. The round ends and Jakob returns to his corner. "Dang, Mick, this guy is a joke. I could probably kill him."
Shaking his head, "Don't do that, lad. Just... don't do that."
Jakob looks at his manager and simply says, "You got it, captain."
Round 2 comes and goes. A few more punches were traded, but nothing of significance. Jakob finds himself in inner turmoil on whether or not to throw the fight, and has a hard time getting into the match.
Round 3 is pretty much the same.
Rounds 4, 5, and 6 barely differ. While punches were being traded in every round, it was nothing Jakob couldn't handle. Hans, on the other hand, while still up, was looking weary. Not to mention he suffered a cut above his right eye where Jakob snuck in a decent shot on him. This bloke is a COMPLETE joke. I could destroy him. Gah! I hate this. No wonder they want me to lose. Whoever put money on this guy could probably buy all of bloody England with the winnings if the odds are as profitable as Mickey says they are.
The crowd seemed perplexed. They couldn't understand why Jakob wasn't his usual aggressive self. After Round 7 came and went, a frustrated Jakob, and an even more weary Hans, were now hearing the boos. As he sits in his corner waiting on the next round, he looks around at all the boo birds. So torn over his dilemma, he looks over at Mickey, who can only shrug. He then notices the two men in the suits still watching. Not cheering, not booing, not doing anything. Just sitting and watching as if they're waiting for... something.
Once again, his attention is drawn off to his left, "C'mon, Jakob, you can do it! I know you can, my darling!" Elizabeth cheers, smiling and clapping. A big smile forms on the "British Bomber" - as he's been called - and he takes a deep breath, ready for the next round.
Taking notice of the exchange between the two, Hans narrows his eyes.
As the bell rings, both rise and move to the center, the ref grabs their gloves and readies them to fight.
With a jerkified grin, "Wenn ich dich besiege, Junge, dann werde ich wohl deine hübsche kleine Dame ausführen und ihr einen richtigen Mann zeigen."[Translation: "When I beat you, boy, I'm going to take that pretty little lady of yours out and show her a real man."]
With a clenched jaw, Jakob stares daggers at Hans. When the ref tells them to touch gloves, Jakob punches his gloves into Hans' gloves so strongly, it rocks the German back a few steps, and Hans, all of a sudden, finds himself a little concerned. The shots he's taken from Jakob are felt keenly. What concerns him most is that he also knows that Jakob has been pulling his punches. And he finds himself confused because he was told he was going to win.
Jakob steps back and waits for the bell, while Hans looks a little lost. Jakob cracks his neck from one side to the other, and the bell rings. Clapping his gloves together, Jakob moves in. Dodging a shot to the face from a mighty right by Hans - which was more pathetic than mighty - Jakob found an easy opening. One of many he's found and has ignored, but this one... this one he did not ignore. With Hans missing so horribly and leaving himself wide open, Jakob takes advantage and blasts him with a strong right to his midsection before launching a nasty left uppercut to the chin, dropping Hans like a rock. The crowd explodes into a roar as Hans hits the deck. "Still waiting on that beating, Hans! Don't you lie to me! GET UP!" Jakob yells at Hans over the crowd.
Lying on the canvas, Hans hears something coming from Jakob but he can't quite make it out with his brain addled like it is. He struggles to regain his senses. He looks over and sees the rope. Reaching out, he grabs it with his left glove and uses it to help him rise.
Jakob paces back and forth while remaining focused on his opponent, who is slowly climbing the ropes and works to gather his senses. The ref continues to count before confirming with Hans if he is ready to fight. Hans takes a look over at his manager, who eyes him angrily. Hans then looks back to the ref and reluctantly nods.
Jakob looks over at Hans' manager, then at Hans, seeing the trepidation in his face, then he looks over at the two men in suits, noticing they remain impassive.
"Fight!" says the ref, moving out of the way.
Jakob slaps his gloves together, and the crowd gets into it. They are yelling, Bomber! Bomber! Bomber! Jakob walks straight at Hans with a purpose, his gloves down by his side. Hans sees it and swings with a sloppy right straight for his head, but Jakob dodges that easily to his right. Hans quickly swings again with his left! Jakob ducks that one.
"Still waiting!" Jakob taunts, shrugging.
Hans is tired. With the shots he's taking all night - even though they were pulled punches - they've still taken their toll, not to mention the fatigue becoming worse, and that last punch now has him nervous. He thinks his jaw might be cracked. Hans then tries to hit him with multiple jabs, jabs that have no real speed or power to them, but he gives it his all. It almost feels like a last-ditch effort by the tall German. A right, left, right, left, right, left - all blocked by the British Bomber or knocked aside. Quite easily, too. An uppercut with the right - Jakob dodges to his right - quickly followed by a left hook to the gut, which connects somehow!
"Good one! You still got some work ahead of you, wanker. My turn." Jakob bull rushes him into the corner. Hans doesn't expect it and fights to keep his feet as his back slams against the corner pole.
Once Jakob has got him pinned, Jakob takes a step back and quickly explodes into a flurry of attacks! A strong punch to the gut, which Hans partially blocks, but he can't catch up with the left to the face. That one rattles the tall German as a tooth goes flying, along with some blood. Unfortunately for the big German, he has no time to recover. Jakob then connects with a strong right, left, right, left to the midsection. Hans feels like he's getting hit with bricks, so he works to keep his face and midsection covered, but he just can't. The pain to his midsection is overwhelming; he's positive he now has broken ribs, as Jakob continues to blast body blow after body blow. Hans throws a meaningless punch, which leads nowhere.
Hans knows he's beaten. He just doesn't know how badly.
Unable to take the body blows any longer, Hans finally moves to protect himself from them, and Jakob sees the opening and launches a raging uppercut straight for his chin once again. Hans tries to move quickly to block it but he's just too slow. It connects solidly. Hans' head whips back violently, losing all grip on reality, and he's headed straight for the canvas.
With nowhere to go but down, Jakob does not allow it. He quickly shoves a forearm in the chest of his opponent and holds him up against the corner pole before blasting his face with his right, again and again and again and again and again... each one with a greater fury, taking the words of the tall German and making him pay for every single one of them.
Jakob refuses to relent as the crowd continues to roar in exultation. Blood starts flying out of Hans' mouth, his left eye is swollen shut, his jaw is shattered, his cheekbone is shattered, yet Jakob continues pummeling him until the ref finally intervenes and calls the fight.
Hans collapses to the ground, face first, his body twitching, as Jakob is forced away. "Still waiting!" Jakob screams at his opponent, bending over to make sure he hears him. Walking towards his corner while looking back, "Freaking git," he mutters seeing how he really can't be heard through the noise of the crowd anyway.
Making it to his corner, "Sorry, Mick, I almost made it. I just couldn't do it anymore."
Taking a deep breath through the nose, "It's alright. Yer good, kid. Yer real good. Yer gonna be great," he tells him, his tone sounding worrisome. Jakob gives a half-smile, unable to avoid that nagging feeling that he might've messed up.
Jakob then cuts his attention over to Elizabeth, who looks at him a little disapprovingly and somewhat sadly. Terribly dejected by that, Oh man, do I have some explaining to do. Gah. I've got to learn to control my anger. He mouths the words, *I'm sorry,* to her before looking back at Hans, who is still lying on the mat but does appear to be alive. They do have him turned over on his back now, checking to make sure he's okay. He notices that Hans is awake but looks to be having a hard time speaking with his face nearly shattered. Well, at least he's not dead.
He then looks over at where the two well-dressed men were seated and notices they are gone.
Backstory:
"Hey, Jonesy! Another round if you would for me and the boys!" Henry calls out, a long-time friend of Jakob's.
The large, muscular fellow with a shaved head behind the counter simply nods. Grabbing several glasses, he double-checks their cleanliness and catches one with a spot on it, proceeding to wipe it off with his sleeve. After filling them up and handing them to Olivia - one of the waitresses - "Make sure he tips you well, luv. Mainly the one with the big mouth," he tells her, giving a tired smile.
During all of this, a woman at the bar watches the entire episode. She grins while shaking her head. She then says to the large man, "You know, you could do a lot better than this, Jakob. You were a lot better than this once upon a time, dearie."
Wiping off the bar as she speaks, he glances over at her and says plainly, "I could also do a lot worse, Bella. And once upon a time was a long time ago." He grabs another glass and begins wiping it clean.
"I'm not so sure about that," she returns, smirking. "You know, all that's been going on here of late, aren't you the least bit concerned? Folks are talking as if he's back. They never did find his body. Of course, it has been ten years and not a peep, but who's to say, you know?" she says, taking a sip of her drink.
Clenching his jaw as he continues to clean the glass, "I know how long it's been, Isabella. And there isn't a lot I can do about it right now, is there? Especially, seeing how we don't even know if it's true or not." Scanning the few customers they have, he sets the glass down and leans upon the bar before leaning in close and saying, "To tell you the truth, Isabella, I hope this wanker is back, and he does pick me. That'll at least bring 'im out in the open. And maybe, just maybe, I can finally put an end to this nightmare once and for all." The anger in his voice is evident - an emotion he rarely shows - as his jaw remains clenched.
Taking another sip of her drink, "I'm sorry, Jakob. I didn't mean... I'm just concerned, is all. What if he gets to you when you least expect it? We don't know what he looks like, don't know his name, where he's from. There's nothing on him, Jakob. That idiotic tabloid The Daily Mirror just called him 'Jack' so people would think 'Ripper' and they'd sell more papers."
Sighing as he returns to cleaning the glass, "No one lives forever, luv. I've nothin' left to lose anyway," he says in a matter-of-fact tone, putting up the glass before wiping down the bar.
Oh Jonesy, dear, you're not fooling anyone, she thinks to herself, taking another drink.
The night had wrapped up earlier than usual at the Horn of Plenty, as had the last several. Business was getting slower again, people were scared. Bloody fearmongering will get the best of business. It was true that two of the ladybirds who worked the street had gone missing, but they could have been locked up or simply run off. What were their names? Bridgette and Aislyn, right. And that one bloke had been found dead, spiked on a lamplighter's pole. Wealthy businessmen, they had said, presumably in the area chasing a nasty taste, and ran into the wrong gang. But it couldn't be Bloody Jack, could it? He’d taken so much from me....
Gathering his things as he closes up for the night, Jakob heads home, lantern in his hand, and his mind wandering back to a time that feels like forever ago...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------
The morning light spilled into the room as the curtains were opened wide. Jakob had to shield his eyes from the bright sun. "Rise and shine, my darling. It is a beautiful morning," Elizabeth said, her British accent clean and proper. Her long black hair flowed down to her lower back. She wore a beaming smile that lit up her beautiful, big, hazel-colored eyes.
Jakob gave a half-smile as he was still trying to wake up. "Lizzy, my luv, come back to bed. It's still early. I just want to sleep a bit more." His accent being slightly on the rougher side as he turns on his side, facing away from her. "Just a bit more, is all," he says with a sleepy voice.
Sighing, "Now, darling, I think this is a lovely day for a picnic. It's not raining for once, so we should take advantage." She crawls back into bed and lies against him, her arm around the big fella, giving him a kiss on the cheek. "C'mon, Jakob, it'll be fun. Just you and me, out and about. Think of how jealous everyone will be when they see you with your lovely bride." She grins wryly.
Grinning himself, as he turns his eyes up in her direction, "Humble much, my luv?" he asks, still grinning. Turning over to face her, he pushes back a lock of hair that's fallen across her face. "You are quite the lovely bride, aren't you, my luv."
She gives a confident nod, grinning playfully. "I *believe* that is what I said, my darling husband."
Jakob moves his hands down to her side, right above her hips, and starts tickling her!
Elizabeth laughs and yells, "Stop, Jakob! Stop it! Stop it!" and pummels him playfully until Jakob finally relents as he's tired of getting beaten. "That ought to teach you," he tells her, smiling as he rises out of bed. "Okay, my luv. Let's go on your picnic so I can show the world my lovely bride. Not sure why all of the sudden you want to go on a picnic, but okay." He shrugs.
With a magnificent smile, "Yay!" she celebrates, giving an excited clap.
Lying on his back with his hands behind his head as they enjoy the pleasant day, Jakob looks up at Elizabeth as she sits next to him, her arms around her knees, appearing to be lost in thought.
Looking curiously upon her, "What is it, my luv? What are you thinking on?"
Taking a deep breath, she looks down at Jakob, grinning from ear to ear. "Well, there's something I've been meaning to tell you and this just happens to be the perfect time."
Still confused, and a little concerned, "Um... okay. What is it? What's on your mind?"
Pushing her hair behind her ear, "I'm pregnant, Jakob. We're going to have a baby." She tells him with a beaming smile.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------
Jakob arrives at his door and stops and stares. Just stares for the longest time...
--------------------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------
Walking home from a long day at work, his lantern in hand, Jakob nears his humble abode. Not thirty yards out, he notices a tall, thin person, exit out his front door. Fear rises in the large man as his heart begins to race, while the hair on the back of his neck rises. "Hey. Hey, you!"
The tall man pauses, stares directly at Jakob but his face could not be seen. Between the nighttime and him being covered in all black, Jakob could make out nothing of the intruder. The tall man begins to move again, picking up his pace.
"HEY, YOU! STOP!" Jakob starts running toward him before stopping and looking at his open front door. Quickly glancing between the unknown man and his house, he swears under his breath and runs full out toward his house. Giving the door a forceful shove the rest of the way open, he stops for a lone second, noticing the house in disarray.
Ignoring it all, he raises his lantern and extends it out to get a better view. "Lizzy! Lizzy! Where are you?! Are you okay, my luv?!" Jakob's heart is racing even harder, he finds himself having a difficult time breathing, his level of fear far beyond anything he's ever felt in his life. Moving to the bedroom, the moonlight shines through the window, and he sees Elizabeth lying on the bed... barely breathing.
Running over to her, he notices the blood clearly now. It's everywhere and his eyes go wide. "LIZZY! NO! PLEASE NO!" Quickly taking her up in his arms, he pushes her hair back from her face, noticing her breathing is becoming more shallow. "Lizzy. Please, Lizzy, don't die, my luv. Please." The tears flow freely down the large man's face.
"Jakob... Is that you?" She manages through labored breath, her eyes open but apparently unable to see.
Through the tears, "Yes, my luv. It's me. It's me. I'm here. I'm here holding my lovely bride. I'm right here." He takes her hand and places it on his tear-streaked cheek, holding it there.
"Oh, Jakob... my darling," she mutters, managing to give his cheek a light stroke before her final breath escapes her, her body going limp.
"Lizzy? Lizzy? LIZZY?! MY LUV?!?!" Shaking his head furiously, "No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no,NOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!" Sobbing uncontrollably, he draws her in close and holds her tight, never wanting to let go.
Standing outside his door, Jakob's eyes become slightly watery. He draws a hand across his eyes as he walks in. It's been 10 years. There is no way he's back... is there? The thoughts chased through his mind as he closes the door behind him.
Jakob - pronounced Yah-kob - Jones is around 6'5 and 250 lbs. He's a pleasant fellow, but you'd never guess that initially, with how physically intimidating he appears. He possesses a soft, friendly demeanor, but it also comes across as a tired one sometimes. He works as a bartender/bouncer at The Horn of Plenty and freelances as a boxer for extra money occasionally.
To this day, Jakob has no idea who - or what - "Bloody Jack" was/is. For some unknown reason, he's never been clearly identified. Just "a tall figure in a dark, full length cloak, dark clothing, dark wide-brimmed hat, and a mask of some sort covering the lower half of his face, just below his eyes" is all that has been managed. The only attribute that stands out is the shoulder length white hair. And it's haunted Jakob ever since. He hopes one day that "Bloody Jack" will decide to come after him. That way, he'll have his shot at putting an end to this nightmare named "Bloody Jack", and maybe he can finally find peace.
He hopes, anyway.
That same night after the fight:
With his backpack over his right shoulder, Jakob, Elizabeth and Mickey exit the building. Not ten feet from the exit, several men move out of the shadows. Jakob stops and holds out a hand to halt the other two. "Mick, Lizzy, both of you go back inside and lock the door."
With a look of conern, "But, lad..."
"Jakob, no. Let's just leave." The fear in Elizabeth's voice clearly evident.
Looking back at them, "Now! Both of you! Just do what I tell you! Please!" he implores them.
Looking around at the five strangers, Mickey nods and quickly retreats inside, allowing Elizabeth to enter first before following, locking the door as instructed.
Once Mickey is safely away, Jakob turns his attention back to the strangers who have all moved closer to Jakob. Moving his backpack from his right to his left shoulder, "You blokes don't want to do this."Interesting. None have weapons. Not here to kill me? Jakob looks past them, noticing in the distance a person clad in black, half-seen by the part of him that resides within the light of the lamp post. Narrowing his eyes, And who are you? And why are you just standing there? Watching, perhaps?
"I'm 'fraid it's you, mister. You've gone and done sumpin' stoopid. We were told you might. And 'that's why we are 'ere." He rubs his fists, preparing for a fight.
Looking to his left, his right, and behind him, Jakob assesses the situation. "There are five of you and only one of me. Count six if you count the one near that streetlamp. Hardly seems fair."
The cockneyed speaker looks behind him, noticing the one clad in black before turning back to Jakob. Shrugging, "Don't know that one, friend. But it don't matter. We know you."
With a half-hearted chuckle, "Okay, boys, if that's how you want to play it. I'll give you 'til the count of 3 to leave out of here in one piece. After that, it's on you." Jakob glances around and notices no one appears to be leaving, and as a matter-of-fact, they all appear to be waiting for him to count to three.
"Suit yourself. One," and Jakob quickly strikes the 'speaker' with a shot to the throat! who is now fighting to just breathe.
In the same breath, Jakob lets his backpack fall off his shoulder, down his arm, where he catches the strap with his hand, and swings it hard from left to right, catching Thug #2 - who is directly to his right - right square in the head, dropping the backpack in the process, and knocking Thug #2 to the ground.
Continuing his circle, Thug #3 - the one directly behind him - comes in with an all-out punch to the face. Jakob counterattacks with a strong headbutt aimed directly at his fist. When the two collide, you can hear the thug's hand crack, causing him to yell in pain.
Thug #4 catches Jakob with a left to the side of his face, while Thug #5 gives him a shot in the back around the kidney area. Jakob goes into defense mode as Thug #4 comes back hard with a right, which Jakob dodges easily. He snags the exposed arm around the wrist area with his right hand, uses that momentum to pull him and use him as a shield to block an incoming kick coming from Thug #1(The speaker), before launching an angry left toward Thug #4's elbow while pulling his arm toward him at the same time, shattering his elbow as it now bends the wrong way. Thug #4's scream was ear-piercing.
The other four thugs now hesitate. That was a mistake. Because Jakob did not. Stepping on Thug #4's body as he lies on the ground, weeping in pain, Jakob leaps off of him, towards the speaker(Thug #1) and lands a kick to the face, breaking and bloodying his nose, knocking him down and leaving him writhing in pain. It would appear that Jakob did not crush his larynx. He immediately turns around and chooses Thug #3, the one with the broken hand, and charges.
Not knowing what to do or which way to go, Thug #3 prepares to grab Jakob as he nears. Jakob can't help but think to himself, Man, these blokes are stupid.
Jakob plows into him, sending them both to the ground, the hefty Jakob knocking the wind out of the thug. Placing his forearm on his throat, Jakob manages several mighty punches right to his face. His nose was splattered, his eye was swelling shut quickly, and you could hear his cheekbone crack. Unconsciousness now overtakes him.
The next thing Jakob knows, though, is he's getting kicked in the face, which bloodies his mouth, and gives Thug #5 some confidence. The kicks keep coming. One to the ribs. And then another. And another. Jakob rolls off the unconscious Thug #3 and lands on his back. Thug #5 stays on him. He quickly follows and is about to step right on Jakob's face. As soon as his foot gets near, Jakob rolls a full rotation to his right, and does a kip up, quickly going into a defensive posture.
Which was a good idea, seeing how Thug #5 was coming right at him with another kick, who figured he had an advantage. But he was about to find out he didn't. Jakob catches the leg with his left, grabs his ankle with both hands, and holds it in the air, forcing the thug to hop on one leg to keep his balance. "You know, I think your buddies have given up on you." With his heel in his right hand, Jakob pulls him forward and blasts him with a left to the nose, busting and bloodying his nose too. The thug covers his face as he hollers in pain, and when he does, Jakob sweeps the thug's other leg out from under him... who then hits the ground with a thud. Flipping him over on his stomach, Jakob takes the man's ankle and breaks it, leaving him writhing and screaming in pain.
Not really wanting to listen to it, Jakob flips him back over and leans down, blasting him with a massive right to his face, knocking him out.
Rising and placing a hand on his sore ribs, he glances all around, noticing Thug #2 still lying there. With a curious look, "I just smacked him with my pack. Is he still out?" Jakob goes over there and gives him a boot to the gut, which causes the thug to jump in fear. "Don't kill me, please! They offered us money and told us what we must do! If we didn't... well, we had no choice! Just don't kill me, pleeeeeeease!" He pleads, weeping.
"Shut up! Freaking cry-baby. Who hired you? Tell me!"
Spooked badly by his yelling, "We don't know who they were! We don't know. A couple of guys in suits. They sounded German. I don't know. They came across as not to be messed with. They really didn't look like boxing fans."
"But you thought it was okay to mess with me?" Jakob asks incredulously.
Shrugging, "There were five of us. I mean, c'mon, odds were in our favor."
Shaking his head and rolling his eyes, "No, they weren't." Sighing, "Get your buddies and get out of here. And if I ever see you wankers back here again... well, just never let me see you back here again. Understood?"
Thug #2 bobs his head emphatically, quickly rising and looking around at the carnage. Not knowing what to do, he takes off into the night, forgetting about the rest of them.
Watching the man flee, Who were those guys in the suits? And the guy by the streetlamp? Jakob looks back in the direction of the streetlamp.
