"Oi there! Lads an lasses of the crusade. I've got a question for the lot of ya. For ya see...I'm told that that in this here pathfinder society there be factions. Little warring households trying to get this company of fools to march in their direction. Fair enough. So then, I'm leaning towards this merry band of idgits, but I'd like to make sure that I'm putting my name down on the right list.
So, here's where I stand. I've only joined this pathfinder society for two reasons. To prove meself to Torag, and to do right in his eyes. What else do I want from the society? I'd ask for something decent to drink, but I doubt that this lot of gangly limbed adventurers would have it.
Sounds right and good, eh? That said, what I worry about be the complaining. Ye know...shyt like 'Thorek, how dare ye lie to the beastie and get it to walk into the trap. How dishonorable!' Or 'Thorek, why'd ye hit the lad in the head while he was sleepin instead of lettin' wake up and eat breakfast first.' Ye know, that paladin stuff which gets so many humans killed. Well, me own kin killed to if I'm bein honest. As I see it, orcs don't have honor. So kill them in whatever way is most effective. And if you are gonna kill someone anyways, there's no harm in putting an arrow through his eyes at a hundred yards away or crushing his spine with a hammer when he aint looking.
So aye. That's me. Sanctified Slayer of Torag. Looking to kill me god's foes and don't rightly care how I do it so long as it doesn't make me god look bad.
So, will I fit in with ye lot or do I need to go over to one of the other factions afore me next adventure?
|Nisha the Damaged
A female red-skinned Tiefling with black hair, a particularly dexterous tail, and a set of teeth about three sizes to big for her lips saddles up to Grumbaki and looks him over. She has a longspear lashed to her back and a pack full of Javalins, and is clad in Tien-styled leather armor.
"Alrighty, you want the skinny on the Silver Crusade, I'll not sugar-coat it. Looks like your the kinda dwarf that appreciates the straight talk.
"Priority one is getting the job done for the betterment of all. Some evil so-an-so is off killing innocent civilians? You track him down and put him down. Some dude is torturing innocent people? Put him down too. hard, fast, and anyway you please. We're here to do one thing, and that's to use this massive machine we call the Pathfinder Society to actually actually help the world and make Golarion suck a little less. You loose sight of that, or you decide that's not how you wanna play things, then there's the door.
"Now there are goody-two-shoes types here, don't get me wrong, and they may tell you to knock off all the backstabbin' and such, but that's the same everywhere in the society. They show up all over, here, Liberty's Edge, I even understand the Dark Archive has a few. Y'Just have to suck it up and deal.
"Oh, and one last thing. Leave your gorram racism at the door. You start killin' innocent people, ANY innocent people, just because of who their parents were or 'cuse their skin is green or RED and I put YOU down, understand?
"Now, I'm with you, I worship the Dwarven Pantheon. Trudd in my case, but he's related to Torag as I understand it. So no problems there. But you run around assuming that no orc has any honor just because he's toothy and green, then it's not that you aren't Silver Crusade material, it's that you're not Pathfinder material."
The Tiefling coldly stares at him, driving her point home. For a moment, Grumbaki realizes that he's remembering YEARS of torture at the hands of racist men who mean to tear him apart only to find out what makes him tick. The experience is draining. For a brief, fleeting moment, he realizes that the memories are not his, before the effect vanishes.
Grumbaki has been subjected to a round of Nisha's hypnotic stare, giving him a -2 penalty to will saves, as well as amplifying pain he feels under the effects. She ends the stare a round later.
Thorek lets out a great laugh. Purposefully ignoring Doyle he turns to Fred. "Then drink hail lad! The only drinking problem is when you drink so much that you can't drink no more, eh?" Then turning to Nisha, purposefully ignoring the false memories.
"Right then lass. If the crusade will take an idgit like ye, I suppose I'm in the right place. Ye've picked a right fine God. As I see it, Torag created this here world, so we all be his children. Now racism...such a word lass. I see an orc? Well I'll tell ye this. He's got two strikes against him in me book already. Two an' a half makes me start swingin me hammer, ye understand? As for fiendlings, ye've chosen a right fine God. That's a good mark in me book. But gettin' in me head is a strike against ye...trackin?"
He then fixes her with a stare that does nothing more than make things slightly awkward.
|Nisha the Damaged
The tiefling meets his stare for a moment (but doesn't engage her hypnotic stare), then turns from him and starts rummaging through her pack. As she does, she speaks.
"Sure I track, so long as you track that killing an Orc or half-Orc for looking at you wrong earns you three strikes in my book. I don't stand for racism, I trust you understand why."
She turns back to the dwarf with two battered cups and a flask, and sets them down. She pours about a shot (2 oz.) of booze from her hip flask into each cup, and slides one over to the dwarf. Then, for the first time, she cracks a smile.
"Dwarven liquor. Shame it's not the good stuff, but they horde that in the five-Kings mountains. This is the best stuff they ship to Absolom with any regularity. Still, better than nothing."
She holds up her cup in a traditional 'toast' gesture before sipping it.