Game Rules:
At least one post per day. OOC can go in the OOC thread, or underneath IC in
SlateGray.
When a fight starts, I will post a map with the baddies, and info on where you can place your tokens. There will also be monster info and defenses, unless it adds to the drama to leave it out.
Battles will be in initiative chunks; that is, if there are a group of players that go before the next enemy does, they can go in any order before the baddie.
Battle posts MUST HAVE: where you're moving to and from in grid coordinates, your attack and who you're targeting in
Red, dice roll(obviously), a list of any lasting effects(for you, allies or enemies)in
Orange, and then who is next after you in
Green.
A lot of you guys have interrupt effects; due to the nature of PbP, it would be pretty difficult to actually implement the "interrupt" portion. Therefore, unless I can find a better solution, interrupts will just become reactions, taking place on the initator's next turn.
There will probably be a lot more here, so check back frequently.
The Party: Zurin, a taciturn dwarf warden made in the heat of battle that's probably just a big ol' cuddly teddy bear (played by Jack Hobbes) (
sheet)
Samael, a deva wizard seeking to redeem his now-rakshasa friend. Also, he's immortal, so that's cool. (played by MundaneSoul) (
sheet)
Jordan of Eilenor, a human ponce(er, shaman) seeking to prove...his...animal worth? (played by Lardalish) (
sheet)
Arumat Patronis, a dragonborn sorcerer seeking to prove to his family that a big fire god is not going to burn the world to death (played by Pinfeldorf) (
sheet)
Henry Teach(played by Woogity), a rogue looking to free the only person ever to be nice to him: a pirate captain. (
sheet)
Former Party Members:Moridan of Avandra, who unceremoniously fell down a well after he dropped his lucky coin down it.The Setting So Far:
Spring, the perennial season of hope. As the frigid cold begins to take its leave, people begin to stir around the continent of Lucaran, in more ways than one. The winter takes with it the last vestiges of the inertia left by the Order of Tessad, the brutal regime that many children have been told horror stories of. Although it has been a hundred years since any have seen their terrifying banner of cardinal and gold, it is only now that many begin to show signs of life. Artists return to their easels, smiths to their foundries. The shanty fever begins to grow, and the number of wanderers across the countryside has increased tenfold.
And many of them head to the ville of Meresten. Located in the near geographic center of Lucaran, some see it as a symbolic place of rebirth. Others see it as the nearest inn and tavern, The Dancing Red Cap. But for five adventurers, it will prove to be much more.
Although, as they approach the Red Cap and catch some of the scents emanating from the inside, an inn and tavern might not be such a bad place to start...
Assume that you all find yourselves in the inn and tavern. Not necessarily in each others company, just present. If you like write a post or two describing how you got there, and if you want to be a social butterfly or just occupy your table with your ale. There will be a pretty obvious intro to the questgiver, and when you all enter a post with !ready in OOC text, it begins.
Posts
The pile's name was Zurin, and today was not going to be a good day.
The Raging Bear had come to Meresten because had overheard a half-orc in a previous bar swear by its ale. The man would swear twice more that evening; once when he had drunkenly swaggered up to Zurin, and once more right before Zurin had added a few inches to the man's neck. The ale was...passable. Zurin spat angrily at the floor and muttered to himself, "Shoulda seen this comin'. Piss-poor men prefer piss-poor swill."
Just checking in. !Ready whenever, but I'd prefer to RP a bit first.
!Ready, and I'm all for more RP
Jordan sits down at the bar a couple seats over from the... person? Surely it must be a person.. they wouldnt let animals sit at a bar... "Barkeep! Ill have a glass of Tavaren wine, a red if you have it, and" indicating the mass of rags "one of whatever my friend here is drinking! Drink up friend, this ones on me!" Unfortunately, Jordan's attempt at masking his displeasure of associating with commoners is a poor one.
!Ready, but like everyone else, Im more than willing for some RP.
EDIT: clarified some stuff, I really should proofread a little better, heh.
Jordan of Elienor, Human Shaman
No, not a man, he decides. A boy, rich by the look of him, far from home in a strange bar. A spoiled brat who decided that he'd try his hand at "adventuring".
"No need to buy for me, boy-o. I've got an...understandin' with the bartender. Iddn't 'at right, barkeep?"
Zurin's flashes a wicked smile to the bartender. His stark white teeth glisten beneath the dirt and grime.
Nature check to identify this man as a shaman 16
Pulling out a chair at the nearest empty table, Arumat hailed a serving girl over to take his order. The wide-eyed lass was more than happy to accept his order of seared mutton and a large pitcher of ice water. As his food arrived, Arumat decided this was as good a place as any to turn in for the night, and felt impelled to track down the innkeep after his meal to procure the night's lodging.
!Ready
Can we get the character sheets linked in the OP for everyone?
His shoulders slump ever so slightly.
I think we'll just keep RP going until Mundane's wizard joins the room.
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A peculiar smell then comes to Zurin's attention, to which he responds by giving two investigative sniffs. Both return with information backing up his original assumption; the boy absolutely reeked of nature spirits. Either he was regularly communing with them (unlikely, given his age and obvious inexperience), or they were moving things behind the scenes. Either way, the boy warranted further investigation.
"Say, w'as yer name, son?"
I think that a 31 Perception is more than enough to notice a bitter dwarf warden glaring at you from across the bar. That is, unless the DM says otherwise.
Jordan puts his hand out, then catching a whiff of the dwarf's odor, decides contact is probably not a sanitary choice.
"And you are?"
Jordan of Elienor, Human Shaman
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The dwarf chuckles to himself before draining another mug and letting out a hearty belch.
"Stuff's not exactly up to my standards. True drink should knock ya down after the first swing. Yer not sure what just happened, exactly, but once ya get back on yer feet, the only thing yer certain of is that ya want more. This?", he says, hefting an empty mug, "This ain't that. This is wash, and the only thing wash is good for is downing in large quantities and wishing ya were drinking something stronger."
Zurin shifts his frame towards Jordan, truly facing him for the first time. From the front, the pile of seemingly random furs and rags seems to make sense; it's armor, albeit armor culled from at least three separate animals. A shield is strapped to his back (underneath the strange cloak), and an axe of unknown make (but certainly not dwarven) hangs from an ornate belt with a large blue crystal as its buckle.
"So, what brings a spirit-talker like yerself to a nothing town like Meresten?"
Hmm, perhaps this dwarf is more than just a splash of local color... I may have underestimated him.
"Hmm... well, my skills have surpassed that of my family's instructor, Master Evan of Telleran if you've heard of him, no? Well, no matter, he had nothing more to teach me and so I left. The road led me here, so here I came. Though the road here was not nearly as well maintained as those about the manor..."
Jordan of Elienor, Human Shaman
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Zurin turns to face Moridan, who was sitting uncomfortably close to him at the bar.
"Can I...help you?"
Slowly, almost absentmindedly, the deva lifts a hand and makes a small gesture towards a flagon sitting near the edge of his table. The flagon quickly tips upward as if to fill the glass resting beside his tome, but no liquid emerges. The deva glances at the flagon once, then stands, smooths his robes, snatches the flagon from where it floats just above the table, and moves toward the bar. As he walks, those looking on might notice the intricately-worked leather armor beneath his robes, the chestpiece of which is illustrated with an elaborate depiction of the Platinum Dragon, Bahamut.
!Ready, though I too, am okay with some RP to kick things off.
Jordan, Moridan:
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I apologize in advance for not knowing much about the forum functions, but I should get the hang of it pretty quickly. Also, is this rolling format okay, or should I use IC? Seems easier for me to use Orokos since it's just two clicks.
"I believe I heard you say your name was Zurin, well mine happens to be Moridan."
Zurin turns to the bartender and shouts, "Barkeep, what part of MORE ALE do you not understand!?"
Veevee, I lol'd at "ten ales". Good show.
"Macel? Do we have any more..." Then her eyes come to the dragonborn, and the mess he is making at the table. She then quietly walks over to the barrel, pours herself a brew, and stands with it next to Macel, the bartender.
Macel quietly nods, and drinks from his flagon again.
As they comiserate in silence, the waitress suddenly looks out the window, as if noting for the first time what time of day it is. She turns to Macel. "Uh, Macel...it's past midday."
Macel is nonplussed. "So?"
"It's Sunday."
At this, Macel's practiced look of apathy and self-pity reaches new heights, bordering almost on fear. He downs the rest of his drink, and hurries for the door to the backroom. "I can't handle him today, I can't! You take over! Get me when he's gone! Oh, and the dwarf here has an understanding with me, he's on the house!"
The waitress looks at the four people seated at the bar. "Which dwarf?!", she yells to the back door.
You hear a scream through the door, "The smelly one!"
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"Sorry you had to see that," she begins. "He always gets a bit irritable 'round this part of the week, and this day in particular."
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Looking at the waitress Moridan signals he's empty and would like more drink "Is everything ok with the barkeep? I thought I saw him put something in the mug he was drinking, then you came out and he just rushed into the back as if his son were about to be killed.
The waitress looks at the dwarves. "No, he didn't put something into his drink...those were his tears. He...cries into his beer sometimes."
"The fact that it's Sunday doesn't help either. See, on Sunday, 'round this time of day, we get this customer in here, and he just drives Masel completely insane. He always goes on with his tales of wild adventure, which usually gets our patrons into a wandering mood, causing them to leave, and taking their business with them. He usually tries to be friendly with Masel about it, but that just makes it all the worse for him. It seems that his impending arrival, coupled with the amount of..."
She casts a quick glance to the dragonborn.
"...unusual patrons we've had lately have just been too much. We don't normally see much of the more exotic races 'round here."
She barely has time to finish her sentence before the doors to the Red Cap burst open, revealing a tall, well-built human, wearing tough, yet shiny leather armor, a head of gray and a grin from ear to ear.
"GOOD DAY, gentlefolk! And what a GLORIOUS day it is!"
The waitress hangs her head a little. "Like clockwork."
He strides up to the bar, barely dodging specks of mutton and gravy flying from the dragonborn's table, to head to the bar. "And how's my lovely Sennie today?"
The waitress responds with a smile so forced that is a wonder her jaw doesn't fall off from the strain. "Oh, just fine, Menco. Can't complain. And you?" His response begins with his grin getting even wider somehow. "The world has been treating me BEAUTIFULLY lately! So much good fortune, I can't HELP but be happy!"
Samael, Moridan:
Menco turns to the four beings at the bar. "And who might YOU folk be, strangers? I have not seen the likes of a deva or a dragonborn for QUITE some time! Do you travel together?"
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"Good day to you, kind sir. I am afraid I do not know these folks, but I was rather interested at your mention of seeing others of my kind. I was wondering if I might ask you some questions, if you have the time, patience and thirst for a free drink?" (Diplomacy d20+15=22)
She frowns. "About that..."
His grin turns slightly quizzical, but then returns just as strong. "AH! Time to refresh the well, is it? Of COURSE!" He then reaches into a slight pocket, throwing several shiny coins on the wooden surface.
"I'm afraid you have misunderstood my earlier statement, though, friend! You are the first dragonkin I have seen in a while, although I have heard their movements and travels are increasing. But if you have more questions, I am MORE than amenable! And the offer is extended to YOU good folk as WELL!" He gestures towards the other four patrons at the bar, who may or may not have been paying more attention to the stranger since the coins left his pocket.
I hope I haven't made the exclamation point over his head too obvious.
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"Menco, is it? I am Arumat, of family Patronis to the North. Just...just how long has it been since you've, ah..." he lets his voice trail off, not able to find the right words. "What I mean, is, when was it you last saw one of draconic descent?"
Turning back to Arumat: "Hmm...must have been a few months ago, I believe. It was only in passing, however; my assignment didn't give me the time to actually CONVERSE with him, as I'm doing with you right NOW!
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Turning towards the newcomer at the sounds of free ale, "What luck, I never turn down the offer of drink. But what makes a man as happy as you seem to be?"
(insight check 1d20+9=12)
Suddenly, his eyes light up, as if the very inspiration of Corellon himself had struck. "Say...you five, you may not have been companions before today, but I don't suppose you would mind working together for some coin, would you?"
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Arumat pushes in the chair at the table he no longer plans to occupy, and walks over to the hubbub. The foul stench of dead animal permeates his nostrils, and just as the wooziness in his head begins to subside, he sees the strange ever-shifting cloak on the man he assumes is the cause of the foul odor. Before he can vomit, he reaches into his belt pouch and produces a small herb and begins to chew it.
"I'm never opposed to coin," he says flatly.
"I would rest easier knowing what TROUBLES these people, and would pay you a modest sum to investigate Ft. Dolor. I will, of COURSE, give you fellows some time to converse about my offer, since I know you are newly introduced to each other. I EAGERLY await your answers!"
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Arumat shrugs and says, "Any place is as good as another, and it looks as if this is as good as group to adventure with as any."
He says to himself in Draconic, "Fate favors the bold."
Now, though, at the mention of the fort, he suddenly interjects into the conversation.
"Surely there must be more you're not telling us. What is it precisely that is troubling you about these townfolk?"
Samael makes a cursory glance at the ragtag group gathered near the bar, taking note of each of them, his gaze lingering perhaps a moment longer on the Dragonkin. He then looks back to Menco, resuming his eerie stillness, one hand still resting on his flagon.