"The Godless Crusade" - Solo Campaign IC

[Nebula]

After having lived a somewhat mundane life as a simple soldier (and having a lack of wars), Garrick starts getting bored of the ways things are around in his 20's. He decides to mess around a bit in the study of a wizard he didn't particularly like with some friends (as there were some petty wizards sent to accompany some stationed forces, and they were generally snobs) and they find out he has been getting into stuff he shouldn't have been getting into... particularly elder gods, or "the old ones". What was supposed to be an act of vandalism quickly turned into a report and capture of the wizard, all of his study was to be burned, but not all of it was.

The thing is with "the old ones" is that they have a real knack with distorting the minds of mortals, and all it took was Garrick looking at one of the pages and Garrick's boredom started twisting into something more. Garrick didn't know why he took some of the books, but he knew that he wanted what the wizard wanted: power. Surely enough when Garrick left the service of the army in his 30's he had succeeded in performing the rituals which would allow him to siphon power from an "old one" whilst keeping a day job as a tavern bouncer. He certainly wasn't the best warlock, but he hadn't exactly been the best soldier either, but he started getting the power he searched for... so mission accomplished? No? No.

With Garrick, he quickly realised that having power was all nice and dandy, but what's the point if you are going to die? At least, that's what the whispers said. He tended not to listen to them, he knew it was the old one's power influencing his mind, trying to coax into madness. He had done well to train his mind to handle the power he had, to ignore whatever the whispers might try to say, but he had agreed with them on the fact that he did not want to die. He was skeptical about the gods, they didn't know what was best for him, and he *knew* that they didn't even care, not that the whispers had ever done something good for him either. In fact Garrick could make a list of the different times the whispers foolishly tried to tell him to indirectly kill himself in one way or another; to switch out a particular rune in a ritual, to walk through a road Garrick knew was probably an ambush. But the thing is, once Garrick started to agree with the whispers, admit he didn't want to die, they started telling him a way he could do it...

"By the infernos I swear you've been getting louder by the day!"

"What? Why did you say 'Divine Essence' out of the blue?... 'the tear of a fallen god'?"

"No, wait... I've read about this. When a god dies they drop a cluster of divine power, a divine spark... and if someone were to harness it correctly..."

"I swear you are trying to fool me into death again! There is no way I could kill a god, let alone see one face to face. But you did say you have a plan... so make my day, what is it?"

"Oh, I see, everything is already in motion. I just have to be there by then don't I? Then I can claim it for myself and live forever. You almost had me, again you try to fool me into my death when I have a life ahead of me... what?"

Garrick looked down. Garrick looked at his arms, and then into a mirror. He wasn't the 33 year ex-soldier who was living a double life as a warlock and cheap sword for hire, he was now a 45 year-old man who had just wasted 12 years of his life, continuing the same conversation, completely unaware of the years slipping by. The whispers wanted to make a point, so they brought him 12 years closer to his death. Garrick decided in his wisdom that he stop talking back to the whispers and just do what he needed to do. He'd kill a god, somehow, and he would get that divine spark.

And then once he had it he was going to punch whatever entity was whispering in his mind for 25 years.

[Urzamax]

*Plink*
Rain
*Plink*
Rooftop
*Plink*
Road
*Plink*
River
*Plink*
Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. . . .
*Plink*
So which will it be, Garrick?
*Plink*
One raindrop. Or a storm?
*Blink*

The rain taps against the roof like Stricte's finger beating time. A slow, steady beat--A miserable, piddling, misting drizzle of a rain shower. No one wants to be out in something like this. But being in might be even worse.

The roof is cheap shingle. The room it shelters is small, cramped and dirty. An attic, in truth. It reeks of mildew, sweat, and despair. The previous occupant's stench. Maybe. Hopefully.

Movement, coming up the stairs. A rustle of fabric, a muffled knock. "Dead yet, fuimer?" A voice inquires, its lazy drawl dripping contempt. It snorts, then sniffles. The door opens, just a crack. A fleshy hand pokes through it, attached to a fat arm and an even more corpulent man. "I ain't getting any younger, fuimer. You know the deal. Though how you still got any money left is beyond me."

Spoiler

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@Nebula: Say, do you know about spoiler tags yet? To make them, you just need to go [spoiler ][/ spoiler] (without spaces).

[Nebula]

Garrick kept on staring at himself in that grimy mirror on the wall for a few seconds. He had just finished arguing with the whispers in his head, talked about committing the highest levels of heresy, and had now found himself looking like an older geezer. Oh yeah, and now some complete stranger who looked like Pigritia's number one fan was now demanding money from him... and called him a fuimer.

He raised his hand and raked it through his overgrown swathes of formerly black hairs, now turning grey by his ears and obscuring parts of his hazel eyes. He stared at his mouth, and the strands of patchy facial hair surrounding it. As for his skin; he certainly didn't look as youthful as he last remembered. What the hell had happened?

Garricks turns around slowly to the stranger, peering at him with suspicious eyes and general distaste. His voice as rough as sandpaper, and his manner reflecting his impatience and generally grouchy nature.

"Who..."

Garrick pauses

"...the hell are you supposed to be?! Who do you think you're calling a Fuimer, eh?!" You're calling me crazy, but yet you're the one knocking on my door and asking for a handout!'

Garrick takes a deep breath. Seriously, what the hell was going on?

"The only one who gets to take my money here is Pat. So unless he sent you, scram!"'

Riled up, Garrick waits anxiously for an answer from the man, or for him to leave.

Spoiler: OOC

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Yes I do, but thanks for reminding me :)
Right now Garrick hasn't put two and two together and realized that he's now twelve years older. He does know that he's been told to go somewhere, but I'm thinking he doesn't know the place or direction... yet.

Almost forgot: this would count as intimidation, right? I'm going to go ahead and roll in case it is needed:
[roll]1d20+6[/roll]
That should have worked, shouldn't it? I'll just link in a roll from the rolling thread: http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showt...8#post21299208

[Urzamax]

The fat man practically leaps out of his skin, reeling backwards with his eyes wide and his mouth gaping open to display his rotten teeth. "Ignavia's bright red balls!" He exclaims. "When did you start speakin'?!"
He holds his hands above his head to show he's unarmed and not dangerous, like the way you'd treat a feral dog, and stammers "I don't know who you're talkin' about, fuimer! You just showed up here a year 'go with a contract writ up for staying in my attic room. Hey, don't hurt me, huh? I don't mean you no harm. Here, here, I'll go get the contract, seein' as you don't seem to remember. Just, stay right there 'till I come back, aright?" He bustles back down the stairs at what seems to be the closest approximation to a run that he can manage.

[Nebula]

What. The. Hell. Was. Going. ON!?

While the over-sized "landlord" went to either procure a legitimate contract or merely to take Garrick's advice to beat it, the warlock quickly went back to the mirror. After feeling the skin of his arms, and noting a bit of back pain, Garrick quickly came to realize that this was no illusion; his body had aged. The question was, by how much? It couldn't have been a mere couple of years, but going off a rough guess he assumed his body had aged to around eight to fifteen years... which means he was out of it doing who knows what for all that time.

If his patron had really caused him to be like this, then he wasn't going to take any chances. Garrick would do what it wanted for now... but first he'd have to deal with this stranger.

Stepping away from the mirror slowly, Garrick scouts the room for his belongings... only to find his bare essentials. Among these he particularly notes his old army gear, ten gold pieces, a few daggers and of course the focus for his eldritch power; the obsidian orb. He leaves everything else around the room aside from a dagger and the orb, both of which he stores under the nearby bedding... within reach should he need them.

Garrick waits for a bit, mumbling to himself;


"I suppose it's not worth murdering the fool, not unless he tries to stop me leavin' anyways... gotta see if I can pay him off, if not..."

He looks back to the two bulges under the crude bedding,


"...well I'd just have to choose how to kill him.'

Spoiler: OOC

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Garrick is really tempted to kill him, but he doesn't know where he is yet; or who might be around. His general plan: if he has to, he'll go for the dagger and then hopefully kill him before he can alert anyone. If he does manage to, but he stays in the room (of which he'll try to block the door), Garrick's thinking he could probably bluff by changing hi face to match the landlord's face.

[Urzamax]

The fat man hurdles down the stairs at a remarkable pace given his bulk. You can hear the wood creaking and complaining, until he seemingly stops moving in the room directly below you. There's one last creak as the flooring settles, then all you can hear is the rain.
Is he sorting through his papers, desperately trying to find the contract you supposedly signed? Or...?

[Nebula]

Damn, was the man still there? If he was, was he reaching for a dagger? If he wasn't, what was he going to do?

WHAT THE HELL WAS GOING ON!?

Garrick decided his former plan was rubbish; he'd obviously need to pack up his belongings and run while he still had the chance... but was the man still there? Think, calm down. If the man was still there, he could apologize, he could give him what money he had, or maybe promise to pay him back later...

Was he still there?

Garrick tries to slowly open the door, attempting to avoid making a sound, and attempts to sneak down and see if the man was still there.

Spoiler: OOC

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perception - (1d20)[8]stealth - (1d20+3)[8]

[Urzamax]

Your erstwhile landlord hasn't been living much better than you apparently have for the past year. Assuming, of course, that he actually lives here--not likely.
The banister by the stairwell is cracked and splintered for much of its length, and the steps are in a similar state of disrepair. The entire staircase is covered in swirling motes of dust, and quite a bit of mildew. There seems to be a torch lit at the bottom of the landing, and not much else for illumination. From what little you can see, you are currently standing at the top of the stairs, and with nowhere to go but down. There are no rooms nearby other than the one you just exited, or at least none you can spot with the present amount of light.
You still hear nothing but the rain.

[Nebula]

Well would you look at that; quality accommodation. Garrick couldn't seem to see or hear the other man yet, however he noted the lack of light. This was good, Garrick could use the shadows to hide him with his powers, and see the man...

He'd better not be trying something.

Spoiler: OOC

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Perception(1d20)[12]
Stealth(1d20+3)[6]

[Urzamax]

Once you step into the pool of light and your eyes have finished adjusting, you can see that the front door hangs from its hinges, letting in the rain and warping the wooden floor. And, well, what you thought to be a torch is not actually a torch. Rather, it is a single candle, its light focused through the empty eyeholes of a large, and clearly human, skull. It hangs from a string in the center of the room, bobbing ever so slightly in the wind, and always just beyond your reach.

[Nebula]

Garrick froze. This wasn't the first time he'd seen a corpse, or at least a bony part of it. But what was a human skull, being used to hold a candle no less, doing inside the house?

And then he looked at the door.

The man was gone.

The man was gone, but where?

Garrick didn't want to stay around to find out. He turned on his heels and started to run up the stairs in a panicked frenzy. He was going to put on his armor and everything he could carry on him, and then he was going to get as far away from this place.

[Urzamax]

*Plink*
The rain continues to beat its staccato tattoo, louder and louder the higher you go.
*Plink*
The stairs warp beneath your weight, straining to carry you and catching against your feet, but they hold as you rush upwards.
*Plink*
Hmm. You didn't see that before.
*Plink*

[Nebula]

Garrick stopped, dead still. What did he see? What. Did. He. See?

He casts a glance backwards...

Spoiler: OOC

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Perception(1d20)[1]

Perhaps we should enter live mode?

[Urzamax]

There is nothing behind you but the shadowed stairs. It is what is before you that you missed the first time around. Yet now that you see it from this vantage, it is all so terribly clear. The smell in your room. The skull downstairs.
The fat man sits against the wall.
His head is gone.

Spoiler: OOC

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Sure, I'll fab up a Doc.

[Nebula]

“Aw hell...”

How… when? One of two things had happened: Either Garrick’s sense of time and self-control was still being warped by his patron, or he was talking to a dead man. Garrick didn’t like either of those possibilities. He had to get to his gear. He ran with more desperation, like his life depended on it. It DID depend on it.

---

The room is just as you left it, for better or worse. Your gear is sitting tucked under the bed...except for the obsidian orb. It stands atop the sheets, glowing with blood-red sigils that seem almost to swim across its surface.

---

Garrick didn’t think he could lose anymore sense of control over his life, but he was proven wrong. That orb, that was supposed to be a mere arcane focus, a conduit, a one-way link to siphon power from his patron. Not only had his patron noticed he was borrowing its power, but now he was doing something to it. Why?

And why did it move? Garrick snatches up the orb and puts it dead in his sights. He puts on his old army attire piece by piece as he stares into the swirling crimson of the orb, not letting his eyes wander far from it for a minute, only moving it when he had to pack more of his belongings.

---

Spoiler: OOC

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investigation check on orb (15+1) 16

The orb simply sits there, a solid, seemingly unadorned black sphere. The sigils disappeared only moments after you spotted them, fading into its surface as if they had never been. But now that you know what to look for, and peering deep into its depths, you think you can just barely make out their outlines...then something moves in your peripheral vision.

---
If Garrick didn’t know any better, he’d say that he’d must of ticked off the wrong gods today with all these surprises. The sad part was that even if that were true, what he was told to do would get him eternally damned. Not that he respected gods, but he’d be damned if he didn’t fear them. Garrick felt that he had enough of these surprises.

Having just packed his playing cards, Garrick reached for his shield and orb.

Hurrying to strap the buckler onto his arm, Garrick hold out the orb and screams out his foul incantation…

“Retorto ad me, neque ferro!”

Spoiler: OOC

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(twisting nether, bring me steel!)

He fixes on the image of a grim morningstar in his free right hand…

And then he swings it at whatever the hell just moved.

---

Spoiler: OOC

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Hit check (16 +2 STR +3 proficiency) = 21, damage on hit 1 +2 STR = 3 bludgeoning piercing damage

And his swing passes through something no more substantial than a shadow...which screams in rage and agony, and lashes out, scraping its claws futilely along Garrick’s armor. Then it moves away more quickly than anything you’ve ever seen before, passing straight through the attic wall.

---

Now Garrick wishes that what he saw was a hallucination, but he heard the all-too-real scream, which sent cold sweat dripping down his backbone. He tries to think back to anything on what this... thing is.

---

Spoiler: OOC

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1d3, 1 for childhood stories, 2 for arcana knowledge, 3 for religious knowledge. Result: 3
Religion Check: [roll]1d20+1[/roll]
for some reason the dice roller didn't work, so I just used the site you recommended. The result was 19+1, so 20.

[Urzamax]

Thinking back to what you remember from your education and the sermons of your battalion's assigned priest, you realize that the creature you saw must have been a shade. No one is quite sure what they are, but they are widely believed to be souls of the dead, and are employed as servants and heralds by many of the gods, Tempters and Virtuous alike. For example, Honoure is known to test his followers with them, and Ignavia is likewise known to use them to strike fear in mortal hearts. They are very rare, generally appearing only to those mortals who are either favored by a god--or who are hated and ill-destined. Given the actions and demeanor of this one, it seems dangerously likely that it was one of the latter kind (though it may instead have acted as it did because you swung your morningstar at it). Regardless of its purpose, it is exceptionally difficult to kill what is already dead. It is certain to return, perhaps soon.
***
And while you stand musing, a loud *clack* echoes from downstairs.

[Nebula]

Well with the man dead, or having be already dead for some time, this meant Garrick didn't have to worry about paying the rent he supposedly owed.

Instead he had to worry about a shade. Great.

He had to get out of this house as soon as he could, with all his gear packed and the imminent threat of death he had no reason to linger any longer. With that decision made up in his mind, the warlock proceeds to make his way through the attic door and onto the stairway. He attempts to sneak down the stairs whilst keeping on eye out for whatever made the noise downstairs.

Spoiler: OOC

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I think this would be an investigation as he is concentrating his efforts on looking downstairs, although it might be a perception thing if you think looking downstairs is more general. Either way it is only +1... so let's see how this works out:

Hopefully the rolling on this thread works this time.

(1d20+1)[19]