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There are not too many adventurers that reach double digits in levels, in fact, many adventurers dont get beyond 4th or 5th. They either meet a very untimely end, or having gotten wealthier than most folks will ever dream of, they buy a safe business and hang up the sword and armour. Making a living killing monsters is far too risky. But of course, for some, thats the whole challenge.
But around 10th level is a difficult time. You are no longer impressed with a +1 magic sword or a +2 cloak, but the exponential rate at which magic items increase in value is not matched by the rewards of knocking off beasties. And you do love your shiny toys. (not to mention needing them)
So in keeping up with the Joneses, sometimes funds get a little tight. As a man in another world once said, sometimes you do art, and sometimes you just pay the bills. And thats where you find yourself now.
Of course, working for a company like Amazon Enterprises (the third largest corporation in Daystor) is no small thing. At least you know they are going to pay their guards, unlike some shysters who disappear the moment you get into town, and you never see a copper of what you were promised. And working for Amazon is far more prestigious than working for Honest Abe's Rugs. So you took this job, guarding a caravan moving west to Vardune, the headquarters of Amazon Enterprises. Loaded with all sorts of trade goods, it would be an enticing target for any would be bandits, not to mention monsters who might like the finer things in life. Joining you in this gaurd mission are 7 other travelers, as far as you can see:
Spoiler
Please give a description of your PC, and include a few things that people would have seen over 3-4 days of travel. As well, you were attacked once, by a band of orcs.
__________________
Those that bite the hand that feeds them quite often lick the boots that kick them.
Twitter: It's a small weapon, aimed indiscriminately at a viewership/readership that has mastered the art of over-reactive hyperventilation at the speed of light. - Ray Ratto
Daciana is a downright gorgeous woman, standing out even among most other amazons, an entirely female people famed for their beauty (among other things), the senses drawn by many things. Her beautiful voice that can be so soothing, tempting, awe-inspiring, whatever she wants to express. Her deep, purple eyes with that certain sparkle like starlight, framed by her black hair like strands of shadow, making people want to lose themselves within them and conveying her fey heritage. Her sensual curves that move with such enticing grace in her dances and with every step. Even without her voice drawing others, many feel drawn to Daciana, her presence carrying something welcoming, understanding instead that feeling of being unapproachable that other beautiful women convey, whether deliberately or not. Though her cloak and dancer's veil remain constants about her appearance, Daciana has changed her magical garments to look a little different everyday (usually in the form of dresses and dancers' outfits), always appropiate for the weather and surroundings, always underlining her beauty.
Although no one complained about having her along, many still questioned her worth as a guard, if never directly (which didn't prevent Daciana from noticing). Morale has noticably increased, Daciana providing entertainment in the form of dance, song and stories when the caravan stops for a while, quickly sorting out differences between members of the caravan to most people's satisfaction and, frankly, simply being nice to look at (which has led to some advances towards her, especially with her open devotion to Tishtina Bindar, like with many other amazons). Hushed doubts about her competence as a guard, however, were silenced after the attack by the orcs, a good number of the weak-willed creatures simply surrendering after only a few words spoken by Daciana, even trying to prevent the other orcs from doing more harm.
In the aftermath, the self-proclaimed witch provided healing as well as comforting words and massages to the weary and wounded, working closely with her current colleagues and also helping with coordinating their efforts, almost tireless in her duties.
Now, she is simply along with the caravan, her steps light and graceful as ever, her soft voice humming a carefree song from her homeland.
Anaella is hard to miss among the guards, riding atop her massive bear. She is pale and fair, almost childlike, but in thevenings when she removes the heavy hide armour that she wears, all have seen the scars that mark her arms, her skin withered.
Anaella has proved herself quite and reserved, but during their battle with the orcs she unleashed her wrath: Fire bloomed from the ground and a storm appeared to unleash lightning from the skies. Her steed tore apart any of the orcs who got too close, and Anaella even struck some of the those intrepid creatures down with her lance and sword.
Now she rides ahead of the main caravan, observing the landscape, watchful for any approaching threats.
Spoiler
Spot (1d20+16)[22]
Listen (1d20+16)[27]
Inwardly she wondered at her current position. True she had fallen far, and was no longer the gallant knight she had once thought herself to be in service to her goddess Klintina, but now was she some sellsword? It seemed the only way to make her way, but she desired to use her powers to serve her people and her mistress, not some corporation. It seemed such a waste...
__________________ Apologies for any slow posting. Finals and all that...
Mamoud is not a particularly attractive man, made all the more punctuated by his outlandish dress and appearance. He has dark hair and a very full beard along with somewhat haughty facial features.
Over the course of the trek he would always be paying more attention to the endless notes he was jotting down on the parchments he carried than on actually guarding the caravan.
When not on duty he is endlessly bombarding the other travelling with the caravan with questions about themselves, their races, their abilities, and (quite embarrassingly) more personal and physiological inquiries.
"How is it you as an elf make reproduction? And how long is your gestations?"
"Do all peoples of your race have this green skin?"
"In the northlands, do you use the paper or do you have a slave rinse?"
His familiar, if it is possible, seems even more grating than him. The dust mephit seems the thrive on the trail dust your travels kick up. He has no tact and not filters when it comes to personal observations. How he has survived this long is a great mystery.
When the orcs attacked, Mamoud at first tried to parlay with them. A nasty spear thrust in his arm convinced the wizard to take a more pragmatic approach.
His worth suddenly became apparent as El Fayat took to the air and blasted several of the savage humanoids with his arcane powers. The mephit did his part as well.
After graciously accepting healing, he immediately began sketching a dead orc's entrails...
Something about Glendail makes her appear celestial, whether it is her gold hair or her fair skin, you cannot tell. She wears clothing that reflects her heritage, well dyed earth tones that seem to accentuate her toned body. Atop her head is a deep purple hat with an eagle pin. When making conversation, which she redily does, Glendail plays with her hat, spinning it in her hands. She walks or jogs beside the caravan, no weapon obvious on her person. She always seems to be in a good mood, smiling when she addresses people. Glendail loves to talk and is willing to speak with anyone. She has a wide variety of knowledge and has no qualms talking about anything.
When combat starts, she pulls her bow from her quiver which never seems to lose its arrows. She walks up into the air where she can rain arrows from above. When she draws her bow, energy seems to come from the tips of her fingertips and channel into the arrow which glows when fired.
__________________ Don't have a working computer right now, posting will be interesting.
Virgil looks like the typical adventurer. Long brown hair that’s somehow straight and untangled despite never taking care of it. With his beard neatly trimmed, it provides a nice frame to his overall looks. The arsenal of weapons he carries, from greatsword to mace to crossbow, says to others that he’s a simple warrior. The dark yet gleaming armor convinces others of his warrior spirit. However, anyone who observes the holy symbol knows at the very least who he worships. Even though he is a cleric of Klintina, his eyes seem to belie his more violent side. In fact, when not in combat he is a more gentle, more kind soul. He was not without a sense of humor, though more in hearing it than telling it. He was even forced to stifle a snicker when Mamoud asked what one might consider inappropriate questions.
When he began guarding the caravan, he did wonder about some of his compatriots at the time. However, those thoughts immediately left his mind as he remembered all he had seen by the time he reached this level. He remembered that many times, nothing is as it seems. He knew that if the Amazon Enterprises were assigning these characters to the task, they must be quite capable, even if the party seemed a bit eclectic. Any doubt that was not removed when they began was removed well before the orcs attacked. He hoped any doubts about him, whatever they might be, would have been removed. He joined in any discussions around the campfire, and enjoyed getting different perspectives. He knew the world was dynamic, and even though he would do his best to uphold Klintina’s ideals, he understood the importance of hearing different ideas.
After the Orcs attacked, he knew he had proven himself in battle, despite holding back a little. He ran the orcs through rather easily with his greatsword. At the end, of the battle, his sword was clearly bloody. The adrenaline surge he felt subsided as he observed the bodies on the field. He was disheartened that the orcs attacked them, which only served to provoke him and the other guardians. He also wondered if it was too easy, but that question soon faded away as he noticed others in need of aid. He worked in concert with others to heal those that needed it, but left the bedside manner to Daciana.
In the rearmost wagon, the small frame of Eurus lied on the wooden floor, sprawled out like he was on his own personal bed, looking comfortable like he the hard, cracked up wood was made from the finest silken mattress. His weapons, his bow, sword, trusty glaive, backpack and chain shirt were piled up haphazardly beside him. Eyes closed, his black mane of a hair spread out over his face, his bare, tanned chest rising and falling in slow, rhythmic repetition.
Obviously, he was asleep.
The past few days had been quite problematic for the head of the Amazon Enterprise employees riding with the caravan. They had hired a group of men and women as their guards for the trip, a trip that had been proved many times before as one big magnet for trouble (upon looking at the goods they carried with them, the barbarian fully understood why). And yet, here was this small, frail-looking boy lugging around oversized toys, who was supposed to be protecting their collective behinds.
To be fair, Eurus was of average height among humans, but beside the tall lumbering figures of the rest in the group with him, he did look small. In fact, aside from the elves, he was the smallest of the group, not to mention that...whatever that was that called himself a paladin, or templar, or something. That one was simply gigantic.
They weren't exactly sure how this particular young man had come to be under their employ as a guard, but they were wise enough not to question the higher ups. Perhaps the boy did hide something in him to deserve the position, and they could have let it go at that. But the problem really didn't lie there.
No. It was his insufferable penchant for doing whatever he damn well liked to do anytime he wanted. Eating meals out of schedule, lagging well behind the caravan or heading far ahead, taking some of the food or wine meant for trade that he fancied to eat or drink, or just like what he was doing now, sneaking into one of the wagons for a midday doze.
But that all changed when the inevitable did come and a band of orcs attacked the caravan. Luckily Eurus was not asleep that time, and so he lept right at the charging greenskins, and with his glaive, tore through their ranks with strength and grace the likes the Amazon Enterprise employees have rarely seen during their many days of travel. And in that small frame of his, Eurus made it look much more impressive than it already was.
Now, as the caravan head passed by and noticed Eurus sleeping again, he did not mind so much anymore and just shook his head in disbelief. But the fact that the young man did not bother to keep his snoring in check surely did annoy him so.
Of course, the other reason that a group of adventurers was recruited to guard this caravan was the presence of the prisoner. No one knew what the prisoner's name was, he was not from the area. He had wandered into the town several days ago, raving about attacks from ettins, gorgons and a creature later identified by the local sage as a chuul, from the description he gave. The man was quite distraught and would talk of nothing else, and when people stop taking him seriously, he became violent, eventually 2 people were killed and several more injured when he went on a rampage.
Having no means to cure the man, and also wanting him punished for his crimes, the local authorities decided to ship him to Varstok, where the priests of the temples could hopefully cure him, and also hold him in their jails for whatever sentences would be deemed appropriate.
For the first 4 days of the travel, the prisoner had been non-communicative, taking his food and water when it was given, and just wandering around aimlessly when he was let out for exercise. Not even Daciana, reknowned for her ability to get people to talk to her, had been able to get a response from him. That changed on the fifth day. Late in the afternoon, as the caravan was moving past the old McCracken manor, the prisoner started staring at the old manor house, watching it intently, even as the caravan moved past. When the caravan master called a halt for the day, the McCracken manor could still be seen in the distance, and when let out for his daily exercise, all the prisoner could do was to stare in the distance at it.
The watch was set for the night, with the party being extra vigilent because of the prisoner's strange behaviour, but alas, the extra measures were not enough. The group that had the last watch (we'll blame the paladin and the rogue, because they still havent checked in) were ambushed in the night. Before they could raise an alarm (or even see what was attacking them), they were taken out by hold spells, knocked out and tied up. When the rest of the party woke up the next morning, they found the two guards tied and gagged, while the prisoner was gone from his wagon. The caravan master, who is responsible for the prisoner, wants answers.
__________________
Those that bite the hand that feeds them quite often lick the boots that kick them.
Twitter: It's a small weapon, aimed indiscriminately at a viewership/readership that has mastered the art of over-reactive hyperventilation at the speed of light. - Ray Ratto
After helping the two bound men and checking for injuries, Daciana turns to the caravan master. "It seems that the prisoner harbored much more power and the accompanying patience than we thought. Not getting through to him should have been a warning sign for me. My sincerest appologies, sir." The amazon bows deeply. True, she isn't big on hierarchies, but she did agree to the job and the ball is in their part of the court right now. They are the ones capable of getting the prisoner back, they are the ones who can ensure as little damage caused as possible.
"However," she continues, putting on a winning smile. "it is easy to tell where he went. My colleagues were surprised and subdued by the prisoner, true, but the same would have happened with regular guards, with the difference that the latter most likely wouldn't be able to bring him back in an expedient manner. Though a delay will most likely be less harmful to your business than a missing prisoner, I am sure we can come to an agreement after me and my colleagues return from McCracken manor with the man. That is, if we have your permission to go, sir." Daciana's silken voice carries the definite sound of confidence as she calmly makes her case, gently taking the man's mind off the immediate outrage and towards what needs to be done right now.
Spoiler
Diplomacy to smooth things over with the caravan master (1d20+29)[32]
The caravan master looks around the area, trying to see if he can determine any more immediate threats. The party isnt the only gaurds the caravan has, but they are the most important. Finally he comes to a decision.
Your group go and get him back. I'll arrange the caravan into a defensive formation, with the less important wagons to the outside. Hopefully this wont take long and we wont run into any trouble we cant handle.
The man walks off, getting things organized and getting the lesser guards into positions to defend the wagons loaded with trade goods.
__________________
Those that bite the hand that feeds them quite often lick the boots that kick them.
Twitter: It's a small weapon, aimed indiscriminately at a viewership/readership that has mastered the art of over-reactive hyperventilation at the speed of light. - Ray Ratto
Daciana gives the caravan master another beautiful smile and a nod, then turns to the others. "Well then, I think those who have seen the man's reaction to the manor would agree he most likely went there, but anyone with the ability to read tracks confirming that assumption would also be appreciated. Any quick preparations before we go?" The amazon's entire being seems serene, simply focusing on the task at hand.
Virgil was somewhat annoyed, now having to go after an escaped prisoner. It seemed easily preventable. Despite the irksome task though, he understood they had to go after him. Even if the prisoner was mad, he had killed two people in a fit of rage. Virgil knew he was dangerous enough by that alone. He didn't hesitate to take up arms to bring the prisoner back, if only to make sure others wouldn't suffer the stranger's wrath.
"I'm afraid I'm not much of a tracker. I'm in agreement with the manor house. As for preparations, I'm all set. If everyone else is too, we might as well get moving. Time is of the essence."
Last edited by kladams707 : 04-18-2013 at 08:14 AM.
Mamoud only half-listened to the whole exchange, studying his spell selection for the day as he was.
I wonder if the one riding the bear would consider a spell exchange, he wondered idly.
He looked at the sky to determine the time and then cast Overland Flight upon himself.
"The abandoned manor seems to be the likeliest of locations for the villain," he says, rising a foot above the ground.
Spoiler
Knowledge History and Knowledge Nobility to see if there is any more info Mamoud can dredge up about the manor. He isn't from these parts, but he reads everything he can find and will intently listen to any rumour he can get his ear on.
History [roll]1d20+11[/roll]
Nobility [roll]1d20+11[/roll]
"For all that size, you'd figure you'd get the job done," Eurus said as he looked at the Killoren before laughing.
"No matter, no matter. Don't take it too hard. For the rest of us to not have noticed what was going on, we take blame equally," he added as he patted the Kiloren's back (he would have gone for his shoulder if it didn't take so much effort to do so).
"Personally, I doubt they'd be there, after all that staring yesterday. Too obvious. Unless they're that confident. Or that stupid." The dancer checked his gear as he talked, and after seeing everything was in order, he put the base of his right palm on his chin and pushed sideways, cracking his neck bones.
"But. I am hoping they'd be there. That, and they're not stupid." Eurus smiled as he started for the direction of the manor. He didn't particularly liked getting one upped by anyone, much less by a lunatic prisoner and his lackeys, and he'd like to pay them back. And he hoped to have some fun doing so.
"The two who failed, they should remain here." Anaella arbitrated. "We cannot afford weakness or mistakes. Why were his abilities not known? He had killed two men before; did no one check if that was done with magic?" Anaella's anger is cold and vicious, but she doesn't stir from her seat upon her bear.
"I might have a chance at following the tracks, but I am not a hunter."
Spoiler
Survival check to track (1d20+8)[12] - can only work if the DC is 10 or lower
__________________ Apologies for any slow posting. Finals and all that...
"They should get their chance to make up for their mistake. I would feel better if some of us stayed to guard the caravan." Daciana glances to Holland and Frey. "Come or stay, your choice." With that, the amazon starts walking towards the manor or wherever the tracks lead. "Let us find a madman."
The tracking skills of the group are neither non-existant or not the best in the world, but fortunately, they dont have to be. The tracks made are pretty plain, and tell two things.
First of all, they seem to lead straight to the manor, with no attempt to hide them. Secondly, there are (as far as can be seen) only one set of tracks, and they indicate that the person who made them was being dragged while he was still on his feet. Whoever dragged him was either floating just above the ground or somehow had the ability to hide his tracks.
It takes about an hour to get to the manor, the tracks not varying in their appearance. They lead up to what once might have been a door, although now it is not much more than a hole in the stone wall. The exterior of the walls doesnt show much signs of damage, however thats to be expected as the fires were inside and any exterior smoke marks would have long since been washed away by the rain and years. From the outside, you cannot see much inside the "door".
__________________
Those that bite the hand that feeds them quite often lick the boots that kick them.
Twitter: It's a small weapon, aimed indiscriminately at a viewership/readership that has mastered the art of over-reactive hyperventilation at the speed of light. - Ray Ratto
Whoever it was that took their prisoner, it seemed like he or she was capable enough to have done the whole thing undetected. To have overpowered two of their companions, who certainly were no slouches, as he saw in the prior engagement with the greenskins, without making too much commotion to wake them up. And to be able to cover his or her (or its) tracks but purposely leave that of the prisoner's. It almost felt to the young dancer as if they were being led here. And he knew what that meant.
Without saying a word, he entered the threshold with a smile on his face.
Having no illusions of being a great warrior or good scout, Daciana follows closely behind those more talented at those disciplines. "Let me try to talk to him, perhaps I can convince him or bring him to come with us. And watch out for ambushes."
Glendail had followed the group a little further behind than was necessary as she did not want the to be surprised by the madman or captor. She walked on the air as before until they were close to the house, at which point she lowered herself into the group and pulled her bow. "Alright, now for light sources, what does everyone have?" She pulled a torch from her quiver, one that was already lit. "I would hate for him to have the advantage because we cannot see him."
__________________ Don't have a working computer right now, posting will be interesting.
"Light." With that simple word, Daciana's cloak begins to emit soft light. Briefly pulling a staff from her sling bag, she adds "And a little protection." Channelled through the staff, her voice lays a mage armor around her, followed by the staff going back into the bag.
Spoiler
Daciana uses a Light cantrip. Then she uses her Runestaff to cast Mage Armor at caster level 9, bringing her AC up to 24.
Last edited by Ridai : 04-18-2013 at 01:20 PM.
Reason: Forgot the mage armor
"I am well-accoutred in the light providing question," the simpleminded wizard replies.
He reaches into one of his voluminous bags and produces an everburning torch and a rather unusual-looking lamp.
"Which would you prefer, my elven friend? Though I thought your people were capable of seeing in the darkness."
He fumbles through some papers he also has in the bag of holding.
"Yes, starlight sight or "low-light vision" as the northerners call it. Are you possible a racial variant without the ability? Or perhaps you suffer a degenerative disorder which robs you of this ability?"
"If he gives us the chance," Virgil said in hushed reply to Daciana. At first he thought the prisoner had escaped all his own. However, the track marks may have indicated something else afoot. Perhaps the prisoner was not so willing an escapee as he thought. Not wanting to appear imposing, he chose to illuminate his armor with the spell, rather than his sword.
Spoiler
casting Light orison on armor
Last edited by kladams707 : 04-18-2013 at 01:24 PM.
The insides of the ruin are not pitch black, seeing as most of the roof has been burned away. Its not as light as day, but with the sources the party has, there is enough to see by.
What the group sees is what someone would expect with a house that was burned out from the inside and then left exposed to the elements for several years. Any sort of furniture has been turned to blackened piles of rubble, with any fabric that was on them long since rotted away. Dust and dirt are everywhere, and field mice scamper from the groups passage. The walls are not really standing anymore between the various areas, but the party could go left, right or straight ahead. The tracks seem to lead to the right.
__________________
Those that bite the hand that feeds them quite often lick the boots that kick them.
Twitter: It's a small weapon, aimed indiscriminately at a viewership/readership that has mastered the art of over-reactive hyperventilation at the speed of light. - Ray Ratto
Preferring not to speak more than necessary in this situation, Daciana simply indicates the right for the group's path. There might be an ambush waiting for them, but the manor building is big and finding alternate paths could end up much too time-consuming.
"My dear wizard, of course i can see better than a human with less light, but that does not mean I intend to go into a situation without preparation, just because I have enough light to see clearly now doesn't mean we won't enter a room or go below the building at some point and end with less light." Glensail smiles at Mamoud and walks with the group.
__________________ Don't have a working computer right now, posting will be interesting.
Virgil followed the path Daciana lead them down. Though he agreed that they should maintain silence, he wondered if it was all for naught as his armor clanked with every step he took. He observed his surroundings as best he could as the group progressed through the manor.
Seeing the unmistakeable trail that they had followed into the manor continuing on to the right, Eurus slowly padded forward to that direction. He ignored the idle banter from the others as he needed his full focus should there be an actual trap waiting for them.
The party heads to the right and enters into a room that clearly was once the kitchen for the manor. Of course, any food that would have been still left in the room has long since either rotted away or been eaten by the wild life, so there is none of that. A giant stone hearth dominates one wall, easily big enough to have had two or three pots cooking simaltaneously, but the only pots left in the room are rusted beyond use, and not even ashes remain in the burning part of the oven. The rest of the contents of the room are in too bad a shape to make a guess as to what they once were, although being a kitchen, its not entirely unobvious.
Of more interesting note is a trap door in the floor, that likely leads down to a pantry of some kind. The tracks lead to it, and it appears from them as there was a bit of a struggle around it. Whoever was being dragged clearly didnt want to go down there, but he lost the fight. The trap door is once again closed, but there is a rope handle on it that can be used to open it.
__________________
Those that bite the hand that feeds them quite often lick the boots that kick them.
Twitter: It's a small weapon, aimed indiscriminately at a viewership/readership that has mastered the art of over-reactive hyperventilation at the speed of light. - Ray Ratto
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Zodiac Campaign (IC)
