# Forum > Play-by-Post Games > Finding Players (Recruitment) > Out-of-Character >  DrK Slumbering Tsar OOC

## DrK

The Slumbering Tsar Adventure Path


_Perched on the verge of the war-torn wasteland known as the Desolation stands a  settlement of dire reputation. Known only as The Camp, this wretched collection of  criminals and scoundrels, the desperate and the hopeless, all eking out an existence on the  far fringes of civilization make this truly a place of new beginnings and horrific endings.  Now things stir within the Desolation and call to heroes seeking secrets and treasures  lost to the knowledge of men. The promises of reward dare the brave and the foolish  both to seek their fortune in The Campout on the very edge of oblivion.
_

_The northern wall of Bards Gate looks out over a vast river valley  disappearing into purple hills in the hazy distance. The mighty gates fixed  in that wall rarely open anymore. On the few occasions when the north  gates do open to allow entrance to the occasional merchant caravan or  especially daring traveler, they reveal a wide road, paved with great stone flags forming a smooth and level traveling surface striking due north  for the hills. However, closer inspection reveals the signs of a lack of maintenance, and after a few miles the road deteriorates into little more than a wide dirt track, overgrown with weeds and with only the occasional stone paver visible in the hard soil. It obviously sees little travel and even less care. Few stand atop Bards Gates north wall and gaze out upon that hazy vista or care to think about what lies beyond those distant highlands. Fewer still are brave or foolish enough to make the journey in that  direction. Bards Gate relies on its commerce from other roads in other  directions and pays no mind to the north, for to the north, beyond the  village of Taverlan and the distant purple hills and across many leagues,  lies the reminder of one of the most tragic moments in the history of the  civilized kingdoms. To those who even care to remember, the north gate  leads only to bad memories or mournful legend. To the rest it leads to  where only madmen would dare to gothe ruined city of Tsar and the  great Desolation that surrounds it. Tsar, the great temple-city to the Demon Prince of the Undead, stood for  centuries as a bastion of evil and hate. Foul beings of all kinds flocked to  its mighty walls and found succor and purpose within. At its heart stood  the great Citadel of Orcus, the black heart of Orcus worship on earth.  Countless evils were perpetuated in those corrupt precincts, and equally  countless wicked plots were hatched and carried out therein.

Finally the goodly kingdoms could stand the presence of this festering  boil in their midst no longer. The churches of Thyr and Muir led a  delegation of good and neutral faiths to Graeltor, the last overking. Only with the backing of the nations secular armies would the holy churches  be able to erase such a blight. In his last major pronouncement before the overthrow and fracturing of the kingdoms into the independent nations they are today, Overking Graeltor called for a mighty crusade to tear down the walls of Tsar and forever end the presence of Orcus worship in the world.

The war raged for over a year, the Army of Light advancing to the very foot of the walls and then being pushed back by a new surge of demonic power. The disciples of Orcus led by the Grand Cornu, Orcuss single highest-ranking priest on the mortal planes, threw every vile attack they could at the Army of Light in defense of their city. Rains of horrific fire and acid fell from the skies  or belched from fissures in the ground, great constructs crushed their foes before them, terrible clouds of poisonous gas choked entire regiments, and heretofore unknown plagues swept through the troops causing thousands of horrible deaths among the Army of Light. Nevertheless the forces of good persevered and fought on. Finally, though the battle seemed no closer to victory, the fates seemed to smile on the Army of Light. Unexpectedly the city fell. In a single night the entire city virtually emptied of defenders as they all were magically transported to a point several miles outside the citys walls, complete with baggage train and mounts for many. The magical expenditure necessary to complete this miraculous maneuver cost the Grand Cornu his very life in sacrifice to Orcus, but the legions of the demon prince had broken free from the Army of Lights cordon. They immediately took flight before the stunned Army of Light, heading south the Forest of Hope.

However, what remained of the temple-city of Tsar was a vast, abandoned ruin surrounded by miles and miles of poisoned and scarred wasteland left behind by the battling armies. It was all but forgotten as a bad memory of despair with no value save as an eyesore and wilderness home for strange and fearsome beasts that moved  into the desolate area. The knights of Lord Bishu, left behind at Tsar, were likewise forgotten. The people of the civilized nations went on with their lives with, perhaps, a little less hope and optimism than before. Tsar was forgotten, and the land around it shunned and remembered only as the Desolation. While the rest of the world looked southwards for the future, some  few remembered the distant exotic markets of the far north. Those brave  or foolish enough to try reopened the trade road that passed through the Desolation to once again reach those far lands. Those that survived such treks and were able to trade the rare items they brought back made fortunes, but most who attempted the dangerous passage diedlost to the  hazards of the Desolation. Eventually a small settlement of cutthroats and  the worst kind of profiteering entrepreneurs sprang up on the southern fringe of the Desolation. This hole-in-the-wall known simply as the Camp serves as a staging ground for travelers to hire mercenary guards or fast mounts for the perilous run through the Desolation. Likewise it serves as a point of relative safety for those few managing to make it through from the north with or without goods in tow, often with denizens of the Desolation in hot pursuit. There is little to this unruly, fringe settlement, and many meet their fates on its dirty streets without ever making it to the Desolation. Regardless, it manages to just barely eke out an existence serving as a stopping point for those few travelers who dare to make the run. Now no one but these miscreants and fortune-seekers pay any attention to the area and then only so they can pass through the Desolation as quickly and safely as possible. The temple-citys ruins are universally avoided and little thought of. Why would anyone wish to go to almost certain death? What could still exist in the unknown holes and broken towers of Orcuss greatest earthly bastion? What could lie undisturbed, awaiting  some possibly preordained time to awake in the ruins of slumbering Tsar_

*Some Crunch...*

So inspired by another thread on the forum here (albeit with a different character slant) I looked over the Slumbering Tsar Saga and realised what an amazing story it was so thought I would start this game to join my other APs I've been running over the years. Slumbering Tsar Saga is a level 6 - 20 "mega campaign" from Frog God Games. Set in the desolation wastes surrounding the mysterious ancient evil (and _abandoned_) city of Tsar that has lain empty for several hundred years since the Army of Light gathered to destroy it. 

Its a Pathfinder 1E campaign that is designed to be semi-sandbox and also of a relatively high level of lethality (indeed the Campaign book has 8 pages of blank pages to record PC deaths....) Although its set in the Frog God Games Lost Lands a strong knowledge is not needed in it save for some of the deities for relgious inclined PCs (typically Hyperborean)

A brief "big 8"
System: Pathfinder 1EStarting Level: Level 6 (fast XP tracking): 16000 XPGhostfoot Gestalt: Gestalt at level 1, 5, 10 etc... (Fractional BAB, saves etc... Only benefit from "high saves" once etc...)Point Buy: 18 point buy (no stat may be dropped below 10 prior to racial mods)Races: Please try and stick to core races where possible. Parties of assorted aasimar/tieflings/samsarans/kitsune aren't desiredFeats/Traits etc...: Background skills are in effect; 2 Traits (up to 1 drawback for a 3rd trait but must be meaningful) Please make them interesting rather than a slew of fortune's favour and metamagic ones. HPs are max first level and then high average (i.e. 4 on a d6, 6 on a d10) or a rolled with a minimum of low average (i.e. 3 on a d6, 5 on a d10) your choiceStarting Wealth: 12000 XP (no more than 4500 gp on a single item) _I know its nominally 16K but you'd have used some wealth surviving for 6 levels and cherry picking makes more efficient load outs than organic looting_Classes: So the core / hybrid etc.. are fine. But gunslingers must take X-bow ace as no guns. Use unchained where available. Avoid psionics (so things that cast, passive ones like soul knife/aegis are fine). *NO Path of War, Definitely no Spheres. No kinetists (its a system I don't want to learn).* Akashic (the PF incarnum) is okay. 


The campaign is a tough one, with challenging encounters in a sandbox that may be too high level in some places that would require a retreat and a regroup. Its written in the old 2nd AD&D way so please don't over optimise as it will take that excitement away. Classical type PCs and a balanced party will be useful. 



Have a reason why you are heading north from Bard's Gate to "the Camp" to explore the Desolation and even possibly breach the Black Gate of Tsar. Some examples include

*Spoiler: Reasons for heading to "the Camp"*
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1. To Boldly Go: The Desolation is a largely ignored and unexplored  wasteland where two massive armies virtually smashed themselves to pieces. Those who have braved its depths have hurriedly passed through studiously ignoring the battleground around them and the ruined city it surrounds. Surely something of value remains to be gleaned from such  a cataclysmic conflict of old. In this instance, the party, having gained  enough power to attempt it, can be one of the few to have ever tried  plumbing the great unknown that is the Desolation. Most have deemed  it too dangerous or devoid of anything of value, but there are always  legends of some great knight who fell on the battlefield clutching his powerful sword that was never recovered or some powerful wizard  whose mighty staff disappeared in the melee and must still be lying out  there somewhere. Perhaps the party just wants to be the first to have  successfully braved the farthest corners of the Desolation and lived to  tell of it. Parties of a less lawful bent might be interested in the rumors of burial mounds that were erected for noble warriors who fell in battle  and were interred with portions of their riches.

2. Trail Blazers: A party of this level has many connections gained over their career. One of these, a merchant-lord and sometimes patron of their expeditions, has his eye on the lucrative trade of the distant north. There are fortunes to be made but the risks and expense are too great  to make caravans through the Desolation worthwhile. However, if a party of proven adventurers could tame the area and open a safe trade route, a monopoly on the new route could be established and a fortune made by all. Maybe he wants someone to clear the monsters out of the Desolation altogether, or perhaps he just wants a safe route to be found that can easily be controlled and kept secret. Either way such an endeavor has never been successfully accomplished, but if the right group could be persuaded to undertake the task

3. Land Grant: Rewards come in many forms to parties of successful  adventurers, not always just heaps of gold and magic items. For the  successful completion of a recent mission a king has bestowed upon a member of the party noble title and grant to land at the farthest flung reaches of his holdings. The land just so happens to be in the Desolation. The party must come to the Desolation to try and not only bring order to the Camp but tame the wilds of the Desolation as well in order to establish their fiefdom.

4. Save the Forest: If the party is of a more naturalist demeanor (druids, rangers, barbarians, etc.) they could come to the Desolation in order to erase the centuries-old blight from the lands. 

5. Sleepless Knights: A cleric of Muir has located in the temple archives a set of orders issued by Zelkor during the Battle of Tsar that somehow survived and were transported back to civilized lands. These orders detail the assignment of the paladin lord Bishu and his company, adherents to the faith of Muir, to hold the city of Tsar and await relief from the Army of Light. Lord Bishu was always thought lost in the Dungeon of Graves like the rest of the Army of Light. But was he?

6. Sinister Secrets: Zelkor was not the only one suspicious of the disciples sudden withdrawal from the city after the Battle of Tsar. The record of that event is well-known and has been pondered by many since that day. Was it all just to trap to destroy the Army of Light at Rappan Athuk? If so why not reoccupy Tsar, a vast and defensible temple-city along a lucrative trade route, instead of settling for a dingy hole in the ground in some far flung forest. Could the entire withdrawal and debacle in the Forest of Hope have been a ruse within ruse to draw attention away from seemingly abandoned Tsar for some other, altogether unguessed reason? Questions such as these and more have been on the minds of the patriarchs of the temples of Thyr and Muir for some time. Now theywish to send in a small group to infiltrate the unplumbed ruins and discover what sinister secret may have been kept so well for so long.


Welcome to the most recent brave heroes heading to "the Camp". In your opening post please introduce your PC nd give a brief reason why your PC has joined the most recent caravan heading north from Bard's gate to the Desolation. 

The IC thread

THe "victims"



Player
Character
Build
Role
Status

BelGareth
Dr. Aloysius Constantine
 Alchemist//Witch
Healer/AOE Damage/Buffer
Complete

RCgothic
Isabella "Izzy" Moreno
Investigator//Slayer
Secondary Melee // Skill Monkey // Face
Complete

Starbin
Darsalla
Magus//Swashbuckler
Reach melee w/BC
Complete

(Un)Inspired
Skynir Elkhart
Shaman//Slayer
Face/Magic Utility
Complete

SanguinePenguin
Hastur Stonemoor
Cleric//Cavalier
Tank/Reach/Buffer/Healer
Complete

Farmerbink
Timoshko Savarin
Bloodrager//Inquisitor
Occasionally-reckless striker
Complete!

u-b
Roger Makarrow
Inquisitor//Fighter
Wilderness/Ranged
Complete





An Obituary

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## DrK

The Desolation map, a rough area around lost Tsar spanning a few hundred miles. The city of Bard's gate lies 200 miles to the south of the camp (~10 days travel on the road) 



The Desolation is a vast expanse of wasted, war-torn fields. They felt the tramp of countless soldiers feet and drank the blood of humans and other creatures beyond imagining. Mighty engines of war and works of horrific magic slammed into the armies manoeuvring across the countryside and left only death in their wake. So powerful was the magic involved, so pervasive the terrors unleashed that even now, centuries later, the lands remained indelibly marked by the legacy of battle. Where once were verdant plains and fertile fields now are only ashes and boiling craters of ooze. The Desolation does not bear the characteristic fires and brimstone of what many would consider in the traditional sense, but it is often likened to the Hells nonetheless. Smoking fumaroles and burning gas vents would actually enliven this land. Instead there is only the depressingly bleak landscape of gray fading into the haze of the horizon. Even the devils of the pits might find such a place unpleasant.

The Desolation stretches roughly 70 miles east and west and 50 miles north to south. Its southern boundary, marked by the tiny refuge known as the Camp, gradually rises to the stony hills that mark the northern edge of the civilized kingdoms. To the north the trade road passes another set of hills before, according to rumors, eventually entering a true desert land filled with oasis kingdoms, genies, and the exotic peoples known only in legends in the lands to the south. East the Desolation gradually enters a wild and broken land, more verdant but perhaps no less inhospitable. For here the lands are the homes of the many orc and goblinoid clans before finally reaching a little-visited and rocky sea coast. The western edge is the Desolations clearest demarcation as the sheer vertical cliffs of the Stoneheart Mountains march along parallel to the trade road, visible as a seemingly impassible wall of gray stone.

The climate of the Desolation is universally dry. A few gully washers hit in the late fall, but otherwise it remains bone dry. In fact, the ground stays so dry that there is an almost constant haze from whitish, powderlike dust that rises with the constant breezes. This haze lends to the overall gloominess and feeling of isolation and claustrophobia that is sometimes experienced on this otherwise wide-open plain. Occasional dust storms whip up and race south, usually petering out before reaching the Camp. These billowing white clouds are called bone storms because of the general opinion that the white dust is actually the powdered remains of the fallen soldiers bones trampled underfoot by the armies and then left to bake in the sun for centuries. Visiting necromancers have taken samples before and tend to concur that there is some truth to these tales. In the summer the temperatures rise as high as the 90s with an extremely low humidity, but in the winter bitterly cold winds come down off the mountains to the northwest and create conditions well below freezing for weeks at a time.

The Desolation is divided into four quadrants. These are clearly marked by the two roads that cross in the Desolations center. The landscape even tends to change somewhat, roughly corresponding to these artificial dividers. The four quadrants are called, going counter-clockwise from southeast to southwest, The Ashen Waste, The Chaos Rift, The Boiling Lands, and The Dead Fields. Where the two sunken roads meet here in a depression in the centre of the desolation is known as The Crossroads.

The mood of the Desolation is always be somber and depressing to those travelling through it. Thousands of beings died here, good and evil, extraplanar and mundane, Celestial and Abyssal. It is almost as if the lands retain a memory of that time of strife and countless horrors. How many voices were stilled to never be heard again is beyond count. The wind seems to sing a funeral dirge, low and constant; perhaps it is the voices of those lost. Never let the players forget that they are in a place marked by the agony of thousands. Never let them think of the Desolation as just another terrain feature to be crossed. Much of the atmosphere of the adventure comes from the constant reminder that the Desolation is first and foremost a battlefield, and that the adventurers are merely following in the footsteps of thousands of others who have already fought and bled on this land

The Boiling Lands
The main fighting in the Battle of Tsar occurred in the western half of what would become the Desolation, the area closest to the walls of the city itself and what would become known as the Western Front. The Boiling Lands lie in what is the northwestern quadrant of those fields. These twisted and battle-wracked lands get their name from the many craters that dot the landscape like the boils of a diseased beggar from the back alleys of Tsar itself. In addition the name is derived from the many geysers and boiling pools of mud that appeared during those terrible battles and in the years since. This is the wettest of the Desolations regions, but let the traveller who dares to drink from the natural springs or boiling fountains of the area beware. Their waters can bring death as surely as the foul denizens that make their homes among them.

The Dead Fields
Like in the Boiling Lands above, some of the heaviest fighting occurred in the southwestern quadrant nearest the city walls. As a result this region has become known as the Dead Fields. This area once served as the bread basket for the temple-city and its outlying holdings. Great fertile fields of grains stretched for miles across the land. When war came, hordes of troops and cavalry regiments thundered across its expanse trampling the fields flat.

Ashen Wastes
Lonely blows the wind across the Ashen Waste carrying with it the signature white dust that coats everything it touches  armor, weapons, noses, throats, eyes  with a chalky layer. The horror of the bones storms can suffocate those caught in them or cause them to become separated from their companions and lose their way. The howling of the wind speaks in the voices of those souls lost long ago in the battles of ancient days and includes the keening of the horrible undead spirits known as screamers. The monotony of this bleak land is broken only by the occasional barrow mound raised by the armies of old to inter their honoured dead before finally retiring from the field in the fateful flight that ended in the misnamed Forest of Hope.

The southeastern quadrant of the Desolation is by far the most desolate. It is called the Ashen Waste with good reason. A seemingly continuous wind crosses this region carrying with it a perpetual cloud of a fine, powdery dust. Bone storms occur most frequently in this region. The omnipresent dust gets into everything and covers it with a fine coating of chalky powder. It is not uncommon for travelers here to have coughing fits as a choking coat forms inside an open mouth. It is also often difficult to see. Even when the wind is not blowing, a constant haze hangs in the air creating a feeling as if one is within a fog bank.

It is to here that the main camp of The Army of Light was moved after the Chaos Rift was formed. The few wells and springs were jealously guarded, and many were overused until their water supply was exhausted and they went dry. The constant movement of tens of thousands of men and horses trampled the already-dry ground into the fine dust that exists today. When rains do come they create clumpy mud and quicksand pits, but these quickly dry and return to their powdery state  other than the occasional quicksand pit that remains nearly undetectable on the field as a hazard to visitors. Many speculate that the horrible curses called upon the main camp of the Army of Light by their enemies cause these conditions to persist. Whatever the reason, no plants take root here, leaving only the dusty, sterile landscape.

The Chaos Rift

The northeastern quadrant of the Desolation is dominated by a huge rift scarring the land. This huge canyon is obviously not a natural formation and is, in fact, the result of a massive expenditure of chaotic magic in order to destroy what was the original encampment of The Army of Light. A half mile deep at some points, the shelter provided by the rift in the otherwise barren Desolation serves as home to a myriad of creatures. For here the inhabitants are protected from the horrible bone storms, and here can be found the Desolations most valuable commodity, a few hidden pools of potable water deep in the rifts shadowy recesses.

If the winds of The Ashen Waste howl like the spirits of the dead, the gusts that blow over the Chaos Rift play as a funeral dirge as they travel across the lip and through the many fissures that comprise the great crevasse. The surrounding ground is flat and unbroken save for boulder piles (falling debris from the chasms creation) until one reaches the edge of the vast, magically created canyon. It is barren, but not nearly as desert like as the Ashen Waste. The floor of the rift itself is tortured and broken by the powerful forces that bent and ripped reality to create such devastation. Many caves dot the walls of the canyon, and clearly visible on these crumbling cliff faces are the striations of the various layers of earth and stone now exposed to the air.

Within the rift itself, the air is much cooler and more sheltered from the biting wind, though it still blows through the canyon with a perpetual hollow groaning. The floor is often shaded by the looming cliffs overhead. At the bottom are many small collection pools and rivulets from past rains or hidden springs. At its deepest point, the Chaos Rift descends close to 2,500 feet, though the average is perhaps 1,000 feet. Relative depths are indicated on the map in feet below ground level (i.e. 1,200 ft.). The bottom of the rift is a convoluted surface of broken ground, smashedboulders, and terrain scarred by heat and great blasts of catastrophic force.


*The Camp*



Perched on the verge of the war-torn wasteland known as the Desolation stands a settlement of dire reputation. Known only as The Camp, this wretched collection of criminals and scoundrels, the desperate and the hopeless, all eking out an existence on the far fringes of civilization make this truly a place of new beginnings and horrific endings. Now things stir within the Desolation and call to heroes seeking secrets and treasures, lost to the knowledge of men. The promises of reward dare the brave and the foolish both to seek their fortune in The Camp out on the very edge of oblivion.

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## RCgothic

Thanks for the selection!


*Isabella "Izzy" Moreno*
F NG Human

Investigator (Lamplighter) 6 // Slayer (Vanguard) 2
Secondary Melee // Skill Monkey // Face
*Spoiler: Description*
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Isabella "Izzy" Moreno is a tall, athleticly built young lady with long, luscious locks of golden brown hair, deep blue eyes, soft light-tawny skin and an approachable demeanour. She prefers refined and stylish light coloured clothes and frequently bares her midriff around which are often carried a number of brightly coloured glass vials attached to her belt. In combat she is pragmatic and analytical - daring when called for, yet cautious as a rule, fighting mostly from range with an oversized spear of her own make.

*Spoiler: Background*
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Isabella hails from Bards Gate, where shes known locally as a philanthropist, tinkerer, musical theatre violinist, helper, and general fixer of all the things, from broken devices, through stolen pets, and bullying local protection rackets. Naturally this frequently leads to her sticking her nose where it isnt welcome, so shes had to learn to handle herself. A spear turns out to be a surprisingly effective weapon in a narrow alleyway, and if that doesnt work theres always a heavy hammer, or, failing that, alchemical healing! Most recently after uncovering an oblivion smuggling operation, frustrated patrons of several of Bards Gates councilmembers suggested that she be rewarded with a minor title and a patch of land somewhere she could do less damage. Somewhere like Limevale Mews, an appealingly named but long forgotten estate not far from what is now much more accurately and forebodingly addressed:

The Camp
The Desolation
Tsar

Not altogether naïve to this machination, Izzy has come prepared.

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## SanguinePenguin

*Spoiler: Hastur Stuff*
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Hastur Stonemoor

Thrilled and a bit surprised to join!  Grabbing fire brick red while the grabbings good.

*Spoiler: Background*
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Hastur waited anxiously for the blind oracle to read his posting.  She was consulting with Strym, and would decree where each of those advancing to full Templar within his order would be assigned.  He trained for well over a decade at the temple in Abad Durahai for this moment.  Hastur worked hard - he wasn't top of his class, but he was certainly in the top quintile... or top two anyway.  The prestigious Giantsbane Templars were a selective lot though.  Deep down he suspected his admission was due to being a legacy - his father would have been here now if he hadn't met his end on the business end of a giant's club five years ago.  With his coming assignment, he would relocate and work to make the land, cities, and roads safer for travelers and trade.  This was the Templar's sacred charge.  His mother, Thala, and younger brother, Stanthur (who had just been admitted to the program), were in attendance.    

But this!  _This_ was the moment that the bulk of his life was spent working toward.  "Snorri Stonehelm... Erod Flan," the oracle proclaimed.  Hastur knew he would be next.  "Hastur Stonemoor..." there was a long pause, he felt much longer than was usual "... Tsar."  An unnerving silence fell across the room... then a few scattered chuckles.  Even Hastur has to chuckle a bit, in a moment she would say his real posting and that would be that.  But... she wouldn't joke here, not in this sacred ceremony whilst she communed with Strym himself - hells, he wasn't even sure Oracle Greycrag _could_ joke.  She then proclaimed, "Bordin Talcmire... Freegate."  And just like that she went on...

Hastur's jaw hung to the floor for the rest of the ceremony.  Those around him cast a few pitying glances, then looked away, but he wasn't paying attention.   The Oracle might as well have just assigned him to Avernus!  In living memory, _no one_ had been appointed to Tsar - the whole concept was ludicrous!  Afterwards everyone averted their eyes as if they might catch something from association with the damned.  Finally, he cornered the blind oracle on her way to out.  In her usual fashion, she declared his presence before he made it known, "Hastur - I suspect you want to know if I've made some mistake."

His few interactions with the frustrating woman always resulted in her telling him what he was about to say, "well... you must have - so _fix_ it... please!  This condemns me to certain death!"

"Believe it or not, Strym was _quite_ clear.  It is incredibly rare for me to question His decrees, but I did then when He told me, for you, but He was adamant.  Our god believes in _you_... in your divine purpose, you should feel honored."  Hastur was speechless, he may have stammered something as the oracle moved away to leave him with his thoughts, but it surely was devoid of content.  

Within days, he shipped out, onward to do a task akin to swallowing the sea - making Tsar and the desolation safe.  There is a lot of liberty in how to go about this.  A Templar need not storm the gates and plunge into the heart of the problem on day one, but it is now his holy charge to work toward this task.  He knows deep down this is impossible... but if his God genuinely believes that his _failing_ at it would be a net force of good in the world, then he would fulfill his duty to the end.

*Spoiler: Personality*
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Hastur broods regularly.  He internally oscillates between confidence that there is a divine purpose at play, belief that this is a sick cosmic joke, and skepticism that divine purpose entails anything but suffering for him.  He has developed a dark sense of humor as a coping mechanism, but he is still, somehow, deep down, an optimist.  He is pious to a fault, as Strym gave his this suicidal task, he will see it through until his death.  He knows he needs allies and will find none in the Templars, so he has no compunction in working with... morally subpar individuals - he can't be too choosy after all.  Desparate times make strange bedfellows.

*Spoiler: Appearance*
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Hastur looks like a dwarf who knows what he doing, unless you look _very_ closely, then you see the vague despondency behind his eyes from his knowing that he is way over his head.  He is young with sharp features, aside from a seven times broken nose and cracked jaw that didn't mend quite right.  He has gray eyes, long braided black hair, and a thick black beard just growing the first strands of gray.  He is generally heavily armored in full plate mail, carries a guisarme and a heavy flail, preferring the former.  He exudes a pragmatism and confidence on the battlefield that fades when he is confronted again with the looming insurmountable goal to make Tsar safe.



*Spoiler: Locations*
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*Spoiler: Ashen Wastes*
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The trees - 40 miles to the NE of the camp in the northern reaches
Tark Mound - lies 50 miles north almost up by the crossroads, that Tark was a savage warlord and we avoid his barrow 
The tranquil garden - haunted walled cemetery 20 miles north
Tomb of the sleeping night - only 15 miles from the camp though its swallowed more adventurers than we can count (hermit may know more)

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## (Un)Inspired

Skynir Elkhart

Im gonna take This groovy color of green for a speaking color. 

@Drk is it too late to do last minute spell prep fiddling?

*Spoiler: Portrait*
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*Spoiler: Personality*
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 Skynir can often be found completely adrift in his thoughts. While capable of making snap decisions when necessary, he has a strong preference for thinking things through. While he typically appears to offer friendliness and patience to those he engages with, he can't always help the signs of his judgemental nature show through. He currently struggling to reconcile the idea that everyone is owed a certain level of personal respect, and the idea that failing to critical think is tantamount to abandoning sapience. Skynir likes using his powers, whether that's making himself useful, or simply flexing his supernatural prowess.



*Spoiler: Background*
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  In the high society of Bard's Gate, the Elkhart family was never considered particularly important or influential, and that suited Skynir Elkhart just fine. Born the middle child to Brathwaite Elkhart's somewhat scandalous second marriage to the elven Vidame Emylir Hjollen, it was everyone's fervent hope that Skynir would one day grow up and stay out of the way. While Lord Brathwaite was capable of bragging and spending his way through the city's upper crust, Skynir ultimately felt unfulfilled with the pursuits expected of a young noble. Hunting, fighting, skirt-chasing, and leading your family to glory; all the things that seemed like endpoints for his peers inevitably felt like premises rather than conclusions to the young half-elf.

It wasn't until his schooling presented him with magical theory work that it started to click into place for Elkhart: there was a stratum to life that existed above the apparent virtues of the upper class. Seemingly instantaneously Skynir found what he wanted to do with his life; he wanted to understand the nature of this divine presence that he could feel supervene on physical reality. He wanted to learn the underlying nature of magic. With just a few short years of study, Skynir could reach out with his senses and hear the whisper of the divine spirits that inhabited the world. He spent days, weeks even, walking through Bard's Gate taking in the spirits of the stones and wood; of the shopfronts and domiciles; of the animals and the people. He had found himself with a new way to consider the world, and he used it like an inspector's lens to reexamine every aspect of his urban world. 

The more he listened to the spirits, the more his magical powers grew until the time came for him to see more than just what the spirits of Bard's Gate had to offer. Discover and understanding require exploration and Skynir was dying to reach out and speak to the spirits across Akados. With enough money to be able to easily afford to set out, and few enough responsibilities to actually keep him from leaving, Elkhart gathered his traveling things and simply walked out of the city.

Skynir spent the next 8 years on the road as a nomad. Roving from town to city, to thorp, to metropolis; from solitary camping in the deep wilderness to spending months staying in civilization; Skynir listened to the spirits and tried to understand the world. It was terrifying and exhilarating and lonely and comforting and in every way felt like the life he should be living. It became clear to Skynir that the was a sort of beautiful mereology to the spiritual and physical world, and that unnatural disruption to that harmony were morally outrageous, that as someone who had the ability to do something about them, he had an obligation to act.

Growing up in Bard's Gate, he knew the greatest and most terrible of those spiritual disruptions, the largest metaphysical scar on the physical world: the wicked remains of the temple city of Orcus. Cinching up his pack and pulling on his boots, Skynir set off for that city so close to his homelands, that legendary city of boogeymen and haunts, the Slumbering City of Tsar.

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## BelGareth

Reserve post.

Thanks for the selection!!

I'll use *Bold Teal*

Dr. Aloysius Constantine

Constantine was eager to go north, he had heard rumors of exotic regents, poisons, and diseases that only a handful of his peers would dream of having. Just the diseases that went rampant through the army of light would be enough to make him a very wealthy man, but also, allow him to further his experiments. 

That's all he really wanted in the end, to be left alone and do his experiments, it seemed almost funny when the city watch eventually found him in each of the cities he had been expelled from, _apparently_ testing diseases and cures on the homeless was frowned upon. He didn't get it, they were not doing anything, and he was paying them well with coin. 

But, he had to adhere to the rules, and so he hoped to carve out a piece of his own land, with his own rules. 

No town mobs, no twilight escapes, leaving everything behind, no witch hunters, only science....and a dabble of magic here and there.

Warrick never cared, and helped most of the time, jumping onto a patient, closing a wound, and happily feeding off the blood. He was a good detector as well, when the blood turned, he would remove himself, it had allowed Constantine to make several early discoveries. He smiled at the thought of his weird familiar, who was sleeping in his coat pocket now. 

Either way, it all helped to provide as a distraction to the meddling prince and his loathing towards Constantine seemed to be never ending. He had been evading his pursuers for a while now, managed to turn a few into test subjects which even showed promising results. But even-still, it became tiresome to continue the evading. If he was granted a lot of land by the king himself, then he could be left alone, and claim his own sovereignty. Which would be perfect, even his father would be proud of him....well, maybe that would be a stretch.

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## Farmerbink

Shotgun plum!

Also, I got in?   :Small Big Grin:   I got in!!  :Small Eek: 

*@other players:*  If you're not already a member of "The Farm," I strongly suspect DrK will want you there.  I'm pretty sure we are all actually on that server already.  :Small Cool: 
Also, any suggestions for shared non-common languages?  I've got a rank or two in Linguistics I need to finalize. 


Timoshko Saverin, First Fang of the Duskprowlers; son of Oshkarl, Prime Seer of the Duskprowlers*Spoiler: Portrait*
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*Spoiler: Introduction*
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"My son," came the gruff voice.  "Enter."  As bidden, I stepped into my father's smoke-filled chambers.  I wrinkled my nose as I felt he first hit of heady incense; my father has been _seeing._

"You will not like what I've seen today."  _Hah. No kidding?  You never see anything good._  I know better than to speak such thoughts aloud in his presence.  Instead, I nod.  He can't see as well as I can in the dark, and it makes me feel a bit better to remind him of the fact.  He scowls in irritation.  

"You will go to the surface.  The _Camp_."  "_What?!  Why?_"  This time, I can't help myself.  Never has such a nonsensical thing been uttered in our clan.  

"You will _go,_" he repeats, as if I need his emphasis to obey.  "I have read the portents.  _Seen_ the signs.  _Seen_ even the faces of those you will meet there, for if you do not...  All will perish."  "Let them!" I blurt.  "None has come to us!  None has seen fit to seek for the remnant in the dark, all this time!  We live!  We _thrive,_ without them!  And you would have me-"

He silences me with a hand.  Not even I dare speak over my father...

"I did not say '_they_,' my son."  He lets the clarification linger.  "Your mate.  Your son and daughter.  Even the Chief and I will fall, when calamity erupts from our ancestral home.  You will go to the _Camp._  You will find these five, and you will take them to our _true_ home.  There, you will save our world... or doom it."
*Spoiler: Background*
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The Duskprowler clan is a remnant of erstwhile inhabitants of Tsar.  Since a time when the city didn't "slumber," they have inhabited the caves in the southern Desolation.  Wise enough to avoid attention, but ever adherent to their old gods, they live in perpetual gloom and only-barely-contained rage.  

Timoshko is the son of the clan's prime seer.  Stronger and more prone to anger, he carries the taint of their old, demonic supplications.  He might make a good chief some day, but never a seer.  He's not patient, nor wise enough for that.  Instead, he is the clan's First Fang- a champion of sorts.  He leads raiding parties on a first in, last out basis.  His scythe is the "first fang" to bite, when the Duskprowlers surface.  

When told by his father of his integral role in the salvation or doom of the world, he didn't know what to say.  Not so foolish as to ignore his father's visions, nor naive enough to disbelieve them, he found himself suddenly on a path he doesn't want in order to save only a few people he cares for.  He's quite bitter about the multitudes of hated enemies, bitter rivals that have left his people condemned to life in the dark, and frankly fantasizes about killing them all and letting the world end as his father has foreseen.  He _hates_ the weight his father has put on his shoulders, and struggles mightily to cope.

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## (Un)Inspired

> Shotgun plum!
> 
> Also, I got in?    I got in!! 
> 
> *@other players:*  If you're not already a member of "The Farm," I strongly suspect DrK will want you there.  I'm pretty sure we are all actually on that server already. 
> Also, any suggestions for shared non-common languages?  I've got a rank or two in Linguistics I need to finalize. 
> 
> 
> Timoshko Saverin, First Fang of the Duskprowlers; son of Oshkarl, Prime Seer of the Duskprowlers*Spoiler: Portrait*
> ...


Sylvan. All the cool kids are taking it and few horrible enemies know how to parlo it.

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## u-b

Roger Makarrow, an Inquisitor of Diana
There is also a whole bunch of pets. I'll make sheets for them in due time. Claiming this shade of brown for the speech.

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## DrK

Hey @U-B

Would you mind tweaking the IC post- you are still in the wagons a few hours from the camp at the outset so dont post activities in tye camp yet, just chit chat on the wagons

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## 3SecondCultist

Reposting my character concept below! I will go ahead and take *Golden Rod* for Azvigo, since I think the bling fits him well. The entire character is reposted below. DrK, would you be able to update the table for him when you have the chance?

So happy to be here!  :Small Smile: 

*Spoiler: Azvigo Douglass*
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*Azvigo Douglass, Gentleman Adventurer!*




Male Lawful Good Half-Orc Bard (Archeologist) // Paladin (Virtuous Bravo)
*Level* 6, *Init* 6, *HP* 54/54, *Speed* 30 ft
*AC* 20, *Touch* 15, *Flat-footed* 16, *CMD* 20
*Fort* 11, *Ref* 14, *Will* 10, *CMB* +5, *Base Attack Bonus* 5
*+1 Whip* +11 (1d4+5, x2)
*Rapier* +9 (1d6, 18-20x2)
*+1 Mithral Chain Shirt* (+5 Armor, +4 Dex, +1 Natural)
*Abilities* Str 11, Dex 18, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 10, Cha 16
*Condition* None 
*Bard Spells Known* 0th level (∞) -- _dancing lights_, _detect magic_, _ghost sound_, _mage hand_, _message_, _prestidigitation_
1st level (5/5) -- _heightened awareness_, _saving finale_, _tamer's lash_, _silent image_
2nd level (4/4) -- _gallant inspiration_, _invisibility_, _mirror image_, _trapfinder's focus_

*Spoiler: Description*
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*Looks:* Tall and broad-shouldered, Azvigo is unusually handsome even by human standards. His high cheekbones, smooth emerald features and straight teeth are in striking contrast to his sleek waves of shoulder-length bone-white hair. He typically keeps it up in a simple bun to show off more of his face and enjoys flashing his pearlescent fangs in guileless grins. His clothes are well kept and elegant enough to be fancy without showing off; an open-collared silk shirt that reveals impressive muscles, a coat of mithral chain links, a pair of ornate leather and metal bracers with a serpentine design, and a very fine hat and coat that he never takes off. Finally, he keeps a fine whip coiled at his waist opposite a blade of simple steel.

*Personality:* Azvigo likes to present himself as a fun-loving, carefree pretty boy. He acts friendly and approachable, especially around people he doesn't know well. He's always the first to crack a joke in any situation and doesn't appear to take many things too seriously. He is also a bit of a flirt with just about everyone regardless of their orientation; while he respects boundaries, he likes to make it known that he's always up for a good time. He appears to enjoy drink and company so much that one could be forgiven for thinking him a drunk or wastrel. 

While Azvigo's laid-back persona isn't entirely fiction, it is very consciously affected and embellished. Anyone paying close attention to the half-orc might realize that he doesn't stick around most people long enough for them to get a real handle on him, and tends to disappear for weeks at a time before returning to the bar as though nothing has happened. He makes a point never to talk about his family - the Douglasses are something of an enigma around the otherwise quotidian villages of his homeland - or anything of substance beyond the next evening of fun and debauchery.

*Spoiler: Backstory*
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The Douglass line used to be well known around certain regions of the south. They were considered daring explorers with more gall than sense, but their bravery was always applauded by those unwilling to take up such a difficult mantle. Many of them were monied, and the family used to own several respectable properties in and around Bard's Gate and its various suburbs. However, in the past few decades, their numbers and fame have dwindled down to nearly nothing. Very few are aware of the exact details, and though strange rumors have begun to circulate, even fewer have guessed the truth: that every member of the Douglass line has been cursed.

The rumors were entirely correct. The Curse of Fitful Fortune came from contact with a strange coterie of beings that the legends called the Fell Four. According to the family lore, the renowned adventurer Gath Douglass outwitted and defeated the Fell Four over five decades ago. As a 'prize' for his victory, they granted him a single Wish of his choosing. Thinking of his siblings and children, Gath decided to ask for 'good fortune for my blood to last an age'. So the Four granted him his Wish. Each scion of the Douglass line would be marked and be gifted with extraordinary good luck... until the age of thirty, at which point the scales would begin to tilt sharply in the opposite direction. The Four engineered the curse so that it did not create luck, but rather borrowed it from years yet unlived. Most of the Douglass line - who were approaching or past thirty at the time - were dead before six months were out, victims of a series of supposedly 'freak accidents', while those who hadn't yet reached that threshold were blessed with good karma.

Azvigo was spared this fate by virtue of being born to Gath's youngest daughter Lattra, several years before she turned thirty. She benefitted from this in that she had at least some time with her only son before being killed quite suddenly by a stray arrow to the throat during a roadside battle. The young Azvigo was not quite six at the time. Though he vaguely remembers his mother, she exists more as more of an idea, a shadow in the glass than a fully formed parent. He was raised instead by his uncle Zerig Douglass, who has managed to parlay his curse into an ill-made compromise with the world by receding from it as entirely as possible. To that end, Zerig settled on the outskirts of the sleepy nameless hamlet to raise his nephew.

Growing up, all Azvigo knew were the stories of the legendary Douglass heroes. He learned of Gath Tomb-taker of course, but also Nibri One-Eye and the terrible Raz and his Red Axe. His uncle built on the legacy his mother had left for him, filling the boy's head with names whose shadows stretched forever. For as long as he could remember, Azvigo wanted to be a part of those stories, to be another story told to his descendants and to live up to his family's great history. However, every time the boy shared his life-long dream with his uncle, Zerig would grow withdrawn and taciturn. For years, he never told Azvigo about the real reason that no Douglass since Gath had achieved anything of note. It wasn't until the former had reached the age of ten that Zerig let him in on the secret of the Curse of Fitful Fortune.

For a long time after that, Azvigo was angry with Zerig. How dare he keep something so important from him for so long, especially when time was already working against him? Eventually, his uncle explained his sorrow: although he had not yet passed his thirtieth summer, Azvigo burned with the fire of a true adventurer. To confide in him would mean pointing him on an exceptionally dangerous path, one more likely than not to end with his demise (luck or not). He had hoped that Azvigo would settle down and get started on a family before it was too late, that way the Douglass line would continue and there would be a chance for future generations to solve the problem of the curse. To Azvigo, this solution smacked of cowardice - though he did not vocalize this at the time, the revelation has soured the relationship between the two.

Inevitably, learning of the Curse of Fitful Fortune has had the exact effect on Azvigo that Zerig feared. What was once a boyhood fancy turned into iron-clad resolve: over the next decade he trained and learned as much as he could, turning from a daydreamer to a hardened young man. He paid particular attention to the subjects of ancient history, structural engineering, folklore, and old legends. Meanwhile, he exercised daily and took up a facility in light weaponry. Azvigo even took to honing his spellcraft, and though he is at best a dabbler he has proven to have some great potential if he keeps at it.

Nowadays, Azvigo spends his time delving fresh dungeons, researching the frustrating and contradictory lore behind the Fell Four, and training out in the wilds. He has tested his luck on smaller enterprises and returned more learned and wealthy, while spending each interval between his adventures scoping out new talent to join him on his ventures. Every book he's read on the trade - and he's read most of them - say that a group of at least four is considered 'optimal'. He has recently heard of the legends of the Slumbering City of Tsar, and believes it may prove his greatest accomplishment before he ever turns 30. It may even provide him answers to the unanswered questions of his family's cryptic past...

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## Farmerbink

untrained know local: (1d20+4)[*6*] ((it makes sense to me that Timoshko has either been to the Camp or that his clan would be well-versed in specifically other things that threaten their hunting grounds.  Please feel free to reduce by 4 if you disagree))

edit: obviously the dice gods disagree.  :Small Cool:

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## 3SecondCultist

Trained Knowledge (Local): (1d20+9)[*12*]

Edit: Not great auspices for our collective knowledge of giants, here.  :Small Sigh:

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## (Un)Inspired

Surely one of us knows what a giant is...


Trained Knowledge Local: (1d20+11)[*23*]

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## u-b

Roger know (local): (1d20+1)[*2*]

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## SanguinePenguin

Hastur is a lorekeeper, Lorekeeper: +2 Know (history) checks that pertain to dwarves or their enemies. They can make such skill checks untrained.  

If this can be used for ID, then (1d20+12)[*15*]
Otherwise, same thing (but -1) just to recall some obscure giant-related history

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## DrK

Skynir will recognise them as Hill giants, albeit somewhat deformed and partially melted hill giants. More particularly from their reading on "the camp" she recognises them as Gurg and Gorg. A pair of hill giant brothers that lead an adventuring group known as "the pounders" in the Camp that offer escorts for caravans through the desolation (Clantock's 14 - am mixed orc/human/hobgoblin band is another organisation within the Camp)

Although a resident of the camp normally it looks like something bad has happened to Gurg and Gorg and they are now homicidal and angry


@ ALL

I'll give another ~24 hours for other two players and if not will move the giants.

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## RCgothic

Know local (1d20+7)[*18*] plus (1d6)[*1*] inspiration (not expended)

Edit: *19*

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## 3SecondCultist

Whip it! Whip it good!

*Whip AoO:* (1d20+14)[*22*] vs. Giant CMD

Edit: Not so good after all...

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## DrK

A will save for sleeping (1d20)[*8*]

Edit: Giant 2 falls asleep

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## DrK

Reflex save for the void bomb (1d20)[*17*]

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## DrK

@ALL

So whats the plan? Its getting late in the dismal Camp. You building a stone house of your own or staying in the boarding house or roughing it in tents on the edge of camp?

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## u-b

Roger is mainly waiting for Izzy now that his questions are simply ignored. Will then sleep at the inn.

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## DrK

> Roger is mainly waiting for Izzy now that his questions are simply ignored. Will then sleep at the inn.


Aplogies I had missed the question. Responded IC now

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## u-b

> Everyone sleeping in some form of armour...


Well, Roger, for one, is _not_ sleepig and not having problem with it. Up to two others can be affected by that same casting, if there are volunteers, and Roger has _another_ casting spare...

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## DrK

> Well, Roger, for one, is _not_ sleepig and not having problem with it. Up to two others can be affected by that same casting, if there are volunteers, and Roger has _another_ casting spare...


THats fine. If you can resolve who is awake still then they can all be alerted by the slight scratching at the door

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## SanguinePenguin

> Well, Roger, for one, is _not_ sleepig and not having problem with it. Up to two others can be affected by that same casting, if there are volunteers, and Roger has _another_ casting spare...


Hastur, with his full plate and divine spell preparation would welcome that.

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## Farmerbink

Timoshko would be glad to take advantage

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## u-b

Where is the door to our second room?
A. Gnome 1 side.
B. Gnome 2 side.
C. Elsewhere (like across the corridor).

Also, which way the doors open?
D. Into the corridor.
E. Into the room.

Also, which side are the hinges (mostly relevant in the case of D)?
F. Gnome 1 side.
G. Gnome 2 side.

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## DrK

> Where is the door to our second room?
> A. Gnome 1 side.
> B. Gnome 2 side.
> C. Elsewhere (like across the corridor).
> 
> Also, which way the doors open?
> D. Into the corridor.
> E. Into the room.
> 
> ...


Room 1 and Room 2 are opposite each other
Doors open into the rooms
 don't know, but we'll see on the left of the doors (as that is how they are in my house)

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## RCgothic

How sturdy are the walls, out of interest?

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## DrK

> How sturdy are the walls, out of interest?


not that sturdy. Think thin planks of pine

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## DrK

Helllooo... just waiting the players to take their actions  :Small Smile:

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## DrK

Will save (1d20)[*10*]+??

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## u-b

Forgot to roll the banes: (2d6)[*4*] and (2d6)[*7*]

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## DrK

Will save for the gnome (1d20)[*14*]

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## DrK

Critical threat (1d20+13)[*14*] dam (1d4+6)[*7*]

Edit: never mind

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## DrK

couple of will saves (2d20)[*18*][*6*](24)

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## SanguinePenguin

Hasturs will save: (1d20+11)[*14*]
Hasturs fort save: (1d20+9)[*15*]
Damage: (3d6)[*12*]

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## (Un)Inspired

Skynirs Reflex save: (1d20+6)[*15*]

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## Farmerbink

Timmy reflex! (1d20+4)[*24*]

edit: bahahaha!

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## DrK

> Timmy reflex! [roll0]
> 
> edit: bahahaha!


The step up clearly helped him skip the pit!

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## Starbin

Guess Ill take *this color* for speech

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## u-b

What did the search reveal (perception 35 all over the place and the bodies)?

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## Starbin

History check: (1d20+5)[*21*] ... on the off-chance :)

EDIT: Hahahahahahahaha

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## DrK

> What did the search reveal (perception 35 all over the place and the bodies)?


Nothing remarkable beyond what had been described

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## DrK

Roger's perception (can't take 10 for this part as there are severe consequences if its high or low) (1d20)[*7*]

Weather (4d100)[*23*][*59*][*67*][*33*](182)
Events (4d100)[*15*][*93*][*39*][*46*](193)

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## DrK

Hello. 
Apologies for the slow return to posting after my travels. I was ill (probably from the flights)

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## u-b

Fixing that roll: (1d8+3)[*7*]... and still forgot to add bonus damage, that's another +2

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## u-b

> The three creatures looking like flayed humaoids each armed with long barbed spears!


Reading it a bit more carefully: _long_spears, right? Then no step back for the horse and an AoO for the shot.

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## RCgothic

Critical threat on the AoO. (1d20+7)[*27*] and total damage: (3d6+30)[*39*]

Double nat 20s!  :Small Eek:

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## RCgothic

And now I forgot it was a x3 critical. Needs some extra damage: (3d6+51)[*66*]

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## u-b

Arrow: (1d20+13)[*27*] for (1d8+5)[*12*] + (2d6)[*6*] (+1/+1 point-blank shot, -2/+0 rapid shot, +2/+0 inquisition: justice, +2/+2+2d6 bane)

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