Cleanup Crew IC

[IamL]

Hello. This is the IC thread for my playtesting game, Cleanup Crew.


INTRODUCTION:

One way or another, you each made your way to the east-southeastern port city of Char, the second easternmost city in the world. It is positioned on the continent of G'Lop, the largest continent of the five, and the farthest east. The vast kingdom of Kalam, of which Char is the second largest city in, stretches across most of this continent, and much of the Southern Continent as well. Stretching from half a league to the north to about five or six leagues to the north, you will find a small desert, caused by the vast mountain range of Hortok stretching a third of the way across the continent. If you managed to pass that range, you would find a lush rainforest followed by the huge, flat plains that form the agricultural area that feeds three quarters of the world. Fifteen leagues to the south lies the Barren Lands, caused by a great war between dozens of archmages that destroyed the land and caused it to become nearly uninhabitable. To the west, you find a high mountain plateau, followed by the Hriel Valley.

Char is a grimy town, with several industries available to it. The mountains near it provide a decent mining industry based in the large city, as Char is the closest major city to the richest mining veins of the Hortok Mountains. The sailing, trade, and fish industries are very big, too, for obvious reasons. A large Wizard College is located here as well. And then, of course, there are the illegal industries, which won't even be mentioned. It is said the number of things you couldn't buy in Char would number fewer than the number of trolls that can speak Supernal.

In one way or another, you all received a letter, beautifully calligraphed, smelling faintly of lilacs, with the king's seal on crimson wax, kept in near-perfect condition. It read, in violet ink,

To Whom it May Concern,
If you are receiving this letter, then you are either Sirachoé En'Saal, Métisse Thistlefoot, Wakaba, Terjon of Northwall, Elyna, or Mika. You have been chosen for your unique talents to become part of a government organization with the aim to eliminate wizards that are threatening innocents. You will be paid handsomely, and you will be granted amnesty for all crimes you have committed, if any. In exchange, you must report to the alley near the Char wharf at nine o'clock in the morning the day of the Grolli market, and work effectively as a group to eliminate the targets we set for you. If you do not show up, you will become the group's first target.
The Grolli market...That's tomorrow, you remember. It's a big market, you can recall. It's the third largest market festival in the G'Lop continent, in fact.

It is late morning.

[IamL]

(reserved space)

[Yas392]

Parched from her meditation, Mika cups her hands, gathering water, gulping it greedily down her throat after a long day training in the mountain that has a nice layout of a water fall. The wind is shifting, she needs to find accommodation for the day. Wiping her mouth, she re-read her letter. Satisfied, she stuffed her letter into her porch, jumping from ridges to ridges, stopping before a path that leads downwards.

What a nice view of the alpine!

She took one last look before departing from the steep hills to Char.

[Reyne]

Elyna had came to Char looking for magic to learn. The city had a reputation of being a place where everything was for sale, so surely that extended to their Wizard College as well, no? And either way, it'd be good to put some distance between her and her ex-family's home on the other side of the continent, to keep moving, find a city large enough to blend in. It's so odd after everything to be just another girl, just another wizard, just another 'human' in the bustling city of Char. Her sole distinguishing tiefling trait - the scent of brimstone - seemed almost commonplace in between all the smoke and smog that filled much of the city. Though she's a bit ashamed of inadvertently 'hiding' (voluntarily or not) her heritage, it's so nice to not have to worry about it for once. Just a quick kip in a cheap inn for now, and then later it's off to see the wizard(s).

As such, she was very surprised when she walked through the door of the room she'd just reserved from the innkeep, and found a letter sitting on the bed, addressed to her (and four other people she'd never heard of.) Almost as if they'd somehow known that she was going to come here, to this city, to this sector, to this inn, to this room.... unless they'd left a letter like this in every room. Or the letter was an illusion, the letters of her name being filled in by her own mind.

The wizarding college forgotten, Elyna was restless for the remainder of the day as she analyzed the letter, cast the few divination spells she knew, and lamented her ignorance of the most noble skill of forgery (how could she know the letter was even from the king?) The results she kept to herself, before the decision was made.

The next morning, precisely at 9 AM, five identical females - clearly a single wizard under the protection of a Mirror Image spell - walked into the designated alley, ready to talk to whoever was there

Preparation info for IamL:

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As the player, I don't really expect any trouble at the very start for metagaming reasons, but my character has no idea of what to expect. As such, being rather distrustful and a bit paranoid from her past experiences, she's prepared more spells than normal, and walked into the alley under the protection of three spells: Shield, Mirror Image, and Invisibility (in that order.) They last for 6 minutes (Shield) and 5 minutes (MI/Invis.)

As such, only Elyna herself is invisible while the Mirror Images are visible. Hence any attackers without means of seeing invisibility would presumably focus on her Mirror Images, effectively without any chance of actually hitting her.

Mirror images produced: (1d4+1)[5]

[tonberryking]

Chairs were over turned, threats were issued, someone threw a bowl that bounced Uncle Harfa's wedged skull, and soon enough a full on scrape between her brothers and a dead beat client ensued.

Wakaba sighed.

Sitting atop a table she'd been meditating on, she'd seen the while thing play out like a sinking boat. The deadbeat had made not only the mistake of refusing to pay and accusing the Ferrymen of extorting a protection fee, but in actually swinging that sword, he'd incited all of her brothers and a couple uncles into the flimsiest of excuses for a fight. They didn't even have enough people to fight against, so at least three of her brethren shifters were just tousling with each other for laughs. Apart from herself and her father and his twin, all of the 'boys' in the ferrymen's lodge would get antsy like this without a periodic fight or an obstinate tree to kick. Her father and first uncle ran the ferry so they always had something to do, and she had her intensive training... or her own job.

Or rather, her new job. She'd read over the letter and had been attempting to meditate on an answer when the fight broke out, ruining both the attempt and she knew lunch would end up getting postponed as well. At least when the fight drew her father out to investigte she could talk with him about it...

But for the moment, she was too busy getting hog-piled by her brothers who didn't get involved with dunking the deadbeat's head into the river, letting out a rare squawk from being taken unawares. She'd made too much of a target of herself... Lunch was definitely getting postponed.

***

Eventually she finds herself in Char, wearing a pair of leather, fingerless gloves her first uncle claimed to have been worn by her great great grandmother, and a backpack now half full of supplies. It's not the first taste she's had of civilization, but the doberman shifter finds this one to be the most ...diverse, and largely unpleasant one. She already feels a pang of homesickness as she heads towards the alley.

[Phelix-Mu]

Sirachoé

Preface:

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IamL:

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Sirachoé woke up, irked, head pounding, and world spinning slightly. Hung over. That's odd, she thinks, since that rarely happens. She has a high tolerance to alcohol, so despite the amounts of beer, mead, and vodka she consumes on a regular basis, she's only been hung over once or twice before.
As she gets up, she notes that the day is rather beautiful in the port town she arrived at late last night. What was the town's name? she thinks, then remembers suddenly. Char (the 'ch' represents the Hebrew letter chet, which makes a sort of scraping sound in the back of your throat. I'm not quite sure how to describe it). That was it. She tries to recall yesterday's events, most notably, how she ended up sleeping in a ditch on the side of the road with phallic imagery drawn on her pant leg in what appeared to be hot sauce. The creativity of society knows no bounds, she thinks sarcastically. She glances around the town, the midmorning sun is shining, the birds are chirping, the sea breeze is blowing through the air in a way that perfectly counterbalances the warm day, but all of this serves to worsen the pounding headache and optical migraine that have set in.
An elf, one that you faintly recognize as one of the apprentice monks, rushes towards you, obviously out of breath, and hands you a letter.
"It came.." *gasp* "about two days" *gasp* "after you left." *gasp* He regains control of his breathing after a while. "It was adressed to you, and it took me a while to find you. Sorry." The monk bows, and stands next to you, bouncing nervously from foot to foot, not really sure what he should do next, and motions for you to open the letter.

Phelix-Mu

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Blinking away her pain, she focuses on the monk.

Always nice to have someone's full attention, she thinks.

Raising an eyebrow at the monk's shifty movement, she turns her attention to the letter.

Time to apply some critical skills, she thinks.

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Taking 20 on Search and Spot on the envelope, looking at the following:
-Holding it up to the sunlight to check the weight of the paper (expensive or cheap).
-Smelling the envelope.
-Looking for fingerprints, smudges, smears, any sign of dirt.
-How is it sealed (wax, adhesive, string), quality of materials, care of application reflecting thoughtfulness or haste
-Any writing, it's quality, ink or pencil, weight of impression (showing the temperament of the person writing).
Search result= 20+6+ 4 luck= 30
Spot result= 20+8+ 4 luck=32

She keeps an eye on the impatient monk during her investigation, stringing him out a bit to distract herself from her headache.

IamL:

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Make a Fortitude save each round to stop the Hung Over condition, which gives you a -2 circumstance penalty to all rolls.

1. Very, very expensive, nice paper. It is heavy and durable, but thin enough so that you can bend and crease it.
2. It smells faintly of lilacs.
3. It has a bit of wear and tear, but that would probably be from the journey, not the writer.
4. It bears the King's seal.
5. It reads:

To Whom it May Concern,
If you are receiving this letter, then you are either Sirachoé En'Saal, Métisse Thistlefoot, Wakaba, Elyna, or (insert name of Yas' character here). You have been chosen for your unique talents to become part of a government organization with the aim to eliminate wizards that are threatening innocents. You will be paid handsomely, and you will be granted amnesty for all crimes you have committed, if any. In exchange, you must report to the alley near the Char wharf at nine o'clock in the morning the day of the Grolli market, and work effectively as a group to eliminate the targets we set for you. If you do not show up, you will become the group's first target.
The Grolli market...That's tomorrow, you remember.

Phelix-Mu:

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Fortitude saves (with -2 circumstance penalty):
(1d20+5)[16]
(1d20+5)[12]
(1d20+5)[6]
(1d20+5)[24]
(1d20+5)[6]
(1d20+5)[9]
(1d20+5)[17]
(1d20+5)[8]
(1d20+5)[22]
(1d20+5)[22]

Gotta lay off those "Elven Threeways", she thinks, smiling at the hazy memory.

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1/3 A distillation based off elven wine
1/3 A distillation based off honeywine
1/3 A distillation based off some slop the local humans threw together

The human liquor forms a density barrier between the light elven wine liquor, and the heavy honeywine liquor. Hence "Elven Threeway."

Hmm. Well, an interesting approach, to be sure. Offer money and rewards, but in the least polite way possible. I guess I'll have to be insulted on the king's silver, though,
she smiles, wincing a bit at the headache.

She rises to her feet, and offers the monk a few silver for his efforts, suggesting he buy himself some food or water before hitting the road again.

"And stay away from the coffee," she says as she departs, looking down at the letter again as she walks through town.

So, with a day to spend before the proposed meeting of this "group of the willing/coerced," Sirachoé decides to devote herself to a bit of pleasure.

With a fat pouch of gold leftover from her previous endeavors, Sirachoé heads to that place where the street urchins gather and beg money off of the adults doing their morning shopping for food for the day. There, she passes out coppers and handfuls of dried fruit to the youth, hassling them to ask nicely and chasing the healthy ones around a bit.

After enjoying the laughter and energy of the children for a bit, she restocks her supply of dried fruit in the food market, tasting a bit herself, savoring the texture and sweetness.

Now for something slightly more serious, she thinks.

She heads to the area where the Grolli market will be set up in less than a day's time. Wandering around nonchalantly, she observes the layout of the area, notes landmarks, potential escape routes, and the possible entrances, exits, and windows of the buildings surrounding the area.

Squinting her eyes a bit, she imagines the area with many more stalls and many more people. The noise. The smells. Someone with a fat purse and long reach wants a team of killers to go chase wizards.

Just like some fat-cat elitist to issue "requests" like this, she thinks. But the matter is far from the kind of boring demands that she would certainly scoff at complying with. Smiling to herself, she kicks a pebble around for a bit.

Time to exercise.

After a few minutes of stretching and warming up, the monk moves quickly through the alleys to the city limits, gradually picking up pace as the crowds thin. From there, she speeds up to her full pace, reveling in the feel of the wind through her blue hair, her canvas robes flapping in the wind.

She doesn't stop until she's out in the countryside, and thoroughly winded. Stopping herself, she concentrates and steadies her breath, assuming a handstand along the side of the road, holding it as her muscles scream with the pain of the long run.

Finding her center, she moves to supporting herself with one hand only, taking her time, repeating until she gets it right. Finally, she reaches inside herself and triggers the burst of emotion and ki that is the foundation of Fury Fans the Flames, letting the adrenaline wash over her, but maintaining her balance, focus, and steady breathing throughout.

After the exertion, she drinks from her waterskin, soaks her hair to cool herself, and then picks a spot in the full sunlight to meditate in. Sitting in the full lotus position, she empties her mind. After a time, she mentally reviews the days of the previous month, from every day spent with idiot elves, to the recent night of partying, noting details in her memory, and arriving gradually at the present, and her mental map of the space where the Grolli market will be held.

As evening approaches, she rises and stretches, noting her long shadow on the ground, and playfully tumbling about a bit before heading back into the city.

[sonofzeal]

Métisse Thistlefoot

The troglodytes were dying like cattle at the slaughterhouse now. The knees of their champion shattered, the skull of their chieftan crushed, the elders wailing despair as their dark magics slid uselessly off Métisse's form - the tribe was well and truly routed. Blood and grime clung everywhere as the last group of warriors made a desperate, pitiful stand to protect the clutch of eggs. A lucky strike grazed her side, hardly drawing blood, and then it was all over in a strangely graceful blur of small but devistatingly precise strikes, all wrists and twisting sinew until a foot snapped the trog's chin back or a knuckle entered its skull at the temple. This tribe would never befoul these lands again. And Métisse would collect her pay in full, or a certain devious contractor would join them.

The dead was done. She stood there, amidst the devastation, arms loose, hands slightly cupped at her sides, eyes closed. Breath. Breath. Keep the feeling. Preserve the calm, the purity. Two more minutes. Just two more...

But it was time to return to camp and report, to tend to her scratches and rest her legs. She turned, regretfully, to what amounted to "home" at the moment.

...and found a letter waiting for her, perfectly clean. It's not often you get a letter in the middle of a swamp. Magic, perhaps?

She read it with a frown. That wouldn't leave much time to get there. And she had pay here to collect. Still, it could be made. Though, why would government contactors be meeting in an alley-way? She made a mental note to watch for trouble.

-----

On the day of the Grolli market, Métisse was the last to arrive, several minutes late and still with a subtle aura of "Eau de Troglodyte" lingering around her, by vaulting off the roof of one of the buildings flanking the alleyway. It wasn't for show; she'd spent her childhood in cities like this one, and rooftop travel was usually faster and more convenient than the streets for those with good legs. Plus it let her scout for ambushes.

She landed with a light thump and small puff of dust, eyes firmly on those already present, and waits for someone to speak.

[IamL]

You all walk into the alleyway, finding each sight stranger than the last. The first thing you notice is a pervading odor of brimstone, but that isn't too unusual. The second thing that greets you is a man seated at a round table, which is odd because people usually don't put tables in alleys, but beyond that, something seems odd about the man. He is slouched back and is tipping back precariously in the oaken chair, feet on the table. He is slovenly, stains all over his beige shirt and loose dark pants. He is a bit on the small side. His closed eyes have dark circles underneath them, and you think he might be asleep. His hands and bare feet are worn, which are evidence that he isn't a noble, but rather working class, but he has an air of confidence, maybe even arrogance, that he projects. As you each file in, he nods.
"Mirror image'd, Elyna, very good. Also very predictable." "Mika, how are the mountains this time of year?" "Wakaba, I hear your family got into another fight with a client today." "Sirachoé, I hope you could get that stain out of your pant leg." "Terjon, I hope you did well in that monastic wrestling competition yesterday." "Now, where is Métisse when you need her, huh? Oh, here she is. Métisse, classy entrance, but you really should have washed some of that troglodyte blood and egg juice off before coming here."
All without opening his eyes. He keeps them closed as he addresses you all, still in that precarious position with his chair.
"You have been selected by King Xagyg, blah blah blah, a whole bunch of useless, stupid, obtuse, ostentatious formalities, basically, we need some people to get rid of the threat posed by evil mages and you six have been chosen because they don't trust me. Heh. That was the first good decision they've made in a long time."

[Phelix-Mu]

Sirachoé

A pale-skinned monk with royal blue-hair rolls her eyes so hard that everyone in the alley can hear it, before taking a deep breath and rolling her head around to stretch her neck. Stepping forward toward the man a pace, those now behind her see that her back is covered by a huge tattoo of a serpentine dragon with blue-grey scales that curls down from her left shoulder and down, down past her backless canvas halter top, and down yet further, disappearing behind the sash that is fastened about her waist. The tattoo is magnificent, and has an almost hypnotic quality about it. It doesn't hurt that the lady monk is quite beautiful as well.

She completes the effect by placing both hands firmly and noisily upon the table, palms down and fingers spread wide. Ice-blue eyes glare daggers at the man who sits so languidly in his chair.

"I'm surprised that one who purports to work for a king should be so lacking in manners. Most find that a tad more diplomacy, and a tad less threats, are more productive ways to start a relationship."

Turning to the assembled others, she speaks loudly.

"Hi, everyone. My name is Sirachoé En'Saal. I hope we can get along." Her mouth curls with a wry smile as she finishes her greeting.

[Reyne]

Elyna

To the side stands five identical women, relatively nondescript, apparently human, dressed in typical traveling clothes. As if one, each woman flicks a few strands of her flaming red hair off her face, and then snaps her fingers, muttering a few indecipherable words under her breath. The five women proceed to merge into one another, fading into a single image.

For IamL:

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Elyna hasn't actually dismissed her spell. Just muttered some arcane-sounding gibberish, and merged her Mirror Images, to try and pretend to be polite.

She tilts her head as if to listen, a bit amused, before responding to the man: "Well, at least you don't seem to be a typically unctuous noble playing your games. If you've indeed been dispatched by the King, could we perchance see the royal proclamation or writ authorizing this action?"

When she turns to face the rest of the group, her demeanor is all smiles.
"Well, hello to you all. I'm Elyna, at your service. It's nice to meet you."


OoC:

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Apparently, a certain synonym for tilting your head is censored here. Good to know.

[Yas392]

Waking up from her sleep in a makeshift shelter, she plops down the trees. Allocating upon herself some time in the morning as always, she begins her locomotive. Her katas involves a lot of strength and power. She secures boulders her back, going up and down the hills then finding animals to wrestle with, ending her practice with the jarring sounds of shattering rocks. Making her way to the marketplace, she generally avoid shady dealers. She smells a foul air coming from one of the nooks and knows that is her destination. Hiding behind the darkness, she beholds several other people she's going to work with. It is there she hears her benefactor and malefactor.

Who the **** are you?!

Mika bangs her fists in agitation, stepping out of the shadows. Her pallid grey complexion along with her unnatural white hair belies people's thoughts of her of being human. The gills exhaling and inhaling reinforced her true nature. What's more, her stature confirms that she is not well-groomed or well-educated but upon looking at her closely, you can tell that she had been through a lot of strife, coming a long way to become the person that she is today. Of all people, it had to be male. She tries to rear back her fist to strike him but decides against it. She do not want to end up being the government's blacklist. She remembers her master's training: Stay calm, do not let the anger shroud your judgement. Putting away her anger for the time being, she cynically introduce herself after Sirachoé strutted her line.

Mika, a lovely maiden of the stars. A pleasure.

[IamL]

"Oh, you mean the letters? Those weren't my idea."
He pulls out a crumpled piece of parchment, a standard proclamation signed and sealed by the king, declaring you six as employees of the Crown and subject to the man carrying the proclamation.
And be content with the knowledge that I am your new boss, Mika.

[Phelix-Mu]

Sirachoé

"So are you the one recruiting and calling the shots, or just some middleman here to hand us the orders?"

A slight breeze seems to emanate from the woman, which has an appealing cosmetic affect on the shoulder-length thin braids that make up all of the genasi's hair.

"I'd rather deal with the brains of the operation than the face."

[Reyne]

Elyna strides forward in a slightly haughty manner, and examines the document for a few moments.

For IamL:

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Basically, she's still suspicious, and trying to figure out if there's anything suspicious about it and how difficult it would be to forge a document like this; whether there's any magic on the document and whether she expects there to be any. How much she can trust that it's really from the king, in other words. Her reaction is the same in either case since, well, even if it's a blatant forgery, best to play alone for now.

Also, some knowledge checks to see how much she actually knows about the king, kingdom, and royal court. Basically general setting info I don't think we've gotten yet.
Knowledge History: (1d20+10)[28]
Knowledge Local: (1d20+7)[12]
Knowledge Nobility+Royalty: (1d20+7)[19]

"I see. Cheery indeed", she murmurs, narrowing her eyes as a sardonic smile spreads itself across her face. "As cliched as it may sound, why us, may I ask?"

As she's moved closer, nearby individuals might think they can smell something smoggy on her, something that makes your mouth curl in slight distaste. Ah well, she must have spent some time in the industrial sector, no?

[Yas392]

Lines of wrinkles outlines on her face highlighting the disappearance of youth from her face.

Oh? And what makes you think you can do a better job than the other agents of the king? You lots (males) are the same!

She addresses back with a hiss.

No offense to you, chump.

She plants an eye on the elf.

But I'll be watching you both.

She indicates with distrust at the two males.

Now, spill it! Name, Place, Rules and Price.

[sonofzeal]

Métisse Thistlefoot

"I'm not interested in bits of paper. Or in the chain of command beyond you. Just tell me what you want done and what pay you're offering. Then I'll decide."

Métisse doesn't take the trouble of introducing herself; there's only one here with the lingering stench of troglodyte anyway. She does, however give a curt nod to the others. None had crossed her path in The Profession, nor particularly had the bearing for it. But she'd long ago learned to size up potential adversaries, and each of these was formidable in their own way. If this was a set-up, and two or more of those present were in on it, there could be real trouble. But for now, there was no reason to mistrust any but this stranger at the table. And if his coin was good, and the job reasonable, nothing else signified.

[Arokh]

Terjon of Northwall

Having come to Char for nothing more but another step on his journey, Terjon found it an astonishing coincidence to have arrived just in time to join the local monasteries tournament of wrestling. Many different schools had been present, and as many styles had competed. Coming out amongst the top three, Terjon had truly been satisfied with the progress he had made.

The letter, slipped into his pack at some point during the evening meditations, had provided another step forward.

Now positioned amongst his... fellows... Terjon of Northwall stands open and confident. To anyone who might observe, the half-elven (or elven?) male appears dressed in a typical travelling monks outfit, beige pants, simple light brown tunic. His brown hair is of medium length, tied behind his head in a short tail.

"The tournament and it's outcomes have been most beneficial, elder. It has provided great opportunity to improve myself."

A short bow is performed.

"Now while I am honoured to have been chosen for this endeavour, I must concede that I am curious as to what the specific goals of it would be, as well."

[IamL]

"'Us males' are all the same? Care to elaborate on that sexist rant, miss?"

He opens his eyes, finally, and they're very, very strange. They pulse different colors very rapidly, changing constantly. Sometimes the change is subtle, sometimes obvious.
He raises his right eyebrow.
"And if I were the face of the operation, we'd be in trouble. I am both the brains and the brawn, ma'am. Or was, anyway. Now I've been downsized, and I'm just the brains. You guys are the new brawn. As I said before, they don't trust me. At least, not anymore."

He pauses for a moment, maybe to gather his words, but it seems partially for dramatic effect.
"Your first job will be in a town to the north, just south of Umal Mountain, named Torsdok. You will have to get rid of a mage named Klort Umuga that has been wreaking havoc on the town's precious metal supply lines to Char, but the main pieces of evidence you'll need to find him will be found in Torsdok. We'll be paying you as we see fit, but trust me, it will be a handsome sum. And the penalty was detailed in the letter that was sent."

[tonberryking]

For her part, Wakaba quickly grows confused. The female majority of her piers is one thing she's caught unawares by, given that the boyish shifter spends so much time surrounded by brothers and cousins. And that's not even getting into the multiple woman, and the other ...something or other with gills who seems intent on hating the male persuasion. Rubbing her arm, she stands in the back, unable to ask her potential employer how he knew about the fight, or if Mika's deriding barbs were aimed at herself.

But then, she has an opening to go with: the King's man lays down the job and she strikes at it: "You want to hire us to kill somebody? After threatening us with the same? Why? All you have to do is ask if we'd be interested in putting a stop to a thug with a blockade..." her voice contradicts her appearance. It's a rather tenor voice that either implies she's a girl or she's a boy who's voice hasn't gone over yet.

[sonofzeal]

Métisse Thistlefoot

"The last time I was offered a 'handsome sum', it was to recover a stolen signet brooch from the local Thief's Guild. I took out over fifty of the scum in the process - and the man refused to pay me because the brooch was 'scuffed', or so he says."

She hops up on the table as if she was weightles, bare feet hardly rustling the papers there. The tattoo on her face almost seemed to shimmer, but her eyes were cold and unmoving as they locked with his. "Half now. Half on completion, whether you're happy with how it went or not. Fail to pay, and I take two fingers from each hand, and a foot. I choose the fingers, you choose the foot. Those are the terms. Take them or leave them."

[IamL]

"Ah. See, you just made a mistake there. I'll take an insult well, my honor and arrogance are a constant and can take more than a few hits, but if you try to threaten me, things get a little bit messy. Especially when you're in no position to threaten me." He kicks backwards. His chair topples over, but he does a backflip, his feet hitting the wall in the back of the alley and propelling himself forwards again, jettisoning him into Métisse, who he slams into the ground with the force of a god. Smoke trails from his nose and mouth, and in a voice not quite human, he says,
"Don't test me, Métisse. Nor any of you. Don't play with fire."

For Sonofzeal:

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Métisse feels a burning agony all over her body, as if someone was stabbing her with thousands of vorpal sewing needles. She has never in her life felt pain like she has now, even though she maintains all her functions. This man's grip is vicelike, and his arms and legs are like adamantine. Actually, probably stronger.

[sonofzeal]

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I've got reach from Ten Foot Punch, so no matter what I get a free shot on the way in. Yeah yeah he seems like ten levels above us so it'll probably miss, but gosh darn it I'm taking it anyway.

Attack: (1d20+13)[25]
Damage: (1d4+14)[17]

Also... does he roll against her 40% miss chance?

[tonberryking]

With a yelp of warning, Wakaba backs up into a defensive pose, legs poised to strike out hard and fast, yet she stands on them lightly. Her brown eyes widen at the assault and for a moment hesitates. She doesn't know if she can get to Métisse without the risk of hurting her.

"Whoa, WHOA! Cut out the threats-- you can't force us into this just as she can't force a payment out of you! Now let her go and maybe we can reach an agreem-- No, don't attack!!!," she manages, fearing it may be the wrong thing to say, but her resolution to defend herself is far more resolute.

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(1d20-1)[16] Just for kicks, diplomacy

[Reyne]

Elyna stands to the side, saying nothing while her new 'employer' subdues the halfling; best not expose myself by speaking up now, she thinks. This guy does seem very sketchy, but confronting him now while he's expecting it and he seems so much stronger than us, while I'm surrounded by uncertain 'allies' - any of which could be one of his agents - seems foolhardy. I'll go along with what he says for now; it's the safest option. Though I could try to get some information while I'm here. And also, if he's so much stronger, why isn't he the one doing this instead?

She mutters words that sound like gibberish. Moments later, her green eyes begin to glow blue.

For IamL:

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Casting Arcane Sight. I concentrate on our apparently nameless employer, and get to see whether he has any spellcasting or spell-like abilities, whether these are arcane or divine (spell-like abilities register as arcane), and the strength of the most powerful spell or spell-like ability the creature currently has available for use. In addition, I also now know the location and power of all magical auras within my sight. I can then make Spellcraft checks to see the school of magic involved, if any.

Also, I forgot to label the spoiler in my last post as for you, but there are some knowledge rolls in there; would you mind resolving them?

Oh, and it's probably been 5 minutes by now so her Invisibility and Mirror Images go out. With the apparent effect below.

Someone closely observing might also notice when she suddenly vanished and reappeared a few feet away without fanfare, milliseconds later.

[IamL]

The man laughed at Métisse's attempt to hit him, and he literally jumped over her fist on his way to the takedown. And he did make his roll against the 40% miss chance.


"That is correct, Wakaba. I cannot force you to do anything, though attempting to extort payment out of someone that far outmatches you is not a good plan.

for Reyne:

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An incredibly strong divine force exudes from him, as does arcane power. The light shed from him is nearly blinding. The school of magic that his most powerful ability currently on is Transmutation.
The king is a generous man, devoted to social welfare and personal freedoms, but very very opposed to criminal behavior. He has reigned for three months thus far, but already, crime rates have dropped significantly. He has a large pool of advisors, whom he respects.
The military is small, but incredibly well-trained.

[Reyne]

IamL:

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Hrmm, that's a bit less informative than I was expecting. To clarify, by 'divine force' and 'arcane power' do you mean that these are his spellcasting or spell-like abilities? Or that he has spells currently affecting him with their own auras? I should be able to know both (and the number of the auras, if any.) Does 'incredibly strong' means far stronger magic than I am capable of? There's a table for describing aura strength here

Sorry if I'm being nitpicky or if you haven't written down what spells this guy has on. Giving a rough number would be fine if that's the case.

Elyna pauses, considering, as she continues to study the man. I could get involved in this, snap off a quick spell... but I would be shocked if it did anything but annoy him. Though he wouldn't want to seriously injure his new recruits/lackeys, it still wouldn't be pleasant for me. I've just met the halfling; she has no reason to trust or believe me, so speaking up would be useless. If we do want to fight him, this is the worst possible time for it - wait until we're more sure of one another's allegiances, and have the advantage of surprise. So I suppose it's best I stay quiet for now, and observe.

[Yas392]

Mika is coming for a retort when the words are being swallowed back. It's no use. What can she say? Males are barbaric, misogynist creatures? Or perhaps they are worst thing that ever happen in the world? But that's what her sensei was? Right? Right? A shade covers her face, a glint of sharp gritted fangs showing exasperation.

It's probably best not to aggravate the man further. Arrggh, I am not really good with words. Wait a second, he's in the government, he should know.

She is not long for long discussions. She settles herself back against the wall, leaning, crossing her arms. If she had continued on with her tirade, a bad premonition will come true. Which is about 10 seconds later that brings her roving self back to the realm of solidity. She jumps.

Fingers and legs digging deep onto the compound, she clings to the wall like a spider before the crashing of two people, revealing Métisse hurt on the ground by their newly proclaimed employer. She smirks.

What is he? A dragon or a demon?

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Intelligence check - (1d20)[16]

She is actually impressed by his vigor. He totally earned her respect in her page. If she had made a wrong move, she would have ended on the ground in place of Métisse. Although she feels that way in the outside, her expression is one of jaw-dropping proportion and envy.

If only I have his power...Bah, now it's not the time.

Mika also have to judge whether he is a threat that needs to be eliminated in the near future.

He could be a mage.

Not drawing conclusion due to lack of evidence, she surveys what his next move will be.

[IamL]

For Reyne:

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The answer is: all of the above. He has both spellcasting and spell-like abilities of both divine and arcane magic. There are eighteen auras, ten divine and eight arcane, all with an aura power level of 'overwhelming.'

For Yas392:

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Evidence points to the former; a dragon seems more likely.

[Reyne]

"What!?", Elyna blurts out, before catching herself. Thoughts fly through her mind quickly: How in the world could this man be so ridiculously powerful? There has to be something wrong with my spell! ...No, no, I've used it before, it has to be working. But with that the case, we have no option other than listen to him, placate him. You don't want to anger someone who could destroy you utterly, destroy the entire city if need be just by snapping his fingers. I don't think I can stop the fight, but I can at least try.

She turns to Métisse: "Please, stop! Let's not fight one another."

[sonofzeal]

Through clenched teeth: "Get. Off. ME!" Her voice shatters on the last word, a piercing scream that leaves ears ringing, and at least one nearby window explodes just as she does, a berserker fury of attacks. Clawed hands dig at the sensitive tendons of the armpit, the underside of his chin, the sides of his neck, as needle-sharp feet attempt to pulverize his crotch.

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Attack: (1d20+14)[18] Damage: (1d4+18)[22]
Attack: (1d20+14)[23] Damage: (1d4+18)[20]
Attack: (1d20+14)[16] Damage: (1d4+18)[21]
Attack: (1d20+14)[32] Damage: (1d4+18)[20]
Attack: (1d20+14)[24] Damage: (1d4+18)[21]
Attack: (1d20+14)[31] Damage: (1d4+18)[21]
Attack: (1d20+14)[27] Damage: (1d4+18)[20]
Attack: (1d20+14)[17] Damage: (1d4+18)[20]

.....plus an automatic 5 sonic damage from Fury Fans the Flame. Unless that applies to every touch. The wording's ambiguous.

If even one attack hits, he has a -3 to attack and damage for a minute.