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[Elfman6]

Title Plots of Blood and Dust

Edition/Setting Eberron Pathfinder

Game Description Story Somewhere in Sharn "Did you acquire the journal?" The voice was silky smooth, the body hidden in the deep shadows of the sewer; merely a cloaked shape even as torch light flickered off the wet walls.The steady dripping of water into shallow pools settled in as white noise. "Um, no." This voice was rougher, accustomed to strong drink and cheap cigars. "He wasn't carrying it on him." "Then I'm confused. You stated that you could acquire the journal. Your reputation indicated that you could acquire the journal. Perhaps your reputation was wrong?" The statements were very matter-of-fact, icy. "No, no, no." Surprised, his hands held up defensively. "I can get the journal." "This is a promise you have already made to me. I have no reason to expect you to keep this promise again. You are a liar Mr. Grume." "That's not it! I just need a bit more time." Fear. "That was not the agreement. Reinhert!" A dark shape stepped from a side tunnel and enveloped the figure of Mr. Grume; who cried out in surprise, the noise immediately cut short. Morgrave Morgrave University "What was Professor Trask working on?" The student's voice echoed off the vaulted ceiling. His companion glared at him and shook his head. "Petr, keep your voice down. I'm right here, there is no need to yell." "Sorry. It's just weird. For all anyone knew, Trask was healthy and now he's dead. So what was he working on?" The taller one leaned against a column and looked out across the empty quad. "He was over 300 years old..." "And a dwarf. He easily had another century to him. So I'm thinking someone murdered him. He still had gold and money on him, so it wasn't a robbery gone bad. So what was he up to?" "Really? If Trask was murdered, and I mean if; I'm a little disturbed that you're more concerned about why and not who? Thankfully we have people for that. Let the Sharn Watch do their thing. I am not getting involved in your conspiracy theories again and if this is all that you want to talk about then I'm going. I have an exam in two days and I am woefully underprepared." "Come on Quinton. I know you want to know." "NO! Last time I ended up in jail and missed my Pre-Galifer History exam." "Come oooonnnn" Who are you? You are in Sharn, the City of Spires. Whether as a local, tourist, refugee, or wanderer you find yourself here amongst the crowded throughfares and empty alleys; the mass of humanity going about their day to day lives. You are not one of them. Inside of you is the spark, the energy that gives you that extra added oomph. At the end of the day, you do not turn away problems and danger. You find a way to take it on, to face it; and with a little luck and skill, to overcome it.

What this Game is and is not Eberron is a land of intrigue and mystery, shattered and recovering from a century long war that ended with the equivalent of a magical nuke. The campaign setting is marinated heavily in the pulp of 1920s and noir works. It is the original Indiana Jones Trilogy writ large. My vision for this game begins with mysteries, plots, and exploration (both of Sharn itself and the land of Khorvaire later on); spiced with action and fights. Knowing how slow PbP is, especially as regards to combat, I'm envisioning a ratio of approximately 25% Combat with the rest divided amongst Exploration, Investigation, and Pulp Action. You, as players, will obviously influence that with your choices. I have no desire to see battle after battle after battle, an endless slog of dice rolls and bloodshed. I would hope that neither do you.

Character Application Description Character sheets will not be required unless selected. Adding a picture will not help you. Name: Race: All core and Eberron races are acceptable. Not looking for monster manual races (Daelkyr half-blood, minotaurs, Empty Vessels, etc.) Classes: No Gunslingers, the tech isn't... right. Alignment: Non-evil Physical Description: Personality: Tell me who your character is. Motivation: What get's your character's attention? Background: Where did they come from? Why are they in Sharn if they didn't start there? I don't need a novel here.

Character Building Information For Reference Only at this Point! Link to Eberron specific material converted to Pathfinder can be found here Level: 2 Abilities: 20 Point Buy Traits: 2. No Drawbacks. House Rules:1st Level Hit Points: Max+Con Score, use Con Mod for levels afterwards. d6 HD roll normally. d8 must roll at least half, else take the 4. d10 and d12 must roll at least 6 and 8 respectively. Vital Strike can be used with Spring Attack Feat Tax Rules Found here are in full effect. Abuse of Paragon Surge will not be tolerated. Expanded Arcana is not a viable target for this spell.

Notes I'm looking for 6 characters total. I have 4 players in the wings, so I'm looking for two at this point. The distances in the Campaign Setting have been reduced to 1/5th. A distance of 1000 miles is only 200 miles. There is no need for Khorvaire to be wider than the Eurasian continent. It is now as big as Europe. Long, introspective/backstory posts that end up not moving the story forward are frowned upon. Always do something. Expected Posting Rate: 1-2 per week. My job (industrial medic) doesn't always allow me internet access. I will be very upfront about that. Right now, I'm in a position that I can post daily. Should I find myself on a different site, then my posting rate will likely suffer. Thus, I'm setting the post rate at what I reasonably can do at the worst case scenario.

[Elfman6]

Name: Torvald Reiner
Concept/RolePious Thrill-seeking Catburgler
One Unique Thing: Swingy Luck: Whenever things are at their worst, Torvald comes out smelling like a rose. This tends to bite him in the ass though, as soon afterwards karma swinging back with a vengence. Sure, he got away clean with the golden idol, but it turned out the eccentric merchant collected hollow stone idols that were merely painted gold.
Background: Acoloyte/Roofrunner and 2nd-Story Man

What happened recently Torvald hopped from the dense pine as the clouds gathered overhead. His gloved hands slapped tightly against the edge of the stone wall around Scrimhunt Castle and he hung there for a moment before pulling himself up on the wall, laying flat against the fancy pointed iron stakes that populated the length of the wall to dissuade people from doing the very action he had just taken. The place was dark on the other side, just an old haunted house. More story than any reality as far as he was concerned. A cold breeze slipped by his face, pushing down his neck and spine; forcing a shiver. "Scared?" his compatriot, Francis, hissed up from the bottom of the wall. "No. Of course not. That's why I'm up here and you're down there. Now, you better have that bag of gold ready for sunup. A bet is a bet. I'll stay the night in there. All those stories are hogwash." He pulled his hood up around his ears, letting it sit low on his face, casting it in shadow. Lord let me be right. The portly Francis rolled his eyes, slipping back into the brush where their little tent was set up. To make sure that Torvald kept his end of the bet. He was Francis's opposite; slim where Francis was round, dark of hair where Francis was golden, brave where the other was cowardly. Francis would have said prudent and cautious while Torvald was foolhardy. The thief gave a salute to his friend and slipped over the tops of the spikes, landing softly in the courtyard. Something was off, but he wasn't certain what. Hugging the shadows, he approached the walls of the structure, staying far away from the main paths. That's when he heard it. Voices. There were others here. Torvald held his breath and listened carefully, his pack growing uncomfortable on his shoulders, rope and rapier growing heavy on his belt. Reflexively he crossed himself. Soft laughter and muted conversation. He smiled widely. There were people here, which meant that he might get to dip his fingers into a few pies if he was careful. Pay ontop of pay. Eyeing a second story window, he took the rope and grappling hook off his belt; he quietly rotated it, releasing and catching the sill with a soft clink. Pulling twice to check the hold, he quickly clambered his way up. Thunder rolled behind him as he pulled the window open and looked inside. A dusty room met his gaze, dimly illuminated by the rapidly vanishing moon. Perfect. Gathering his rope and hook, his slipped inside and neatly bound it back on his belt. Rain began to fall. Lightning and thunder angrily protested. Reflexively he closed the window. That was lucky. No one came outside and I got in before the storm started. Intensely luckly. He smiled widely, and then grimaced. "How is this going to bite me in the ass" he whispered under his breath.

Bullet Point History Born in the town near Scrimhunt Castle Was given to the local church at a young age as payment for services rendered. Found a natural affinity and enjoyment in climbing and jumping. Started running with a less than stellar crowd. Angered his priest mentor and was cast out. Joined in with local gangs full time. Preferred High Story work and lockbreaking. No need to get into fights or spin lies on the fly.

[Elfman6]

Opening A Speck of Dust Originally Posted by Sharn Sharn, the City of Towers and the largest city on the continent of Khorvaire; one of the defining locations of the nation of Breland, looms atop an inhospitable outcropping of rock near the mouth of the Dagger River. The City of Towers rises high into the cloud-filled sky, growing upward within the limited space available on the plateau bounded on the west and south by the Dagger River and its eastern tributary, the Hilt. To the north and east, steep cliffs define the city's boundaries, while deep chasms formed by volcanic action cut the plateau into five distinct regions: Dura on the west, Tavick's Landing on the east, Northedge to the north, the Central Plateau and Menthis Pleateau in the center. Along the Dagger River at the western edge of the city, the neighbourhood of Cliffside is built upon and into the steep riverside cliffs. Above the highest towers, the neighbourhood of Skyway floats over the city. The city also extends underground, into sewers and long-forgotten ruins, and deeper to the furnaces and foundries of the Cogs. People in Sharn die on a daily basis. The closer to the Cogs one gets, the more common it becomes and the less anyone cares. It was inevitable that a death in Morgrave University would reach outside of Upper Menthis that one knew that someone of import had died. While not a celebrity of any sort, Professor Arkvin Trask was well known on the campus and amongst the taverns and pubs of Menthis Tower for the work he occasionally needed performed that were beyond his own capabilities. The dwarf had acquired tenure before the Last War (or as he unceasingly referred to it after the first decade, the Long War) had officially begun, but kept a low profile in all the time; doing his level best to avoid scandal and overt drama. Popular knowledge was that he had steadily attended his own lectures, even when the halls were emptied by demand for the war. As a professor of antiquities, he blended into Morgrave's seedier nature. As a specialist in Pre-Galifer history and the Dhaakani Empire, he stood out as often as he was overlooked by those whose imaginations were fired by the mysterious Xen'drik and it's potential profits. Within the Golden Rooster, tucked into the Cassan Bridge district of Middle Menthis, Trask's name floats amongst the patrons. The Golden Rooster is an adventurer's tavern without doubt, but one that caters to a quieter clientele; favoured by those who prefer study and introspection to the raucous nature of more classic establishments. A blue haze of smoke hangs precariously above the heads of the patrons as human and halfling servers move amongst the tables; dropping off food and drinks while collecting empty dishes. The common room is large for the area, with rounding corners where they exist at all. Pillars are spaced evenly along the flagstone floors, holding up the warm looking wooden ceiling stained yellow from years of smoke. Shuttered windows sit on either side of the main entrance, itself a strong oak door well-balanced on it's hinges that the weight of it is almost not noticeable upon entrance. A few more windows, open to the fading sunlight to the west let in a bit of natural light to those who desire it; the other towers a backdrop to the blue sky beyond. Maps of Khorvaire and the continent of Xen'drik dot the walls, often studied and noted by patrons in deep discussion. A small wooden stage has been set up for entertainment near the long, polished wooden bar. Right now, it sits empty, but for a gnome lost deep in a book. The bar is being tended by a warforged by the name of Quartermaster; who keeps meticulous tabs on both his inventory and the number of people in the room. An owl with a wing in a splint sits calmly upon a perch behind the bar, looking about every so often. Tucked into an unused corner of the room is sturdy circular staircase leading to a second level. Close by is a beaded curtain, decorated into the emblem of Breland itself, the bear's head flanked by golden dragons. Warmth, the clatter of cooking, and savory smells emanate from within. This unassuming tavern and hostel is where you find yourself this afternoon; a bubble of space from the frenetic pace and simmering tensions of this post-war land.

[Elfman6]

Questions and food Conversation quieted as Kylie entered the bar, Karnaathian Shepard at her side. There seemed to a moment of collective decision before conversation resumed with no further care for the well-behaved dog. Quartermaster's orange focusing orbs regarded the young woman as she sat at the bar though no emotion could be found in the warforged's countenance; flicking down to the dog and back up to Kylie. He reached up to stroke the breast feathers of the owl with a single ponderous digit, the creature leaning into the touch before clambering onto the hand and up to the shoulder for a new perch. Quartermaster answered the unspoken question. "The canine is acceptable so long as it maintains its current standard of behavior". The door opened again. Quartermaster cocked his head and looked beyond Kylie for a moment, nodding to Beryl Copper as the smaller warforged entered. "Common room is one silver for a night. Private room is five silvers. We can accommodate your diet." He motions to one of the serving women, a larger Brelish human woman. "Maureen, a bowl of the unspiced beef for the companion. The human woman would have the fresh salad. The requisition cost is five coppers for both meals." He moves to say something more when he notices more clientele entering, one after the other. He serves quickly, noting the five silver price tag on the Brelish red. "Patrons from all over the Five Kingdoms make queries here. Talk is strongly of Professor Trask's passing, Karnaathi of origin or not. He will be sorely missed." The warforged glances up again as the elven woman enters, but his attention is fully on the colourfully dressed man who enters shortly after. There is genuine quiet in the Golden Rooster before the collective shrug of noncommittal once again reigns supreme. Maureen exits the kitchen with a lovely salad of fresh lettuce, juicy sliced tomato, cucumber slices, diced green onion, and crisp slices of bell pepper with a vinaigrette on the side and steaming bowl of meat in gravy; setting the meat before Tornado and the salad before Kylie. "If you want anything else, you just let me know hun." She smiles and waits a moment for a reply before heading off to deal with other patrons, collecting the empty mugs from the emptying card table. Quartermaster pours a glass of Karnaathi whiskey and places it before Leonhardt; a good brewery, but nothing especially special. "Heinrich Yars? I will check this name." The door to the establishment opens and closes again, a bit quickly if anyone wanted to be honest. A young man in his early 20s stops before moving any farther into the room, reaching up to scratch his scalp hidden beneath of shock of brown hair. His clothing is baggy and plain; it wouldn't draw the eye at all in the streets of Sharn. He takes an unsteady step forward as his eyes dart about the room, resting on group at the bar. The gait reminds one of a person deep in their cups, but he lacks the reddened cheeks and glazed over look more common to those whose vice is alcohol. He bumps into Kylie and puts his hands up, eliciting a low growl from Tornado. "Ssss... Sorry about that." The young man smiles weakly and seems to change his mind about sitting at the bar. He makes his way to to the card table near the open the window, before deciding to sit directly beneath it.

[Elfman6]

Conversation "Do not feel singled out. It is my understanding that the majority of persons are not from Sharn. As for Trask, I never met the man myself. My forging occurred but three years ago. What I do know is that Professor Trask was an employee of Morgrave University, a professor of antiquities. Tenure was acquired nearly a century ago. A dwarf, originally of the Mror Hold to my knowledge." Quartermaster eyes the young man for a moment before deciding the patron was less interested in libations than a place to sit. "Visitors in the Golden Rooster often cited the good professor's patronage as was relayed to me by the previous owner. Myself, I witnessed two such expeditions in the past year of proprietorship. One group found themselves heading towards the Shadow Marches and the other into Darguun. I am uncertain if either group returned." A table close to the bar catches Sasha's toast, raising their own glasses in solidarity. "To Arkvin Trask" a gnomish woman in an explorer's outfit echoes ", may his debts be cleared and his memory everlasting." The other members at the table, two human men and an orcish woman, chuckle and drink their drinks. Some angry yelling can be heard in the streets. It's not entirely unusual, this area being a melting pot of cultures and misunderstandings.

[Elfman6]

Law ''About his time..." Quartermaster weighed the question carefully and made to answer, but simply nodded as the colourful Karrnathi answered in his stead. The owl on the warforged's shoulder nuzzled against his head. It was hard to tell, but a certain protrusion of displeasure crossed Quartermaster's face as the gnomish woman gave her answering toast. Quietly, he muttered to the floor of the hostel"that one did not serve." Orange gaze passed back up to sweep the room. Seeming satisfied, he resumed conversation with Kylie. ''During the market hours, there is noise. It cannot be helped. Such is the nature of commerce. After the dinner hour, when the merchants go home, a city silence will descend. The Golden Rooster is well located." He writes something behind the bar. "Excuse me a moment." The warforged picks up a small piece of folded paper and knocks on the back wall, opens a small wood panel and slides the paper within before closing it again. The haze of smoke in the air swirls violently as the door to the establishment swings open forcefully. The familiar sight of the Sharn Watch enters The Golden Rooster, a human male and female clad in studded leather armour with crimson cloaks clasped around their necks with a brass medallion showing the bear of Breland. A crossbow hangs from the belt of the man and a simple wooden wand is noticeable in a holster on the woman's side. The man is dark of hair, cut short, with tanned skin. He has an impressive handlebar mustache. The woman has a darker complexion with shoulder length black hair. The young man under the window glances at them, then slowly squats on his chair and leans back out the window; gripping the sides of the frame and starts to slide out. The Watch members approach the bar, looking at Quartermaster. Torque's vision passes over those at the bar, stopping briefly on Tornado before deciding the hound isn't a threat. The woman glances around the room, noticing Beryl and raises her eyebrow. "I'm Watchman Torque. This is Watchman Moddae." He gestures to the woman on his left. "We're looking for Petr Trotsi. Human male in his early 20s. Average height. Messy brown hair. Wearing plain clothes. We have reason to believe he entered this establishment. Have you seen him? Any of you?" His voice is gruff.

[Elfman6]

You will be filling out these following sections as a bare minimum. You can feel free to do more. In addition, I will note do not make a character at this point in time.

Name: What is your character's name?

Concept: Not your class – but what sort of high concept are you going with this character. Or low concept, I suppose.

Class: Monk

Race: Kalashtar

Homeland: Adar, in Sarlona

Background: Tell me a bit about your character's background. If your character is more than two years old and you are native to Khorvaire, you better include the Last War here or SO HELP ME HOST. 1 paragraph minimum.

Flaw/Debt: Most William Gibson-esque protagonists have some sort of fundamental flaw. It could be a vice, it could be some fundamental failing, some missing thing that just consistently plagues them. What is yours? How does this factor into some sort of debt owed that is worth risking your life over to clear?

Anything Else You Want: Impressions, music, thoughts on mechanics, opinions on various house rules and the like, go nuts.

[Elfman6]

tense Quartermaster takes two purposeful steps to his left as Sasha stands, putting himself clearly out of any potential line of fire. The space in the establishment seems to grow larger as chairs and patrons move slightly away from the guards and the confrontational Karrnathi woman. All the attention in the room is on the space between the law and the unexpected resistance; the space made smaller as Torque steps forward with purpose. The man is easily a head taller than her and almost twice her mass; and it's clear this is not the first time Torque has used that size to his advantage. He glances down at the symbol on Sasha's breastplate. "Another Cyrian refugee, infesting my city like fleas. Should have been wiped out with the rest of your kin in the Day of Mourning." "Torque." Moddae's voice undercuts her partner's words with a unspoken warning. "A Cyrian with a Karrnathi accent. Couldn't find a home in two nations, so you come to." "Torque!" Moddae interrupts the man before he can go on what appears to promise to be a colourful rant. He looks down at her as she pushes past him to meet Sasha's gaze; taking note of Kylie's new position of interest. "Petr is a person of interest in an ongoing investigation and that is as much as we can share as to that. That said, he is enrolled at Morgrave University and is known there." She reaches into a belt pocket and retrieves a folded piece of paper, which she deftly shakes out in a single motion. It is a Wanted poster, clearly magically created, with an image of Petr Trotsi. His name is printed boldly beneath the portrait of the plain looking young man; thick of jowl and a rounded, blunt nose. The hair isn't as wild, but the man is definitely the one currently vanishing out the window. Watchman Moddae holds it by the top and slowly shows it around the room. She catches Beryl's eye again, speaking with a nod of her head. "Beryl Copper. Have you seen him?" Torque glowers at his chastisement, but keeps his mouth shut. With his hands on his hips, he looks about the room again; his thick fingers pawing the grip of his crossbow. The watchman breaks into a wry smile as Geordie speaks. He walks heavily over to halfling and the elf; looking down at them. "Now there's a smart man. Ready to help the honourable Watch with nary a complaint. I think we could have an arrangement Mr...?" He pauses for a moment for Geordie to introduce himself, before gesturing to Amber. "And is this here your partner in crime?"

 

Torque has attempted Intimidate versus Sasha. The result of the die was 13.

[Elfman6]

Tempers Events escalate quickly in The Golden Rooster. In a rougher bar, it is almost a certainty that a punch would have been thrown by now. The tension sits thickly upon the cloud of smoke as those who haven't spoken up inwardly debate their choices; giving glances to their companions in attempts to read the expressions on their faces. The gnome sitting on the small stage with the book has slowly closed it and backed itself further away. The toasters have scrapped their chairs to the far side of the table; a ready shield should violence erupt. Amber's hands erupt in fire as Sasha's ire and tongue-lashing divide Torque's attention. His face twists in surprise and anger. Fingers wrap tightly around the grip of his crossbow as he goes to yank it from the belt loop. Beryl's response seems almost lost beneath the shouting and red emotion. Watchman Moddae grabs Torque by the arm, clearly frustrated by the turn of events. "Let it go Torque. Petr is gone out the window. Your behavior is going to cost us the arrest." Torque sneers back her. "Which window?" Moddae shakes her head. "Other side of the building obviously. Don't expect Petr would go for a dive to The Cogs for this. Now, lets go." Torque shakes himself free of Moddae's grip, glaring at Sasha. "I've got my eye on you. Captain Ozark will never believe a word you say. When I have Petr, I'm coming back for you." Moddae visibly winces from her partner's words.

-Moddae grabs Torque and leaves, she is thankful for the information.
-Torque is intimidated, will leave with backing down. Will still complain that his boss, who he names, will back him. Threatens Amber with arrest should she throw fire in his face again.
-Moddae presumes a different window, since the one near the card table leads to a sheer drop.