Emergence Game Thread

Aug 24, 2017 10:25 pm

I follow a raging Therrien across the entrance. He has the soul of the wolf, growling and howling as if in a pack, closing in on the kill. I kneel down, touch a wolf's tooth in my pocket, and my eyes glow white. Then I see them all around me, eight wolves snarling with gray fur raised around their necks.

I cast Conjure Animals - 8 wolves

OOC:

Not sure how this works - I think I roll initiative for them as a pack? Do I do separate attack rolls? Do I need to wait for another turn to attack with them?

Aug 25, 2017 7:13 pm

Wisdom check with advantage:

Rolls

Wisdom check with advantage 1 - (1d20+2)

(11) + 2 = 13

Wisdom check with advantage 2 - (1d20+2)

(18) + 2 = 20

Aug 25, 2017 7:24 pm

Wolfpack Initiative

Rolls

Wolfpack Initiative - (1d20+2)

(10) + 2 = 12

Aug 25, 2017 9:49 pm

Initiative order

Brighthill - 21
Rhiv - 17
To'ot's Wolves - 12
Enemies - 11
Therrien - 9
Harper - 6
To'ot - 1

Aug 27, 2017 8:55 pm

As we push into the middle of the river, I hold a loose line with my right hand, and run the fingers of my left over the surface of the water, my body nearly horizontal off the port bow. The cool breeze off the river fills my lungs. When I open my eyes, I catch my reflection in the still water, and grimace.

Blood spatters my shirt, from collar to cuffs, and cakes my vest through on the left side. Aside from the filth, my favorite (only) jacket is in tatters below the waist, burned and slashed and stained with more things than blood. I resolve to cut it off below the waist and use the salvageable material to patch the trousers. Beyond that, I haven't bathed since the innkeepers' kindness, and nearly died twice since. My own blood and that of others stains my neck and wrists and hands, and the black ichor seems to have given me a black eye and split eyebrow. I look like hell.

"You look like shit."

I can hear the smile in Rhiv's voice. He's on a quest, one he knows to be just, and may have never known such happiness as he does today. For once, I know the same truth as him. But the taste is bitter for me now.

I pull myself onto the deck, and go to my satchel, taking out a pinch of soapsand and a palm-sized tin, containing my own mix of duck fat, tobacco oil, and vanilla. I strip down to nothing, leave the tin on my pile of clothes, and jump into the river with a rope tied around my ankle. The cool water shocks my senses, but I keep my breath and dive down to the bottom, using my hands to find some sand, or sandy mud, and a stone. I mix the soapsand with the mud, and rub rigorously all over before returning to the surface. Rhiv is nervously watching the spot where I entered the water, and I call out through the mud on my face:

"Now how do I look?"
"Like you're covered in shit."

"Shit's a natural exfoliant."
"Shit's a natural excrement."

I give him a wan smile and return underwater a few more times, scouring with the stone, swimming strongly from the back of the boat to the front each time, stretching the muscles that stiffened overnight. The cool water eases the burn of pumice on my bruises and wounds. Two taught tugs on the line, and Rhiv hauls me out like a codfish. I shake the water from my hair onto him, gratefully. He rolls his eyes, and walks back to Moses, presumably to use this sequence as a thin segue into his tale of how he once saved my life.

At that thought, the brightened spirit brought on by the river leaves. I have just the energy to pull on my trousers and sit on the prow, the tin of oils untouched.

I should have died that day. Saved him the trouble.

Last edited August 28, 2017 2:09 pm

Aug 28, 2017 4:41 pm

Session 11 - They All Rush In

In a demonstration that aggression is sometimes the best part of valor the party rushed into the cultist's cave and dispatched their foes with relative ease. Harp, Rhiv, and Brighthill took out the shambling walkers while Therrien and To'ot--with the power of the wolves--finish off the cultist apprentices. Harp, as he is not wont to do, ended up being the only one to take any harm as his assertive charge led him into the spotlight of zombie body slams, dark ethereal blades, and necromantic paralysis. Most tragically, his attempt to bring the combat to a climatic close with an acrobatic finishing move for the ages was thwarted by said paralysis, and Rhiv had to steal his glory by moderately bumbling his clamber over a wounded cultist before powerbombing the cultist leader from his elevated perch. The group then proceeded to find a few coppers and some sweet daggers, kill their interogatee, allow their previously captured prisoner to escape, get punched in the face by an animated ichor, and then call it a day. They contemplating taking additional steps to destroy or at least more deeply examine the ichor itself but were only successful in identifying that it was animated by a dark force, and that it could be weakly affected by physical weapons. Returning to the surface they got their certificate of completion signed by a mildly disappointed sheriff and finally sleep. Continuing on early they next day they headed west without any further issues to meet their boat on the river south of Hanover and shoved off around noon.

Last edited August 29, 2017 1:15 pm

Aug 29, 2017 5:38 pm

Despite my unease at being on a boat for the first time since my near death experience 4 years ago, it feels good to be back on track; flowing towards our goal. After providing overwatch for Harp's cleansing exercises, I take a moment to assess our new crew. Harp, Therrien, and To'ot all look a little worse for the wear after our weeks of travelling, but I feel like I am increasingly sure of what they bring to the table. Our two new party members--Moses Shorxt and Samantha Brighthill--are the ones I am most interested in. Moses, a simply dressed seaman with weathered hands and sad eyes. After engaging him in some relaxed conversation telling him about how Harp and I knew each other from the old days as mariners (studiously avoiding Harp's time with the pirates) I press a bit into who he was and what he brought to the table. He seemed competent but humble. A captain who is used to being in charge, but who knows his limits. If it came to a fight I'd rather have him at the tiller than swing a sword but he would be a useful hand for anything needed.

Advancing to the front of the boat where Brighthill sat looking forward seemingly lost in meditative prayer, I assess her silently. Our in the dark halfling, whose master the King Therrien recently killed. Has her God given her insight into the truth? I need to be ready for that eventuality and seek Adonai's guidance on what to do now before it is time... Her pint-sized frame belied the fearless confidence of her demeanor. And that divine bolt was undeniably effective.... maybe the High Priest was on to something about Adonai speaking through--or being in--all of the other lesser gods....

As quickly as I start to confuse myself in digging into what that could look like, the voice of the Adonai begins to compel me to speak his words. With only a momentary hesitation I open my mouth and loudly speak the words I am given with a voice that is not my own. The entire party immediately stops and turns even over the rushing murmur of the river.

"See each other and know, I have called each of you by name for this mission. No matter what rock is in the way, no matter what storm is on the way, you--like this river--will ultimately meet the sea. Therrien Se'Berron, remnant of your tribe, I have filled you with a spirit of vitality and fearlessness, with rage and drive. To'ot Singleton, convergence of many worlds, I have filled you with a spirit wisdom and intensity, with depth and power. Clark Harper, seeker of vengeance, I have filled you with a spirit of finesse and charisma, of passion and justice. You are each the last of your name; children of tribulation and loss that have and will overcome. Samantha Brighthill, upholder of truth and knowledge, you have been filled with a spirit of intelligence and righteousness, of faith and courage. You are a warrior for more than you know."

OOC:

Vou can spend 10 minutes inspiring your companions,
shoring up their resolve to fight. When you do so, choose
up to six friendly creatures (which can include yourself)
within 30 feet of you who can see or hear you and who
can understand you. Each creature can gain temporary
hit points equal to your levei + your Charisma modifier.
A creature can't gain temporary hit points from this feat
again until it has finished a short or long rest. -------- I choose all 6 of us on the boat.... Moses is just inspired by witnessing :)

The Adonai leaves my mind as quickly as he entered it. I awkwardly clear my throat and kneel next to my pack to start working on my shield. That was unexpected....

Last edited September 15, 2017 4:00 pm

Aug 30, 2017 7:24 pm

Although annoying when he bloviates like that, the hot air does blow me off my branch of despair to find my hair is dry. I dip my head back in the river, and let it dry just enough to apply the oils from the tin. I sit crosslegged on top of the prow, with the sun on my face and bare feet and bare shoulders, and slice away the damaged jacket portion with a dagger. I keep a needle and some marine-grade thread in an inside pocket, and wield it now to repair the worn and torn knees of my trousers with the jacket leather. I stretch out each leg over the water as I perform the procedure, stretching my tight calves, feeling the burn in my quadriceps. Although deft, I am patient with the needlework, and stitch it twice. I do not know when I'll have such an easy time again, so I make full use of it.

A few splashes off the starboard side. I spot a school of sunfish followed by two fat red river drum. I am familiar with the sea drum, a not-too-salty fish that is excellent raw, and I'm hoping his inland cousin is just as tasty. I quickly tie off the marine thread to the end of a crossbow bolt. I aim for the closest drum.

Rolls

Fishin' - (1d20+6)

(6) + 6 = 12

Aug 30, 2017 7:48 pm

Harp's bolt strikes the fish, and the disturbance in the water causes the rest of the school to scatter. He reels the line in to find that drum was gut shot, making most of meat foul and inedible. With a bit of work, he could cut out enough clean meat for a few tasty morsels, but nothing nearing the delicious meal the whole fish would have been.

Sep 4, 2017 2:03 am

Harp--usually vocally dismissive of anything to do with my 'ridiculous' devotion to an unseen god--doesn't verbally respond but does seem to get a bit of pep in his step. I continue to rummage around in my oversized pack until I find my tools, which I take to the bow of the boat and settle myself in next to To'ot and Therrien and begin prying off my holy focus -- a triangle of steel with the inlay of the resh -- from my shield. Ever since I began my training I have always been a hammer and board fighter. The ability to focus my striking on my right arm and defense to my left has made me a better than average while using only one sword but the gift of Dur'gelm has opened up some strategic opportunities that I need to explore. My plan is to add the focus to a leather amulet that I can wear on my wrist it completely frees my left hand for action. Therrien and To'ot have both been more quiet than normal since the death of the King. We obviously can't speak openly about the reality we all saw with Moses and Brighthill on board but I do wonder how they are processing the last day.

"To'ot... Therrien... are you ready for what lies ahead? How are you feeling?"

Last edited September 15, 2017 4:03 pm

Sep 10, 2017 8:57 pm

Somewhat hushed, within earshot of Rhiv and Therrien only: "Brother Rhiv, I cannot deny that I am shaken by recent events. We have lost our greatest ally, and we may soon have other forces after us than just the dark wizard. We are travelling under false pretenses with one who knows not our deeds. She is perceptive enough should any clue drop. Meditation brings me no peace, and I cannot sleep."

Sep 15, 2017 3:59 pm

I nod in agreement: "And you, Therrien?" I ask the elf as he stares darkly across the water into the shadows of the tree-lined banks. Though it was not To'ot actually murdered the King, this makes sense. To'ot had handed Therrien the blade afterall. I don't know whether they had an agreement to do so and the presentation of the dagger was an opportunity they couldn't ignore or whether it was entirely Therrien on own. Either way it is good to know that To'ot at least understands the weight of his action.

Before the silence of Therrien's non-response could become to awkward, Ms. Brighthill looks up from her large leather-bound tome and noticing the three of us. Probably realizing she's spent most of our day and a half together in silence, with most of that time with her nose stuck in a book, she closes the volume and places it back in her pack. Coming toward us she breaks the silence. "So. Despite the fact that we've already been in a few scrapes together, if we're to trust each other completely--with our lives--we should probably know each other better than we do presently. " She sits on a nearby crate, pulls out a handkerchief from her cuirass an begins cleaning some mud from her shin plate. "Tell me something interesting about yourselves, yeah?"

Seeing the awkwardness of To'ot and Therrien, I jump in quickly, loudly enough for Harp and Moses to hear of course: "It has been quite a whirlwind over the last 24 hours hasn't it? Something interesting about us?... I'm just a humble Paladin with too many stories that I have already bored these two with. I guess an interesting bit would be that I died the last time I was on a boat. I'm only here because the Adonai raised me from the depths and gave my life back." Brighthill raises an eyebrow. "Did you serve your god," she takes a glance at my holy symbol, "Adonai, before or after this second life?" "Oh after. I followed the same god most of us follow before. Myself. I probably called it the God of Adventure or some such nonsense, but my life was about being something greater than my brothers and my father who were slaving away with these." I wave my tools dismissively. "It took a bit to get through this thick skull but that definitely did the trick... How about you and your.... celestial patron? Rihanna, is it?"

Last edited September 15, 2017 7:59 pm

Sep 25, 2017 3:19 pm

The cleric laughs heartily, "I never would have pegged you as having a fantastic sense of humor. Of course I haven't dedicated my life to worship and service of a famous bard, however catchy and exciting her poems might be." Samantha laughs again at the ridiculous thought. "I serve Ismemnay. I have from before my birth. I will continue to after my death."

"There could definitely be worse patrons." Most people think dragonborn don't have any humor because our smiles often look more menancing than joyful. "From before your birth? What does that mean?"

"My mother is a scholar who researches at the King's college. My father is a wandering priest of Melora. I suppose it was only natural that I be dedicated to the temple of Ismemnay while I was still in my mother's womb." Rhiv and Samantha continue to discuss their faiths, as the others listen with varying degrees of interest. Therrien, however, is removed from the situation, with a far-off look in his eyes.

OOC:

Someone is free to paste everything if they want...

"I still believe it depends on the god that does the choosing. There might not be much use in resistance but should Tiamat or La'el request my hammer I pray I would be strong enough to die fighting." Rhiv turns to the rest of us, interested to hear our thoughts. "What do you think, friends?"

He waves his hand inches from Therrien's motionless face. "Therrien? Have you been practicing Harp's paralysis pose?" Rhiv flicks Therrien's nose lightly, leaving the warm glowing sensation of the divine energy of Lay on Hands.

My nose - the flick on my nose... .just like.... my mother? Yes, my mother used to do. She used to flick my nose just so. "My little terror" she called me with a smile. Where have I been? What have I done? It is almost like - someone else (something?) has been controlling me since I lay hands on that dagger. Oh Gods. The dagger. I remember now.

Therrien turns to face Rhiv, tears running down his face. They embrace. "Thank you" he whispers.

Sailing, or a least being on the water, is an escape. But few things are worse than sailing with a traitor, as there is nowhere to escape to. Rhiv's blind trust is crippling his judgement again. I snap the backbone of the fish I've been worrying, and throw it into the water. The words that come out of me I do not remember, but suffice it to say they were short and angry. My sword is in my hand now, and I'm seeing red. I want blood from that bastard who took him from me. But he won't even fight me. "It wasn't me in control." he says. What the hell am I supposed to do with that? I slam the sword into the prow and sit back down.

Last edited September 25, 2017 3:19 pm

Sep 25, 2017 6:00 pm

Session 12
After the aggressive verbal explosion between Harp and Therrien, Samantha begrudgingly asks about the elephant in the room and gets a little more than she was bargaining for. Making no attempt to hide anything--but not going too far into the details--Therrien and To'ot explain what happened in the last minutes alone with the King. Staring dumbstruck in disbelief Samantha and Moses soak in the information. Brighthill seems as if she has been hit with a hammer and Moses as if he was about to lose his lunch at the realization that the stakes in this 'mission' just increased dramatically for him. In the end both decide--at least for the moment--to stay with the party. Samantha, likely because she still feels the weight of the King's directive for her to help with the cause, while Moses is chewing on a double-edged promise from Rhiv to protect him if he stays and destroy him if he tries to run.

The first three days of the trek go smoothly with little in the way of conversation as most of the party fulminates about their various tangled emotions about the entire situation. Harp and Rhiv fish, the smoke from their tobacco providing enough of a balm for them to pass the hours in mostly silence. Therrien helps Rhiv create a net from the Bluewood forest vines in the way of his people. Though not the greatest first effort, after two days Rhiv completed a tolerable tool that would be strong enough to tangle and potentially immobilize a foe.

As the party nears the fork in the river the river becomes more treacherous and constant vigilance is required to keep the shallow craft from being capsized in the rapids or being smashed on the rocks. The crew does tolerably well until the confront a narrow point in the river where a tree has seemingly fallen across the boat. With only seconds to devise a plan To'ot, Rhiv, and Therrien focus on destroying the tree with fire and hammer while Harp and Samantha try to slow down the boat. The boat successfully breaks through the tree blockage but Therrien and Brighthill (still in her armor) are both tossed into the roiling rapids and the boat sustains some minimal damage. Harp immediately makes the brave and heroic decision to try to save both Brighthill and Therrien at the same time but before they can be brought back into the boat the party is ambushed by a hail of lightning and crossbow fire.

With much cinematic swinging and slicing, many failed attempts by Moses to do anything of value, and an unlikely wrestling match between dragonborn and crocodile, the companions beach their boat and assess the damage. After the fire and wreckage settle, one of the brigands lays dead on the deck of the charred boat while a second has washed up on the river bank nearby. A third escaped by swimming across the river while a fourth--a wizened gnome--lays unconscious near the stern, firmly in the grip of Therrien. The boat still seems seaworthy but it wouldn't take much more damage to put that in serious doubt.

Sep 25, 2017 6:14 pm

"Dovahkiin.........." I growl as I stare off at where I last saw the bobbing head of the escaping bandit, wishing my last attempt had been more successful. I immediately wheel to To'ot, who seemed to have taken the worst of the damage and lay my hands on his gaping wounds. The warmth of the Adonai's healing power still evokes a grimace and a wince from him as the scars seal and heal beneath my hand. "To'ot, can you turn into something that can track him down? Maybe a crocodile of your own or bat to shadow him? We don't need to kill him but he may lead us to the rest of his crew or to whatever hideout they operate from. If he's not alone then we will know what we are still up against. Regardless they may have supplies we will need to repair the boat."

OOC:

I heal To'ot 25 hp or his max. If he needs less than that let me know.

As To'ot momentarily hesitates, thinking about his next action I stoop down to the slashed brigand still at his feet. Turning her over I look for any equipment, tools, or documents. Were they part of the Left for Red bandits we had previously met? Were they set on us on purpose or were we just the unlucky recipients of their attention? Such powerful enemies seem unusual even this far away from the more secure parts of Yurhoone, but attacking a small vessel that was unlikely to be carrying much valuable cargo and that was obviously manned by well armed (and at least partly armored) passengers seems surprising.

Last edited September 26, 2017 6:35 pm

Samantha Brighthill

Sep 28, 2017 1:24 pm

Harp, ice cold with river water and bleeding from almost everywhere, blows phlegm and blood from his nose as he begins to tie the gnome to the mast. His shivering fingers fumble, and he's grateful the small prisoner is unconscious, or he might not have the facility to finish the task. He remembers an especially uncomfortable trick from Vampa, and is in bad enough a mood to actually try it. The little bit of line fishing line that is recovered he ties a slipknot into the middle of the line and slips it around the gnome's tongue. The rest of the line is tied around the back. Upon waking, the prisoner will be less inclined to speak, preventing perhaps some magical phrase that would doom us all.

Therrien inspects the lingual knot. "Excellent" he murmurs with grudging respect. "But not enough perhaps." Louder: "We could use the net - jimson creeper is strong as chain when treated right. But what's to stop him from turning to a flea, slipping the bonds and then changing into a direwolf and eating us for lunch. Is there any spell to keep him from shifting? If not, and we do keep him here, we had better be ready to fight another monster... Or quickly squish a flea."

Sam, who hasn't spoken since the conversation where she learned of Alexander's murder, chimes in. "Shall I petition Ismemnay for guidance before we... dispatch justice?"

Rhiv rolls the corpse over and stand up quickly. No identifying marks, no papers. There she goes, getting all holy on me. 'Shall I petition my demigod to tell us what we should do?' She's probably going to start rubbing her pre-sunrise prayer sessions in my face too. Normally, I would advise to give him a chance to repent and provide him to whatever local authority would be most appropriate but there is no time for that. This little git has clearly earned his fate and the Adonai--and nothing else--will let me know if he decides to dispense extraordinary mercy. Otherwise he gets only the mercy of a quick death. "Unless Ismemnay can show you how to keep him captive without having a round the clock guard then the justice he has earned cannot wait. He is too dangerous for every honest boatman in Yurhoone for us to let him free."

The usually calculating halfling erupts with an explosion of pent up emotion. She lets out a guttural growl that quickly grows in a full on roar and kicks a large chunk of still smoldering wreckage. Sparks fly as the debris—probably the former corner of a crate—soars 100 feet through air before kerplumping into the river with a loud hiss.

She turns to Rhiv, her cheeks nearly the same color as her fiery hair. "You ignorant fool. You would slay this man rather than use resources readily available to you to learn! My god can reveal to me how we might best proceed, and, given that the stakes are the life of a soulful creature, I fully expect she will. Or doesn't Adonai care whether people live or die? No, if you are even a halfway decent representative of your god's values—and I suspect you are, given the displays of divine power you've channeled just in the past few days—Adonai is a wrathful, petty being interested more in vanquishing evil than creating anything of value." Spittle flies from her mouth as she levels the accusation.

Addressing the whole group, she continues, "Why do you all think I am still here, traveling with the group who—" she swallows had and pushes the thought from her mind. "It certainly isn't because I enjoy the company of the pouty half-elf or the brooding, tough guy act of the tribesman or having all my books and tools of holy rituals torched by conjured lightning." Her eyes begin to glisten, but she continues with ferocity. "I'm here because my king asked me to join your little team of rabble-rousers. But at this moment that request is in conflict with my holy duty to honor Ismemnay."

Continuing her momentum, she points a tense finger at Rhiv, "You assume his band attacked us because we happened to be the next boat to come by after their trap was set, but you have no idea if that's true. You don't have any reason whatsoever to think that. It seems equally likely—moreso, given the current circumstances —that we were targeted, meaning he could in fact be no danger at all to any 'honest boatman.'" Samantha opens back up to the party, speaking to everyone on the boat, "You want to execute this brigand without even trying to learn about his group or reasons for ambushing us? That's your call. But I cannot direct Ismemnay's aid toward assisting anyone who would choose that path."

The armored cleric takes a deep breath and tries to regain a bit of her calm. [color="purple"][b]"You can either swallow your pride and accept me as a member of this idiotic squad, taking seriously what I have to offer, or you can find another way to close your wounds and restore your vitality in the midst of an ill-advised clash, started no doubt by your recklessness and blood-lust."

"Oh, and just so we're clear, dragonborn," the halfling adds, turning her attention back towards Rhiv, "None of this is an invitation for theological debate. I don't give two goblin shits what you think of me or Ismemnay, nor of what you might like to say to defend your deity." She crosses her arms across her chest and awaits a response, clearly expecting you to decide right now, before she offers any assistance with the gnome.

Oct 1, 2017 2:13 am

Ignorant fool of a wrathful and petty being? I spend the first half of her diatribe carefully packing the items I did find on the brigands body; a pouch with 25 gold, a potion of healing, a spell scroll (for the spell Chill Touch), and the fragments of a used spell scroll. Once she gets into full swing I pull myself up to my full height and maintain direct eye contact as I let the halfling vent her anger at my belt. I feel the anger rise in my throat and I clench my fists tightly to avoid responding in kind. My Lord is great enough to defend himself if he desires; humility is what is needed here… as hard as that will be.

"A theologian I am not, but the calling of the Adonai is to both delight in good and abhor what is evil. He will have mercy on whom he chooses to have mercy, and compassion on whom he will have compassion. Ms. Brighthill, you are absolutely a vital member of this group. We need you. That being said, I don’t need to reiterate the elf’s very real concerns about trying to control someone who can just as easily turn into a fly as an 18 foot crocodile. I assume nothing here except that someone with the willingness to attack a group like ours—for pay or for loot—means that few others would stand a chance. You are absolutely right that these brigands could easily have been set on us. We are not a normal looking group and would be easy to identify if known. Even if there was a traitor in the inner circle, knowing that we would be travelling this way at this time would be difficult but not impossible. If Ismemnay shows you how to keep him captive then I am very much in favor of it. We can obviously use the time to find out everything he knows."

Turning to To’ot, I reiterate my previous question. "Can you track down the escapee? Every second is likely to make the effort more difficult."

OOC:

Obviously trying to persuade her that we're on the same team here.

Last edited October 6, 2017 4:11 pm

Oct 2, 2017 6:14 pm

My mouth creates a sly grin, as I revel in Rhiv getting a good tongue-lashing, and appreciate the visual comedy of a dressing-down from someone not a third his size. She is right, of course, that he is generally not circumspect enough. But she doesn't seem to appreciate the quality of immediate, life-threatening danger. Either that or she doesn't care, same as many "holy warriors" I've met. Mostly they all die. Rhiv is one of the few who doesn't appear to actively court death, though he's not often cautious with his life, even though it's the only one he's got.

I wring my hair out over the side of the boat, keeping an eye on the top of the cliffs, and down the river for any sign of further ambush.

Just as I am about to speak to her about her lack of regard for true, mortal danger, Rhiv handles the matter succinctly enough. I keep my eyes peeled for danger, ambush or otherwise, and light up the last of my barrel tobacco. I observe that my cards are soaking wet, and will take a while to dry in this cold air, the paint obviously faded and near-ruined, but my last cigarette is preserved in the small metal case.

OOC:

COME ON

Last edited October 2, 2017 6:14 pm

Rolls

Watchful Eye (Perception) - (1d20+8)

(1) + 8 = 9

Samantha Brighthill

Oct 4, 2017 12:49 am