Angelic Crux

It seemed a conspiratorial question. But then, this meeting had a whiff of conspiracy about it. Some, murderous intent dripping from their lips before being gentle ushered out. Velka. Derek. Stella. These were not ones who drank a toast to blood not yet upon their hands. But it was clear enough this fortune-teller wished to goad them on, to make the turning of the hour nip at their heels as a cutthroat might a mark. She didn't answer Stella immediately. Her eyes closed in thought, left hand clasped over right, as she listened. Listened. The moment lingered. A moment of blessed peace before the confrontation. "...I am with you." Her hands unwound from themselves, slowly, like vines releasing a trellis. "I'm... not very noticeable, if one of us needed to be chosen to scout ahead."

Double-post! , how old do you imagine Velka was when Gaedren beat her and left her for dead? Velka's 4 years younger than Emmelyn, a gap that gets bigger and more meaningful when you're a kid, but as two half-elves, I imagine they must've MUST've been aware of each other. I didn't nail down the age, but Emmelyn was probably between ten and twelve when she managed to get out and become an apprentice jeweler.

So, I'm one of those anal-retentive people who audits for character weight and it looks like some of us aren't keeping track of our encumbrance! Stella Item Weight Spellbook 3 lbs Scholar's Outfit 6 lbs Vial of Acid 1 lb 4 x Alchemist's Fire 4 lbs 2 x Weapon Blanch (Silver) 1 lb Cold Iron Weapon Blanch .5 lbs 48.5 gp of crafting materials* (assuming they are worth their weight in gold) .97 lbs Total additional Weight 16.47 lbs Derek Item Weight 3 x Javelin 6 lbs Total additional Weight 6 lbs ...though, Derek doesn't have any clothes, so assuming he'd have a soldier's uniform, that'd be another 5 lbs. Ahhh... my anal retentiveness begins to subside... Velka's not up, but... oof. We may need to consider investing in a floating disk. Or just never go backpacking.

I suppose my worry is the action economy. Fortune means you have to choose your one roll you're using it on that round, whereas Protective Luck affects all the attacks on you. Either way, it's the group getting it, so... I'm down for either.

I, too, have played a Magdh follower. Kinda insane Deific Obedience since it's like... Irori but better. Emmelyn's got Cha as a dump-stat, but she should be able to face (Diplo and Sense Motive) at... uh... *shuffles through her sheets* 11th level. Riiiight around the corner. Also, um... do I get to ask if you guys would prefer I have Protective Luck hex rather than Fortune? Fortune lets you roll twice, take better on one roll per turn it's active, but Protective Luck means anyone attacking you would need to roll twice and take the worse. I'm probably gonna eventually get both, but... worried I took the wrong one.

I do! As a note, I do have CLW. Witches aren't great, but... they do have heals.

Say, , as I'm playing a bit of a zealot here, I couldn't help but wonder a bit about your take on some of the spiritual metaphysics of Golarion. It always seems a bit like every DM slices the cake on which actions are neutral and which are evil/good/lawful/chaotic a bit differently. My primary interest in asking is mostly just so that, in playing someone unhealthily committed to Shelyn, I'm in line with the larger, cosmic principles of what constitutes "good" in your game. As a starting place... Pathfinder Core Rules: Alignment Good Versus Evil Good characters and creatures protect innocent life. Evil characters and creatures debase or destroy innocent life, whether for fun or profit. Good implies altruism, respect for life, and a concern for the dignity of sentient beings. Good characters make personal sacrifices to help others. Evil implies hurting, oppressing, and killing others. Some evil creatures simply have no compassion for others and kill without qualms if doing so is convenient. Others actively pursue evil, killing for sport or out of duty to some evil deity or master. People who are neutral with respect to good and evil have compunctions against killing the innocent, but may lack the commitment to make sacrifices to protect or help others. Law Versus Chaos Lawful characters tell the truth, keep their word, respect authority, honor tradition, and judge those who fall short of their duties. Chaotic characters follow their consciences, resent being told what to do, favor new ideas over tradition, and do what they promise if they feel like it. Law implies honor, trustworthiness, obedience to authority, and reliability. On the downside, lawfulness can include closed-mindedness, reactionary adherence to tradition, self-righteousness, and a lack of adaptability. Those who consciously promote lawfulness say that only lawful behavior creates a society in which people can depend on each other and make the right decisions in full confidence that others will act as they should. Chaos implies freedom, adaptability, and flexibility. On the downside, chaos can include recklessness, resentment toward legitimate authority, arbitrary actions, and irresponsibility. Those who promote chaotic behavior say that only unfettered personal freedom allows people to express themselves fully and lets society benef it from the potential that its individuals have within them. Someone who is neutral with respect to law and chaos has some respect for authority and feels neither a compulsion to obey nor a compulsion to rebel. She is generally honest, but can be tempted into lying or deceiving others. Are you generally going by those guidelines? Are there any key terms you think we'd need clarified (like, if Lamm makes an orphan beat another orphan to avoid a beating, does the orphan-beating orphan still count as innocent? If we show up and find out that, in the last week, Lamm had a personal revelation and devoted himself to Sarenrae he's running a legitimate orphanage would killing him be evil? If it was evil, wouldn't that make Callistria CE instead of CN? If it's not evil, wouldn't that mean redemption is impossible in this life?) Hooray for a ruleset that has certain mechanics hinge on these kinds of distinctions... Anyway, long story short, I don't want to be more Pollyanna-ish than your take on (Neutral Good) Shelyn would ask, but I don't want to be less idealistic than she'd demand, either.

Sooooo tempted to say something like "130" and force Lamm to be like, bizarrely decrepit, but let's go with 20.

While the gathering, and its various members, with all their grievances, seemed to have distressed an invisible wound she had long thought healed, for lack of anything that could touch upon it, Emmelyn found her thoughts lingering not so much on herself, but on Lamm. And not so much on Lamm, but to his victims. Not those she was with but, if he had not changed his ways, the children he preyed upon. It was easy to see naught but blood. Natural, in fact. To, in a moment, imagine that cruel face twisted in fear, or begging for his life. And to feel a thrill of power in the thought. An ugly thrill. Her hand traveled, slowly, up to the one on her shoulder. Her fingers gently coming to rest on Stella's, to reciprocate her touch, and yet to silently reassure that her silence, the tension with which she listened to talk of a premeditated murder, a glee in it, led her to gaze off into the distance, and into an invisible mirror as well. Stella's aside was, in its own way, a relief. A distraction, but still a relief. "Is this a friend of yours?" Her voice was soft, but not overly yielding. The smile she offered Lemmy polite, but perfunctory, as one called by the temple bells. Always, always. Emmelyn heard Her whispers yet...

Say, is it too late for me to tweak my spell list? I've been looking back over Vellemancer and it's really an archetype that seems to work with a certain kind of spell. Feel like I might need to rejigger what exact "gifts" I'm getting from Shelyn over here.

One more? Did we lose Morphling?

The toast passed, though Emmelyn's eyes remained on Stella's card. The Inquisitor. Like hers, and unlike as well. Where one saw beauty, the other saw error. Each having its own kind of perceptiveness... This thought, lingered with her, as the introductions began. Theodor, a quick-tongued swordsman. Derek, a sober marine. Stella, wife, mother, alchemist. Dorian, a handsome barkeep. Thaladria, a vengeful mage. Dante, a former lamb... Emmelyn tensed. And, at the feeling of a hand at her shoulder, imperceptibly flinched, only relaxing when the conscious mind could still what instinct made fearful. It was Stella. It was Stella. A friend. "I... was one of his orphans as well." She shuddered, faintly, to name herself as his. To have ever not been Hers. In dark, desolate, ignorant days. "A mudlark. I might have ever been one, or worse, if not for Shelyn and her grace..." Emmelyn's expression tightened, brushing against that memory of hunger, loneliness and despair. A memory, but only that. A memory. "Even if I was able to escape... as Stella said, there are others. I... I was so focused on my own work, on serving Her in my craft, that I was deaf to Her truth..." More than an introduction, it was a confession. But then, she kept company that was quick to praise beauty, quick to cherish love's purity, quick to seek forgiveness for trespass. "I'm just a jeweler, but... Shelyn comes to me. She guides me. And... she has brought me here." That was enough. More than enough. Speaking of herself at such length felt indulgent. And the look she gave Stella, for her hand, was at once thankful and apologetic. She hadn't ever expected to involve an acquaintance in the miseries she'd spent so long running from.

"Emmelyn!" She wasn't one to often earn a squeak of delight (or that which was all but), but it made her smile all the same. A smile of reassurance, even as, reassurantly, she let her hand idly fall upon once-simple ring upon her finger, that had been worked and reworked as her own skill grew. That someone so close at hand had a run-in with him... what felt so long ago, so far away, even as it gnawed at her peace of mind, suddenly seemed not so very far at all. "I'm sorry to you, as well. I had no idea..." And her eyes did linger upon Stella, for a moment. Trying to see in a moment, somehow, what had been hidden until that very moment. Wordlessly, she reached in the belt pouch half-hidden behind her craftsman's apron, bringing forth her card: The Wanderer. The centaur's kit worn and well-used, and his back laden with all manner of bric-a-brac: a bird's cage, stoppered bottles, a quiver of arrows. Things of no 'value' in which he did, indeed, see value. The one whose journeys pierced the surface of things. She handled that card carefully, cupping it in her hand to let Stella alone see, a subtle smile playing on her lips, a luster in her eye. She was pleased, indeed, with the keenness of their summoner's evaluation. And with that, it disappeared, once more, into her bag. As to the introductions, she didn't offer her name... yet. It didn't feel right. And, if anything, she lived rightly.

To some, perhaps more apt to visit a dancer for glimpses of futures yet to be, the accoutrements would be familiar: dried flowers, fragrant herbs, bundled and hanging, and the slow, lazy waft of incense, winding heaven-ward. A fortune-teller's abode, or at least, the chambers of one who wished to evoke all the familiar mystery of the Varisians. To Emmelyn, though, one whose life had wound from the want of a streetling to the abstemiousness of craftswoman, it echoed of other things. To step, briefly, beyond the world and into the antechamber of Nirvana. To huddle at the locked door of her Mother-of-Beauties, work still to be done. If she had been alone, she would have lingered on those tapestries no doubt. They called to her, in their own way, as any work of art did. A reflection of the divine, and worthy of her meditations. Yet, it was not the beastly juggler or the deathless, hooded judge that drew her sharpest attention, nor even the circle of angels at the highest peak, but another angel entirely. The hedge wizard's wife. Phaeton's wife. She was not the only one there, but some part of her knew, knew in her heart, that this was not a call solely for her. Perhaps because she was not ready to stand alone and apart from the choir yet, but perhaps because she was not one who could overcome Lamm, decrepit though he must have been, by herself. And yet, and yet... Phaeton's wife. One part of a trinity of domestic bliss. A reminder that difference did not have to mean lesserness, or solitude. It had lingered with her, in her bitterness, her isolation, before all that had been filled by Shelyn. Why there were those who had love, fulfillment, happiness... and why there were those who didn't. She didn't say anything. Not with the guardsman already beginning to piece together their collective purpose. But she was a creature who, though no slave to mere habit and formality, had a deep sense of the place of things. She shifted in her place to be beside the familiar, with her iridescence, her otherworldliness, her poise. Once, mere candle to the blaze of a hearth, she would have felt a bitterness. No more, no more... Shelyn knew. Shelyn saw. And yet, after a long moment of silence that betrayed more nerves than placidity, she leaned close enough to whisper to the heaven-touched one. "...you knew Lamm?" A whisper whose curiousness was tempered by the hush in her voice, so as not to interrupt the others as they grew acquainted.