DM-Tareth

ST: 11 | DX: 11 IQ: 10 | HT: 10 | Will: 11 | PER: 11 | Speed: 5.25 | Move: 5 HP: 11/11 | FP: 10/10 | Dodge: 8 | Parry: 9 (Brawling) / 8 (Knife) | Thr: 1d-1 | Sw: 1d+1 Once the hillside stops tumbling from the sky, Malakai quickly braces his rifle on the rock and takes aim at the bandit near the river. He really didn't care for spilling blood. He'd done plenty of that during the war. But then he recalls the bodies sprawled out next to the train. Recalls the old man and how they surely would have killed him and his wife if he hadn't acted quick enough. Recalls the natives and all the other stories he'd heard about these men. Sure enough the uncertainty left his mind and he put the crosshairs of his rifle direct on the bandits chest. A quick pause. Breathe. Fire. MechanicsAttack Modifiers: Distance 15-19 yards: -5 Size and Speed: 0 Accuracy: +6 Braced: +1 Total: +2 Base Rifle Skill: 13 Modified Skill: 15 Kneeling and firing from partial cover. Rifle Attack(15) Rifle Damage

ST: 11 | DX: 11 IQ: 10 | HT: 10 | Will: 11 | PER: 11 | Speed: 5.25 | Move: 5 HP: 11/11 | FP: 10/10 | Dodge: 8 | Parry: 9 (Brawling) / 8 (Knife) | Thr: 1d-1 | Sw: 1d+1 Malakai tucks himself behind a solid patch of rock and cactus. At the moment he can draw a solid bead on the scoundrel busy filling the river full of rocks. But knowing the blast is going to send up a big cloud of dirt and dust he doesn't worry about keeping tabs on the bandit for too long. Instead he reaches over to grab the plunger for the explosives. Getting the nod from his two partners he takes a deep breath and then pushes the handle down while ducking back behind the protection of the rocks.

Malakai will also go prone behind whatever cover is available prior to the explosion, then he'll start to aim and shoot as bandits emerge from the dust.

Great, I thought that was just for those creating new characters. Thanks.

I think I have to go with the Magic Mop just for RP and character purposes, even though the slippers might be a bit more practical and useful over the long haul. Did we actually get a share of the adamantine coffin sale? Or do we need to hawk our graduation pins to get some additional spending money. Yahs has to buy a tricorn hat. And KG is correct, I'd also like to purchase a grappling hook because I don't think we had one before and that just feels wrong. :)

Well....let's see... The Class 1 Overachievers Cleansing and Disinfecting Mop: Faced with an ongoing personnel shortage Fleet Captain's were being forced to make a difficult choice. Either dedicate several crew members to keeping their ships in spic and span or reduce the cleaning detail and take the chance of gaining a potential black mark on their record during a surprise inspection by Command. Command certainly didn't want their captain's reprimanded unfairly, but with a recruiting drive on, they couldn't afford having any ship looking like some long haul garbage skow. Thus orders were passed along to Fleet R&D to develop something to make the cleaning crews more effective and efficient so others could be freed for other important duties. After numerous failures including one incident that resulted in the disappearance of Ensign Maynard G. Proctor. (His attempt to integrate millions of tiny transplanar portals to remove all forms of dirt and grime instantaneously was shelved when he accidentally erased himself from existence after slipping on a recently cleaned test surface.) R&D still has three promising prototypes in development. The first of which has been approved by Fleet Command for an initial trial period. This is the Class 1 OCD Mop. Armed with the latest and strongest alchemical cleaning reagents, the OCD Mop removes stains of any type, from any surface quickly and with little to no scrubbing. Just a single swipe leaves metal surfaces gleaming like new, wood surfaces bright and polished. Even fabrics such as silk, canvas, leather, or hemp are quickly cleared of even the toughest blood or chocolate stain with one swipe of the OCD Mop. Recognizing that one of the most efficient methods of dealing with tough stains is to eliminate the underlying cause of the stain, R&D added an expanded cleaning reservoir. Activating this reserve unleashes a highly toxic and potentially lethal blend of acidic reagents that will quickly vaporize flesh, blood, or other potentially stain or grime causing fluids and substances from any living being in a matter of moments. By blasting a potential Spiller of Coffee or unwelcome boarder with this reserve, R&D reports that post combat clean up will be reduced by 23%. However, use of this is quite limited due to the small size of the reservoir, so R&D recommends Fleet Personnel should be judicious when determining the biggest potential sanitation threat to their ship. Researchers Note: It is often the case that the actual crew are the dirtiest aspects of any Fleet ship. Lack of proper bathing and laundry facilities being an ongoing issue. Trials using the OCD Mop to directly remove dirt and odor from living flesh were somewhat mixed. Most subjects walked away clean and with a pleasant pine fresh scent. However, some test subjects reported severe rashes that resulted in reddened skin, itchiness, and in rare instances, an outbreak of warts. Elves were especially susceptible to the condition. Most symptoms were gone within three to five standard days. R&D does not currently endorse the use of the Class 1 OCD Mop for this purpose, however, any additional data gathered by willing subjects will be appreciated. Actual Game Stats: Acts as a constant Prestidigitation spell on anything the mop head touches. You can use an Attack action to generate a cone of acid up to 15'. Any within the cone must make a DEX save vs DC14 or take 2d6 acid damage. Half damage on a success. The mop cannot be used this way again until the bearer has completed a short or long rest. Outside of combat, if the mop is used on a living surface, the subject must make a CON Save vs DC14 or suffer from an unsightly, irritating rash for 1d4 days.

Sure thing. Slippers it is.

ST: 11 | DX: 11 IQ: 10 | HT: 10 | Will: 11 | PER: 11 | Speed: 5.25 | Move: 5 HP: 11/11 | FP: 10/10 | Dodge: 8 | Parry: 9 (Brawling) / 8 (Knife) | Thr: 1d-1 | Sw: 1d+1 With the cold of early morning seeping into his bones, Malakai rustles himself up and begins to quietly gather his gear. He does his best to put aside any worry about whether he'll walk away from the next hours event or not. That was all in Fate's hands at this point. If he'd wanted to avoid all this he should've kept to his own business back at the train. Most folk would've just road away at the sound of gunfire. But runnin' from a fight, just wasn't in his blood. He didn't relish killing. Not after the war. Youthful blood lust had long since been drained from his soul onto the fields and hills of Georgia, Tennessee and Virginia. But some men never lost that desire to bring pain and death into the world. Never tired of takin' from others. Davy and his bunch were those kind of men. And as far as Malakai was concerned nothing stops men like that except other men who were willin' to say a hard no usually with a bullet or length of rope. Today Malakai and his partners were the ones who were going to stand their ground against Davy or die tryin'. After checking his rifle one last time, Malakai gathers his share of the dynamite from Mickey and sets out once again for the ridge over looking the bandit camp. Stealth (10) Demolitions (10)

Rolling HP for 5th level over here.... HP Gain: Extra Attack, Stunning Strike Adj: STR - 1 = 10 / CHA +1 = 10 Proposed Uncommon Magic Item: Winged Boots OR Slippers of Spider Climbing OR +1 Magic Mop

Plasmoid Monk (Way of Mercy) 5 CG AC: 16 | HP: 41/41 | HD: 5/5 | PP: 13 | Inspiration: Yes | Speed: 40 ft | GP: 60 Str 10 (0) Dex 18 (4) Con 12 (1) Wis 16 (3) Int 11 (0) Cha 10 (0) Attacks: Spear (P)1d20+6;1d6+4 | Unarmed(B) 1d20+6;1d6+4 | Sling(B)1d20+6;1d4+4 | Quarterstaff-Mop(B) 1d20+6;1d6+4 Magic: Sacred Flame (DEX vs DC13; 1d8) | Shield of Faith(Bonus; +2AC) | Ki Pool: 5/5 Class 1 OCD Mop Description The Class 1 Overachievers Cleansing and Disinfecting Mop: Faced with an ongoing personnel shortage Fleet Captain's were being forced to make a difficult choice. Either dedicate several crew members to keeping their ships in spic and span or reduce the cleaning detail and take the chance of gaining a potential black mark on their record during a surprise inspection by Command. Command certainly didn't want their captain's reprimanded unfairly, but with a recruiting drive on, they couldn't afford having any ship looking like some long haul garbage skow. Thus orders were passed along to Fleet R&D to develop something to make the cleaning crews more effective and efficient so others could be freed for other important duties. After numerous failures including one incident that resulted in the disappearance of Ensign Maynard G. Proctor. (His attempt to integrate millions of tiny transplanar portals to remove all forms of dirt and grime instantaneously was shelved when he accidentally erased himself from existence after slipping on a recently cleaned test surface.) R&D still has three promising prototypes in development. The first of which has been approved by Fleet Command for an initial trial period. This is the Class 1 OCD Mop. Armed with the latest and strongest alchemical cleaning reagents, the OCD Mop removes stains of any type, from any surface quickly and with little to no scrubbing. Just a single swipe leaves metal surfaces gleaming like new, wood surfaces bright and polished. Even fabrics such as silk, canvas, leather, or hemp are quickly cleared of even the toughest blood or chocolate stain with one swipe of the OCD Mop. Recognizing that one of the most efficient methods of dealing with tough stains is to eliminate the underlying cause of the stain, R&D added an expanded cleaning reservoir. Activating this reserve unleashes a highly toxic and potentially lethal blend of acidic reagents that will quickly vaporize flesh, blood, or other potentially stain or grime causing fluids and substances from any living being in a matter of moments. By blasting a potential Spiller of Coffee or unwelcome boarder with this reserve, R&D reports that post combat clean up will be reduced by 23%. However, use of this is quite limited due to the small size of the reservoir, so R&D recommends Fleet Personnel should be judicious when determining the biggest potential sanitation threat to their ship. Researchers Note: It is often the case that the actual crew are the dirtiest aspects of any Fleet ship. Lack of proper bathing and laundry facilities being an ongoing issue. Trials using the OCD Mop to directly remove dirt and odor from living flesh were somewhat mixed. Most subjects walked away clean and with a pleasant pine fresh scent. However, some test subjects reported severe rashes that resulted in reddened skin, itchiness, and in rare instances, an outbreak of warts. Elves were especially susceptible to the condition. Most symptoms were gone within three to five standard days. R&D does not currently endorse the use of the Class 1 OCD Mop for this purpose, however, any additional data gathered by willing subjects will be appreciated. Actual Game Stats: Acts as a constant Prestidigitation spell on anything the mop head touches. You can use an Attack action to generate a cone of acid up to 15'. Any within the cone must make a DEX save vs DC14 or take 2d6 acid damage. Half damage on a success. The mop cannot be used this way again until the bearer has completed a short or long rest. Outside of combat, if the mop is used on a living surface, the subject must make a CON Save vs DC14 or suffer from an unsightly, irritating rash for 1d4 days. Original Background They say that in space no one can hear you scream. I say that’s okay by me. Because, if you’re like me, when you wake up to find yourself floating in the cold gray nothingness of the Astral Sea you might unleash a few words and phrases that most well-meaning folk could find objectionable. Hell, let’s be honest some of it would likely make a veteran deck hand on a squid hauler turn a bit shy. I suppose after two, three circuits of whatever astral current I was meandering through the stars upon, I simmered down. Looking back upon that eternal moment drifting through the mists of creation, it wasn’t so much that I was stuck there floating out whatever existence the fickle gods had set for me. It was the utter lack of knowing how or why I’d ended up in that situation. Nothing. Not a gall darned clue as to what put me is such a potent predicament. Waking up out on the endless sea is one thing. Not knowing the why, what, or anything else about how you got there. Well that’s a whole new level of irritation. And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I didn’t know that all important tidbit of information known as the who. As in who in all the blasted universe was I. This discovery led to another long soliloquy of curses and mental consternation. But try as I might, I couldn’t recall a blasted thing about who I was. And so, I continued to drift. Surrounded by the radiating echoes of my outburst. My own reflections on the various aspects of a donkey’s anatomy my only company until I suddenly splorked into the side of some floating bit of aged yellow ivory. The fact that I did not break any bones, bleed, or otherwise suffer any injury from this surprising collision in the midst of the wide open nothingness led to my second my important discovery following that of consciousness. This rush of realization manifested in the knowledge that my body was completely malleable. I was nothing more than a big sack of goo. As attractive as a bug stain beneath some iron shod boot. Was this always what I’d been? Or had I run afoul of some nefarious wizard? Ate some bad fish…okay…really bad fish? Nope, still didn’t have a blasted clue. But as I pulled my splattered out self off the cold bone surface a vision passed through my thoughts. Fire. Burning skies of eternal fire. Demonic laughter. Smoke and the stench of death everywhere. A really pissed off cat. A vigilant dog with a never-give-up attitude. Then nothing. I don’t know how long a sat…eh…stood…eh…what does a blob of misshapen amoebic fluid do when it simply stays in place pondering the depths of its existence? Eh well…does really matter I suppose. Point is, I was there for a bit trying to pull more out of those hidden mental depths. Alas it wasn’t meant to be. Because that’s when she strolled into my life. The first thing I noticed was the sounds. Dice rolling across a table, a wheel clattering the pebble bouncing to a stop, cards shuffling, the dull distant roar of the gladiatorial crowds as fate steps in to make one fighter a winner, the other a blood leaking loser. All of this and more radiated outward from her like the heat from a star. ”Aha!” She exclaimed as her eyes landed on me. ”There you are.” Pretty eyes. At least until you looked at them real close. Then they became frightful. Eyes that beheld the depths of every random moment within the chaotic wilds of the universe. Beheld and witnessed whatever fickle chance mandated for the billions of souls living, striving, dying, crying, breeding, fighting or otherwise dealing with whatever blighted bit of nonsense existence was throwing about on that particular day. Witnessed and often did nothing to alter the outcome. I never want to have eyes like those. My entire body rippled with a shiver as I pulled my gaze away from those eyes. ”Blurg…glurrrppl…sppoot.” I tried to respond. Not yet having learned how to manifest the necessary vocal passages, this came out much as you might expect. Like slop landing in the bucket. Apparently, all that earlier cursing was just so much flatulence my mind made sense of but held no actual meaning whatsoever. A shame really, there was some good stuff there. ”Oh dear.” She says. Her lips pouting into a bothered frown. ”You really haven’t learned very much in your time out here have you?" ”Blurp?” ”Well, I’ve no time to wait for you to figure it all out on your own. Here…” She reaches out a hand and touches me. ”Glooggg…blurrrp…the hell was I supposed to…oh…well…that is better. My thanks.” The words formed and rang in the astral air and a chill of excitement ran along my outer membrane. ”Yes, yes.” Her had waves dismissively in the air. ”Much better, but I’ve really only a few moments. Some fool wizard is trying to disrupt the order of things and it’s already threatening to tear to very fabric of space time.” She added, her elfen cheeks puffing out with frustration as she brushes a stray lock of ginger colored hair back behind her ear. ”I swear, it’s always the wizards. Always up to something they shouldn’t be. The multiverse would be a much better off if we just locked the whole lot of them up somewhere….maybe put them with the lawyers. Now that would be…” ”Ahem…did you have something you wanted to tell me? Or maybe you could help me find…ummm…well…somewhere.” "What?" Her gaze flips back to me. ”Oh yes. Right. You’ve more to do than float around out here lazing about. Don't worry about the past. What's done is done. Nothing you can do now. Besides...” She leans in an offers a big, wide, predatory smile. ”You’ve a FATE to fulfill.” She says in a not at all ominous voice. I about dropped a clone right there on the spot. ”Uhh…okay. Right. Well, that sounds great. But…” ”No buts. I found you. Got to you first. So, you’re my agent now. That’s the rule and the others will have to abide.” ”What others? Could you tell me what you’re talking about?” ”The other gods of course. And no, I can’t tell you. That, my dear, would be cheating. And I’ll not give that no good sister of mine another reason to call me a cheater." The roar of a crowd escalates and then falls away. Her eyes go wide in surprise and then narrow suspiciously. ”The Broncos beat the Chiefs?!" She says with stunned surprise. This is quickly followed by a snarl. ”Damned wizards….” "Things are getting out of hand. I’ve got to go.” She points a slender figure out into the aether. ”Go that way, in a few decades you come to big rock. When you get there…well you’ll know what to do. In the meantime…here…practice your forms and learn how to calm your mind.” ”What?! Wait. What are you talking…” Her finger brushes against my body again and everything goes black…again. When I wake up, I’m floating in the sea again. That patch of bone, part of some massive creature’s ribcage, is shrinking in the distance. The woman’s gone, along with her casino whitenoise. I look down and find wrapped up in a pseudopod is a small leather book. ]The Flight of the Fateful Warrior is embossed on the cover. Forming a hand…when did I learn how to do that? I flipped the book open. My Dear Yahs Anirys, A little something to pass the time on your journey. Study, learn, adapt. It will serve you well. Put trust in your fate and we’ll speak again soon. Tymora. Blasted gods. Blights upon the entire multiverse I’ve always thought. Or at least it was as of that moment. Still, what else did I have to do? So I cracked open the book and started to read. Reporting for duty... Sheet should be updated. For her one magic item I'll go with Slippers of Spider Climbing. Useful for her constant assignments to clean those pesky space barnacles off of the ship hull. It's that or making her mop a Mop of Flying. Let me know if you have a preference.

Plasmoid Monk (Way of Mercy) 4 CG AC: 16 | HP: 32/32 | HD: 3/3 | PP: 13 | Inspiration: No | Speed: 40 ft | GP: 60 Str 11 (0) Dex 18 (4) Con 12 (1) Wis 16 (3) Int 11 (0) Cha 9 (-1) Attacks: Spear (P)1d20+6;1d6+4 | Unarmed(B) 1d20+6;1d4+4 | Sling(B)1d20+6;1d4+4 | Quarterstaff-Mop(B) 1d20+6;1d6+4 Magic: Sacred Flame (DEX vs DC13; 1d8) | Shield of Faith(Bonus; +2AC) | Ki Pool: 1/4 The excitement of graduation quickly turned to disgruntled mumblings of consternation. It seems that hosting a large scale event attended by numerous bigwigs with all the required pomp and circumstance right after a deadly and destructive incursion of giff and gith commandos required an extraordinary amount of clean up work. Since the excrement always flows downhill and Yahs and her fellow cadets apparently lived in the deepest valley located next to that proverbial hill, they ended up spending much of the time prior to the ceremony scrubbing blood stains from the walls, picking bits of brain from the banisters, attempting to match lost limbs with their counterpart bodies, etc. It was a grizzly and grim task perfectly suited to the plasmoid. She did find the prominent display of rotting gith head upon her belt created the proper amount of unease and respect amongst the younger cadet classes and thus at times she found herself able to take on a more supervisory roll as others actually obeyed her orders. In fact, there was a great deal of respect for all the members of her crew following the incidents that could have resulted in a lot more dead cadets if the three hadn't have intervened. One group of highly impressionable, rather misguided youths even formed something of special squad among themselves. Small mop patches were added to their uniforms and soon their off hours were spent practicing a variety of methods for turning regular cleaning implements into deadly weapons. "Sponge Bomb Day" was one outcome of this effort that was quickly denounced by the academy staff too little avail. This same group also started a rather darker tradition of attaching paper mache heads on their belts after scoring particularly noteworthy kills during a simulation. Yahs was pretty certain another group had taken to collecting rat bones and experimenting with various fungi gathered from the biology instructor's not-so-secret stash. And of course there was the Young Prince's Club. When asked about their doings, the plasmoid's skin just ripples in unease as she waves away the question. Her nervous eyes trying to watch every direction at once before she quickly notices a stain or some bit of tarnished silver that needed tending. So her graduation came and went. Sitting there on the balcony after the final ceremony and watching the falling stars illuminate the sky, she ponders what will come next. What grand adventures she'll have. What wonders of the multiverse she'll witness. What mighty beings she'll encounter. Her thoughts are interrupted by Celsior wretching in the corner. It seemed there were long term effects to eating so many fungal spores at once. The medics assured him the alcohol allergy would wear off eventually, but they couldn't say when. The plasmoid burbles a sigh and grabs her mop. "Don't worry Captain, I'll clean that up."

ST: 11 | DX: 11 IQ: 10 | HT: 10 | Will: 11 | PER: 11 | Speed: 5.25 | Move: 5 HP: 11/11 | FP: 10/10 | Dodge: 8 | Parry: 9 (Brawling) / 8 (Knife) | Thr: 1d-1 | Sw: 1d+1 Malakai ponders the question for a few minutes and then shrugs his shoulders. "Reckin we had a decent enough plan to start with. Theyre all there and tucked in real snug in that narrow little gully. So we set a few charges along that slope and then pluck 'em off from the heights as they come crawlin' outta the debris or sweep down after the rocks come tumblin' down and try takin' 'em up close." He says. "Seems like the best chance we're gonna have." He glances up at the stars judging how long before the dawn light will start illuminating the eastern sky. "We've got a bit of time before morning. Best we let the hornets nest simmer down fer a bit before we try slipping back up there to set the charges." He leans back and tips his hat over his eyes. "In the meantime, we try to get a little shuteye." OOC: Not sure what we need to roll at this point to move forward. Demolitions? Stealth again?

Plasmoid Monk (Way of Mercy) 4 CG AC: 16 | HP: 32/32 | HD: 3/3 | PP: 13 | Inspiration: No | Speed: 40 ft | GP: 60 Str 11 (0) Dex 18 (4) Con 12 (1) Wis 16 (3) Int 11 (0) Cha 9 (-1) Attacks: Spear (P)1d20+6;1d6+4 | Unarmed(B) 1d20+6;1d4+4 | Sling(B)1d20+6;1d4+4 | Quarterstaff-Mop(B) 1d20+6;1d6+4 Magic: Sacred Flame (DEX vs DC13; 1d8) | Shield of Faith(Bonus; +2AC) | Ki Pool: 1/4 Yahs listens quietly to the debriefing and follow up theories as to who or what is actually threatening Fleet's continued existence. Without more information, she doubted they could really answer that burning question in this moment. With the tendrils of her cigar smoke drifting like soggy clouds through her fluids, the plasmoid is barely able to stifle a snort at Tarto's concern over the mysterious Flapjack. Looking around at those currently filling the chairs in the room, she couldn't help wondering if a hat wearing flumph wasn't the closest thing to normal that actually existed within Fleet. Considering the one laying out the criticism was a crusty, cigar smoking space hippo, it crossed the line into 'pot calling the kettle' territory in her book. When desperate, you don't turn away help just because of poor fashion choice. And besides, the more she thinks about it, the more she believes a tricorn hat could be rather dashing.

Same from me. I don't think I've got anything else either.