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 With no other threat immediately obvious, Malakai quietly works his way down the hill toward the camp. Keeping low and his rifle at the ready, he begins a methodical search to root out the rest of Davy's ill fated brood. Stealth (Base 10) MechanicsBreaking cover and cautiously moving toward the nearest tent. If possible will use any smoke, debris or other cover to provide a potential bonus to either Stealth or a needed Dodge roll.

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 She was on a roll, laying into the cultists like a Chultan jungle cat hopped up on go-go juice. She had a thing about demons. About hell and the cultists who thought it would be a nice place to live. It wasn't. In fact, it is those two little words ringing in her mind when the first true blast hits with it destructive *BOOM*. Like everyone else she turns away from Pudgetackle and his equally out of shape companion and slither-walks closer to the balcony for a better look. Icy spiders crawl through her ectoplasmic core as she orbital bombardment picked up speed and fury. As the temple of Umberlee cracked open releasing a thousand years of unanswered prayers and a pale cloud of burning incense something else cracked open in Yahs' mind. Memories, or at least that is all she could assume the horrible images of another broken and blasted city could be. Another set of streets filled with rubble and bodies and shattered dreams. As the ashes of vaporized demonic dentist blood mushroom into the smoke filled sickly reddening sky, her mind witnesses another red sky where bolts of death from above plucked death from life with casual whimsy. "S%^t! Not again." She grumbles to no one in particular. But experience matters and thanks to the triggering effects of yet another world ending post traumatic inducing event she knew exactly what to do. Even before Sartell hoofs it for her ship and panic sends the crowd scrambling for where their poor overwhelmed and deluded mind think would be safe, Yahs oozes to the bar and snatches three bottles of Henk's finest top shelf whiskey, the big jar of pickled eggs the bartender kept near the register, and as many Scramsax Selects Smokin' Hot Pepperoni Slims Jim's as she can stuff in her pack. Biting off a piece of the spicy aged 'meat,' she glances back toward the rapidly growing hellscape being created by the ongoing bombardment and, she now sees, the release of some devilish crystalline plague clearly determined to clear all organic life from its newly adopted home. At least it isn't a giant undead dragon. Is the rather dubious thought that crawls across her mind as a crystal entity puts the pitiful Pudgetackle through a seriously overzealous weight loss program. It is at this moment that the memories bursting through the broken damn of her mind screech at her like an overwrought banshee to save herself and get the hell out. But she was Fleet now. And being Fleet meant something. It meant you did what you could to help others, while keeping costs under budget. It meant fighting with honor, unless nastiness and trickery could get the job done quicker and cheaper. It meant you didn't turn tail and run when there was a nasty mess to be dealt with. And so instead of following Sartell's cowardly retreat, she draws forth her trusty, R&D improved Mop of Cleansing and Disinfecting. Her eye stalks spot the fleeing canine. Is impressed by its understanding that food meant survival and thus kept the bone locked securely in its jaws even as it spins into a nearly perfect execution of the Whirling Crane Slips Free. An impressive display of martial talent that brings immediate respect to the plasmoid. She also remembers another tenacious canine, clever, loyal, and unrelenting. Its three eyes gleaming in the red haze of apocalyptic doom. Perhaps this time the two could be allies. She unleashes a high pitched whistle and barks a command at the dog. "COME! HEEL!" Her voice snaps through the growing screams and chaos. If the dog caught on, then perhaps they would travel this new path together. If not, well, there were always the damned cats. Before the crystal demon, beast, construct or whatever manner of foe could de-limb someone else, she races over and begins to test the things structural integrity with the business end of her mop and fist. "Captain!" She yells to Celsior. "Best, start getting people out of here. I'll do what I can to hold this oversized piece of cheap jewelry off." Mop Attack Damage Martial Attack Damage

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 "If by sands through the hourglass you really mean eel fritters sliding down your gullet, then maybe your Dribbles is on to something. But if you two are the cream of his priestly crop, then my guess is old Dimples spends most of his time getting the brimstone piss beat out of him by his demonic brethren." Yahs replies to the two cultists. She snatches a pamphlet from her own satchel and taps the elongated nose of the turtle ship. "As for that disfigurement, well, the Tortoise Class Hauler is the work turtle of the Astral Sea. Carrying all manner of cargo to every port in the known realms. Unfortunately, it's like he said." Her hat tips along with her pod-like head toward the genasi. "They aren't built for speed or maneuverability. By extending the bow a bit more to accommodate a battering ram she could smash her way through a blockade or ram a pirate galleon foolish enough to try and cut her off. It just offers a bit more options for a Fleet captain and a bit more protection from all the dangers lurking out there in the Astral Sea. Things that would make your Snapple soil his demonic diapers if his mommy ever let him out of his dumpy little pit." She taps the pamphlet with her pointy pod. "So sure, its not entirely accurate compared to the poor little creature you probably turned into soup last night, but if it helps the next load of Karpri shrimp or Chadosian fizzy drink arrive on time, then I'm all for it."

I would assume that she is in regular Fleet uniform unless ordered not to be by Sartell or Celsior (Her tricorn hat is not really Fleet standard, but she loves the added spacefaring and swashbucklery flair it offers.)

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 Yahs shakes the thri-kreen's extended hand. "Indeed, teaching those with the talent the ins and outs of actually piloting a ship is one of the core mission's of the academy." She replies. "But even more importantly..." Her deep dive into the all the various opportunities offered by Fleet service, especially those related to ship cleanliness and the best ways for removing blood stains (regardless of whether it is one's own blood or that of the enemy) from wood, canvas, or a standard uniform is interrupted by the newcomers and the subsequent outburst by the feline fellow. Her eye pods swivel around to take in the scene, followed shortly by the rest of her body. She immediately sympathizes with the catkin, not just because he reminded her of young Catrick Swayze the Second, despite the fellow's having two eyes, but also because he clearly hated space clowns. That was something she one hundred and ten percent supported. Her experience at the academy had done little to change her own dislike, even if Zibbles wasn't responsible for the sabotage. "It's a somewhat free city." Yahs says calmly to the one called Pudgetackle. "The right to distribute recruiting materials is outlined within the most recent set of council ordinances and our pamphlets are approved under Fleet regular standards of outreach and marketing materials per regulation chapter six hundred dot thirty-two dot fifteen section a through q." She waves a hand toward the near riot conditions of the dentist convention across the street. "And frankly, if your cult is having difficultly recruiting with a crowd of dentist's in town, then that's on you. We all know demonic blood flows within the veins of any dentist. That crowd should be easy pickings for such a recruitment drive. Perhaps it is the absurd uniforms that are holding you back? Maybe advertising your lack of diet and exercise isn't the best way to attract recruits...or dates for that matter." She adds pointing a pod at the man's belly trying to squeeze its way through the uniform's midriff portal.

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 Seeing the second bandit begin to slowly drift downstream, Malakai focuses his gaze back toward the burning tents and encampment. Peering through the smoke and settling dust, he looks for any sign of the remaining bandits, his finger resting lightly on the trigger of his rifle. Perception

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 The sudden intrusion of a voice in her head jolts Yahs out of her interest in Sartell. The actual appearance of a potential new recruit being a much more unusual and surprising event than either the rockfall illuminating the sky or Flapjack flip-flopping about the meeting location. Looking about at the nearby faces her eyes focus in on the thri-kreen. Remembering their fellow recruit, Klick-Klack...Klickitat...Klap-trap...only partially remembering their former fellow thri-kreen recruit she does recall the fact that they could only communicate via mindspeech. Sliding out of her chair she walks over to 'Steve' and crinkles her facial features into a wide welcoming smile as she tips back her hat. "Steve, I presume." She says facing the thri-kreen with the odd instrument. "Fleet recognizes that everyone has talents that can be put put to good use. And I for one would welcome someone with a new music catalog." She says in reply to the thri-kreen's initial question. "As for a friendly atmosphere, why I can say with all honesty I've made more friends during my few months in the Fleet, than my entire existence prior. And don't worry, even if you don't have any practical ship or spelljamming experience, folk like myself an' the Captain over there will get you up to speed on the basics in no time at all." The plasmoid extends a vaguely hand shaped pod. "Ensign Yahs Anirys." She says proudly. "Glad to meet you Steve and more than happy to answer questions."

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 Yahs shrugs a squishy shoulder at Sartell's criticism of the latest Fleet pamphlet's. The plasmoid could admit, the whole nose-schnoz campaign was a low point even for those in the Marketing and Promotions. Even now she could see several of the pamphlet's she'd left on the nearby tables being used as coasters or a makeshift napkin to sop up spilled beer. They certainly weren't drawing folk into the recruiting office. However, she wasn't inclined to openly criticize because she'd managed to sweet talk one of the new boys in Marketing to get her one of the last feathered tricorn hats left over from last year's Pirates of Penzance Fleet Fundraiser. The hat rode jauntily upon her slowly shifting features as she gazed out across the open waters sipping the blended mix of high proof grain alcohol and lemonade she liked to refer to as a four-oh-nine. It doubled as her go to stain remover and floor polisher as well, which is why the gith skull hanging on her belt smelled summertime fresh and gleamed brightly beneath the tavern lights. Wrapped in a pair of lips formed slightly off center and much too far below her 'nose,' a cigar burns slowly. The trail of blue-gray smoke drifting with the breeze coming off the open water. She understood people's desire to leave the city. Ever since she'd arrived on Toril, she'd had an odd feeling that it wasn't her first time being here. Wasn't the first time she'd walked the dark alleys and filthy avenues of Baldur's Gate. Baldur's Gate and...some other place that still eluded her. Fortunately, she'd had their mission to keep her occupied. Thus even though they were nearly 100% ineffective, she'd done her best to put them where ever possible throughout the city. Nodding when Celsior brings the meeting around to the real business at hand, she turns her lopsided gaze toward Sartell. The tip of the cigar burns bright as she waits for an answer and taps the growing length of ash into a small oyster shell tray resting on a bed of plasmic flesh extended from just below her neck.

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 Not seeing any other bandits emerging from the camp, Malakai pivots the barrel of his rifle to catch the man attempting to vamoose on the ferry. Shortly after Mickey's shot cracks through the early morning air, the bark of Malakai's rifle echoes across the valley. 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 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 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.

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 strikes a match off the top of the gith helm dangling from her belt. The flame flares to life and burns bright until she puts it to the end of the thick cigar where it disappears into a cloud of smoke and smoldering tobacco. It's the same brand that Tarto uses. The only brand carried by the Academy quartermaster since no one else besides Tarto actually touched the stinking things. Savoring the harsh flavor and robust burst of machismo, she ponders the seemingly unstoppable threat that continues to plague the academy and Fleet itself. "If Vocath is not behind the actual sabotage, then who else benefits? Are there others among the mercane who would benefit from Fleet's embarrassment?" A pause as she takes a long draw on the cigar. The tendrils of smoke are quite visible as the swirl and drift throughout her inner system. "Aren't the mercane purely merchants? Dealers of goods for profit. Intermediaries. Middle men. Not the kind to offer charity or to back a particular cause. Even this planned mercenary fleet would only fight if there was profit involved. So who is paying them? Who benefits as our resources are dedicated to first finding Miken, then dealing with Vocath. Who benefits from Andru's loss of face. Surely the Prince suffers in this since he was the one who awarded the contract. Who gains if Mirt dies? And gains enough that makes paying the high price the Mercane would charge worth it? For that matter who benefits from having folk think Vocath is involved?" She shakes her head causing the smoke both inside and outside to swirl and spiral. "This isn't some small time operation. There's money behind it. Lots of money. And it's flowing from somewhere. So who paid the Mercane to pay Miken? Instead of trying to kill each other, maybe we should try talking to Vocath. Use a mercane to find a mercane."