To be frank, this cat is dangerous. Not only does he have all the melee prowess of a strong warrior, but he merges it with the deadly cunning and calculation of a highly trained Rogue. He can confidently stealth in Full plate, is healthier than an ox with 600 hit points, can stand in the fray and take blows with his Epic Damage Reduction, and will always be the first to strike with +15 to Initiative, which allows him to land heavy blows on opponents with a Great Axe that can deal out 1d12, +6 for Epic Weapon Specialization, +13 Strength, 10d6sneak damage, Crippling Strike, and a possible critical that will deal a base damage score of 78-93 points of damage without gear or buffs.
Further, he can support any situation with a UMD skill that insures failure-free scroll casting, and access to most restricted items. His skill in traps is proficient enough to detect Deadly Traps, Disable Deadly Traps, and in turn lay his own Deadly traps. His Fortitude and Reflex Saves are solid rock, and his Will Save would be the one chink in his defense. But even that is far from being pathetic.
The Last Great Bounty Hunter Rogue20 Fighter10 Champion of Moradin10
Leveling Guide 1 Rogue1, Blooded 2 Fighter1, Weapon Focus: Great Axe 3 Fighter2, Blindfighting, Knockdown 4 Fighter3, Str17 5 Fighter4, Weapon Specialization: Great Axe 6 Rogue2, Skill Focus: Move Silently 7 Rogue3 8 Rogue4, Str18 9 Champion1, Skill Focus: Hide 10 Champion2, Improved Knockdown 11 Rogue5 12 Rogue6, Stealthy, Str19 13 Rogue7 14 Rogue8 15 Rogue9, Improved Initiative 16 Champion3, Str20 17 Rogue10, Crippling Strike 18 Champion4, Improved Critical, Toughness 19 Champion5 20 Fighter5, Str21 21 Champion6, Great Str I, Epic Weapon Focus: Great Axe 22 Fighter6, Epic Weapon Spec: Great Axe 23 Rogue11 24 Rogue12, Epic Prowess, Con19 25 Rogue13, ESF: Move Silently 26 Rogue14 27 Rogue15, Great Con I 28 Rogue16, ESF: Hide, Con21 29 Champion7 30 Champion8, Epic Damage Reduction I, Great Str II 31 Champion9 32 Champion10, Epic Damage Reduction II, Str24 33 Fighter7, Great Str III 34 Fighter8, Epic Damage Reduction III 35 Rogue17 36 Rogue18, Great Str IV, Con22 37 Rogue19, Superior Initiative 38 Fighter9 39 Fighter10, Armor Skin, Great Str V 40 Rogue20, Str28
Raw Scores AB: 40/35/30/25 AC: 29 (Full Plate) Hit Points: 600 Skill Points: 310
The Bounty Hunter's Arsenal Base Damage: 20-31/78-93 on Critical Sneak damage: 10d6 Crippling Strike Damage Reduction: 9/- High Hit Points Lightning Initiative: +15 Stealth in Full plate Hide: 59 (51 in Plate) Move Silently: 59 (51 in Plate) UMD 35 for failure free scroll casting
Saves Fort: 32 (34) Will: 19 (21) Reflex: 28 (30)
Skills Hide: 43 (59) Move Silently: 43 (59) Tumble: 40 Discipline: 42 (51) UMD: 37 (35) Open Locks: 10 (11) Set Traps: 20 (24) (enough for Deadly) Disable Traps: 16 (20) (enough for Deadly) Search: 14 (18) (enough for Deadly) Spot: 43 (44) Heal: 1 Lore: 1 (5) _____
*****The Last Great Bounty Hunter*****
I hate rain.
I stood in the thick shower of a monsoon deluge.
I stood in the dark.
For six bloody hours.
No one saw me crouch in the shadows of the alley overlooking the dark and watery main street of Iriaebor’s proper. Across the mud-choked street was the Black Lion, the tavern my contact had said I was to meet her. For six hours I spied this location. For six hours I silently cursed my self and my stupidity, while I watched the drunken locals lurch in, and then even drunker stumble back out.
In the dark. In the rain.
I hate rain.
Torches were mounted to either side of the front door, and they flickered and struggled in the wet wind. Finally, a figure approached from the East Road leading a bedraggled horse through the mud-spattered street, and he tethered his horse to a post before the tavern. The figure kept his cloak pulled about him, and he paused at the door. The figure slowly turned around and examined the street and his surroundings, then ducked inside the Lion. It was her. Moments later, the innkeeper cracked the door open and hung a "Closed" sign on the door. My contact said that there would be a “sign”. I’m betting that was it.
I pulled a thin, coiled rope from my belt and quickly tied one end to a small grappling hook. My fingers fumbled for a moment in the cold rain. I hate monsoon season. After what bloody well seemed like 30 more hours, I felt satisfied with my knot and threw the rope to the rooftop above. I tugged the rope taut and felt the hook bite into the woodwork. I gripped the rope with both hands and pulled myself off the ground. The anchor point held. I let go, then pulled the great axe from my back. Gently, soundlessly, I placed it into an empty barrel near the alley opening.
I have a philosophy: never go in anywhere that you can’t get back out of.
But my contact was also very specific that I had to be unarmed. It's that part that bothered me. I’ve been having a bad feeling about this job, but I tell myself, “Lassiter, you have a bad feeling about every job.” For once, I had to agree with myself.
Upon the street there was no movement, no sound, save the driving rain pelting the mud-cratered puddles. I was looking forward to sitting by the warm fire. After three hours of downpour in the dark, even my thoughts were wet.
I slipped unseen across the street and stepped up to the Lion's door. I paused for a moment, and listened. I could hear voices, though the blasted rain made it too difficult to discern. I looked behind me to the tethered horse. It neighed at me nervously while it stood soaked and miserable in the rain and mud. I hate horses. It stared back at me with accusing eyes.
I stepped up to the post and noticed that the owner had hitched him with a simple slipknot. I pulled a second smaller rope from my belt. I secured it tightly to the post and then ran the other end through the animal's bridle, and tied a series of square knots. Added insurance. It’s the little things....
I then pulled a flask of oil from within my cloak, unstopped the cork, and poured the contents all across the wooden deck and steps that led into the tavern. I then set the empty bottle on the floorboard near the door's bottom hinge. I glanced around once more to make sure I wasn't being followed, and then I carefully opened the front door without disturbing the bottle. Anyone who casually opened the door would send the bottle rolling across the deck. I knew better than to go to the rear door. That one would be watched.
I stepped into the soft warm light of the tavern. The bartender, a middle-aged man, looked up from the bar and said gruffly, "We're closed." "I just need one drink." The bartender looked to a corner of the room where sat a group of shadowy patrons. The figure I had seen earlier with the horse sat at this table facing the door. The figure nodded slightly.
"What'll ya have, stranger?" the bartender said, changing his tone. "Just an ale," I said. He poured a dark amber into a wooden tankard. I slid a coin across the counter. "Keep the change."
And as he reached a hand to take the coin, I noted his delicate fingers, and a pair of sapphire rings that were no trinkets. He quickly pulled his hand back. I pretended not to notice.
I slowly walked back to the corner of the tavern. To my left I noted two men who sat at a table engaged in a whispered debate. I marked how each had a cloak folded over their right forearm beneath the table. I marked how I could not see either’s hand. And though they feigned disinterest, the corners of their eyes followed me.
The nape hairs on my neck suddenly tingled.
I kept walking, slowly, to where the people sat at the table. There were five of them, and the sixth seat was empty. Nobody spoke. I set my tankard on the table and my drenched cloak on the empty chair, and eased myself into the seat. My back now faced the door—a position I don’t find very comfortable. Perhaps it was only coincidence, I told myself, but I was getting a bad feeling about this.
The cloaked figure threw back a hood. She was an Elf. Tall and lithe, she glared at me with ice blue eyes. “You’re a Dwarf,” was all she said. “You’re a quick study,” I said wryly. Someone chuckled to my right. A tall man, black beard and dark skin-- a calimshite-- rubbed his chin. I recognized him from somewhere— “You are the bounty hunter, are you not? The one they call the “Iron Wolf”? My contact informed me that you were without peer.” For the moment I had everyone’s attention, and I felt a bit uncomfortable. “I get by,” I said.
“I’ll be brief,” the elf said as she unrolled a sheaf of parchment across the table. It was some sort of map of the local area. “A small but heavily guarded caravan is departing from the palace two days hence. It will leave by way of the main gate and receive a cavalry escort until it is five leagues west of the city. At this point it will bear northward on a track bound for Scornubel. However, it must pass through the shadows of the Far Hills, here.” And she pointed to a broad line on her map. “This is where we hit them. Just south of the outpost of Darkhold. Due to the monsoon season, gullies and ravines normally dry and barren will be swollen and impassable. Rather than turn back, the leader of this caravan will attempt to ford the flooded gully. When they do, we will take advantage of their vulnerability.”
She paused and looked around. The others nodded in approval. All save the calimshite, whose face was dark with questions.
“The caravan is transporting a small chest,” she continued. “We need that chest.” And she paused to look at each of us to make sure we understood. “The chest is our goal, nothing else. It is a plain chest, wooden and ironbound, and will be heavily locked. We get the chest, and each of you gets 5,000 gold. Any questions?” A silence followed. “Aye,” I said finally. “What’s in the chest?” She glared at me again. “Important materials.” “You can't tell us? or won't tell us?” She was starting to get on my nerves. “I do not know,” she said between gritted teeth, and her look this time was intense enough to burn holes through me. “Well,” I said, “Since the chest is a mystery, who are our employers?” She shifted uncomfortably. “I am unable to disclose their identity.” “You don’t say,” I arched an eyebrow.
I looked to the fellow on my left. He was human, strapped out in black leather and wrapped in a thin grey cloak. His left knee kept bouncing up and down, which is what caught my attention. He stared at the table, and neither looked at our speaker nor me. His face seemed pale, and I noticed a single bead of water slide down the bridge of his nose, and yet oddly his clothing was dry. He quickly wiped it away, and cast me a furtive glance. He was sweating. Even more troubling was that I couldn't see his left hand; it was concealed within his cloak.
I pretended to stretch, and in so doing, pretended to knock my tankard off the table and into the black-leathered fellow's lap. The full mug of ale hung in the air for just a moment, and as it was about to fall and splatter its contents, his right hand, in a blur of motion, snatched it from its descent. In that instant I could see his left hand, and it tightly clutched a small but deadly blade. He returned the tankard to the table. Not a drop was spilled. His left hand was concealed once more.
It was a bloody set-up. Now I needed to figure out who was being set-up and who were the setter-uppers.
I hate set-ups.
"Nice catch, lad," I said smiling. "Damn clumsy hands of mine." He looked at me strangely, but didn't return the smile.
“What kind of resistance should we expect?” it was the calimshite who spoke up. He looked to me and gave me a quick nod. Suddenly I remembered him. We had worked a job together about three years ago in Baldur’s Gate. Bad job, too. We were double-crossed, and the whole team was killed. Well, almost the whole team. I made it, but I could've sworn the calimshite went down. Still haven't figured out how we were compromised on that one....
“The caravan will be guarded by 20 of Iriaebor’s finest,” said the elf. “And a priest of some significance.” “That’s it?” asked the calimshite. “Just some guards and a priest?” “There is one more,” she said. She paused and licked her lips. “There will be a Hearth Guard among them.”
Nobody said anything. We just looked at her. Just when I thought the night couldn’t get any better.
“A Hearth Guard?” the calimshite broke the silence. “What the Hell is that?” “Ask your Dwarf friend,” the Elf gestured to me, and just like that all eyes were once again aimed in my direction. I casually lifted my tankard to my lips, drained it, and slammed it to the table. “Thanks,” I said wiping the foam from my beard, “but no thanks. I’m out. Good luck on this one.”
And as I stood, I noticed subtle shifts of movement coming from many different directions throughout the tavern. And then I heard the sound of a bottle rolling across the deck outside the tavern. I froze.
And then I heard her cool voice.
“How now, Master Dwarf? What is it that makes your face ashen so? Perhaps my offer was not....attractive enough?”
She thought she had me.
And in the next second I unfolded my escape in the eye of my mind:
My right hand still on the back of my chair, I slowly turned around to face the Elf lady. I said something remarkably witty, like “Indeed,” while my right hand slowly grasped the cloak still draped upon my chair. And then in the next instant I threw the cloak on the black-leathered fellow to my left. Surprised, he struggled with the cloak as I kicked the chair out from under him, and he went sprawling across the floor. In the same motion I flipped the table upside down and the rest of the group scattered. I hurdled the table and crouched there just for an instant as crossbow bolts thudded against the other side, and I could hear the familiar hiss of acid and poison as it devoured the woodwork.
Immediately I hopped back over the table and was at a dead run for the main door. The bartender was doing something behind the counter and I saw the two men at the other table reloading hand crossbows. In an instant I calculated I would not reach the door in time. Instead I ran straight at them. The first brought his crossbow up just as my elbow smashed into his mouth, and he was sent flying back into the table where he had sat. His partner was sprayed with blood and teeth from the force of my impact, but he didn’t flinch. He fired the deadly crossbow and I felt its sting sear through my cheek as it ripped its way across my jaw line. The pain was excruciating, but I lowered a shoulder into his abdomen and struck him with enough force that he bounced off the wall and sank to the floor.
Without even looking behind me I burst for the front door and was met by two men dressed black as knight and each wielding dual blades wet with venom. I tucked and rolled between them and sprang back to my feet on the tavern deck behind them. They whirled around, but not before I had plucked one of the torches from the bracket next to the door. They paused just for a second, and in that instant I dropped the torch to the floor and launched myself backwards away from the tavern. As my body sank into the mud-slopped streets, the tavern deck erupted in a blaze of angry fire, and the two men were engulfed in the oil-driven flames.
Again I was on my feet and heading for the alley. I could feel the pursuit behind me. Within moments my hand reached into the barrel and grasped the well-worn handle of my axe, and without even looking I swung it backhanded behind me. The blade sank through flesh and into bone.
More shadows were coming, but I was already halfway up my rope. As I clambered to the rooftop, I glanced out of the corner of my eye and saw the elf woman fumbling with her horse as she attempting to free it from the extra hitch I had placed upon it.
And as I stood atop the rooftops of Iriaebor, the Black Lion now a conflagration of smoke and flame, while the hard monsoon rain pounded me from without, and a bitter poison burned me from within, it occurred to me: what was the bartender doing behind the bar?. And in my mind's eye I quickly thought backwards, slid back down the rope, past the axe, across the muddied street and through the blaze of the tavern porch and the hit men, into the tavern past the flying teeth and the duo of the hand crossbowmen, sprinted backwards across the floor and paused in mid leap when I had hurtled over the table. And I hung in midair and searched from the corner of my eye. I could see the bartender gesturing in the air, and his lips mumbled ancient words that few understood.
And I saw the flash of his two rings in the firelight, and I could smell witchcraft in the air about me.
That was my mistake. The two rings. The delicate fingers.
And thus my vision faded, and I returned to the dusky interior of the tavern, and I turned slowly to face the Elf. The black-leathered fellow to my left was visibly sweating now, and I could feel a collective inhale throughout the tavern as they all gauged my every move. I could do it, maybe... but I wasn't liking the odds. I had a sense that the feeling was mutual.
I locked eyes with the Elf. "You are the last of the great Bounty Hunters," she said. "Are you sure you won't reconsider.?" "Double the offer," I said, "And I call the shots." She hesitated, and there was a silent exchange between her and the bartender. "Done," she said.
And it seemed as if the tavern itself breathed a sigh of relief.
And I looked to the calimshite and said, "First thing you need to know about Hearth Guards is, never get caught fighting one."
The calimshite threw back his head and laughed, "And what's the second thing?"
"The second thing is, if you find yourself breaking the first thing, run."
And we spoke of strategy and ambush until the grey sunrise. And the rest of this assembled team seemed eager and confidant, particularly the calimshite. But a doubt gnawed in my stomach, and I still had more questions than answers. Who were my employers? and what was in this chest that they desired so much that they would risk a king's ransom in gold, and threaten death to those who refused their covert operation? And why was there a Hearth Guard in the caravan?
If I was to get answers, I'd have to play their game, for now.
I hate games.
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** griphook ..Changed "CoM" in title to "CoT" for Search Engine Purpose's _________________ Got Hommlet? World of Greyhawk Action Server (with 1/2 price ales on Mondays!)
Ariel, Ookla, RIDE!
Edited By Kail Pendragon on 10/12/07 16:03
Brilliant Grizz, absolutely brilliant. That was one helluva fun read.
Great build, too. Once again, you demonstrate the flexibility and strength of the Rogue/FRT/CoT combination. Nice, nice work. _________________ Wave upon wave of demented avengers marched cheerfully out of obscurity into the dream...
Very nice build. Looks like it would be quite fun to play; in straight melee as well as with tactics.
The story was superb as well. ("Ronin"?...or am I mistaken?)
Nicely done.
very nice. seems as though you can't go wrong with a fighter/rogue/com. i enjoyed the story alot. took me a second to realize the whole escape was just in his mind. fun read. -c _________________ "Perception is strong and sight weak. In strategy it is important to see distant things as if they were close and to take a distanced view of close things." - Miyamoto Musashi
Nice job Grizz. Great story. Always warms me heart to read about another Dwarven rogue.
Kaliban. _________________ What I'm reading now: The White Spider by Heinrich Harrer.
A good long story. I enjoy playing fighter/rogues in NwN, as they truly can master almost any environment. Adding Cot gives your saves a nice bump. You, like me, like STR based chars, which for PvM will outdo DEX based in most cases. At least until late in the build. You amaze me yet again. Very nice.
A sidenote, CoM in the build thread name will perhaps interfere with Pulse Caps search engine.
I like the story, it reminds me of the attitude of a character I played at one point in an online party, a mercenary monk/rogue. I have to nod along with the rest - the rogue/fighter/COT combo is just tremendously flexible and highly playable, well-suited to almost every situation and play-style. _________________ Experience is the mother of good judgement; bad judgement is the father of experience.
Thanks for the feedback, one and all.
Quote: Posted 11/02/05 16:16:26 (GMT) -- dmuzzy The story was superb as well. ("Ronin"?...or am I mistaken?)
Actually, you're not mistaken. I was hoping someone would recognize the trappings. There was one particular line from the film that stuck with me. A line that is the montra of all my Rogue/Ftr/Cots. It was spoken by deNiro's character to Jean Reno-- I never go into a place that I can't get back out of. It's the mindset, I feel, that is fundamental to playing a good Rogue character.
A sidenote, CoM in the build thread name will perhaps interfere with Pulse Caps search engine.
That's a good point. I never stopped to consider it, but I think you're right.
On a different note, I am obliged to tell you all to beware when using the word "calimshite". For those who read the background story, everytime the word "calimshite" was used, it was always lower case, and violates the laws governing proper nouns and capitalization. For those who thought I was being sloppy, I was not. In fact, you'll discover that everytime I use "calimshite" in this post, it is lower case in spite of typing it in as upper case.
This is a result of the Biowarian/Canadian censor machines hard at work. For when I spelled "calimshite" as "Calam***e", it censored the s-h-i-t portion of the word. If I merely changed the "a" to an "i" in the "Calam" portion of the word, it immediately lower-cased it, time and time again, but ironically it didn't censor the s-h-i-t portion of the word.
Tis a very odd thing, and it threw me aback when I discovered this phenomenon. Anyway, apologies to those who were offended by the lower case calimshite, but it is, as you can see, a force beyond my control.
Anyway, apologies to those who were offended by the lower case calimshite, but it is, as you can see, a force beyond my control.
The CBC?
I take it that is some sort of Canook brevity code for Canadian Board of Censorship? _________________ Got Hommlet? World of Greyhawk Action Server (with 1/2 price ales on Mondays!)
Ariel, Ookla, RIDE!
Canadian Broadcasting Corporation.
If I remember correctly from my mukluk-wearing childhood, it's a government-controlled mass-media leviathan that is similar to the American Public Broadcasting System.
Kaliban. _________________ "It's a damned shame when people be throwing away a perfectly good white boy like that!"
If I remember correctly from my mukluk-wearing childhood, it's a government-controlled mass-media leviathan that is similar to the American Public Broadcasting System.
Kaliban.
Very well described. Publicly funded, I might add. This explains many of the 'Canadian' programs that run on for seasons beyond all rational explanation. _________________ Wave upon wave of demented avengers marched cheerfully out of obscurity into the dream...
