Hobby Dive into the Abyss: Abomination Vaults Play-by-Post!

Kaelen presses into the jagged tunnel beyond the Otari Fishery’s basement, the damp air sharp against his tanned skin, where bedbug and tick bites itch faintly, eased by spotted dock sap. His Kellid eyes—dark, burning for a crimson blaze—scan the torchlit stone, his well-rested body driven to prove his worth. At a steep cliff, he hammers a spike into the rock, securing their rope with deft hands, eager for glory. Veshir follows, his amber-slitted eyes heavy from a sleepless night of whispering fog, blowgun gripped, focused on protecting his reagent trade. They rappel down, Kaelen’s steps firm, Veshir’s lagging, landing in a cavern where Kaelen’s torchlight reveals edible puffball mushrooms, their earthy scent steadying him as he pockets a few.

The next cave is thick with glistening spiderwebs, a silent snare. Kaelen treads carefully, his thick hands steady, but a misstep catches a web, rousing a giant spider with chattering jaws. Veshir, weary but precise, fires a venom-tipped dart, slowing the beast, as Kaelen slashes a path, their frantic sprint barely outpacing its pursuit. They reach a cave with a flimsy barricade of wood and scrap, distant clattering metal echoing beyond. Veshir, yawning, probes it with his toolkit, but Kaelen, impatient, smashes it down with sword and torch, splinters flying. Veshir’s Tian Xia lilt snaps with tired annoyance, but they push on, the clatter growing sharper, hinting at danger ahead.

A twisting corridor opens into an ancient burial chamber, lit by a strange crystal’s pulsing blue flame, casting eerie light on alcoves with rotting coffins and a central stone sarcophagus. Two skeletal guards, bones rattling, and a rotting zombie, reeking of decay, lurch forward. Kaelen’s dark eyes flash, his ambition to carve a name fueling his stance, his rested strength ready. Veshir, blowgun raised, fights exhaustion, his alchemical mind seeking trade-worthy finds. As the undead advance, Kaelen hefts his longsword, Veshir aims a dart, their strained alliance bracing for a fight in the ghostly blue glow, ready to face the chamber’s grim foes.

what is your plan of action, what you might want to talk about and with who and any emote?
 
1751689873691
 
Magonia said:
Kaelen presses into the jagged tunnel beyond the Otari Fishery’s basement, the damp air sharp against his tanned skin, where bedbug and tick bites itch faintly, eased by spotted dock sap. His Kellid eyes—dark, burning for a crimson blaze—scan the torchlit stone, his well-rested body driven to prove his worth. At a steep cliff, he hammers a spike into the rock, securing their rope with deft hands, eager for glory. Veshir follows, his amber-slitted eyes heavy from a sleepless night of whispering fog, blowgun gripped, focused on protecting his reagent trade. They rappel down, Kaelen’s steps firm, Veshir’s lagging, landing in a cavern where Kaelen’s torchlight reveals edible puffball mushrooms, their earthy scent steadying him as he pockets a few.

The next cave is thick with glistening spiderwebs, a silent snare. Kaelen treads carefully, his thick hands steady, but a misstep catches a web, rousing a giant spider with chattering jaws. Veshir, weary but precise, fires a venom-tipped dart, slowing the beast, as Kaelen slashes a path, their frantic sprint barely outpacing its pursuit. They reach a cave with a flimsy barricade of wood and scrap, distant clattering metal echoing beyond. Veshir, yawning, probes it with his toolkit, but Kaelen, impatient, smashes it down with sword and torch, splinters flying. Veshir’s Tian Xia lilt snaps with tired annoyance, but they push on, the clatter growing sharper, hinting at danger ahead.

A twisting corridor opens into an ancient burial chamber, lit by a strange crystal’s pulsing blue flame, casting eerie light on alcoves with rotting coffins and a central stone sarcophagus. Two skeletal guards, bones rattling, and a rotting zombie, reeking of decay, lurch forward. Kaelen’s dark eyes flash, his ambition to carve a name fueling his stance, his rested strength ready. Veshir, blowgun raised, fights exhaustion, his alchemical mind seeking trade-worthy finds. As the undead advance, Kaelen hefts his longsword, Veshir aims a dart, their strained alliance bracing for a fight in the ghostly blue glow, ready to face the chamber’s grim foes.

what is your plan of action, what you might want to talk about and with who and any emote?
Click to expand...
Tell you what GM, I'll engage the rotting zombie directly with my powerfull longsword, aiming for quick, powerful dad strikes to dispatch it before it can close the distance and inflict any significant damage or spread its putrid aura. I'll leverage my "well-rested body" and "rested strength" for maximum impact FUCK YEAH LETS ROL!
 
Magonia said:
daily participation is important otherwise you get status effects and die.
Click to expand...
my sleep is messed up, wake up at night sleep at day
Kaelen's posture shifts, shoulders squaring, a primal readiness settling over him. His lips pull back in a thin, determined line, almost a snarl of anticipation rather than fear. There's a hungry glint in his eyes as he steps forward without pause, longsword held ready, already assessing the zombie's lumbering gait, eager to meet the challenge head
"Veshir! Aim for the bones! Keep them staggered! I'll break the reeker!"
 
Last edited:
my response
In the dim, fish-reeking basement of Otari’s fishery, where the mist’s chill seeps through the cracked stone, the air grows taut with the promise of peril. The flickering torchlight, held aloft by Halric, dances across the wreckage of barrels and the glistening heaps of half-devoured cod, casting jagged shadows that seem to writhe with a life of their own. Casemir kneels amid the debris, his fingers tracing the splintered wood and torn fish, seeking answers in the chaos. The marks are savage—teeth, perhaps, or claws—but the pattern eludes him, a riddle left unsolved as he mutters under his breath, “Too messy for beasts… or not messy enough.”

Eugen Stefan, descending the last steps with the grace of a fallen lord, surveys the scene with a noble’s disdain, his rapier still sheathed but his hand never far from its hilt. “Whoever—or whatever—did this lacked finesse,” he says, nudging a broken stave with his boot. “Crude. Rushed. Or simply… hungry.” His words hang like a challenge, his eyes glinting with the thrill of a duel yet to come.

Halric, securing the door behind them, lights his torch with a practiced hand, its flame cutting through the gloom. “Careful, Eugen,” he warns, his squire’s instincts sharp. “If it’s hungry, we look tastier than greasy fish guts. Ten gold’s no offer for easy work.” His gaze sweeps over the group, assessing: Casemir’s restless energy, Eugen’s polished lethality, Alexanne’s arcane poise, Larissa’s quiet resolve. He notes the wear on their gear—Casemir’s patched cloak, Larissa’s well-worn hymnal—and speaks again. “We need a vanguard and rear guard. I’d hate for carelessness to cost us. I can take point or rear—rear’s fine, I’m quick enough to close gaps.”

Crouching beside Casemir, Halric angles the torch to aid his inspection. “Anything interesting?” he asks, but Casemir only shakes his head, the mystery unyielding.

Larissa, her heart tethered to Sarenrae’s mercy, follows close, her scimitar an unfamiliar weight at her side. Coin draws her here, yes, but so does her calling—to mend wounds, to shield the weary. She keeps to the group’s center, where the torchlight’s glow feels like a fragile blessing. Her hand brushes her holy symbol, a whispered prayer rising: Dawnflower, guide us through this shadow. The words steady her, though the darkness beyond the light prickles her skin.

Alexanne Stefan, her breastplate gleaming faintly, straightens with a rustle of mail. “Your caution is wise,” she tells Halric, then turns to Larissa. “If you can bless us again, save it for when steel is drawn. Let’s not squander divine patience.” Her eyes, sharp as her blade, flick to Eugen. “If you’re done lamenting your laundry, Stefan, take formation.” With a fluid motion, she draws her bastard sword, its etched motto—Per sapientiam et potentiam, victoriam—catching the torchlight. She murmurs a word, and a soft pulse of arcane light blooms from the blade, bathing the basement in a coppery glow. The shadows retreat, revealing a jagged hole in the far wall, its edges rough as if clawed open.

“Let’s see what squirms when the dark is peeled back,” Alexanne says, her voice steady.

The light catches five pairs of glinting eyes, low and malevolent, reflecting like cursed stars. A skittering erupts, and from the hole surge giant rats, their matted fur slick with grime, their teeth bared in hunger. One, larger than the rest, launches itself at Alexanne, its claws scraping past her guard to rake her arm. The wound is shallow—3 points of damage—but the sting is sharp, a reminder of the danger now upon them.

The basement, once a silent tomb of fish and wood, now thrums with the scrabble of claws and the group’s quickening breaths. The rats, emboldened by their ambush, circle closer, their eyes locked on the party, as the torchlight wavers
 
Magonia said:
my response
In the dim, fish-reeking basement of Otari’s fishery, where the mist’s chill seeps through the cracked stone, the air grows taut with the promise of peril. The flickering torchlight, held aloft by Halric, dances across the wreckage of barrels and the glistening heaps of half-devoured cod, casting jagged shadows that seem to writhe with a life of their own. Casemir kneels amid the debris, his fingers tracing the splintered wood and torn fish, seeking answers in the chaos. The marks are savage—teeth, perhaps, or claws—but the pattern eludes him, a riddle left unsolved as he mutters under his breath, “Too messy for beasts… or not messy enough.”

Eugen Stefan, descending the last steps with the grace of a fallen lord, surveys the scene with a noble’s disdain, his rapier still sheathed but his hand never far from its hilt. “Whoever—or whatever—did this lacked finesse,” he says, nudging a broken stave with his boot. “Crude. Rushed. Or simply… hungry.” His words hang like a challenge, his eyes glinting with the thrill of a duel yet to come.

Halric, securing the door behind them, lights his torch with a practiced hand, its flame cutting through the gloom. “Careful, Eugen,” he warns, his squire’s instincts sharp. “If it’s hungry, we look tastier than greasy fish guts. Ten gold’s no offer for easy work.” His gaze sweeps over the group, assessing: Casemir’s restless energy, Eugen’s polished lethality, Alexanne’s arcane poise, Larissa’s quiet resolve. He notes the wear on their gear—Casemir’s patched cloak, Larissa’s well-worn hymnal—and speaks again. “We need a vanguard and rear guard. I’d hate for carelessness to cost us. I can take point or rear—rear’s fine, I’m quick enough to close gaps.”

Crouching beside Casemir, Halric angles the torch to aid his inspection. “Anything interesting?” he asks, but Casemir only shakes his head, the mystery unyielding.

Larissa, her heart tethered to Sarenrae’s mercy, follows close, her scimitar an unfamiliar weight at her side. Coin draws her here, yes, but so does her calling—to mend wounds, to shield the weary. She keeps to the group’s center, where the torchlight’s glow feels like a fragile blessing. Her hand brushes her holy symbol, a whispered prayer rising: Dawnflower, guide us through this shadow. The words steady her, though the darkness beyond the light prickles her skin.

Alexanne Stefan, her breastplate gleaming faintly, straightens with a rustle of mail. “Your caution is wise,” she tells Halric, then turns to Larissa. “If you can bless us again, save it for when steel is drawn. Let’s not squander divine patience.” Her eyes, sharp as her blade, flick to Eugen. “If you’re done lamenting your laundry, Stefan, take formation.” With a fluid motion, she draws her bastard sword, its etched motto—Per sapientiam et potentiam, victoriam—catching the torchlight. She murmurs a word, and a soft pulse of arcane light blooms from the blade, bathing the basement in a coppery glow. The shadows retreat, revealing a jagged hole in the far wall, its edges rough as if clawed open.

“Let’s see what squirms when the dark is peeled back,” Alexanne says, her voice steady.

The light catches five pairs of glinting eyes, low and malevolent, reflecting like cursed stars. A skittering erupts, and from the hole surge giant rats, their matted fur slick with grime, their teeth bared in hunger. One, larger than the rest, launches itself at Alexanne, its claws scraping past her guard to rake her arm. The wound is shallow—3 points of damage—but the sting is sharp, a reminder of the danger now upon them.

The basement, once a silent tomb of fish and wood, now thrums with the scrabble of claws and the group’s quickening breaths. The rats, emboldened by their ambush, circle closer, their eyes locked on the party, as the torchlight wavers
Click to expand...
Who are these new characters?
 
Tabula Rasa said:
bump
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I'm thinking of running either a randomized game or different campaign and play as the main character.

I'm also thinking of changing the rules system to something much more rules light. While I agree with those that think PF2 is the best I have my mind stuck in PF1. Rules lite is probably better with how fucked I am so I probably should play open legend or that card system I forgot the name but I have it.
 
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