Maruusk spends the days scouting around and helping Reverry or Sajeek with their efforts. He seems quiet, even reserved. He seems to be thinking pensively as he work on the firewood, foraging and scouting.
When Sajeek says that something approaches, he says, "Did you get a look at it? What are we up against? Should be confront it outside where we can surround it?"
He moves to the entrance, dropping into the shadows to hide and peer outside.
Hide 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (7) + 5 = 12
Maruusk watches Revery as e walks outside. "By the Spirits... Is he trying to kill himself or bring things here? We know something was watching us last night..." Growling, he moves to the entrance. "Revery, you should get back in here before you freeze or bring a predator to us..."
He fingers the dagger, watching the tree line. "We can scout when there's a break n this storm! Right now, it's suicide to try to climb anything..."
Looking into the storm, he wonders if he'll ever see us parents again. "By the Ancestors, I hate the caravan, but I'd be happy there right now..."
Marcus's is about to respond to Quin, but Sajeek beats him to it. Instead, he smiles (possibly unsettling with his predatory grin) and nods. "We all played our part, and will continue to do so. Even Syn, in his weakened condition is able to throw in and cook what smells to be the best venison I've ever had."
He turns to Sajeek and bows formally at the waist, "Many thanks for hunting this game, though then end was not as clean as you wanted, know it gave its life so we may live, and I will not throw that sacrifice away - may the Ancestors take me."
Hearing Gwen's comments, he says, "I would find my father and his caravan, to let him know how I fare as well. I would need to work my way back to where we arrived..." He shakes his head, chagrin painted on his face. "If I could remember... Perhaps rest and time will bring it back to me."
He sits and par takes of the first real food in what seems forever, his thoughts on family and home...
Maruusk watches from the cave entrance as he restocked the wood. "I hope that we get that deer..."
He looks back to the pile of kindling he was making with the rusty dagger. "We'll need to cut down on the fire size if we're going to survive any length of time here." He says this in a low voice, to the others in the cave.
I wonder how many deer there are around here, he thinks. Might mean there's something else around here.
Maruusk listens to his companions planning. "Priorities are warmth and food at this point. With the storm, we should try to stay close. I think the forest is close enough to gather some kindling and some smaller logs. Any farther, and we could get lost in the storm. Not to mention the cold - we're clothed, but there's not that much to what we have. There's little enough to keep us warm."
Maruusk, upon hearing of the prints outside, goes to see them. Shaking his head, he turns to the others, "My apologies, apparently I was more tired than I realized and I dozed off and I missed our observers."
He turns to him companions and guests. "I am Maruusk, Vah Shir of the Panther Clan. I must have done something to offend the Spirits and the Ancestors to end up here."
He looks somewhat embarrassed at that, and says, "I believe my luck has changed as I am here with you all. Together, perhaps we can manage to live through this and get back to our lives."
He looks over to the fire and food, "Is there some bread left? I would like to try that before I try my handle on fishing in the cold waters out there."
Maruusk stands over the stinking pile of clothing, only slightly less odoriferous than the pile of goblin crap. He pulls out the most serviceable and warm clothing available, and a pair of soiled boots. After donning a stained sailcloth shirt (probably from another lost sailor), he pulls on a brocade jacket of a virulent yellow hue (probably from the same crate as that Syn wears), weather-worn leather pants follow as do hard-used, knee-height riding boots. Last, he pulls a weather-beaten leather coat and peaked felt hat. Gloves are hard to come by, but the coat has deep pockets...
Maruusk stays near the front of the cave, as close to the entrance as he can manage, since the smell of cooking goblin is, if possible, worse than the pile of their crap. "Gods Khae, do you have to cook that in here?" He isn't sure if the dwarf can understand him, but the smell causes his stomach to flip-flop a few times.
He fingers one of the rusty daggers he picked up from the pile, at least he wasn't helpless any longer...
"Aye Sajeek, I'll take the next watch. We have to make sure that the arcanists here can get enough rest." Maruusk moves to a spot near the fire and settles in to get some meager rest, though the absence of absolute cold and the weather, with their meager fire, make it more than bearable. Almost as good as his bed back home - so far away from here...
Maruusk stumbles into the cave behind the others, seeing the goblin cut in half, he stares around their new home. Searching the cave, he finds the clothing. "Hey, there's..." His sentence is cut short by the pain that lances through his heads and feet. His muffled howl echoes through the caves on the heels of the cries of pain from the others.
"By the Spirits, my hands and feet are on fire!" At least that is how it felt...
Once the pain subsides, he says, "There's clothes here... Not sure if we can use it, but it will be better than walking in the snow naked."
"Also, there are three beds here. That could mean more trouble if they come back!"
Maruusk stirs from the area by the flames. At the sound of an action plan, he nods his agreement. "Clubs abound, and I think we'll manage the weather better in a cave than out here, regardless of the fire." Standing and stretching, muscles screaming, he grabs a length of oar, and takes a few practice swings. "Crude but effective." Looking over the remaining pieces of wood, he says, "Too bad we have no spears. Without armor or clothing of any sort, even a turkey could do some damage to us, unless we keep it at arms length. We'll have to be fast, should we find resistance in the cave. If we pause, we could very likely die."
Hefting his club, he moves to join the others.
OK, I 'll set up another feat, and save the rest for next level, or use it on a few skills.
Frankly, I'm not removing skills that don't apply, I'm just not placing ranks in them. The sheets tend to get wonky when you mess with hem like that.
I think I've decided that I liked to email posting better, since I could more easily follow the OOC discussions.
Having a blast.
"Gwen, it will be worse in twenty minutes. I know you are tired, we all are. But, if this Pride is to survive, we need to reach shelter. I can feel the weather sapping my strength as we speak. Soon, the piled snow will appear inviting as a down bed." Frustration at their situation bleeds out in Maruusk's voice.
He hangs his head and then says, "I am sorry. I am...weary, which makes my words hasty."
"Sajeek, is there any shelter nearby? Could we use the sail as we did on the raft? I think that will make everyone, including our new friends, more comfortable."
He waves his countryman over, "Come, let's help them up the beach a bit, away from the waterline, then we can rig some kind of shelter where we all can get out of the wind and cold. Gwen is right, we need our healers to be rested, so we stand a better chance of reaching the cave safely."
He searches the beach area for somewhere more suited to their needs than close to the water's edge. "I'll help Quinn and Reverry, you my friend should help Gwen. Then, we can assist Khae with Syn."
He turns to Sajeek, fear in his eyes. He is only comfortable showing fear to a brother Vah Shir. "Do you see any sign of a better spot to rest? My wilderness skills are less than a grain of sand on this beach..." He defers to Sajeek's knowledge in this area, knowing that their survival might depend on him.
Maruusk looks up the beach in the direction indicated, he sees no cave. "I hope you're right about the cave... Even still, the walk would be good."
He casts about for scrap wood. "I can carry some supplies. But, I think we should move now before the cold completely saps our strength. We can bed down when we get to the cave or under cover." He continues to gather wood for a fire... He will carry an armload of wood when they set out.
The last days are a haze of storm-lashed fever dreams in which great monsters rise from the waves to accost the beleaguered crew of the tiny raft. Time and again, the behemoths rise, only to tease and terrify before subsiding with cacophonous crashes.
The dreams finally come true one day, as some monstrous thing attacks and destroys the raft and hope. Bodies fly like rag dolls into the water, only to be scored and savaged by denizens too quick and terrible to comprehend. Pain is the norm, and only fear of drowning immediately keeps Maruusk from succumbing.
He vaguely remembers being washes ashore somewhere, he sees bodies of his friends close, but the cold and wounds have stolen his urgency. He knows he needs to move, so he crawls a bit out of the breakers where he collapses.
Movement omes slowly, but that is too much for him. He listens as Sajeek and Gwen work on the rest of their little group. Movement must have indicated more facility than existed in him. He winces, but lets them work on the others. If the Ancestors wish to punish him thusly, he work not complain but put on a stoic face.
The decision to move on is an easy one, as staying where they were guaranteed death. Not that motion guaranteed life, but Maruusk always felt better when on the move.
Unfortunately, he was weaker than he though and when he rose to move on, his weakened body refused the orders. The hard ground hurt terribly as he crashed semi-conscious into it, full lucidity comes when the strange dwarf heals him.
Maruusk bows his thanks to the dwarf and sets out to help where he can.
"Can we salvage any of the sail or rigging? We could use them as a tent again." He goes to check the wreckage at the water's edge, before joining the others to walk out of this frozen hell hole.
Looking at the sky, Maruusk says from his spot laying on his back, "I do not like the look of those clouds. I'm not expert, and new to this land, but I've been rained on since I arrived, and those look like the clouds tha rained on me when I landed." His hackles rise and his ears go flat against hs head, his displeasure evident.
"Do you think we can fashion some paddles from the rail, and maybe something to steer this floating wreck?" He looks over at Sajeek and Reverry, "We need to catch up to whatever is ahead of us there." Nodding in the direction, he says, "I'm no longer injured, but I feel like I could sleep for a week... But, ill be sleeping forever if we lose it. For good or ill, we need to paddle as best we can..."
Reverry's absurd question brings a genuine laugh from Maruusk. He laughs for a moment, then says, "Shelter will save us. We can rig a mast an sail the Deep later..." He joins Sajeek and Gwen in trying to maneuver the sailcloth to provide sufficient cover for them all.
Maruusk settes into hs warm spot. Things suck right now. "Nothing w-worse than being cold and wet..." Nodding to the water, "Except maybe getting eaten."
"I think we need to fashion this floating disaster into a raft with a mast." Pointing at the rail, he says, "I think we can fashion that into a mast, and we can use the sail for warmth and propulsion."
"Ugh. This is too much right now. Sajeek, Gwen, we need to pry that up when we can get some strength..." Sinking back down to the deck he says, "Just a few more minutes of rest though..."
Maruusk rights himself and pushes himself to get back on the raft. "Pull a plank f-free from the r-railing! They're the only w-weapons we'll have!" Scrambling, he knows that death approaches, but refuses to just sink and let it take him without a fight.
(Fatigued, HP 5/9, non-lethal 5)
Climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (17) + 1 = 18
Marist coughs, the cold water stealing what meager warmth he was able to hoard from the others. Holding the edge of the raft, he gets his bearings. Apparently the Ancestors and the Spirits truly wished to torture him, for there, coming like awesome death, was the beast's fin. Ominous. A promise of death made flesh. Maruusk hears Gwen's comments, and nods, "Y-yes, w-we n-need to b-balance the raft! D-death comes!"
Climb: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17
Maruusk stares as magic is wielded to free Revery, and he admires Gwen's charms while her shield displays them. Being shy or bothered by nudity is not something that really occurs to the vah shir.
"The sail as shelter is a great idea. Once we're dry, it might be able to be fashioned into a useful sail, especially f we can rig some kind of mast..."
He looks out to sea, "I see nothing that could be helpful."
Looking sheepishly at everyone, he says, "I am afraid I never really learned to swim... And with these manacles, I'd be more likely to sink than to make any headway."
Maruusk shivers trying to protect the females from the cold seems to a universal truth. He did not get a good glimpse of the creature, be he saw enough to know what his nightmares would contain...
The battering he takes drives him into the deck a few time, and he slips into unconsciousness
(Fatigued, 5/9 hp, 5 subdual)
Maruusk looks on, eyes dulled by pain and cold. His comrade Sajeek and Revery rightly suggest that we huddle to conserve heat. "D-don't worry G-Gwend-dalyn, we're all too t-tired for that right now..." Maruusk purrs a bit at his joke and then becomes subdued.
"W-We need to g-get out of the s-storm! D-does anyone s-see where we are?" He looks off into the storm, hoping to see or hear evidence of a bit of land or something...
Misery doesn't even come close to any word he can think of...
Fort save: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (4) + 5 = 9
Damage: 1d6 ⇒ 1
Maruusk is startled that the elf fought to stay aboard, he could feel the ship dying around him as it plummeted to the bottom. It was all he could do to return and try to help. When the callused hand offered a thin arm to him, Maruusk decided it was time to bring this person up. There's always a chance that he could dive back in once he surfaced.
When he surfaced with the elf lady in his grip, as he discovers when he breaches into the storm, he scans for something to save them. He is about to point out some wreckage when he sees a large human pulling others from the hold to safety. He swims as best he can over to them and with the woman's help, the are safe for a time.
"M-m-maruusk is my n-n-name," he stammers loudly over the storm, the cold stealing his voice for a time. "You?"
Knowing at they were in dire straights, he still cannot wonder at the sweetness of the air he breathes...
Swim: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9
Maruusk feels himself slide free. The water is cold, and the pressure makes things uncomfortable. However, he knows others helped him so he returns the favor, pulling hard on the pipe.
Seeing the female elf failing, he swims to her and tries to aide her out of the ship. Sea monster outside, chained death inside - no good choices today.
Strength: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14
Swim: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13
I'll get on it tomorrow. Got my table game tonight. Will post as is for the game.
Maruusk is aware... The Vah Shir's sleek, black fur is matted with water and whatever else has been dumped on him or splashed on him from the waters they wade in. The cold is numbing to the body and soul. Shivers wrack his form, even as lithe muscles bunch and stretch as he moves in the dark, trying to warm himself and understand the extent of his entrampment. The pipe seems to be the center of his existence. He is aware of others, but his yellow eyes flash in the dark as stray light glints off his eyes. Anger, fear and hatred burn in him. Confusion will have to reign, and knowledge will have to come to clear the webs that hold his mind.
When he hears a voice scream about drowning, he is shocked from his reverie. At the insistence that the pipe is the solution, he rapidly agrees, as he had already reached that conclusion as well. As the others move to pull their chains on the pipe, Maruusk adds his strength to the effort, loosing a cat-like howl of anger, frustration and determination.
The effort is cut short as the ship strikes something, sending them all crashing into each other, the walls and anything else not nailed down.
The fate of those in the water cannot be contemplated, lest he follow. Seeing that the pipe is further loosened, he yells out in a voice made hoarse by seawater and their conditions, "It is now or never! Pull or we join the meat in the otherworld!" Looking about as he pulls, he says, "Is there ANYTHING here that could be a tool to loosen this?"
He bunches his shoulders and pulls as hard as he can. At the same time, he tries to twist and wiggle his arm free of the hateful binding.
Escape Artist: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
Done-ski... Waiting on the feat question...
I was thinking that I'd run a somewhat adolescent version.
We're not wearing armor, hence no armor type.
Unarmed strike added.
What's the equivalent for CG?
Not sure I follow the language stuff, I have to spend ranks to determine the proficiency? Interesting, but...
I'll put this on...
Current training points: 5
Maruusk: Training points?
Michael New wrote:
"I am Maruusk Blackclaw," says a black furred Vah Shir as he rests in the shadows in a corner of the cell.
His proud voice continues, "Listen and I will tell you my story. I am here because I was, well, restless. That is basically how this <waves pointed claw at the cell> all came to be. I was restless, and well, played some pranks that got out of hand. As a result, the Spirits have decided to teach me a lesson, and send me to Norrath. I arrived without incident, thinking that this new place would give me all the chance for new experiences that I would need. I was just getting my bearing wherever the transport dropped me - I really didn't care, I just needed to leave - according to the Spirits of course, the guards didn't really matter in the grand scheme of things..."
He sakes his head - chagrin and embarrassment evident in his inhuman features - and continues, "Anyway, I digress... I was just getting my bearings, and had purchased a drink from a local tavern or some such place, and we enjoying the warm feelings, when I felt dizzy. The human that gave me the drink - I think his name was Drek - laughed, and said something about taking his friend (me) home to sleep it off. I tried to protest, but whatever he gave me robbed me of intelligent speech, and I made his story all the more plausible as I tried to ask for help. He laughed, they laughed and I tried in vain to escape. Then, he walked me around the corner, and dumped me in a cart or something. He looked over the side at me, I'll not forget his scarred visage, and laughed. He said something, but I was fading out. I remember he called me a ... slave."
At the mention of that word, the catfolk's hackles raise and anger burns in his yellow eyes. "Vah Shir are NOT slaves to any race..." He looks about the cell you share, "I guess this disproves that statement..." His ears go flat to his skull and he says, "What is your sad tale?"