GM Knight's Giantslayer

Game Master Deevor

Grok looks down at the dead, face falling down in sadness. He shakes his head softly and kneels to look at the man he cut, who looks back up with defiant eyes. Grok steps over him gently, pausing for a minute before going into the tent with Maurie. Too many dead... Grok's voice trails off. His head snaps up at Maurie's words, however, and he goes to Clarenston, holding him with a hand. Never know what to say...they always died. You might not...die. Grok says flatly, before remembering that the man can hear him. Grok stands up but stays near the man, looking at him while he speaks.

I don't know about sellswords, Grok replies, looking them over. Wouldn't the town have more money than the orcs? And why wouldn't they surrender? Grok looks confused, and pauses for a moment, before adding, not good that they have allies, but we already knew it would be tough. Grok still sounds rather dejected. He tries to clean his blade by wiping it on his clothing, but finds it still covered in gore from earlier. Grok freezes, looking at the drying blood and not speaking. His sword drips slowly, drops of blood pooling on the ground beside the barkeep.

It is a long time before Grok moves, turning away from the others and searching for a rag at the bar. He hides his face and does not speak.

Norrik moves next to Cranston and crouches down. "He's wounded... can anybody help him?"

Norrik will do what he can to move debris out of the way and make sure Cranston is in a safe spot.

He will then search the downed orcs and sellswords to see if they have anything that could be useful. In particular, he's looking for healing potions that could be passed to Cromwell.

(If necessary, take 10 on Spellcraft for a result of 19 after casting Detect Magic, identifying magic items up to CL4.)

I can help him, but I'd rather save the wand if I can... Grok says quietly, still cleaning his blade. He turns slowly and unsteadily, leaving his sword on the bartop. Grok's face is flat, and he smiles with his mouth, not eyes, as he pulls down his pack.

Elberth. Grok says, tapping into the power hiding his wand. He exhales as the magic heals Clarenston, as though it has as much of an effect on Grok as the wounded barkeep. He should live now. Grok says in a neutral voice, don't say anything you don't have to.

Can you fight?

The barkeep, his eyes now show a brightness of life, though he seems less than pleased with his rescuers "Well despite it all, I suppose you think I'm happy to know the warriors of Trunau, would have happily set my inn ablaze, just to rid it of a couple of half-orc spies and a few flea ridden mercenaries. Well, I'll thank you for the healing, but you should stick to the sword, not the flame. It's bad enough the orcs are setting Trunau to the torch, without our own doing so as well. Despite that, you helped rid my place of them, I got something you might find useful sometime. I can be civil, its a gift. You'd best be thankful." The barkeep, limps behind the bar returning with 2 flasks and 2 vials. "Here, these flasks will take sickness away and the vials help soothe the pain. Probably work as well on you green skins and small folk, as well as my normal custom." As he hands them over to the half-orcs, but you can tell he is a little reticent to give them to a couple of untrustworthy half-orcs and an erstwhile thief, 2 x potion of cure sickness,
2 vials of soothe syrup. "But if you still have a head on your shoulders when all is done, come back and have a drink on me?"

Outside the inn, Davian tends to Cromwin. Kneeing beside his fallen comrade, Davian is exposed and on his own, in the middle of conflict, knowing not when the next enemies might descend upon them.

As Norrick sifts through the corpses, he begins to feel uneasy, as a raven calls excitedly above the noise of battle outside the confines of the inn.
Norrick finds on the half-orcs and human warriors....

The barkeep, starts around the back of the bar and starts to draw 3 drinks, one for each of you, he continues "Well now you made it safe for me to stay here, I can clean up a bit and open to serve the survivors refreshments later. No rest for the wicked eh!" He places the 3 tankards of ale on the bar.

Gonna wait for Davian and Cromwin to post hopefully soon ...

Norrik will make sure to deliver some of the Cure Light Wounds potions we found to Cromwell, to get him back on his feet, and to anybody else who needs them.

He says, "Ferria is getting nervous outside. The attackers at the lower gate must be pushing forward. We should head down to help the militia where we can."

Maurie takes one of the curative potions and places it in belt pouch.

"My apologies about that. At the time it seemed that the only beings within were hostiles, and they were getting some very lucky hits with those javelins. I am glad we were able to save your establishment in addition to you, though I would recommend withdrawing to someplace further behind the guard once you get your feet under you again. No sense dying for that which can be rebuilt later."

She gives the man a half bow, then turns to the member of their former assailents that still draws breath.

"Bind him. He may prove more... talkative... than the orc from before."

Thanks for your help, use his name Clarenston. Glad to see that you're all right. Grok looks vaguely concerned for a moment, what do I say...? and then Maurie is apologizing. Grok takes a step back for a moment, waiting until she is done.

As the man sets drinks on the bar, however, Grok feels the need to speak. Norrick's words clearly have an effect on him, and Grok glances out at Davian before speaking. Clarenston, the town needs your help. This is a well organized and large group of attackers with forces aside from the usual orcs. They have giants. Grok looks the man evenly in the eyes, face still stoic. Tell him what he can do. What difference even an untrained and weak fighter can make just by pointing a spear at the enemies and keeping us from being surrounded. Grok glances nervously between Clarenstorn and the wounded man on the floor, then up to Davian and Cromwin. For a moment, he is indecisive, but then takes a step towards the door.

If nothing else, Clarenston can bind him, we need to hurry. Only Ferria knows what the situation on the front is, and Ferria is the nervous one.

Grok picks up the gold and shoves it in his pack, We can divvy this up later, we need to hurry. Those are some nice axes as well, should hang onto those.

Maurie shrugs at Grok's assessment of the axes. "Tall folk weapons are all the same to me. Even one of the daggers would be as ungainly as a poorly made sword in my hand. One of those axes would be laughable, and now is not the time for comedy."

Breaking out in a grin, she adds, "Perhaps after the town is safe I can play the part of the giant sieging the town, wielding one of those for additional affect. But come, now is not that time."

Davian gives a heavy sigh as Norrick gives the healing potion to Cromwin, watching the man rise as he thankfully saves the charges on the wand "I see... there were friends inside... That would have been unfortunate." He tosses the torch on the ground, frustrated at the confusion the battle was causing.

"Who of you is in charge now? Guide my hand so I know where to strike next while we wait for Cromwin to gain steady ground."

As Cromwin stands, a shape materializes out of the green burning smoke, the animal with its fangs dripping, howls in pleasure at the clearer air. As the mangy cur of a dog, squats to relieve itself, its beady eyes see the humans in the centre of the square, it opens its mouth wider showing its set of teeth. It lowers its head and growls, slobber and blood, drip from its dirty maw. But before it starts to run at Cromwin and Davian a guttural shout calls it back, but the dog hesitates....

CLW for Cromwin .... 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8 *min 6HPs back to Cromwin from the healing stick.

The groggy warrior Cromwin watches the dog appear, but his own readiness for battle is hampered by the wounds that still weep blood and weaken his strength to march on.

In the inn, Grok goes to the human still with a head and a deeply gashed wound in the neck, his hair matted in his own crimson pool of blood. The red liquid that flowed, is now but a trickle. Binding him might not be a requirement now.

Clarenston looks concerned when Maurie request he leave, he replies somewhat less gruffly. "Where do you suggest I go then, where is it safe?"

I thought cromwin got healed from norrick's potion? Or did he need another one and I just missed it?

Cromwin weakly coughs as the world swims back into view, sitting up and looking around the burning town.

"Ah. Davian. What...what hit me? Is everyone alive? I feel like I've been trampled by a horse." Cromwin pulls himself to his feet, slowly limping into the building. "Did we win...and do we have a plan for what to do next?"

Just for clarification .... cos this is how I've interpreted what was going on ....

Maurie, Norrick, Grok are in the Inn, saving the barkeep and salvaging what they can find from the bodies of the slain.

Davian and Cromwin are out in the open ... where Davian can heal Cromwin ...

Davian and Cromwin are time wise have not taken up as much time so far as the guys in the Inn ....

Brin has gone to protect Cromwin from any aggressors, so is with Davian and Cromwin ... i.e. Botted...

I've updated the map to reflect the changes ... the star is the dog...will get better pic later ....

Ah, OK. I thought that once Norrik found the potion he had taken it out to Cromwin.

No worries Norrick, I thought you'd mis-spelt the barkeep's name,
but no I see it yes ... you go out to Cromwin... but you would get there after Davian got there..... 6 corpses to ransack, tend to the barkeep, would mean you would get there after Davian has had a round or three with an unconsciousness Cromwin ...

Makes sense to me.

Maurie thinks a moment on that question. "Truthfully, I am not sure. I remember Cromwin saying that there had been an aid station set up further within the town. I would imagine that it might be better guarded at the moment, though given the battle raging around us I can't make a promise on that." The halfling woman shakes her head, slightly frustrated.

"I won't force you to leave. A man has the legal right to defend his property and prosperity from those that would try to steal or destroy it. I would only ask that you consider going to the station before we leave, as this is somewhat close to the front lines... as well as the fires set by the invaders."

There was a cleric and some wounded behind the barricade, Grok gestures at the barricade with one hand, picking up his Falchion and sheathing it with the other, They should still be alright, and there's safety in numbers. Might do better to bring them here, if they can move. Grok's words are still flat, but there is a slight hint of disdain in them.

Perception to hear dog/orders to the dog: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23

Grok picks up the axes and gold, shoving them into his now quite full pack and shouldering it with a grunt. Better hurry now, on to the hopespring. We should check the houses as we go as well, and look around for that ladder, but above all we must move quickly to the front. Grok moves to the door as he says this, walking out to Davian and Cromwin.

Ready to go? We should check the houses, I think it's best if we make for the Hopespring, not far to the gate from there.

"Yeah. Ok. But...Grok, can we really make a difference out there? I've nearly died twice today, I'm cut off from Anvil and on foot, and who knows what's waiting out past the wall. Maybe we should fall back, get Cranston to safety and try and get Anvil over the barricade. I...just feel lost without him."

Cromwin flushes in embarrassment at suggesting they fall back, lowering his head. It's clear he's shaken from his wounds and the trials of the day. "I, uh...I'll follow wherever we go. But...."

Cromwin is at 6 HP, I think?

We could, it depends on how many there are. If there are many hundreds it's good to know so that we can gather some survivors and escape, and if there are only a few dozen at the gate then we could help to repel them before they cause too much damage. Grok looks back at the barricade.

There's a good idea though, getting Anvil over. Grok examines the barricade from far away, trying to determine how difficult it would be to hack apart the edge or build a ramp with an upturned cart or piece of wall.

Maurie is currently -6 HP from full.

Maurie shakes her head. "If there are that many out there then escape is not a practical option. If they haven't got the town surrounded by now they will have the manpower to chase us all the way to Lastwall." She winces in pain as the spear wound from earlier pains her movement, the adrenalin of combat wearing off.

"Getting patched up at the barricade before trying to deal with that giant is probably the most sane option... if they only have one, bringing it down might buy us some time to mount a proper defense."

It'd be our only option. Hiding in the ruins'd not be a good plan, and I suspect they'd enjoy a night or three off to loot, wouldn't be impossible to escape, and it'd be real tough to manage to survive any other way. Grok doesn't sound happy, but he doesn't hesitate to respond either.

Right, let's go then. Grok says, heading back to the barricade. He pulls the crowbar from his pack as they move, looking to pry apart stacked objects to help Anvil move freely.

Cromwin lets out a sigh of relief and follows along behind Grok. "If we can get him over...once we start moving outside, Anvil's mobility will help, and he's probably more dangerous with those hooves than I am with my hammer. Come on, let's go!"

Yep, Davian, good with the 5HPs per wand use ...

Davian looks up at the smoke filled area, and as Cromwin rises as his wounds knit together, the dog turns tail and heads back into the smoke...

"Behind that barricade, yes that's got to be safer." Clarenston looks relieved that there is some semblance of sanity in this battle for Trunau. "I'll go there, at least there's somewhere to protect us. The barkeep looks around behind the bar, bringing out a couple of bottles of brownish liquid, "Distilled wine, not the best, but good for medicinal purposes." holding them under his cloak as he hobbles back to the barricade. His face pale and ghost like as he fully takes in the devastation around.

Grok quickly looks in the half wreckage of the large hall to the south, returning safely and seeing no enemy, the building is safe from the invading orcs. tokens just held there, not in play.

Once at the barricade and they start to tear down parts of it to let Anvil through, the priest comes out, "What do you do think you are doing?, are you with the orcs? Leave the barricade alone at once, it's our last defence here." The priest holds a morningstar unsteadily in his hands, gripping it such that his knuckles whiten, but his grip is awkward and unnatural for a real fighter. His resolve though, is written across his face to defend Trunau until death, and that means defending the barricade.

Clarenston speaks up, "Albar, they are with us, they have funny ways to go about things. They rescued me from some half-orcs, but only after first threatening to burn my place down!" Albar, the cleric looks aghast, "What, you are sure they're not spies for the orc tribes?" his voice quivering in fear that this band of warriors could be the end of Trunau. Diplomacy, Bluff or something to convince Albar...
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A little later before everything concludes here...because I think we have lost Brin again ...
When they get back to the first aid station, the cleric tired and doing his best to tend to the wounded, asks Brin to go back to town and get some Danriddle herbs to make a poultice for soothing wounds.

Can you all make perception checks ....

We're with you, Albar, don't worry. This is my friend Cromwin, who's lived here his whole life, got a knife round his neck and everything. His horse is the one back behind the barricade. Grok explains, still working quickly. We want that horse over on this side, to help kill orcs. Most of the ones nearby we've already killed, I don't think you need to worry too much for now. Barricade's not great protection without good soldiers to man it, either. Grok's voice is even and he looks at the man's eyes as he speaks.

Someone else should probably roll, I've got a -1 diplomacy and am a half-orc. I can roll for aid another though.

Diplomacy aid another: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (10) - 1 = 9

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (20) + 6 = 26

Maurie just looks at the man with the mace for a minute before shaking her head.

"I know you probably don't remember it, being as it was so very long ago, but most of us were at the Hopeknife Ceremony, helping out Miss Ruby. I was the ridiculously small one."

Diplomacy (Untrained): 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18

She then points to Cromwin. "He was the one that afterwords raced Kurst on his horse. The same horse we need to get through this blockade so he can race into the waiting arms of the giant these fellows brought with them. The same giant that is likely going to take one look at said blockade and smash it flat with whatever passes for its weapon."

Sighing, wincing while she does, she points to the state of disrepair almost all of her companions find themselves in. "As you can plainly see, we have all shed blood keeping the orcs and their sellsword friends from reaching here. Both the enemies and our own. So, if it isn't too much trouble, mind helping out in some way?"

Perception: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (6) + 8 = 14

"Indeed," Norrik says. "You know me -- Norrik Spinson. My father serves with the guard. I am apprentice to Agrit Staginsdar. We're loyal citizens of Trunau, trying to defend the town!"

Aiding Maurie's Diplomacy check: Diplomacy: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3

It seems that Norrik came off rather off-putting... oh well.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22

"Yes! Anvil's a combat trained heavy warhorse! We need to get him to the fighting." Cromwin gives out a piercing whistle to signal Anvil to approach the far side of the barricade. "But you're right, if they get this far, the fortifications will be needed. Quick, find something he could use as a ramp to get up your side of the barricade; I practiced climbing and jumping drills with Anvil every day, I know I can get him over if we can just get him some crates or a pair of boards!"

Diplomacy, Aid Another: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

Despite the suspicion that still lurks behind eyes of Albar, when Brin agrees to go back into town and get the herbs for the cleric, he relents and watches as the group remove the broken chairs and tables and other household furniture that makes the bulk of the barricade. As the last of the barricade is removed, to allow just enough of a gap for Anvil to squeeze through, Counts as difficult terrain for Anvil Grok and Maurie notice a green skinned warrior move across the square, watching Grok's and Maurie's every move.

In the surprise round, Grok and Maurie go first, then the green skinned warrior, then you all go for round 1.

Normally I can't do posts at work anymore, as one of my colleagues that watches my screen objects, but today she's not there.

Re-positioned you with Davian's departure, so that there are two each side removing the barricade. You are all on foot to do this and without weapons in hand. Will bot Davian as non-combatant, healer dealer...

Due to new policies in place, can finally access google docs at work... so can finally look at the maps more often!

As the motion of the orc catches her eye, Maurie gives a start. "Look out, one is trying to rush the barricade!"

As she speaks she quickly draws her temple sword from it's sheath, the keys and coins jingling melodically with the motion.

Grok whips his bow out rapidly, pulling an arrow as he does. He nocks the arrow and raises his bow, draws, and looses a shot before the foe can react. I hope he's not a friend...

The orc, suddenly hit by Grok's arrow, yelps in pain and runs towards the well, hiding down behind the stonework wall. In the distance a second green skinned creature disappears into the maze of buildings to the north...

You are all up.

Grok jogs to one side, trying to get a better angle for another shot. He draws as he does, and takes another shot, hoping to get lucky.

As he watches his second arrow Grok pauses a moment, calling out loudly, Are you a friend of Trunau?

"Doubtful Grok... most friends would have approached slowly, not stealthily." Maurie takes up defensive position by the barricade, sword at the ready to strike any that would attempt to storm it.

"Anvil!" Cromwin nuzzles the side of his companion's neck as the horse makes his final push through the rubble. Quick as a flash, he swings up onto his companion's back, pulling out his shield and strapping it to his arm. He whistles sharply as he does so, kicking slightly against Anvil's side nearest to Grok. "Defend Grok, Anvil, 'til I get this on. Then, let's show these invaders what it means to face an inhabitant to Trunau! Hiyah!"

Fast Mount, DC 20: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (16) + 7 = 23
Handle Animal, Defend, DC 10: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (9) + 10 = 19

Cromwin's Actions
Free action: Fast mount
Free action: Handle Animal Companion
Move action: Draw shield
Standard Action: Attach Shield to Arm

Anvil's Actions
Move Action: Move near Grok
Standard Action: Ready attack if someone attacks Grok

The warrior watches as Grok's arrow flies over the well and his head. There is a look of surprise as he sees a mounted warrior, emerge from the gap in the barricade. Knowing his options are limited, the orc makes a dash for the cover of the buildings as he goes. He shouts a warning out in his brackish language as he disappears around the corner of a ruined building. The star marks the corner he went round.

The barricade is now insecure, as it has a way through large enough for orcs to easily pass through.

Maurie would stand guard of the hole until she falls or until it is repaired by the townsfolk behind her.

Right, they're not grouped up, so Cromwin can cut 'em down one by one and run away if there's trouble. Good to be on a horse. Grok grins at the large animal, surveying the barricade.

We should also try to repair this, though I'd rather attack while they're scattered. Hope they aren't all waiting behind the corner... Grok takes off at a run towards where they saw the orc disappear, drawing his shield but still holding his bow.

Drawing his Falchion, Norrik takes off after Grok. "Ferria, circle above! Warn me if the barricade further falls or more orcs break through!"

As Norrick, Cromwin and Grok disappear from the barricade, the cleric behind, shouts out, "Vandals, get back here and fix the wall." He wails, "We are lost, we are lost, nothing left to defend us from the onslaught." He looks to Maurie, "Don't just stand there, fix it!" He hurriedly picks up pieces of the barricade in his hand, looking at them, as though they are pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, before dropping them and picking up more. He makes no progress, but does continue to cry out, the plaintive cries likely to attract any orcs seeking easy blood.

The raven rises, cawing into the night sky, and from its elevated position it surveys the battle scene. The fires provide the light to allow Ferria to see, but there are great blotches of darkness through which the bird cannot get any detail. Ferria is almost panicked when looking past the lower gates, as the orcish armies appear to be getting the upper hand. From out of the darkness, an arrow arcs towards the bird, but it easily wheels to the left out of harms way.

As Grok get to the corner, he sees two orcs run into the darkness of an alleyway, running between the brooding shadows of houses running up each side, rubble in the paths making the footing difficult.

"Keep your voice down!" Maurie calls back to the man. "I will keep anything that wants to come through out until my dying breath. Work on the repairs while I do, the soldiers at the gate are likely to be in need of my help."

Norrik feels the sense of dismay, and then the sudden sense of alarm from Ferria. He is relieved after the sudden sense of alarm to feel the emotional bond still there. "I don't think things are going well," he says grimly to Grok. He begins to fear that this could be the end of Trunau, once and for all. He thinks about the hopeknife hanging around his neck.

Perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15

"I almost pity the poor bastard who tries for this gap. Anyone fighting against you here will find out why Anvil has his name as they're crushed between us." Cromwin heels Anvil out towards Grok and Norrik, keeping a wary eye in as many directions as possible in case attackers come running for the barricade from one of the side streets.

Perception: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (7) + 6 = 13

Cromwin, you go back to the southeast, past that house there, and I'll move east, we'll cut them off. Grok says breathlessly, before tearing off after the orcs they'd seen.

Where exactly were the orcs? I'm assuming that they were at the spot I marked on the map.

The last place the orcs were seen was the corner by the white star.

As Cromwin get to see around the corner, there is no sight or sound of the orcs, they have disappeared somewhere into the building and rubble going north further into the depths if the Inner Quarter.

Recruitment will continue until June 30th with Midnight eastern standard time being the deadline.

I would like this game to be slightly faster than the norm, with a minimum post requirement of 2 per day. If you do not feel you can meet that posting level please do not apply. Special circumstances aside, for which advanced notice would be appreciated.

Please download and read the Giantslayer's Player's Guide, which can be found HERE.

This is an IC recruitment thread. Please try not to initiate conversations with other PCs, ideally I would like to get a feel for your character by one or two several paragraph posts. Generally speaking this would be one post describing your arrival, and a follow up post where you interact and respond to the NPCs.

Please keep OOC comments in OOC brackets, and display your characters statistics either in an alias profile, or inside a spoiler.

You are in the small settlement of Trunau, one of the few human settlements in the otherwise Orc dominated Holds of Belkzen. At some point in the morning you were approached by a middle aged armored man, neatly bearded face tracked with smile lines, who you either knew as, or who introduced himself as Patrol Captain Rodrik Grath,

"Going to be hiring a few folk, for a task at tomorrow's Hopeknife Ceremony, its nothing dangerous, should even be a good time. If you are interested swing by the Longhouse around noon, I'll only be hiring four, but even if you are not chosen there will be a drink and as much porridge as you can eat in it for you. If it works out well I might even be able to find you a position in the Guard after, if that is something that might interest you. Pay is a gold piece and as much as you can drink and eat at the festivities, plus some good will from the whole of Trunau I should think. Well, hope to see you there."

Giving you no opportunity to reply he smiles and strides purposefully off.

When you arrive at the Longhouse you find the doors open, and are ushered inside by a couple of guardsmen, who appear to be smoking pipes and chatting rather than guarding.

The Longhouse is a large building and you enter into a spacious wooden hall, filled with long tables. Rodrik sits at one table besides a man who must be a relation given their strong resemblence, the two men seem of an age, but Rodrik carries himself with confidence while the second man appears careworn and apprehensive by contrast,

"Ah, you made it, come on over. Have you met my brother Kurst?" Rodrink calls, motioning for you to take a seat across from them on a wooden bench,

"Now the job is a simple one, tomorrow a girl reaches adulthood and receives her Hopeknife. After the ceremony we like to play a game of tug-o-war with us guards versus the newly minted adult and we are looking for some reliable types to join in the fun, and give the girl a chance of beating us. Don't worry about being big and burly, you just need to put on a good show, none of us want to embarrass her on her day, but obviously it looks better if it is as real as possible. That's pretty much it, then we celebrate."

"Half the reason I've asked you is that it is good to get to know folk who might help protect Trunau. So I would like to know what you care to share about yourselves, where are you from, can you handle a weapon, what are your plans. That sort of thing, but only what you don't mind sharing of course, this isn't an interrogation, but a meet and greet - right Kurst?"

"Ah, that is right, we are a small town constantly on the brink in these harsh lands, so every person counts - even if you are only passing through."

Rodrik raises a mug to his lips and takes a sip, "Well? Tell us about yourself..."

If you are a half orc they eye you coldly, and exchange dark glances before begrudgingly pointing the way.

No need to roll for the duration of Gather Information in this instance, assume you have time to make a single check.

Dot my friend! I've got a Skald built for this campaign already!

dot

dot

Interested! Reading Giantslayer Player's Guide...

K.Local: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16

"Rodrink, you know full well I have been itching to get out of the Ramblehouse for something more fun than spinning tales for guards to laugh at!"

Brin gives a big full grin and as he sits down across from Kurst. Brin stands nearly a foot taller than the two Avistan men, his stern Ulfen features still slightly visible behind his charm and long brown hair. He's gotten already gotten a reputation for boisterous introductions and he's only been in Trunau.

"Kurst, I'm Brin, Brin of the Hearth they call me. I've been a traveling bard for the past few months. I've come all the way from Ulfen and I must say, you Trunauans could give us a run for our gold when it comes to surviving harsh environments. The cold is harsh, but life with orcs is brutish and short!" The big Ulfen lets out big laugh.

Brin leans in, taking a quieter, more serious tone. "The reports of giants though. That is probably what you're wanting to talk about. I can see it. Well, my ancester once stalked this land hunting their kind down. Korin the Heaver. He put so many javelins through giant skulls that whole forests were stripped to keep him supplied!" Brin chuckles at the story. "And now I'm here. Orcs, giants, festivals, hearths...it all seems so perfect!"

Brin then leans back and picks at his nails. "And in the meantime, if a young lady needs help fighting the city guard while I'm here, I do feel sorry for them." The same big grin stretches across Brin's mouth.

"Hello, I am called Kaddok Hauls Stone" Kaddok says simply as he sits at the wooden table. Looking over the available drinks and food, Kaddok orders a mug of dark ale, bread, and stew.

"This ceremony, is it something all children of this town go through? Is it always a large affair?" The large man speaks quietly with a baritone timbre, breaking off as his order is delivered. He takes a long pull off the mug before smiling at the taste.

"I come to Trunau looking for other humans, and perhaps someone to settle down with. Living among the dwarves can only last so long, as they tell me." He gestures to his veritable arsenal strapped to his backpack, as well as the scarred wooden shield propped against it.

"I can handle myself in a scrap. I prefer to fight greenskins when I can, but bandits, thugs, and other miscreants fall even easier." Breaking off a hunk of dark bread, he dunks it in the stew and looks at the pair across the table.

"I will aid you in this celebration, if you would like it. After, perhaps we can speak more about work?" Kaddok finishes his drink and cocks an eyebrow at Rodrik and Kurst.

dot

Right here is a write-up of Aggh the Unclean. Pungent dwarf wizard

The scent is what assails everyone first. Then the echo of the flimsy door opening The previous stench of sour mash and the unwashed sweat of weeks doesn't begin to overpower the reek that the Grumpy looking dwarf emanates. Everything halts to stillness in the formerly rowdy bar.

Augier listens to the two men and what they are looking for. Well that sounds rather intersting, getting in on some good natured competition to help a lass with her ceremony sounds like a right fine thing to do. As for me, well I have finished my apprenticeship, just barely and can help with any magical advice you need. Augier sighs at one of the questions. Well, I have some militia training and can handle a knfe and spear along with some dwarven weapons but up front fighting is something I am not the best at. My future plans? Find some good work, I'm a little desperate for something so I can keep being a wizard and all so if you got any scholarly work that needs to be done, I am your dwarf.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 1 - 2 ⇒ (15) + 1 - 2 = 14

A half-elven woman bursts through the door at nearly a running pace, nothing but anger on her face...underneath the brand of some giant god.

"Yeah, I know Kurst, the bastar-" she tries to take a swing at his face, but the bartender knew it was coming, and locked her arms behind her back "Urgh! You didn't stop them!" Some of the more esteemed patrons know last night's story of how an intoxicated Zove was nearly beaten to death by a crowd of 3 locals. Kurst was on duty and let it slide...Zove is always getting into trouble. Others are murmuring how the stupid girl is just jealous, since she never got her Hopeknife. Yet another said something like "Tch...Staginsdar's whelp...".

She was genuinely interested in the job, Kurst just happened to be here, and she could still feel the sting of the night before. It wasn't the gold, the drink, the food...none of that mattered. It was the way Grath really meant it when he offered "good will" from the people of Trunau. There was nothing she more desperately needed.

Dotting in.

Concept (one I've started this campaign with IRL) is a Nagaji Paladin/Sorceror who will take Dragon Disciple. The Nagaji is to reflect dragon heritage.

Would tying into Sara Morninghawk be ok? I imagine that Tyrek (or perhaps his egg) was rescued from an orc raiding party and he's been raised in Trunau. As Sara and Agrit are kinda outsiders already I could see them taking in an 'even-more-outsider-than-them' child. That ok or would you like me to try something else?

Brin of the Hearth

Rodrik laughs grinning, "Ha, well I like the enthusiasm, but we haven't had to contend with giants in numbers for centuries, thank the gods! But we have more than enough orcs to worry about, trust me on that. It certainly looks like you could haul a rope in any case - right brother?"

"Indeed my muscles are aching just looking at him, perhaps it is the young bloods who will need to go easy on us," Kurst adds, rubbing his furrowed brow and letting out an anticipatory sigh.

"Well it seems we have a an idea of what you are about Brin. What of your future plans? We might not have giants, but we could well be able to find a place for a big man who knows one end of a weapon from the other in the Guard. Cannot make any promises as yet of course, and I hasten to add, you don't need to be a potential recruit to be considered for the festival work. Help yourself to ale, and as much Porridge as you can eat - the Siege Stone ensures we have a much as any man can manage. If you fancy making a few coin Gellam Gutful over in the corner there is always up for a porridge off - be warned though the man has been known to plough through a dozen bowls in a sitting!" Rodrik says, chuckling as he gestures to a rotund, but muscular Guardsmen drinking with two of his peers.

Once you have made your response...

The brothers nod exchanging glances, and Rodrik motions for you to move aside before calling the next person over.

OOh, maybe a dragon disciple would be fun to play in this!

Kinda waffling. I have a character who would fit, but I'm in another Giantslayer game already. But it's moving pretty slow and might be stalling out. :/

@Jesse Heinig, hmmm, well while I would not mind taking someone who has played a bit of the adventure I would not want someone who is playing another instance of the AP. So feel free to apply and I will take a look at the situation once selection comes around. I don't want to encourage someone to leave a PBP, but at the same time I have been in PBPs where it is pretty clear they are in the negatives and bleeding out - not saying that is the case with yours.

Ok, well, in the other instance I'm playing a gnome illusionist (the DM is running "old school"). I made an alternative character, Glenda Dalduraz, dwarf cleric. If things don't work out over there and that game stalls, she might be a good fit here. The character needs a campaign trait from Giantslayer, but other than that her background, motivations, description, gear, and stats should all be pretty straight-up.

Kaddok Hauls Stone

"Hello, I am called Kaddok Hauls Stone" Kaddok says simply as he sits at the wooden table. Looking over the available drinks and food, Kaddok orders a mug of dark ale, bread, and stew.

"Not a tavern Kaddock, we have porridge, or porridge, and ale, or ale, we have plenty of the first, and enough of the later to spare - besides we cook for ourselves here and I want anyone I choose to hire in good health, Long House cookery is... rudimentary at best," Rodrik says, passing a tankard across the table and motioning to a nearby guard making a scooping porridge out of a bowl gesture.

"This ceremony, is it something all children of this town go through? Is it always a large affair?"

"Aye, we all have our Hopeknives, symbolizes adulthood, and the ability, and duty to defend Trunau to your last, and make hard decisions. Let us just say that those knives are not for the orcs... As for large, well the whole of Trunau will be there, save for the Guards on duty, and even they will get in on the act after shift change, but I suppose it depends on how you are defining large."

"I come to Trunau looking for other humans, and perhaps someone to settle down with. Living among the dwarves can only last so long, as they tell me."

"Oh? Well there is no shortage of widows sadly, and some bright young lasses besides, we even have a few dwarves to make the transition a little easier if you get homesick. Must have been tough living amongst folk with such a different lifespan."

"I can handle myself in a scrap. I prefer to fight greenskins when I can, but bandits, thugs, and other miscreants fall even easier."

"Well if nothing else we have more than enough orcs, though I would prefer that you do not use that term for them. There is enough, understandable, prejudice here as it is, and a number of fine half orcs, who have life more than tough enough," reaching under the table Rodrik produces a slender book and passes it to you, its cover reads "The Other Side of Contempt" by Rodrik Grath.

"No need for you to read it, its pretty controversial around here, but if you want to consider things from another perspective I like to think it is instructive - but nothing to do with here and now!"

"I will aid you in this celebration, if you would like it. After, perhaps we can speak more about work?" Kaddok finishes his drink and cocks an eyebrow at Rodrik and Kurst.

"Well we need to speak to everyone before we make any decisions, but all being well we can definitely speak about more work. Seems like you are planning to make a place for yourself here if it suits, so tell me what kind of work are you interested in? The Guard needs new recruits on a regular basis, but there might be a few other opportunities in town I can point you towards to."

gather information: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 1 = 13

Aleric moves smoothly into the long hall, with only a brief glint of irritation showing in his furrowed brow at the sloppiness of the guards drinking on duty. Seein Rodrik, he makes his way to the table, respectfully nodding to all seated.

" Good afternoon all. Thank you so much for inviting me Rodrik. I am honored you would trust me with the possibility of such a task as aiding the Chief Defender's daughter in her knifing ceremony. I would be honored to participate, however I must tell you I will be forced to try my best for honor's sake," he says, his biceps noticeably straining against the plain white tunic under his worn scale mail.

As to my plans here, my patron, The Inheritor herself, commands us to find those places where we may bring justice to those who prey on others. While many of my brothers and sisters try their hand against the demonic scourge of the Worldwound, my own calling from Iomdae led me here to combat the orcs of the Hold. I plan to aid in whatever way I can.

Note out of character: I know that Paladins can be disruptive to games, but as a pretty long time GM myself, I just want you to know that if you decide Aleric is a good fit, I plan on making sure that the party not imploding and the game moving forward are bigger goals for me than some "proper" way to play my character.

Note out of character: I know that Paladins can be disruptive to games, but as a pretty long time GM myself, I just want you to know that if you decide Aleric is a good fit, I plan on making sure that the party not imploding and the game moving forward are bigger goals for me than some "proper" way to play my character.

I have absolutely no issue with Paladins, and quite enjoy a little inter party chaffing, which I feel, when properly managed with OOC communication assuring the players are on good terms, can stimulate RP and make character relationships deeper and more nuanced. Certainly get annoyed by GMs who seek to punish Paladins, but equally Pallys do not get to dictate to the rest of the party, etc. So in summary it'll be fine :)

"Not a tavern Kaddock, we have porridge, or porridge, and ale, or ale, we have plenty of the first, and enough of the later to spare - besides we cook for ourselves here and I want anyone I choose to hire in good health, Long House cookery is... rudimentary at best," Rodrik says, passing a tankard across the table and motioning to a nearby guard making a scooping porridge out of a bowl gesture.

Did I hear that you cook for yourselves? Well I should be able to remedy that. I learned to cook under my father who cooked for the troops in Last Wall. Now I must tell you that I am a bit of a better cook than he as his speciality was grewl. I am not fantastic but I can fry up some eggs in rendered fat and have everyone groaning soon enough.

I look over at the bartender after my statement pulling off my pack and setting it down. I pull off my Bardiche putting it well within reach, my dark auburn hair is in a few tight strings holding it still but it moves as I walk. My armor and over coat are dirty but well oiled and the scar down my left cheek looks red and raw but no signs of being recent.

So good bar keep can I assist with feeding those present?

Dotting. I'm thinking of submitting a 1/2 Orc Sorcerer with the Orc bloodline. Let me see how it works up.

Kaddok grunts as he shovels his porridge down and orders another ale.

"This story is interesting and all. It reads like my life, only the raiders were orcs, and we didn't have the luxury of death. I watched my family be destroyed slowly in their horrible slave camp, where I only barely survived." The big Shoanti takes off his gauntlets and unlaces the lower part of his armor sleeves. Both arms show a roadmap of old scars, small and large, long since healed up and white against his reddish skin.

"If it weren't for the Stonecutters' raid against the slave camp, I would have died there. As it was, it took a long time for me to recover and be useful the the clan. At least I knew how to listen to orders and carry things; I could never be as great an artisan or smith." Kaddok replaces his armor and shakes his head.

"I know there can be good and evil men, dwarves, I guess even orcs. I don't hold a half's blood against him, but that don't mean I won't keep an eye on his hands. I've seen enough to know better, and I know I won't be taken by them again." He sets the mug of ale down with that last statement, perhaps a bit harder than he intended, slopping foam over the edge.

"But that's old history, and neither here nor there." He smiles, the expression pulling his scarred face in a strange fashion. "You lot seem to have a good thing here, strong walls and tough people. I can offer my strength and experience here, on the walls or out in the hills. That's if you'll have me, of course."

He slides the book back to Rodrick and brings his empty porridge bowl back to the kitchen. Nodding his thanks, he returns to the table and tries to relax a bit.

Realizing how far he's come from his merchant family's roots in Westcrown, Aleric quietly studies his potential companions while carefully sipping his ale and spooning the porridge to his mouth avoiding spills as he was taught (little realizing how his careful manner sets him apart from those about him).

Clearing his throat to politely gain attention while nodding respectfully to Kaddok, and eying Zove and the smelly dwarf with a wrinkled nose of concern, he says:

The Orc raids continue to be a problem for the populace then? And please, sir, tell us more of this ceremony.

I look over at the mention of a Ceremony.

are you talking about a hope knife ceremony? You always hear about them in Lastwall but I have never met anyone who has witnessed one. I hear they are quite the things. Is it a private thing?

The burly half-orc shuffles into the hall where the Grath brothers are seated. He takes a seat across from them, his face a mixture of distrust, awe and confusion. He addresses the men without meeting their gaze.

"I've lived here for nearly ten years and never been asked to officially participate in anyone's Hopeknife ceremony. To say I'm honored would be an understatement." He scratches his bald head and slowly looks up at Kurst and Rodrink. His eyes widen suddenly as if he'd lost something important, "I'm sorry, my name is Dust." He says.

Dust had seen both men before in town and knew of them, but they had never officially met.

"The people of Trunau have been kinder to me than I could have ever dreamed when I arrived." Dust's hand reaches up to his chest where his own Hopeknife hangs on a leather cord under his shirt. "I would gladly lay down my life for Trunau."

Dust hesitates as he wipes his eyes, "I'm sorry."

The half-orc quickly regains his composure, "I gladly accept your offer. What else would you like to know?"

Aggh the Unclean

Just to be clear the Long House is not a bar, it is the guard barracks. This room is the mess hall, largely empty with a few off duty guards peppered about - the single guards live in the building.

Rodrik smiles, though it is possibly a little forced while at his side Kurst pales and coughs covering his mouth and nose and waving apologetically, as his brother speaks,

"Ah, well and good Master Dwarf, but I don't think you have given us your name? I've seen wizards fight more effectively than regiments against orc hordes, but I understand it can take years to build up to such mastery. I am sure we could make use of your talents at any rate. And I suppose if we select you we could put you at the back of the rope. So theoretically, let us say we found you a place on the guard, can you give me an idea of how we might best make use of your talents in an orc assault? Some idea of what role you would play in combat?"

Eyes watering Kurst excuses himself, "Ah, I'll get you another ale Master Dwarf, just let me... Ah, I need something to wet my throat."

Zove

Just to be clear the Long House is not a bar, it is the guard barracks. This room is the mess hall, largely empty with a few off duty guards peppered about - the single guards live in the building.

Rodrik rise anger flashing across his features, "Hell fire girl! Do you want to know why people do not take your side? Because it is bloody exhausting! Every time some one goes out on a limb for you you hack it out from under them! If you could only behave you would have had your Hope Knife long since made The Vow and been a real part of this community! But instead, time and time again you choose to act the part of the brainless brawler. Why on earth would my brother take your word? You have fooled us all more than once..."

Kurst rises and grips Rodrik's shoulder, "Thank you Rodrik I can explain myself. I can see your injuries Zove, but I was acting the part of a man of the law, I simply cannot take your word over nearly a dozen witnesses who say you were the one who threw the first punch. I am not even certain you know the truth of that, and it is all too credible. Now perhaps you could tell us why we should trust you, after yet another outburst, not to make a regrettable scene at the festivities tomorrow. I would like to think myself, and my brother fair men, but I will not risk spoiling a joyful day Trunau sorely needs."

Little Ben is actually a mountain of a man, given his name as a form of light-hearted irony. Because of his giant blood lineage he was recruited by the druids and trained to patrol the lands of the Mindspun mountains. Little Ben is not so much interested in the fate of human civilization as he is with keeping the wilds pure, though he has visited Trunau on occasion to pick up scuttlebut and obtain items, like sling bullets, that are not readily available in the wild. He is not powerful enough to enforce any of the druidic edicts, at least not yet, and the higher druids use him mostly as a messenger and information gatherer. He has a great fondness for the knife ceremony and likes to time his visits to coincide with these events.

KnLoc: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (20) + 5 = 25

Dialog:

Well, then. This is a great honor! You know that I enjoy attending the Hopeknife ceremony - very stirring - but I've never actually been invited to participate. Perhaps it is my size? Those who know me know that I am not as strong as I look, but it might seem unfair to put me on one side at first appearance. And the ceremony of the Chief's daughter! A double honor good sir.

Though I have been through town once and a while, it does not surprise me that you do not recognize me. The name is 'Little' Ben. The druids in charge of this region have me tramping about looking for trouble and asking questions. Occasionally they will send me out on simple diplomatic missions, but, quite honestly, for the most part I am considered of too little experience to be put into the thick of things. Because of my looks, the orcs don't give me too much trouble; heck, anyone can see that I'm too poor to be worth the trouble! Clubs they have aplenty and slings are not really their style, you know. And I look too much like a giant for them to want any of THAT kind of trouble if you know what I mean.

Concept (one I've started this campaign with IRL) is a Nagaji Paladin/Sorceror who will take Dragon Disciple. The Nagaji is to reflect dragon heritage.

I am afraid I am only accepting core races, fine with the concept if you feel you can manage it with a core race.

Aleric Kael

Rodrik laughs, "Making me feel tired already. But forgive me I don't think you have given us your name? Trying your best will not be a problem. We have a lot of respect for The Inheritor here, but be aware Trunau chaffs at the idea of being manipulated from the outside, and there are more than a few that would accuse your faith of that."

Kurst cuts in, "Perhaps you could tell us a little about your past? I have to admit I find it a mixed blessing if Iomedae has truly sent you here - it implies we are in for it, and we have more than enough of it already! So was this gentle steering, divine revelation, or well something other?"

Aggh the Unclean

Just to be clear the Long House is not a bar, it is the guard barracks. This room is the mess hall, largely empty with a few off duty guards peppered about - the single guards live in the building.

Rodrik smiles, though it is possibly a little forced while at his side Kurst pales and coughs covering his mouth and nose and waving apologetically, as his brother speaks,

"Ah, well and good Master Dwarf, but I don't think you have given us your name? I've seen wizards fight more effectively than regiments against orc hordes, but I understand it can take years to build up to such mastery. I am sure we could make use of your talents at any rate. And I suppose if we select you we could put you at the back of the rope. So theoretically, let us say we found you a place on the guard, can you give me an idea of how we might best make use of your talents in an orc assault? Some idea of what role you would play in combat?"

Eyes watering Kurst excuses himself, "Ah, I'll get you another ale Master Dwarf, just let me... Ah, I need something to wet my throat."

Augier stoically endures their discomfort as he sips his ale. My name is Augier, sorry if I didn't say so before.A number of my magics are useful against groups. I can cause a number to fall asleep on their feet and blind with a wave of color and send them tumbling to their arses by coating their feet with grease. If I witness any magic used I can also make an attempt to identify what it is and offer suggestions to counter.

Aleric stands and gives a brief bow before sitting back upon the bench. He pulls his shoulder length black hair back holding it in place with a twist of copper, his pale blue eyes introspective.

I am sorry sir. I forget my manners. My name is Aleric, and I hail from the city of Westcrown in Cheliax. My father was a merchant specializing in the importation of fine wines. He wanted so badly to be accepted into the ranks of influence in Westcrown. His gaze becomes introspective.

When I heard Iomedae's call, my father helped support me through my training, but it became clear my younger brother was being groomed to carry on the family business. Of course my fellow trainees wondered at my commitment with my brother so voraciously courting the Crown's favor. Upon completing my training,I knew that Cheliax held no more for me. Many of the men and women seek to serve our goddess at the Worldwound. I... Well... I felt perhaps my services would best be beneficial elsewhere.

I traveled aimlessly for some time before I felt... drawn... here. I want no more than to do my humble part to prevent the evil ravages of the Orc kin, and to help ensure that order is maintained here. With that last he glances briefly at Zove I would never pressure any to forswear their own gods, but would do no more than hope what little example my actions may give would represent Her faith to any who would be interested. Regardless... no other members of my faith are specifically joining me here. He frowns slightly at the last.

She feigned to relax in her constraints. This backwater crew would never understand prejudice, or what it can do to a young girl...especially one like Zove. "What are you so scared of? I can be quite calm when people aren't finding reasons to justify myself being beaten..." she gives a sour look to Kurst, before thinking better about it "...you know I've studied with Staginsdar for years. I can do things they can't...I'm...I'm a powerful wizard." Snickers abound. She had never heard herself say it before, and it sounded odd to make such a proclamation here in the Longhouse of all places. But it was true, her foster parents were mostly at a loss to explain her strange scribing style...surprised it worked at all, at times she really could be more effective despite appearing quite simplified.

"I belong with the guard, out in the wilds. Let me prove myself! I - you know no one can navigate at night like I can. You know that's true. Give me that Kurst, at least." It was true Zove had a knack for finding her way to rival your average forester. Her studies of the sky went beyond positions and cycles though, or the cares of the harvester...she knew that was just the beginning, that there was something deeper behind the aether. She knew the Void could touch all realms, and that to truly find her way she would have to find a conduit to that serene dark.

Brin pauses for a moment, taking in the two brothers, then he leans forward and slaps the table. Pointing at the Rodrik,"You care about your town, and that's admirable."
Brin shakes his head,"But the guard's life isn't one for me. I'm more of what you'd call...Brin looks up in the air for moment searching for his words. ...an armed historian for hire. I can certainly help Trunau against its enemies, so long as fires are warm and my pockets jingle."

Brin is very much looking for adventure and the idea of being a guardsman makes him balk.

Brin looks back at the one they called Gellam. "Ah yes! Some fun before the festival!
He walk up to where the man is sitting drinking his ale, a bit of liquid spilling over his jowls. The big man wipes his lips with his sleeve and puts out a hand.

"I hear you're quite the story-teller bard o'the hearth. How's about the one where I take your money and send you home with a belly ache!" The portly man bursts out laughing, spittle flying from his gaping mouth. The man's companions cover their mugs with an all too rehearsed grace.

”Alright Gellam, 10 gold pieces is it? Brin smiles as the man’s eyes light up. Ten pieces would be more gold than he makes in wages all month. ”Let’s see how much porridge we can get down that gullet of yours! First to 15 bowls!”

Changing your rules to have more fun. Will do a few rounds, with roles divided by 2, rounded up.

Gellam sits up and clears the table. ”Your funeral bard. Limmy! Bring the pot ova’ darling!”

The young maid brings over a large iron kettle filled with bubbling porridge. Brin and Gellam face each other with the pot in the middle of the table. Gellam’s friends look ready to shout “start” but Brin slaps the table and stands up with his characteristic smile. He begins an ode to his opponent.

Raging Song, Round 1, Only for Brin

"Here I sit with Gellum the Brave,
A hero whose mouth has never been shut!
How can I even stand a chance?
Against a man who is clearly all gut?"

Brin winks at the man and sits back down quickly at the table. He looks up at the guardsman, now chuckling at the bard’s stunt. They compose themselves and shout together, ”Eat!”

Gellam: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5
Brin: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 2 = 3

One of Gellam's companion slaps him on the back while he's downing some porridge. The big man coughs up half a bowl and Brin takes the pause as an opportunity to continue his ode.

Round 2, Raging Song

"Behind that bowl of porridge,
is a man that's feared by all Orcs!
For surely they go a-runnin'
When he's hunting them down with his forks!

The room bursts into laughter. While the room fills with noise Brin leans in to the man's ear. All that gold you've saved is going to be mine, fat man.
Intimidate: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (17) + 6 = 23

[b]"As you all can see here today,
Our hero has taken my gold just like that..."
Brin pauses with a grin.
"At least I go home a winner,
For you see...I'm not fat!"

The room against roars with laughter and Brin shakes the guardsman's hand. He takes out the coins he owes him and stacks them on the table. He pats the man on the shoulder. "Good show old boy.

Brin then heads for the back of the building to throw up in a ditch.

I am going to change my submission from the fighter to a Hedge witch concept, gong healing and such. Will have him up tonight.

K.Local: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16

A half orc dressed in a long coat, a few old bones hang down from the collar jingling as he walks into the longhouse. He sits his stuff down a few, grabs a ladle of porridge a heel of bread and sits down.

Rodrick, Kurst, Hope knife ceremony is tonight right? Think the Chief Defender will pick me this year to help?

I eat a few bites of the porridge, have a drink. Push the porridge aside and put Schaneg on the table to have some. I assuage the fears of those who do not know Schaneg.

No fear about my friend here, he won't spray you unless you scare him. I address Rodrick I have still yet to figure out how to get the graffiti off of the walls and stone, I will keep trying as you have asked me too.

I take Schaneg off of the table and scoot him back into under the table.

diplomacy: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21

Arrack stops before continuing in to the long house to give a remarkably heart felt smile to the guards come now, that's no way to be. There's always something worth smiling about is their not? Here, have a round or three after your shift, on me. he presses a gold coin into each of thier hands and gives them a smile and a wink. Then makes his way in.

The half-orc was tall, standing at a height of 6'3" with a well polished steel shield slung over his back. His just as well polished scale armor seemed to broaden his already large frame to an intimidating size and a sheathed longsword hung by his waist. His face however did not match the intimidating frame. From a distance, he might have passed as almost human, save the ears and skin color, but if looked at slightly closer the points of two smallish tusks could be seen sticking up, even more so when he smiled or laughed and his eyes were a remarkable vibrant green hue. After entering He immediately made his way over to Rodrik

He grabs both of the men's hand in a firm handshake before sitting. He speaks in a strange voice, at once slightly gravely and deep, and warm as well.

a wonderful evening no? And well I've heard of him, however I've not had the pleasure of meeting him yet. Please, call me Arrack

He listens quietly as Rodrik speaks, and then let's out a warm laugh at the end.

For this my friend, you can keep the coin. Bringing a smile to the girls face is more than payment enough. As for the guard offer, while I am hesitant to accept an official position, I'd be more than willing to work with you to protect these people. he gives Rodrik a warm smile as he continues.

as for who I am, well, my past is not particularly important or interesting. However, I will say I've come here with the intent and hopes of both creating smiles, and protecting them, especially the younger ones. As I believe I am quite proficient with my blade, and have some skill with a bow. Now, why? You may ask, well after leaving the church I decided on something. I decided to spread and create the one thing that I nearly lost when I was a child, and yet, the one thing that kept me going... Hope. As my mentor said, in what I have come to regard as truth, "no matter how dark the night becomes, the stars will only shine the brighter". And, what better place to start than my birth home, a place that I believe always needs some hope. Especially with the ironic and, well, dark name of the, "hope knife". That aside, I'm looking forward to the festivities on the marrow, and I'll try not to embarrass the guards to much.

he gives a friendly wink to the two across from him. Then suddenly seems to remember something.

that's right! Rodrik! I've heard you are a bit of a poet? I've never had much luck writing my own, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate others work, come now recite a short poem for me if you'd be so kind my friend.

Dotting. I'm thinking of submitting a 1/2 Orc Sorcerer with the Orc bloodline. Let me see how it works up.

Just count me out for now. Too busy.

I'm currently running this AP for a local group, but would love a chance to play. Would you accept an application from me?

He is a bit of a poet you are right there, but only a bit. He never really shares his poetry with us. I guess he just doesn't feel those of us whom aren't poetic don't deserve to hear.

I go back to eating my porridge, putting a spoon full on the floor and knowing that it won't last there to long.

Well men, I am going back to scrubbing, will see you all at the Ceremony this eve.

Seara Glak

Rodrik smiles and slaps his stomach, "Ah, well porridge fixings would be the most appreciated, The Siege Stone produces as much as we can eat, and fine and filling as it is it does get a bit boring. You can add most anything to porridge, but the way we cook here in the Long House bland is an improvement. That said I can't let someone I don't know cook for the boys, no offence, but poisoning the guard is an old trick. So tell us a little about yourself, I take it you are interested in the work for tomorrow's ceremony, would you potentially be interested in joining the guard after?"

Kurst coughs and interjects, "A name and any background you would care to share would also be much appreciated. And I for one would relish the chance to have a decent cook around, just because porridge is free does not mean we must eat if for every meal - I am sure many of the men would be willing to chip in to get anything else."

Rodrik frowns, "But we'll never afford those ballistas if we... Well I suppose morale is important, and a none porridge meal would not go amiss..."

I look over at the bartender after my statement pulling off my pack and setting it down. I pull off my Bardiche putting it well within reach, my dark auburn hair is in a few tight strings holding it still but it moves as I walk. My armor and over coat are dirty but well oiled and the scar down my left cheek looks red and raw but no signs of being recent.

Aleric Kael and Seara Glak

The Orc raids continue to be a problem for the populace then? And please, sir, tell us more of this ceremony.

are you talking about a hope knife ceremony? You always hear about them in Lastwall but I have never met anyone who has witnessed one. I hear they are quite the things. Is it a private thing?

"The Orcs are a constant threat, and even when things are quiet for a while that generally just means they are building up for a large scale attempt. As for the ceremony, well, its simple, but important, the day a child becomes an adult on their 12th Birthday. They make The Vow taking up the responsibilities to defend Trunau and their fellow citizens, and the duty to end their own or others lives rather than have the orcs take them. It may seems a little grim to outsiders, and perhaps it is, but there are many reasons we call the knife they are gifted a Hopeknife. We take pride in our Hopeknives and the bond they represent, and it is a joyous day when another person takes up Trunau's cause." Rodrik says, running his fingers over a beautifully worked enamel scabbard at his own belt, depicting an intricate pattern which seems to feature landmarks of Trunau.

"And after we like to give the newly anointed Trunauan their first trial of adulthood, generally a tug-o-war with the guard, which they invariably win, calling for much rejoicing," Kurst adds smiling thinly.

Just count me out for now. Too busy.

No problem, always better to realize before these things get started, hope I get to play with you in the future :)

I'm currently running this AP for a local group, but would love a chance to play. Would you accept an application from me?

Yes absolutely, but I would not want your character to take an overt leadership role, otherwise be delighted to see you apply :)

Kaddok Hauls Stone

Wincing along sympathetically with Kaddock's tale Rodrik exhales heavily,
"A hard tale Kaddock, and one that Trunau can appreciate, but despite the bite of it you have been luckier than most that captured by orcs. We all carry our Hopeknives to spare ourselves, and our loved ones the terrible fates that all too many of our ancestors and kin have suffered. I think you will fit in well here in Trunau. Seems folk here will understand you better than almost anywhere else."

Kurst reaches forward and removes the book, rolling his eyes towards his brother while looking at Kaddock and tucking the small book away.

Did my submission go unnoticed? I was looking forward to a response!

Same here XD bloody half-orc racism I say!

Rises from the Dust

Rodrik shakes his head, giving a few guards sharp glances before turning back to the half orc, "Dust we don't invite people as such, everyone is, perhaps welcome would be too strong a word, but certainly allowed to attend. Sometimes you need to push a little, you would not be the only half orc in attendance, after a few glowers nobody would pay attention to you. This isn't something we normally do, but Ruby needs a bit of a confidence boost, so we want to be a bit less overt than usual and make it look like a bit more of a real contest if possible."

Dust had seen both men before in town and knew of them, but they had never officially met.

"The people of Trunau have been kinder to me than I could have ever dreamed when I arrived." Dust's hand reaches up to his chest where his own Hopeknife hangs on a leather cord under his shirt.

"I would gladly lay down my life for Trunau."
Dust hesitates as he wipes his eyes, "I'm sorry."

"A fine sentiment lad, I know Trunauans can be thorny and prejudice, but its hard to begrudge them that to much with what they have to face, and at heart I don't believe you will find better folk many places. I know I would like to see you brought closer to the heart of this community, and I am sure we could use you on the Guard..."

Kurst interjects, cocking an irritated brow at his brother before turning to the half orc with a mildy pained expression, "Let us not get ahead of ourselves Rodrik. It will not do Dust here any favours if folk believe he got a position through your enthusiasm for half orcs rather than his abilities. Your sentiments are certainly laudable, but though you seem a strapping fellow, I do not think I have seen you with weapons or armor, what talents could you bring to battle? And I am sure you are aware that the Guard are more anti orc than even most Trunauans, if you are interested in joining how would you deal with them? I will also own to being curious about the origin of your name?"

Cromwin arrives near the longhouse shortly after noon, pushing his blonde hair back from his eyes with one hand while squinting up at the sun to judge the time before dismounting from his large, black stallion. "Stay, Anvil. I'll be inside for a bit catching up with Rodrik about the hopeknife ceremony. Don't get into any trouble while I'm gone." At the gentle *Harrrmph* and a nudge from Anvil, Cromwin chuckles and tousels his companion's mane. "All right, all right, here. A carrot while you wait."

Cromwin heads inside, smiling and nodding to the guards while he stops and knocks the mud off his boots before entering and seeking out Rodrik, taking a seat at the table. He is a tall, well muscled youth, perhaps 18 or 19 years old and wearing sturdy leather clothing and scale armor, with a warhammer strapped to his waist and a shield across his back. "Rodrik, Kurst! Thanks for letting me know about the recruiting for the tug of war. Ruby's a great woman, and I would be honored to be on her side in the contest. Let the youth show you old timers a thing or two."

Cromwin flashes a jesting smile at the two men, then grows more serious as he looks around the table. "I'm Cromwin Ganson; a lot of you already might know me." Here he nods to Rodrik. "My family raises animals and does a lot of the training for hunting dogs and warhorses in the area. We're one of the further homesteads out away from Trunau, so we make it into the town a little less frequently than a lot of folks, but we take the standing vow just as seriously as everyone else. I'm good with animals, practically born in the saddle, and am a fair hand at tracking. I know how to fight; my da has been teaching me to fight defensively as a group, to support my companions. Anvil and I are starting to get really good at it."

Cromwin bites his lower lip, as a nervous expression steals across his face as he fingers his hopeknife at his side. "I...Rodrik, I've been thinking a lot lately, and I want to join the guard, if you'll have me. My da doesn't fully approve, but I've long since come of age, and I've just finished combat training for the warhorse I've been working with on the farm, so I'm free of family obligations. I..." Cromwin flushes slightly as he falters near the end. "I just want to defend Trunau. Do you think there is a chance there might be a spot for me in the guard?"

I will take 10 the knowledge:local check, since it would be really weird if Cromwin managed to roll low enough that he didn't even know about the hopeknife ceremony despite having gone through it himself.

Knowledge:Local, take 10: 12

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7

"Aye, the orcs make a hard life harder. If it weren't for the Stonecutters and some luck, I'd be one of those worse off, like you said."

Kaddok looks around the dining hall, taking in the variety and eccentricity of rhe grouping.

He openly gawks at the porridge eating competition, cracking a smile at the rhyming jests.

"Seems you lot are fond of poetry and rhyming. I like it."