I'd certainly be interested in continuing if you decide to do so.
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Sorry to hear that French Wolf, but I can certainly sympathize. Get some rest!
I wouldn't mind one or two, especially if we can get an arcane character into the mix. I feel like we're a little on the... simple and straightforward side at the moment. Feel better!
"What is there to tell? Born by a she-bear, slaying orcs before I could walk, all fairly typical, I'd say," Aerik says with a twinkle in his eye. "But that probably qualifies as war talk... "Did you ever hear about the twin babes we found in an orc camp a fortnight ago? Half-elf, both of them, a boy and a girl. No idea how long the orcs had them, whether they intended to eat them, sacrifice them to the Old One or something. Cute little things, each with eyes of two colors. Maybe that's why the orcs kept them - orcs tend to be superstitious about eyes." "We left the babes with the clerics of Trithereon. I went to see them before we left and they cried. I thought I might buy them something in Willip before we return to Greatwall. Sweets perhaps, or some nice bonnets."
"I can take the middle watch, unless someone else prefers it," Aerik says before lying down and promptly starting to snore.
"We won't know if they're friendly until they're here, so best act as if they are not," Aerik says, helping to conceal the wagons. He readies a javelin and looks for a good spot with cover to wait for the newcomers to arrive.
"Water? No. I should give you fire like you gave to these poor souls, but I'll not dirty my hands to match your savagery," Aerik says. He draws his dagger and with a quick thrust rams it into the orc's eye.
After helping Sadarr bind his wound, Aerik moves to the unconscious orc. He makes sure it won't bleed out right away, then ties it sitting up to one of the crucifixes. "What to do with you? Suppose we can try to question it, but if it is one of Iuz's creature it likely won't tell us any truth. Perhaps it is better to end it now, with a dagger across the throat?"
"That I can friend, though I can't promise I can do it without pain," Aerik says, before grinning at Sadarr. "Just promise not to turn that icy breath on me when I pull it free."
The rush of battle having died down, Aerik bandages the holes in his chest where the javelins had struck. Half-healed by earlier magic, his wounds don't seem too severe, but he appears to be in a daze. "Black walls rise, the scaled men take shelter," he mutters, pacing around the battlefield. "Their bounty is rotten. They birth only worms." A few moments later his senses seem to clear and he exhales heavily. "Well, Kord appears to have favored us again," he says. "Friend Malin, do you suppose any of that good beer of yours is still cold?"
Seeing Vic rise and head to Eisen's aid, Aerik turns his attention instead to Sand. "If I heal you again, you've got to do a better job of dodging them arrows - I can't plug holes all day," he says as he lays his left hand on the elf and calls for Kord's blessing.
Seeing the elf's wounds close, Aerik rises and begins making his way past the traps in pursuit of the orc archer.
"The worms! By all the gods, the worms!" Aerik sits up, gasping. Surprised to be conscious, he looks around in confusion for a moment before noticing the orc standing over Vic's body. Roaring, he leaps to his feat and draws his longsword, bringing it around in a savage blow aimed for the orc's neck.
He then turns his attention to Vic, whose blood spurts from the deep wound. "Ice-Breather - unless you have skill treating wounds, go see if friend Eisen needs help causing some," Aerik says to Sadarr. "Kord will see to our friend here."
Stuck with two javelins now, Aerik slumps to the ground unconscious.
Roaring in surprise, Aerik calls down his god's wrath on the ambushing orcs. "Kord take you bastards! Our blood only blesses the battlefield!" He then moves to aid the others. Grabbing hold of Sand's leg before the unconscious elf falls from his saddle, Aerik intones a short prayer of healing. "The Champion gives you breath so you can spend it in his service," the bearded priest says. "In this case, killing bushwhacking orcs!"
Aerik starts picking his way toward Vic, scanning the ground for more orcish traps or attackers while he holds his (still unthrown?) spear at the ready.
Aerik runs 30 feet closer to the orc, then flings his spear at its back.
Aerik will continue toward the orc Vic shot with a ready spear, which he will throw at any enemy that comes into sight.
"Come back to inspect their handiwork, have they? Kord may give a chance to mete out some justice after all," Aerik says, grabbing up his spear and shield and going after the orc Vic shot at.
"A pyre will have to serve, as much as I hate to burn a man who was tortured with fire before he died," Aerik says, his fury giving way to a weary sadness. "We have a task, and at present it doesn't involve chasing murdering orcs away from the trail."
Fury shows in Aerik's eyes but he keeps voice low and passionless. "There'll be a blood debt to pay for this," he says. "But for now, we ought to bury these poor souls. We can track down their killers later." He'll wait for Vic to return then look for some soft ground to begin digging.
"What in the hell do you make of that," Aerik says, pointing out the strange arm-like, stick-like objects. "This whole thing has the look of ruse, to me. Even the foul things that fight for the Old One wouldn't smash a caravan and leave its contents to rot, unless they had some trick in mind. Best ready yourself before we poke around anymore." Once he's got someone to watch his back, Aerik will ready his spear and shield and advance along the trail for a better look.
"What a shame," Aerik says, picking through the ruins of the caravan. He begins looking for signs of any survivors.
"Aye, we should go take a look, although some might stay with the wagons," Aerik says. "Vic, would you like to sneak ahead? I'll follow, though likely more loudly." Aerik will ready his shield and a javelin to go check out the ruined wagons.
Aerik watches wistfully as Vic climbs up next to the half-elf teamster. "Why is the choice always between a pretty girl and an ugly man with beer?" he says. "No offense, Malin, your whiskers are ferocious and I've no doubt you'll be fine company. But just once I wouldn't mind to come across a lovely lass with frothing tankards in her hands - outside of a tavern, anyway. Not that I turn my nose up at barmaids. Noble profession, favored by the gods." Aerik sighs and turns to face the road. "Now, how about I call down a blessing from Kord over this beer of yours and we toast our journey the proper way?"
"I suppose I can help you hold down the seat on that wagon, as well as help you drink some of that beer. Wouldn't do to let it get warm again after the river worked so hard to cool it," he says, clasping hands with Malin as he mounts the wagon. He studies the small man with the cart when he makes his request.
Assuming he senses no ill will or ulterior motive in the newcomer - or any of the others - he speaks on the man's behalf. "We're all heading the same way, no sense in walking separately," he says, then winks. "Sand and his big horse can provide cover for all of us."
Aerik arrives at the gate just as the first rays of light clear the city's wall. Rubbing his eyes, he sets his pack on the ground and wanders over to buy a hunk of dark bread from the vendors near the gate. Munching noisily on the fresh loaf, he stretches out his shoulders and back before putting the pack back on. "The road don't get any softer as the day drags on, boys," he says. "What do you say we get this caravan moving?"
"A horse can be very useful - sitting up so high, you'll make a great target for any arrows that come flying our way," Aerik says, when Sand mentions the horse. "As an infantryman, I heartily approve."
"So, the bear's den's been plundered ...," Aerik muses later, ponderously reading a note while holding down the bar at the Behir and Beholder. "I wonder if any cubs survived, or if all that's left is to take vengeance on the Old One?" His vision swimming, he retires to his bunk. With nothing of importance to buy, he intends to catch a few extra winks and meet the rest of the group at the gate just as the sun rises.
"I'd think we could wait til Willip to think about buying anything - isn't the point of the venture that there's nothing in Greatwall to buy at a reasonable price?" Regardless, Aerik agrees to splitting the gold up so its not in one place in the caravan.
We've got a group that includes English-speakers on at least two continents. I'm not sure everyone is a native speaker, at that, and there are bound to be some idiosyncrasies that don't translate 100 percent (I know FW has sent me to Urban Dictionary with some Brit slang, and my Midwest American ain't exactly Queen's English.) Luckily, with my character being a drunk, I can blame any confusion on good role-playing ;)
"Aye, I'll go. Sounds like entirely too much fun to miss, and you'll need someone to look after your souls along the way," Aerik says, smiling broadly. "And maybe the taverns in Willip will have some ale stronger than the colored water Jerrid's been serving at the Behir. Not to mention, lady, I don't suppose you were planning a bottle or two of this blue stuff along to keep us warm on our journey?"
"I'd expect so," Aerik says, responding to Vic's question. He tugs on one of the ragged braids in his beard absently. "But it might be we'd be facing less opposition if we were disguised as teamsters or run-of-the-mill guards, instead of flying the Count's colors and marching around like the sergeants like to do. I guess that's your plan, lady? Look weak, then trounce what little does come our way and get the caravan through?"
"Who could leave when such a pretty maid is about to start spinning a tale?" Aerik says, looking around for more of the blue wine or some more traditionally-colored vintage.
"Ah, lighten up boy. No one will tell if you crack a smile," Aerik says, helping himself to Eisen's wine. Downing the pricy vintage in one long gulp, he wipes his mouth noisily with the back if his hand. "I'm Aerik, the Bear-Born and Kord-Sworn. I've not had much success spreading my father's faith, as of yet, but I've made a name among the Count's men on patrol. I suppose I've made a name for myself in the taverns, as well. But the gods surely made drink for drinking and fists for fisticuffs, don't you think?"
I'm a little confused by the last post - are we waiting for her or is she waiting for us?
Aerik grins widely as he rubs the knot forming on his skull. "Well, tell ugly he can find me at the Behir and Beholder if he fancies another round of Kord's blessing. I'm happy to share the faith with all comers, but you'll have to buy a round of ale after the sermon - I've found it helps mightily with the bruises," he says, taking a seat before nonchalantly returning the elf girl's stare. "So lass, have we passed your test? When do we get to meet the black bear?"
"It'll take more than that to crack my skull," Aerik says, shaking plaster from his hair as he spins and smashes his fist into Broken-Nose's face. "Noses, on the other hand, tend to be more delicate."
Content to stay in close range, Aerik ignores the hold Broken-Nose has on his neck and focuses on tenderizing the man's kidneys with a series of quick punches. [ooc]for 5 damage[/dice]
Oops, sorry about the bolded dialogue. Old habit and I caught it too late to change it.
Caught off guard by the grapple, Aerik swings ineffectually at the broken-nosed man holding him.
"Oof. I was hoping your breath might have improved after the I knocked out a couple of teeth last time, but I see it's only made it easier for the filth to get free," he says.
"Well, if you're that set on receiving Kord's blessing, I'll not refuse you," Aerik says, before laying his hand on the closest mug or pitcher (pewter, preferably) to fling it at the broken-nosed man's head.
Ignoring the broken-nosed man, Aerik keeps talking to the shorter one. "You look like a man that likes a contest. Let's leave these men to their drink and come up with a game we can all play. Perhaps the barkeep has an old block we can use for throwing knives - that's a game in which my great strength won't be such an advantage over someone small and agile like yourself, or my new friend Vic here."
Aerik smiles at Vic, then stands up, stretching out his shoulders before turning. He acts surprised to see the man hassling the teamsters. "Oh! Are you buying a round of drinks good man? That's generous. Or are we trading barbs? Kord loves a good contest, and I learned a couple of new curses from a Keolander last week that I've been wanting to try out. Did you know the dwarves have 15 different words for a boil?" Smiling broadly, Aerik crosses his thick arms over his chest and tries to get an idea of the short man's intentions.
Aerik scans the room as he enters Derren's, noting the teamsters and the regulars at the bar. He'd scrapped with the boxer a few weeks earlier and had a chipped tooth to prove it. But the man had seemed willing to treat the bout as a friendly wrestle after Aerik offer to by him a round come pay day ... hopefully he was too deep in his cups to remember. Spotting the half-elf, the gold coin, and a table set for a group, Aerik settles into a chair - putting his back to the bar so he can keep an eye on the door - and signals the bar man for ale. "So, are you the black bear, or one of his friends? You don't much look like a sergeant of the watch," he says by way of greeting.
Aerik pauses to shrug out of his maille before taking the message from the boy. "A letter is it. I'm not sure I've got many friends that know how to write," he says, favoring the boy with a grin. Aerik starts to break the seal but stop abruptly when he spies the bear stamped there. He hesitates for a moment, then draws his knife, using it to peel the seal away from the paper more or less intact. His lips move as he reads the words inside. "Well, reckon your message is received, boy. Now, run along ahead to the Behir and Beholder and tell one of Jerrid's girls to draw me a few buckets of water from the well for washing, and a bucket of that watered-down piss her father brews to quench my thirst." He flips a copper piece to the boy then heads to the barracks to clean his armor before it rusts from all the sweat. A few hours later he sits in the Behir, nursing a flagon of ale and turning the wax seal over and over between thick fingers. Who was this man with the bear for his sigil? How many letters had he written? How many bears, torn asunder by dumb fingers ignorant of the destruction they wrought? Aerik could sense the darkness closing in on the edges of his vision like a fog, thick with dark secrets. He pushes them back with a growl, downing the rest of his ale in a long gulp. No time for prophecies now, even if they were god-sent. Kord could wait. "Jerrid! This ale is fit for nursing babies! If you'd brew something a little stronger, I wouldn't have to drink so much of it. Or perhaps that's your plan, getting all of us to water the potatoes you're growing in the alley!" Aerik grins, showing white teeth to let the taverner know he means no disrespect. "Fill me another before I go. I've a feeling I won't be making it back tonight for nightcap." After paying his bill, the big man pushes away from the bar and heads to the meeting place. He checks his blades in their scabbards and tucks the wax seal into a pocket of his coin purse, then walks inside.
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