Agnar was feeling quite full of himself. Having given a raiding arm of the "army" what-for, he could only think that getting encouraged to move on was simply in character for that the sheep-citizens of the country.
"You really think they would have let a functional 'jack out of their grungy grips without killing them?" he asks of everyone and no-one. "I harbored a thought they might thank us. The whole of this village of sheep were rousted and standing agog, looking on in impotent anger as more bandits-that-call-themselves-the-army do as they will with private property, and, when someone comes along and saves them from further despotism, they call their savior a villain."
He sighs.
"Such a waste."
He considers adding the old adage to 'contemplate this on the Tree of Woe,' but he doesn't think anyone would get the reference.
"Yes, now that the sheeple are fully threatened by our freedom of thought and action, we should take the 'jack and away.
No, we do not need to apologize. They had their chance to claim a slice of liberty from their masters and they denied it. To take the coal would, I believe, be something they not only tolerate but encourage.
When we tried to stop the army from pillaging them, they condemned us. Hence, they must, in their culture, prefer to be pillaged.
Agnar nodded in satisfaction as the two soldiers stopped putting up resistance.
"Wir sollten in die Scheune gehen. Ich denke, da könnten noch zwei drin sein. Zumindest sollten wir sehen, was sie plünderten," he says in low tones to the group.
Og:
"We should go in the barn. I think there may be two more in there. At the very least we should see what it was they were looting," he says in low tones to the group.
He then turns to the quelling crowd and addresses them. "Be calm, good people of Cygnar. It is well known that a long and abuse of power has been visited upon you by those that call themselves your leaders. But when was the last time one of those so-called Nobles asked you for your opinion, hm? Is it not widely known that the good salt-of-the-earth people, such as yourselves, could do a far better job of overseeing your governance than the overstuffed fops that are your lords simply by the right of having been born to noble parents?
Part of that noble greed has extended to the military that feel free to rob the good commoners at their leisure, but be at peace! These marauders that steal from you can call it fair have been stopped. Now go, and know that the price of freedom is eternal vigilance."
Persuasion!:1d20 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 6 = 10
Agnar shrugs. He's given better speeches, but he's in a hurry to follow Nev into the barn.
"Schweinhund!" Agnar spits at the powerful troll as it dares to attack his brother Ogrun. He levels both pistols at the foeman and lets off a great barrage.
The two pistols seem to have taken umbrage at playing second-act to the prima donna White Death. Donnar's shot hones in on the troll with a palpable shot. Then Blitzen, angry beyond measure at bringing up the rear, aims its shot with even greater effect.
Alright it's been more than 24 hours. Time to let fly!
Agnar had been late to the party. Following his brother Ogrun and distracted by the intervening crowd, he hadn't actually gotten a good look at the early conversation, and only broke through near the end.
He wasn't near the speakers, so recognition was not instantaneous. But eventually, as Erryl broke the ice and made clear the hostility that was transpiring, in one great instant of epiphany it all made sense.
"CYGNAR SCUM!" he yells, his long hours of instruction in the very best military institutions of Khador bubbling to the surface in all their power. "Is the RAPE of the Thornwood not enough for you? Does BURNING away the inroads of civilization not slake your blood-thirst? Will you NEVER be satisfied until ALL are lain NAKED and CHAINED to before you!?"
This was all known, of course. OF course it was known, throughout Khador, that they had marched into the wild lands of the Thornwood and tried to bring peace and progress to the wild and barwards land. A land long abandoned and left fallow by the lazy and greedy Cygnar. It was only when they had seen what great lengths the Thornwood had grown that they launched an attack to re-take, and, of course, destroy the farmsteads set up there. Only to see the land again turn wild, and used for nefarious purposes by the Crtyx.
Of course it was known. And not doubted.
Of course.
"Well this is ONE free man that you will NOT have for your personal fleshpots!" He brought up his pistol.
He didn't pick the name White Death out of a hat. The wood harness of the gun had been hand-carved out of an exotic ivory-hued wood that looked almost invisible in snow. The gun spat death with such great gusto that it seemed to sing, SING, with joy and splendor when it was allowed to do that which it was best at. Long had he thought that some fey or spirit must inhabit the thing.
It spat a shot.
Silenced Attack!:1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24
Damage!:1d10 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7
No ordinary bullet was this. No common firing of lead was for the ranks of GunMages. Though this shot lept from the barrel like a charging horse, it made no sound, and attacked the officer with the same volume as a falling leaf.
The blood in his veins running hot, the gunfire was automatically followed up by quick arcane gesture. With it his form began to shimmer and become indistinct as if displaced, coalescing to solidity only when observed up close. It would be hard work landing a shot on him now.
Agnar danced a short distance to the side, turning the Cygnarian flank. But he wouldn't take their rear. They'd -like- that. It was known.
Action for shot with Silencer (When you use this rune shot and hit a creature with an attack, that creature cannot shout or speak until the start of your next turn). Bonus Action to cast Bullet Dodger. Then move to open up some space.
Yeah, 5E is pretty sweet that way with their "one free action interaction" thing. Saves so much confusion. Alright, it looks like I'm low in the init. count, so I'll at least not be the first one to start to dance. =)
Agnar continues to follow the fellow Ogrun. As it appears they have indeed found a kerfuffle, he uses his honed skills of deduction to try and glean what exactly it is they are heading into.
Perception!:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10
Alas, new to the area and still shrouded by the growing crowd, he can't pick up much here, and must needs march into the midst of the crowd to learn more.
Rosaleen's eyes light up at Agnar's last word, "Now you're speaking my language. There is no end of things to learn when you're curious enough to search for answers."
"Exactly!" Agnar exclaims while motioning emphatically with his spoon. "There are so -many- things that we just take for granted. And why? Because we are told them! But how do we know such a thing is so. Or, for that matter, that the person telling us has any idea about anything more than this wood table here!" Agnar raps his spoon on the table to emphasize his point.
"And once we start to question Why, then a whole host of questions sprout up! How? When? Whom? I've begun to think that questions are like weeds; as soon as one sprouts up, then there are five more on its heels!
We are told to march in a straight line. And why? Because that is best, they say! But what if we didn't? What if we all did the rumba wherever we went? Maybe it wouldn't work out. Maybe. But how does one know unless one tries?"
He motions his spoon at the whole room, to take in life, the universe, and everything. "I dare say I would rather die doing something unknown and risky than live doing something known and safe. Ah, but then wouldn't we all? That is why we are here, is it not?"
The game which is posted at the link you gave, for $1.82, does ALL the things you said?
Yes.
I just checked the link and it still says 4.99. YMMV. But even at twice the price would still recommend.
The example that sticks out in my head is the juxtaposition of one of the better conversations in the game. (Well, there are many, but this sets a tone.)
You come across your dead lover. Her body is entombed and you are able to talk to her spirit that has been tied to her mortal corpse.
You two have a deep and long shared history, so naturally you want to talk to her.
With an 8 Int your dialog options are few and sparse. Little more than "I miss you" and she says the same thing and THAT'S IT!
With such sparse fare it's easy for disappointment to set in.
But with an 18 INT?
Your dialogue is 5 paragraphs in keyhole-structure detailing how you love her, you miss her, and you've landed in circumstances you never asked for. Now that you are immortal you are forbidden from joining her in death but now it feels like there's something you need to do and how is it that she is not allowed to rest?
She responds ALSO in paragraphs about how she is not allowed to join the eternal rest and she also misses you and will wait for you forever until you two can be joined in whatever afterlife awaits the two of you.
And it goes ON like that. I think she even gives some sad insight in how she died.
Hence, yes, with a change in stats the dialogue gets -much- deeper. And yet it stays out of the reading-quest that it's sequel fell in to.
I'd just recommend staying away from the companions. Unlike BG the XP is divided, so a full party of 6 will be lite on levels. You can still talk to them though, and I recommend investing some time in to the chaste succubus that's a literary whore (it makes sense once you get there.)
Spoilers:
Fall-from-Grace can be found during the mid-game at her Brothel for Slaking Intellectual Lusts in the Clerk's Ward. If the Nameless One has a relatively high amount of intelligence and charisma, it will be easy to convince Grace to leave her brothel to journey with him to the other planes. Lower stats will require following along and exploring more of her dialogue to achieve that.
Also specialize in either maces or axes. There are no swords. Well, there is one sword, but it's held by an imprisoned fallen angel voiced by Q.
Lastly, even the background noise is -so- good it has stayed with me.
in Australian Mad Max-esque accent: "See the edge on that? See the shine on it? I tell ya what Cutter that'll do ya ya business."
Agnar takes a good-sized helping of all available at table. He has learned to cope with life living lean, and he's learned that part of that is to feast when feasting is available.
"Heh, so your answer is 'one's self', is it?" Agnar smiles at the answer. "Well said Rosaleen, well said!" He chews thoughtfully. "Of course that is the right answer, but the implication in the question is -which- particular impetus might be best used to moving one's self to desire change. Most usual answers revolve around the stalwarts of Greed, Hatred, Retribution, Love, Duty, Honor...those old hats.
Myself? I've always had a leaning towards...Curiosity!"
You mean you've never played the original Torment before?
Highly recommend.
It's been called the most 'literate' CRPG, and I tend to agree.
(Of note, for the modern remake, apparently they said "This game has some reading in it, and the game is good, so to make it MORE GOODER we'll put in MORE reading! Brilliant!" No, no it is not.)
Right now it's on sale on GOG (my favorite game store. Many many are the people that have started on Steam and then become GOG converts) for only $5.
I suggest playing it the way most people play it: Max Str and Con, gawk at the massive regeneration you have, play as a fighter for the first chapter, go "This game is t3h SUX!", read something only about how it's supposed to be played, restart with maxxed Cha and Int, with a rising Wis, and suddenly be amazed at how fantastic the game gets. (The game changes according to your stats, and gives you more options as your character brings more to the table.)
"I've learned over the years that people can often change what they look like but have a harder time changing who they are."
Agnar's hands started twitching as his instinct to check his guns frequently started to conflict with a conscious thought that persistently taking out and field stripping fire-arms might not be as well received in civilian company as it was in his former life.
He was deep in re-writing this long-formed habit when something Rosaleen said naggled at the back of his head. Some common thought experiment that the upper ranks played. At first it alluded him until he snapped his fingers in remembrance.
"Are you saying you know, Rosaleen? You know how hard it is to change on the inside?" He grinned, anticipating the telling of the joke, and the chance to evaluate who she was by her answer. "Do you know what...
Agnar nods amicably as the would-be bandits discuss a future plan that does not involve banditry.
Still, his base impulses are unsatisfied that a few lives were not taken as righteous retribution, and it is only as the group has started down the road that he comes to his senses and catches up.
At the inn he wastes no time in following Nevitash inside
Agnar observes the goings on, then stands awhile in ulfish thought.
"So, why not come with us?" he asks of the seven would-be bandits. "There is nothing for you here. But we are headed for the new inn. Surely at a busy cross-roads with a big building going up -somebody- must think that there is money to be made. And new investment means jobs.
Surely even the prospect of honest jobs is better than...whatever you have around here?" Agnar turns about, motioning to the nothing around them.
"That's the best way to stay out of trouble, you know! The best way to stay out of the way of someone," he stares down at White Death, feeling it's desire to spout death and be done with it, "well, of someone like me. And we'll be back, if you go back. You know that."
Then he brightens and faces the people with a smile again. "And with some food and half'a-platinum of grubstake, you can find rooms and provisions until your work starts paying off. What a great time to start a new leaf!
'Educate men without Faith and you but make clever devils.'
The thought rung in his mind. He knew what has happening here. Bandits, marauders, highwaymen. Call them what you will but these were people without remorse, without regret, who had left their morals on the altar of greed. The only reason they weren't shooting at them is they had not expected a full hand of armed adults.
But what of the next group? What of the family? What about a man and his woman, a pack of rugrats in tow and their life savings in their shoulders? Would they receive the same deference the bandits were now showing.
He thought of a wife being violated and the children killed while the husband was tortured and forced to watch and his blood began to boil.
Still, perhaps they could be neutralized without blood? But how?
"Wir können sie nicht einfach verlassen." Agnar calls out to the group, aware that most of them had shown to speak his native tongue. "Was ist mit der nächsten Band nach uns? Ihr Blut wird an unseren Händen kleben. Was wäre, wenn wir sie mitnehmen würden? Vielleicht konnten sie einmal in Riverbend zu ehrlicher Arbeit überredet werden?
Ich würde sie lieber tot sehen als zurückgelassen, um Böses über die Welt zu säen."
Molgur-Og:
"We can't just leave them. What about the next band after us? Their blood will be on our hands. What if we took them with us? Perhaps once at Riverbend they could be persuaded into honest work?
I would rather see them dead then left to sow evil upon the world."
"Cowards die in SHAME!" Agnar barks without thinking when the skuldugerous whispers reach him. But then he shakes his head. 'No, I...I don't have to do that now.'
He thinks of something else. What would someone who didn't say that first thing say now?
"Um, er, I mean...Mercy is a sign of weakness!"
'Okay, maybe I have to work on this a little.'
His guns are already out and he's moving right, past Erryll, extending the flank.
In his left hand is already the hand repeater. Blitzen is a good gun, but it's not his issue.
His issued Magegun in his right hand, ready and willing as always. It is
Righteous Endurance is in following His Holy dictates and Law, not in mere endurance for endurances sake, he rasps.
He continues his sermon relying on the crunch of the road under his boots to provide a narrative cadence to his lession, The primary service we can render and SHOULD render unto Him, is obedience. Menoth has laid laws for conduct of children to parents, wife to husband, families to clans and clans to the State. Likewise he has laid divine governance of our lives to each other in Trade, in Government, in Faith, and The Holy Church, much of which fortunately combines in one, to guide much of our lives.
Sacrifice to obey the dictates of Law, sanctifies the individual, state and Church alike.
If I were to convey His message in few words? It is this. Let he who has ears, let him hear.
"Okay. Gotcha!" Agnar acknowledges. A part of him thought about pointing out the lack of details of what, exactly, were the nature of the services rendered, be it protection of the weak, or, well, subjugation of the weak. But he could pick up on the subtle hints that continued discussion about the man's beliefs wasn't high on his list of Fun Things To Do.
Besides, there were zealots enough in the Grey's. He had eaten his fill of that table, and found it not to his liking.
Rosaleen di Henryn wrote:
"How long have you all been traveling together? Many of you seem to have familiarity with each other."
"Oh, ha! Please, if I give that impression, be not fooled. I am...trying new things. And pretending at familiarity with strangers instead of treating old friends with a cold stoicism is one of those things.
I know -of- Kita more than I know her. She just, sort of, put things in a new light, and it was the snowflake that started an avalanche, philosophically speaking.
And Nevitash I take as a brother based on relation of spirit. My, um, our people are not known for their wanderlust. To meet another on the road without their tribe is a rare thing, so I accept that we are kindred spirits at face value. That he has proven a fine man is just gravy.
And yes, we are headed for Riverbend, the creek don't rise and the bridge don't break, as the saying goes."
"Agnar ... mein Freund ... hilf mir bitte: meine Götter sterben mit mehr Freude als das ... vielleicht sollte ich auch für ihn bezahlen!?"
...what? I find it's always good to include an English spoiler so that we all know what we're saying. I can run it through Google Trans, of course, but I find double-translating something can lead to...misinterpretation. =)
Agnar was whistling a soft tune, trying to come up for a thyme for 'sabotage'.
"Okay, I'll bite," he says to Mr. Bey. "What does doing something for Menoth mean? One can endure pain to protect a village from raiding raiders. However, when can also endure pain in the name of being the raiding raider.
So too, one can endure fear in the name of standing in common defense with a bunch of unbelievers. Of course, one can also stand against a bunch of unbelieving heretics with leave to do anything you want to them, on account of them being heretics.
The zealot scowls but as burning people... and non humans... is generally frowned on here (for now), he does little else but signal haughtily for his bill.
Everytime Atlas and I cross paths, I seem to be a religious nut... or what I like to call 'a cleric' :D This time I added a big bowl of 'Fanatico's to my breakfast diet
Kita ate the bread and forced down some stew, but gave her piece of pork to Agnar. She didn't eat much any more; she was rarely hungry, but she knew she needed proper food.
"Gratitude unto you, kind madam!" Agnar chortled in gay frivolity as the unexpected boon of fatty pork landed upon his plate. He nods and bows, mimicking formality.
He had tucked into the local fare with gusto. Not for the taste, but because he knew road-food can be bad and get worse still for lack of variety. That was the chief reason he had impulse-bought the haunch of goat. At some point he really should have learned how to prepare it.
Mohammed As`Zaman Bey wrote:
Jocularity... nought but the braying of those who do not have their thoughts fixed on Holiness, rasps a deep voice with the austere strictness of a school teacher.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!" the emphasized stoicism of the schoolmarm only makes the statement seem overly played, like the straight-man replying that, yes, his nose was running just before his partner delivers a well-rehearsed: "Then ya better go and catch it!"
"Ooo-ha! Indeed, that is the most jocularity I have heard to date! Well said, sirrah, well said! We shall have to watch your wit with a solid eye, sir!"
Agnar briefly pondered that if him taking it as jocularity now made the man less holy by his own standard, but that was too much thinking for him. He had promised himself that he would not think overmuch, lest he realize he has thrown all his past away and take the first coach heading straight back to where he had come from. Nay, let us put some miles under these heels before we ponder things overmuch. Speaking of which...
"Aye, Nevitash, aye. Rain or no, I would have us under the roof of The Riverbend afore dark. Beseems there is not overmuch in patrols, and we will have adventure enough without tempting nighttime rogues.
I am of a mind to ask after The Riverbend's reputation, but with the celebration going on, that will change things of course. So too, I doubt we have much choice, so I would have us make some haste and leave the rest to chance.
Agnar had started to reply to his fellow Ogrun, "Die Kleine Volk kannst nicht--" when his brain was finally able to overcome it's surprise that it was hearing his native tongue but NOT from Nevitash.
"Ha!" he laughs, pointing out Kita to Nevitash. "You see? Always does there lay another surprise around the corner! This one, at least, we will not find lacking, methinks."
Kita Samadrah wrote:
It took Kita a moment to puzzle out what Erryll was implying. "You mean a prostitute? Is that an insult to your folk? Ain't no shame in sex work, it's an honest living."
It then falls to him to try and decipher the latest exchange between the enigmatic Kita and her companion. Did she just state what their relationship was? Does make her a...? And then he is her....?
His eyes dart between Kita and Erryll as a cacophonous mix of emotions slide across his face, from confusion to curiosity and every stop between. 'So does than mean he makes all the financial arrangements as well as being her brother? Or were they jesting? And how would I ask? To be wrong on either account would only lay a social chasm from which one might never recover.'
It was clear he would need more drink to unravel this enigma and he started looking for the bartender again.
Kita turned her eyes on Agnar with newfound admiration. The big lunk has a silver tongue! Her voice soft, she said, "Well played, leaf-on-the-wind!
Agnar beams at the compliment, and he seems very different from the confused and duck-focused flotsam he had been at their first meeting. He raises an imaginary glass in salute and recognition.
"My thanks, Kita The Fanciest Of The Fancy Ladies!" He knocks back his imaginary drink and tosses it over his shoulder. Then the smile runs from his face.
"Aye. Aye. A wit is not a welcome friend amongst those that take themselves too seriously. It was the most exquisite of tortures to have everything in life, from a long, cold watch to a superior's direct order beg BEG for no less than three jokes and at least one dirty limerick. But for utterance of any to bring, well, to bring more bad then it was worth. Many times I was denied..."
He brightens then, his eyes taking back the light they had so recently displayed, and for the first time he allows himself to give her a frank appraisal, and to look as a man should look at a woman.
"...the finer things in life." He gives a quick, enigmatic, smile.
"So when do our drinks get here?" he yells out at the room, wondering if the bartender will come through.
Agnar grins and sits back down, a warm smile on his face. He knows he's won, and avoided bloodshed to boot! He feels something shift within him and he is pleased with it.
Nevitash wrote:
Nevitash grunts and says, "Hmm...I can't say I have heard of it. Oh well, a round for everyone at the table. A single shot should not make the hike much better or worse. Nevitash pulls out some coins to pay for the whiskey.
As Agnar sees Nevitash pull out coin, he leans over and speaks to Nevitash in their native tongue of Molgur-Og, which is something all Ogrun, such as himself and Nevitash, speak:
"Nein nein nein, mein Bruder. Lass den Zwerg sich ärgern und den Scheck einlösen, den sein Mund ausgestellt hat. Er hat uns gekränkt, und wenn er dabei nur eine gute Flasche verliert, dann profitieren wir alle, auch er.
Ich denke, er bekommt diese Flasche kostenlos für uns zum Einschenken, denn sonst würde er vor seinen Stammkunden das Gesicht verlieren. Lege deine Münze weg und lass ihn Weisheit erlangen."
Molgur-Og:
"No no no, my brother. Let the dwarf fret and cash the check his mouth has written. He gave us offense, and if all he loses from it is a bottle of good drink, then we all, including him, profit from it.
I think he is getting that bottle to pour for us, for free, because to not would make him lose face in front of his regular clients. Put thy coin away and let him gain wisdom."
Charisma!:1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9
"I too have not heard of it, but I doubt he'd give us the cheapest swill, for fear I'd give him another tongue lashing." He smiles and laughs.
As the dwarf stood up and began an ancient phalic-symbol ritual, Agnar's gun-hand twitched, wishing to handle this in the Final way. But that was not his way. Not...not anymore.
Oh yes, he could do that, but he did not want to. He had other gifts. Gifts the other Order did not need or wish. But he felt it was his path, his future, to use them. Is not this way better?
Agnar had been quite dour until this moment. Thinking on his past and the uncertain future had him in a sour mood. But he did not need that now.
Between the moments when he was sitting down until to when he is standing up it is like a different person occupied his clothes. Suddenly he is beaming. His arms are brought up as if to give the whole room a big, warm hug. His gaze sweeps the room, but somehow it's as if he spends enough time to look everyone straight in the eye, and wink at them, as if sharing a private joke only they two can enjoy.
"Ha! Welcome my friend dwarf! What a warm, soft welcome you have given us! And we thank you for it!
Did you hear that everyone? He speaks of whiskey. Whiskey! he says. He has offered to buy everyone in the house a round of Whiskey!
Thank you friend dwarf, thank you! We had only coin enough for coffee on this wet, cold day, but thanks to your generosity we and ALL of our new friends shall have warm tummies and a light mood.
My gratitude to you!"
He says all of this without a hint of irony, as if this is not a moment of hostility, but merely misunderstanding. And isn't that what the dwarf was saying? It certainly seemed so.
And now the tables were turned. Would the dwarf re-neg on all the spirit he had raised in the room, now that he found it turned upon himself? Or would he reach in deep now that someone called his bluff? Whatever happened, there might be violence later, but that, well, was later.
As Agnar moves in with the others, he notices the other Orgun. He suspected the other was not overly tribal, and most of the Ogrun he had met in hte city had mostly left the dogmatic ways behind, but without knowing him, he decided to get off on the right foot.
"Ich sehe Sie, mein Bruder Nevitash," he says as Nevitash offers to get the first round of drinks. "Das ist eine schöne Warcaster-Rüstung, die Sie haben. Du trägst es gut und bringst deinem Stamm Ehre.
Ich hatte nie das Talent für gepanzerte Kriegsführung. Im Moment bin ich es...."
Agnar pauses. I am...what? A deserter of the GreyLords? A wayward soul with a point of departure I do not care for and an unknown future? I am....
But then a word came to him. A word in his own tongue that encompassed warriors without a master that fought for gold. A word that meant more than merely mercenary, more than just a warrior for hire.
He looked down at his dark leather armor, his great armored coat. His trio of pistols jutting out in quick-draw angles.
"Ich bin ein Nacht Spaziergänger."
Shadowrunner.
Molgur-Og:
"I see you, my brother Nevitash," he says as Nevitash offers to get the first round of drinks. "That is a fine suit of Warcaster armor you have. You wear it well and bring honor to your tribe.
I never had the talents for armored warfare. For now I am...."
Agnar pauses. I am...what? A deserter of the GreyLords? A wayward soul with a point of deparcher I do not care for and an unknown future? I am....
But then a word came to him. A word in his own tongue that encompassed warriors without a master that fought for gold. A word that meant more than merely mercenary, more than just a warrior for hire.
He looked down at his dark leather armor, his great armored coat. His trio of pistols jutting out in quick-draw angles.
"Life-math, my good Erryll," he said, as though they were friends, even though he'd just learned his name just now in passing, "can be deceptive. What about doppelbock? It is a hearty drink produced in certain lands, and not only does it have significant sums of minerals and protein, but also a kick that could, so I hear, drop a mule.
In theory one could get on with only that, and have their drinking budget now equal their eating budget. Paradox!"
At the mention of goats from Erryll, he gave his bag a furtive glance. It did smell like goat, but not in the weird way.
"I think three days march might be fun," he said, trying to get a lighter take on the looming march. "Out in the open, the fresh air, getting ahead of anyone that might be tailing us--not that that would happen, I'm just saying. Hypothetically.
But you're right, we should build up our reserves of strength before starting such a trek.
And even if it does rain, I find hardship to be quite purging. Especially useful if one is leaving behind a past."
Oh confound, have we started? I dotted last week but didn't see any updates. Oh bother!
Agnar was lost in his thoughts. Shock, really. Lots and lots of shock. His parting from the Greylord institute had been...mixed. Sure enough some people, the right people, fortunately, had bought his request for academic sabbatical. It was a common enough habit among all ranks to take some time to expand one's learning unburdened by daily duties. And without the stipend, one must needs had to learn how to get on with one's self, with self-sufficient habits that would always pay dividends.
He...didn't really tell them he never meant to return. A few suspected, though, and it took some cunning half-truths more than one verbal misdirection to avoid The Fetters.
He was shuttering at one particular story he had heard about The Fetters when Kita, who had the honorable title of being his Catalyst, whether she wanted it or not. No great honor, knowing what catalysts are, and he doubted she cared, such was the person she seemed. Still, it took him awhile for his internal charm to eventually grab the reigns of thought back from Fetterland.
Fortunately he thought of something witty to say. "Uh, I am, um, well."
Let me know who is with whom and the nature of your charges.
I'm ready!
Also, wait what? You want to know who we're guarding? Is there a list of the NPC's we're guarding, or do want us to start making stuff up? (I mean, I've no problem with making stuff up.)
@Nevitash: That sounds great! Agnar is a leaf-on-the-wind right now, so I see no reason we can't be travelling together.
It very well may be that part of the aforementioned 'hand-waving' of the coal issue the generous DM suggested might be made easier if we did have a cart, so we could just say "Yeah, all the coal is in the cart" and then that's an end to it, except for whatever monies the DM is going to charge.
Also! It might happen that, yes, we kill some bad guys and, yes, they are sitting on a very large pile of coal. This would be useless to normal adventurers, but, if we are adventurers that have a wagon, we can just load it up, and, boom, we have "enough" coal for "a while". Brilliant!
Dude, I'll just buy you the cart and the donkey. Get your armored coat. =) (It even gives me a handy place to put all this flour and goat meat I bought.)
I'll even let you name the donkey. If you fail to pick a name I will name it "Donkey". ^_^
Y'know, I agree with all the foibles pointed out here about the system. Yes, I was looking for a whole bunch of gun-specific feats, but didn't get it. Yes, it looks like the Arcanist is better suited to this scene than the Mechanik (which is a class I don't get at all, but that's not important.)
But I am ALL IN for this game and I'm just going with it. It's gonna be nuts, it's gonna be fun, and part of it will probably be unfair, sometimes for us and sometimes agin' us. But I've played Shadowrun, so some twitchy rulesets ain't gonna scare me away! So let's tally ho! =)
I am doing a Ogrun GunMage for 1st level, and then it's bard all the way, baby! (It's gonna be awesome!)
(If anyone wants a shared background with a former stick-in-the-mud that is losing his way, I am all ears! =)
@Nevitash: When I was reading over Warcaster, it mentioned saving on fuel by hauling in a cart. Do you want to do that? I will ab-so-lutely pitch in for that. A cart is 15gp and a mule is 8 and I will sell what I can to get you there so your little buddy can swing for all he's worth!
@Jereru: Yeah, I get what you're saying about Warlocks and the Gunmage is a Warlock. Methinks that once we start playing it'll be obvious that the Gunmage isn't suited for the variant rule, so I'm happy to burn that bridge when we come to it. ^_^
He drinks the tea from his flask, and says, glancing at the refugees stirring in the distant camp. "I don't know about a celestial task, but I came here to help who I can, and live up to my master's expectations."
"Barovia?" Agnar repeats the land's name with a mixture of curiosity and dislike, rolling it over his tongue and finding the taste not pleasing.
The silence of the small camp is broken up with the regular sounds of an axe swung by Nameless, performing the ever-needed task of chopping wood. He seems content, though who can know what maelstrom swirls behind his eyes, pining for a life he will never know again.
"Yes, yes it seems that directions are needed. That is a cruel thing, if what you say is true. For mists, like kidnappers, to skulk out of their physical boundaries and take away people without warning or permission. How much like warlords, or a plague, to do with a person what they will. Indeed, did I not have you to explain it to me, I would still be here without ken of what happened!"
The wood split by Nameless is gathered up by Charles in armfuls. These he carries to the fire embankment. Some are stacked for later use, and some are fed to the ever-hungry flames of the fire. It is needed work, and it seems if he did not do it, it would not be done. Betimes he wonders how the fire would get made if he were not here.
"You are a native of this ransomer's land? No no, that is too kind. A ransomer can at least be paid off--there can always be hope that if enough -things- are offered, be they shiny coins, or cut rocks, or the gentle touch of one to their liking, that freedom might one day come. But here?"
As he speaks Anya mixes a blend of corn meal and wheat flour. Adding water and a pinch of salt, she makes flattens out balls and puts the thin cakes on the fire to cook. The smells of warm wheat cakes wafts away from the flames into the noses of those nearby, speaking of another meal in the making. She appears content.
"What say you, good sir? What hope have I, erm, we, that we might again one day walk on familiar lands?"
Are you RPing already in Barovia, or is this some kind of "RPing Haven"?
Pssh. Like I know? I'm making this up as I go. =) Still, it seems metaphysically appropriate that everyone is talking about...The Village. MUHAHAHA!
"Ha! A fey bargain? No good, I've known too many feys!" he answers, laughing. Then he flicks a finger near his ear to highlight his own sort-of pointed ears.
Agnar tries to sit more comfortably on his camp-chair, sinking in and taking all the comfort it can give up. He still strums idly, but softly, on his lewt. "Do I give the appearance of a refugee? No no, don't answer that. In truth I'm not quite sure what my status is. Or, really, where I am.
The noble band you see before you is what is left of the world-famous Narg Nasty Six." Chuck and Anya pause in their chores to bow to Gabriel. "The name is all my own, I assure you. Well, there were rumors that our halfling came up with it first, but the man was erratic, so you can't truest him. He's also dead now, killed in the encounter that brought us the strong, silent Nameless one you see over there. Nameless! Take a bow for our guest!"
The mute continues to chop wood, unheeding of the request.
"You must excuse him. We managed to save his life, but, alas, that seems as all we were able to save."
Agnar sighs, looking pensive, before returning to the present.
"Ah, where was I? Oh yes. And you, Mister Gabriel Belmont of Micreoch? Are you also a wanderer? Or are perhaps on some celestial task and you require the help of the noble and pure of heart?"
Agnar holds out his teacup and Anya refills it.
On impulse he holds his cup up in greetings to the attractive woman with thick black hair and large earrings. He smiles and sips, toasting her health.
"Oh ho!" Agnar laughs in a friendly way as the traveler offers the sweet biscuits. "A rare treat this! I accept gratefully, friend. Though no payment is needed, I accept it out of friendship.
Chuck, Anya, please see to our guest."
A large man, Charles Martel, once de facto leader of the Narg Nasty Six, bent to the kettle and poured a generous helping into a tin cup before offering it to the newcomer. He was used to doing what was necessary, and he saw no need to change now. Agnar was always an acceptable front-man, and that seemed a thing most needed now.
"One or two eggs, with your bacon?" Agnar asks.
Anya, a pretty woman, bends over a sizzling pan where pleasant bacon-scents and smells come wafting. She scoops up a generous portion of well-cooked yumminess before offering this, too, to the guest.
Anya had always preferred RockOn, but he was dead now. One could suppose Agnar is a step up, as some people counted such things.
"Help yourself to toast."
Another man comes over and offers a wooden platter well-laden with toast'n'drippings. Over his throat is a deep scar, most likely the source of his muteness. This was Nameless, a local who currently survives. Alas, the attack took not only his voice but his sanity, and though he responds to direct orders well enough, if not actively engaged, he stands unresponsive to stimulii.
"My friend, I am Agnar Valbrandr. And by what might you be called?"
Hee. I've always wanted to do this scene, for even the least part. And now I have! Thank you. Happiness is. =)
I am Agnar, front-man for the world-famous band The Narg Nasty Six. Tonight we had just finished a gig at a two-star watering hole, the Sweet Doomed Angel...when she walked in.
You could tell she had money. When you get used to living on free beer and borrowed peanuts, you develop a talent for knowing who's gonna pay you, and who's gonna have a sudden emergency at payment time.
"I enjoyed your show," she said to us in a voice low and husky, like molasses poured over silver. "We'd like you to play a little at an after-party I'm having. Just a little soiree I'm having for me and my friends. I live just down the road, on the hill. This should cover things."
And she handed over a small bag with some coins. Paying in advance? Well that makes her a preferred customer. It also made her unique, so we should've guessed at trouble, but it's had to give money back. Ever.
"We'll be there," I said at her with my number 3 smile.
********
"Don't like this," Chuck said, lugging our kit and a few provisions we 'liberated' from the Angel. She didn't say if there would be refreshments and we hadn't eaten after the show.
"I like it," said RockOn, our drummer. "Money, woman. More'n we had most times. Got foggy quick, though." His statement was followed by a little giggle by the comely wench at his side. Anya followed the band, and no one could remember when she started following them. She was just always there.
RockOn wasn't lying. We had walked 'down the road' and thought we were getting near 'the hill' when this pea soup fog rolled in.
"Fog's as thick as peanut butter!" complained John. He was a roadie, so he was always complaining.
"No, it's as thick as pea soup!" countered Hector the Halfling. He was my back-up lewtist and liked to get into arguments. So we were good friends.
"Quiet, all a yous," Chuck barked at us. He wasn't our 'leader' per se, but he knew when we were getting out of hand and needed to be less so. "Someone's coming."
Sure enough, someone was coming down the road. Fast! A lone man, running like the Hounds of the Hunter were on his very heals. We could hear him panting as his footfalls slapped on the ground long before we could see him. When he finally broke through the fog he stopped and said:
"What are you doing!? You can't be here!"
"Ya got that right," I concurred, casually. I tend to have a calming effect on people. "We were looking for a castle--"
"No!" the man shouted, rudely interrupting. "You don't understand. I am DEAD! You hear me? DEAD! And you CAN'T be here!"
He hefted the axe in his hands. I didn't know he had an axe until now. I answered by drawing my sword. It was my father's and I knew how to use it, but it wasn't anything special.
Behind me the Narg Nasty boys and girl drew answering weapons of their own, but I think a few picked up nearby sticks too.
"Let's just calm down--" is all Chuck got out before some...THING attacked the man.
Was it a wolf? A thief? A camel? A cat? There was no way to tell. Out of the fog this black THING came and attached itself to the man, instantly spurting blood over the the uncaring road.
We were hungry, lost, confused, not a little scared, and we were armed. We did the only sane thing. We got busy.
As one we advanced and stabbed at the thing. It let go of the man, but then turned on us! It was a chaotic maelstrom of battle and blood and screams and blood and terror and blood and death. And blood.
I lay on my back, sword in my right hand, bleeding out from...somewhere. Chuck still stood, to my left, next to Anya, and everything was eerily quiet. So we won? I guess?
As my eyes closed and the world faded away I wondered about the man. 'I never even knew his name,' I thought.
'I have a name,' came some voice, to my right.
Then I blacked out, and died.
So how am I still alive? Don't know! But I feel great!
"Ha! Victory is mine!" Agnar rejoices, stabbing the fallen form of the troll once more for good measure.
He gazes out at the routing monsters, reveling in the rush of standing triumphant. He might have wallowed in the battle-joy for a quite some time, but Guthrim's rush to his fallen companion brings him back.
"Her now, what's all this then?" he murmurs, squatting down and looking over the downed Grimm.
Having rested his sword-arm for a spell, and with the troll's attention now focused on his friends, Agnar finds himself to have regained some breath and some will. Unwilling to just sit out the rest of the fight, he again goes on the offensive, looking for an opening.
"WaaHURGH!" Agnar grunts as much of his air and most of his blood is suddenly engulfed by the tenacious and viscous troll.
"Okay if you've got guests I can come back later," he drunkenly slurs, no longer fully sensate of the situation.
He draws upon the reserves he had so recently been proud of keeping in reserve, and thought strength again flows through him, his confidence is gone. He rocks back on his heels and tries to just evade blows and stay on his feet.
2nd Wind!:1d10 + 1 ⇒ (10) + 1 = 11 Dodge action.
The wild bite from the new troll finally finds good purchase, but his shield takes up most of the beast's mouth, and it falters, most of its lethal power spent. "Ha! When you are ready to begin fighting, let me know!" Agnar taunts, feeling still hale and haughty, with reserves still fresh and ready to continue the fight.
Panilzagar sings in the wind as it cuts through clumsy parries and thick troll flesh with equal ease. For however long it had slept in that offal-strewn warren, it seems determined to make up for lost time!
