Baradim Walks-The-Earth's page

"Agreed." Baradim muttered to Finoan as the caravan finally departed from Etran's Folly, the worn appearance almost looking brighter than it did the day that they arrived. Little had truly changed but the people there had a chance, a chance to do something better. As Finoan left, Baradim's attention turned towards the entourage that they traveled with. Tamli barked orders, only one orc suffering a broken nose for thinking the half-blood didn't have the fire in her blood. Graytusk was almost thankful for the chance to rest and relax, the makeshift tribe walking alongside the caravan. Baradim's eyes met hers and a smile spread across both of their faces. New challenges and new threats would be on the horizon but the Princess Guard would be ready for it. Forged in battle, friendship, and love, the mismatched team travelled deeper.

~~~Years Later~~~

Almas, the metropolis it was, was almost overwhelming the first year that they arrived. Discrimination, overpopulation, slum conditions, none of it was easy and all of it was difficult. Amidst the broken streets, where even the guards did not tread, a new gang seemed to manifest. No city thieves and backstabbers, no mere simple thugs and bandits, a group of orcs gathered together in one of the worst neighborhoods and began to enact change. Gangs that had held power for decades found themselves swearing oaths of peace and moving to safer territories. The city's local name began to shift, changing into something new.

Newhold.

A poor but friendly district, Baradim and Tamli found themselves as unwilling faces of the refugees from the Whispering Tyrant's forces. What had started as violent defense gave way to a new level of irritating; politics. Baradim found himself as the elected representative of Newhold and delved into politics with a communal, blunt, and forceful approach. Few had the stomach to hold the orc's glare when they boldly lie and his lack of tact was reinforced the first time there was an assassination attempt and the Princess Guard deposited them before the local guard. The survivors, anyway.

Even then though, Baradim's oath was not forgotten. The caravan grew in wealth with connections but Tamli and Baradim's status stayed the same; most of the profit going to support the war against the Whispering Tyrant. With his child born, Baradim's fear of failing his comrades shifted away from avenging them to living a life worth living.

On a warm morning, the experienced warrior stood, walking with a bit of a limp from a poisoned bolt. Bort, named after Tamli's father figure, played outside with his short bow and blunt arrows, while Tamli corraled the large operation. Another journey east laid ahead, another long trip back through Etran's Folly to see old faces and to grieve those lost.

"Come Bort, we're seeing Niss today. We'll see if she shared the good news." The low, gravely voice of the orc said. With a careful gait, he stepped in line with his mate and breathed in the warmth and noise of the day and how it compared to the silence in his mind.

The laugh that left Baradim's lips was more like a bark, his head shaking a little bit before he spoke again. "They have a leader with them. A wise woman. She reminds me of someone very special." His tease was short-lived before they kissed, a soft but lingering thing. His arm would slip around her, tightening and keeping her close to him for just a moment. He would finally release her, turning his attention towards the sheriff. The kind smile would finally fade before he nodded.

"The four of us will need the remainder of our pay. No rush...but soon." He would then clap the human on the shoulder in a friendly, if heavy, manner and make his way into the town with them. The orcs from outside of town would be welcomed in by Baradim. The orc man took the lead wherever Tamli and Graytusk left off, filling in for leadership when it was needed to keep things calm. The tavern made decent coin that day.

At the Feedmill, the energy was far more vibrant and uplifted. It was almost reminiscent of that first night without the dark attitude of the boorish thug that they dispatched. Baradim sat at the same table they had all arrived at, a warm stew with fresh bread before him and a large mug of ale as well. He was not used to not paying for his meals, someone having covered his drink and food despite him saying he was fine. Sipping from his ale, he looked at the others.

"Well, it seems we were a good team after all. We should've charged Bort more for protection." Baradim said with a mirthful smirk.

Baradim cuts into the beast as it trudges onwards towards the town, eventually being cut down at long last by a flying hatchet in the air. A sigh leaves his lips as he relaxes for a moment, sheathing his blade as he sees Tamli come right towards him. The faintest hint of a smile spreads across his tusked face as he stands up proudly, letting the woman inspect the burns upon him and the bruised knicks that the bolts left upon his skin when it was rock. His hand slipped up to her face, looking gently down at her.

"It is nearly done." He whispered to her, his hand slipping around the back of her neck. "Bort is avenged. Vilree is no more." His oath was complete at long last; the long and dangerous trail that justice had taken him on. From a simple murder to fighting abominations to saving a town, the orc would finally take a breath and look at the others. "Come, there is still more work to do. We found others from the Hold. They were forced into addiction, forced to serve. We must help break them of its hold and give them a better life if they wish."

Baradim kicks off the horse, hitting the ground hard with a feral yet strangely focused look in his eyes. Both instinct and training were becoming married together, a dangerous combination for any who stood against The Princess Guard. He rushes ahead, drawing both his sword and shield before rounding around in front of the construct. Plaguestone was just behind him, containing everyone he cared for now, and he could not fail.

Breathing in deeply, a guttural roar escaped him that would send the hairs on the back of their necks on end. At least those that weren't a robot. It was a primal thing, a warcry of an orc, with a powerful shout.

Vitals - 44/56; AC: 22
Actions - Stride. Interact. Interact.
Readied Action - AoO

Baradim is a full-blooded orc, rescued by Knights of Lastwall after a rival tribe decimated his own and he barely survived an assault. Taught to fight in defense of Vigil, he was there to witness the rise of the Whispering Tyrant and the complete destruction of everything he had known...again. Harrowed by the loss of everything, he ended up on a wagon working as a guard towards a little town colloquially known as "Plaguestone".

It was here that he found love, his courage, and the determination to carry on his brother and sister-in-arms' dreams and hopes, their holy symbols hanging from his neck. Just today, he brought his blade down and ended a terrible threat to the small town and is almost done with his small adventure heading west.

Baradim is a full-blooded orc fighter, fighting with sword and shield, and was going to be delving into barbarian and Bastion archetype. Lawful Neutral but leaning towards good, he found a hapless group of would-be heroes and felt responsible to their well-being and they helped bring him back from the dark.

A short campaign but a beloved character nonetheless. Hopefully, I'll get a chance to play him again sometime.

With as much respect as he could, he lays the young half-elven woman down to the ground. A product of her childhood, of pain, and of violence. There could be little difference between the two of them had his life taken a different pathway. He stands up and cleans his blade off on her clothing that still remained unstained, sheathing it and his shield. Taking the mutagen, he slips it onto his small, makeshift potion belt and nods.

"Almost done. Just one more left." The orc says softly, leaving her amidst her creations. He feels his wounds soothe and the familiar presence of Niss within his mind, her warm heart and soft thoughts easing his muscles of their fatigue. He gives her an appreciative nod before opening open one of the elixirs of life and chugging it down.

Lesser Elixir of Life: 3d6 + 6 ⇒ (3, 2, 1) + 6 = 12

With the healing and the elixir, that'll bring Baradim back to 44 out of 56 hit points.

"I used to hunt. I doubt this creature is using coy methods to hide itself. We can take the horses and hunt for a trail." Baradim offers, moving back outside. His pace is slow as the rocky mutagen finally begins to fall apart off of him.

"We will need to search through those notes. Find a way to aid the orcs. They could help track the beast." Baradim will suggest as he saddles onto his horse, making way first for the orcs' camp.

Baradim's shield lifts, catching the fiery potion from doing its worse, but he is still singed and the heat is slowly wearing him down as it burns upon him. The heavy mutation upon him slows him down as he moves further and further along the way after her. He could see the wear and tear upon her; one good strike would finally put this to an end. Chasing her down though was becoming problematic and he could his own injuries beginning to mount up.

"Enough of this! Die already!" Baradim shouted, slashing hard and fast at her midsection to spill her open upon the dirty, alchemical floor.

Strike: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (17) + 13 = 30Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (8, 8) + 4 = 20
I think that'll do it.

Strike the blow deep across his stomach, red spilling forth and the lining of her innards exposed, he stops halfway and thrusts the blade deep into her. The sound of metal, even enchanted to be sharp, is an awful one to hear as it cuts through bone and muscle.

"That is enough. That is enough. You've done enough." Baradim whispers into her ear before he lowers down and thrusts his blade upwards into the more vital organs. It would be painful but mercifully quick; too much trauma for a body to handle. Vilree's death would come swiftly and her judgement too, would come in time.

The crowbow bolts crash into Baradim, flames covering him for a moment before Vilree grins. The smile dies slowly as Baradim comes out of the attack faring better than he should. Little trickles of blood emerge from where the expert shots hit, his body still as tough as stone. Baradim looks down at his singed but still relatively healthy form and nods

"Seems you're too good. Your alchemy speaks for itself." The orc says with a grim, tusky smile as he marches up along the way. With his blade in hand, he follows the automaton's trip attempt with a heavy downward slash.

Strike: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (12) + 13 = 25Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (3, 1) + 4 = 8
Gross damage.

"Stay still. I can send you to your mother painlessly if you wish." Baradim growls low, lifting his blade back up and thrusting it down aiming for her chest.

Strike: 1d20 + 13 - 5 ⇒ (12) + 13 - 5 = 20Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (3, 1) + 4 = 8
Thanks dice. If she is prone, I think that is versus flat-footed.

Actions - Stride. Strike. Strike.
Vitals - 34/59 HP; AC: 22/24
Reaction - Attack of Opportunity

Electricity scars across the stony skin of the warrior, the monstrosity writhing in pain from the battering it had received. It stumbled back some, leaving its chest open. The orc had no idea if the abomination had the same anatomy as any other humanoid but with a wide enough slash, he was sure he could find the heart.

Strike v.s. Flat-Footed: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (11) + 13 = 24Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (5, 1) + 4 = 10
Hopefully, that'll do it.

Cutting down the monstrosity, its blackened ichor spraying onto the orc fighter, he would turn his attention towards the woman that was the source of all this pain and suffering. Cycles had to come to an end and if that meant she must die for his promise to remain true, then he would.

With heavy footsteps, he approached the alchemist while twirling the magical blade in his bloodied hand. Tilting his head, those black-yellow eyes would stare down at her.

"Surrender or die. I care not which." He was too slow to be able to strike again, his blows missing but keeping her on her toes. If she tried to break away though, he would punish her for it.

Vitals - 49/59 HP; AC: 22
Actions - Strike. Stride. Stride.
Reaction - Attack of Opportunity

Baradim would move with slow, heavy steps towards the monstrosity. The rocky form he now slowed him down but he could still engage with it after sidestepping the line of acid upon the ground. Magical blade in hand, he ducks under a massive swipe from the creature before slashing back against underneath its arm.

Strike: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (4) + 13 = 17Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (5, 6) + 4 = 15
I'm going to Hero Point that.
Strike: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (11) + 13 = 24

Actions - Stride. Stride. Strike.
Vitals - 50/56 HP; AC: 22/24
Reactions - Reactive Shield (Use Higher AC). Will AoO Vilree if she tries to move through threatened squares.

The wings of the bat strike against him and there is a slight spark as they reflect off of his hardened skin, leaving a scuff mark upon his cheek. He brushes it off, nodding in appreciation of the mutagen's effect. When asked about the ranged capabilities, the orc smirks and gestures to a crossbow upon his back.

"Just haven't needed to use it. I'll take a bomb or two though, would be good to have." Baradim murmurs, rolling his shoulders before looking down towards where Niss was peeking. Vilree awaits them. Taking a calming breath, he focuses himself and nods.

"Keep spread out then, don't bunch unless we have to. She is the main threat." He would look at each of them, moving up towards the door. Once they were ready, he would move into the room and towards their destiny.

"Just one more threat. One more challenge and then I'm home." Baradim thought, gripping his blade tightly. One more threat and the task would be done. He would follow Finoan into the room, his feet heavy and slow but with purpose.

"Those that you blame for your mother's death have all mostly passed on. Those who still live do not warrant your hatred." He would reach into his backpack, producing the urn that they had recovered. "Even with all that you have done, you can undo this. You have a talent for alchemy...you can be better."

Baradim moved in as the giant bat descended, his stony form slow going but still able to move into the flank against the flying beast. He takes a swing with his blade twice at the creature's backside, aiming to wound its wings and bring it down to the ground

Strike: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (6) + 13 = 19Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (1, 2) + 4 = 7
Strike: 1d20 + 13 - 5 ⇒ (12) + 13 - 5 = 20Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (7, 6) + 4 = 17

Vitals - 50/56; AC: 22/24
Actions - Step. Strike. Strike.
Reactions - Reactive Shield (Use Higher AC)

Baradim would move as quietly as he could down the way, his shield and blade ready now that the alchemical monstrosities were defeated. His heavy steps tried to be as quiet as he stepped forward and onwards.

Stealth: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (11) + 5 = 16
I'll take it. I ain't the worse <3

Baradim's blow rips into the amalgam, almost being caught on the meat inside. Hands cling to him, trying to rip him apart and pummel him, but he puts his shoulder and weight into. It tears a bout of blood spraying the warrior as he cleaves it apart and breaks away from it. The monstrosity flails and staggers back, soaking the floor in gore and extra innards, He steps away as the glass beaker slams into the open wounds, the shards ripping and tearing open vital wounds.

The beast squirms and fights, desperately clinging to its horrid life, before keening and collapsing. Multiple arms and limbs were desperate to try and pull away, like every conscious inside of it knew it was the end. At last though, the thing fell silent and still.

"Rest in peace." Baradim muttered, turning his attention towards the remaining alchemical drudge that clocked the ranger solidly in the shoulder. He brought his blade down in a vertical slice, aiming to cleave its arm off.

Strike: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (14) + 13 = 27Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (6, 8) + 4 = 18
Actions - Stride, Stride, Strike
Vitals - HP: 50/56; AC: 22/24
Reaction - Reactive Shield (Use Higher AC)

The electricity splashed across his form, coating his with static that singed his flesh but did little else to stop him. The flurry of attack that came from this thing were mighty indeed and so he would reach for his bandolier and pull out the mutagen he had been given earlier. Looking at it for a moment, he would drink it back and try to resist the urge to throw up the gritty and granulated mixture. Its effect was immediate though.

The green skin of the orc grew duller and duller, the texture changing into that of a rock. He moved slower and with heavier steps but the orc was exactly where he wanted to be. Every movement grinded slightly, his body better prepared for defense but less mobile.

Unless there is anything strange, Baradim now has 5 resistance to all physical damage except for Bludgeoning. Here is hoping it helps.

The rocky orc lifts his shield defensively again, this time taking another swipe at the monstrosity before him.

Strike: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (17) + 13 = 30Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (3, 5) + 4 = 12 24 dmg if a critical.

Actions - Interact. Raise Shield. Strike
Vitals - 51/56 HP; AC: 24; Shield 15/20 (BT: 10) Hardness 5
Reactions - Shield Block

Looks good!

A nightmarish amalgamation of teeth, limbs, and twisting flesh moved out towards them. It swung its fist at Finoan, the robotic catman dodging out of the way. Baradim studied it for a moment before looking back at the drudges. For a second, the orc shares a look with Drake and the man can easily see that the tall, mighty warrior is not happy with the decision he was making.

"I got it." He muttered, reaching up to touch the braid of black hair that hung around his neck as a reminder of his promise. He stepped up to the massive thing, parrying another fist before slamming his shield into one of the mouths of the creature.

"Wait your turn, beast!" Baradim shouted, pushing it away and keeping his shield up. The thing chittered and chattered unintelligible noises, lashing out at the prepared fighter. Baradim dodged to the right of the beast, thrusting his sword towards its core.

Strike: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (11) + 13 = 24Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (7, 8) + 4 = 19

Actions - Readied Shield, Stride, Strike
Vitals - HP: 56/56; AC: 24
Reaction - Shield Block (Hardness 5, HP: 20/20 (10 BT))

The smoldering rat emerges, squeaking with rage and earning and irritable sigh from the warrior. How many other creatures had suffered under her experimentation? How many more would need to put out of their miserable existence. He moved across the room, blade and shield in hand, until he could push the table aside and take a strike against the beast.

Strike: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (7) + 13 = 20Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (6, 6) + 4 = 16

Actions - Stride, Stride, Strike
Vitals - HP: 56/56; AC: 22/24
Reactions - Reactive Shield (Use 24 AC if attacked)

Baradim would pick up the elixir of stone body from Niss, nodding towards her as he slipped it into the bandolier that he wore. After the battle with the sentient blood at the hands of an amateur alchemist, they could use any advantage against whatever a dedicated one could create. Baradim follows behind Finoan, always close enough to support the man should the situation grow dire.

"I do not like that either. I'll keep an eye on it." Baradim says softly, moving so he is closest to the vat. He scans the room carefully though, watching out for any other dangers that could be lurking nearby.

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18

Drake maneuvers and places him opposite of Baradim, distracting the enemy in the middle and providing more openings for the experienced warrior to take advantage of. When the drudge goes to block a blow from the falchion-wielding ranger, Baradim slips in with a strike of his own.

Strike #1: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (17) + 13 = 30Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (7, 3) + 4 = 14
Strike #2: 1d20 + 13 - 5 ⇒ (16) + 13 - 5 = 24Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (4, 3) + 4 = 11

If the space is cleared, he would move into the space that the drudge once had before being cut, readying himself for the next engagement.

Actions - Strike. Strike. Step.
Vitals - HP: 56/56; AC: 22/24
Reaction - Reactive Shield (Use Higher AC)

Baradim secures the urn inside of his backpack, stowing it away until it is needed. When the door was opened and the enemy became away of them, a low growl of irritation escaped the towering orc. He would march into combat, flanking the enemy between him and Finoan. He strikes twice at the beast, aiming to destroy it before they could take on more of Drake.

Strike #1 v.s. Flat-Footed: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (5) + 13 = 18Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (2, 4) + 4 = 10
Strike #2 v.s. Flat-Footed: 1d20 + 13 - 5 ⇒ (12) + 13 - 5 = 20Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (7, 3) + 4 = 14

Actions - Stride, Strike, Strike
Vitals - HP: 56/56; AC:22/24
Reactions - Reactive Shield (Use Higher AC)

"Lifting the lid would disperse the ashes. If you could lift the urn itself, then that would be acceptable." He looks between Drake and Finoan for a moment before letting his eyes settle back onto the urn itself. "I have not touched it so I cannot tell if there is more to it. Defeating the enemy's morale or getting to act against their best interests is one of the best advantages we can have. If we do not wish to take it though, I will relinquish it."

Baradim will nod, reaching into the pool. His eyes look over the area for any sneaky glyphs or traps that were not seen by him or by Finoan's keen eyes.

Perception: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 9 = 23

Once sure that it was safe to take, he would carefully pull the urn up and out of the water. Lifting it clear of the pool, he would inspect it again for any symbols or markings upon it.

Baradim hears Finoan's words and looks over the edge at the urn that lays within the pool. A thought strikes him before he looks at the others.

"It may be sacrilegious but...what if that is Vilree's mother's remains? Perhaps having them in our possession will grant us an advantage over her. She was obsessed with vengeance over what happened to her mother, she would want to protect these as much as she could if they are." Baradim offers to the group. It was a dirty tactic but when innocent lives were at risk, the orc was willing to fight as dirty as he could.

Baradim growls low, seeing that the beast continues to go after his allies rather than himself. He focuses on striking the creature down then, focusing all his strength into a downward cut before thrusting his blade through the core of it.

Power Attack: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (4) + 13 = 17Damage: 3d8 + 4 ⇒ (5, 5, 4) + 4 = 18
Strike: 1d20 + 13 - 5 ⇒ (7) + 13 - 5 = 15Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (8, 6) + 4 = 18
Hero Pointing for that first attack.
Power Attack: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (10) + 13 = 23

Keeping his shield up, Baradim focuses on the weaker of the two and strikes with his enchanted blades. He delivers two heavy slices, aiming to cut the elemental into pieces and let it unwind itself from reality.

Strike #1: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (12) + 13 = 25Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (4, 4) + 4 = 12
Strike #2: 1d20 + 13 - 5 ⇒ (8) + 13 - 5 = 16Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (6, 3) + 4 = 13

Striking with relative accuracy, he lifts his shield up again to try and hold off the foe that continued to try and rip through him.

Actions - Strike, Strike, Raise Shield
Vitals - HP: 56; AC: 24

Baradim will take the mistform elixir. Sounds like it could be useful.

Baradim rushes in from behind, setting himself between their powerful psychic and the elemental sharks. There is a momentary look of surprise on his face at their existence before he readies his shield and moves to fight. Seeing the one shark reform itself, he focuses on the same target.

Strike: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (14) + 13 = 27Damage: 2d8 + 4 ⇒ (3, 2) + 4 = 9

Actions - Move, Readied Shield, Strike
Vitals - HP 56/56; AC: 24
Conditions - None

Fin would be taking point position for stealth, scouting, and trapfinding purposes.

I'm expecting Baradim and Drake would be close behind because they don't want to be too far from the action if something goes down.

Niss would also want to stay close because it is probably safer to be next to the brawlers than quite a ways away if we are attacked from behind.

Agreed! In his fancy armor, Baradim is surprisingly stealthy.

Baradim maintains his quiet vigil, keeping himself in place where he can keep a visual on all of his companions. The news that Vilree was so close to getting her vengeance brought a deeper scowl to his face. They were so close to stopping this yet also failing everyone they knew. He had wished he told Tamli to leave with the others, just in case.

"That is the talk of a broken prisoner." He thought to himself, taking a breath and nodding in agreement with Niss. "Let us see what else we can find." He would gesture for them to try the key on the chest before readying up to take the lead alongside Fin.

"So you enjoyed your enslavement and disguised your predicament with prideful hubris. You left the Hold but did not learn anything." Baradim shakes his head, tilting it somewhat as he spoke. "She used you just as she used a man down in the nearby town. She was his lover and twisted his heart to help him poison that place." Baradim was left alone with the orc and for a moment, there was silence between them before he spoke up again.

"While I disagree with your choices and reasons, I respect your loyalty. I am not foolish enough to let you go. You would drum up support, perhaps even kill Graytusk to bring the others in line. We cannot have our flank exposed like that." He stepped to the side, grasping his blade in both hands. "Lower your head. Pray to whatever Gods please you. Let me make this clean."

In the silence of that room, before Lord Nar's throne, Baradim would wait for their prisoner to come to peace with what came next. Raising the blade in both hands, he would bring it down swiftly upon the neck of the great barbarian. A spray of blood and the fleshy sound of something hitting the ground followed. Cleaning his blade off, he would turn to join the others.

Baradim would step in, looking to his comrades for a moment and the squirming familiar. He quirked his eyebrow but it seemed that they had the situation in hand.

"The chieftain is taken care of. He will be no threat to us." The words were simple and precise but the meaning was clear. "Is this thing a danger?"

"Három nap. Ezek után menekülj." Baradim says in response to their question. It would give the Guard three days to explore and defeat Vilree and whatever machinations she had within it before the orcs fled to try and survive whatever was coming next. As they began to leave, he notices the look that remains on Finoan's face. He gives a grim nod, looking back at the others. "I will take care of this."

Looking down on the defeated warrior, Baradim would stand there for just a moment contemplating his actions. The powerful orc was dangerous and would certainly do his very best to try and escape from his bonds to come after them. What could cause such devotion in someone so rageful?

"Why do you follow Vilree so passionately? You are strong, gifted even. With some control, you could become a great chief. Do you love her? Do you think she loves you?" Baradim asks, tilting his head as he tries to understand the orc before them. If he had been rescued by Vilree and taken in at his lowest, would he be just as devoted? It was impossible to say. All that Baradim knew was Lord Nar would leave her free of her influence...or die today in her name. There was no other option.

As the orc speaks his native tongue, there is a scoffing laugh as he crouches down to look the defeated orc in the face. A condescending smirk spreads across his face, his tusks gleaming as his eyebrow lifts softly.

"Ez a mi különbségünk. Buzgó vagy. Harcos vagyok." He whispers softly, chuckling to himself before he stands back up. "He believes that Graytusk will be our undoing. He doesn't realize that we had defeated her long before we got to him." Baradim says to Drake, giving a side eye to the tied up man before him. "Always take out your greatest threat first. An enemy's logistics, their support, and then their frontline will crumble. Basic military practice."

He lets Finoan leave to deal with Graytusk, his attention turning to the remaining orcs there. Niss begins to speak with confidence to each of them, laying out the rules of mercy for them. When she mentions that she will know if they decided to betray them, his eyebrow lifting lightly.

"She has grown more powerful than I've imagined." The orc thought quietly to himself, swallowing hard before looking back over the orcs there.

"Bölcs vezéred megkímélt minket. Viszonozzuk ezt a kedvességet. Vilree megmérgezett, hogy hűséges maradjon, engedelmes legyen." Baradim says to each of them, marching down the line and taking each of them in. He holds their gaze with an intense stare before he continues speaking. "Ha akarod, menj el, de ha vársz, mi segítünk. Egyszer s mindenkorra megszabadítunk a rabszolgaságtól. Olyan leszel, mint én, meg tudod választani az életed. Válassz."

Baradim moved towards the front of the hut, readying his shield before standing firmly before the door. He would give a nod to Niss, keeping her secured in the corner before he banged his shield and gave out a growl.

"Your leader is caught! Lord Nar sits trapped, beaten, and your defenses breached! Drop your blades and the mercy you showed will be returned! If you refuse, your bones will remain here, forgotten. Choose!" Baradim shouts, the guttural roar of his voice breaching the tent.

Intimidate: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (16) + 11 = 27

Actions - Stride. Ready Shield. Intimidate.
Vitals - HP: 56/56; AC: 24

Baradim looks down at the once proud Lord Nar, ambushed and disarmed, before he flipped his sword around in his hands. The vicious being was incredibly dangerous, incredibly deadly, and there was part of him that simply wanted to end the threat. Instead though, he would bring that pommel downwards.

Strike v.s. Flatfooted: 1d20 + 13 - 2 ⇒ (18) + 13 - 2 = 29Damage (Non-Lethal): 2d6 + 4 ⇒ (3, 5) + 4 = 12

"A debt paid." Baradim would mutter, taking out his rope and moving to begin tying the barbarian lord up.

Actions - Strike. Interact. Interact.

Baradim would quietly enter into the throne room of Lord Nar, his eyes taking in the scenes of dedication upon the wall before focusing upon the slouched, sleeping figure that was Lord Nar himself. Drawing his weapon in hand, he would approach quietly and level his blade at the orc's chest.

Killing in cold blood was not his preference but Baradim's mind was not focused on what was honorable, what was gentlemanly, or acceptable. In war, all that mattered was victory and sparing those that were innocent. Lord Nar was a fervent follower; his death would rattle the rest of the orcs. With his blade becoming still, he drives forward with every bite of strength that he has.

Power Attack: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (4) + 13 = 17Damage: 3d8 + 4 ⇒ (3, 2, 4) + 4 = 13

"The orcs are sleeping, perhaps unarmored and without their weapons nearby. We strike at them where they rest, incapacitate those we can, and I shall distract Lord Nar. I have been preparing for our next encounter against one another." Baradim says, looking down at Graytusk. "We will try to spare those we can. A return for your mercy. Then we shall end the monstrosity that she has created and you have protected."

His attention turns towards Finoan, ready to follow the saboteur back out into the daylight and towards the barracks where their enemies awaited them.

The door goes crashing down as Niss's psionic power comes crashing forward. Coming in after Finoan, Baradim's towering form stands tall amidst the room. His eyes lock upon Graytusk and he readies his shield, stepping in closer towards her. He readies his blade but he flips it to the flat of the blade.

"I assume her alchemical concoctions keep you pliable. That or addicted." Baradim grunts before swinging his blade to catch her off-guard with it. "You spared us last time but our work is not done. Those who surrender will be given the same mercy. Vilree's work must be stopped!"

Actions. Raise Shield. Strike.

Strike: 1d20 + 13 - 2 ⇒ (14) + 13 - 2 = 25Damage (Non-Lethal): 2d6 + 4 ⇒ (1, 5) + 4 = 10

Baradim gives a nod, moving up beside the door to listen in as best as he could. He would translate what he heard to the others, his eyes focused on the tired guards up above.

Climb: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18

The orc leaps up, grabbing ahold of the hanging corpse's rope before hand over hand scaling upwards. The smell of death does little to deter him from his goal as he scales over the top of wall like creeping death.

Nodding with the others, he would move to follow Finoan with sword and shield drawn across the open territory and towards the darkened shelter of the tower. It would limit the effect of their numbers and provide a space for both himself and the others to rain down pain upon those unwilling to surrender.

Stealth (FtE): 1d20 + 7 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 7 + 2 = 19

~~~The Morning~~~

Baradim rose that morning and banished the thoughts of their setbacks behind him. It was a new day, a new battle to be won, and regret would be unbecoming of a soldier of Lastwall to live on regrets. He ate silently, dressed in his armor, and let his fingers grace over the leather necklace with Tamli's hair within it. When he was ready, he would stand before the woman and despite the difference in size, he felt no bigger or smaller before her. A fierce denmother, she was.

"Háborúba, dicsőségbe. Szeretlek." Leaning down, his lips would find hers in a quick kiss. His battle against Lord Nar had shown him how quickly life could be taken from him. He could not risk his life again without tasting peace one last time. He would pull away, his hands lingering on her arms for a moment, before climbing upon his horse. War called and blood needed spilling.

~~~Outside The Cradle~~~

Baradim regards Noala for a moment, eyeing her before giving her a nod of thanks. He gives the others a chance to say goodbye before taking the lead back along the path to Spite's Cradle.

~~~At The Fort~~~

"Scale the walls and get inside, if we can. We'll follow your lead to the wall Finoan. I will climb one rope, Drake the other. You and Niss will follow in behind us." Baradim said softly, keeping his weapons and shield holstered before he looks at the others. Giving them a nod, he would follow the lead of whoever moves first to try and quietly make it across.

Baradim will Follow The Expert to try and get that bonus to his Stealth.

Stealth: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (7) + 7 = 14

If we make it across unnoticed, Baradim has an appropriately orc-like plan to scale the walls unnoticed.

"Alright. I will follow your leads. I just don't think most will give up their defensible position to give chase." Baradim said with worry, giving up his position though nonetheless. They would need to draw out Lord Nar, lead the other orcs into traps, and not be pincushioned all the while. "Let me know how I can help preparations."

You are right! There is not but there are penalties to just relying on it more than anything else.

"At night, I can see from here..." Baradim starts, looking into the distance. "To there. In the day, I can see much further. If we are scaling down the mountainside, we do not want to be spotted earlier and targeted by bows and arrows." With just 60ft of darkvision, their enemy would be more limited than a bright day. Even more so if they are not given a reason to look up at all.

"I would lead us through the dark. You three would follow my lead. I expect the fortress will be well-lit to ensure there is no infiltration. Even if we can see in the dark, we prefer the light of the sun or the torch." He offers, looking to the other two. "What do the McClains think? I do agree with tindertwigs and smokesticks to distract and disorient our enemy as best as we can."

"If we are able to procure climbing equipment, we may be able to attack them from above. That'll allow us to better eliminate their ranged support and force their frontline to rearrange against us." Baradim suggests, rubbing his chin lightly. "I am worried to have anyone cause a distraction verbally; I am no skilled liar but I do not know the rest of your capabilities. There is also the chance that should things escalate, our distractor could become...a liability." Baradim knew the closeness of everyone here; if one should come into grave danger then the others would take risks to rescue them. What could work initially could be turned against them.

"If we could get our hands on alchemist's fire or smoke bombs, we can also control the battlefield that way. Limit what the enemy can see and set fire to powerful positions. We attack at night, where they must rely on torches and their darkvision to assist them." Baradim offers to the others, rubbing at his chin in contemplation. "That is the best I can think of for now, at least. What do you all think?"

Throughout the celebration, Baradim appeared both equally happy and also confused. The mating rituals of mankind were confusing and complicated. Didn't they know you could just move in with one another and that was that? Regardless though, he was happy to have the evening with those that he chose and Drake and Niss both seemed quite pleased with themselves.

"Indeed. The amount of food here is unnecessary. Same with the drink. All these extra words to say what should already be felt...doesn't make sense..." Baradim muttered, drinking from his cup with a slightly colored blush to his cheek. The wine was good and felt refreshing down his throat, chasing away his doubts of the fortress. The night was spent beside Tamli, watching the others dance before being dragged out to the merriment of a town that never had a chance to see an orc struggle with his feet.

"You are right, I said the very same to them. I just..." She pulls him closer and for most, they would her the complaining grunt escaping from him. On his face was a slowly spreading smirk though as he looked down at the slightly irritated woman. She would've made a powerful clan-mother back in the Hold and an absolute nightmare for any arrogant warrior. "No more." Baradim surrendered, knowing better than to get in her way. She was right again. Self-pity was no excuse to not prepare oneself, to not prepare for the battle ahead.

Lord Nar was powerful and dangerous. If he could knock the weapon from his hand though, what was the warrior without their weapon? The anger, the ferocity, it had burned through most of his fear. He knew they could succeed. He had seen the danger his allies could become, the terrors on the battlefield. It was his duty to ensure that they would be able to. He would need to gather them, see what money remained, and what they could prepare with.

That was a plan for tomorrow. For today, he needed to rest and let his scars begin to form.

No wave is returned to Ser Lawren, though Baradim makes sure to keep the urge from looking away from taking hold. He gives only a nod as they draw closer to them. Tamli emerges and his face twitches as the feeling of shame begins to take over slightly. He takes a breath and dismounts, letting his hand run over the mane of the horse named Catalan for a moment before he can find the courage to speak up.

Drake speaks up first though and Baradim's fingers grip just slightly through the dark hair and he releases a sigh. To try and paint a pretty picture was useless and not his way; Drake's words were correct. Finoan spoke up and Baradim shook his head, agreeing that the meals should be had here. Less faces to have to look at and explain defeat to. The group begins to finally depart, leaving him alone with Tamli.

"Drake is right; fifteen or so orc warriors. One by the name of Lord Nar, a zealot of Vilree. There is another, an archer who was willing to let us go. We were soundly defeated, it is through our enemy's mercy that we survived." Baradim looks towards her for a moment, golden-yellow eyes studying her face for a moment before he looks away. "We have decided to return, prepare more, and attempt another attack. It was not a complete waste...but...it was not good. Not good at all."

Baradim is quiet as they begin to fall back, the protective instinct in him remaining until he was sure that they were out of range of the javelin. Even then, he stayed close enough that should an arrow come, it'd have to go through him. The orcs stayed though, their weapons lowered even as Lord Nar roared in impotence at being held back.

Sheathing his blade, Baradim is quiet as he goes over what had gone right and what had gone wrong in the battle. Lord Nar seemed to leave his weak hand's side open to counter-attacks but the sheer force and speed at which he wielded his maul was underestimated. The warrior wasn't even sure if he could even keep up with it.

When Finoan spoke to him, it was almost as if the orc hadn't heard him. They had travelled with Baradim long enough though that they knew the man liked to speak directly and use as few words as possible. Taking a breath, he answered as best as he could.

"The tribes of the hold were as varied as human cultures; though violence was usually at the heart of it all. Even the kindest tribes survived on equal parts of raiding and trading, others through slavery and raids. For some, slavery is just part of life and even a chance to impress their masters to rise above the chains. The oppressed becomes the oppressor. Enough are given such a chance and it becomes the dream rather than escape."

"We give them the same courtesy; when they are beaten we offer surrender. Those who do not are struck down. Those that do are allowed the chance to flee." He answers simply, shaking his head. "However, there seems to be a power difference. The woman understood her position of power. Lord Nar wished only for bloodshed. She may be reasonable, he is a zealot."

"If we attack again, we will need to change the circumstances. Attack at night, preferably from the cliffside. We may need to resupply. With proper arrows or tools, we could set some of the fort aflame as a distraction as well." Baradim mused, rubbing his chin. "There is potential in all of it there. I am unsure though. A forward attack seems foolish and we will not be offered a second mercy." There was obvious something troubling the orc as he traveled with them, his scowl deep even for having been beaten.

"We recovered well and learned well. We know their numbers, their tactics, and can predict responses. It is...a defeat...but not a costly one." Baradim says, as much for himself as it was for the others. "I...grew overconfident and nearly jeopardized your lives for it. For that, I apologize."

Baradim's eyes weakly open as he sits up slowly, spitting out another wad of saliva and blood before standing up warily. His arms are tired, heavy, and slow. He steadies himself for a moment, weary eyes looking over the fortified position of their enemy.

"Your master wishes to slay children, the infirm, the innocent! She is not worthy of such devotion." Baradim shouts, slowly lowering his shield downwards as he takes a step back. "Belzken's Hold is no more, you do not need to cling to its violent ways. We can be better."

Finoan's words catch in his ear and he turns his head, looking back at the fierce woman. Through his bloody tusks, he grins and gives a small nod.

"Listen to the cat-man, he is right. We shall be alright. Any battle you can walk away from is a victory in some way." Baradim says, stepping backwards but never showing his back to the enemy. He raises his blade to point at Lord Nar, nodding. "You are chosen, you say. Chosen for what though. Think on it, kin."

Big yikes. Both myself and Drake are immediately downed, it would seem. Go backline go!