Thank you for the kind words. It's completely mutual, my friend .)
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Beren gets drunk in front of your eyes. The next day, suffering from a hangover, he will not want to go anywhere, and later he will go on a binge for a week and will shoot back with a crossbow if you try to take away his drink. It seems that you will have to go to the Mournlands without him...
EltonJ, for a number of reasons, I am now forced to withdraw from most of the PbP games where I am currently participating. Thank you for this trip, but at this point I have to leave you. Good luck to all the players, you are awesome! GM, please remove me from this game. Thanks!
Beren raises his glass, nods, and takes a long sip without clinking glasses.
Fine. Beren lights a new cigarette, having barely extinguished the previous one.
Beren lights a cigarette right at the entrance and frowns around the tavern. Lots of good wine. It's been a hard day that feels like a few months. We were hanging out with some young klutz with a dragon mark, and the locals were constantly trying to pick on us or rob us, however unsuccessfully... Anyway, I need wine.
A pickpocket is probably very surprised when suddenly a bolt of a loaded crossbow rests directly on his liver. Not worth it.
Indeed, I'd rather visit an orc village than most of the Dragomark Houses. It's nothing personal, guys.
People use people as consumables. Always and everywhere. Beren lights another cigarette. It seems to him that they have been discussing this for months, for ages, although in reality life is just a rapid leap from oblivion into oblivion. It's a good thing I didn't have time to have children. He doesn't say anything out loud, just waits for his companions to finish their business with this kid and remember why they're here.
It seems to Beren that he is surrounded again, as when in the war when their company was surrounded by an army of goblins... He can still hear those screams... Beren nervously lights a cigarette without looking around...
Are we not alone again? Beren retreats to the corner of the room, with his back to the walls, and slightly opens the skirts of his cloak so that it is easier to draw a crossbow and shoot.
Beren shrugs his shoulders. It is gratifying that his companions are good people. Few people put Beren on this list either, so he decides that it's just none of his business.
When the hobgoblin departs, Beren lights a cigarette. I exaggerated a little, by the way. Just for the record...
Beren saw a lot of scum in the alleys of Sharn, where the sun never hits, and was never afraid of them. As a military commissar, even before that, he had seen many scum from among the deserters and looters. And the essential difference between the latter and the former was that murder was their profession. But he always managed, both there and there. Do you know what is the difference between a city and a rural area? In the war, when we captured a prisoner somewhere in a war zone, we needed to get information. But we were not allowed to make a fire, and without a hot iron, torture becomes very tedious. Besides, it was impossible to allow the prisoner to scream, it could lead someone on our trail. But the cities... Cities are something completely different. You can make a fire here. And there are plenty of deep basements where you can scream until you rip your throat out, but absolutely no one will hear you. All this time, Beren is boring into the hobgoblins with a hard look. And then he smiles terribly. It is not the smile itself that causes horror, but the absence of a hint of a smile in the eyes, as if he is an animated soulless doll. I love cities... And you guys?
Beren casts an appraising glance at the half-orc. Definitely. I missed the apple trees in the garden so much.
Even some of the locals are discussing the schema found in Sharn. Beren will whisper gloomily, "inadvertently" catching up with the others. And there's an Emerald Claw hanging around. Where they are there are problems.
Beren walks through the market, trying to keep up, but at the same time a little apart. He knows the goblin language and listens to conversations here and there. What are people talking about on the streets?
Beren takes aim, but then a new coughing fit shakes him extremely at the wrong time.
Your move, gentlemen. Beren will move deeper into the ship, away from the edge where the sahuagins will get out so as not to be in close combat with them.
Beren starts shooting.
After shooting off the entire mag from his mechanical crossbow, Beren reloads it with a very unperturbed look.
> He wakes up and weakly says, "Sahuagin." It seems we should expect guests.
A habit acquired in the war. He flicks the ashes into the sea. It's killing me, but my body has already adjusted so much to this poison that the absence of this poison will kill me even faster. About like life itself, right?
Drink moderately. Smoke a lot. Look at the water philosophically. Think about the impermanence of an empty and meaningless life.
Beren shrugs his shoulders. Lucky, he thinks, but luck won't always be with us.
Most of those who could say that don't say anything anymore.
"What is your name, sir!" Name's Beren... Command.
"Is there anything I can do to help? Is it the sea air or is there it due to an affliction or similar that I could try to heal?" They say that this requires magic so expensive that few people can afford it... Not to mention that it is not entirely clear where to look for such a healer. It's cancer. Well... I've lived longer than most in this war anyway, it's a sin to complain. _______
If you need more hands, just tell me, Captain.
Trouble creeps on our heels like a jackal following the smell of the blood of a wounded man, running at random through the wild forest, until fever and blood loss finally finish him off and this jackal eats his carrion... Beren throws his cigarette butt overboard. You're definitely right, Lia.
I don't know anything about "fire-arms" either. Is it something like Burning Hands? I've heard of such a spell from magicians. Beren lights a new cigarette and takes out his multi-shot crossbow from under the hem of his long doublet. It looks like a regular heavy crossbow, but with a drum that quickly changes bolts while automatically pulling the string. The pinnacle of technical thought, which never entered mass production during the war. Firstly, it is expensive. Secondly, as we know, the war ended extremely unexpectedly - did not have time... Five bolts, one by one. Before you need to recharge, most of the enemies will already be dead. The basics are like everywhere else. You aim at the target and pull the trigger. Then repeat it. Repeat. Repeat... Well, you get it. He puts the crossbow back. Tell me about yourself. The journey is long and dangerous, probably we should get to know each other. Meaningless but pleasant chatter in the company of doomed desperate heads moving at double speed towards the inevitable. Moments of warmth that will dissolve into the cold and darkness of pain and loss, which basically make up our lives... Beren is distracted for a moment when he listens to the answers of his comrades as he goes deep into his thoughts, but a new coughing fit after another puff brings him back to reality.
Lia, what do you suggest I do while we're sailing?
Beren smokes and looks inside himself... He just doesn't notice this scene.
Yes, it is, Beren thought. We are all philosophers. We are all trying to understand the meaning of existence in order to find some kind of consolation for our endless suffering in this understanding. This is the meaning of religion, philosophy and other nonsense that we live in. But out loud he just says, no kid, I'm just a veteran who's looking for peace after everything he's seen.
Beren silently counts out fifty gold coins and goes to indulge in thoughts about the meaning of life, or rather its meaninglessness.
Beren smokes and looks into the distance from the deck of the ship. We're all like a boat that's spinning in a storm. We manage our lives no more than sailors who are pulled into deep waters and tossed from side to side on giant waves, and it is so dark with clouds and rain that it is not possible to understand where to sail and why to sail because the end is inevitable. That's the way we are... We are carried by the storms of life and only pretend that we are in control of something, clutching convulsively at the sides of the boat. His thoughts are interrupted by a particularly severe coughing fit.
Let's not get confused. We are not sent for Aeren, but for the creation scheme. We're not saving Aeren, we're just using him if he's useful for the search. The one who chose to live in Mournland... Does not need our salvation.
By the way, this system -Coriolis- is quite popular in Russia, as it was translated into Russian at a very good moment - there are no competitors except Starfinder, which is still in another genre (more like fantasy in space). There are always these games at any convention. However, I haven't played Coriolis myself until now .) Maybe someday...
Sounds cool.
If you survive after this journey, Karsh'e, which is unlikely, you will have one. Beren coughs again, nods and agrees to participate in this mission.
I am happy that you will finance this expedition... Beren starts coughing heavily and covers the lot with a handkerchief. When he takes the handkerchief away from his face, a little blood is visible on it. He hastily hides the handkerchief so that no one notices. ...Like I said, I'm happy. But how much will you pay us for the search? The world is full of evil without the Lord of Blades. I could fire a couple of bolts at any evil, not necessarily at this one. What is the reward?
Beren shoots somewhere hard over warforged's head...
Beren nods about protection, but goes to the farthest corner and turns the table over, creating a barricade so that he can shoot, but it was difficult to get to him. |