Charlene F. Oftenseen's page

"Bryn, you seem to have the idea about what to do. So who goes on Finwa's team and who goes with Mittens?" Charlene seems fine accepting the tall musician's leadership.

Charlene frowns, pulling back to their hiding place behind a broom shrub near the camp. Leaning towards the rest, she whispers, "I don't want to slaughter a village. It looks like a lot of noncombatants there. Mister Romycas, can these Gomoktooths be reasoned with? Or should we just cut our way in and release the slaves? Those dog-goyles are going to come after us, I bet. Is everyone armed?"

At the words 'some hours', Charlene gently slides the long sword back into its sheath, settling it with a small *click*.

"Is it in this direction?" Charlene points in the direction they were heading to recover the balloon. "If it is, then we're all going the same way anyway. Poor Finwa's building will go to waste, but we will get to our objective all that much faster."

Charlene bows her head. "If you're determined to go after the slavers, then let's go - let's all go. Maybe some of them can be of help with the Goromtooths, too. Mister Romycas, can you lead us there? Our not-fighters can carry the child and perhaps scout for us, very quietly."

"What?"Charlene grimaces at Brynjard, "Do you know that the slavers are Goromotooths or are you guessing? I thought the Gorms are some sort of animals, while slavery - while reprehensible - takes some level of intelligence and organization. And if you can be patient, Mr. Romycas, we can all decide which way to go -- together. We are stronger in numbers." The acerbic manager sets her jaw firmly.

Charlene regards Finwa with confusion. "Wait, what? Why are we retrieving slaves? I mean, is slavery even illegal here? Our mission is to get the balloon. I'm not sure what you mean, get up high where they can't reach you. Do the Gormtooths live among tall trees? Are they unable to climb high? We don't know any of that, do we? It seems like you're making a lot of assumptions that, if incorrect, could put your lives at risk." She looks around a bit and realizes how callous she might have sounded. "Sure, I mean we can rescue the slaves and all. I just think we should do it together, not split up and get all of us killed by diluting our forces. And that pushes our recovery of the balloon back even farther. I'm not sure Mittens can stand that."

"Slaves?" Charlene snarls, "Is slavery common here?"

Steel rings as Charlene swiftly draws her keen blade. She stands over Romycas, frowning. "Did they pursue you? Will they track you here?" She looks at the others keenly. "We may need to prepare for attack."

"Stupid thing. I'm not going to hurt you unless you hurt me first," Charlene says pointlessly to the cowering little creature. She pulls a tiny hank of hair from her ponytail and touches her blade to it, severing it instantly, then holds the strands out to the strange beast. "If you want it, take it." She sheathes her sword to keep from scaring the thing further.

Charlene half-draws her sword. "I vote for eating them sliced and diced -- if they're not intelligent, that is," she says sternly, "Now shoo! Go away before we eat you!" She waves the other hand at the nearest creature in a 'get you gone' motion.

If they don't seem to understand her, she leaves the shelter and draws her sword fully, ready to chop one.

"Surely it's not your first time, Bryn," Charlene deadpans as she re-enters the main bower area, satisfied that everything outside is secure. She holds her ponytail with one hand and shoos the beast away with the other.

"Maybe I need a brick to the head," Charlene mutters most unromantically. She exits to make a perimeter of the camp and ensure it's relatively secure.

Charlene watches the pervy bard walk away and sighs. "I'm not sure I can sleep, but I sure as hell would like to be unconscious," she mutters, picking up the remnants of the meal and disposing of them far away from the campsite, so as not to attract scavengers to their strange bower.

"Pressure cooking presumes a vessel which can hold the pressure, of course... unless you can do that with, er, whatever you call the powers you have. We can cook what you bring separately, Mr. Boomshot, so you can at least enjoy it if we cannot. Turble may be able to eat it as well."

She sighs and begins, "Cooking is so hard without a counter or table..." then stops abruptly and gives Finwa a guilty glance, hoping the catwoman was asleep.

"It may be wiser to serve items separately, since we don't know everyone's tastes. No point glomming them all together only to find nobody will eat it. We can get fancier in time." And Charlene digs through the stores while Bryn starts a fire, unpacking utensils and foodstuffs enough for everyone.

"If the rest of you could fetch water and forage for fresh herbs, roots, or fruits, that would be very helpful," she tells the newcomers, eyeing them skeptically. God, I doubt they'll be able to manage that.

"Well... I seem to be the Weakest Link here, vision-wise. We should probably start looking for a place to set up camp. No point stumbling onto the Grokteeth in the dark. Who knows? They may be able to see at night as well." Charlene glumly munches part of the beef bun, then offers the rest to Turble, if he wants it.

"Um... no idea, really. If you think it's best to camp now, that sounds fine. Arriving there in the daylight is definitely something we want to do, unless you can see in the dark." The manager ponders a moment. "Er... can you? See in the dark, that is?"

Charlene watches the halfling pileup with some bemusement. "It's probably wise to be safe rather than sorry. Speaking of powers..." She rounds on the spiky-haired newcomer, all business again. "You there. Have you ever done that thing with the dust - the air and the dust, I suppose - before? I mean, did you do that at home?"

"We're going on a safari, as advertised," Charlene says cheerily, "You have your machete? Or some weapon? How are you going to hunt eight-armed flying gorillas without one?"

Our gracious GM gave me a reroll when my first ones were not Scottish.

Charlene looks at Mittens curiously. "He wasn't in the reality you came from... could your technical hijinks... I mean, uh, your technical brilliance... have pulled him from another reality, somehow? I remember reading about infinite potential realities in some layperson's science magazine. It sounded like physicists believed it could be real - many universes, I mean. They had no clue how to communicate between them." She regards the small feline with ill-concealed and growing awe.

Charlene looks at the helmeted hovercat with some puzzlement. "Safari? Was there a safari, too?"

Cupping her hands around her mouth, she calls in the direction of the ruckus, "This is the Safari! Deathmatch Safari, right here!"

Are there others from home here, too? What... what *is* this place?

"We've got the map and the manpower. Let's get on the road before noon, shall we?" Charlene nods at the map-holder. "Lead the way, or at least point us in the right direction. Maybe Turble or Belzac can lead since they're from around here."

As the group heads for the street, Charlene drops back to give Hugh a quick hug and peck on the cheek and to whisper in his ear. "Thanks for everything. We'll be back."

"IF they are still there. And if they are intact. Who knows what the Groktoofs might have done to them?" Charlene interjects glumly, pulling her long hair back to bind it into a ponytail with a leather strap as she surveys the morning activity. "But I'm with Turble. If we're all healed and rested, let's be on our way. Unless we need to get Bryn to a vet." She scrutinizes the musician closely and nods, apparently satisfied.

Lowering her voice, she leans in to the group and tries not to be overheard. "I wish there was something we could do to repay Hugh for his hospitality. Can, uh, can you think of anything? If not, we should be on watch for something we could bring back for him."

Charlene's hand shoots out and grabs the collar of Turble's tunic as he leaps at the man pestering her. "Tsk, make a liar of me? Shame on you! I told him he could keep his hand if he took it away, and his life too!" She releases the fierce being once the man falls, trusting him not to kick a man who is already down. "I think we're no longer welcome here. It's such a shame. The company was so delightful! Come along, Verpien." She slides her sword back into its sheath as she speaks, so it is difficult to tell if she's addressing Turble or the sword.

"Kittington is right. I was thinking the floor, along with a great quantity of your blood." Charlene swiftly draws her blade and holds it in a ready position. "I've already died once. You don't really scare me, you lascivious rube. You all just back off now, and we'll be on our way. Wait, let me put it in your language. You sit. We leave. Nobody die. You not sit. Big trouble. Stupid trouble."

Charlene looks with disdain at the hand on her shoulder. "Remove it or I'll remove it for you."

"Well, uh... fine. Whatever. It's probably safer for all of us if we go together. More targets. Why don't you come with us?" Charlene keeps her best 'dealing with temperamental musicians' game face on.

"Ugh, instruments are notoriously fickle, what with needing the proper resonant frequencies to make the right notes. He probably needs his own instrument back. Though I thought dwarves were more likely to play drums. Maybe he can use one of those. Hey, if we're going to get your balloon from the Gurkateeth, maybe we can get his flute, too, and he'll pay us!"

Charlene moseys over to the annoyed musician. "How much of a finder's fee is there on your flute? We're going up there anyway. If we can get it, how much will you give us? And why do they want it?"

"Maybe a little, but mostly because of the happy ending. Didn't seem like a good message for little girls. 'Stay home and be happy with what you have.' Yeah, right."

"You should have been fitted with a proper mic. Perhaps integrated with your helmet. You should NOT have had to worry about holding one. But anyway. I didn't know the Gormtooths - Gormteeth? - whatever - could fly. This is like the Wizard of Oz."

Charlene sighs wistfully. "I always hated that movie."

Charlene shakes her head. "Everywhere I go, it's the same thing - musicians griping at their managers. Gripe, gripe, gripe. Like it's the manager's responsibility to look after their instruments or something." She watches the altercation with a sort of wistful half-smile.

Test post to see if the campaign will come back to my pbp listing. It has vanished.

Charlene nods sharply. "If we can't drag him to a doctor, we'll drag the doctor to Hugh's. Either way, he's going to get vetted."

It's difficult to tell from her straight face if she is making a joke or not.

Oops, didn't notice Finwa had already grabbed the map. I was worried we'd leave it behind!

"Does Mr. Silenoz look and act normal to you, Finwa? I mean, normal for him?" Charlene eyes the tall Nord narrowly.

"You were injured by those beasts, Mr. Silenoz. You may have an infection, or a disease. Who knows what they carry? Before we go kiting off to find the balloon, we need everyone in top physical condition. That means Turble needs to eat and regain strength, and we need to have you checked out by a doctor. Right? Right," Charlene says crisply, in a very no-nonsense manner.

Charlene frowns and looks to Turble. "Is there a doctor in town? A physican? Leech? I think we better have Mr. Silenoz checked out. He's not himself."

Charlene grips the mayor's forearm again. "Thank you so much for all your help. It was most unexpected. Torble is welcome to join us, though our journey will likely be hazardous. Still, he will be fed and protected, not treated as chattel."

She withdraws with the others, picking up the map, a plate of food, and a pack full of supplies on her way out. "Here," she shoves the plate of food at Torble, "The mayor said we were welcome to it and you certainly need it."

She turns to Bryn, noting his dazed appearance. "Are you all right? You look odd. Are you ill?"

"Verpien, eh?" Charlene muses, "I've been pondering a good name for this."

With a swift, smooth motion, she draws her silvery blade and holds it before her, ringing. "I name you Verpien, for you are my protector, and my friends'," she proclaims, admiring its gleaming length. With a sigh of regret, she re-sheathes the freshly-named blade.

"With all due respect, Mayor Marbro, I am probably more capable at protecting myself than this, uh, Turble is, however well-intentioned you both may be. As for a mate, I assure you that is unnecessary. We will not be here long enough for any such needs, not once we find Ms. Meowselsworth's balloon. In fact, if anybody deserves protection, it is she. She is essential to our plans. I am not."

Fair enough, Charlene thinks, observing the scene in silence and nodding approvingly when Tonkleson is dragged off.

She wonders what a gnoll is, and watches the newcomer curiously.

Charlene snorts and rolls her eyes. "Really, Bryn. I'm certain the Mayor is very busy, so let's get down to business."

She strides forward briskly, offering her hand to the mayor. "Mayor Marbro? I'm Charlene Oftenseen. My associates and I are recent arrivals to the area and Ms. Meowselsworth has lost her hot air balloon. We've been told you might have it or know where it is." Charlene indicates the hovering helmetcat with a tilt of her head and gives the mayor a tight smile. "I hate to trouble a busy woman with such a trivial request, but we are at a dead end. We would greatly appreciate its return if you can point us in the right direction."

"I understand, believe me," Charlene whispers to the impatient hovercat, "But if this world is anything like ours, it helps to have some grease for the wheels, if you know what I mean. We have to have some reason for the Mayor to turn over your balloon, or we're likely to be caught in one of those I'll return your balloon, but first you must get rid of such-and-such a menace for me situations."

Charlene steps up to the table and picks up one of the bowls, returning it to the backpack.

"There's no point in trying to bargain with such a sharp businessman, Bryn. The gentleman obviously knows what he is doing and is far too shrewd to triple his offer."

She picks up another and places it with the first.

"We'll be better off setting up our own market booth for Finwa's work."

She sets another in the pack.

"After all, that way we won't have to pay a middleman here. We'll have pure profit. It won't be triple what we can make selling to this gentleman, it'll be quintuple"

She reaches for the remaining items.

Charlene pulls off her pack and looks at the table for a moment, then back at Finwa, obviously thinking. She hands the pack to the smaller woman.

"I think they'd be more likely to give a better price if you did the selling, Ms. Finwa. I don't see anybody else like you around here, and there might be some - pardon me - novelty value to your wares. Go on, give it a try. He looks friendly."

"You can try, but I have nothing to sell... except myself," Charlene mutters pensively, "NO! No, not that." She shoots Bryn a look. "I mean as a sell-sword. If they need them here. Or I could see if any of the merchants need a bookkeeper. I wonder if there's a bank in this town..."

She looks around carefully at the various signs as they go, but stays close to the group, particularly the smaller people so they don't get crushed in the crowd.

Charlene takes the opportunity to change quickly into the new, strange clothing, then hurries to join the others at the maps, shaking her head in disbelieve. "Well, Toto, I think we're not in Kansas anymore. Let's go see if the Mayor has our balloon. Be sure to wait until everyone's aboard before casting off!"

Though her words are slightly loopy, she seems to have hysteria under some measure of control.

Charlene sits quietly in the wagon as the others speak to the guards, acutely self-conscious of her torn and blood-crusted clothing and still wondering what they could possibly have of value to the people of the village. Besides that. She'd rather take her chances in the woods.

She descends from the wagon and tries to help unhitch Millie, though she is unaccustomed to how harnesses are fastened. Once Hugh has finished, she steps in front of him awkwardly.

"Er... I just wanted to.. to, uh... say thank you for the sword. It's, uh, quite beautiful. And useful. Elegant, you might say. And I understand, well, how it must have been to give it up. Having been your, er, daughter's. And all. Well. Thanks."

Charlene finishes stacking the wood and leans the maul against the woodpile, then takes Bryn's hand to get into the wagon. "I'm fine, thank you Leoian."

She settles in the back of the wagon with her sword in her lap, picking ruefully at her torn and bloody clothing. "I hope I can get some clothing in the village. I look a wreck."

Charlene picks up the split sections of log and stacks them neatly onto the split pile, then sets another whole log on end and thwacks the maul firmly into it. She looks up at Bryn's question. "No, not at all. It's more like therapy. And payment. It is not the thing itself but what it represents." She thinks seriously for a moment. "And yet, sometimes a cigar is just a smoke."

Charlene regards Mittens solemnly. "I feel exactly the same way. I'll stay out here and hit things with an axe for a while."