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The commander nudges Urist and glances towards the group. "And while you're trading, don't forget raw materials. They're cheaper, and we can always use them to craft the things we need. Assuming we can coordinate our talents." "I'm a practiced stonemason, and Urist is..." she glances at the smiling, absent-minded dwarf as he examines the onyx. "...prone to fey moods. When you catch him at a good time and you've got the right materials, he can imbue a small trinket with a some magic."
The commander stomps on the skeletona as she marches forward, bringing her axe down on the next animated corpse.
The commander lets out a battlecry as she lays into her next enemy.
Helga wastes no time. "We're pushing through! Smash every last one of them!"
The commander looks over the assembled loot as she silently contemplates what to do with it. Perhaps she'll assign a favored vanguard and suggest they recieve the bulk of protective items in exchange for using them? Perhaps some system of fictional currency to be earned in combat and spent in the bidding for items found? Urist always did have a better head for numbers. Perhaps if he would... The screaming ruins her train of thought. Acting on instinct, she grasps her axes and rushes towards the source of the sound. Urist does his best to keep up with his stympy legs, if only to keep Helga from tearing herself free of their shared tether!
Helga speaks up as she holds her axes up, inspecting them."Sometimes we kill goblins, too." Satisfied, she brings it down once more to crush the skeleton's skull. "It's a grim and bloody business, but it's a job that has to be done."
"Better idea. I tear the WHOLE DAMN THING DOWN!" It's hard to tell, but it wouldn't be a reach to assume that Helga is grinning underneath her mask as she lays into her opponent.
Helga maneuvers around, wedging herself the undead's rapidly shrinking elbow room. "Hey! You've had your time! Back to the boneyard with you!"
Helga takes several steps back, not wanting to turn the crowded hall into an even bigger cluster of bodes. "Lure 'em out into the open!"
The commander does her best to avoid direct contact with any of the migrants. Naturally, with Urist's friendly attitude and their 50 foot range reverse restraint order, this is quite difficult. She instead does her best to stand stoically and proud, answering questions with a few words a piece when absolutely necessary.
"There was a Dwarf named Jeblik, says the commander quite sharply, cutting Urist off. "Spent too much time in the mines alone. Brain went soft, and he thought he was a goblin." AS Urist gives her a surprised expression, she looks him in the eye and taps the side of her head. "We had to kill him. The end. Let's focus on what's in front of us, it could be another attacker."
The commanders follows along with the group, moving forward to plug up a hole in their front line. Axes at the ready, she braces herself just in case this thing is faster than it looks. Readied action, in case the ooze gets into melee: [damage=1d8+4[/dice]
The commander wordlessly wipes her stained axes on the floors before she marches in step with the team, just behind Boomer and Goggeck. She stands at the ready for the very real possibility that this will turn into a rescue mission. Meanwhile, Urist follows along while silently attempting to recall an old recipe for Roasted Roach Brain. He could have sworn he once heard of it from a chef back in the Old Fort.
The commander continues her rampage against the roaches, swinging wildly while shouting a few colorful dwarven curses.
Helga Silverbrew looks around at the skittering pests and grits her teeth. "Filthy! Absolutely filthy! Men, get these bugs OUT OF MY FORT!" With that, she begins swinging for the fences.
Hey hey, juuust a heads up for any of you Society players. Yours truly has an author credit on the latest Pathfinder quest and considering our shared interests you guys might find it interesting.
The commander finishes her lap and stands before the group, looking them over with her arms folded. Ectoplasmic blood still oozes from her wounds, but she holds herself quite steady and stern. "Every moment that the filth continues to infest these halls fills me with even more disgust." Her eyes focus on the dwarves (and gnome!) one at a time. "But I'm not going to have Urist dragging your rotting carcasses behind him for the rest of our journey."
The sudden sensation of violence provokes the commander to swing blindly in that direction!
The commander grits her teeth and digs in her heels, waiting for her now unseen opponent to strike. Hopefully, she can bite back harder.
The commander's eyes light up as she marches forward, her features visibly contorted by anger even underneath her mask. "Your time is over, spirit. It's time we put you to rest!" She maneuvers into a more favorable position before she strikes with one of her axes.
Helga's wounds are mostly shallow, though they do ooze a strange reddish ectoplasm. The medical attention does slow that down just a bit, but they will require magical healing to close up in time for the next outing. The commander remains stoic and silent, staring back at the entrance the whole time.
The commander follows up on Urist's tactics, meeting him on the opposite side of the opponent for a heavy attack.
Helga lets out a battlecry as she tries to cut the rats into little chunks!
Commander Silverbrew takes the initiative, marching into the room and taking a well-practiced swing against the tangle of dead rats.
The commander gives the breastplate a casual glance before she gestures towards the door with one of her axes. "You lot can look at it on the way. We've got rooms to clear and undead to put down. I want these freaks out of our fort as soon as possible."
Commander Silverbrew steps into the room alongside Urist, and the two share a glance. They both nod, and begin to inspect the coffers. Each one carefully examines a case before attempting to open it.
The commander stands, gripping her axes and letting out a heavy breath. She runs her sleeve below her chin, wiping away the excess 'blood' smears. She turns towards Toulbe and nods. "You're still alive. Good." The comment from Gunnar about bleeding ghosts has her tensing up, but she relaxes after Urist gives her a lingering stare. Strangely enough, he never make eye contact. Perhaps they have another means of communication?
Helga shudders as the blade slashes through her body, sending an arc of ectoplasm through the air. "Hah. Is that all... you... got...?" She coughs, collapsing on the floor as red goo spills from the edges of her mask.
The commander rushes forward, swinging wildly at the animated statue. "That's. Our. Cook!" Hopefully, she can get it to shift priority over to her.
Helga reels from the blow, bleeding ectoplasm from the deep would. [b]"That all you got? Goblin baby snatchers hot harder than that!"[/ooc]
The commander already has her weapons in hand. Without turning her head, she shouts a command back at her subordinate. "McFatson! Armor!" The phantom holds her ground, ready to strike at just the right time.
The commander seems to calm down a little, satisfied with the results of her threats. She glances over to the obviously daydreaming Urist and breaks his concentration with a sharp exclamation. "Alright, lads! There's only so much time in the day and a whole lot of bone bags to slay. We can ask it questions while we clear them out. You!" she says, gesturing to the construct with a tightly gripped axe. "Follow us as we clear out the vermin. Your standing orders are to protect these dwarves to make sure they'll be able to, er, toil another day." "As for the rest of you, if you want to get nice and sloppy, pull out an axe and stay in front of our bronze wall, and don't be afraid to fall back behind him if you have to. No sense in going for glory if you end up a corpse. Everyone else, just stick behind it." Helga gestures towards the northern door with her other axe. "We'll start by clearing this floor. March!"
Helga stares up at the bronze colossus through her mask. Though her face is covered, the trembling in her ectoplasmic form betrays her fury. The leather around the hilt of each axe cracks as she grips them. "Alright, listen ta me, ya pile of melted coins. Lest ah cleave yer legs off and say it to ya face-ta-face!" Behind the commander's mask, her eyes seem to smoulder. "First thing's first. I am commander Helga Silverbrew. I've already died fer King Dal Dberryl and I'll gladly do so again. So ya best show a bit of respect before ah shove my foot so far up yer arse that ya'll be doin' a sit-up every time I bend mah knee!" "Second, yer king and all 'is people are likely dead an' passed on. Besides us, there's nothin' but dust and bones. So ifn' ya want some work goin' on in here, then get out of our way or help us clear it out. An' if ya won't accept tha truth, then so help me I'll yank out one of yer' eyes an' wear it as a belt buckle so ye can SEE what the hell ah'm talkin' about while we do our jobs in this blasted place!" Urist looks a bit pale as he sizes up the construct, and the commander does her best to meet its eyes.
Unfazed by her subordinate's display, Helga moves to investigate the room. More specifically, she moves around to check out the anvil in front of it. "Keep your eyes sharp. Who knows what sort of filth is skulking around here."
"Bah, lousy sacks of rattlin' trash. Get back in the dirt!" Helga marches forward, the phantom's grip tightening around her weapons. She advances past the front line towards the nearest skeleton, turning her body to the side for the wind up before swinging an axe in her anger-fueled vigor.
"Good. Let 'em come to us, and break themselves against our steel!"
The masked commander follows the group, silent and simmering, However, the comment about ghosts shifts her attention over to Gunnar. Her expression is impossible to read, but her voice is relatively calm. "You. Ghost speaker. Shot in the dark, but..." she gestures towards Urist. "Have you ever seen one in a uniform like that?" Meanwhile, back at the Urist, he seems all to happy to move forward. The stout soldier steps forward and embraces the statue, giving it several pulls, pushes, and sideways rocking motions in an attempt to find the best way to move it.
Helga Silverbrew steps over to the unconscious goblin, staring at its crumpled form with deadly intent. Her right arm raises an axe, its thirsty blade tinged with her aura of anger. She pauses, perhaps to savor the moment. Perhaps to allow anyone to tie up and interrogate the thing. One thing is for certain, however. If no one intervenes, the first couple of rows will be a splash zone.
The commander raises an axe, rushing towards the fray. She lets out a battlecry, only slightly muffled by her mask. "Forward, lads! Cut this filth down to the last!" For a dwarf, she moves pretty fast.
The commander has a profile. Feel free to use this picture, Armok. |
