Aw, what a shame. ^^ I was really hoping for Legacy of Fire.
Have lots of fun with Crimson Throne, everyone!
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Thank you for the compliment, and good luck. ^^
Hey, everyone.
I'd love to try legacy of fire. ^^
Nope, I'm still here. It's just that Tress had first watch and went to sleep after that, so she didn't see Thaane take his wayfinder back.
"I'll take first and a long nap," Tress says. "How about dinner, then?"
"Can't have too much security out in the Wastes," Tress says, shrugging. "And if they turn on us, there's worse places for an unmarked grave than the Wastes. No offence," she adds, with a quick grin for the newcomers.
"Yeah, that's fine," Tress says as she comes riding up to Khartelosch. She looks down at Thaane with visible misgivings, but sighs and holds out a hand. "Get up. You can sit behind me. But you hold onto the saddle, and don't squeeze up too close, or you're walking on your hands the rest of the way."
"Sure," Tress says as she mounts her horse. "Marauders looove hassling merchant caravans. You stick with us, provided the boss says okay, and marauders are just bound to show up soon or late."
Tress notices Ibrah hesitate, and heaves a brief sigh. "Saddle up, kid," she tells him. "I can't guarantee you a job if you come with us, but it's got to beat being out here, dodging giant worms and Orcs, right?"
Tress looks, listens, and says rather little. She starts drinking water after others have done so -- and failed to fall over, foaming at the mouth. "So," she says. "Nice spot, this. That worm. Why doesn't come near?"
"Thanks," Tress says. "That hit the spot."
Don't phone posts always look bad?
"Hey, if you're handing out healing, give some of it here," Tress says, before the group sets off.
The first thing Tress does, is grab her sword.
She proceeds to sum up her feelings on recent and current events succinctly: "I want a beer."
With all the damage, I'm kind of glad you thought as an Oracle first. ;)
"It'll do," Tress says, flashing Khartelosch a very brief grin before the cold mask slides back into place. Ibrah: Cheers.
Narrowly managing to avoid the wolf dragging her to the ground, Tress uses the beast's momentum against it and slashes it across the face.
Provided the wolf is still standing, Tress coldly chops at it again, trying to break the wolves' attack pattern. Her blade, already coated in blood, shimmers and glows redly. "If anyone has any healing to spare, I could use it," she says out loud.
The first wolf to make the mistake of approaching Tress is treated to a faceful of scimitar. Tress' expression remains businesslike and cold.
Snarling, Tress attacks the nearest available Orc, her scimitar flashing in the sunlight.
Snarling like a tigresss, Tress slashes at the nearest Orc within reach -- but alas, the opponent is wily enough to dodge.
"Cut them down before their buddies get here!" Tress roars -- and she charges, lashing out at the first Orc to come within range.
"Nah, I want to keep an eye on them so I can stab 'em one when they come running up," Tress replies, sounding almost absent-minded.
"Come on, then, you gutless !" Tress shouts as she moves to meet the Orcs, a feral grin on her face. "" As she halts, she mutters Words of Power, all without losing that mad grin -- and then makes an utterly obscene gesture at the Orcs, which should easily cross the language barrier.
"Yeah? You're sure, right?" Tress asks. "Don't want folks saying later that I messed things up for us if I go in and gut 'em."
"Oh, good," Tress says. "He just signalled his mates, didn't he? Now, can someone translate what he said so I know whether to shake his hand or kick his groin?"
Any thoughts to month and day, vis-à-vis holidays? ;)
A question: what is the date, in-game?
Tress returns to her horse and seizes its bridle, ready to leap onto its back or release it as events dictate. Regardless which, she keeps a firm grip on her scimitar...
"But if there's an army of them 'round here, this lot could have the rest of them down on our heads if we let them run," Tress points out.
"You fellas want to try your luck with the Orcs after they've done for the scorpion, or do we sandwich them between us and it?" Tress asks, her voice oddly dispassionate.
Tress leaps from her horse and runs over, manoeuvring to put the scorpion between herself and Silas. If she can do this and still attack, she does, her scimitar flashing under the desert sun. Her face is... almost blank. There is a very slight frown of concentration on it, but otherwise little to no expression. After what you have seen of her so far, it's really a little eerie...
Tress, who has been riding with her bow at the ready, coolly nocks an arrow, aims at the giant scorpion attacking Silas, and releases. She frowns when she sees the arrow go wide, but holds position, switching her bow and arrow for her scimitar.
"Careful, Lilly," Tress says as she heels her horse forward. "In a moment, the Cap'n's gonna complain it's 'only the Orc, the Wizard and the women', and then everyone is going to be sorry." Tress smiles when she says this -- but there is no humour in it.
"Nah, give me a few days," Tress snarks during the brushing session. "I just like to know everything's in good form back there, you know? Alright, thanks bunches! Your turn." Unless Lillyanna protests too strenuously, Tress sets her down and does exactly as promised / threatened. The experience is not painful, and perhaps surprisingly professional, like a visit to one of the better kinds of beautician. "There! Now you can go hunting 'n all!" Tress says once she's done, clapping Lillyanna on the shoulder.
"I'm cool with that," Tress says, nodding at Silvash's suggestion.
Sense motive DC20:
The morning of departure, Tress comes knocking on Lillyanna's door, carrying a lacquered wooden box. "Morning!" she says, cheerfully. "Can I ask you for a little favour?" Provided the Half-Elf lets her in, Tress opens the box and takes out a brush. "I can never quite get this bit in the back right," she says, indicating some of the wilder tangles in her red hair. "If you help me out, I'll return the favour. Sound fair?" Regardless how that pans out, the redheaded woman is soon at breakfast, wolfing down a large amount of food, which she washes down with milk and tea. When the captain speaks of the parallel line and the marching order, she listens attentively.
"Well, I tell you what," Tress says. "I don't know any summoning spells now, but if I learn any that can draw down anything squeaky clean and sparkly that talks, I'll have it teach ya. How's that?"
"Yeah? Then you're my new best friend," Tress says, tapping Lillyanna's stein with her own. "I have great respect for healers. On that subject, I'd like to suggest we all buy at least one healing potion. The Wastes are dangerous ground."
"Which elder beings we talking about?" Tress asks. "Aboleths, Serpentfolk, Elves, Dwarves...?"
It was down for most of the morning and afternoon for me... Very vexing!
"Someone to keep an eye on, then," Tress says as she takes a sip of her beer. "Right. Round table time, fellas. Like I said, I'm Tress. My skillset is simple; if something ugly and toothy comes charging at us, I'll be in the front line stabbing at it -- or else behind its back stabbing it. If something man-pretty with a keg of ale comes charging at us, I'll be the one abducting it over the dunes." The redheaded woman cackles. "But seriously, I'm best with the blade. I've got a little bit of magic, I can teach animals simple tricks if I hae enough time, and I can talk a fair game if talking's an issue. What about the rest of you? I want to know who can do what."
"Piffle!" Tress says. "Feel free to make people forget you know me, if that makes you happy, but beer ain't beer unless you go out of your gourd a bit and wake up with interesting memories." When she notices the byplay on human beer, Tress' grin grows wider.
"I already said, right?" Tress says, holding up her index finger. "One beer. One stein. Something to whet our throats before we head out into the Wastes. This here's the first thing you all should know about me; I like beer - a lot - but I don't get drunk while on the job. After we've returned and been paid in full, though, look out. You may be embarrassed."
"Too bloody right I'm understood," Tress says, nodding sagely at Khartelosch. "Everyone understands beer, even those what don't drink it." She winks sidelong at Verrin. "" she bellows at whoever's behind the counter. "I'll have five pints of beer, and there's an extra silver in it for you if you don't gob in it."
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