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Dergosh pauses a second, scratching his ear. An image of Draxia trudging sullenly on a trail far away comes to his. Err? He smiles. A good omen! Then he grabs the rope and slides down. climb: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7 well, if it is knotted he's ok, if not another roll is needed climb 2 if needed: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 1 = 14 ![]()
Dergosh keeps hitting the elk (pls note he stepped five last round to hit it) while saying his recipe. [b]NEXT DRESS MEAT FOR SPITTING, POUR A MARINADE OF WINE AND GARLIC OVER IT. COOK FOR FIVE HOURS TURNING THE SPIT AT A REGULAR PACE...[b] mace: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10 damage: 1d8 + 1d4 + 3 ⇒ (7) + (4) + 3 = 14 ![]()
Dergosh is sitting his face in unaccustomed concentration. Obviously thinking about Draxia. What if she looks at other orcs. Women is fickle. Huh I smash them and her. But then she not like me. (cycle and repeat)
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