Aw, sadness. Well, thanks for the run, guys. I wonder how I'm going to write Dorin getting back from this nonsense in the next Hyboria game...
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Bah on your English! It is a puny language!
I had the urge to post Dorin's reaction so far, but it's pretty much grit his teeth and keep rowing until somebody says different. Seemed like that didn't much contribute to the narrative.
Dorin grits his teeth, puts his hands back on the oars, and keeps rowing, slowly and rhythmically, keeping the boat moving without being threatening.
Om nom nom.
"Ymir's beard," Dorin mutters, looking about at the eerie scene. His right hand comes off the oars, flexing and almost reaching for his weapons. "What in all the hells is this?"
Still contemplating, Jelani? No rush, just making sure we're still on track.
There you go!
Oh, nanobots. Is there anything they can't do?
Heh.
More or less. But Dorin's used to it.
Dorin snorts, some of his usual attitude restored. They may be in a land full of plague-ridden demons, where companions give up hope and throw themselves to their death, but no matter the time or place, Doom was still Doom. Inscrutable the sorcerer might be, but his mystery was a familiar irritation to the son of Rogal, and somehow comforting in its way.
Dorin sits, still for a time, facing where Bunken was last seen. It was not the first time the Aesir had lost a companion, and he suspected it would not be the last, but this was the first that any had sacrificed themselves deliberately. The big man didn't understand it. Dorin lived in the moment, a creature of impulse and action, and laying down one's life in battle was not a foreign concept to him. But to simply fling one's self into the maw of the beast like that...he shook his giant, shaggy head and clapped his fist to his heart in the direction of Bunken's last stand. Turning his head to look at the other members of their little group, he nodded grimly to himself. It would not happen again. He took up the oars again, adding the strength of his arms to Argoth's to take them away from this place.
Dorin threw a confused look over his shoulder, towards the undergrowth that was beginning to shudder with the approach of monsters, and started for the boat in earnest.
As the bandits continue to flee into the woods, Dorin slows for a moment, frustrated, and finally hears the growing horrid noises closing in. He looks back towards the boat, a puzzled look on his face, and edges a few steps in that direction. The big man feared nothing his hammer could reach, but if whatever was coming was as bad as it sounded, then he doubted he could reach them all.
Dorin, meanwhile, continued to charge after the fleeing men, apparently not even haven heard the conversation so far over the noise of his own roaring. He smashes aside a sapling in his way as he tears after the closest. "Cowards! Eunuchs! Cease your fleeing!"
Thanks for chiming in to let us know the story, Bunken. Sorry to see you go, but it happens. Go forth, game and be merry. In other news, Dorin isn't good at dropping an idea. Smash!
No worries. Like I said, I mostly prefer it when posting rates are fairly casual, so long as we manage to maintain player interest - which is a heck of a balancing act, I'll grant you, but it's a good one when you can pull it off.
Dorin leaps from the boat, plowing a path through the water with main force. As he ran, he starts to unsling his shotgun, then, growling, reaches for his hammer. He pounds towards the treeline, and then the nearest of the highwaymen he could see, hoping to stay in cover until he was close enough for the kind of combat he understood.
'sall good. So far, we've somehow kept up a nice casual posting rate that's still maintaining consistency. This is rare, and awesome.
Hm. This new game of yours both intrigues and terrifies me, Jelani. Level 12 gestalt with synthesist summoner...been quite a long while since I've tried to break the game that hard. I'm gonna go brainstorm a bit, but I may well be in.
Dorin, who had been quiet, shakes himself and sits at the oars, pulling absentmindedly. From time to time, he forgot what Doom was, and the powers at his command. After all this time, it was easy to treat the towering, taciturn man as a regular companion - but then something would happen that would remind Dorin of his eldritch nature, and it unsettled the big man. Still...nothing for it. Xanos Doom was their best hope for returning to where they belonged, and at least so far, the sorcerer had not proven malign. He would keep his eyes on him, though.
Agh! Sorry about not posting the last few days - I've headed out for vacation with most of my extended family, and the internet has been weird. I'm assured that the internet is going to be more solid for the rest of the time, but obviously, I'm still going to be distracted by being here, so my posting will be spotty at best.
Dorin drops the boat with a grunt, flexing his hands to work some feeling back into them. Turning back to the river, his teeth bare in a frustrated snarl when he catches a glimpse of Lulu and Anhur both sinking beneath the surface. Dipping a shoulder, he unslings his hammer and tosses it onto the shore as he lumbers back into motion, pounding for the river and leaping in after them in an increasingly desperate attempt to get his companions back to land before the monstrous fish pulls them under entirely. Mechanics:
Unless I'm confused, that'd be a 16 if Strength Feat doesn't apply, and a 20 if it does. Either way, color me pleased.
Just a sidenote - I am thoroughly enjoying this game. Good writers with good characters, fun flavor, weird damn setting, moving along at a decent clip...this is fun.
Dorin, his head whipping back and forth between the flailing Lulu and the boat, now beginning to drift away, curses aloud. He shoves the oar at Argoth, bellowing, "Get the girl!" while he grabs ahold of the boat with both hands, hauling with all his prodigious strength to pull the blasted thing onto land.
Dorin, seated and holding on to the oars, simply tightens his grip and maintains his balance within the boat easily. Holding on to one of the oars, he leaps to shore and dips the oar in the water, hoping to give one of his fallen allies a hand up. "Grab hold!"
Unless somebody shouts out a better idea, Dorin starts pulling for the east (up) bank, with the aim of getting some ground underneath them for fish-murdering purposes.
Dorin plants himself at the second pair of oars, rolling his neck and grabbing ahold of the oars in ham-sized fists. "Let me show you how it's done, my friend!" Leaning back, he gives a great heave, and the little boat shoots forward, almost as if they had turned on the motor once more.
Dorin grunts, eyeing the little animal with suspicion, but not making any move to dislodge him.
Dorin, surprised, jerks his head back at an odd angle, trying to get a look at the little animal. An eyebrow raises. "Your squirrel is on my shoulder."
Redd's English still passes Dorin by, but the gesture is clear enough, and he immediately offers Redd a responding nod and strides forward confidently toward the rowboat.
"A good plan." Dorin routinely checks to make sure his hammer is secure in its sling, and more awkwardly checks his new shotgun is the same in its opposite position below the hammer. Both weapons secure, he nods in satisfaction and looks about at the others. "Let's move."
Dorin reaches out and takes the bottle from Lulu before Bunken can snatch it again. Raising it to his lips, he takes a hearty swig before his eyes widen and he lowers it again, exhaling heavily. Handing the vile stuff back to Bunken, he shakes his head and works his tongue. "Enough to curl a giant's beard, that is."
Dorin glances at their supply of clothing and quickly dismisses most of it as either too restrictive or not tough enough, sticking with his customary leathers and greaves.
Dorin simply stared at the small crater. Perhaps he should learn how to use these new weapons after all.
Dorin starts eying his own firearm warily. If the sort of thing the others were discussing was possible, he wasn't sure he wanted to carry one of these things at all.
Dorin shuffles back and forth, clearly not pleased by the discussion of mental power. This "sigh-onyx" might be very exciting for some of the others, but to him, it was just another form of sorcery, and therefore not to be trusted. Besides which, the name was ridiculous.
"as much ammo as they can carry." So much ammo!
Dorin reacts defensively to the first shots as well, dropping into a crouch, before he realizes the obvious. After a moment, he moves forward cautiously, prepared to at least listen to Steve's advice and try each of the firearms. He merely picks up each of the pistols before putting them down again, shaking his head. They barely fit in his hands, and he is quite certain he could never feel comfortable using such a tiny thing as an instrument of battle.
Hefting the .22, he mimics the motions of those who went before, aiming, and firing. Unprepared for the violence of the recoil, his first shots go wild as he's startled, but he quickly adjust his massive shoulders and makes a decent showing, not quite hitting the targets spot on, but getting in the general vicinity.
The .223, however, he is even more unprepared for, and makes a miserable attempt at finishing the clip before shaking his head and putting it down, irritatedly moving on to the shotgun just to be done with this.
After firing a few rounds, not quite as abysmally as with the .223, Dorin shrugs and indicates to Steve this would be his choice. "Hardly as reliable as a true warrior's weapon, but this will serve."
Dorin, leaning on one of the walls, is looking skeptically at the 'weapons' laid out before them. He'd hefted one earlier, and he seriously doubted anything with that little weight could even do the damage a decent sword could inflict, let alone his hammer.
So very yes. Dorin is definitely a minigun and/or grenade launcher kind of guy. No question. Of course, that's not only unavailable, carrying around the ammo for such things would swiftly become a ridiculous proposition. But still. In the meantime, he'll have to settle for that shotgun. Anyway, I'm not sure this really requires a scene, but as soon as we've learned some English, Dorin is probably gonna make a minor nuisance of himself checking out what the women/ale/brawls situation is like around here. As for my Advancement Points, I'll take a look at the boons, but likely I'll just be hanging on to those for later. Or maybe buying off a flaw? Nah, maybe later.
Machines stronger than a man...we shall see. Dorin stands and offers Peter an appreciative nod, thanking the man for his hospitality without words.
Hm. I think shotgun, mostly because Dorin's a terrible shot. Although it should be noted that he's probably just gonna hit things once they're close enough to be effectively shotgunned.
Man, we are seriously gonna have to set about learning English sometime very soon. This whole "assuming Lulu translates" thing is making PbP conversations even weirder than usual.
Dorin's face becomes a thundercloud at the mention of slavery, and the table creaks under unexpected pressure from his fist. Clearly not a subject he is pleased with.
Dorin snorts in derision at Argoth's admission of probable defeat, and settles back down to hear Lulu's tale. Missing the thrust of her joke about the small Franceman, Dorin nods thoughtfully at the idea of him also being thrust through time. As she continues on, he frowns incredulously at the description of these 'machine gun' weapons. It's difficult for the big man to believe that something so small could be as fearsome as Lulu seems to think it is. Had he not seen her in battle, he would dismiss her fear as the panic of a girl child, but... He looks longingly at the remains of the meal, then stands. "I would see this 'stick' that Redd carries perform. If it is as fearsome as you say, then your Napoleon might be a truly worthy foe."
Dorin half rose out of his seat, glaring at Argoth, as the man's words seemed to disparage the great Cimmerian. Perhaps fortunately for everyone, he was distracted as Lulu started to translate Peter's words. The Aesir's eyes burned with something very like zeal at the proud description of their homeland and the mighty Conan. To call himself worthy of being one of the great King's companions had been Dorin's first and greatest dream, and the woven tale rekindled the old fire in his heart. He frowned, though, as the topic turned to dates and times. "Then...if we are to believe this 'Howard' bard, this is some future time?" His mouth twisted with distaste. "I cannot say I care for what has happened in the between time."
^ What he said. Also, I think Xanos mentioned the possibility early on, which is good enough for Dorin.
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