Staring at the horrid abomination as it approaches, Duglin draws his axe back and brings it down violently, hoping to cleave the creature in twain. "Go back to the hell from whence you came!"
Search Posts
Shrugging his shoulders and making sure his shield and axe are at the ready, Duglin looks back, "Then so be it. Let's do this!" Duglin then cracks the unbarricaded door, ready to receive the first approaching beast.
Duglin pulls over whatever furniture he can reach, a table, bench, or shelf, and barricades one of the two doors. Turning back to Athanasius, "We do what we pledged to do, deal with the problem. There are four creatures out there, coming this way. We block one door, then fight through the other. If they walk on feet, then their legs can be cut from beneath them. You got a bow on your back, you can shoot over my shoulder?" He then draws his shield and prepares to open the other side. "Unless you have another idea?"
Drawing his axe from the baldric upon his back, Duglin makes quickly for the front doors and grabs the first, swinging it shut. As he does, he gazes out into the night's darkness, confident his Dwarven eyes might reveal any threats beyond.
I am so sorry to hear about your wife, but I'm happy to hear that she has pulled through and is still alive. Sounds like she's a fighter, and doesn't want to leave you any time soon. Our thoughts and prayers are most definitely with you in this time. I've also dealt with flooding over the years, and it's never fun cleaning up a wrecked basement.
Duglin stands with intentionally heavy footstep. Clearing his throat, "hello all my name is Duglin Braehammer. My uncle Torbreck's anvil has rung with the song of hammer and steel in Sorrowmoor for more than three generations of men. Sadly, age has taken it's toll, and I have come to take up his forge. We of the Braehammer Clan have long been Defenders of our homes, and as I am now your smith, so too am I now one of your defenders. You can count my axe and hammer among those that will see this wrong righted."
Duglin catches sight of the gnarled, crooked figure with the hideous expression. A concerned look crosses his face as he turns to the others. Keeping his voice low, "there is a third, highly suspicious figure within. Perhaps an ear to the door to hear what transpires within? I could always walk up to the door and listen, then knock, asking for the location of the forge as the new smith in town."
He starts to get close to see if he can hear anything, then realizes the newcomer has walked directly up to the door and knocked.
Digging in to the stew and ale, Duglin listens carefully to the lady's words. "So it's a real threat then, whatever is comin' in the night. Hmm, well, I came to be your smith, but we Braehammers don't allow harm to come to our town, and as I am now the smith, then I guess that means that Sorrowmoor is my town as well." He was just about finished when the bell tolled and everyone began to exit. He upended his bowl and swallowed down the last of the stew, then with a happy sigh, placed 3 silver on the table. "Supposed I will be going to the town meeting with everyone else." Amidst the crowd Duglin walks calmly until the curious gnome introduces himself. A little puzzled, Duglin manages to respond in kind, "Pfflys, is it? I am Duglin Braehammer, the new town smith. I am not sure what you are referring t-" His words cut off as he also sees the cloaked individuals heading opposite the townsfolk.
"Right suspicious I would say..." while tempted to simply call out to them regarding their intentions, Duglin holds for a moment to see if their actions might give a clue to their purpose in heading opposite the crowd.
Duglin smiles, "Aye, Duglin's the name, and I am the smith you've been expecting. My cousin Tobrek has grown rather old, and having not an apprentice or heir to take over the forge, sent word to my father down in Morningport that another Braehammer should take up the hammer and anvil here. So, here I am. Oh, and that stew and ale would be mighty nice, thank you." He takes stock of the room while awaiting the barkeep's return. Mostly weary townsfolk, not surprised. Though an elf... and a gnome? Quite the odd couple. Perhaps they are here to help with the trouble, or, could they be part of it? Best to keep an eye on them. This is my town now, after all. When the barkeep returns with his found, Duglin leans over the bar a bit to keep his voice low. "Say, what's all these rumors I heard on the road north? People disappearing and foul fogs in the night? Surely old wives' tales, yes?"
Duglin's heavy boots sank into the mud of the Hagway as he walked north through the dark woods. The going was slow with the weather-torn road, if it could be called even that. Still, despite the delays, Duglin smiled as he ventured north. It will be a good post, an honest place to take to the forge. Sorrowmoor was a small town, but deep in the Hagwood, there was plenty need for a solid axe for the trees, or a sharp spear for the monsters and brigands that hide beyond. And perhaps, after I make my mark there and have installed a solid apprentice or two, I could take up the forge somewhere more proper. Garren's Folly perhaps? It had been quite a sizable town, and the work of the smith there wouldn't have passed muster as an apprentice's bit of practice back in dad's shop. He had been spending the night in Garren's Folly on his journey north when he heard word of the troubles befalling Sorrowmoor. It was his destination anyway, heading there to take over the forge of a distant cousin who had grown old and ill. Now he'd be able to perhaps live up to the other duty of his lineage, the charge of warrior and guardian. He paused for a moment. "Ah, there it is." Coming around a bend in the road, the town of Sorrowmoor was revealed to his sight. It was a cold, empty place, though given the fears and rumors echoing south from this place, the empty feel of the village made sense. Still, he saw a crowd outside a building that looked like it might be a tavern, and nodding to the widows gathered outside, "Good day, ladies. Is the food within welcome nourishment for a wary traveler?" Hardly waiting for their response, the dwarf steps into the tavern. Dropping his pack and cloak against the wall, Duglin saddles up to the bar. Smiling to the barkeep, "Pardon me, but could I have your biggest mug of ale and a bowl of whatever smells so good from the road outside?"
I finished up my backstory with Duglin being from Morningport, but actually being on the road to Sorrowmoor to take over as the new smith in town when he learns about the strange occurrence.
An elf, a dwarf, a gnome, and a shape-shifter walk into a bar..... Apparently these lands are very racially diverse!
Tagging in with the pack! Excited to be on board for this grand adventure!
Glad you are enjoying what I have written so far. As for crafting, 4 weeks is more than acceptable.
crafting: Take 10 + 10 (skill) = 20 Craft (Armor): Scale Mail (500 sp)
Craft (Armor): Heavy Steel Shield (200 sp)
Craft (Weapon): War Axe (350 sp)
Craft (Weapon): Warhammer (120 sp)
Craft (Weapon): Cestus, Cold Iron (100 sp)
Craft (Weapon): Javelin x5 (50 sp)
Total Time = 3.75 weeks
Had seen a lot of people discussing spellcasters, so I felt the need to go classic - a dwarven smith/fighter. The crunch is done, and the fluff is coming along well. I am having fun writing some world material to create his backstory. Question, as he is a smith, can I roll to craft any of his starting items?
This is wanderer82, submitting his hobbit bounder Brandibald Hornblower. All the information is accurate in the attached profile, but because of the avatar problems on paizo this weekend, I will not be able to change the name and icon until Monday. Let me know what you think!
The bright sun cast across the dark ruins of the Black Village present an interesting juxtaposition to his own fate. He had been a pleasant dwarf, considered charming even by humans, yet life had changed his path. His engaging days as a guide smith, marked from an early age to be a leader, seemed like a distant shadow. The last two years had taken him so far from that path, could he ever rediscover it? Coming back to the moment, he ventured down toward the ruined village with his companions, curious if any of the ruins could provide a stable defense. Using the knowledge granted to him in the study of stonework, he takes in the shattered town step by step.
Duglin eventually stirs from his heavy sleep, and looks around the taproom. Seeing his companions devouring the warm oats, he rises to his feet and tromps over to have a bite. Looking about the band of misfits, a thought crosses his mind. "Time fer a lil trouble lads, eh? Ye ready to step off into the abyss? An' we canna' be forgetting me kinsman, 'Aarold." After eating Duglin unrolls his pack and dons his chainmail, preparing for the dangers that lie ahead.
Duglin looks down at his near empty mug, then to the barkeep, "The fire would be kind, much appreciated. Any chance for one last pint?" Turning to the others at the table, "The rest of ye beddin' down 'ere as well?" Duglin moves to the barkeep and leaves a gold to cover his stay and the ale he has had.
A brief smile crosses Duglin's face as he sits. "Me name's Duglin Braehammer, an' I'll gladly join ye, though laughter don't fall much from these lips." He takes another drink from his mug of ale.
Duglin has stood back, enjoying the round purchased by the performer, whilst listening to her words carefully. His mind wandered to the dark parts of his recent past, things that masked out the joy of earlier years. He could still hear the ring of his hammer on the anvil, but now, screams in the dark echoed louder. Still, this woman had insight, and the company gathered seemed more than capable, so he approached. Thar be dark things an' dark deeds in the deep. Things that we dunna speak 'bout, but prob'bly should. I am the last of me line 'cause 'uh these things. I'll pledge me 'ammer an' me 'eart, to the cause if ye'll 'ave me."
The door to the tavern swings open drawing the eyes of several patrons who hope that it is Waglinde, but they are disappointing by the harsh look of the lone dwarf entering. Stepping through the door, the man is burly even for a dwarf and as he lets his pack fall to the ground it strikes with a resounding boom, suggesting a far greater weight than it appeared to have while on his shoulders. A large shield is strapped to the bag and chain mail pokes out from within, with several weapons hanging from loops and buckles. He himself wears firm, dark traveler's leathers and strangely (for a dwarf) he has shaved on side of his head and now has strange runes tattooed where his hair had once been. A hand axe hangs from his belt as he walks to the bar. With a nod to the barkeep, he speaks simply, "Ev'ning. Ale." Taking the mug, he turns back toward the room and, as he sips, scans the faces and nature of those within, seeking those who might help him find vengeance.
No, the avatar was originally created for a game that ended over a year ago, so I have repopulated it with the information for this game. I will think on a deity, don't know a whole lot regarding Celtic/Germanic mythology, but always up for learning.
This is Wanderer82, checking in with my Dwarven Cleric. Are you using a specific set of deities or should I create/pick my own?
Eying the company with some trepidation, Duglin sighs and heads off with the bard and the elf is search of Grith.
Entering the home, Duglin scans the abode seeking anything of significance.
Duglin sighs at the Bard's antics. "the greatest quest?...f*&!ing ass. hope he doesn't cause more problems" Going with the company to the dwarf's home, his thoughts continue to wander. "of course they think the dwarf in this town is a troublemaker..." As Dorrin opens the door, Duglin offers a slight nod to his kinsman.
Duglin is ill at rest throughout the night. When he is woken for his shift on watch, he keeps a careful eye about the building and its surrounding, relying on his superior dwarven sight to beat back the dark of night.
Clappin' the half-elf on the shoulder, "Iff'in you be wantin' to start, that be alright with me. But I'll take no rest in a bed tonight. The road teaches you to sleep lightly, and so I will in the corner over yonder." With that Duglin finishes his coffee and sits down against the wall wrapped in his cloak.
Looking to Godfrey and Villyn, he flashes them both a smile and a nod, "Much obliged gents. The name is Duglin, get yer rest. I'll be wakin' yeh up," motioning towards Godfrey, "in a few hours. Now get some rest."
Looking around dejectedly, Duglin sighs and drops his gear on the common room floor. Approaching the innkeep, "I'll watch the door here, and be ready for anything passing by, if you have something warm to keep me up." Picking up a javelin in one hand and his axe in the other, Duglin takes a seat before the door, ready to take the long watch til morning.
Duglin snorts. "Glad to see someone cares. Innkeep, do ye know of anyone in this town that might've had trouble with this here lad? An' where is his family?" At Godfrey's outburst, Duglin pauses. "That is a man that cares, that is a man I could work with." Walking over to the impromptu server, he claps him on the shoulder, "Aye laddy, we both will. Let us work together. The name's Duglin Braehammer."
Duglin frowns and looks up at the fair-haired human with his eyebrow raised. "Dwarves don't leave their fallen to rot and be gnawed upon by rodents. An' the lad's family deserves to be told o' his passin', though the circumstances may be foul. Perhaps its the norm for ye humans, but dwarves consider a brutal murder, committed with a shovel noless, a moment for pause."
Looking up at the disgruntled man hanging out of his window, Duglin smiles. "Much obliged. G'night. By the way, someone was murdered in the stables, beaten to death with a shovel. Best keep your eye out." Duglin returns to the stables, wraps the body in his bedroll, and carries it back to the inn, where he kicks open the door and places the wrapped body on the bar directly in front of the innkeep. "Your stable boy is dead. Your fearless defender" jesturing toward Bran, "is more concerned with having another drink than looking into it. The lad have a family I can notify and deliver his body to?"
Duglin looks in disgust at the others walking back to the tavern. He turns and heads to the house nearest the stable, then pounds loudly on the front door.
Duglin casts a surprised, angry glare at Bran,"Bran, doncha think maybe this lad deserves a touch more an bein left here on a pile of hay?"
"Blast it, lost the tracks in the gravel. Cursed rain." Looking up and down the road, he shakes his head and turns back toward the stable. Returning to the body, Duglin picks up the shovel and examines it for any noticeable identifiers. "It's a blasted shovel, probably used for shoveling dung here in the stalls, but perhaps it will offer some clue".
Sitting with his soon-to-be friend Bran, Duglin's eyes dart toward the door as the wet man stumbles in. Listening intently, he tosses back the mug of ale he is holding. Following Bran's nod, Duglin rises and starts toward the door. In response to Bran's request, he replies, "No covered lantern lad, but my eyes are as strong in the night as they are in the day, and they be keener that those of most others." Moving toward the door with the others, Duglin pauses, looks back at the fresh mug of ale that Duglin presented to Bran, and sighs. "Hate to see that go to waste...", and he turns back to the table, quickly chugging the other pint in one quick gulp. Letting out a belch, he laughs, "now its time for some excitement." And with that heads out the door. Drawing close to the body, he gets down on his knees, seemingly unaware of the deep puddle he kneels in, and slowly, carefully inspects the body, taking note of race, gender, quality of garb, any significant items, and the nature of any wounds.
"Thank ya. Two more mugs of ale if ye'd please". He produces another gold and a silver, and leaving them on the bar, takes the two mugs to Bran's table. Nodding to Bran and putting a mug down in front of him, he sits, "I hear yer in the guard in this town. Any work to be had or trouble to be dealt with?"
Duglin chuckles, shakes his head, and turns back to the barkeep, "G'sir, what's got that one in such a foul mood?" he asks as he slides him a gold for his words.
Slightly startled by how silently the elven woman slid up to the bar, he remains still, but casts a weary eye her way. "Silent, like the dead of the night. She could be dangerous... or useful. I wonder if this quiet town will offer some excitement?" Sense Motive:
Turning back to the elven woman, he watches her take her table then let down her guard. Duglin ponders, "are all the troubled souls of this town seeking comfort from the storm in this very inn?"
Slipping the pouch inside his coat, Duglin grins at the lanky miscreants eyeing his coin pouch as he casually fingers the sharpened blade of his axe. "Hi lads, you like what you see?"
Holding the would-be thieves' gaze, he nods to the innkeep, "good stew", and slurps back another spoonful.
The door of the inn swings open as a surly, tattooed dwarf enters. Dressed in a road-worn heavy leather coat adorned with multiple belts and straps, multiple weapons hang from the warrior. In his hand rests a fresh looking coin pouch, Duglin's reward from his work as a caravan guard. Smiling slightly, he nods to the barkeep. "Time for a little rest..." he thinks as he saddles up to the bar. Pulling a few silver from his pouch, he places them on the table, "A mug of ale and a bowl of stew if you'd please."
|