Durivig knows when to bow out and politely declines.
"Nae Master Mirror, yer likely tha better player. I've been grinding for this win all night. I think I'll be off ta watch the contest."
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Durivig calls Mirror's bet and is intent to let the cards fall where they may. Well, I got the other 2 out, now it's just down to whoever has the better cards.
"Interestin'." Durivig is a careful, crafty sort when it comes to cards. He advances bets slowly steadily while trying to accumulate gold by folding early to show he has poor hands before going all in on a mediocre hand.
"Thank ye fer yer observations. If ye want to take a better gander at it, be my guest." Durivig is polite as he doesn't understand the dichotomy between inner-gladiatorial social hierarchy and that of honoring your elders within Dwarven society despite The Slab's good-natured ribbing. Durivig drinks deep from his tankard as he slides the pick over to the old dwarf whilst pondering these things.
Durivig sits down in a chair and takes off his gauntlets before pulling out a magnifying monocle with the magic pick. He spends some time tooling around with it, poking and prodding at the runes running along it.
The Craftdwarf fiddles around with it for some time before putting it away and seeking out a few games of cards.
"Aye aye, I'm not one to turn down a drink with company. Durivig is the name." Durivig shoves a handful of gold that he found off the looters into the Slab's pocket.
"We sent 'em packin. Left the pile o' them outside the ware'ouse, but somebody picked up thar bodies when we circled a few times. There was a note on the boss o' them. Red Barrels on the second floor o' tha ware'ouse. Might want ta send someone to look for smuggled goods, drugs or whatnot."
Durivig picks up his tower shield after spitting on the ground. He tosses the bodies outside in a pile without too much concern after searching them. The gods'll sort them out. "Well, we oughta keep on movin' on."
Durivig tries to clip the Dwarf as he turns to run by hitting his leg.
Durivig continues engaging the leader. "Give up now! Yer lives ain't worth much, but better'n dead I think!" He yells as he swings his hammer for the leader's armor.
Durivig draws his hammer and tries to bash the dwarf's mace into pieces. "Ye killed that Kovig when ye decided a life o' crime was yer way!"
"Get offa my shield you buncha punks!"
"Ye callin me a coward? I dinnae see myself ganging up on you!" Durivig shouts as he continues swinging his Tower Shield around.
"Hey Slab! Quit playin in tha water out there an' give me a hand!"
Durivig angles his tower shield to deflect the crossbow bolt into the pick dwarf before smashing the back end of the pick into the same dwarf and trying to wallop him on the head with his shield.
Durivig tries to break out of the boxes.
"Bah! I'll be fine, just gotta dig myself outta this."
Durivig lets out a complex string of curses.
"I'm gonna make sure there ain't nobody inside that needs help." Durivig gives the yielded looter the stink eye before trudging towards the building.
"Och, now ye're tryin' ta run away? Ye got no stones ye mold suckin blighter!"
Durivig sees The Slab has the first guy in decent hands and so goes to smash the other dwarf's hammer into a million pieces. "Ye don't deserve a 'ammer if'n yer gonna use it like a thug!"
"Get outta 'ere ya ninnies and get a real job. Learn ta swing a pickaxe or hammer!" Durivig shouts as he moves up to the dwarf in front and tries to clobber him over the head with his tower shield.
Redirecting Shield (deflect): Whenever a weapon attack (not including siege weapons, or other massive weapons) misses a creature benefiting from your active defense, you may choose a new target for the attack within its original range (for ranged attacks) or reach (for melee attacks) as a free action that can be taken even when it’s not your turn, comparing the original attack roll, with a -2 penalty, to the new target’s AC and resolving the attack as normal on a successful hit.
"Nae, I don't believe Torag had anything to do with it. I had some rivals who didn't like a new smithy gettin' more acclaim than they. But if it were a choice between between my gift with the forge an' gettin' the scars...I'd choose the same path every time I would."
Durivig looks at The Slab with a face full of pity. "Stop that lad. The Father O' Creation should nae be treated with disrespect. If'n he didn't approve of yer strength, ye think he'd have a son known as The Mighty? It's nae fer him to push you. If'n ye turned to other gods to push yerself...well I'm sure he'd be glad fer it, fer you. I'd swear it on me craft." The Blacksmith chastises The Slab with a touch of emotion in his voice. "It's got to be one of Torag's family fer me if not the Father 'imself. The Oath-Keeper is probably the only one who can remove these scars." Durivig opens and closes his gauntleted hands flexing the fingers.
"Aye, it's probably a boilin' mess down thar." Durivig says as he checks the straps on his gear one more time.
"Aye, 'en I know who ye are. Been in enough scraps to know a thing or two aye. A right proper set of steel should do the trick, but ye can't do much fightin' with water I thinks." Durivig eyes The Slab's belt. "Ye got some dust or sweat on that there belt. Hold still a minute. It pains me heart to see a nice piece so close to where it should be." Durivig takes out a cleaning and waxing kit to spot shine The Slab's champ belt. "There we are. Should keep the water from ruinin the shine too."
Ye call that armor? I've seen dinner trays deflect blades better.
"Oi'll be honest wit ye. I think we ought ta bundle up and push through. If'n we get snowed in, who knows how many o' them horrors will come. I dinnae know if they will be frozen ta their britches like we will be. This place has an evil to it aye. We'll be in danger all the same." Durivig sharpens his axe with a whetstone while he speaks. His hard eyes glance to everyone in turn. "I ain't a coward though ye see? If'n ya want ta plant yer feet in. Oi'll do me duty. This is as sturdy ground as any."
"We ought to get rolling again as soon as possible. It ain't safe out here in the sticks without a proper wall."
Durivig nurses his wounds from the night before and thanks the strange laughing human. "I 'spose I ought to give thanks 'fer being 'round all these healers." Durivig makes a quiet prayer to the dwarven pantheon.
Durivig is morose after the events back at the tavern and takes Aimai up on her offer of a drink. He mulls over the events with a beer while rolling a silver locket between his fingers.
Durivig takes a swipe at Demon B, aiming to finish it off!
Durivig steps carefully around the demon into flanking with Daverion. He tries to take a low swing whie its eyes are focused on the gnome.
Durivig reels back in pain and takes a swing at the demon in a panic.
His life flashes before his eyes and he thinks of home and hearth. Sitting around the table with his family or going out for a pint with his coworkers.
Durivig tosses his sunrod aside and tries to creep up on them.
Once he gets close enough, he'll try to surprise the one closest to the back of the pack with an axe to the back of the head.
"Ah'm beginnin' to think we're a wee bit out of our league na." The dwarf spits on the ground near a dead wolf. "But iffin there's no one else..." Durivig grimly clutches his axe and marches off to go fight demons.
"Just a wee nibble on me leg. Nuffin ta worry aboot." Durivig slaps his leg and rubs it a bit while letting out a grunt. "Now fer the other path."
"Huff...huff...well...that was real somethin." He looks to Daverion as he arrives. "Anything on the other path?"
Durivig swings his axe again, but lower this time.
Durivig heaves his ax like a lumberjack hacking at a tree.
Durivig feels a wolf's teeth sink into his leg and devolves into bellowing a nonstop stream of dwarven curses. Dwarvish:
"Bloody sodding hells, I knew tonight was a bad night. Gods thrice-damn these mangy mutts to Hells and back. By me cousin Balgruf's glassy eye, I walk out in the night like some damn death-wished fool and immediately got a blasted wolf in me thigh." Durivig tries to ax the wolf to reconsider it's choice of prey by overhanding his axe in a downward stroke.
"Och, na those don't look quite right." Durivig moves up slightly to make himself more of a target since he is a bit better armored than the other two. He draws his shortbow and takes a potshot at the one that hadn't noticed us yet.
"Aye lass, I can. But whoever's foot this belongs ta... They'll be long gone 'afore we can do anything about it. Wot say we regroup with that funny feller and his wolf. Even if'n thar are more wolves about, nothing a few good bear traps can't solve. A bit o' bait and snow coverin and we'll have those wolves outta these folkses hair." Durivig picks up a bit of the blood stained snow and rubs it between his fingers. "Wolves fresh off'n tha kill are that much more dangerous too. I dun like tha looks of them red lights off'n tha distance. Somethin' eerie. The forest is too quiet." Durivig works quickly and sets out two bear traps around the severed foot and hides them with snow. "Let's get back ta Daverion. Name's Durivig by the by."
"If'n the trail leads ta the house, the girl probably got away. We ought ta follow the trail that leads off ta find the culprit."
"Ye'll catch yer deaths out there, but I 'spose someone ought to watch yer backs." Durivig pounds back the rest of his warm drink and follows the others. He'll pick up a Sunrod since it's a little better than a Light spell and he doesn't need the hand. "I dinnae need ta light, but ye ne'er know wots out thar'."
"Tha' should be obvious laddie. Proper folk don't go out at night. Thar're right and proper reasons ta fear in tha' dark." Durivig grunts a response and frowns while rubbing his beard. "But wots all this 'bout a wolf? Wolves don't attack folks...not unless they're starvin'."
Durivig rushes over pulling his fur cloak off and wraps it around her. "Get 'er closer to the fire, the lass is half-dead from the frost alone!" "Are ye still with us girl?" The dwarf speaks with a gentle tone before calling on a bit o' magic to warm the cloak around the girl more.
"Thas a fine hen ye have there. If'n the wolf doesn't get to her mayhaps I'll have a bite meself. Har har har!" Durivig lets out a hearty laugh after his half-joke and draws a deck of cards that has clearly seen better days. "Anyone up fer a friendly game. No stakes on account of me lack of coin."
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