Elon Steelkeg's page

A roc flies through the rainy sky, replete with a small howdah stowing three creatures.

"Where do you think the Boss went? I was promised treasure and broads. Platonius still says I owe him 800 gold pieces for the kidnapping! Now the Boss has up and vanished..." the dwarf asks to no one in particular as they scan the land below.

The gnome mutters something, but Elon sees a strange sight below. "Hey, look." he points with a chubby finger. "Some naked dude is standing in front of a cave and..." he says, holding up his hand to shield his eyes to get a better look. "Is that a woman with a whip in there? Should we check it out?"

"We could. Ol' Betsy could land, Elon."

Thinking on it for a second, Elon shakes his head. "Nah, best not to get involved in a place that would have a naked blue guy and some dominatrix. He probably paid a lot of money for that."

I've already spoken to Damo, but I just wanted to say that the game was fun while it lasted! Elon will just be here on the island, making beer and croissants in Tanaroa should Barbarosa wish to explore more of the mysteries.

Glad that I got to meet with and play with all of you, though I am in other games with most of you. :)

Elon sees the pterodon dive for Barley and reacts violently. "How dare you attack the most sacred of dwarfish animals!" yells the dwarf as he swings his scythe.

Scythe @ Pterodon: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (10) + 6 = 16
Damage: 2d4 + 3 ⇒ (4, 3) + 3 = 10

"Wait, why did you have us come hide in the huts, Bazsil? Are we not fighting the pterodons?" Elon looks at the human paragon with a wide grin.

"And luckily, you're taller, so they'll go for you first. Works for me!" Elon retorts as he keeps his scythe at the ready, choosing not to indulge Baszil's overcompensation of manliness in regards to the tribespeople.

A few seconds after Baszil arrives and soundly ignores Elon, he sees Femi trotting up. "You ready Ol' Sea Legs?" he yells over the pterodon calls. "Bout time we had some fun, but have any of you seen Aeslin? I thought she was still in town today..."

"I understand, Chief." Elon says with a bow as he takes his leave to search out a few tribesmen and women to help him build the brewery and taproom.

If he can find such recruits, he will share his plans. "I need a 30 foot by 60 foot building that can be made of normal lumber as you build your own huts. The sealant that you use in unnecessary for the whole building. From there, we can discuss a brewing room that would need to be sealed. Can one of you lot run me down on how you sealed your own fermentation room?" he asks, giving special attention to the brewmistress herself.

He sets out to work with the tribesmen as the rest of the party vamooses into the hill, or so he thinks...

---

The shrill sounds of the pterodactyls echoes across the town as the dward rushes to the center, Barley at his heels. "Looks like you an' me, boy!" he calls out to his trusty yak.

His nose twitches as cloves and oil envelop his sense of smell. "Well, I'll be. Glad to have you with us, Baz." the dwarf says, turning to greet the man rushing to the center.

Elon grabs his scythe and readies himself. "I ain't got no spells for this prepared. Was expecting to be working on the brewery!" he yells to the Coiffed One.

Elon hands the hungover Mtumbwi a small package. "Don't have an endless supply of these, so keep that in mind." the dwarf says with a jovial wink. "Guess I don't need too many since I don't really get hangovers. Must be my dwarven blood." Elon says with a smile.

"Mix it with water, quaff it down and you'll be fine." he says as the shipwright opens the tiny paper to see what appears to be salt.

---

At breakfast, Elon shovels whatever food is given to him as he furiously scribbles in his notebook. "Must find a stronger arcane caster for the mouth... Gado doesn't seem to have what I need..." he mutters in between bites.

As a tribe member walks past with basket of grilled mango slices, Elon spears a few with his fork and slaps the meaty fruit onto his plate. "Oi, lass. Who is your local metalworker? I need to commission something." he asks of the girl.

Upon hearing his answer and the consumption of his fruit, the dwarf moves to pour beer for himself, noticing that only the crew prefers his ales. "Oh well, more for us, I guess." he thinks to himself, disappointed, but inspired to find common ground.

Walking past Baszil, the dwarf places a fresh mug of session ale on near the man's plate. "That'll keep ye right with the world after that 'display' you put on for Gratum. I'm sure he appreciated it, but I don't think the Captain's tent was the proper venue." Elon says with a wink before searching out the Chief.

---

Upon finding her, Elon will bow respectfully. "I beseech only a moment of your time, Chief." he says with a flourish of his hands. "While the others scout out before the expedition, I would like to start work on building the beginnings of a brewery and meeting house for my fellow crewmates and the tribe members alike." he propositions the woman.

"I can certainly start from scratch or use some preexisting structures to begin work, but I defer to your judgment in the matter."

Elon will stay behind for scouting, but will go on the expedition.

"Hmm.. What's this now? Plateau?" Elon says, interested at the possibility for a high-rise brewery. "Tell me more of this Land of Gods. Is there natural grain? Lots of wood? Any natural water sources? What is the wildlife like? These are the important things..." Elon asks as his paw paw danish sits, unattended to in his hand.

Elon sees Baszil leave the Chief's hut and laughs. "Find yourself something better to do tonight?" he chuckles as he pours the man a frothy homebrew from his kegs, preferring to avoid the sweet nectar alcohol of the tribespeople until he can get a handle on their incessant need for overbearing sweetness.

At the mention of heading to Mtumbwi's cockfight, Elon raises an eyebrow. "You'd rather go see Mtumbwi's cock than the Chief's cat... I had you pegged wrong, my friend, but no matter! We can still be greater bunk mates!" he chuckles, clapping the man on the shoulder as the beer obsessed dwarf hears Gratum wander over.

As the other dwarf speaks, Elon cleans out his ear with his pinky. "Towers, you say?" he says with a confused look. "I don't follow. What comes in towers?"

---

At the next meeting of the crew, Elon vociferously votes in favor of any endeavour that allows him to search for arable land, fresh water sources, fresh fruit groves, naturally occurring grains or solid timber in plentiful amounts. "How'm I supposed to build a brewery out here to keep us well larded if we keep going on these inane mammoth hunts?" he asks. "Also, if we could find some wild boars or pig-like creatures, then I'd love to get a little butchery thing going on the side..." the dwarf says, drooling over the thought of some sizzling back bacon.

Wow, you guys are posting machines...

"Man, Gado." Elon remarks to the more intelligent of the crew. "This lot needs to focus on the more important things in life. Like a Mastodon tap for the ship's bar... err... I mean your study!" he says with a smile.

"Do you have any magicks that can create food stuffs or at least turn a small area into an oven? I want to make the mouth dispense pastries, but will settle for at least letting them cook pastries, though that would mean I would need to practice my pastry cheffing..." Elon says, his mind running down various tangents.

"Also, do we have any silver or steel to make the tap-tusk? I bet I can melt down Lucy before Bazsil notices..." Elon ponders as he eyes the man's hammer. "Yeah, I can definitely do it before he notices, but I bet he won't be happy..."

The dwarf pats Barley on the head and the pair quickly heads back towards town with the rest of the crew.

---

Elon sees the body being stripped of meat and such, leaving bone, tusk and unsavory cuts left behind. The Coiffed One takes a tusk from the creature as Elon declares the head for himself. "Huzzah! The head of this beast shall be the primary tap in your room, Gado! The remaining tusk shall be your drinking vessel and shall reattach to the head when not in use!"

Elon quickly begins to scribble into his notebook, etching out how to feed the tap through the trunk of the beast and how to create a silvered tusk to replace Baszil's claim. "Hmm... if we can make a self-cleaning system in the line, then ye won't have to clean the drinking tusk or the line in between ales!" he says excitedly."Now if only there was a way to craft an oven in the beast's mouth that delivers fresh pastry..."

Elon, on his way to help the Mean One, sees Barley go down in a heap as a tribal member rushes to the fallen man's side. "Maybe next time, Ciaran!" yells Elon as he about-faces and rushes to Barley's side, quickly healing him with his most powerful spells.

CMW (x2): 4d8 + 8 ⇒ (8, 5, 7, 3) + 8 = 31

The magicks move into the yak's body and quickly repair the wound, leaving Barley right as rain.

Bazsil makes a good point. The dwarf should stay out of the way so Baz can get squashed instead.

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The yak moos loudly as he sees his friends under attack, though no one important seems to be hurt yet.

;)

"Mooooo!" bellows Barley as he charges in, trying to gore the creature valiantly.

Power Attack Gore Charge: 1d20 + 7 - 1 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 7 - 1 + 2 = 23
Damage: 1d6 + 4 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 4 + 3 = 12

Can someone move Barley 20' up?

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As Ciaran coughs up blood, Elon frowns. "No one looks like they are having fun..." he mutters. "Wasn't that the whole point?"

The druid rolls his eyes and figures that he can help a little. "I ain't getting close to it though..."

He weaves his free hand in a circle as he quaffs some more beer. At the end of the symbol, the dwarf snaps his fingers.

Hold Animal - Will Save DC 15

Elon then tosses the emptied skin to the ground, grabs his scythe and moves towards Ciaran, taking care to avoid the tusks.

Can someone move me 20' left?

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Elon laughs as he pulls his beerskin from one of Barley's saddlebags. He pops the cork and takes down a nice draught of pale ale, which is refreshing in the sweltering heat of the jungle.

"You got 'em!" he yells as encouragement, enjoying the show.

As Ciaran get stomped and gored, Elon grimaces. "That will leave a mark..."

"What do you think? Even money on the mastodon, Rahui? Metzli, you think they can handle it?" he asks from the sidelines, trying to determine the odds of winning and if there is a few coins to be made.

There is a definite benefit. Girlfriend made me a steak and ale pie for dinner last night. It was awesome.

We've only seen Season 5.

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Elon will never die!

--

@Damo: Well if you ever want another player, then I am always willing to play with awesome people. :D

@GM Damo: Placed on the map! Also, damn you and your cooking show recommendations! Now my girlfriend only wants to watch the GBBO.

Elon doesn't even consider hiding as he is pretty sure that the mastodon has other problems besides him and his yak. He pulls out a few berries and granola squares and begins to nosh as Barley finds sustenance amongst the forest.

Elon stows the parchment-packed parcel back in his satchel as he watches the ridiculous pair of Ciaran and Bazsil try to prepare to take down a pachyderm.

"This ought to be good." he remarks as he watches from the woods with Barley at his side, scratching him just behind the ear.

The befeathered dwarf keeps his scythe at the ready.

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Elon raises his head up at the antics of his yak. "Looks like Barley might have found something. Keep him safe or your hair might find its way into the ocean, along with what it's attached to..." Elon says as he puts a boot into the rear of the Coiffed One and pushes him towards the yak, barely looking up from his notebook.

Softly chuckling, Elon whispers to Ol' Sea Legs. "What'dya think? Doubt they can get into too much trouble... he says as he flips the book around, slides in the ribbon and snaps it shut.

Slam!

"Check those drawings, Gado, and let me know what you think." he yells to the academic as the book sails through the air towards the man.

"Anyway, you should, uh...." Elon says, looking around for something to capture Baszil's attention.

Kn.(Nature): 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (5) + 8 = 13 Looking for natural features that would signify big game for Baszil to investigate.
Survival: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (1) + 11 = 12 Looking for tracks of animals.

"I dunno, go find tracks or something..." Elon says, surprised by the dearth of prey present in the area. He quickly goes back to sketching in his book. "If I feed the taps through the bilge, then the cold seawater..." he mutters as he draws crude representations of the ship.

Elon looks at Baszil with one eyebrow raised. He thinks on this suggestion for half a second before realizing the joke. "Haha!" he erupts in laughter. "You almost had me, friend! Use Barley to lure in dinosaur... Right..." he says chuckling, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Elon! Elon! Where did that dwarf go?" Gado wonders, moving hurriedly from tent to tent looking for the pastry king just before the group gathers to organize for the hunt.

"There you are! I've been looking all over for you. I've noticed that the smell of your brewing and cooking... well, when you brew the fruity ones at least and cook the pastries, has a strange calming and focusing effect on me while I study. I hope you don't mind, or think it to forward, but I've set aside a portion of my pavilion to be a brew house for you. I've even spoken with Gratum, and have drawn up plans to build a proper spread of taps for the common area in my tent. Whaddya say?"

Elon looks wide-eyed at Gado. "Ye'd do tha' fer me?" he says, reverting back to the classic dwarven accent when his baking and brewing is praised. The dwarf leaps forward to hug Gado, shrouding the pair in the brightly-feathered cloak. "Gar!" he says, choking up.

After the hug lasts a few seconds too long, the dwarf backs away and looks around awkwardly. "I'll draw up the plans immediately! Only the best pastries for you from now on, coupled with the best beers!" he yells as he runs back to the ship to gather some writing supplies.

---

At the meeting on the hunt, Elon hurriedly scribbles in his notebook, furiously drawing, calculating and scratching out ink onto the paper.

When pestered about a guide or a large hunt, the dwarf waves off the Captain and crew. "Don't care. You lot choose..." he says grumpily as he rips the page out and crumples it up, tossing it over his shoulder on to a pile of about 20 more balled-up papers.

Elon frowns as he sees that they don't like the ale. "I know recipes that use fruit! " he exclaims, not wanting to disappoint.

Bazsil loudly wanting to hunt distracts the beer drinkers and Elon scowls. "Fine, let's go kill something instead of doing something productive. " he mutters. "Like resolving this alcoholic impasse..."

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Elim grows irate as no one pays attention to him or his wonderful beer. "Bah! It's time to drink! Drink this!" he says as he pages the mug into the hands of the Chief.

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Returning, Elon answers Aeslin's question. "That's not a goat, ye daft woman. It's a sheep from 600 years ago. They din't have as much wool back then before the humans figured em out." he says, setting down the beer and pouring three mugs.

He quaffs his first with all due haste and refills before handing a mug to Rahui and Metzli. "Drink up!" he says. "I got plenty on the ship." he reassures them.

The group seems to be talking about things that Elon just cannot fathom one ounce of f&#@s enthusiasm for and the stone wall and animals make him bored.

"Oh look... a weird cow thing from three millenia ago. A chicken from eight centuries in the past. Some smooth rock wall..." he mutters, clearly bored. His finger points at the objects as he names them, but his mind drifts back to delicious pastries and beer.

"I'll away to the boat to let these fine people taste Steelkeg brews!" bellows Elon as he summons the idea. The dwarf runs back to find his halfling friend asleep in a hammock.

Look at him... All tuckered out from sailing... he thinks with a grin as he shoulders a pony keg of the pale ale and makes for Rahui and Metzli. If he can find a potato on board, then he will grab one of those too.

http://img1.ak.crunchyroll.com/i/spire4/04072008/a/c/a/a/acaab38a6deb10_ful l.jpg

The wall extends into the sea, quite a way out (200 ft or so). Mostly, things don't walk (or swim) around it because they are of animal intelligence.

White walkers!!!

Oops... Just noticed Elon was called along with the pack.

"Metzli. I have ideas on making this better. Let's talk after Chief give speech." the dwarf recommends as he tosses a paw paw to Barley upon his return.

---

Elon clambers up to the wall and inspects each aspect of it. Looking at the craftmanship of the stonework and the surrounding plant life.

Nature: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (14) + 8 = 22
Knowledge (Pastries): 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (14) + 10 = 24 Elon knows the most about pastries, aside from brewing! :D

Elon eyes widen. "You've never had potatoes!?" he asks incredulously. "Potatoes are the greatest food in the world. You can boil them. Mash them. Stick them in a stew..." he prattles on about the tubers as Rahui leads him to their store of god-nectar.

"Brilliant blend, but have ye thought about fixing the recipe?" Elon asks Rahui. "The sweetness is overpowering and ye need a bit of complexity to it or ye lose yer teeth like the lass at Dawa." Elon mentions.

"Aye, if I had a bundle of taters, I could whip up some vodka in a still and we could use this fer a party! Paw Paw Goose is what I'd call it. After me old man, Greying Goose Steelkeg."

Elon looks indignant at his magical prowess being called by that wretched name. "It's an illusion, Chief. A trick is what a whore does for money..."

Barley moos uncomfortably at the silence.

"Or ale!" he yells cheerfully, as he produces three pony kegs for immediate consumption. "Only the finest mainland ale for our new friends!"

The dwarf, seeing that his presence is unneeded, same as the last native village they visited, moves on to find someone excited about beer or at least yaks.

He zeroes in on the guard that was enthused. "Haha! A man of discerning taste!" he yells in Native Speak as he claps the man on the shoulder. "Come! Let us share local cuisine, specifically meats, ales and potatoes!"

"Well..." Elon says as he watches Sea Legs lose his liquid lunch over the starboard railing. "I see that ale doesn't aid ye." he remarks before downing his mug and returning for seconds.

He tops off as he claps the man on the back as Femi brushes the visceral stomach matter from his face. "We'll land soon and ye can get back on dry land, Legs!" he says happily.

---

@The Captain: Barley is still a medium creature until level 7 when he gets bumped to Large. Hence why I only roleplay riding him out of combat. (If that helps).

Elon stumbles out of the rowboat with Barley, leaping upright with his parrot cloak as soon as he gains his footing, scythe in hand.

He proudly presents himself next to Femi and whispers loudly. "Time to act like go-...

He sees everyone watching him and he remembers the conversation that the Captain drilled in us.

You are NOT gods!

"Time to... uhh... act like gift-givers!" he yells as he throws an animal from his bag towards a pair of people.

1d100 ⇒ 95

A riding dog bounces up from the sand. "Arf!" Elon tsks. I can't give 'em Barky! he bemoans internally.

"Go give em a gift after I just showed them my shrinking dog!" Elon yells in a grandiose manner. "It was an illusion!"

Elon brings up a keg of Pale Ale, pouring some draughts for the crew as they sail to Tanaroa. "To the Isle of Whatever-We-Call-This!" he yells, chugging down a pint before greedily refilling his large yak horn mug.

Understanding that he needs to start gelling with the other sailors, Elon walks over to Sea Legs and bows, offering his yak horn of ale. "Here Sea Legs! Some ale will calm the stomach as the alcohol cuts the edge on your nerves!"

"Yeah. The people from Tangerine." Elon states, confused by Ciaran's confusion. "Tangerinians would be the proper terminology." he says with a wise look on his face.

Sorry about the delay. The stitches have thrown me all off.

"You want to mess with my beer?" Elon looks at Gado with wide eyes. He instinctively moves to grab the kegs and wraps his arms around them. "Don't do anything with these! They were expensive!" he says to the man.

As Gado explains, Elon chuckles. "Good idea, but a few years late." the dwarf says as he pushes a small package towards the man with his foot. The man pulls back the parchment and finds a pile of 10 pills. "It's called Alchemist's Kindness (Legal in the APG!) and it removes hangovers. Our bowl is surely more expensive..." Elon says aloud as he still protectively hovers over the beer as Baszil gets refills, trusting the coiffed man.

---

At the meeting with the Captain, Elon speaks up. "To Tangerine, but they better be interested in setting up a brewery, otherwise I will find my own place to set up shop and they might not like it..." he protests, but, hearing himself, he begins to agree that Sea Legs should talk. "Yeah... I get why Sea Legs should speak for us..." Elon mutters, almost inaudibly.

Turning to Sea Legs, Elon asks. "So are we doing the God schtick with the Tangerinians?"

Elon looks at Gado with a bit of a surprise that the man is talking to him. "You know my name?" Elon asks, almost certain that this is the first time they have ever spoken.

Shaking his head as he ponders the question, Elon doesn't quite understand what Gado is asking. "Umm... I mean we can mask the taste of poison with it. Are we going to poison the locals? Do we even have enough poison for that?" Elon asks of the Lorekeeper.

@Gado: You are still 3rd level.

Don't forget Barley!

Elon walks outside with his scythe drawn as Barley munches on some mango skins. "But didn't you want me to do that?" he asks, dumbfounded by the ignorance of the tribe.

As the undead begin to shuffle towards him, turning from the rest, Elon decides that he should make a quick exit. He grabs his bag of tricks and tosses a furry ball in the direction of the zombies.

1d100 ⇒ 99

A riding dog appears and the dwarf leaps atop it and lets the canine carry him to the water's edge. Upon disembarking from the dog, Elon scratches it behind the ears and commands it back into the bag. It leaps into the bag, swallowed into the ethereal plane, happy as a clam.

Elon and Barley leap into the rowboat and head towards the ship as everyone joins. "Well, that was fun." he remarks, examining the few hand-blown bottles of god-nectar that he was able to escape with.

"Eh, those people will be fine." Elon says dismissively as he continues to look over the rudimentary brewing setup. "Need more wood. Wonder what types of wood they have on the island..." he mumbles to himself.

Once he hears of her approval, Elon sets to work, bending down near the pit. He extends his hands and invokes the Green Faith as green light, leaves and roots begins to emanate from his hands. "Nature has brought this boon to our table and we have kept it far too long. Please allow us one more chance..." he intones as the roots and leaves washes over the remains of the pulp in the pit.

Finished, he stands up and claps his hands. "Alright! Now do you mash the mango flesh only? What do you do with the skins?" he wonders.

Elon hears the loud raucous noises that are surely to have emanated from his cohorts, but the dwarf is uninterested.

"Hmmm... you need to clean up your setup. Need giant barrel for mango smashing. No use the pit. Dirt makes god-nectar bad. Add local grains to add depth of flavor and to cut the sweetness." Torgan starts listing off in the local tongue.

"The chilled room is a nice touch, but curtains need to be added to remove light from the equation. Prevents skunking, though you likely can't taste it over the sickly sweetness." Elon says as he runs his fingers over the bricks and the weird tar.

Cheerfully looking at the woman, he gleefully says. "This will do! I have some ingredients on the long canoe that we can start with, but first can I cleanse the mango pit with nature's blessing?" he asks, wanting to purify the mango pulp before it turns from being exposed to open air in the pit for this long.

Should be similar to a mango lambic due to open-air contaminants, so there is likely some sourness to the god-nectar as well. I'm intrigued and now want to brew a mango beer since my raspberry marzen turned out to be very good.

I sent a message to Damien about trying to figure out what Elon would do in social situations other than crack wise with people as Femi and others handle the situations that they were hired to do.

I'd love input, but basically, Elon might venture off while these things happen if they last a while (as any good RP does!) as he has done with the mango smasher.

What do you guys think?

Flavorful, to say the least. Elon thinks as he downs his cup in one go, glad to have something new to taste after being cooped up on the boat for a month.

"Hmm... I do have some ideas. Show me your setup and we can talk turkey... or god-nectar, as it were." Elon says, following the yellow-footed woman, smelling the faint aroma of mangoes as he trails behind her, leaving the rest of the crew to discuss annoying things like cannibals and boats.

Elon would prefer if Mtumbwi is not erect at any point around him, standing or otherwise. ;-)

Elon jabs Bazsil in the side as he ignores the dwarf advising him againts lusting after the man who might be a necromancer. "Hey! Stop being a nitwit!" he say angrily at the coiffed man.

"I will gladly work to make the god-nectar better." Elon states as he straightens up to address Chief Itzel. "Do you want us to handle the cannonballs?" Elon asks as he hears her speak.

"It should be easy if we get in close, then they can't fire on us." he reasons.

Elon jabs Sea Legs in the side. "Psst... Make sure to get me some of that god-nectar. Also, see if I can open a nectary here or at least a brewery with plenty of ovens for baking." he whispers to the man. "Tell them I have beer for them! But only a little bit!"

This is done in Taldane/Common.

Perception @ Bazsil: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (17) + 7 = 24

Elon listens in as Bazsil cracks wise, giggling to himself. "You want that weird looking guy down there?" he says, pointing at Cihuateteo in the crowd. "That guy is Chihuahua." he remarks quietly.

"Ol' Sea Legs can speak?!" exclaims Elon as the man introduces himself finally, his seasickness seemingly abated now that they have reached dry land. "Wait... I thought yer name was William Billiam or something? I'm sure I would have remember Euthanasia..." Elon questions as he ponders the event back at town.

Elon nods quickly as Bazsil speaks, not picking up on his unsaid words. "I volunteer as tribute!" he says with a grin. "What's cuter than a few half-dwarves running around, plus we can surely find ways to put my children to work making this god-nectar..."

He quickly follows Gabor and searches for any signs of this elusive god-nectar.

Upon seeing the graveyards, Elon puts it together. "Oh, so you have a necromancer here?" he says with a frown. "We can probably rid you of that pesky problem, too..." he trails off.