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"Get back up, little one. Still got fight in yew!" Fjorn hurries his heavy and hale (and heartily teased) body over to his fallen ally, drops his axe into the water, and pours a strange crystal white liquid into the Song'o's throat - when he awakes, he points his chin and beard at the busted shield "I think she's a goner. I'm sorry" winking at him. ◆) Stride
"Fat one. Har!" Fjorn laughs at himself humorously - for what it's worth, his belly is temporarily transmorphed into muscle - an asset he considers a high advantage. He let's Yellow have it. ◆) Raise Shield
Turns out his added weight adds impact to his ulfen axe! POW-BANG!!
Taking his sweet sweet time, Fjörn transmorphs into his battle form while his shield grows into a mighty oak! ◆) Regurgitate Mutagen
"If I may" Fjorn wraps the gifted Anyway, after rolling initiative, he: ◆) Activates his Dread Helm
The mutagens wear off… …Fjörn restores his usual habit of coating his nerves with a Moderate Serene Mutagen , and almost opens his mouth to speak. Instead, the better part of (alchemical) wisdom bids he defer to Basag Bungo…
Fjorn switches drinks again... "What if we lured them to attack us? (On defended turf. Yes. Did I say that aloud?). What do they like? Or even, continue with the shadow dupe trick, but be waitin' in the bushes. Look, whatever numbers you got, are bolstered now, what with us fine four. I've seen these men and owls in battle - something fierce. Could easily handle a few bilokos! (What even is a biloko? Sounds like a doll. Did I say that aloud again!?)" The multiple mutagens taking their toll on the poor fool's mind as he experiences hallucinations mid-sentence! ◆) Versatile Vial ➤ Moderate Cognitive Mutagen
”Interesting tactic, creating duplicates that draw the bilokos. Are their numbers too superior as to take a more direct approach? Say, to make the hunters the hunted?” Fjörn matches leader’s menacing grimace with mutagenic mimeticry! ◆) Versatile Vial @ Moderate Silvertongue Mutagen
One gulp restores his forehead depth into a prominent, erudite lump, simultaneously shrinking the circumference of his biceps, which noodle into soft flippers, and slouchens his posture to an aging stoop. Next, a secondary hump emerges tectonically upon his upper back! And finally, all the hair on his head, that isn't his hair-hair - eyelashes, eyebrows, nose hairs, etc - grow profusely and whiten as if he had biologically aged 50 years in a second... ...he speak of the sea, and all the animals he has seen in it's salt clutches - including a whale - and tells Irena a story or two... ◆) Regurgitate (Silvertongue) Muntagen
Fjorn turns his attention to "Irena - did I say that right?" he glances at her missing arm, but turns the conversation elsewhere "You like Komboucha?" he pulls his alchemical familiar - a living Komboucha - out of it's case: uncorking the bottle, and taking a sip "Don't worry - she'll grow back" and offer her some! ◆) Versatile Vial @ Moderate Silvertongue Mutagen
Not without some dis-ceremony, Fjorn once again transmorph's his body and mind to maximize his persuasive capabilities... ◆) Regurgitate Mutagen
"You know" he addresses Efala, turning to him, and widening his eyebrows so that his ulfen face shines through his beard and locks "My ancestors were nomadic as well - longships we used to maneuver over coastlines - more often than not, to meet other communities to take from them, but too, some would leave behind and join, as in our way, intermixing our bloodlines with those of others, by force and circumstance" he bites into a fish-squash "sandwich", spilling orange gush over his neck and shirt, his eyes communicating the joy of sampling the simple delicacies - he equates the act in defense of the necessary violence inferred by the raids he described not moments ago that his people had normalized as a legitimate means of subsistence "We take from the sea, the sea takes from us, all in all, a balance of things, wouldn't you say?" perhaps shoving, too, his proverbial foot into his mouth with the "sandwich"...
...or not!?
Fjorn falls from the sky - lands in the plush water - retorts to Meadow "Oh do ya now, is that so?" He huffs and stuffs, aiming for the flying insect!
◆) Regurgitate Moderate Juggernaut Mutagen
Regurgitate Mutagen:
Requirements: You are under the effects of a mutagen. You redirect a mutagen within your body to spit a stream of stomach acid at a foe. A creature within 30 feet takes 1d6 acid damage for every 2 levels you have, with a basic Reflex save against your class DC. On a failure, the creature is also sickened 1 (or sickened 2 on a critical failure). The mutagen's duration immediately ends.
"Save me?!" the ulfen cackles... Pulling a tiny lever, a fear-inducing substance vaporizes in a 5-foot emanation around our mutagenic hero.
◆) Interact to activate Dread Helm
Fjorn watches the vapor obscure the insect's sensory organs, and cleaves into it with his axe! "I'm coming back to save you!"
"Thirsty, are yew! BLEEEECHCHCHC!!!!" Puking allover his captor, Fjorn re-ups his mutagenic concoction, and bashes the creature
◆) Regurgitate Serene Mutagen
Moderate Juggernaut Mutagen: Benefit @ +2 to Fortitude and +10 temporary HPs which regains when at max HP 1-min Drawback @ -2 to Will, Perception, and initiative
Our mutagenic hero's body reverts: His jaw slackens and recedes slightly, his tummy untucks generously, his shoulder line slouches a few degrees, and his voice loses it's drop; all in all, relaxing into his biological "zero marks" once more. He relaxes too, seeing that his need for persuasion has passed. Jovially: "We would be glad to have yew as our guide! I know my way round a boat, but defer to your command while it the helm" he shows her the magic bag with the magic bell as a token of mutual trust "Our cargo is precious, and we are entrusted to it's destination. Please take us to the Song'o" Fjorn prepares to sail the river, downing another Serene Mutagen before re-embarking!
Fjorn elbows 'Neki and Meadow "Leaving something out... let me see if I can get her to talk..." he vomits directly onto the ground, then gulps a small, pink vial! ◆) Regurgitate Mutagen
His body changes again! First, his jawline cuts into a sleek, handsome ridge, the bones of his mandible re-organizing themselves. Second, the pudge around his hefty gut sucks itself in, internal organs knitting back as his spine straightens, giving his bearing a more masculine arc by bolstering his shoulders into broad pillars. Finally, his voice deepens, the high-pitched tinge of his typical tenor into a luscious baritone! "Ellekkara" he purrs her name "Poachers, smugglers, thieves, pirates, and spies we are not. Quite the reverse, as truth would have it. We are here to make a return, but, due to the sensitive nature of that transaction, I am afraid that I can only be vague on the details... except to ensure you that we are of no harm, and can therefore be trusted" Will the alchemical "magick" do it's trick?
Excited at the chance to sail for a quarter of a fortnight at least, Fjorn storms the helm of the vessel, and grabs the wheel, steering to Port Freedom! Using his continuously refreshing Versatile Vials, he remains "drunk" on Moderate Serene Mutagen, which chills him out... ...arriving at the Korir River system, he seeks their mysterious "guide", asking around tither and yon... Daily Preparations: Advanced Alchemy (□□□) Juggernaut Mutagen, Moderate (□□) Blasting Stone, Moderate, one loaded in Weapon Siphon (□□) Dread Ampoule, Moderate, one loaded in Dread Helm Horn of Plenty w/ Provision
Unless otherwise noted, everything above stored in Horn Versatile Vial
~) Repair w/ Quick Repair Busting out a few tools - including herbals - Fjorn polishes, strokes, and pounds his shield.
"Toss me the journal..." he smells the pages...
"A few years since this was written, by the fine scent in the binding..." he hands it to Basag Bungo "I hope we find your friend"
◆) Raise Shield
The gator snaps ineffectually behind Fjorn's wee shield and massivized frame - he laugh with jolly aplomb! - and keeping his shield up, it suddenly grows to match him in size, branching and rooting to do so, springing a single flower atop, bulwarking him (and the ranger) against further punishment. And, he delivers his own in the form of a modest ulfen axe!
◆) Moderate Juggernaut Mutagen from Horn of Plenty
”Milady, your arrows are deadly - Let me be your shield!” Reaching into his mighty Horn, our psychonautical hero quickly pours a dark orange-ish red-ish fluid from a just-unstowed bottle into his bearded mouth, causing a Mutation: His body convulses a little from the effect, the veins in his neck visibly expanding in width and network, the ridges of his bones bulging at odd angles to protrude with increased prominence, his light colored eyes filling with a malefacient orangish-red tinge. As all the softness drains from his demeanor, all that is left is a large, wide, hulking brute! Raising his ridiculously small shield, which nearly loses itself barely covering his now-broadened forearm, he stands before the ranger and her owl interposed, and braces! Juggernaut Mutagen: Benefit @ +2 to Fortitude and +10 temporary HPs which regains when at max HP 1-min Drawback @ -2 to Will, Perception, and initiative
Fjorn's mental experiment is cut short as he heaves the contents of his handsomely round belly onto the ground - spewing forth the cloudy-yellowish substance with it - and wiping his mouth with his sleeve, turns to Venture-Captain Finze Bellaugh, heartily shakes the man's hand with both paws "Glad you can accept me on your mission. We will find the bell and bring it home" he turns to Basag Bungo "Your home, amiright?" he laughs good-naturedly.
"Such a tragic name" when he sees the wreck "Well then, let's get started!" he heads forward, buckler raised!
"What's this I hear about a bell?" Short by the standards of his own people, Fjorn makes up for his average human height in midway heft. He is surprisingly nimble for a thick-bodied and heavily armored warrior - sporting a sturdy wooden buckler with a sapling glyph on his ample forearm, and carrying a modest ulfen axe in his right. His thick beard and full head of hair a dirty blond finds itself loosely bound into multiple moderately kept locks; a few of which are indeed well groomed and arranged neatly into ropey braids, whereas others seem to have taken on an orientation of their own, unruly, unwound, unorganizable. Though his manners are polite, they stand in contrast to his wild eyes which dart around, as if to signify he is experiencing a mild hallucination at all times. This isn’t far from the truth, for beneath his warm furs what looks like a portable laboratory is stowed in horizontal and vertical rows across the inside of his garments and around his waist - liquids of nearly every spectra visibly within reach of his ordinary sized hands. He looks around the group - two halflings, a skinny human - oh, and an owl "It'll have to do. We would be the lookers then. Who knows how many'll lay claim to this wayward trinket! And the thieves still lurk, you say?" he pauses, perks his ear "Do you hear that? The distant chime? Are you prepared to listen, or do you plan on fighting your way out?" what is he even talking about! Either way, he quickly downs a cloudy-yellowish draught - nary a sip, really - and his forehead expands into a prominent, erudite lump, simultaneously shrinking the circumference of his biceps, which noodle into soft flippers, and slouchens his posture to an aging stoop. Next, a secondary hump emerges tectonically upon his upper back! And finally, all the hair on his head, that isn't his hair-hair - eyelashes, eyebrows, nose hairs, etc - grow profusely and whiten as if he had biologically aged 50 years in a second... he ponders in thought rubbing his just-receded chin... ◆) Versatile Vial ➤ Moderate Cognitive Mutagen
”I knew a witch once. Took her for a tidbit. Grabby handed she stole sips off my brews without knowing what she had done. Turned into a snail she did. I tossed her back into the receding wave” it is unclear if this story is true, based on truth, or pure fabrication ”Now whenever I’m sailing, I stay away from the plank” There might be an obtuse morale - there might not.
Short by the standards of his own people, Fjorn makes up for his average human height in midway heft. He is surprisingly nimble for a thick-bodied and heavily armored warrior - sporting a sturdy wooden buckler with a sapling glyph on his ample forearm, and carrying a modest ulfen axe in his right. His thick beard and full head of hair a dirty blond finds itself loosely bound into multiple moderately kept locks; a few of which are indeed well groomed and arranged neatly into ropey braids, whereas others seem to have taken on an orientation of their own, unruly, unwound, unorganizable. Though his manners are polite, they stand in contrast to his wild eyes which dart around, as if to signify he is experiencing a mild hallucination at all times. This isn’t far from the truth, for beneath his warm furs what looks like a portable laboratory is stowed in horizontal and vertical rows across the inside of his garments and around his waist - liquids of nearly every spectra visibly within reach of his ordinary sized hands. "The Sea? Now there's a lady worth every salty penny. None of which makes sense for making stew at this time. Is is just the itch that brings ya? Or do you figure on fighting your way out?" what is he even talking about!?
↺) Shield Block Fjörn swats the rat away - but it knicks his arm just slightly!
Looking over at the fled dwarf, Fjörn realizes he should have been more genre-savvy "Yew buggers got me!" Reaching into his effects (read: puffy white pirate blouse with flowy sleeves), our psychonautical hero quickly pours a dark orange-ish red-ish fluid from a just-unstowed bottle into his bearded mouth, causing a Mutation: His body convulses a little from the effect, the veins in his neck visibly expanding in width and network, the ridges of his bones bulging at odd angles to protrude with increased prominence, his light colored eyes filling with a malefacient orangish-red tinge. As all the softness drains from his demeanor, all that is left is a large, wide, hulking brute! ◆) Draw Moderate Juggernaut Mutagen
He draws his axe! "Dew you want some more?"
"Hold" Guzzling a green elixir, Fjörn's forehead expands to accommodate a dramatic interior shift to his grey matter, multiple veins running across it now, as blood is re-prioritized from other parts of his body to his head which swells to massive proportions, straining his neck muscles to hold aloft. ~) Cognitive Mutagen (Moderate)
"Medicinal Herbs. From Xa Hoi. Not too much at once" he sniffs some of it "Perfectly fine" holding some out for others to enjoy aromatically. Inflused Reagents: □□□ Juggernaut Mutagen (Moderate) ☑□□ Cognitive Mutagen (Moderate) □□ Serene Mutagen (Moderate) □□ Thunderstone (Lesser) loaded into Weapon Siphon (Axe) □ Quick Alchemy
”Perhaps the sender is aware their cargo may be intercepted in course” Fjörn speculates ”Is it sensitive?” he wonders aloud, before ”Where are my manners? My name is…” before promptly introducing himself (and anyone shy who omits their own introduction) and goes over to firmly shake hands with the agent.
Unsure if he has actually met the hooded beak stranger - besides in "cards" or whatever nonsense he means - our mutagenic hero decides to just go with it "Ah, yeah. We uh..." he pulls out a few "pages" of his "formula book", and throws them onto the ground, staring at their arrangement with acted-out bemusement, and feigning a reading "Uh, the Rune Sticks have Spoken. Our journeys cross here, Rukotarra Seer of Cards and Reader of the Harrow" his charade complete, he gathers his rune sticks back into a satchel, and ask the tengu "What Misalignment do you, uh, foresaw?" not intimately familiar with the word, but aware of it's importance with specific individuals in many communities, the ulfen's misconjugation nearly gives his ignorance away...
...while his natural charm and cunning leave his lie a sparkling finish!
Short by the standards of his own people, Fjorn makes up for his average human height in midway heft. He is surprisingly nimble for a thick-bodied and moderately armored warrior - sporting a sturdy wooden buckler with a sapling glyph on his ample forearm, and carrying a modest ulfen axe in his right. His thick beard and full head of hair a dirty blond finds itself loosely bound into multiple moderately kept locks; a few of which are indeed well groomed and arranged neatly into ropey braids, whereas others seem to have taken on an orientation of their own, unruly, unwound, unorganizable. Though his manners are polite, they stand in contrast to his wild eyes which dart around, as if to signify he is experiencing a mild hallucination at all times. This isn’t far from the truth, for beneath his warm furs what looks like a portable laboratory is stowed in horizontal and vertical rows across the inside of his garments and around his waist - liquids of nearly every spectra visiblly within reach of his ordinary sized hands. He turns to the next person to arrive "I can't tell yew, I don't remember how I got here!" having made a journey lost to perhaps some alchemical trip "Did we meet yet?" he scratches around the root of one of his locks, truly confused, then shoves out his hand "Fjörn, of the Kolkind Clan, a pleasure" having already forgiven himself for (probably) forgetting, he smiles broadly, and shakes vigorously! |
