On a minivacation,posting will be unlikely til Tuesday or so. Feel free to DMPC my character as needed.
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"I know I'm pretty, but mysterious?" Fukarth mutters, wincing as he pulls the arrows carefully out of his hide. Sarcasm proves to be an inadequate anesthetic, so he takes a swig from his flask, and spills a little whisky on the freshly bleeding wounds. "I've been better, but I'll live. Thanks," he says, nodding to Gorvy. He watches the drake fly off, and looks around for any trace of the archers. Or any traps that might have been left around the place.
Dragon? Fukarth thinks, looking towards Gorvy and the mist where the archers had been, leaning like a dog on a leash to pursue. I don't like letting them near kill me without ... talking things through, but a dragon sounds like serious business. With a grunt of disgust and irritation, he marches towards Imperia.
Dwarfiness, hell, that hurts! Fukarth thinks to himself. "Cayden, let me live to drink another day," he mutters, spitting blood into his beard. With that, he takes cover behind a tree.
"I knew there was something funny about you, but I thought it was the boomstick," Fukarth calls back to Gorvy.
"Goblin-humping elf-kissers!" Fukarth roars, as arrows ping off his armor. With a second hack at Imperia's bond, he charges off into the trees.
Fukarth chops at the goo on Ka'ta with his axe, keeping his eyes peeled for an ambush.
With a speed and grace completely unsuited to a creature with such stubby little legs, Fukarth nimbly dances out of the way of ... something.
Fukarth stops and spits in the road, scratching his beard as he looks at them. "Well, how much worse can they be than the skeleton lady?" he says, not really wanting to find out. "Who can shove her damn hospitality, by the way. As far as I'm concerned, we don't owe her a thing."
Fukarth leans closer to Isadora, and whispers loudly. "I think the night's lodging is fair condensation for pointing out the flaws in your intrudent-thingy. I entirely agree with you about arguing with ghosts. While I don't mind waiting while the insuff ... the Tien girl writes, you'd have to explain to her what respect meant if you wanted her to learn anything from it, and I haven't got that much time."
"I'll show you mother-shuckers what kind o shucking dwarf you messhed ... oh, shcrew it." Hugging the bottle, Fukarth falls to the floor, muttering about ghosts and will saves.
Sighing, Fukarth clambers to his feet and walks towards the loose board, reaching down with his axe to pull it up.
"Aye. I really shouldn't, tonight," Fukarth says glumly, looking at the little flask. "I've been led to believe this place might be haunted. Still, it won't hurt to keep you company, I suppose."
Fukarth sits on the floor of his room, sipping from his flask and sharpening his axe.
Fukarth scowls and mutters. "Just because I snore, I get left out on the cold." Not that he has any plans on sleeping this night.
"You could have a bunch of cats instead of flaming skeletons around the place and still be an obviously deranged old bat, without hurting anyone," Fukarth observes helpfully.
"No chance you've an interest in the 'eating well' side of the faith, as well as the desecrating the dead part, is there?"
Fukarth stalks inside the house, scowling and looking around for more undead. If he trusted this woman as far as he could throw her, it would be a big improvement, though he does go so far as to lower his axe and hold it at his side.
Fukarth sniffs the air curiously, then nods sagely. "Wet undead. Almost as bad as elf."
"Aye, you'l just ask us to leave our weapons outside a house where we've already been attacked, like a pack of fools." Fukarth growls, and stands between the girl and the door. "Relatively undead-free sounds at least one relative away from being free of undead, so what's the story with your mother?"
"Warm fire and soup, fine, but she's not getting a drop of whiskey til she's proven herself," Fukarth mutters.
If we all turn around, I'll be in the front of the line! That's right, kids! Follow the dwarf! Fukarth turns around, holding his shield up in front of him and his axe low. "Speak up!" he shouts. "I can't hear you over the rain!"
Fukarth grumbles as he falls into line behind Ka'ta. "That's right, put the dwarf at the back of the line, since he can't see over anybody."
Fukarth grabs the wand and runs around laughing maniacally and lunging at the others, like a short, stubby, bearded Zorro.
He then strikes an en garde pose and says. "If any of you long-legs want some more, just you come and get it.
"Might be harder for a bowman to have his fun inside. Less room an' all." Fukarth says it more as an observation than anything. "Did you mean knock on the door, or knock it down?"
Hundreds of generations of dwarves avoiding charismatic types has resulted in bearded women and a -2 charisma penalty.
I am not going to do anything undignified like chasing the bard. *He says, stepping off the end of the porch and falling*
Is it lost with the miss, or do I get to take another swipe? If so, you can have it. I completely forgot we had a happystick.
Fukarth follows after Ka'ta and Gorvy, liking the smell of wet dwarf less than most people. He frowns enviously as Imperia drinks a potion, and looks back at the wagon with the barrels of whiskey. He sighs, knowing this isn't the time, and awaits the half-orc's return.
You have to give the Old Mammoth credit for giving it a name that sets a certain tone.
"Someone ask your opinion?" Fukarth grumbled at Song.
Fukarth burns his spells for the day on recovering from the fight. Mumbling and drinking, he heals: Me
"It's Fukarth, not Fftz, you bony b******!" Fukarth says, and takes another swing.
"Fukarth Firebeard. Remember that name."
"That's about enough from you," Fukarth grumbles, swinging his axe at the skeleton again.
Also worth remembering: some CRs are worth a heck of a lot more than others. A bugbear (bog standard bestiary) is a CR 2 monster with AC 17, 16 hps that attacks with a +5 in melee and does 1d8+3 damage.
Granted, the bugbear has much better skills (15 total bonus vs 7) and the scent special ability, but the hobgoblin has better saves (total bonus of 8 vs 7) and better initiative. Overall, I'd say the bugbear is a slightly tougher adversary, but not 3x the xp tougher. Also, consider that a 1st level warrior in studded leather armor with a shield and a longsword is worth exactly the same xp as a 1st level commoner with a spear. PS, throw lots of bugbears at us.
Fukarth can't make heads or tails of Lianhua's song, but something about the melody lifts his spirits. Turning his attention to the skeleton that has been throwing spells at them, he rushes in.
Fukarth must have been more saturated with alcohol than usual, as the flames burn him badly. In response, he unleashes a torrent of dwarven curses which are untranslatable, and punches his shield into one of the skeletons attacking him. He takes another step to his left (E-7)
Oops. I was considering myself at full health. Just forgot to tell me profile. Thank you for the heads-up, sir.
Undead make Fukarth realize what a low charisma does to a cleric's channelling. Still, it'll help. Burning skeletons are entirely reasonable. I am glad they aren't giant, though. That might be scary.
Fukarth raises his face to the heavens and shouts loudly. "Lucky Wanderer, help us from these cursed things." Then he draws his axe and takes a step to engage the one to his left. (D-7)
Fukarth strides through the gate beside Imperia, a hand on the handle of his axe. There are times when "adventurer" and "raider" are dangerously close to the same thing, and after all, this is technically enemy territory. "I've no wish to do any harm," he says. "But I've even less desire to spend the night getting pissed on by clouds while the heavens chuck thunderbolts at us."
Fukarth studies the figure on the chair, and decides he doesn't like the way it's staying so still while the chair rocks. "Hey you in the chair!" he yells. "We're adventurers seeking a safe haven for the night. Can we come in or what?"
Following behind the others, Fukarth gives the creepy mansion a once over. His face opens into a broad grin as they get closer. "This looks like the type of place with some real top shelf stuff."
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