Gird Krellion's page

Grimacing, Gird shakes her head. "Nah, Oleg's a damn poor judge of drink, I'm thinking. And Gods, I'd love to, but my damn pact...thing with Erastil forbids me." Gird glares at her arm. "Still, ain't no reason for you not to. Drink up, shorty." Gird gets up and heads to the crates, where she pulls out another two bottles of the liquor. Oomlowt, bird guy and shorty are small, so they can share two. And the f*cking dog can get her own. I bet she's a heavyweight.
Heading back to Dariya, Gird pauses by Thrae. "This here's the good sh*t, if you wanna join us." Without waiting for an answer, she continues on her way. Gird has always enjoyed drunk-watching.

As she was eavesdropping, Gird can't help but overhear. "By the will of f*cking Erastil! What the hells man, I ain't a merchant and I know sh*t's worth more than that! What, you got sun in your eyes or somethin'?" Glaring, Gird grabs the liquor and the bracers off the table, and stalks off. Maybe the bracers will fit the shorty or Oomlowt, and if Oleg don't want the liquor, maybe her teammates will. "Come on, bird man. We got other stuff to do."

Without looking back to see if he's following, Gird marches over to the halfling, and plonks the liquor beside her shorter friend (Eh, sure, friend, she's cute and funny). "Hey half-pint, you ever get drunk off the good stuff?"

Is Gird flirting, or is she just building comradery? The world may never know.

Gird nods. "True enough. Oh, hey, before we go..." Gird pulled off her pack, and began to rumage through it, eventually pulling out a pair of braces. "I guess I never gave you these. I can't sell 'em and I definitely can't use 'em, so you want them? I figure you're better at this whole negotiation business." Gird stares wistfully at the case of liquor.

Gird releases her. "So long as we're clear. I'm off to get Oleg." With that, the half-orc walks into the tavern, hoping to find him there. "Try not to kill anyone while I'm gone."

Stepping down from the cart, Gird turns and looks back at the others. "A'ight, I'm gonna go look for Oleg so we can be rid of these *ssholes, and this loot. Think you can manage them 'till I get back?" Gird stops, then turns back to the cart. "Oh yeah, before I forget..."

Gird looked back up at the cart, eyes narrowing when she located Thrae. Without warning, Gird slams her fist into the gnoll's snout. Yanking the gnoll down to eye level, Gird snarls, "Okay, here's what I'm thinking: the only reason, and I mean ONLY, you are a part of this team is becasue you can heal. That is your only job. For that, I am willing to overlook your f*cking crazy god, you eating people, and you being a huge b*tch. If you don't do your job, you are not a part of the team. I am not gonna f*cking work with you if you aren't part of the team, and I'm pretty damn sure they" She gestures to the rest of the party, "Aren't gonna either. Are we clear?" Gird breathes into the gnoll's face as she stares her down. She's pretty sure gnolls have sensitive noses. They look enough like dogs...

Disclaimer: I do not endorse Gird's methodology. Threats are not a great way to win friends and influence people.

CHP: 17/17
HH: 0/4
Arrows: 88
(I assume that Gird would have healed herself as well as her teammates during the day and a half it took them to get back.)

Gird nodded. "Fair enough. I'm not big fans of 'em either." Taking the rope from Oomlowt, she began to tie up the bandits. Well, that was fun. "So, should we head back to Oleg's?" Gird says, though she can't help but feel like she's forgetting something.

She's forgetting about the gold in the cart, but, in her defense, she's almost died today.

"Well, not the humans that other humans like."

"See Oomlowt, this is why you freak everyone out. You're all...unnerving and sh*t. You should work on that, humans don't say wierd sh*t like that." Gird says as she marches over to the older bandit. Smiling cheerfully, she sucker punches him in the gut.

Punch that smug jerk roll:
1d20 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 4 = 13
Damage: 1d4 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5

Still smiling, she bends as she addresses the bandit, now gasping. "Look, *sshole, we don't have to save your life, and hey, some of my friends are against it. I think you should show me some respect, 'cause otherwise this trip ain't gonna be too fun for you. Capiche?"

I debated whether or not the word 'capiche'. In the end, I went with it.

Gird looks over at Oomlowt. And I used to think he was slippery.
"I wasn't so much thinking rehabilitation. Seems like these fellas have a bit of a debt to pay off on account of all their banditry and being huge *ssholes. And I'm sure Oleg could work it out of them. Probably. And hey, if he don't want them, then he can decide what to do with 'em. Fair's fair, right?"

Gird just doesn't like dealing with moral/ethical issues. I think you signed up for the wrong class, Gird.

Though she would never admit it, Gird's kind of impressed. The halfling did have an awful lot of arrows sticking out of her. And she just pulled them out with barely a wince. Girl's ballsy. I like that. Gird walks over and places her hands on Dariya.
"Yeah. This is my last one for the day, so don't go charging into any traps, okay? I've bled enough for one day."

HH roll:
1d6 ⇒ 3

Gird thens turns to Oomlowt, rolling her eyes. "I'm not an idiot, Oomlowt, despite whatever the f*ck you might think. And that was the worst lie I've ever heard you tell. Aren't you kobolds supposed to be better at that?" Gird looks over to where the bandit is. Oh man, he's totally crying. Couldn't he have just died?
"Erastil is pretty hard on bandits and them that attack the innocent, but he doesn't let us be judge, jury, and exicutioner. How about we bring the bastard back to Oleg's? I'm sure Oleg won't go easy on him; he's had bandit...troubles in the past, right?" Gird smiles. It's not a nice smile.

I think that this is pretty IC for Gird? I mean, she's definitely hoping Oleg will do nasty things to the bandit. She's basically just shifting responsibilities.

Gird stares at the ground. Okay, so Oomlowt is...being a kobold. She really shouldn't have forgotten what his kind were like. At least the half-pint was show some hesitation. Still looking at the ground, Gird says,
"As a paladin, I don't think I can do that. I mean, the killing him after he's surrendered. That's pretty unpaladin-like behavior, you know?" Plus, I don't think I can torture him while he looks like that... It's times like these that Gird regrets being the most human member of her party.

Sighing, Gird snorts and turns away from the halfling. "Whatever, fine, just think next time. 'Cause we might might not be around next time you throw yourself into trouble."
Gird looks to the remaining bandit. Wow, he's a mess. Interrogation...that's another word for torture, right? Despite everything, the thought makes Gird uneasy. I'm pretty sure Erastil's against that. And I'm not sure I could do that. Killing someone who's trying to kill you is one thing, torturing someone who's surrendered is different. Looking at Oomlowt, Gird says, voice also lowered,
"So, how are you saying we should interrogate him, anyway?"
Gird spares a glance over to Thrae. Oh, ew, she's eating that person. Gods, what a freak. I'll have to...talk with her later.

Hearing Oomlowt, Gird turns around to see her favorite (and oh gods, her favorite was a f*cking kobold, how f*cked is that?) party member looking at her, concern written on his face. Gird nods at him.

"I'm okay. Glad to see you're in one peice as well." Gird looks around, and notices Dariya. Suddenly looking much, much angrier, Gird stomps over to her. "Hey, you, on the wolf!" Not waiting for the halfing to reply, Gird shoves the halfling roughly, making sure to stay out of range of Lockjaws teeth. "What the hell do you think you're doing?! If someone says trap, you f*cking wait! Did you see that? Did you? We almost died! I almost died! You almost died! That f*cker," she said, gesturing to Raido, "almost died! Next time someone says 'trap', you wait until we figure out some f*cking logistics. Those sh*theaded pig-screwing bastard sons of b*tches almost killed us, and I at least don't have a suicidal deathwish. You got that, shortie?" Gird stares down at the halfling. And to think, this little idiot isn't even the one she's mad at the most!

Disclaimer: nothing Gird says is true, accurate, or in anyeway represents how I feel about anything. Gird's an *sshole, pass it on.

Looks like she's dead. Cool, I didn't want to get my sword dirty anyway. Looking around, Gird notices the bird dude. Wow, he's really bleeding out. I should do something about that, even if he's a weirdo bird man with a freaky pet hawk. Gird walks over to Raido and heals him, propping up his prone form. But what was with that vision? I kinda felt like when Erastil taught me how to heal... Perplexed, in pain, and miffed that the knoll stole her kill, Gird worries her lip.

Weeeeee, go Gird. Maybe next fight you'll actually do something!

HH roll:
1d6 ⇒ 4

CHP: 10/17
HH: 1/4
Arrows: 88

Gird startles up, whipping her head back and forth. It's lucky that Thrae has already moved on to go do other things, because otherwise their heads would have connected, and Gird's fist would have definitely met Thrae's face. Noticing Kressle's prone body, Gird slumps slightly. Well that's good. Gird struggles to her feet, looking around. She approaches Kressle's body, interested to see if the motherf*cker is still breathing. As she walks over, Gird slips her hand beneath her armor, touching her bleeding back.
Ugh, that feels weird. Backs are not supposed to scab over that quickly. And what the f*ck was that? Was that...heaven? Are there even bears in heaven? F*ckkkkkkk.

Yes, Gird has forgotten about the bandits. In her defense, it's been a trippy day. She wants it to be over.

HH roll:
1d6 ⇒ 6

CHP: 10/17
HH: 2/4
Arrows: 88

Oh, figures that now everyone gets the good rolls.

Gird's almost dead, Jim. Take her treasure.

So, since she's stabilized, I guess that means that I don't have to roll anything? Sweet...

CHP: -3/17
HH: 3/4
Arrows: 88

Ow. Ow. Ow! Ow!ow!Owowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowowow Gird can't think straight, and she fumbles uselessly at the dagger in her throat. Should she pull it out? Should she heal around the dagger? Gird can feel the blood pounding in her head, and also the blood coursing down her armor. Staggering back, Gird drops her bow and shakily presses her hand to her throat, fitting it around the dagger and healing. Looking around, her face finds Oomlowt, and she can see her shock echoed there. She can also see Thrae, who also looks surprised, and also somewhat impressed. Trying to smile, Gird mages to force out some encouragement, though it's unlikely that anyone can hear her.
"Just a flesh wound."

Gird stumbles back a square or two. She's not doing well.
Healing Hands:
1d6 ⇒ 4

CHP:5/17
HH: 3/4
Arrows: 88
If Gird doesn't make it, tell her teammates she hated all of them.

Gird hisses at the knife lady, and fires again. Maybe she'll actually hit something, this time?

Attack roll:
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15
1d8 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

CHP: 17/17
HH: 4/4
Arrows: 88

Having missed the guy in the trees, Gird turns her attention to the creepy lady chucking daggers around. While she'd rather not have to fight her, daggers are serious business! Gird draws back her bow, and fires!

Attack
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8
1d8 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9

CHP: 17/17
HH: 4/4
Arrows: 89

While something about the woman with the creepy weird armor (How did she get it yellow?! Creeeeepy!) is unsettling to GIrd, she figures that the stupid bandits in the trees pose a more immediate threat. Plus, maybe the lady is on her side? It's doubtful, but something is making Gird not want to fight her. As she readies her shot, Gird takes a look over her shoulder to make sure Oomlowt is okay. She's worked pretty hard at keeping him alive, and she'd hate to lose him now. Seeing that he's fine, Gird fires at the bandit who shot at her. "An eye for an eye, motherf*cker?"

Attack:
1d20 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9
1d8 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9

Oh Gird, eloquent as always~
CHP: 14/17
HH: 4/4
Arrows: 90

Seeing Dariya and her pet wolf took down the bandit easily, Gird felt slightly guilty. Well, she can clearly take of her self, maybe I was wrong...? She's stills stupid as balls for rushing into a trap though! But at least that's one down, two ore more left to go. Pulling the arrow from her shoulder in a bad*ss display of pain tolerance, Gird scans the area, trying to notice any of the archers that had been shooting at her and her party members.

Perception check:
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9

CHP: 14/17
HH: 4/4
Arrows: 91

Gird continues to move up towards where the bandit is taking cover, snarling. She must be losing her godsd*mned mind! She must be! Bushes are cooing, one of her party members literally charged into a trap, and, with the exception of Oomlowt, the only sane one*, the others haven't even bothered to draw long-range weapons! Whatever, looks like it's up to her to save the day.

*And Oomlowt is a f*cking kobold, who'da thought that he would be the one she trusts her life with the most. Then again, her other choices are a bird, a b*tch, and an half-sized idiot. Days like this, Gird misses Pretty Boy and Goat Boy. And that other one. What had his name been?

Gird moves to the beginning of the creek, in order to fully take advantadge of her PBS feat, so no combat this round!
CHP: 17/17
HH: 4/4
Arrows: 91

"Stupid arrogant piss-drinking short wolf lady can't even wait to look for a trap..." Gird snarls as she draws her bow. Advancing farther than Oomlowt (As close as she can get, I'm trying for her Point-Blank Shot feat), she knocks an arrow and fires at the bandit hiding by the logs.

Attack roll:
1d20 + 2 ⇒ (15) + 2 = 17
1d8 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10

If the PBS feat can apply, then
Attack roll:
1d20 +3 => (15) + 2 = 18
1d8 +3 => (8) + 2 = 11

CHP: 17/17
HH: 4/4
Arrows: 90

Initiative check:
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3

Perception check:
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (14) + 3 = 17

Gird tries to grab the wolf as it goes by, but misses. Swearing, she draws her sword instead and watches the wolf approach the cart. This isn't going to go well...

CHP: 17/17
HH: 4/4
Arrows: 91

Gird stops and looks around. "Well, this sure as hell looks like a trap." She looks around, trying to detect anything out of the ordinary in her surroundings.

Gird uses Detect Evil
Perception check:
1d20 + 3 ⇒ (11) + 3 = 14

Gird grunts. She thinks she likes the tiny human. "Yeah, food sounds good. And me and Oomlowt can slip off later to talk to Oleg about our dead comrades, while you all socialize."

Gird nods. She'll take that. None too gently, she helps Raido to his feet. "Better be more careful 'bout what you say 'bout the gods, 'specially in front of their followers. Just between you and me though, say whatever you want about Erastil." With that, Gird moves to rejoin Oomlowt. "Crisis averted."

Gird shrugs. "Probably. It's really f*ckin' hilarious though. Seeing Oomlowt's expression, Gird sighs and walks over to the tengu and the gnoll. "Alright, break it up, break it up. The bird's an idiot, Hanspur's a bad*ss god, we know." As she says this, Gird stares down Thrae. This here, this here is master diplomacy.

Seeing as how others were declaring their faith, Gird manages a "Hip hip ho-f*cking-ray, Erastil. Ia Ia, Erastil f'tagn."

Stepping into the conversation, Gird flashes her most charming smile. Huh, who knew she could actually look...nice.
"As my friend Oomlowt said, we would be more than happy to welcome such experienced travelers such as yourselves to our party. However, the two of us have some things we must discuss, relating back to our dear departed comrades. If you'd just pardon us a moment." Gird pulls Oomlowt aside, murmuring in his ear, "We never hammered out the division of loot, and honestly, I don't feel like sharing our hard-earned spoils with these guys. I know I picked up some stuff that you could use, and also some stuff that I know nothing about. Later, we should examine it and bring it to Oleg."
As she's speaking, Gird surreptitiously lowers her hand to Oomlowt's back, healing him. She doesn't trust that half-drowned cleric's healing any more than she trusts that half-drowned cleric, which is to say not at all.

Healing check
1d6 ⇒ 6

CHP: 17/17
HH: 0/4
Gird, you are awful. Just awful.

"Yeah, whatever. Just make sure the damn bird minds it's own business, for it's own sake." Gird stares at the hawk, then, after a moment, grins. It's not very big, and now that she's had time to acclimate, Gird doubts she's going to be scared of it. Assuming she could grab at it, she could easily snap it's neck. She turns and looks at the bird man (No wings, so not scary. Just ugly), sizing him up.

Gird flinches, and notices the hawk. Eyes widening, Gird snarls. She's about to draw her bow when she registers the earlier voice. "Hey, d*ckwad, is this your f*cking bird?" Not waiting for an answer, Gird hurries from behind the building and back to where Oomlowt is standing, never turning her back on where the hawk was. You're being stupid, Gird, it's a hawk. The dumb thing can't even f*ckin' scratch you... Gird steps behind Oomlowt, which is really pathetic, once she thinks about it; like hell he's gonna be able to protect her.

At this, Gird's brow furrows, but instead of shouting at the tiny midget lady, she turns to Oomlowt. He's always better at explaining things without shouting and hitting people. "I'm going to take a piss. You explain, Oomlowt." Gird stomps off to behind one of the buildings, then pulls down her armor and heals herself. She doesn't want to show weakness in front of the new recruits.

: Lay on Hands:
1d6 ⇒ 6
1d6 ⇒ 3
1d6 ⇒ 4

CHP: 17/17
HH: 1/4

Gird looks back over at the Oomlowt. While she'd love to just march over and stab the *ss-kissing dog lady, Gird knows that another party member (Who actually wears real armor, gods bless!) would be a nice addition. Walking over, she clasps Oomlowt on the shoulder, making sure to stay in front of him in case the gnoll is lying about her admiration. So you're a cleric, huh? Don't suppose you can heal people, can you? Because I think we'd be open to you joining us, provided you had something to add. Other than the intimidation thing; I've already got that covered." Gird smiles. It's not a nice smile.

Leaning down (a long ways; kobolds are short) Gird murmurs in Oomlowt's ear, softly enough so that Thrae can't hear her, "I don't trust her, but I think we could use the help. We've already lost four of our ranks..."

CHP: 6/17
HH: 4/4
Gird might be counting Woofles...

Gird snorts, then looks away. Quietly, she walks over to the banks and finishes the ceremony. Let Oomlowt deal with her. You have much more important things to do.

CHP: 6/11
HH: 4/4

Gird stares. Does she really believe that? Wow, she must be as dumb as a stack of bricks...

Raising her shield (which bears the mark of Erastil), she says, "Look, you stupid f*ck, just wearing a holy symbol doesn't mean you own j*ck sh*t. I'm a f*cking paladin of Erastil, and you don't see me walking around telling people they can't touch the deer, or plant their crops. And right now, we're scattering our friend's ashes, in accordance to the church of Erastil, so you can mind your own d*mn business." Gird lowers her shield, and looks to Oomlowt, once again with a 'can you believe this' expression. Quietly though, she's a bit unnerved. Devotees of Hanspur can be, well, religious about rivers.

CHP: 6/11
HH: 4/4

Without trying to dictate how anyone posts, we should probably try to steer this in a more friendly direction, at least if we want to introduce the others by Sunday...

Gird glares, staring down the gnoll. "Well excuse me, but in case you haven't noticed, this is the f*cking River Kingdoms; if someone starts running towards you, you draw a godsd*mned weapon. And why the hell should you care what we're doing with the river. It's a river, you don't own it" Gird attempts to loom. She's generally quite good at looming. Briefly glancing over at Oomlowt, Gird raises her eyebrows as if to say 'can you believe this idiot?'

CHP: 6/17
HH: 4/4
Guys, I am making too many crack ships, too soon. Help.

Gird snorts at the gnoll's response. Yeah, like a gnoll would be innocently doing anything. "Well, we definitely are doing something. What does it matter to you?" On some distant level, Gird is aware that she shouldn't be so aggressive to a creature as vicious as a gnoll whilst wounded and with only an equally wounded kobold, of all things, to help her. "We don't mean anybody any harm."

CHP: 6/17
HH: 4/4

Gird draws her sword, not in the mood for any bullsh*t. "What the f*ck do you want? We're pretty busy here. And trust me, you don't want the trouble."

Intimidate check:
1d20 + 5 ⇒ (16) + 5 = 21

CHP: 6/17
NEW COUNTER:
Healing hands: 4/4

Gird smiles, though secretly she's a bit miffed that he was asking for it. It would have been more heroic if Tartuk(?) had been trying to kill everyone. Oh well. Looking longingly at Tartuk's (Okay, really, what was his f*cking name? This is really gonna bother me!) stuff, Gird settles back. "I'm a paladin Oomlowt. I'm not allowed to loot the bodies. It's like, wrong or what-the-f*ck-ever..." Gird pauses, then grins slowly. "Unless it counts as a reward for helping the kobolds?" Turning to Sootscale, Gird says "Since this stuff is now yours, that means you can give it to m-I mean us as a reward for all our hard work, right?"

Now that Gird's had some bonding time with Oomlowt, I think Gird's gonna refer to him by his actual name. It's a sign of respect?
Also, I might be starting to ship Oomlowt<>Gird. Someone help me. I'm awful.

Gird looks around. That was...bizarre. Still, deciding to take the moral high ground, Gird raises herself and flings Tartuk off her sword. Staring at Sootscale, Gird says, rather smugly, "What were you saying about cowardice, chief?" Looking over at Oomlowt, Gird says, with much more fondness, "Not just a kobold matter, I think." Staring down at the creepy ex-kobold, Gird wonders aloud "What the hell was he saying, anyway?"

Haha Gird you hypocritical *sshole. She's kind of awful.

CHP 4/11

Gird continues forward, raising her sword as enters the fray. She's not gonna let any stupid kobold stop her!

Gird longsword attack roll:
1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 18
Damage roll:
1d8 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9

CHP: 4/11
Arrows used: 3

Gird pauses, looking back. The kobolds have lowered their weapons towards her and are once again turning their attention to..Tartuck (okay, really, what was that *sshole's name)? As Sootscale's words register, Gird stands still for a moment, debating with herself. Aw, f*ck it. Everyone else's tried, I might as well...
Mentally hitting herself over the head, Gird turns back and sprints back towards her probable death. She's lived a pretty crappy life, might as well try to do something with it. Plus, she really, really hates that guy. He's a d**che!

Gird sprints back because she's an indecisive b*stard.

CHP: 4/11
Arrows used: 3

"Man, what the f*ck?! You idiots can't even speak common! Weren't you all trying to kill him a second ago? F*cking kobolds!" Gird snarls, realizing that's most likely not making it out alive. Shoving her wand back in her belt, she reaches for sword, drawing it, before turning suddenly and bolting. As she turns, she can see Oomlowt firing his crossbow. She makes a quick prayer to Erastil as she runs. Please, not him too. Everyone else is dead...

Gird sprints as far away as she can. Somehow, she's not really expecting to make it...

CHP: 4/17
Arrows used: 3

Gird continues to back away, using her wand. She'll just, you know, not die.

CHP: 4/17
Arrows used: 3

Gird stares at the kobold, considering. Hell, would diplomacy kill me? "Actually, I'm pretty sure I don't. Are you sure you want to do that?" Gird puts her bow away and draws her wand, retreating while waving it. "I'm fine with leaving you to rule over these guys until the end of time. In fact, it seems best for everyone, I'll leave you to it. I hope that you continue to rule them with an iron claw, and all that jazz. Good luck!" Gird continues to back away, keeping her eye on the kobold as the flames pour from her wand.

Bluff check:
1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 18

CHP: 12/17
Arrows used: 3

Gird is highly uneased by the purple kobold's magic, Gird looks form the raven to the kobold then back to the raven. [i]Maybe?[/b] Gird takes aim again, this time aiming for the raven flying about Tartuk's shoulders. Hey Omelet, I you might wanna get behind me. Things might be getting hot in the near future!"

Longbow:
1d20 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 2 = 18
Damage:
1d8 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

CHP: 12/17
Arrows used: 3

Amazingly enough, Gird isn't in the killing mood. Or at least that's what she's telling herself as she readies another shot.
As she is readying her shot, she looks at the raven. Didn't Goat Boy's goat have something to do with his magic? "Hey Omelet, didn't Goat Boy's goat do something?"

Longbow roll:
1d20 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12

Damage roll:
1d8 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9

CHP :12/17

Arrows used: 2

Although she has no clue what is being said, something about this...Tartook(?) fellow's calm reaction does not sit right with Gird. Hanging back, she draws her bow and fires, making sure to watch the kobold's hand motions carefully.

Gird initiative roll:
1d20 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 1 = 15

Longbow roll:
1d20 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 2 = 7

Damage roll:
1d8 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4

Arrows used: 1