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Gunnar bellows in pain as the deathly teeth sink in, yanking his arm away as he swats the swarm off of him. He pulls his warhammer as Glor's vial shatters, shielding his face from the worst of the burns, then smashes his weapon into the mass with both hands.
"What, ya fancy a nap already? Off yer lumps ya lazy warts; we've things to do." As Gunnar turns to leave the room, he glances sidelong to his left, then waves off a nagging thought with an exasperated sigh. "FINE!" "Say we load up the mattress then. Might have its uses and it's no good here."
"Well someone's gotta be there to pull yer screamin' arse outta the fire and patch ye up, so off we go."
Gunnar looks over some shoulders as others attempt to decipher what they've found but nothing jumps out at him as familiar or noteworthy.
Gunnar scratches his chin as his comrades tend to the quasi-ghostly commander. "Can't say I've seen a ghost bleed 'till now..."
With the first construct now removed, Gunnar pivots and steps into a swing against the second.
Satisfied with their preparations, Gunnar moves in, gripping his warhammer with both hands and swinging deep at the maiden statue.
"All things considered I'm glad she didn't!" Gunnar steps pas Helga, pulls his hammer from his belt and chants a quick ode to his ancestors, spreading a bit of their favor around the group.
Gunnar rests a hand on his warhammer, rolling his eyes. "More talkin' rocks..." he mutters to himself.
+1 base will
+1 rank in diplomacy, heal, knowledge: local and nature, perception, spellcraft and survival +1 rank in background skills: knowledge history and profession brewer
Gunnar puts his hands on his hips, stretching out his back. "Aye, I'm for a reprieve if we're agreed."
"If it clears a safe passage for supplies and migrants to the site, then aye. I'd say it's worth a bit of effort. 'Specially if we find somethin' worthwhile along the way."
Gunnar scratches his head, glancing to his left and right in exasperation. "Who says all our ancestors have to be ghosts, eh? Let's do what we're here to, then."
Gunnar strokes his beard at the quality of the statue, nodding in approval. He jumps only slightly as the figure comes to life, wondering at its apparent confusion. "Well now...nobody said anythin' about talking bronze..."
Gunnar picks up one of the weapons of the broken skeletons, examining it with a snort. "Wonder how long they've been down here..."
Gunnar pats his forward allies on the shoulder, motioning to the fork. "Aye, form a line then. Let them crash into our steel all at once instead of hogging the glory, lads."
Gunnar readies his warhammer, glancing around him. He looks up at something, eyes pacing in thought, then nods. "Goggeck! Get back in line lad, here at the fork! More room to beat on them all at once!"
Gunnar regards the commander with an appraising eye, scratching through his beard as he ponders the question. "Can't recall's I have, no..."
"Long as we can clear it for supply runs to the settlement, the haul's just gravy." Gunnar swats away something next to him. "AYE I said the HAUL, ye thrice stank gasbag! Not that it was yours to begin with!" He then exhales, shaking his head. "Sorry. Nosy ghosts always coughin' up opinions..."
Gunnar steps past the broken remains of a skeletal warrior and weaves in for a blow against the offending pile of bones.
Gunnar lays into the green skeleton with his warhammer.
Gunnar nods in approval as the massive doors slide apart, then frowns at the skeletons rising to welcome the party. He once again pulls his warhammer and moves up to the front. "Oh aye, the ones in me head weren't enough, now we got the bones of 'em scoldin' us too..."
Gunnar waves off the notion of rat meal with a scoff. "Bah. I've eaten worse."
Gunnar gets to his feet and grabs his warhammer, growling under his breath all the while. "If it's not ghosts it's the damn vermin breakin' my sleep--I'll pound the lot of ye into steaks and feed ye to yer MAMMY, ya bloody pests!"
Aye, I've just been kind of grabbing a crossbow off the cart when I need one, so I don't see the problem at the moment.
"Aye, a good night won't hurt. Doors won't be goin' anywhere 'fore the morning."
Gunnar scoffs. "I'll serve me own mum a brew o' Goblin spit 'fore ya catch me climbin' up a privy chute." He leans against a wall, arms folded. "Sides, old ghosts'd never give me a moment's quiet fer that..."
Gunnar pulls the arrow out and starts to gather up anything that can add to the kindling pile that's now growing. "Best we burn the vermin and their camps, lest we leave a meal invite for fouler ones." He goes about tearing down the Goblins' camp and making a pyre of the remains. "Wouldn't do to have somethin' move in right behind us and take up camp soon as we're off..."
Slightly annoyed by the arrow sticking in his flesh, Gunnar attempts to move forward to better cover while he looks for a chance to get within striking distance.
Gunnar spies the goblin waving his hands around. "Caster!" He stows the crossbow and moves up to his side of the barricade, hunching down for cover.
Gunnar blinks at the new form that appears between them, then sniffs once. "You too, aye?"
"Or draw them out and pick them off from cover. We charge into a nest of arrows and they'll be the ones tellin' the tale."
"Doubt it," Gunnar huffs. "One, easy enough with a good crossbow shot, but two? Not unless one's slow on the uptake."
"Can't imagine it bein' a buncha good folk setting up an inn in the middle o' tunnels...specially not ones filled with slimes and goblins."
Long as we're not getting obsessed over when we level, I'm good with it.
"Worst case ye could melt 'em down for the slag..."
"Nasty," Gunnar remarks flatly, stowing the crossbow and stepping forward to examine the remains. He glances around at the like-new items laying about. "s'pose the jelly did this? Shame they're so brainless or they'd make good for polishin' things..."
Gunnar snorts derisively, then loads another bolt and fires, but flinches at something as he squeezes the trigger, growling to his left.
Gunnar curses under his breath, firing off a crossbow bolt at the gelatinous creature.
Everyone still alive? It's not even October yet, folks; no using Halloween as an excuse just yet!
Don't sweat it; I just started a new job. Graveyard shift. Missed a night myself. And there's about to be a shift change in the next week or two as well. ugh.
Gunnar follows Hezekh in as closely as possible, charging in after him with his warhammer in both hands.
Fancy yerself a hammerer, do ye? Lucky we got plenty o' nails need poundin'...
Well now... Gunnar's eyes light up a bit at this new discovery. Stickers like those ought ta have quite the juice... He puts up a closed fist, signaling the caravan to stop. He then draws his warhammer and turns to the party, pointing at his eyes and jabbing a thumb in the direction of the path.
So long as the site holds, anyway...
Gunnar eats readily, swatting at the air on occasion. Though he leaves no morsel untouched, he frowns upon finishing the meal. "Hmph. Stew used to have a lot more flavor..." he scratches his beard with a furrowed brow. |
