Gunnar Sulbjorn's page

"Not to take more of your stock Orren, but could one of your dogs here follow the trail and lead us to his packmates? A huntin' hound would be real handy right now. If nothin else, sound carries a long way out here. We can take a guess and try having the dogs howl when we might be close. If'n the goblins haven't muzzled them, we'll hear the reply. Leastways that's the best I can come up with at the moment."

Alerted by a the sudden interest felt by his familiar, Gunnar stops wrestling with the dogs long enough to see who's here. When he spies Odette, the lanky sorcerer pushes himself to his feet and calls a cheerful greeting. "Hail and welcome, Odette, Orent." He brushes at his clothes to dislodge the worst of the fur he's picked up playing with the hounds. With a self-depreciating eyeroll, he stops that futile endevour and with a subtle gesture and a word or two casts a cantrip instead....which promptly fails. The corner of his mouth turns up in equal parts grin and grimace. Still absentmindedly trying to brush himself off, he leaves Orent to show her the clue while he informs Orran that another prospective merc has arrived and they may learn more shortly.

(This being a perception check, I'll let the DM roll for me.)

The young man accepts his host's offering graciously and tamps down the pipeweed with a certain lack of experience. He's made of stern stuff, so the first exposure to smoking goes better than it might. It certainly is a relaxing pastime with it's precise rituals of measuring, stuffing, tamping, lighting, and puffing. "My thanks good Sir", ect, ect. He'll make a point of finding out the brand so he can return the favor later. He follows his new companion out back with interest. He absentmindedly pets any dog that approaches him, but his attention is on the hole. He first examines it to try to determine what dealt the damage (natural or manufactured, slashing or bludgening, crude implements or sharpened steel, ect). Loki sniffs around curiously as well (The ferret has scent, though he's limited to empathic communication for now.) The Soulspark runs interference if any of the dogs start showing undue interest in playing with my familiar. Once he's done with the fence, he checks the ground for prints, tracks, or drag marks to get an idea what came through, how tall it was and how heavy. He's fairly oblivious and not the sharpest spoon in the drawer, but he's methodical and thorough. This could take a while if he isn't interrupted. (take 20 if possible, familiar attempts aid another, the alertness feat boosts his negative perception back up to +1.

At the shout, Gunnar shrugs and heads inside nonchalantly. As his gaze roams the room his puzzled look fades to a quiet approval. An orderly home is the product of an orderly mind, or so he thinks to himself. Loki hangs back to tease the pups some more, but when his master goes to close the door, the ferret leaps down and runs back to him. Unable to be more than a few paces away without fading, the soulspark hovers nearby, its cool azure luminescence echoing the good mood of its shaper. Taking the kennelmaster at his word, the man of all trades takes his ease on a low seat where he can face the rear door.

The gangly sorcerer has some difficulty keeping up with Orent's determined stride at first, but his sandals flicker with a surge of power and he catches up quickly, despite his armor. He enjoys a companionable silence for the rest of the walk. Upon arrival he finds the situation rather less than to his liking. Habits hard learned on the job rise quickly to the fore. Gunnar raises one arm toward the top of the fence, using his body as a path for his familiar to achieve the high vantage. While Loki looks down into the yard, Gunnar keeps an eye on his soulspark as it flies up 10ft and begins jockeying back and forth to maximize field of view. Gunner himself puts his back to the wall on Orent's off side, the better to see anything coming. Despite his watchful mein, Gunner still draws no weapon.

Gunnar's a pleasant conversationalist and he'll chat enough to get an idea what everyone might have to offer as a "tracker, investigator, or warrior". Once he thinks he has enough info to convince Orren to give them the job, he'll volunteer to take the notice to the kennel and get the paperwork started. He'd prefer company if anyone else wants to get right to it.

So, who are you folks?

The tall man takes the invitation happily and settles himself at the table. Some of the odder details stand out now that he's closer at hand. His body is flaked with tiny crystals, embedded in or growing from his skin. They glint slightly in the light, not with the shine of gems, but more like common salt. A tattoo of sorts twines about his neck depicting a copper and black dragon facing off, jaws wide and ready to unleash toxic breath. Light also catches on a different source, as sitting down has pushed his breastplate higher on his chest. The sparkling gleam of ice rings his torso, perhaps explaining his comfort by the fire.

"If'n you mean quite what you say that is a long answer to be told. I suspect you meant more like 'What do you folks do?' I'm what village folk call a hired hand, or as the city folk call it, a man of odd jobs. I've done most sort of tasks at least once, from hauling in catch to catching thieves. My last job was bodyguard...also sometimes sorcerer. I give a fair days work for a fair day's wage, keep my word, and pay my debts.

Speakin of which, I thank you for the meal. I'm not from around here. Most jobs on the board call for a crew an I'm as shy on friends as I am of coin at the moment. So, turnabout bein fair play an all, what have you to say for yourself?"

He's said enough for the moment and tucks in with a country boy's appetite when the food arrives.

She then plucks the note about needing trackers from the board and heads over to where Variel and Sindri are sitting...

Though popular by night when the frozen winds howl outside, the seat closest to the fireplace is seldom occupied by the young or strong when morning comes, however brisk the weather may be outside. This morning however, such a man quietly sat, still wrapped in obviously new clothes more suited to the frost outside than his likely overwarm seat. His skin is fair, though recently tanned. He had been steadily munching his way through an old packet of jerky and staring longingly at the "hot'n ready" breakfasts when you entered the room. As you tear down the notice, he stands.

Unfurling like a sail going up the mast, he tops nearly seven feet tall and carries the muscle of one who has done hard work for a living, rather than pleasure. The man is both more and less impressive as he moves to follow you. A breastplate beneath his overcoat adds bulk to his lean frame, but the clear lack of weapons vies with that one martial note. His features are even and pleasant, his manner open and easygoing. However, he moves so very slowly and with great care, like a dog having just grown into his paws and trying terribly hard not to trip over his own feet. Thus, he arrives at the table slightly after you have made yourself comfortable and given introduction.

Gunnar stands uneasily behind the remaining chair, not wanting to intrude, but driven by clear need. His voice is soft and slow, with a touch of rustic drawl. "My name is Gunnar. I hope I'm not interrupting, but if'n you're going to take the job...

I need the work."

The glowing orb a handspan across pops up from over his shoulder to emphasize the point, as does the ferret poking his head out of a deep pocket. The oddly intelligent-seeming rodent nods eagerly, though it's master doesn't notice.

BTW: Spellcraft DC 20 ID's the soulspark as a soulmeld. Knowledge Arcana or Planes can give further information on his class to those who succeed.

Background: Gunner grew up in a coastal village under the care of loving parents. His sorcerous powers manifested early, but were not properly recognized at first. Given his racial temper, early manifestations were violent. He was too likable to really be shunned, but people were always wary around "that haunted kid." Gunnar fell overboard and nearly drowned on his first trip out on his father's boat. Hating the sea and looking forward to meeting people ignorant of his reputation, the young man set out for the big city as soon as he was old enough. He quickly got scammed and ended up in debt. After a job went bad, he headed North, looking for new opportunities.

I'll get you the background and questionaire tomorrow, but at least the character is mostly playable.