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I'm back from vacation.
I guess the obvious solution is to watch more ambitiously.
On a minivacation,posting will be unlikely til Tuesday or so. Feel free to DMPC my character as needed.
After delivering her report on the new recruits, Hakiri has the evening off. She hesitates outside the tavern, but she has learned to avoid it. Alcohol seemed to give many residents of Freedom Town a desire to open up to her about their true feelings towards the orc in their midst, and its ability to shorten an orc's temper was legendary. Touching the scar on her belly where the Marshall Oswald's bullet had passed through her, she sighed and headed home.
I'm obviously Daphne, since she's the pretty one.
Hakiri follows the new recruits around, and late in the afternoon.
EEEEWWWWW! ELF COOTIES!!! GET IT AWAY!!!!!
Hakiri follows the new recruits around, and delivers her report late in the afternoon. "The featherbrained bit of fluff act might be an act, or it might just be irrelevant. You can tell by the way she moves she knows how to use her body in a fight. Have to ask Arwen about other things."
Orcs don't hug! pathetic puppy dog eyes
Hakiri quietly beheads Suny for being a smart@ss, and then goes to see what took 29 posts in the gameplay thread.
"No one said stupid," Hakiri said to the gnome, and gives a sly smile. "Obvious, disposable, naive, well,եթե կոշիկի համապատասխանում." orcish: If the shoe fits.
Hakiri shrugs. "No apologies for speaking truth, Marshall. Orcs are savage and violent and proud to be so," she says with a horrible, bloodthirsty grin. "The Bloodfang are all dead. Not one living orc that I know of would spare my life except to make me a slave. My people are here, in Freedom Town." She looks around at the others, identifying them with her eyes as her people. "I will go to this place and stop whatever is making these mutations, if that is your order," she says.
Maybe he stopped to mug someone on the way to the gameplay thread.
Hakiri looks at the massive orc as it bleeds out, her face blank. Sympathy is alien to the orc heart, but not curiosity. She has a great many questions about the creature and his fate, but she does not ask. Among the Bloodfang, one learned quickly that the answer to most questions was a fist. After a moment's thought, she turned to follow the rat into his office.
Hakiri knows the sound of gunfire rather better than she'd like, but she knows her duty. The echoes are still rolling through the village when she sprints towards the building, veering off at Arwen's signal to race around the side () the stiff awkwardness that she wore like a cloak in conversation gone as she races towards battle. She raises her long spear as she comes around the side of the building and....
Hakiri ponders Jethro's words, more puzzled than ever. "Եթե դուք ունեք որեւէ ցեղին, որն ասել ձեզ, թե ով է ձեր մայրը" she asks, scowling deeply. Pointing the group towards the Sheriff's office, she spots Arwen and gives a sharp clap of her hands. It is a common greeting among orcs, a sharp sound that tells one is not holding a weapon. Then she waves, awkwardly, still poorly adapted to human customs. orcish: If you have no tribe, who told you who your mother was?
Hakiri looks at the elf, and then at Jethro, and then back at the elf. "No," she says. "We are not related." "Ես ծնվել եմ, որ արյունատար ժանիք, ազատություն քաղաքը իմ ցեղ է," she explains to the wedon'tknowit'sanaasimar. orcish: I was born to the Bloodfang, Freedom Town is my tribe now
While nominally leading the group as they walk down the dusty street, Hakiri takes a moment to assess the new arrivals. Arwen, Ausk and Marco she has come to know over the past months as steady fighters, each in their own way, and she respects Pharasma enough to keep an open mind towards the powers of the priest, but the elf and the babbler remain puzzling. Suny at least has armor and weapons, however strange they may be. The babbler made claims of magical ability and seems confused. Perhaps it needs a drink, or maybe it's brain is clogged by so many words. "Ինչ արարած ես?" she says to Jethro as they walk, her curiousity blunting her tact, if a club can be said to be blunted. Orcish: What creature are you. (literally) Inquiring about his race. And yes, Armenian works quite nicely.
"His appearance," Hakiri says, seeing no reason to elaborate further as she turns to lead them to the sheriff's headquarters. After a few steps she stops abruptly and turns, remembering the onerous customs of the soft races. "I am his warrior. You may call me Hakiri."
"This one wanted to see the rat ... er ... sheriff," the orc girl says to Jethro, her head nodding towards Caln. "You're welcome to go find the bottom of a bottle instead." The arrival of the elf seems to distract the men for a moment, to Hakiri's relief. She watches the new arrivals closely, and is surprised to see that unlike so many of their kind, they do not seem overly troubled by the presence of an orc in their midst. Perhaps the rat had been right, that the office would convey some respect, or perhaps the people of Freedom Town were just a more hateful batch of pinkskins than most.
Hakiri sees the cleric reach for his weapon, and then stop. She remained still, but tensed up, ready to draw her blade if need be, but wanting to be sure. It had been only a few months since the rat had shot her, and she was not going to give him cause to shoot her again. If that meant letting the human take the first swing, so be it. When his fingers went instead to the silver spiral he wore on a cord around his neck, she nodded her head. "I see you serve the Lady of Graves," she said. "I hope neither of us will meet her today." The small creature, like a gnome but clearly not, gave her a bow and spoke so quickly and at such length that she scowled, trying to follow his words. She shook her head when he was finished and replied brusquely. "He's seen dust before. You want to see him now, come with me. You want to get drunk first, find him yourself."
The orc girl hadn't come into her full size yet, standing just a hair over five feet tall, but she was heavily muscled and moved with the belligerent grace of a predator. The armor she wore was typical of her race, scraps of stiff leather bolstered with metal anywhere it could be hammered in, and her face was set in a haughty sneer as she walked down the street, squinting in the sunlight. She wore a curious long blade across her back, the tip nearly dragging on the ground, though the hilt rose a bit higher than the top of her topknot. She was the newest member of Freedom Town's militia, though half the people in down would rather see her dead. It didn't matter to her. Orcs hated each other as well, but the tribe was the tribe, and you didn't turn against yours if you meant to live. The rat had understood that, and the humans who had accepted her for years would have to keep doing so now that she was an adult. A dwarf at the reins of a wagon glared at her, hatred so deep in his eyes that she could almost feel it, but she met his look with the stoneheart face. These creatures, humans and dwarves and such, they were strange and soft, and they hated her kind, but instead of killing her Miss Anabel had taken her in when she was weak and hungry. What she hadn't seen before was the dwarf's passenger, a strange, otherworldly being. She heard the two humans talking to it, and grinned as she cleared her throat. "I can take you to the sheriff," she says, her voice a soft sort of growl.
My thanks, DM. There is a five year gap between the slaughter of her tribe and the beginning of the campaign. I would say that she'd have found her way to Freedom Town within a few months at most. On arrival, she'd have been still a child and half-starved, and (I'm hoping) some kind soul would have taken her in.Though they might hate what she is, she proves herself an able fighter, a tireless worker and a friend to Freedom Town, which she considers her tribe. They get used to picking on her and she takes it stoically enough for the most part. A couple of years go by, and while she's not beloved by the town, she's at least tolerated. After all, we're all outcasts of one kind or another. When she reaches adulthood, according to orcish custom, things change. She's bound by honor to fight for the tribe and follow the chief and to defend her honor. When a couple of scumbag bandits blow into town with a bag of gold, nobody's too surprised. They drink and gamble and everyone's keeping an eye on them because they might be the next residents of Freedom Town or they might try something nefarious. By the time they see the young orc girl, they're completely sideways, and they follow her down the streets, hurling insults and rocks. Until one says that she has no honor. The townspeople are as surprised as they are when she turns on them, and bashes the brains of the first in with a rock. The others come at her, but now she's got the man's sword, and two more are slain before the sheriff comes and puts her down. When she fails to die and actually recovers from the gunshot, Oswald comes to speak with her. He discovers that she considers the town her tribe and understands her loyalty. He also learns what had happened and decides that she could be useful. The killings are declared self-defense and Marshall takes the girl under his wing, on the understanding that she is not to defend her honor with anything stronger than her fists. Hope that makes it work better. This sounds like a fun campaign. (alternately, she could not kill the men, but that's less dramatic)
(assuming you're asking me this) No, I'm not insane (by Belkzen's standards ... batsh*t insane in the modern world, I grant you), but I am dangerous. I didn't kill someone randomly. I killed someone for doing something unforgivable to an orc. The sheriff didn't hang me because he understands that Freedom Town is my tribe now, and that being the case I am only dangerous to the enemies of Freedom Town. The sheriff knows enough about orcs to understand that while I am a very dangerous person, I have a code of conduct that makes me a very usefully dangerous person. In fact, by giving me a position of honor in Freedom Town, the sheriff has pretty well guaranteed my loyalty, and I'm guessing that he knows that. This probably would have been clearer, but I was finishing up that last post under pressure of time and just kind of cut to the chase.
The Past:
Five years ago
"Chief Korchag said wait here, little cubs," the warrior said, kicking Hakiri back into the tent with the other children. She lay gasping on the ground, holding her side, feeling a cracked rib and then pushing herself up before she could even catch her breath before the others decided kicking her was a fun game. No cub of the Bloodfang Clan survived childhood if they let anything as insignificant as a broken rib keep them on the ground. The Bloodfangs were fighting another column of knights from Lastwall, who marched bolding into Belkzen to make war on the tribes. The warrior guarding the tent, the one who had kicked her, was named Maharg. He had been left with the cubs because he was a bootlicker who did what Korchag told him to, no matter how dishonorable. He was the kind of orc who would rather live than rage, and the cubs how the others treated him. Lower than a human, even, for humans were at least worthy foes. So Maharg watched the cubs while the true orcs of Bloodfang ran under the stars to fight their enemies. The trumpets sounded, too close, and the roar of the Bloodfang charge. Hakiri opened the flap of the tent, and saw Maharg watching the ridge. She could hear the clash of arms and see the orange glow of fire behind the hills, and then she saw steel glinting in the starlight. The knights had sent another column to take the Bloodfang in the rear. Just as she realized it, Maharg grunted, an arrow appearing in his chest. He began to draw his axe, but another arrow struck him and he fell. The thunder of hooves on the ground was racing closer, and flaming arrows arced across the sky towards the camp. Hakiri clenched her teeth and watched as they fell, some falling harmlessly to the ground, others landing on tents, setting fires. The cubs and the elders, mothers and other necessary weak could not stand against them, and though it shamed her, Hakiri ran. Darkness was the orcs' friend, too, as well as fury and their stonehard souls. * The next night, she found the warriors of the tribe, left to rot at the ford where they had been ambushed. She took what weapons she could carry from the dead, and followed the stars that wandered westward. She shed no tears for the fallen, but set her heart to survival. Vengeance would come, but not until she was stronger. To the west was a place that was called Freedom Town in the language of humans. As she understood, it was a kind of tribe for those who had no tribe. * Freedom Town wasn't quite what she had hoped, and it hadn't lived up to its name. She sat in the small cell and waited for the rat. She had tried to find a place here, but they said she was too young to be a fighter. They said they couldn't trust her to fight other orcs, as though every orc were somehow of her tribe. She gave no sign that she understood their words, but set about proving them wrong, until one said that an orc girl with no tribe had no honor. Him, she killed to prove her honor, and the others she had to kill to defend herself. "So you've got at least an orc's sense of honor," the rat said. Marshall Oswald, the rat, had broken up the fight and thrown her in this cell. "And I could use someone who fights like you. Where is your tribe?" "Dead," she said, and told him her story. "You'll do," the rat said, and opened the cell.
Stats: Hakiri Bloodfang Orc Barbarian (Brutal Pugilist) 1 CN Medium Humanoid (orc) Init +1; Senses darkvision 60 ft.; Perception +4 -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC 14, touch 11, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +1 Dex) hp 16 (1d12+4) Fort +5, Ref +1, Will +0 Defensive Abilities ferocity Weakness light sensitivity -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 40 ft. Melee Javelin +2 (1d6+5/x2) and . . Javelin +2 (1d6+5/x2) and . . Javelin +2 (1d6+5/x2) and . . Javelin +2 (1d6+5/x2) and . . Javelin +2 (1d6+5/x2) and . . Longspear +6 (1d8+7/x3) and . . Nodachi +6 (1d10+7/18-20/x2) Special Attacks rage (7 rounds/day) -------------------- Statistics -------------------- Str 20, Dex 12, Con 16, Int 8, Wis 10, Cha 5 Base Atk +1; CMB +6; CMD 17 Feats Power Attack -1/+2 Skills Acrobatics +4 (+8 jump), Climb +4, Escape Artist +0, Fly +0, Perception +4, Ride +0, Stealth +0, Survival +4, Swim +4 Languages Common, Orc SQ fast movement +10 Other Gear Studded leather armor, Javelin, Javelin, Javelin, Javelin, Javelin, Longspear, Nodachi, 55 GP -------------------- Special Abilities -------------------- Darkvision (60 feet) You can see in the dark (black and white vision only). Fast Movement +10 (Ex) +10 feet to speed, unless heavily loaded. Ferocity (Ex) Fight without penalty even while disabled or dying. Light Sensitivity (Ex) Dazzled as long as they remain in bright light. Power Attack -1/+2 You can subtract from your attack roll to add to your damage. Rage (7 rounds/day) (Ex) +4 Str, +4 Con, +2 to Will saves, -2 to AC when enraged. |