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I am thinking of doing this "Live, One show only" at next Paizo Con. Give me a year to get all the songs together Never been to Paizocon but that might be enough to get me out there just to be in the audience. Although, if you’ll be holding auditions for the players...
I'm hesitant to post again in gameplay; Li'l's comment was such a perfect end :) Agreed! No changes to my info posted at the start. Thanks for running the scenario, GM Gustavef, and for a really fun concept! And thanks to my fellow Harsks!
Snooty sighs, drops his crossbow, and moves into the only open space in the line of Harsks, drawing his axe. "I do feel it is beneath me to take arms against a mere animal when there is a true villain to fight, but I suppose needs must."
Been there - you have my sympathies.
"Gentlemen, I suggest we make short work of this pretender to the throne. Not, of course, that any of us have the capacity for tall work without ladders." Snooty Harsk steps forward (but not too far forward) and fires his crossbow, then quickly reloads.
Snooty Harsk steps up next to Harsk DR, snaps his fingers, and sings, "If you want us not to kill you, you gotta spill your guts
"Harumph! A talking troggie! What next?" Snooty finishes loading his crossbow in case something else shows up, but will hold his fire while the little troglodyte says his piece.
Snooty Harsk snorts in annoyance. "Must we be constantly beset by these malodorous malefactors of the murky, moonless depths of the Darklands?" He stows his battleaxe and draws his crossbow, then begins hunting for a bolt to load it with.
Snooty tries again to catch Red on the backswing.
Snooty takes a 5' step to flank the red-garbed trog with Li'l Harsk, and swings his already befouled axe.
Snooty draws his axe as he stomps slowly into the troglodytes' barracks. "Why can't a troglodyte be more like a dwarf?
Snooty makes his way through the crowd -- "Excuse me, dear fellow. Pardon my boot, old chap." -- until he reaches a space wide enough for him to join the fight.
Danger past, Scratcher meanders into the room and jumps onto Snooty's shoulder. "Well lah-ti-dah," Harsk says, picking up one of the silver alter pieces. "Ain't that posh! You feelin' at home, eh Harsk? Haw haw!" Harsk elbows his snooty doppelganger in the ribs, then laughs. Snooty sniffs and shifts away from the uncouth dwarf who bears no resemblance to him whatsoever. "Do not be such a buffoon. In my ancestral home, all of the skeletons remain properly in their closets, and none of them would dare to catch on fire. Now please make certain to collect anything that may be of value." He moves over to the semi-secret door, assuming the others will carry the loot. "Gentlemen -- and I use that term loosely -- shall we?"
"Yes, under the skin (Under the skin)
With a put-upon sigh, Snooty Harsk steps up to flank the blue burning skeleton with Vagrant Harsk. He scrunches up his face as though smelling something unpleasant, and brings his club down onto the pile of animated bones.
"Sometimes, dear Scratcher, if one wants a job done correctly, one must risk dirtying one's hands and doing it oneself." Seeing that axes and crossbows are ineffective, Snooty Harsk sighs and double-moves into the room, drawing his club as he stomps towards the burning blue skeleton. The little cat yowls and leaps onto the stairs, deciding quite sensibly to wait outside the room until the flaming undead abominations have been reduced to rubble and/or the bearded meal ticket has fallen.
Snooty Harsk examines the masterwork silver dagger.
"This is fair workmanship, gentlemen. Not up to Harsk standards, of course, but it is not bad at all. I shall hold onto it for safekeeping." Following the other Harsks up the stairs, Snooty is pretty far from the door when they stop. "Either open the door or keep moving, my good Harsks!"
"A torch? That would be redundant, my good fellow! We all have HARSKVISIONTM!" Not eager for his clothes, beard, and cat to be further befouled by the miasma emanating from the troglodytes, Snooty loads his crossbow and fires again at the blue trog.
Snooty Harsk wrinkles his nose. "Great ghosts of our noble ancestors! What is that vomitous stench?" Snooty Harsk fires his crossbow through the doorway, aiming (loosely) at the blue troglodyte.
"Pardon me, old thing, but I believe that contraption is mine. No? Oh, but of course, you are correct, that one over there is my own, you are entirely correct. Terribly sorry for any bother." Snooty Harsk slings his axe over his shoulder and (after a bit of a mix-up, easily sorted) picks up his dropped crossbow and loads it. Pointing at the door, he suggests the group move on. "Heigh-ho, Heigh-ho
We hunt hunt hunt hunt hunt hunt hunt
Snooty Harsk examines the door for traps, then (assuming he sees none) steps forward and opens the door, waving his comrades forward. "After you, my fine fellows."
Snooty Harsk sighs in exasperation. "I should load you in my crossbow and shoot you at this 'lectrical lizard, you unfortunate feline!" Snooty Harsk drops his crossbow as well, moving up to join Li'l Harsk and Vagrant Harsk in their attempts to chop the lizard into bite-sized pieces. Snooty loops around to come at the shocker lizard from the west with his battleaxe, leaving room for other Harsks to attack more directly. "Come on lads,
Snooty Harsk sniffs at Vagrant Harsk's rough tune. "My dear fellow, you'll never make a name for yourself with such a cacophony. You would do better to rebut the sparkling, dancing lizard's braggadocio with something more genteel, such as the following melody." Snooty sings softly and off-key as he loads his crossbow, aims, and fires at the lizard. "The name on everybody's lips
I'm gonna be a Pathfinder
Scratcher sticks his tail out from under Snooty Harsk's beard and up his nose in annoyance at the dwarf's inability to carry a tune. As a result, Snooty's shot goes wild, hitting the wall about eight feet over the shocker lizard's head before falling to the ground.
Sorry - long day, and I just don’t have anything left. I’ll post ASAP in the morning.
"By the Forgefather's utilikilt, lad! What manner of Harsk would let himself be eaten by a spider?" Snooty Harsk drops his crossbow and crosses the room, drawing his battleaxe as he stomps across the floor. Scratcher hides under his beard. Snooty brings the battleaxe down onto the spider, singing, "I'm swinging for its brain,
As the bolt buries itself into the oversized arachnid, Snooty Harsk picks up the song. "I'm laughing at the spider, so creepy above,
Snooty Harsk makes his way into the room, pushing past another Harsk to get his shot at the spider. "Pardon me, dear fellow. Seems a waste not to fire the blasted thing once I've gone to the effort of loading it, wouldn't you say?" Scratcher sees the spider and jumps on Snooty Harsk's back in alarm just as the uptight dwarf pulls the trigger. Snooty jerks his arm in surprise, with unsurprising results.
"Have no fear, my lad," says Snooty Harsk, pulling a coil of rope from his pack. "I may not have had the opportunity to fire this mechanical monstrosity -- " Harsk... waves his loaded crossbow around in irritation, somehow managing not to inadvertently shoot anyone "-- but I am thoroughly prepared for whatever perils this Formerly Fallen Fortress may present to us. Now come along, Little Harsk. Come along, Scratcher." Snooty loops a coil of rope around Li'l Harsk. "Now then, my boy, you just scamper up these rocks. Once you have reached stable footing, you can pull me -- and Scratcher, of course -- up behind you."
"Scratcher, stay back! These mangy curs are no fit playmates for a finely bred feline such as yourself!" Snooty Harsk unslung his crossbow as he moves closer to the dogs, then stops to load a bolt into it. Snooty realizes he has stopped right next to Sexy Harsk when the other's long flowing locks blow into his face. Brushing the other Harsk's hair out of his eyes, Snooty struggles with getting the bolt into the crossbow. When he finally succeeds, he says,"I say, this confounded contraption is quite clumsy, isn't it?"
Snooty Harsk ignores Sexy Harsk's jibe. His sort of Harsk is simply incapable of taking things seriously. "Come along, Scratcher old thing!" Snooty Harsk calls out for his cat as he strides across the rocky plain to approach the Formerly Fallen Fortress.
"Little fellow, I say, you should come down from there before you fall and break your neck and cause an unnecessary commotion! Best to let a more ... experienced Harsk blaze the trail."
In the front row of the audience of assembled Harsk , one neatly dressed Harsk sits with a small, gray cat sleeping under his chair, apparently taking detailed notes in a small booklet held awkwardly on his lap. When Older than Middle-Aged Harsk but Younger than Old Harsk Harsk calls for questions, Snooty Harsk calls out (without looking up from his notes), "Yes, pardon me, if you don't mind too terribly much old chap, what is a ten-letter word or words for 'The creatures that currently occupy the Fallen Fortress'?"
When he was reviewing the Pathfinder Society's recruiting materials, Harsk... read a document titled: "Liste of Itymes That May Prevent Thy Untimely Demise Whilst Engaged on Missions for the Honorable Society of Pathfinders in 4719." Being a bit down on his luck, financially speaking, Harsk... was unable to purchase any but the least expensive items on the list. Snooty Harsk's pre-adventure shopping list Starting gold: 7 Dagger -2
Total: -6.83gp
"Oh, I say! Scratcher, you follow me now, or you'll get left behind, and there will be no kitty kibble for you!"
The little gray Siamese cat runs off to explore, meowing loudly. "Oh, bother!" The dwarf does not even attempt to follow the cat. Instead, Harsk... takes a deep breath and begins to sing. He is wildly off-key. "I say!
You'll be back
Checking in! Tusk the Half-Orc/Harsk... (Snooty Harsk) PFS No.: 199504-8 Color: Purple Lysle: Don't forget Scary Harsk, Sporty Harsk, Baby Harsk, Ginger Harsk, and Posh Harsk.
The red-haired dwarf marches into the Lodge wearing a soiled cloak, muddy boots, and a pained expression on his bearded face. The soiled cloak and muddy boots are easily explained by the condition of Absalom's streets after a day of driving rain; the pained expression is probably due to the small gray short-haired cat huddled under a bit of cloak and clinging to the dwarf's shoulder by its claws, which may have located a weak spot at a seam in his studded leather jerkin. The dwarf stomps his feet to clear the worst of the mud from his boots, then clomps over to the bar and drops a silver coin onto the surface in front of the barkeep. "Tea, my good man," he commands in stentorian tones. "Earl Grey. Hot." He pauses, then sighs, points at the cat, and adds, "And a dish of water for Scratcher here, please." |
