Full Round Action: Full Attack
- Attack One (against skeleton 5): Damage (if applicable):
- Attack Two (against skeleton 5): Damage (if applicable):
Search Posts
Free Action: 5 foot step to E13
Hennon leaps up beside Abbrathil as the skeletons emerge and begin to assault his companions. As he does, he sweeps his double ax across at the skeletons immediately in front of he and Abbrathil, directing one ax head at each skeleton.
Initiative:
Knowledge (Local): Hennon grabs the pack on the floor that appears to contain something and turns it upside down about a foot from the floor and shakes out the contents, ceasing immediately as the wail from beyond the southern door wends its way into the room. He straightens and grips Chopper tightly with both hands. H-h-hennon not for liking g-ghosts.
Perception:
Hennon looks confusedly at the scene before him. His nostrils flare as he sniffs the breeze, trying to make some sense of slaughter before him. Certainly he hadn't expected it. Boss not say anything for this... Why am horses dead here? This part of ritual? Hennon not understand. Chopper is soon clutched in his hands as he looks to his companions for some explanation.
Hennon stares in wonder at the suddenly pristine gnome before him. His customary rapid blinks of confusion are followed by a slight sniffing of the breeze, his head tilted slightly in Abbrathil's direction. Noticing nothing unusual, Hennon rubs his eyes, blinks some more, and then shrugs. He rises slowly to his feet, but as soon as he places some considerable weight on his right ankle he grimaces and collapses at the waist, catching himself by grabbing the rock his unfortunate right ankle had recently met. He tentatively rights himself and takes care not to put much weight on his injured ankle. He takes a moment to limp around, seeing if he can walk off the pain. Seeing that he cannot, he shrugs, glares at his foot, then begins to check his supplies and carefully assess Chopper. Satisfied that all is in order, he begins to look around at his companions to see if they need aid.
Hennon, his features indiscernible beneath the mud that now covers him head to toe, lies still for a moment, then rises to a sitting position as Abrathil tumbles over him. He looks around blindly for a moment, then wipes the thick mud from his eyes with a muddy hand. Seeing the gnome buried up to his ears with his face in the muck, he immediately grabs Abbrathil by the back of his robes and jerks him free of the soft earth with a loud spluck! So sorry! Hennon am so sorry! Did Hennon break you? Hennon am so sorry! He sees the gnomes muddy face and begins to look around franticly, absolutely perplexed, still holding him aloft with one hand. Apparently not finding what he was looking for, he grabs a nearby leaf, spits into it, and begins to move it towards Abbrathil's face to clear away the mud.
Hennon watches helplessly as his companions slide and tumble more than gracefully climb down the hill. He waits until they are all clear of the path, knowing deep down that his girth combined with the slick slope would likely result in him horribly injuring one of them if -- when -- he fell. He deeply feared falling on the gnome or on Sarenae, knowing that his weight might kill them outright. He spends some time securing Chopper and doing his best to secure any other stray objects on his person that could poke him should he fall, then, with a deep breath, he begins his descent. Acrobatics 1:
Hennon visibly relaxes as the threat of a bath seems to have passed. As Raven walks up he looks out at the foggy lake and the brush at its shore. What you think poison bandit, Birdhead?
As Abbrathil lists off his observations and deductions, Hennon squints slightly, furrowing his brow in a manner he believes conveys intelligence and understanding, even nodding periodically in affirmation. As the gnome directs his inquisition at the half-orc, however, it becomes obvious that none of what he has said has pierced the dim-witted giant's thick skull. Hennon's head snaps out of a slow nod it had begun moments before and the brow springs from its furrowed posture to a high arch. He blinks quickly and repeatedly and unconsciously rubs his already nearly full beard on his right cheek. Suddenly, as if the entire meaning of what Abbrathil has just said has broken upon him like a tidal wave, his face flushes with panic and his eyes dart back and forth nervously as he slowly begins to back away. You... you want Hennon to take bath?
Hennon shuffles his feet in an embarrassed manner, drawing oblong circles in the grass and leaves with his feet. His eyes meet Raven's when the woodsman makes his proposition, and his brow furrows. He looks at the slightly rustling underbrush where the now lone-wolf disappeared, then looks at the two unconscious wolves across the clearing. The momentary silence is broken by a reverberating gurgle, sounding something like the distant roll of thunder. Hennon glares at his stomach reprovingly, then shifts an empathetic gaze back to the prone wolves. Finally he looks to Raven, rubs his palm over his stubbled chin and neck, and nods once, slightly. Mercy... He points beyond the clearing, on the side directly behind Serenae. You and Hennon finish this, Birdhead. Over there. Without waiting for a response, he re-holsters Chopper and moves quickly over to the wolves. To make sure they stay unconscious, he gives each a solid blow to the top of their head between their ears. Then, he scoops them up and holds them tightly, one under each arm. He looks back and waits for Raven to catch up with him before he begins walking out of the clearing.
Hennon freezes for a brief moment, hand still wrapped around Chopper, which is only half-drawn from its harness on Hennon's back. He stares at the coruscating colors emanating from Abrathil's hand, never having seen anything like it. His jaw is more slack than usual and dangles loosely beneath his head. The smell of cooking venison and the sounds of Ifrit snarling at the only wolf remaining on its feet bring him crashing back to reality, and with an angry growl he whirls on the injured animal. He hesitates momentarily, seeing the ribs of the animal even more clearly as they heave in and out with frantic gasps. Fresh blood from its wounds is beginning to drip to the ground, but Hennon is sure that the animal is not mortally wounded. He marches toward the wolf, pounding his feet into the ground with each step and stops with 5 feet separating the two of them, simultaneously yanking Chopper free. He brandishes the two-headed ax over his head in both hands and brings it hissing down in front of the wolf's face, too far away to hit, but close enough, he hopes, to get his point across. He lets go of the ax with his left hand and follows through with his right, bending forward slightly at the waist so that he is nearly eye-to-eye with the wolf and his arms are slightly back and out, flexed as large and as hard as he can make them. The veins on his arms, shoulders, neck, and forehead are plainly visible as he squints his jaundiced and blood-shot eyes, opens his cavernous mouth wide, and unleashes a thunderous and spit-laden
Hennon glares at the wolves through the waves of heat radiating from the top of the deer carcass. His eyes lose their dreamy gloss and harden into small steely dots and his countenance sours considerably. He growls through clenched teeth and his stomach responds in kind - louder. He rises grumpily to his feet, wrapping his fist around the leather bound handle of Chopper and muttering to himself: All Hennon am for wanting is for eating venison. First Hennon am have to wear this itchy cloak. Next we get Hennon lost. Now wolves am wanting Hennon's venison. No! Hennon am killing these wolves and then Hennon am eating his venison and then Hennon am skinning wolves and making a new cloak!
Hennon watches Raven intently as he dresses the deer. After a few moments he is completely lost in thoughts of venison and notices nothing else.
Hennon grins toothily at Raven and immediately stoops to deposit the deer carcass near the center of the clearing. He swipes his left hand over his brow to remove a few globes of sweat and leaves behind a barely visible streak of mud as the sweat mingles with the dust on his hand. Moving to where Raven has begun setting up a small ring for the fire, he unloads the impressive stack of wood that Raven had been giving him over the last hour. He nods his approval and pats one of the larger pieces. "Fir am good choice, Birdhead. Make nice hot fire for cooking venison." He kneels beside his companion and begins removing any small branches with pine needles. As he finishes he begins inspecting a few of the smaller pieces, nods satisfactorily at two of them, and in a sudden, brutish motion pulls them in half, lengthwise. He hands the fragments to Raven. "Here am kindling."
Hennon lifts a hand to his already scruffy chin and rubs it pensively, his eyes narrowed at the woods around them. His nostrils flare slightly as he sniffs the breeze, mumbling a barely audible "Mmmmm. There am cedar trees near." He stops rubbing his chin and takes a deep whiff of the breeze, a smile creasing his face, and he begins fumbling through his pack with his free hand. Slowly he removes the map given to him by the Mayor and he holds it up above his head and lets it unroll. The map is obviously upside down, but Hennon seems not to notice and his brow is furrowed in concentration as he "studies" it, nodding now and then, looking around and then back to the map, and mumbling "Mmhmm, mmhmm." Finally, after a minute or two of this, Hennon lowers the map, looks at his companions, and proclaims quite certainly: "Hennon am lost."
Hennon nods rather glumly, obviously disappointed that there will be not trees felled for the time being. "Hennon am ready to go. No chopping trees for now, Hennon not have right axe anyway. Maybe we find more false orcs to chop instead. This axe better for that."
Hennon watches Raven and Abbrathil with obvious curiosity. Seeing them glancing up into the tree above them, a spark comes into his eyes. With a bound he is beside them, his axe drawn and a wide, lopsided grin on his face. "You want for Hennon to chopping this tree down? This not Hennon's tree-chopping axe, but Hennon make it work."
Hennon gives the orc he supposes to be at his feet a swift kick and then looks intently back at the deer carcass he had carefully deposited. With long strides he quickly covers the distance between him and the deer and carefully lifts it to his shoulders once more. Then, with equal speed, he heads determinedly toward the spot where Ifrit lies, pulling another chunk of jerky from somewhere in his tunic. When he reaches Ifrit's side he dangles the meat next to the creature's nostrils. "Here, Ifrit. Hennon am have smoke meat for you... Ifrit?"
Keeper:
Hennon watches in horror as Ifrit falls to one of the orc's axes. His already too-small eyes narrow as they settle on the lone remaining orc and his knuckles crack and whiten on the shaft of his axe. "Hennon liked Ifrit," he growls. Then, with a tremendous roar that sends thick spittle spraying from his wide open mouth, he hoists his impressive double-headed axe over his head and charges the remaining orc.
Hennon jerks to a halt as the orcs rear up and begin spouting their obscenities. A look of shock crosses his face and he glances quickly at Sarenae, then glares at the trio of orcs. His countenance visibly darkens as he slowly stoops and deposits the deer carcass at his feet. "Hennon am angry!" He bellows as he returns to his full towering height and begins to stalk toward the orcs, drawing his orc double-ax in the process. "Those words are bad when a lady am near! Hennon am for teaching you some manners!"
Initiative 1d20+3=17
Stepping easily under the added weight of the deer carcass, Hennon pipes up cheerfully: "Hennon like Ifrit. Hennon like Birdhead, and Sarenae - sister of the Seven Slivers woman, and Abbra, and venison. Hennon like walking. Hennon am happy to be here." He begins whistling surprisingly well through the gaps in his lips created by his protruding, tusk-like, lower incisors.
As the party leaves town, Hennon quickens his pace and lengthens his stride to catch up with the swiftly moving Grimbriar. Once his is within arm's reach, Hennon taps him slightly harder than intended on the left bicep with a stubby forefinger. "Birdhead want Hennon for to carry dinner?" He gestures at the deer draped over Raven's shoulders, then at his own broad shoulders.
Hennon breaks out in a wide, tusked grin that only serves to accentuate his homeliness at the appearance and interest of Ifrit. He holds out a massive hand for the Eidolon to sniff and with his other hand he reaches into his somewhat grungy jacket and pulls out a piece of jerky. "Ifrit like smoke-meat?" He dangles the jerky before the strange creature, then suddenly pauses, his grin vanishing into a look of puzzlement. Then, slowly, the grin creeps back - first on one side, then on the other - and Hennon chortles deeply. "Huh-huh, huh-huh. Birdhead! Birdhead Crankybush!" He swivels his head towards the gnome as they set off, "You am funny, Abbra! Crankybush! Huh-huh!"
The long, awkward pause that followed was made even more awkward and uncomfortable as a foul stench suddenly filled the air - something like a mixture of eggs and ... cabbage? Hennon shifted uncomfortably on his feet as his stomach gurgled. He tried to casually back up a few paces and an almost imperceptible wfffft was heard from the direction of his backside. Shortly thereafter the smell was back, and stronger this time. Hennon cleared his throat softly - or tried to - and shifted back and forth once more. He was quite obviously uncomfortable with the silence, the sideways glances he was getting, and the burgeoning gas in his intestines.
Perception Check: Hennon swivels to face the newcomer. "Hennon love venison! Hennon am pleased to meet you, Raven." A slight string of drool spills over his lower lip and clings to his tunic and he slowly peels his eyes from the deer carcass and turns to Abbrathil. "Hennon like the name Abbra. Short and nice. Hennon will call you that."
Hennon stares at the gnome and blinks repeatedly, dumbfounded, then begins to nod understandingly. "Antimonal symbols. Yes. Hennon am for liking them, too." He smiles. "Hennon am for liking you, too, Amma --- Abbra --- ... Nev --- ... Small friend." He pats Abbrathil as lightly as he can on the head and then scans the crowd for more adventurers. "Are you for thinking more are coming?"
Hennon grins lopsidedly at the small gnome and stoops to address him, but stops as the Mayor introduces him and waits for him to finish. After the Mayor has turned back to the crowd he offers the gnome his giant right hand. "Herman am not here today. Maybe him show up later. Hennon am here, though, and am liking to say hello to..." he screws up his mouth for a moment, then says "Abbramari."
"Bye, Mama. Hennon will miss you."
"Pardon for excusing. Hennon am coming through to see the boss."
"Hennon am sorry. Hennon am sorry."
"Good morning, Boss. Hennon am here and slept well. We go now?" |