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Hjálmarr ducks behind cover and listens as he selects another arrow. He pops up and takes another shot, opining all the while, "Table blocker might work, but that's a lot of lugging. Seems better to keep 'em on their heels. Give 'em too long to think about things and they'll group up and bash us. That eagle plan seems alright. That and a bit of covering fire could do the job."
"I'm not really much of a ranger. Bashing 'em up close is more my style. Still, I'll do what I can." He moves over to where Razmir is in cover and aims at the one he'd wounded before.
Cursing as the unfamiliar weapon sends an arrow flopping to the floor, Hjálmarr strings another and takes aim at the guards.
Fetching his own longbow, Hjálmarr clambers up to the roof and waits with the others. He waits to see which of the guards the others are targeting then stands and looses an arrow with a little hesitation.
Hjálmarr shrugs and agrees to continue to carry the lockbox, "Sure, this great heavy thing could come in mighty handy. We all going up? Going to need some rope or somethin' if so. I'm a bit vertically challenged for that up there." He points to the new hole in the ceiling.
Huffing as he rushes through the door, he checks that they weren't followed. Content they were safe (after a fashion and for the moment), he takes a moment to take in his surroundings. Just like them, all judgement and not a shred of honor. Pfah. He spits towards the banner and looks to his companions, "Aye, the tables seem to be helping quite a bit. And I doubt they'll want to remember. If there's anyone left to remember." "Right, I suppose we're going up?"
Hjálmarr dashes from cover assist his ally, once he had established there would be no rain of arrows to turn him into a pincushion. His short dwarven legs pump as he suppresses the urge to shout a battle cry. Best not... might call more of the archers over.
Hjálmarr scowls down at the guard crumpled at his feet. "Not very impressive fighting." He joins the others as they proceed through to the kitchens. He listens to the servants protestations of innocence.
As Sophia questions the pair, the former soldier searches through the supplies and fetches out the iron rations. "Good to have. Who knows how long we'll be travelling."
Should hopefully just be this week. I was without power from Monday through Today in the middle of a winter storm, so my mind was on other things.
Hjálmarr shakes his head even as he launches himself into an attack, "Your numbers are no good here, boyos. We, on the other hand, will cut you all down!"
Perplexed, Hjálmarr takes the opportunity so freely given to him to attack. "Did they not teach you anything about fighting?"
Having struck at the man, he calls in his best imitation of his drill sergeant's voice, "Right lads, cut them down before they get a foothold!"
Having finished searching the wardrobe, Hjálmarr rejoins the other with a bottle of whiskey in hand. Popping the cork and taking a pull, he swallows and fights back a retch, "Of course that pustule drinks rotgut fit for peeling paint." Discard the whiskey on the nearby table, he rejoins the others. "I don't know about any barricading. Finished searching this room and the other, near as I can tell. Best be getting over to the other side, right?"
Hjálmarr, having scanned the room and spotted the chest some time after Razmir, huffs in frustration. "A shame. I'd have liked to paid that bastard back. Moreso if he's rotten to the core."
Nodding his agreement, Hjálmarr gestures towards the nearby door, "That way?"
Hjálmarr fetches his gear from the armory, trading longsword and heavy shield for a fearsome looking waraxe and a smaller shield. Now properly equipped, he cranes to peer at the map Razmir studies. "That room and whatever big 'un is right next door seem likely. I'd be surprised if there wasn't someone important in there. I've a spell that might come in handy for obscuring if not outright hiding us. I'm not so sure they'll believe any of us are guards, no disrespect. We don't look the type, is all." "Maybe one step at a time, eh? Clear this place out, then deal with the archers. Wouldn't do to have enemies at our back."
Hjalmarr would probably have had a dwarven waraxe and small steel shield. Are those acceptable?
Could we speed up the process of reading through the papers by dividing them roughly evenly? e.g. if all of us pitch in, it'll only take a bit less then 2 minutes?
"Humph, a mess hall and two doors over here. I'd guess the kitchens to the right and the barracks to the left." Not wanting to get too far from his companions, he goes to the nearest body and fetches its longsword and shield (in lieu of the one he dropped by the stairs). He also takes, after a moments consideration, the longbow, quiver, and key. He goes to the other body and fetches that key as well. He acquiesces to Razmir's plan, "Right, we can go that way."
Hjálmarr, seeing that all their immediate enemies are gone, stops his stream of encouraging words. He hustles down the hallway, ready to face whatever is in the side rooms.
Scowling at the echo of the horn, Hjâlmarr maintains his flow of encouragment to his fellow would-be escapees, "They'll not see the dawn, buckos! Fell 'em fast and drop 'em dead." True to his word, he steps up to the nearby guard and furiously attacks with dagger and club.
I assume I can fight in front of Grumblejack in the square NE of me?
His companion's swift rush through the door catches the former soldier off guard. "Aha! That's the spirit, lads! Lay 'em low." True to his own word, he slashes the nearby guardsmen with a dagger that has begun to glow and give off the smell of ozone.
His viper quick slash done, he steps back to let the hulking brute behind him get into the action. As he does so, he draws the club from where he'd let it dangle off his stolen belt.
Hjálmarr freezes a moment at the guard's shout. Right, so much for the element of surprise. Instinctive training kicks in and overrides his surprise, he calls to his companions behind the door, "Right lads, up and at 'em! Knock 'em a shrewd one and we're home free."
Hjâlmarr smiles and nods his approval, "There's a good lad. You've done well." He takes a moment to re-gag the man and then follows the others out.
Hjálamarr scowls into the room where they'd been branded, but doesn't linger with it's unpleasant memories. He nods his agreement with the others and descends the stairs.
Having started to walk more carefully, held where weapons and shield wouldn't clink against armor, he replies sotto voce, "Not great skulking about, but I'm trained and a bit of experience." He sets down his shield down carefully and completely flat so that it wouldn't clatter. He listens to the door, and then carefully opens it and peaks in to the room.
Hjálmarr scowls at the still terrified guard, "Where are the off duty guards? Are the barracks in this building?" Once the others are done asking questions, he agrees with Sophia, "I'm of your way of thinking, ma'am. Hit them hard and keep them reeling. If we can eliminate some without alerting the rest, that's for the best. Best not to get too tricky when we know so little about the lay of the land."
Getting slammed at work. Will reply at either lunch or after work.
Hjálmarr smiles in satisfaction as the guard seems to share all he knows. He spins to face the thunderous approach of the brute behind him as he prepares to eat the unfortunate guard. He holds up a hand and says, "No Grumblejack. Not this one. We've agreed to let him live already." Recognizing the his fight was futile in the long term, "You can have another one! Why not save your appetite for the Sergeant? He'll be nice and big and juicy compared to this scrawny little thing. And he's the one in charge of locking you up. You'll be showing him who's boss. Besides, this one has soiled itself. That'll spoil the taste."
Edited to mark those as yours
Created a summary of what's been found so far and who's taken what as far as I can tell: From the veil
*not all that meets the eye From the scuffle:
"I think most of us woulda just slit his throat," Aelwulf says to Hjálmarr, "but, this is a team effort to get us out of here let me give you a hand." Aelwulf assists Hjálmarr in securing the new prisoner. "Much obliged, let's see what our dear friend knows." Hjallmar and Aelwulf drag the unconscious guard and shackle him up. With the use of some valuable healing, he wakes. He is startled and struggles against the manacles for a second before giving up. His eyes dart around looking at everyone and assessing his predicament. "G'morning, son. As you've no doubt concluded, your situation isn't a good one. If not for my not-so-tender mercy, you'd be visiting that god of yours. Here's the score, you'll answer some questions for us truthfully. If'n you , I'm going to let one of the two big ones-" he steps aside and gestures towards Bladud and door where Grumblejack resides, "-convince you that you've made a mistake. If you do, we'll leave you here to be found later. Seem fair?"
If he agrees: He waits for some sort of acknowledgement from the guard. "I knew you were a smart 'un, lad." He loosens the makeshift gag and asks: "Right then, how many guards here in all?" "How many of those are on patrol, and where do they patrol?" "Who're the officers and where are their rooms?" "Do you fine fellows have a way of alerting the outside world what's going on here? What is it?" "What's outside the prison? And where's the nearest city?" Turning away, he asks the rest of the party, "Any other questions for this helpful gentleman" When there are not, "Now a bargain's a bargain. You can stay right there, lad. Chin up, I'm sure they won't blame you for this whole mess." Hjálmarr takes a moment to tie the gag back in place.
"Technically you might be right, but that guard captain who held me down and branded me took far too much delight in it. That wasn't merely doing his job - it was personal. If you want to pull your punches then that's perfectly fine, but I doubt that they will offer us the same courtesy. I'll be very displeased should your code be the difference between our escape or failure." Hjálmarr shrugs, "Fair enough. I won't mind bringing that captain ta justice. You'll note I only 'pulled my punches' when it weren't a threat. I don't want to fail either. Too much justice to dispense to die in this rat's nest."
Now properly armed, Hjálmarr casts a glance in at the humanoid creature behind bars. So that's an ogre eh? Bigger and less dimwitted then I was told. Not sure how they're not more of a problem.
Hjálmarr considers this proposal for a moment, frowning. He opines, "Well... I can, sure. He got knocked on the head pretty good. We'd have to heal him to talk to him. Trading a spell for knowledge of what we're in for seems fair enough though. Any objections?" If not: Hjálmarr drags the unconscious guard over to the manacles that had previously held the party. Having secured his legs, he cuts a strip from his ruined shirt sleeve and binds the man's mouth. Content with this work, he chants a moment and then touches the man's shoulder. When he doesn't wake, he scowls and asks the party, "Apparently gave this bloke too much of a knock on the head. I'm nearly tapped out -spell wise- and would prefer to hold on the last bit."
The dwarven solider gazes at his blood-slicked hands as the claws seem to retract and the fiery glow in his eyes fades. It keeps happening. All the talk must have been true all those years your dismissed it. Cursed. Realizing his hulking brute of a neighbor is speaking to him, he looks up and listens. Having listened, he returns the orc's gaze steadily for a moment. He breaks it as he retrieves the guard's longsword and other equipment. Taking a moment to shrug into the too tight armor, he finally replies, "They may call me monster, but that doesn't make me one. You can act as you will, but it's likely the guards were simply doing what they were taught to think right. They needed to eat like any other man, and the military is an honorable profession." As he finishes buckling the recovered gear about himself, he continues "The ones who deserve death are the ones who push these commoners around like cattle. The aristocracy and the Church who poison the minds of all and ensure that any that don't fall in line are killed. Those complicit I'll not regret bringing to justice, but I won't kill these randoms-" he gestures to the unconscious guard, "-for no reason. I'll defend myself, but if I don't have to kill I won't. It's just my code."
Hjálmarr's fangs are bared and as the gravely wounded man totters away his instinct is to slay and feed. His blood burns and the scent of blood in the air is like an ambrosia. But the tinny voice at the back of his mind begins to reassert itself through the red haze. Closing his mouth, he clenches his fists and says in a too-normal dwarven voice for his savage visage, "Tell them we escape a great injustice. That we regret the deaths preserving our lives has caused." He then clobbers the man over the head, looking only to knock him out.
Rational thought fleeing, Hjálmarr's eyes fix on the remaining guard as his companions go for the fleeing assistant. He charges the man, fiercely sharp teeth bared and his claws (still sparking with arcane energy) extended.
Hjálmarr is ignorant of the warden's fall with his concentration so thoroughly fixed on preventing the alarm from sounding. The stress of the situation and his need to preserve himself does it's work and dwarven fingers sprout long needle-sharp claws as his eyes being to glow a fiery red.
If I can reach Guard 2 or Guard 1:
Baring teeth more accurately called fangs, he rushes to guarantee the horn cannot be sounded. The scent of ozone begins to fill the air as his hands glow with arcane energy no longer hindered by the foul tincture he'd been forced to drink. He viciously slashes at the man with his claw, eyes fixed on the horn that could spell their doom.
If I can't reach Guard 2 or Guard 1:
Baring teeth more accurately called fangs, he growls in anger as his prey slips away from him. The scent of ozone begins to fill the air as his hands glow with arcane energy no longer hindered by the foul tincture he'd been forced to drink. He viciously slashes at the unfortunate assistant with his claws as he sates his anger.
That's fair. Sorry again about the confusion. I could have sworn we discussed distributing things but looking back that clearly wasn't the case. I would have brought it up otherwise.
Was under the impression we had handed those out. if not, I'll have to review my options tomorrow.
As the room bursts into chaos, Hjálmarr's eyes are fixed on the guard with the horn at his waist. It's over if they rally and get time to arm. His shock when the man attacks his ally stops him in his tracks, but he wastes little time in pointing to the man's horn and chanting a quick spell. A thick oily blob of grease flies from his hand towards the horn. With his spell in the air, he hustles as fast as he can towards the door, intent on eliminating the threat of blowing the horn.
Nice. That's better then rerolling my init for sure. Do I need to wait to post (after any NPCs)?
I can if we can reroll my initiative higher then it is now. I've used my reroll already.
Hopefully that 13 will suffice if I can't take 10. :)
Hjálmarr, when his turn comes, rubs his wrists gratefully for a moment before raising his arms and setting the manacles around his wrists, unlocked and with some slack. Despite his training in stealth, he clearly isn't used to this sort of obfuscation.
Hjálmarr falls silent at the approach of the guard. He watches him, eyes beginning to glow soft red, but doesn't otherwise react. No soldier of mine would dare... After the power-mad guard has left, he waits a long moment, before adding his thoughts in a whisper, "Aye. The guards, unless they're particularly thick headed, will rotate on eight hour shifts. Generally midday, at eight hours past midday, and eight hours past that again. Feigning sleep and trying to slip free in the wee hours of the morning when the night guards are at their most tired seems like a fine plan."
Ok, the net changes to the spreadsheet are:
Thank you for setting up that chart. That's handy to have/know. I had some problems with the translation from Herolab to my Paizo profile. They should be fixed now. On that note, Diplomacy should be a +8 not a +7 as I have two ranks in it. Edit: I'm looking at my Herolab profile again and I'm not clear why it's got me at 14 skill ranks. It should be 12 I think (6 bard + 0 INT) * 2. I've got some hacks in place to add the half-fiend profile, but even if I remove all of those the SW has me at 14. Digging into the why more. Edit 2: Aha! The Way of the Wicked trait I added adds ranks for my profession soldier that I didn't notice so I'm double counting those (it adds them to adventuring talents and not to background talents). I'll fix it and update in another post with the skill changes. Of particular interest, my profile by sheer luck had the right number of skill points (unlike my herolab profile) as I had 1 rank in Diplomacy and 0 in Spellcraft marked vs 2 and 1 respectively.
Hjálmarr wakes from his stupor as the woman begins to speak. Escape? A path to justice and maybe redemption? With growing interest, he shakes off his torpor and listens more carefully. He introduces himself with a distracted grunt, "Hjálmarr". He whispers a reply to the others, "What is in your trinket? I've never heard of such a thing? If there are means to break our chains and the out of the cell, perhaps there is hope."
Having aired his fatalist declaration, Hjálmarr stays slumped against the wall -not bothering to look up- when the guards enter. He glances up when Blackerly enters, but seeing that he was not instructed, simply looks down again. Well, maybe she's done for. Just as we all are... A few moments later, when the gate creaks open again, he doesn't bother to look up. He simply stands, waiting, for his fate to reach him.
Hjálmarr guffaws at his monstrous companion-in-chain's words. Settling back against the wall, he closes his eyes and says, "Don't think any of us will be getting out of here, friend. A short drop and a quick stop for me and you, some burning at the stake for our other friends, and hard labor -might as well be a death sentence- for the entrepreneur." "There is no justice in this world, so best thing is to hope for it in the next. I'm not counting on it. The gods seem to give no fig for it either."
I'm liking how I've been playing it (gradual awakening of the curse that manifests in times of stress). Let me know if there's any issues with my depictions. |
