James unpacks one of his packed stores of bean and cut meat and wolves it down alongside a small serving of ale from his ale barrel.
"G'day. I trust ya' slept well?"
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Well lads, I am creeping back into my bed. All of this talk about coldness has made me yearn for the warm embrace and tranquility of my bedsheets. G'night.
Jin's point is reasonable enough, if both heating and reasonable shelter was provided then surely there would be no reason at all to make fortitude saves at all.
"I am calling the first watch, if I first drift off to the wondrous dreamlands then you'll need a thunder strike to wake me up." James withdraws a tin can from his satchel and a crude looking improvised pipe from his inner pockets and occupies himself with cleaning, stuffing and then finally igniting the sweet smelling tobacco with a piece of flint and tinder. A few moments later he has placed himself directly upon the flat rock in the middle of the circle where has has taken to heaving violently on his pipe, only pausing periodically to let out a stream of smoke or spit out phlegm. "Well? What are you waiting for? I'll wake Jin, he will wake Lan. Stop dallying and get in your bunks."
"Ah, yes. The task of finding shelter, truly a magnificient and brain wrenching deed. Should you sleep in a cave and get mauled by rapid bears or should you sleep on the ground and get mailed by rapid wolves? So many options and so little time to consider it all in."
James' head seems to turn slightly, his nose vibrating as his face turns to strong disgust. He comes to a total stop and turns back towards the camp. "Flesh... I think they are burning flesh. Damned green skins... Could be human flesh.
James runs his tongue over his lips and inclines his head slightly. "Quite, off we go then! There is no reason to dally over a few green skins."
James hefts up in his rifle, placing the rifle's on the ground while he attempts to get a clearer view of the whole mess. "It might not be your concern, however, I am sure as damned not letting a child burn to ashes inside a house because it wasn't my concern. As far as I am concerned, people could be suffering in the wicked flames, I do not want that on my consciousness. You can continue if you want, but I will check up on this fire, if it turns out to be a stack of hay then I will catch up with ya'"
James' brow furrows for a moment and he raises his hand to his eyes, cupping it as to shield his sight. "I can't be entirely sure, however, that could either be the work of the kinsmen of the thing we are tracking, another problem entirely or something entirely unrelated. Buuuuut... in the interest of our good senses, I would like to point out that it must be a rather large source of fire, seeing as it is this clear.
James' eyes glide from the ground and to the sky, where they seem to narrow down on something in the distance. He smacks together his lips and spits out a small glob of phlegm before raising his right hand towards the smoke trail. He turns his head towards the rest of the group and raises his voice to pierce the air: "It seem we have a minor issue, lads."
James has clearly dusted off his old set of winter cloths, seeing as as he tumbles behind the rest of the party, he is packed from top to toe in a heavy set of furs and skin that nearly covers every inch of his body with the strange exception of his fingers and hands which only has a very light set of gloves on them. His attention, however, is turned to the ground and the around lying countryside rather than being homed for conversation.
You are too ashamed to admit that I partake in the game, eh?
James simply wrestles his hip flask back from the bartender, gives the gathered, remaining friends a short bow, takes a heavy and rather demonstrating swig from his hip flask and flees out of the door with his rifle slung over his shoulder.
Bloody bea-.... Oh.... Yes, certainly! Let me just find my wallet. James shuffles through his coat for an entire minute, whistling merrily as he rummages through his pockets, folds and other hiding places before he seemingly slides a small handful of silver coins to the barkeeper. "Ale for everyone at this table. No hurt feelings, eh? Eh?"
James raises his hip flask up into the air; a fair amount of the content spilling out unto the table. He lets out a grandiose cheer: "You have my Alice on your side, and bullets in thy enemies!
James lets out a fascinated whistle as he blows off the foam on top of the mug of pint he just ordered. ”No need to explain, I am in. I always wanted a /really large/ trophy to hang over my fireplace.” While the others launches into a grandiose dialogue about the upcoming mission, he merely resigns himself to leaning back in his chair and taking a couple of generous heaves from the tankard. As he lifts the mug for the fifth or perhaps sixth time, he discovers that the mug has already grown empty. His smile turns slightly dour until a sudden flash of realization runs over him; and he begins rummaging through his jacket for his hip flask, he unscrews the lid and takes a proper swallow, his face distorting as the taste hits the tongue. He lowers his voice to a nearly conspiratorial whisper, and he throws a quick glare over his should at the bartender ”Would anyone care for a little moonshined whiskey, eh?” He extends the hipflask forward, pointing it towards the gathered individuals.
James peaks his head into the room; a flabbergasted smirk on his lips as he enters the tavern. He has his faithful rifle slung over his shoulder, his usual vest and trouser on his body and a sugary tune on his lips. "Hello there, gents, female gents and Luke. What is the occasion? Just casual chit-chat or a major party? Ohhhhh.... Is it like that one time where Luke had his great business idea? The man launches into a long-winded chortle, giving Luke a whack on the arm as he pulls out a chair from one of the other tables and settles down besides Luke, placing his rifle on the floor, making sure to balance it accurately alongside the table.
I'll stick to the basic and pick Undercommon and Common. I have had some nasty experiences with a group that couldn't speak under common at all. I'll have to ensure that we never get their fate. I mean... crushed by an army of deep dwarves? That's just twisted. Ah well, I guess that is the hardships of life.
Pardon that I haven't posted before, you know how dreadful timezones can be for us all. As for the very vital and important questions of rather impressive proportions. I am a bit of a hedonist, so I go with the simple mindset that bigger is better and that you can't have too much of a good thing.
I am sticking with my gunslinger, human/gunslinger.
Fine, fine. I will see if I can find a replacement.
It seems we are stacking up a fair bit on psionic fellows, so I am submitting my "mundane" character. James Crownwell, the modern version of a Musket Master and totally non-psionic male. There is nothing fancy about him. Just a good ol' rifle and plenty of bullets. |