Jarvey Glintloque's page

Evening gang - have decided to call time on my adventures in Nuln and the Old World.

It's a mix of reasons, none of which make this an easy decision. Work in RL has unexpectantly ramped up (I'm an Ops Supervisor in Oil & Gas) which means for the next few weeks I'm likely to be busier than normal prepping and running jobs.

That coupled with my real grappling with a system I'm growing ever less fond of, means this game is one that I've made the reluctant decision to drop out of.

The role-play has been excellent, and Aubster - you are a great GM (and amazingly patient lol) - its the roll-play that ultimately did for me. In truth there are probably WFRP aficionados that would do the game and system far more justice than I am.

Appreciated the opportunity and hope to game with you all again (in a system more to my simpler tastes).

Thanks one and all, especially you Aubster.

Cheers

Black Dow

Nah Jarvey will stick will being prone and at 0 Wounds...

Cheers for the detailed explanation, appreciate you taking the time but honestly the wall of permutations is really waning my enthusiasm for the system...

Agree that perhaps the complex permutations of the system math could be resolved quickly at a face to face, or by those familiar with the system. Here's the kicker, because I'm less than impressed by the headache in figuring out the workings I've not much energy nor compunction to wrap my brain round it.

Finally the notion of a critical and a fumble just pique my interest as something interesting to see so will likely take the hits and see where fortune takes me :)

Note: I'm not at all precious about characters and more than happy to put my creations through a system's threshing machine to see what comes out the other side. Aubster - have at it :)

ROUND 2

Ok, first things first. Extended Endurance test...

Extended Endurance Test 50 (-20 due to Fever and Poison): 1d100 ⇒ 5 Somekind of positive SL?

He then attempts to dodge the incoming attack...

Defence: Dodge 46 (-20 due to Fever and Poison): 1d100 ⇒ 88 Somekind of negative SL???

Corrupted, poisoned, wounded and fevered Jarvey fires away with his repeater (2/4 shots fired)

Ranged (Blackpowder) 62 (-20 due to Fever & Poison): 1d100 ⇒ 53

Not even close methinks with his Defence Roll vs My Attack, so won't list damage.

No armour on his arms GM.

Endurance 50 (Challenging +0) vs Warpstone: 1d100 ⇒ 80* (Ouch...)

Endurance 50 (Difficult -10) vs Poison: 1d100 ⇒ 43* (Damn...)

* (not sure if I should be at -10 due to fever?)

D'oh. Forgot about that. Apologies!

Defence (Dodge) 36 (46-10 due to Fever): 1d100 ⇒ 42

As they are set upon Jarvey brings his trusty repeator to bear on the Skaven assassin threatening to gut him...

(Not sure if there's any penalties for using range weapons in melee? Like Attack of Opportunity in PF etc. Regardless if he can, he will (regardless of the risk) On my work PC at present so have no access to the rules :)

Ranged (Blackpowder) 62 (-10): 1d100 ⇒ 13

Damage (Repeater Pistol): SL3+8+1 = 12 (Non-metal APs are ignored)

Repeater Pistol or standard Pistol for Jarvey.

Former has more punch, latter better range. Repeater has Dangerous quality. Both have Damaging.

In addition to Small (and all the benefits and penalties it bestows in combat) Jarvey's key combat related talents are detailed below:

Perception 38 (-20): 1d100 ⇒ 2

Senses perhaps heightened by the tincture, Jarvey attention is drawn toward threatening shadows in the alleyway;

"Dirk! Skaven around us! Count three!"

Jarvey forces a smile and hands over the coins;

"3 Shimmies well spent. My thanks."

He looks over the map, then nods to Dirk;

"Right big'n. Lets get to this Doktor before things take a turn for the worse again..."

Taking the tonic in a sweating hand, as he tries to ignore the increasing lurch of his bowels, Jarvey looks pensively to Dirk;

"Heh. Bottom's up an' not out eh?!"

He smiles weakly and gulps the elixir down...

Endurance 50 (+20): 1d100 ⇒ 26

As the fire in his belly temporarily recedes, the Coach Meister breathes easier and looks to the elderly Apothecary;

"My thanks for the map and my breeches thank you for the tonic. How much do I owe?"

Jarvey rejects the proffered elixir;

"Much abliged Master Hartig... Afraid I won't keep it down long enough ta work its magicks... 'sides its not fatigue. Fever, and the trots..."

At Dirk's question he nods vigorously;

"Barely... but if the prospect of skittin' me breeches ain't impetus enough to get me leggies workin' then God's know what is!"

The halfling racks his brain for a nearby apothecary...

Lore (Local?) 48: 1d100 ⇒ 67

Jarvey seems to have gone from pale and hair plastered to his sweating forhead, to now very green about the gills.

To everyone and no-one in particular he mutters;

"Not that anyone gives a tuppenny toss fir a halfer like me, but I'm feelin' worse fir wears... Think a trip to an apothecary is in order afore I start spillin' my guts all over t' streets..."

Jarvey eyes the imposing priestess wearily;

"Presume you Wolves got a store o' decent spirits..? S-somethin' to warm the c-cockles as well as the soul? If so I'm with you Mistress..."

Jarvey shivers and sweats in equal measures as the group mull their next move;

"Damn me if it ain't hot. Could do with a cold beverage from somewhere..."

The humidity stench of the sewer seems to have caused Jarvey to sweat even more, however through his plastered hair, he shoots the magistrate a jaundiced eye;

"...Not much call for coaches down here Master Hartig..."

Looking up to the sewer ceiling, the coach master mentally tries to work out where they might be;

"Lets see now..."

Note sure which skill might assist here - Lore (Local) or Navigation? Went with both...

Lore (local) 48: 1d100 ⇒ 45
Navigation 38: 1d100 ⇒ 36

Apologies all - thought I'd posted!

Jarvey flashes a grimace-smile at the congratulations;

"Pistoliers'll be here soon after the noise I made. Best we be off."

He looks at companions and nods towards the door;

"Longshanks afore little..."

As Adela enacts the execution, Jarvey flashes a grin and covers the door with readied pistol;

"Anyone comes in, gets lead in their diet!"

Pistol Attack (Ranged, Blackpowder) 62: 1d100 ⇒ 4

Kill the Count! Kill the Count!

(Jarvey was planning the same)

Jarvey catches the cold glint of the zealot in the Count's stare...

Feck. He thinks me tainted. Crazy basterd'll 'ave me stretched an' broken just to prove it! Time to take matters into yer own 'ands Jarviticus me lad...

Sweating the halfling doubles over in apparent stomach distress...

Sleight of Hand 39: 1d100 ⇒ 6 (Attempting to draw his single shot pistol (ENC 0) from his belt without the Mad Count clocking it... If necessary (due to his "condition" I'll spend a Resolve Point to ensure success.

Jarvey downs the cool water, then shoots the Count a hard look through his weary eyes;

"Ah'm feelin' a little off colour since the sewers, that's all. Rest assured Herr Count I'm neither nervous nor some secret worshiper o' a cult..."

The halfling forces a grin through gritted teeth;

Just sick o' hearin' your mad ramblings..."

Jarvey usual wry expression seems to have drained away, and he dabs his forehead with a sleeve.

Whispering an aside to whomever is nearby, the diminutive Coach Master looks somewhat concerned;

"Is it jus' me or is The Count's study hotter than a torturer's coals?"

He edges away from the nearby log fire, moving somewhat sluggishly...

Jarvey also listens with growing unease;

Rats and their catchers as patsies.!? Don't make sense. The Count here is mad as a bag of cats. I'd give them feck all.

Feeling more at ease on the outside at the least, but still getting a worryingly persistent aftertaste of effluent, Jarvey again lets the longshanks take the lead.

As Ubaldo and the Count spar in verbose fashion, the Kutsche Meister keeps an eye out for any of those preening pistoleers...

Jarvey nodded, then eyed his own countenance and the rest of the group;

"Likely more than my job's worth havin' us all trapse nightsoil through the place. Best we find a bathhouse an' launderers afore the morrow..."

Jarvey glares at the pistoleers as he too holsters his firearm;

"Waste o' good lead on you long streaks o' p1ss anyways. However should any la-de-dahs want some satisfaction once all this is settled I'll happily give ye the honour."

Current predicament brings to mind this great scene...

Jarvey listens to the familiar clicking of the pistols being primed, then flashes a hard smile at the pistoleers;

"So you long-shanks just going to stroke those hammers, or do any o' ye have the stones to actually pull on us?"

Jarvey continues to watch and listen, before being ordered to stand down.

He flashes a grimy smile;

"No can do. If the She-Wolf of Ulric smells more than scheisse here... I believe her."

He cracks the hammer on his pistol;

"Now you Gentlemen lower your pistolen... or I turn the Count here into a sieve."

Jarvey holds his tongue, allowing the langshanks to parley it out.

He does not however lower his own pistol...

As Adela fails to clarify, and Dirk hoists his bulk up the ladder, Jarvey shrugs to himself and ascends also...

Lady Wolf's too busy claiming 'er kill. I'll stick with the big fella...

Once up, and glad to be clear of the sewage he'll attempt to hustle to catch up with the langshanks.

Jarvey picks himself up, wheezing from the gas and stinking from the cake of sh1t he's covered in.

The halfing recovers his dropped pistol, attempting to clean it as he eyes the ladder quizically;

"Shoot down the Magistrate? I have no love o' officialdom nor lawdogs but seems a little excessive Lady Wolf..."

As the priestess sets about beheading the ratmen corpses, he gulps and checks his weapon is primed...

"...but if ye be sure, then fair 'nough...

Am presuming as Jarvey has just come to, and missed the mayhem and aftermath Adela's instruction might be a tad confusing :)

Jarvey squints at the billowing mist, realising that firing blind would be folly and as likely to beg friend as much as foe.

With a grimace at his sewage encrusted countenance, the diminutive Kutche Meister shakes his head;

"Ach. Covered in Nuln night-soil, and now venomous vapours! This just tastes sourer an' sourer..."

He presses through the cloud...

(Hard -20) Endurance 50: 1d100 ⇒ 45

... but is overcome by the bitter fumes and collapses in a (small) heap!

Condition: Unconscious

Initiative: 1d10 + 28 ⇒ (5) + 28 = 33

Caught out by the others charge, Jarvey hefts his pistol and joins the fray...

Jarvey nods in agreement, through it is plain to see any sense of cockiness and enthusiasm has been obscured by the coating of sewage on the Coach-Master.

He pulls his repeater out once again, wiping it clean as best he can...

Difficult (-10) Athletics 41: 1d100 ⇒ 81

Jarvey barely has time to register the scheissenami wave crashing o'er Dirk and Adela before he too is engulfed in the sewage!

Dripping in skit in slowly rises to his feet, swearing and cursing as he does;

"Feckinratbasterdscabbysonso'sewerscum!"

Average (+20) Endurance 50: 1d100 ⇒ 96

He hacks up some sewage and looks thoroughly disgusted...

Wee heads up gang - our management in their infinite wisdom are pressing ahead with an ISO audit (via Skype) which I'm heavily involved with due to my Ops Super role.

Been prepping all day today and audit is tomorrow - will likely be Friday before I'm back in the saddle again. Bear with and bot Jarvey if/where necessary.

Edit: Hope i fare better than Scheisse Meister Jarvey!

As the ratmen ranks are decimated, Jarvey draws his trusty repeater and draws a bead on one of the clan rats.

"Rat-a-tat-tat ye basterd!"

He fires a volley at the creature:

Ranged (Blackpowder) 62: 1d100 ⇒ 81
Again not sure if I'm strictly firing into melee for a -20 on this occasion or if its close range @ +20 as I'm further back in the marching order)
Damage (Repeater Pistol): SL3+8+1 = 12 (Non-metal APs are ignored)

Cool (+0) 60: 1d100 ⇒ 70 Feck. Ok.... Will spend 1 Resolve to remove that Broken condition.

Jarvey momentarily baulks at the Rat-Ogre's charge, then steels himself as it is downed by Adela in spectacularly brutal fashion...

(Not sure how long mechanically it takes him to get himself together, thematically makes sense for him to spend R1 regaining his cool (figuratively and literally)

Initiative: 28 + 10 = 38

Jarvey smirks at Ubaldo's question;

"Sounds like the Prof is chuckin' up a perfectly good spot o' grub!"

Average (+20) Perception 38): 1d100 ⇒ 19

The smile falls from his face as his keen halfling eyes catch a glimpse of something far more wretched causing his tone to drop from jocular to most grave...

"Ah.. Scheisse... We have company ladles and gentlemen!"

As he speaks the halfling's gloved hand drops toward the handles of his pistols...

Endurance 50: 1d100 ⇒ 9

From beneath his scarf Jarvey grimaces, but holds onto his precious vittles.

"If you spy anything upfront that warrants gettin' a pop o' lead, do let me know."

Jarvey is also a mixed bag up front. He has mediocre Perception (38), but also has Night Vision & Nose for Trouble. Pistols are another consideration, but he's slow at only 3 Move.

Jarvey wrinkles his nose, pulling his scarf up across his mouth before chiming in his (muffled) thoughts;

"Place stinks worse than an Ogre's armpit..."

Jarvey nods in resigned agreement;

"I'm with the big lass on this. Know the world an' their mother thinks us halflings are prime sneaks, but I'm the proud exception. Hard to be stealthy atop a coach whilst poppin' a blunderbuss..."

The diminutive coach-master pats his stomach with a dry cough;

"Besides. While we're 'ere per-haps a flagon an' slice o' pie is in order? Whet the whistle and quiet the gut-growls eh? "

(Easy +40) Athletics 41: 1d100 ⇒ 19

Jarvey follows the big man down the rope, his light frame gathering momentum as he reaches street level.

Once at the Blind Pig he happily follows in Dirk's wake as the rough and ready crowd wisely part for the intimating yokel.

At the guard's challenge and simultaneous loud scream Jarvey attempts to bolt for the shadows;

Challenging (+0) Athletics 41: 1d100 ⇒ 61

Hoping he's not noticed, the halfling hunkers down in the shadows;

"What the fekk are we doing? Exploding wizards an' hiding from guards..."

Jarvey holsters his pistol with a proud nod at Hanna's praise, then wanders over to the corpse of the demon.

Maybe I should be pushin' for 15%. Between me an' the big lad we got things covered.

He stoops, seemingly scrutinising the body... before finally recovering a ichor-free ragged piece of Professor Traub's robe, before proceeding to clean off his own coat and countenance.

Should any disdainful looks shift his way, the Kutsche Meister merely shrugs and mutters;

"Fir feck's sake. Ain't is if the old goat's got use for it no more..."

At Hanna's grim portent, the halfling perks up;

"Out o' time? Maybe Prof. Out o' bullets? Not yet... We got bullets an' my eye then the journey ain't done yet says I."

Dramatic Endurance (50): 1d100 ⇒ 83

Fortune Reroll: 1d100 ⇒ 11

As the demon explodes in dramatic fashion Jarvey's smug expression falters momentarily at the horror of the situation...

... however his pride (and the potential prize of 10% holding in Imperial Expressways) forces him to compose himself.

Tapping the smoking barrel of his pistol, Jarvey grins;

"Black Magick meet Black Powder!"

Round 1

As the demon is slammed backward Jarvey admires it flailing arc with a hard grin.

Big lad hits hard. Remember to let 'im win at dice...

The halfling draws his 4-Barrelled Repeater Pistol drawn and in one fluid motion -levels and fires at the fell creature!

Ranged (Blackpowder) 62: 1d100 - 20 ⇒ (7) - 20 = -13 (Not sure if I'm strictly firing into melee for a -20 here but I'm presumed aye...)
Hit Location: 1d100 ⇒ 83 Left Leg
Damage (Repeater Pistol): SL3+8+1 = 12 (Non-metal APs are ignored)

Initiative: 1d10 + 28 ⇒ (8) + 28 = 36