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Krom rather calmly wipes a bit of spittle from his chin and smooths his hair back. "I dislike doing things that way; so uncivilized. But with beasts, you often have little recourse--and it's best to avoid bloodshed, even against creatures of lesser intellect. They knew no better." Nodding to Violant he smiles. "A good idea. Allow me to follow suit." Lifting his morningstar, Krom'gosh casts Light on the head, turning into an impromptu torch.
Krom'gosh laughs softly at the dogs, then takes in a deep, slow breath, puts on his best 'angry orc face', and bellows a ferocious battle howl from the bottom of his massive chest, howling with terrible, raging fervor at the dogs with enough shaking, horrible monstrosity to make the strongest of men crumble. "RRRRAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHH!"
Krom takes two swift steps towards the creature and sweeps his mace forward in wide, downward arc towards its carapace.
Taking a step back, he feels Violant's spell of guidance fill his body. Without looking away from his target, he nods. "Many thanks, lass!"
Krom'gosh raises his shield defensively, advancing and holding the Breaker of Servitude in a high, ready position, prepared to swing down and bite into insectoid flesh.
Krom reaches over his shoulder and pulls his shield over, strapping it to his arm. reaching down, he loosens his morningstar in the strap at his waist and settles the massive, spiked weapon into his meaty fist.
"I don't see it, but your eyes are better than mine. Best we stay on our toes, methinks."
Holding his shield over his shoulder, Krom hauls his ponderous bulk into the wagon and settles himself into the seat across from Quinn, rolling his shoulders. "I suggest we make haste once we're all here--who dares, wins."
"One of the good graces of being 'afflicted' with my bloodline is the ability to see in the dark with the skill of a cat--and a do believe that good master Bofgar is likewise gifted. We can lead the way, master Quinn, and if trouble befalls us, one can always light a torch." Krom grins from ear to ear. "I say, yes. Let's hire a wagon and get ourselves down to that dungeon. The thrill of the moment sings in my blood, a clarion battle-song! The need to explore surges through my veins! The need to discover pounds inside my heart!"
Krom watches the festivities with a passive smile on his face. Clearly being in the mood to simply sit and listen and absorb the atmosphere rather than talk about himself. Once the topic turns to adventure, however, his interest is piqued. "Looks like this was our lucky day after all," he rumbles good-naturedly. "And if others have heard of it, then a believe a merry race is underway. Let us depart at our earliest leisure!"
I'm ready anytime. :)
Once they have meat pies in hand, Krom relaxes supine across one of the wagon seats, balancing the hot meat pastry in the broad palm of one mottled, green-black hand. "So tell me, Master Quinn," he muses in a curious rumble, his eyes taking in the pie before he actually takes a bite. "Returning to our conversation before, is the practice of slavery legal in Absalom? I've found that in many places in my travels, legal or not, it's still practiced, and I've had to..." He pauses delicately, then adds with an ominous inflection. "...take steps."
Krom steps up into the wagon and hauls himself into a seat, settling into a comfortable position. "Mmm...what a fine day this has been. A fine day indeed. What other splendors might it possibly hold?"
Krom grins approvingly at the wagonmaster's laugh. "Well, I expect I won't be trying anytime soon. I'd make a poor god, methinks."
Krom laughs mightily. "As mystical as the surroundings may be, perhaps a dusty road may not be the best place to tell our tales. As I said, once we get back to the Singing Satyr, the first round comes from my purse." He turns back to the Cathedral. "What is it that makes the place so impregnable? Can not a powerful wizard simply fly across that chasm? Or does some contrivance keep magic from working there?"
He rolls his eyes. "No, no, no offense taken," he says. "After all, I was only RAISED by a smelly, vile orc who was the most loving, compassionate woman to ever draw breath, and who died far too soon. A woman who instilled in me the good graces not to slay outright the Dwarf who taught me my manners." He claps the elf on the shoulder. "Racism is is a very impressive sword, my friend, and very useful for vengeance. But it's so very, very sharp when you look at it from the other side. Trust me. I've been staring at the pointed end my entire life." He rumbles another laugh and turns to look back up at the Cathedral, whistling at the sheer majesty of it.
"Nay, I'll not hear your apologies, Sir Bru. Today seems a fine day for meeting new acquaintances, if I do say so myself!" Throwing his head back, his ugly face twists into a grotesque grin that somehow seems infectious in its good humor, and he booms another of his jolly laughs. "If I may ask, what brings an obvious warrior such as yourself to Absalom? My friends here..." He steps aside and gestures to his entourage. "The most skilled berserker Bofgar Morarr, and the brave young Master Quinn Thinwhistle have just come from the fine Singing Satyr Pub to steal ourselves a gander of the Cathedral's legendary grandeur. If you're not busy, mayhap once you've told us your tale, you'd join us for a flagon or two? And since Master Bofgar is paying for the wagon, I insist that the first round would be on my coin!"
"Do mine eyes decieve me, or do I see a fellow wanderer o'er yonder?" Krom'gosh hauls himself off the wago, stomping over to stand next to the elf, gazing up at the Cathedral. "By Milani, look at the majesty of it...and whoever masters that bulwark of divinity can claim the heart of godhood..." He smiles softly. "'Tis grand, no? And grander still, when you have company to revel in with company. Krom'gosh Chainbreaker. Servant of Milani the Everbloom, at your service, friend Elf." He extends one massive, scarred hand in a warm, friendly manner.
Krom bulldogs the ruffian into the wagon then hops in himself. "Once my friends are in here with me, the Starstone Cathedral, please." He pauses, then adds with a smirk. "Passing by the nearest poorhouse, if you please."
"I don't like men who seek to kill other men for no reason. I think I'll toss him off our wagon in front of a poorhouse and announce that he's a charitable donor."
"Since nobody will speak up, I shall handle this miscreant!" Krom'gosh says with a jolly, booming laugh, rising to his feet. He beckons Quinn's sister over and bows to her, taking her hand and kissing it with the grace of a cultured gentleman. "Thank you for the fine potables and victuals, my petite young beauty! Though they'll make the water and hardtack I'll eat on the road pale in comparison, the sweet succor of their memory will make my next meals go down far easier. If we meet again, I hope your face will grace my table once more, and your fine ales and bounteous meals will fill my belly." Grinning, he turns back and hefts the blackguard that had caused the ruckus, pulling him into a fireman's lift over his shoulder. He gestures to Bofgar and Quinn with a broad grin and a nod of his massive brow. "Well, my strapping companions? I do believe we have a cultural icon to view!
Krom'gosh watches the proceedings with less the expression of one witnessing a tavern brawl, and more with the expression of one watching a mildly interesting play. He takes a sip from his flagon as the massive waraxe rebounds off the thuggish man's head and clunks to the floor, then roars with laughter. "Ha ha ha ha!" That infectious sound that makes it hard not to join in. "My favorite kind of violence! The kind where all parties walk away from at the end. He'll have a crushing headache tomorrow, and one mother of a weal for the next fortnight or two, but it won't kill 'im. And perchance he'll think twice before casually trying to take a man's life." Tilting back his flagon, he chugs back the last of his brew and licks his lips. "I've nary laid eyes on Abaslom's fabeled Cathedral. I'd relish the chance to come along. What say you, young Quinn? Good Master Bofgar has graciously offered to foot the bill for the carriage, and I sorely desire to feel the sun on my skin."
"Hmm. Why not? I planned on relaxing in Absalom for a few days anyway, mayhap see the great Starstone Cathedral. Every man should lay eyes on the place where gods are born, yes? And if, by chance, during my tourism here I'm caught up in a whirlwind adventure? Why not?"
Krom'gosh sets down his flagon and applauds the spoken-word display with a broad smile. "What a talent 'ya have there, lad. 'Tis a shame the three of us aren't on some grand quest of out own, nay?"
"Thank you most kindly, little brave one," Krom'gosh takes a chip and tosses it into his cavernous mouth, chewing it thoughtfully. His eyes are flat, beady and black with a sort of stormy anger. "It burns my heart and turns my stomach to learn that you spent any amount of your life toiling under the yoke of slavery, Sir Quinn. I, myself, was born at the tip of the cat 'o nine tails, and labored 'neath the foreman's lash for a score and four years before Milani gave me the strength to break my chains and lead a rebellion against those that held us captive. I've been in her graces--and at her service--ever since."
Krom'gosh looks thoughtful for a moment, then stands up to his full seven foot height and lifts his flagon in one massive, meaty, scarred fist. "To new friends! He toasts in a booming, throbbing bass, grinning from ear to ear and showing the pearly teeth behind his chipped and battered tusks. "To Bofgar, to Quinn, to Catrin and to Mika! To Krom'gosh, if I may be so bold! To strong ale, cold as the northern snows, and sweet muffins, hot as the desert sands! To the Pathfinders, ever blazing new paths! To those that toil in slavery, that they may soon be freed! To all that and more, I propose a long draught! To adventure, my friends!" He raises his flagon higher. "TO ADVENTURE! Leaning back, he chugs down the rest of his ale, downing it in three long, deep swallows. Grinning broadly, without a single hint of self-consciousness, he sits back down at his chair and lays one hand on the table.
Krom spreads his arms expansively. "The Dwarf speaks true, my young friend. A stout heart and a courageous will can see you through the darkness better than a sharpened blade--though that certainly helps at times, I'd wager!" He laughs and takes another swill of ale. "In my experience, being an adventurer is equal parts skill, bravery, desire and sheer, massive balls!"
"Ah, thank you, my dear! They look extravagant!" he lays some coin down for his meal with another hearty laugh, then pops an entire muffin into his mouth, chasing it down with a swallow of ale. "Delectable. My compliments to the chef!" He pauses in the act of lowering his flagon, noticing the little halfling ostensibly drumming along with the bard. He lowers his voice with a rumbling chuckle. "It seems to me that the courageous young buck over there believes us to have designs after this fair lass. Somebody should tell him he has nothing to fear."
"Qunn Thinwhistle, is it? A pleasure to meet you as well! It's rare and treasured to meet good drinking companions on the road these days. All I need now is a good workout and a good night's sleep, and this will have been the top of my week!"
Krom'gosh shrugs his massive shoulders expansively. "I've put spikes through the brains of many an Orc," he rumbles. "But a man who judges the acts of a man by the skin he wears must have the brains of a cabbage. My mother was an Orc, and she did the best she could for me, given the circumstances. And she loved my father very much." He pauses, then grins grotesquely. "Would you believe HE was the ugly one?"
"A goodly name. My own means 'The Liberator' in the Orcish tongue. I never cared much for Orcish, however. Too many 'k's and 'o's, it sounds like you're gargling with cheap ale whenever you speak the language." He grins wider.
Krom grins again, clearly a man of wide humor. "It's a good thing, too. If there were a handful more with my devilish good looks, all the women of Absalom would be weak in the knees!" He throws his head back and laughs another thunderous, pleasant laugh. "But in all seriousness, my dearest friend and mentor was a Dwarf. He taught me the deep language when I was a lad. What name do you go by, braid-beard? I'll buy you and your reticent companions another round when the bottoms of your cups are dry."
The ugly Half-Orc grins and offers that same brow-to-breast salute he had given to the halfling serving girl. "Very new, I'm afraid. As for whence I came, that's a touch harder to answer. The roads have been home and hearth for the past seven years or so." Leaning over, he offers one hand, the size of an oar paddle, to the dwarf. "<Good tidings to you,>" he offers in Dwarvish. Then, in Common once again. "My name is Krom'gosh Chainbreaker, servant of Milani the Everbloom."
Accursed tickle hobo spiders. Always looking for a free ride. In any case, I don't think it will benefit him as much as I'd like, but I think it fits his character best if I choose Toughness. Getting the everloving snot kicked out of him every day for twenty-four years would toughen him up a bit, I would think. :) Also, the Witch stole my Diplomacy hat! I'll have to sit in the back and Sense Motive instead. XD
He throws his head back and laughs a booming, pleasant laugh at the size difference between himself and Catrin. "You certainly can, little beauty. I'd pay handsomely for a flagon of something dark and strong, and mayhap a plate of those delightful smelling muffins. Hardtack, jerky and water can only carry a man so far on the road, and my tongue cries out something sweet!" Grinning broadly, he touches his forehead, then his chest in a polite gesture of greeting, then searches the commonroom for a chair that can handle his weight, finally settling onto a sturdy chair not far from where the dwarf, the halfling and the man in the tatty suit are chatting together.
Also, Dorgar, if the GM sends a box full of deadly hobo spiders to my house for posting early, I'm forwarding them to you, since you're taking the rap. :3
The door bangs open, and a ponderous mountain of a man steps through, wrapped in a crimson cloak, hood and mantle. Thick, powerful fingers clad in fingerless leather gloves rise to push the hood back, revealing a neolithic face, ferociously ugly and heavily scarred, thuggish and stupid-looking. A half-orc, by the look of him. A smile lights up his twisted lips, and grace and good humor light his eyes. "What a happy discovery," his voice is impossibly deep, and, unlike the rest of him, is a warm, beautiful purr. "Good music...and...is that muffins I smell?" He turns to close the door. A black iron morningstar rides in a leather loop at his hip, and a simple kite shield rides on his back, marking him as a fighting man of some sort.
Rock on! I'll post later tonight.
Whatever the GM decides, really. I'm an easy rider. :)
Warr harr harr! Reycied's character, the noble liberated slave! EDIT: By the way, just awaiting approval from the GM before I post over in the saucy pub thread. Edit #2: And also, I heard we get feats if we have fancy back stories. Hintity hint hint. :D |
