Search Posts
Blythe calls out to the priest. "Sacrifice me with my arms unbound. Let me face my destiny boldly." "You talk too much." Lheorvine headbutts the closest villager; as the rag-clad wretch stumbles away, he grabs Blythe by her shirt collar and unceremoniously tosses her through the crack before diving through it himself. "Grulorg, bring Cedric along!"
Lheorvine quietly notes which of the villagers took his sword. You're all dead. But you are especially dead.
"Ghhnnnngh."
Lheorvine snags Ishmex by his jacket collar as he starts towards the tunnel and casually deposits the gnome by the hut entry. "Try that again, and I'll stuff you down the back of Grulorg's pants. If we are to deal with an actual dragon, we need a plan. First off, are there more warriors backing it up?"
"Savages." Lheorvine gives the now-headless barbarian's body a kick as he steps over it. "Biting people? These guys are no better than goblins. Grolurg! Grab one of their greatclubs and come help me knock some sense into these fools!"
"What the hell? Did you just bite me?"
Lheorvine catches the barbarians' blows on his shield before delivering a ferocious counterstrike.
What the hell are you waiting for, Grulorg? Put an arrow in one of them!" Lheorvine bounds forward, interposing himself between Ishmex and the two warriors. "Come pick on someone your own size, cowards!"
Aubrey, Grulorg, Ishmex: Spoiler:
Ishmex, Grulorg, Aubrey: Spoiler:
Ishmex, Grulorg, Aubrey: Spoiler: Lheorvine hangs back like Ishmex instructs. "Ish can do all sorts of weird s%&%. This is... definitely one of those things."
Grulorg, Ishmex, Aubrey: Spoiler: "Yeah, let's follow them. They seem spooked, might as well take advantage of it."
Ishmex, Grulorg, Aubrey: Spoiler: "Nah. I can follow the last guy's tracks easily enough. These guys are useless." Lheorvine points his sword at the tribesmen's clubs, then makes a sharp downward motion. "Drop the weapons. And then sod off that way." He makes a shoo-ing motion towards the cave they just emerged from.
"If this doesn't work," he mutters in Orcish to his companions, "violence begins. Be ready."
Ishmex, Grulorg, Aubrey: Spoiler: "They look like regular islanders. Life here wears you down fast. Lemme handle this," Lheorvine growls in Orcish. He drops his backpack and saunters forward, taking care to make eye contact with all four Allam Islanders. He addresses the oldest-looking one of the bunch in Common. "Good morning, wreckers. Where have you hidden away the rest of our crew? Make no mistake, we know what you did; one false move or evasive word, and I'll scythe you down like last year's corn. Drop the pretend weapons and start talking. I'm no half-conscious sailor or old wretch: I am Lheorvine Ukris" - he gives his exotic-looking sword a twirl for emphasis - "and I will laugh as I send your souls to the netherworld."
Ishmex, Grulorg, Aubrey: Spoiler: "They are here. Five on three - I don't mind those odds. Do we want to talk, or just lay into them?"
Grulorg, Ishmex, Aubrey: Spoiler: "Might as well get going, then. Grulorg, take point in the cave, as you can see in the dark. Bring some driftwood for a club. Ish and I follow behind. As we all speak Orcish, let's communicate that way; whoever we're dealing with are unlikely to understand it." Lheorvine gets up and gets his backpack, then hefts his sword and shield. "Let's hope we meet Blythe along the way."
Ishmex and Aubrey: Spoiler: "Blythe is tougher than she looks, and Delmar's no pushover either. Grulorg will find both of them and bring them back here to thaw out. After that, anything is possible. You need spellbooks, right? I assume those are now on the bottom of the sea? Better be careful husbanding the few resources we have left. Fortunately, Blythe's great for this kind of situation - she wears no armour and is almost as dangerous with her bare hands as she is with her sword." Lheorvine hands Ishmex his belt dagger. "Take this for now. It's made of cold-wrought iron. Great against, you know, demons and malevolent nature spirits, that sort of thing. Just in case we encounter one."
His face gets a hard cast to it. "Someone is going to pay for this. Once I find the wreckers and their fake lighthouse, blood will flow. I might leave one of them alive to curse the Ukris name. The rest, however..."
Grulorg, Ishmex, Aubrey: Spoiler: "We'll be OK, Ish. I've been in rougher situations than this. I'll light a fire; go get me some of that driftwood over there while I get the flames going."
"Stay outta sight," he tells Grulorg as he leaves. "If you encounter anyone, come back and get us."
Grulorg and Aubrey: Spoiler: "The captain mentioned wreckers. As much as I could use a fight to get warmed up we should probably be somewhat careful."
Grulorg and Aubrey: Spoiler: "Bah." Lheorvine sits up slowly, shaking freezing saltwater out of his ears. He fights back an urge to curse the sea - Who knows, it might pay attention just this once - and staggers to his feet. "I guess the ocean is the one foe that just cannot be beaten. However, it failed to take my things. I take my triumphs where I can get them," he says with a weak smile. "I have a tent, food, spare clothing, all sorts of stuff in there. Let's set it up and get a fire going; I'm half dead from cold, and the others are probably no better. We'll need to find the others first, though."
"Did you lose your hammer? Take my bow. If you are strong enough to use it, of course," ha adds with a small smirk.
Lheorvine gets batted into the drink by the spinning mizzenmast boom. At least I'm not wearing armour, he sighs as he holds onto his darkwood shield for flotation.
Lheorvine runs back to his cabin, where he grabs his bow and his backpack. He casts a long, sad look at his suit of platemail, shakes his head and heads topside.
Once there, he simply kicks Cedric's door in. "CEDRIC!! Wake the hell up! Ship's sinking. Get dressed and get up on deck unless you want to drown. Latch onto Grulgor - he'll keep you safe. I'm getting my backpack before it is too late."
Not good. Lheorvine dashes back to his room, grabbing his lightweight shield before heading to Cedric's cabin.
Lheorvine is no skilled sailor or craftsman, but he is strong and tireless. Leaving Cedric to the other party members, he offers to help man the pumps or wrangle errant cargo; throughout the ordeal, his sword remains strapped to his back. As the storm quiets somewhat, he remains with the pumping crew. "I'll sleep once the next gang wakes up," he demurs.
"Might as well take it all in. We are powerless to affect it anyway." Lheorvine installs himself in an aft-facing location and admires the massive waves as they hurl the Tern northward. "We really had to expect foul weather, considering our destination, and this one is a doozy."
As the journey progresses, Lheorvine unpacks the armouring dummy from the hold and gets ahold of Cedric. "This is both for your own personal safety and your artistic edification. Don't let Blythe's leaps and turns and fancy footwork confuse the issue - swordfighting is about killing your foes, and the way to do that is to make them bleed. So, as you see here, the weak spots of an armoured enemy is the armpit and the knee joint..." Over the next days, he spends half an hour per day showing Cedric dirty tricks and simple and effective ways to end fights quickly. "Just in case the worst happens." "There's a big storm coming," says Mister Jakson to the passengers, "Best to go below decks." "Those are intimidating clouds," Lheorvine observes as he heads indoors. "Should we be worried?"
"We'll armour up tomorrow. Platemail's too much work for a casual spar." Lheorvine spends the morning dodging Grulorg's massive sledgehammer or catching Blythe's sword on his shield. "I'm nobody's idea of a dancer," he grins as he's catching his breath between bouts. "More like a bricklayer. All force, not much in the way of finesse. The desired end product is cutting down the opposition, not to put on some sorta show, after all." His left forearm is covered in dense rows of narrow scars. "Once drawn, the sword will draw blood," he explains, giving himself yet another nick while muttering a quick benediction. "For instances like this, that blood will obviously be mine. The Wanderer appreciates an affirmation of dedication." During the dinner, Lheorvine listens appreciatively to Ward's tales before telling the hosts about how his grandfather once fought and defeated a barrow-dwelling warlock - "It turned out he was long dead, only sustained by an ancient curse! Once they finally cut him down, his body crumbled into dust in a matter of minutes" - and how he and a group of rangers once spent last winter tracking a halfling werewolf - "An odd creature. Thankfully he didn't have the strength to batter down locked doors" - without ever cornering the beast.
"Sure, why not?" Lheorvine finally emerges from his cabin and wanders over to the group, absentmindedly chewing on a chunk of uncooked bacon while pushing his tangled hair out of his face. "I need a little time to put my suit on, so let me know when you want to do it. Unless you just want a light sparring session, no armour involved. That I can do right away."
"Certainly, captain. We're here to work, too."
"Captain. Master Jakson." Lheorvine nods respectfully at the senior crew. He's wearing a light suit of padded armour, with his ever-present sword strapped to his back, and is bringing enough gear that he has chartered a mule-drawn buggy. "Lessee... In addition to my own gear, I brought an armouring dummy, a melee dummy, a straw-stuffed figure for targeting... We'll need a few square yards of deck space for sparring, but I'll sort that out once we are on our way. It might actually be better to use the cargo hold if there's space." He pauses stowing the heavy gear downstairs to catch the benediction to the rulers of the ocean. "Thank you, Master Ward," he smiles afterward, shaking the man's hand and slipping him a gold coin. "Hopefully the spirit of the wanderer will look favourably upon us as well."
"Good man. I look forward to seeing you on the boat then. We'll teach you some tricks. What Grulorg does, impressive as it is, can't really be taught as such, but the rest of us have something to contribute. And Lord Elveden, do not worry about Cedric's safety. I for one am not about to sacrifice such a payout as you are offering for some cheap thrills."
Lheorvine nods in satisfaction. "To safety! One last thing, though. Lord Cedric. As our job is to assume that worst will come to worst - do you know how to handle a weapon? If not, could I suggest we schedule a few sessions before we board the Tern? We should also do some light sparring during our journey. Finally, I'd suggest packing some light, unobtrusive armour, such as a chainshirt." "Keep in mind that the fencing isn't merely for self-defense," Lheorvine says, grinning. "It would also benefit the more naturalistic painiting style you seek. Do you think Bezant knew anything about actual swordfighting? Conceptually, Miss Merovingian here and I are both 'swordsmen', but as you'll see, we have very different fighting styles. It'll do you good, both physically and, frankly, spiritually."
"I'm in." Lheorvine drains his drink and puts the glass down. "I have one last question, though. As much of Allam's population consists of prisoner labour, I assume that on-site security is pretty tight. Will we have any issues moving around on the archipelago?"
"How many people will we be looking after? Will Lord Cedric be bringing along a sizeable retinue, or is it just him and his art supplies?"
"Prison? Yes and no. There are locals, and they are free to come and go. But the whaling industry and the mining is mostly done by prisoners. The Empire ships them up there and then works them to the bone; the weather alone will take years off your life if you eat crap and dress in rags."
"The footman who delivered my invitation told me, after some light convincing, that he had also spoken to 'the lovely Miss Merovingian' and 'some orc'. How could I turn that down? As for the Inn, I always thought..." Lheorvine looks like he's about to go into full reminiscence mode, but catches himself as the gnome interrupts him. "Allam Isles, eh? It's pretty much a prison colony these days, though if you're into desolation and freezing fog, Sausimayok is actually rather beautiful. I sailed to Port Elveden once; Skull Beach is right across the fjord. Never connected the names until now, though."
"Miss Merovingian," Lheorvine mutters as he wanders up to the fireplace, offering a small nod. "Nice seeing you again." He is thin and pale, but moves like a man that prefers to walk through rather than around obstacles. He is dressed simply, with a heavy duelist's blade hanging on his hip; the sword looks strangely asymmetrical, with a counterbalanced head.
Ogay. I think I'm mostly done.
Character dot.
Aldfrid Banebow has not participated in any online campaigns. |
