Search Posts
Yeah, hes gonna be a bit against the "norm" for Barbarians with high defenses. Solid Fort and Will, with that Dwarven resistance and Glory of Old on top to really sell it. The rough outline I currently have, has +7 will vs spells at level 1 ;) Probably gonna snatch up a level or two of fighter for that heavy armor.
Ive been itching to try a Dwarf Barbarian, specifically the Dreadnought and Invulnerable variety. This looks like a fairly interesting setup. Currently thinking he would have acted as the "shortround" sidekick to Connac as a young dwarf during one of his adventures, and has since stayed in touch over the years. Though I will say I tend to diverge wildly from my initial idea before a recruitment deadline, so odds are it will be something else before the end.
Better early than later on, good on you for making the decision now. No worries.
Grunting something in dwarven which could only be more insults judging by his tone, Logan collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud.
Yet, despite the grotesque size of the gaping wound that had dropped him, there seemed to be very little blood. In his unconcious state he still clutched his club, his furrowed eyebrows twitching as he continued the battle in his unconcious mind.
"Cmon now ya slimy boil, dont keep ol' Logan waitin' for that satisfying sound." Logan shouted, swinging the chair leg again.
"Yer testin' my patience!" He roared as his swing went wide. Frustrated he flailed at the creature several times more, his swings wild and easily dodged by the creature.
"Ya do what ya need ta do laddy, I aint lettin' these freaks run around as they please." Logan replied, cursing his apparent inability to bodily block the spike shooters line of fire, he again moved to place himself between it and its target. "Oi, over here ya scum suckin' loon!" He called, waving his arms above his head. Satisfied he could do no more, he swung at the other creature, trying to bring it down.
"Oi, someone get that thing!" Logan shouted, pointing at the new arrival before swinging his makeshift club at the spike shooting abomination. "Round two, ugly!"
"Pull out the spike, quickly!" Logan yelled at the townpeople moving the injured maid. Feeling holy energy well up inside him, he held it there, suspended as a warm radiance in his chest, waiting for them to do as he asked. As the spike was removed, he released the energy, a wave of soothing light erupting in all directions from his head, his eyes and mouth ablaze with light, his mustache fluttering in an otherworldly breeze. He then stepped to block any further attempts to shoot the townspeople.
Well my hit ratio is going to be 25% against AC 15.
But...whats the difference between one piece of wood and another in being a club? Its not even like the club in the weapons list is somehow a carefully made weapon, its free!
Ill certainly be looking to use these, its a proper dwarven thing to do in a tavern scuffle. However, you say everything has the -4 improvised weapon penalty. Does this include Logans new chair leg club?
"By Torag, yer one ugly bastard!" He shouted, his face contorted into a mask of disgust as he swung his new club.
Grabbing at where his weapon and shield usually were, Logan quickly realized how much of a habit it had become as he found nothing. "Blast! Lad, if ya see a warhammer and shield, bring em will ya?" He then scooped up the nearest stool, trying to smash it to pieces usable as clubs.
"We will be havin' a word about this tavern theft business soon enough lad." Logan said emptying his latest pint all while staring the barkeep dead in the eye.
Finishing with a half stifled burp, he slammed the mug into the counter, before leaping from his stool and landing with a resounding thud. "For now though, looks like there be ugly skulls that need my attention." With these last words, he set off towards the nearest portal, bellowing. "I got this one, who amongst you possess the spirit to have the others?" Coming to a halt before the portal, he positioned himself to bodily block any creatures from passing, drawing his hammer and shield. "Come on then ya ugly cretins"
"Tell me about the brew from home," Jarwald opens, always eager to learn of other brewing recipes and enhancing the offerings in his tavern. "I'd love to be able to offer something to the dwarves that come through on occasion that would remind them of their home." Logan chuckled, already beard deep in the next pint. "Well, it aint really that easy." He wiped his mustache with the back of his hand, offering a content sigh. "Each dwarven hold is like what you top-siders would call a city state. Brew preferences are based on that alone. Hardly any exchange of recipes between holds." He chuckled at bit at his last words, drinking again. "We guard our ale like we guard our gold." Setting down his pint and wiping his mustache again, he raised a pointed finger with a sudden look of realization. "Ah, but I almost forgot! Every year there is a great meetin' of the clans, to settle disagreements and renew the oaths of kinship." He got a fond look in his eyes, likely recalling the last time he himself participated. "Lots of feastin' and competition to be had, as one would expect. The brewin' championship is of particular importance to many a dwarven lad or lass. The winner gets crowned Brewmaster of the Holds and their brew gets the honored title of Brew of the Year." He emptied his mug once more, setting it down heavily on the counter. "Ya wanna have a little somethin' any dwarven traveler will enjoy, ya keep the Brew of the Year." He looked thoughtful a moment, then added. "If memory serves, this past year the title was won by a little number named "Mindflayer"." He laughed loudly. "Got a real kick to it! If the stories from some of the older veterans are to be trusted, the splittin' headaches the day after are just like the ones ya get from bein' mind blasted by an actual Mindflayer!" Davons talk caused Logans mood to noticeably sour. Turning on his stool, he waved an accusing finger in the mans direction. "Listen to the lady, lad. Ya best learn to respect authority. Honestly, how anyone gets anythin' done topside with all this bickerin' is beyond me." He wiggled his mustache and once more exhaled through his nose, setting the hairs aflutter. "Say what you will, but atleast the elves can agree with that bit of good dwarven morals."
"Dont fret lad, ol' Logan here isnt one to judge a book by its first readin'." He downed the second shot, swishing it around in his mouth as if he intended to wash his teeth with the stuff. "For example..." He started, swallowing the shot before taking a hearty chug from the ale. He smacked his lips, eyes squinted and staring off to the side. Then he finally nodded to himself before continuing. "...For example, ya might have seemed a lousy air-headed oaf just now, and a lesser dwarf, well he might have acted in an unbecoming fashion, like some people are want to assume a dwarf would." He paused, letting his gaze drift to the other patrons along the bar. "But, ya certainly have a way with the spirits, ya know yer stuff." He took another long draught, chuckling into the foam. "Any man who knows what to serve to who, well, he likely isn't a bad barkeep." "Hammer Head, Blood Ale, heh, certainly fittin'. Have to remember those names." He stared off into the air a moment, sighing with a loving expression that seemed entirely odd on the weatherbeaten and scarred dwarf. "Still, what I wouldnt give fer a taste of a good brew from home." He emptied his mug, motioning for a refill.
"Well lad, I asked for ale, not liquor" Logan answered, puckering and smacking his lips with a content smile, savoring the taste of Hammer Head. "Still, certainly a fine specimen, but Ill be needin' that ale to actually get rid of this thirst." He held the empty shot glass towards the barkeep, wiggling it between his stubby fingers. "But, while you have that bottle open anyway..."
As Jarwald turned to greet the next patron he had heard approaching, all he saw was a bald head bobbing along the edge of the counter. Reaching one of the stools, the head paused, then with a labored grunt and clatter of armor, the head rose fully over the counter, revealing the face and upper body of a dwarven man. He looked gruff and none too amused, peering down at the stool with accusing eyes. "Blasted tall folk and their furniture." He spat, resting his gauntleted hands on the counter. Looking up at Jarwald, he smacked his lips, causing his fairly impressive mustache to jiggle from side to side. "All this trudgin' along on these dusty dirt roads get a man hankerin' for somethin' smooth to clear the throat." He got an excited look in his eyes at the mention of beverage, taking on a much more pleasant and friendly expression. His eyes scanned the displayed alcohol, appraising what was available. "Now then lad, hows about you let old Logan have somethin' to drink then? The good stuff of course, not any of the usual." He exhaled hard through his nose like an annoyed bull, causing his mustache to flutter vigorously. "Darkest ale you got lad, anythin' less when its brewed by you top-siders, might as well be water as far as my tastes are concerned." "Did I hear somethin' about orcs and ogres? Sounds like this place may be worth stoppin' for after all." |
