Maven Brewbane's page

Sanity is relative! Life is what you make of it! Paychecks...are...well...errrrggg...damn.

Ok fine, you win.

I don't see it as "going" or "dying" so much as "chilling out for a bit." Everyone here has put forth way too much effort into bringing these characters to life to just call it dead. I say sort it out however you need, Rob, and when it's time for the game's triumphant return, PM everybody (since an inactive game won't show new posts on the campaign tab.)

I, for one, will most certainly be waiting for it.

also: damn content filters. damn them all to the deepest circle of hell.

Welcome back regardless of the outcome. Monday's good, should have my new monitor by then. also found some fun new stuff to think about for future character development. Somebody showed me the artisan class, and it has me looking between that and the forgemaster and going 'hmmmmmm....'

All I can say is, if it's RPG related, and this guy (with whom I'm already impressed at his GM work) has to focus on it, I wanna know just what he's up against. I'm gonna have to look this up.

RAWR for a solid net connection AT LAST! No longer will I be denied high FPS gaming and regular posts! Oh yeah and homework for college. I AM COMPLETE!

Now let's have some Highhelm style fried axebeak wings! WOO!

Fair enough. BTW, hopefully internet issues are resolved by tuesday. Hopefully.

Maven's eyes go wide at the sight of the bloody battle, and her jaw drops at the sight of the giant birdlike monstrosities stomping after her kin.

"Slap me senseless, he was right...They're huge!"

Realizing with no small share of embarrassment that what she knows about birds is now completely moot and that the scout was talking complete sense, Maven starts to make a beeline for her kinsmen, but looks at the vicious beaks of the attackers and back to Drowbreaker. Thinking of caution first, she takes a moment to trace her fingers over the head of her hammer, bestowing a bit of Torag's own fortitude upon the weapon. She then moves closer to the massive avians in an effort to get into swinging range.

If I have my way, the whole camp'll be feasting on fowl tonight and buryin' no dead!

wow, that initiative. Using two uses of durability runeforger ability to buff my weapon's hardness and HP for two minutes, then moving to M-22.

No. No no no NO! By Torag's hammer I'll not have another funeral tonight!

Maven's clerical instincts kick in and she immediately rushes for the bleeding Angrin, checking for signs of life and severity of injuries. As her eyes dart over the grievous wounds with a healer's focus, she puts her fingers to his neck, and exhales visibly when she feels the slightest thump.

"A pulse. Tough as the stone he is, and thank Torag for it."

She then clasps palms for a moment in a brief prayer, then lays a hand on Angrin's chest, shrinking the worst of the gashes and slowing the flow of blood with life-giving energy. Once she's satisfied death has been staved off, she points to Angrin's scout.

"You! Get him indoors!"

Standing from her now stable patient, she turns toward the sound of the battle, lifts Drowbreaker from her back and looks to Dwunderbran with a nod.

Time t'see if bird bones break as easy as Drow...

dropping bless for CLW, shoulda prepped some more spells beforehand.
cure light wounds: 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

Ah. Yeah that might be tricky. I'm usually free on the weekends, and I tend to post in the evening/night from my time. Most of my college classes are nighttime, with one in the afternoon on Thursday.

Hammerwatch? I just picked that up on steam. Amusing little gauntlet throwback, eh? we should run a few levels sometime.

YAY!

As the council seems to lean towards yet another burial, Maven looks away.

Not again...at this rate I may end up enjoyin' funerals 'fore the year is out. Ugh.

Dakun's volunteering for the unpleasant work does much to relieve her concern, but when the group abandoning her with the most malodorous and foul-mouthed Dwarf she's ever encountered, Maven tries to avoid making a face as she barely stifles the urge to gag at the thought of his assistance, and decides to let the others carry on while she goes back to work on the wagon.

Yer testin' me, ain't ya Father? Is that it? Temperin' me mettle and forgin' strong Dwarven bonds an' all that? If i wanted ta feel sick, I'd have just looked at the sky fer a minute...goin' to be a long afternoon...

Hands to yerself, creeper, or she'll have to rename her hammer to "Dwunderbreaker."

Well, I figure with any extra hands and liberal use of mending, a few hours, tops. If it was like a ship or something, that'd be awhile, but a wagon isn't so bad.

Hey. Waitaminute!

I could use this wagon to start implementing my mobile archer tower design!

Have to do it in stages, of course. Don't have EVERYTHING I need just yet, but the thought is still exciting.

"I can fix the wagon." Maven blurts out without looking up from her work. She almost doesn't realize she's spoken as she examines the site for missing pieces, bent metal, and anything else still remotely salvageable. Though the vehicle has taken a serious beating, her eyes take on a focus usually reserved for her forge work, and she sets about gathering all the pieces she can and setting fragments of wood back into place as cleanly as possible; while wagons were far from her area of expertise, it wasn't hard to figure out where most of the big pieces seemed to fit.

By my braids, if I haven't any smithin' work then I'll take up carpentry. Got to build somethin' 'fore I lose my mind an' smash somethin' instead.

One she's gathered as much usable matter as she can, Maven begins fitting pieces of wood in place, and tracing her finger over the cracks with quiet prayers; the gaps disappear, leaving fully formed wood and steel again as she passes over them.

Sadly, not nearly all of the repairs are possible with a mere cantrip; Many fragments are too small to be of practical use, and some pieces are simply missing or beyond repair. Recalling the loads of salvaged flotsam from the ships, Maven turns her attention back to the council.

"Torag's done us a favor twice over now with the wagon and the spells; if we want this wagon for ourselves, ah won't mind puttin' some fresh wood and fresh work on it. I mean, unless..."

Her eyes drift anxiously between the wagon and her companions, and almost reflexively, her hands start to fidget as she mentally chides herself.

Oh good play, Maven. Just go on yer merry way, don't matter what they think. They're only the council and all.

"Unless someone's...got other plans, I mean."

NOOOOOOOOOOOO...not again! We've lost too many dwarves already; we can't afford to lose any more! EVERY DWARF IS PRECIOUS!

Somebody sabotage that plane, ASAP!

Word of the discovery reaches Maven's ears, much to her dismay. It seemed she was hearing about a lot of dead dwarves lately, and it wasn't getting any easier to stomach.

Merciful Torag, is there no end to it? Are we apt t'find nothin' but dead kin in this strange land?

As Logem and Dwunderbran stride up to the scene, Maven swallows her anxiety and forces her feet to move forward, determined to start facing up to her duties one way or another. She also secretly hoped the wagon's remains were repairable, or at least salvageable. Leaving the impromptu autopsy to Dr. Logem, she maneuvers around the opposite side of the wreckage, examining the damage and remaining material.

Any chance of salvaging the wagon and repairing it? Mending may not get it back on the road in a single cast or anything, but it's worth a shot. Anything to help haul the load or add to our supplies will be great right now.

knowledge engineering, on the off-chance it might help.: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24

I'd like the intense training benefit, for a juicy free power attack feat. Big hammers make big crunch.

And Torag's lookin' down from above, practicing his divine facepalm response.

Nothing to worry about here, man. We've all got plans, I'm sure. I'm likely to be spending part of my week job hunting and experimenting with my fudge recipe; looking to have a few flavors ready for the family get-together at my cousin's house later in the month.

Woo boy. hello newborn, goodbye free time. I've had a taste of raising kids, and it is not to my liking. I respect a good parent, but I sure don't envy one.

Ok, was terrified for a minute there. Any post that begins with "Sorry guys" starts a sweat.

Was seriously about to scream "NOOOOOO MINEKO! DON'T DO IT!!! DON'T LEEEEEAVE US!!!"

Then kept reading...and everything was okay.

Don't scare me like that!

Yeah, I suppose that's a good start. I was also trying to think of a way to start working Torag's good word into it, but that's as good a start as any. Perhaps it'll come together after a little development.

I think I may start working to earn influence and labor as well, in a different form. I'm still trying to pin down ways to work it out descriptively, among other things.

Maven's shudders seem to cease at the thought of fresh stone and ore. Though the mountains in the distance were but hazy points from here, the idea of new metals, solid rock and stone hearths seemed to return warmth to her blood as she took in the details of the strange inhabitants who now neighbored their camp. The thought of conflict with yet another kind of creature she'd never seen did only a bit to dampen her spirits further, if only because it meant she'd have plenty of work forging new weapons. Having forgework meant keeping a warm forge, which, she realized, was what was longing for the most. With the abundance of plans being tossed about, it was Rogath who inspired her to finally speak up.

"Shelter's been too long denied us, I say. We came t'Arcadia t'find mountains ta call home, and now we know they're there and full of everythin' we need. I know we can't jus' forget the Strix, but..."

She held her tongue, knowing that even if it was a good idea, it felt a bit selfish. She'd joined the clergy to do good for Dwarvenkind, not just suit herself; and yet, it felt as if she could hardly do otherwise and still answer to her own name with any dignity. She was an odd one, she knew, from an odd clan, but by Torag, she was still a Dwarf, and by Torag, she had to speak her mind for once.

"All I can say fer sure is...I miss Highhelm. I want t'see mountains again. I want to hear the echo of hammers in the deep. I want to feel the heat of a coal-fired forge and the warmth of a proper Dwarven hearth."

Exhaling sharply, Maven wrapped her arms her folded knees and rested her chin upon them as her eyes drifted westward.

"I want a new home."

No worries, Rob. PBP is a pacing game that should not be rushed. Do what you gotta do, and the game will be ready once it's all sorted out.

works for me. Gotta pull up some stone and ore before a proper smithy can commence. If we can at least find a good source of lumber, I can probably engineer some milling equipment and start outfitting everyone (read: our NPCs) with decent crossbows and spears or the like. As it is, I don't even know if the expeditions has any real weapons left to speak of, and that's not a state to be in when beasts or bandits come prowling.

Feels like Quint's got a pretty decent plan for now. I say let's start up his day 1 plan, see what we get, and adjust from there. Definitely need to secure food and building materials so we can get this kingdom rollin'.

Maven sat with her back to the bonfire, soaking up all the warmth she could; the breeze of the sea felt nice enough, but she craved the glowing heat of a real fire. As she blankly gazed at the ruined scraps of the incomplete journal, scattered on the cloth like pieces of a torn quilt, all she could think of was the Hammer of Dwarvish Lords.

What manner o' hammer is it, I wonder? Likely a warhammer meant fer a shield. Or maybe it's meant ta be paired with the Axe? That'd be fearsome, true enough...can't imagine it bein' the likes of Drowbreaker...What I wouldn't give to know who shaped it out of what...wouldn't it be a laugh if it turned out ta be a smithin' hammer wielded fer war...

Almost as quickly as the thought spreads a smile across her face, it is replaced by a grim reminder of how much she missed her own forge; indeed, her home. The harder she tried to take comfort in the fire's heat, the more the loss ached. She had been preoccupied these last weeks with sailing, keeping her eyes off the sky, treating wounds, and recently, planning schematics, that she could almost feel the soreness from her unused smithing muscles. worse than the physical withdrawals, however, were the dreams. An unnerving reminder of her visions from the funeral, her rest had been disturbed on occasion by the same clarion peals of a hammer on the strange, dark stone as she had experienced once before. No clearer was the vision or the meaning, but what worried her most was that the sound had grown louder. More than once, she'd snapped awake from the pain of her hammer arm striking objects in a reflexive swinging arc. Not a word had she spoke of it, fighting off the shudders that no Dwarf next to a fire should be having.

thank Torag no one's caught wind o' that little quirk...If we don't find a better spot soon and start pullin' up ore and stone, I'm 'fraid I might start hammerin' people's heads in me sleep...

I'm all for moving the expedition inland, away from the beach, then sending out teams if we find nothing noteworthy. The mountains and tough terrain are practically screaming for us to settle there, and 24 miles doesn't seem such a long trip, even for our whole camp. On foot, it might take a few days of course, but the alternative is to starve on the beach, at best.

Whether we scout north, south, or anywhere else, it seems clear there's nothing more to be gained on the beach, so I think we should migrate westward as close to those mountains as we can possibly stand in one trip, then scout our surroundings and dig in.

Any thoughts or suggestions? Not that Maven will propose the idea IC, but she'll definitely go with it.

Heh. Musings getting away from you there, Doctor? I've been trying to puzzle out ways for Maven to initiate something, but I find myself at odds with her character in most of my ideas. they just wouldn't be very...Maven.

Awesome. Shows how well I know my spell list, huh? Coulda been the hero of the hour if I'd thought of that first...

On the construction: Yeah. Well. Crap. Why obvious things like that escape me, I'll never know.

I think now that I've finally had an idea, Maven will see about working on her new design and present it to the others to see if we can get some teams working on our new mobile outposts. Until we find and tame some suitable beasts of burden, we'll have to have some settlers play oxen for a while, but they're Dwarves; they can handle it.

I imagine a few days would be sufficient to get a working schematic in order; production would be ongoing until we have as many as we think we'll need (or can pull.)

Dm fiat supercedes all that, of course, but eh, my best guess. Maven's the engineering expert, not me.

Okay, I finally have an idea; if it works out, I won't even be too concerned about the lack of a forge or a mine.

How do we feel about...Lookout tower-wagons with collapsible ballista?! they'll give us a height advantage, they can be packed up and wheeled around, and they'll give our perimeter guards some respectable ordinance all in one neat little package!

knowledge engineering and craft weapons for the win? Yeah, I think so.

Assuming the DM finds the idea awesome enough to be plausible...

"Good, good...it'd be nice to have somethin' to do besides bandagin' cuts and settin' broken bones. Been too long away from a proper forge with proper work to do; hard not knowin' what to do to make things better 'round here..."

Unsure of how to move the conversation along, after a few moments Maven uneasily nods to Quint and begins to head back to her tent when she spots a new pile of driftwood being hauled up by a few settlers. It would have escaped her notice completely but for a glint of metal sticking out from between planks. tugged by her curiosity, she treks over to the dump site, and as the two Dwarves heave the heavy mass of lumber onto the growing piles of salvage, a crossbow bolt tumbles out and onto the sand.

As she stoops to pick up the ammunition, turning it over in her hands, her mind starts to wander, making connections between materials, ideas, and purpose.

...bolts...wood...metal...we'll have to move soon...wait! Of course!

Maven's eyes light up with inspiration as an image forming in her mind. the bolt falls from her hands as she absentmindedly runs back to her tent. From outside, the sounds of rummaging and the occasional crash can be heard.

Then, only a faint scratching. A trained ear might recognize it as the sound of a pen on parchment.

Heh. At least that's a better excuse than mine. I hate writer's block. Like, hate it with a hammer--NOWAIT. with a Drowbreaker.

"Lad, I know your a Dwarf, but if ye don't mind yourself, ye won't live long enough to be proud of it."

Maven's advice to the young Dwarven man is almost motherly in tone, and elicits more than a minor sigh and rolled eyes as the bandages were secured. He'd apparently suffered a nasty gash in the arm while handling a fishing line--quite improperly. This made the second trip to Maven's tent for his carelessness.

"There we are. Now fer Torag's sake, lad, get someone to teach ye how to handle a hook, would ye? We've only got so many bandages here, and we cannae afford to have ye mummified for a fish or two, aye?"

The lad drops his shoulders in exasperation as he gets up to leave. "Aye, aye, ma..." He sneers derisively. Maven shoots him a threatening glare as her right hand snaps to the handle of Drowbreaker, leaning to against a table. The young man's eyes go wide as he quickly backs out of the tent and runs off.

With no patients waiting on attention, Maven finds the time to clean up a bit before stepping out for air. Nighttime was a little less disorienting for her, if only because the sky was black, rather than the vibrant blue that made her think of the sea. She still avoided looking at it for too long, however, searching for other things to focus on, other tasks to do besides sewing and bandaging injuries. Seeing wounds all the time was not the most motivational experience she could recall, and she didn't feel as if she was accomplishing much, other than erasing the consequences of other's carelessness. She needed something to build...something to accomplish, something to think about...As she strolls about the camp, she spies a pair of Dwarves examining a book. Komainu's presence spells out their identities without question. As she paces by them, fidgeting a bit over whether to approach and make conversation, she finds the distraction she's looking for.

"--The Hammer of the Dwarvish Lords." The phrase freezes her entire body in its tracks. Her feet seem to turn of their own volition; her body swivels around to face the object of her frozen gaze, and her legs bring her forward into the candlelight.

knowledge history: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
"Hammer...of the Dwarvish Lords? I'd heard of an Axe, but a hammer as well? Love ta see the workmanship on that..."

Her thoughts drift to the hammer and the boulder in her vision from the funeral, leaving her wondering if there was some connection in the grander scheme of things.

Hammer...oh!

"By the way, if the two of ye've been bookkeepin', erm...how're we--well, the lot of us, I mean--supplied for equipment? I may not have a proper forge, but I can still try ta make sure we're not fightin' off beasts with broken axes and torn armor..."

I'm somewhat busy, yes, but not as much as I make it sound, honestly. I simply have more of a writer's block, and I'm not sure how best to apply my character's skills in downtime right now. Forging weapons and armor are her downtime specialty, aside from the random heal and first aid that the random Dwarf might need. Evaluating her now, it seems this character wasn't conceived to instigate things very well, be they adventures or settlement building. Hmmm...

Maybe she could design some wagons the settlers can easily push/pull, or get us loaded up on crossbows for guards. I have knowledge(engineering) but RAW, that's not exactly the same as being able to make a wagon or a building.

I think part of my hesitation is that Maven herself wouldn't be trying to accumulate much in the way of capital or goods of her own at this point; it also stems from the fact that we're planning on getting up and moving rather than settling on the beach. Once we hit a more permanent spot and find need for more manufacturing, however...that'll be a whole different story.

I guess I unintentionally ended up with a more reactive character than proactive. I'll have to be wary of that in the future.

Can't WAIT to see how THIS little exchange plays out...knew Dwunderbran would be in this game from his first post.

Now we get to see why.

I'm honestly unsure of exactly what to do from here, from my character's perspective. The downside of unscripted roleplaying is that...it's unscripted. I can think of many things to do, but few that Maven would, or could, do at this point in time.

And you have a forgemaster cleric at camp who, while not experienced with bastard swords, is no stranger to big weapons, and is a slight history buff as well (to say nothing of what I'll be able to do with it next level and beyond.)

Ok, I think if nothing else momentous happens, Maven would really be wanting to return to crafting/repairing weapons and other survival gear as appropriate. Would be a good idea to see if our administrators could get all equipment in need of repair gathered up, and get tabs on what we might need, and see what she can improvise.

I.E.: use mending and mundane skills to repair stuff, and do some craft (weapons) or knowledge(engineering,) whichever would be most suitable for the day's happenings.

Maven's first impressions of the morning are less uplifting than she had hoped. The reflection of the sun on the waves is comforting, though it only reminds her to keep her eyes level. The smell of cooked crab in the air is appetizing to her nose, but unsettling to her mind. As hard as the tries, she cannot completely separate the scent of cooked crustacean from the odor of decaying Dwarf in her head.

Really wanted some crab, but now it's kinda hard not to think we might be eatin' pieces o'our kinsman along with it.

She barely suppresses her shudder as she pushes the images away from her thoughts, but the chill breeze brings it straight to the surface, much to her dismay. Hurriedly attempting to distract herself from a dangerous train of thought, she scans the camp for other, less disturbing scents, and spies Dr. Logem with a mug of coffee; two ideas emerge at once.

Reluctantly, she wills her feet towards the shore until she stands just outside arm's length at his side, struggling both to find the phrasing of her questions, and to avoid fidgeting.

"So...does it help with the smells?"

Och, lovely conveyance, girl; that'll get a straight answer for sure...

I think the best thing Maven can do right now is contribute in some way to constructing whatever sleds/wagons/vehicles we can put together, so when we finally decide to pack it up and ride the Arcadian Trail, we'll have some decent wheels. I guess that's a craft action? I've been juggling college now along with everything else, and I need to get my head around the downtime rules again...

We do have some yoke-able livestock, don't we?

YAY!!! naught but a few days after I get back, here comes Cel too!

RAWK!

Well, once they pop up on shore again, both sides will have tales to tell, and we'll go from there. Feels like a compromise will emerge, though, so I don't see any major worries.

Maven's skin crawls at the mention of funeral preparations. Though she took her duties as a cleric seriously, there was still only a certain threshold of vividness that she was able to tolerate before losing composure. Though Halsiig had not yet decayed to the point of overwhelming odor, the ravages of both sea and pincer still left a deeply disturbing image; he almost looked rotted. Such were the tricks of the mind, and they did her no favors now.

"A funeral...well, I s'pose someone's gotta do it, don't they?" As she stands to return to camp, she anxiously rubs her arms, eyes to the side, trying her best to recollect the most neglected part of her teachings. "Never had much of a spine for this sort o' thing, t'be honest. Always better off usin' Torag's gifts to patch up kinsmen before they get 'emselves killed or...eaten." A shudder escapes her as the image of crabs picking away pieces of Dwarven faces leaps to mind.

"But, aye, I'll do what I can. Let's get back ta camp; I'll gather up what we can use and, erm...put somethin' together."

knowledge religion: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (16) + 6 = 22

Aww, high knowledge roll for once. Heh, so much for the old "nope, sorry, don't know nothin' bout that, let someone else do it!" escape route.

HAHA!!! INTERNET ACCESS!!!

I am once again WHOLE!

time to get this Dwarven gravy train rollin' again. Let's get the beach team home and get us a seafood feast cookin'.

Maven collects herself as the doctor investigates the corpse, stepping backwards with purposeful, measured steps from the rocks and the body. As the distance grows between her and Halsiig's remains, she visibly relaxes as her breathing normalizes. Got to get over the smell...ah can't always be retchin' every time someone dies...Torag, why'd ye have to curse me with such a weak stomach?

She considers following Quint up the slope, but as her eyes follow it upward, she catches herself almost looking skyward, and jerks her head back down to earth. Ohhh no ye don't; not again. Not gonna soil the sand twice in a row, now.

Lifting Drowbreaker over her shoulder, Maven looks back toward the camp, eager to get away from the smell of rotting kinsman. "Let's get back and have a crew haul the meat in, aye? don't think we're gettin' any more comfortable sittin' round our cousin's upper half...Torag knows I'm not."

Don't feel bad about slow pacing. Take all the time you need.

Please.

perception: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (20) + 3 = 23

Over the wash of sea and acid, Maven almost doesn't catch the scent. Thinking more on crab meat and familiar matters, her distracted mind takes a moment to register the unsettling smell.

"Wait." She whispers, eyes racing as she tries to home in on the source. "D'ya smell that?" The smell intensifies as she turns towards the pools. She knows what it is, but despite her urge to back away, she finds her feet carrying her forward, until she is able to peer over rocks and crabs to see the mutilated form of Halfhammer himself.

"Torag's mercy..." She covers her mouth as her body reflexively heaves once, spinning away to put distance between herself and the odor. The marks of crab pickings, the twisted limbs, and the now overpowering odor threaten to kill what remains of her appetite faster than the endless blue sky ever did.

Fighting to keep her stomach in it's rightful place and force the image from her mind, it's all she can do to call out "Dead Dwarf!"