"Uh ... well done," says Mitnal a bit embarrassed.
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Mitnal draws his warhammer and pulls the door open. He leaves his klar on his back and wields the warhammer two handed.
Mitnal, confused, doesn't know what to make of what he's seeing.
Mitnal stays outside of the room.
"One of us should go in," suggests Mitnal in a tone that suggests it should not be him.
Hearing mention of illness, Mitnal allows the others to walk in front, happy to hang back when the opponent cannot be hit with a hammer.
"Right. No problem. We'll be fine," says Mitnal walking towards the door as if everything has been decided.
Not having been given any clue that intimidation is in order, Mitnal tries smiling.
Mitnal doesn't think he'll have any trouble knocking loudly. He heads up to the main house.
Mitnal hangs back a bit and looks the cottage over.
Mitnal ignores the back and forth, treating it as insignificant as the grumbling of warriors in the rain. "Let's see this house of the spirit-touched," he says, pointing south. "Is it far enough to need horses?"
Mitnal is ready to go.
The sheriff thinks for a moment and then says, "Sounds like you lot are as stumped as I am. But we do have a witness, as I think I said earlier. Problem is he's gone plain crazy and none of what he says makes any sense to me." "Let's talk to him then ...," says Mitnal. "Who is it?"
Mitnal is stumped.
"Hopped through a river," says Mitnal, now getting into this detective stuff. He follows the tracks downstairs.
Mitnal stuffs some oily twine in his pocket for later investigation and examines the tracks.
Mitnal did spy a tool chest of some sort against a far wall. It is suspiciously closed. Mitnal, feeling vindicated, investigates the chest, opening it with the blade of his klar.
"Uhh ... oh ... oh! ... THAT chest," says Mitnal. "So, Nualia's behind this?"
Mitnal ignores the rune and continue looking around for a chest.
"I didn't see a chest," say Mitnal really getting into this detective thing. "Was it locked when you arrived? If not, what was in it?"
Mitnal inspects the skin on the axe blade, reminding himself not to taste it this time as that seems to upset his companions.
Mitnal looks up from the note, "Can we speak to this 'insane' man?"
"Smells like blood ... and the faintest smell of old meat," says Mitnal triumphantly. "That might be a clue.""Old meat? Like a butcher shop, or as in rotten flesh?" Mitnal shrugs.
"Smells like blood ... and the faintest smell of old meat," says Mitnal triumphantly. "That might be a clue."
"Erm...""Chopper?" "Smells like ...," Mitnal says hesitantly.
"Chopper?" Mitnal sniffs the note.
Mitnal picks up the note and studies it carefully before saying, "Oh, wow! I can read! When did that happen?"
Mitnal looks askance at Gerhardt who seems to forgotten that they had traded names. He makes a note to repay Gerhardt for that insult at a later time and greets the sheriff. "Sit. Talk. If it is about the price of the Rusty Dragon, I was wondering that myself."
"Eating," says Mitnal looking at Gyorgy to see if he too is wondering if there's something wrong with Gerhardt. "Eating rabbit stew." Mitnal ponders the oddness of the question and then waves his hand in front of Gerhardt's face to see if he is one of those blessed with sightlessness. Finally, he remembers what he has been told about the need to make some invitations clear in some cultures, "Why don't you join us?"
"So, Gerhardt, how did you end up in Sandpoint?"Gerhardt shrugs. "The Lands of the Linnorm Kings had nothing for me. I thought I might as well see what the south had." Mitnal recognizes Gerhardt's story as similar to his own. "The south has more rabbits," he suggests, indicating his stew. "You know, rabbits? They have long ears and brown fur and jump."
Mitnal stares at his stew trying not to glance at Ameiko. He flexes every muscle that he can flex without being too obvious.
The half-orc frowns. "I gave you my name. Is it not common courtesy to give yours? Just asking." Mitnal looks surprised, "If you have given me your name then I am Gerhardt Eilif. And, then, you would be Mitnal Basketweaver. I am honored to take your name, Mitnal. I wish you success with your new name and I hope I do good things with yours." He returns to his rabbit stew.
"Hi," says Mitnal checking out the wolf-hide coat. "Try the rabbit stew. It's quite good." Mitnal returns to his stew.
Mitnal's ready to go. With an stat bump to strength and an increase to BAB he should be keeping up but he still isn't a damage dealing machine like some barbarians.
I'm levelling up now.
Oh, hey. I never check discussions. :-o I'll level Mitnal up.
Mitnal looks shocked at her reaction. "I'm sorry. Do you think you wouldn't make a good wife? You seem healthy enough ..." "Ummm ... Can I have you first and kill my friends later?" Mitnal is rapidly losing interest in Nualia.
Mitnal looks shocked at her reaction. "I'm sorry. Do you think you wouldn't make a good wife? You seem healthy enough ..."
Mitnal slides down beside Nualia. "In my tribe, most men would offer your father a freshly slain auroch for a woman like you. You would be a good wife."
Mitnal acquiesces with a shrug and continues cleaning his klar.
Mitnal sits in a corner and polishes his klar.
'I can think of other ways,' thinks Mitnal but he proceeds to gag the goblin, tie it, and looks for a way to hoist it to the ceiling.
"It's making too much noise!" complains Mitnal. "Just kill it!!"
"Why not?" asks Mitnal confused, certain that he will never understand these lowlanders. "It's a goblin!"
"What's that bird on about," says Mitnal with loud, feigned surprise hoping to distract the goblin.
'Please just let me kill him. Please just let me kill him. Please just ...,' thinks Mitnal before casually picking up his klar and saying. "Jeslara? Maybe if you feel bad, I should take the goblin out in the hall and let him run free as I'm sure he was meant to do."
The poor goblin is quickly dazed, overwhelmed and tied up (I won't make you roll to the inevitable conclusion). He glares around at all of you, pure hatred in his eyes. "That feels better," says Mitnal. "The goblin-friend look was making me uncomfortable." |