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Mortag conjures another orb of flames into his hand and is lining up the shot as he hears Raleigh cry out his frustration. Mortag proceeds to turn to look at Raleigh and give him and exasperated glance, stating "What a change of pace; you're finally making some sense." Mortag looks back at his quarry before thinking for a second and dismissing the flames with his hand moving to talk to William: "Oi, ya think you could get Don to throw that beastie down to our level? I wanna crack at it."
"Any way we could get them to come down here? We would probably have a better chance!" "I think the beastie realizes that; if ye can get it down to earth, it'd be appreciated but for now it's a pretty easy target please hit please hit please hit..." Mortag will move to try and get a more advantageous angle on his quarry.
"FOR - of course I had to go and jinx it."
"Will ya stand still ya disgusting devils?"
Dwarven: At some point learning the Dwarven dialect a person is bound to be amazed, stunned, or at least intrigued at the sheer quantity of curse words available to speakers. In a similar fashion, one familiar with the intricacies of the language can appreciate just how furious Mortag is at pretty much everything right now.
As soon as the other adventuring party is fully out of sight, Mortag dismisses the orbs of flame in his hands with a flick of his wrists, scoops the loot back into the bag, and holds it high (as much as a dwarf can) with a smug grin plastered onto his face. He then proudly proclaims, "Take note, laddies! That's how it's done!" Mortag then jingles the parcels of treasures with a chuckle. "I say we divvy up the spoils later, eh lads? For the now, we've got a ruin to pillage." If no-one objects, Mortag places the satchel of goodies into his adventuring pack and whistles his way into the temple, horribly out of tune.
I think we now know why elves prefer the trees and dwarves the mountains...right, Mortag? the Taldan jests as they walk back to the camp. I know I've painted the picture or Mortag as a generally... let's say unhappy? person, but he is much more angered by this comment than the vast majority of other words spoken or actions taken at his expense. He grinds his teeth, sulks, and glares his way back to camp, and anyone who gets near him swears they can smell char and smoke. There's fear in her voice... "There should be; she just made the brave or stupid mistake of telling Pathfinders to move." Mortag then proceeds to move towards the front of the pack, conjure a ball of flame in either hand and shout
In the center of the clearing lies the partially eaten carcass of a gaur. Its throat has been torn open, and the grass all around the dead bison is covered in dried, sticky blood. "Ah, the... lovely jungle ambiance."
When the party is ready to go up to the machans, Mortag will (clumsily) make his way up to the corner of the southwestern machan. "Why couldn't we just sit in a bush? We do we *huff* have to go through all this effort?"
"Someone handle this elephant!" "Unless you want your panicking elephant to be lit aflame, I don't have much I can do for ya!" Mortag tries to act unconcerned by the elephant's increasing levels of fear, but his concern pertaining to its wild thrashing about begins to show, if ever so slightly, on his face. In the meanwhile, he lobs another projectile at the large cobra
After the disappointing hunt, Mortag is almost too excited for more action. He lobs his infernal cannonade with a nigh childish grin taking up his entire face...
...and as his fiery projectile lands grossly off course, he curses his loudest Dwarven curse in frustration. "Is nothing going to go well for me today?"
As the monkeys run away, Mortag conjures fire into his hand and yells, "Yeah, you better run!" He then proceeds to turn to the Baron, Count and Kroone and state "Why should we apologize? Those porters' cowardice is what got us into this, if anything they should be apologizing to us!" Mortag will, during the course of time between the monkey encounter and the beginning of the hunt, calm down enough to hunt. (Which is to say not calm down at all.) He will continue to roast his prey alive.
The porters retrieve it for him, lamenting that it's luxurious fur is too singed for use, but offering to fashion a keepsake from it's bones if the dwarf would like. "Oh, that would be excellent!" "I don't know... I feel like in most horror stories, this is the kind of thing that ends up backfiring in the characters' faces at the end. It might be better just to scare them off." Mortag, already having conjured flames into his hand, gives William a glance of exasperation. After the macaques begin attacking, however, he yells out "Oh, now you've done it ya wee beasties!" and lobs a ball of flame at the swarm.
In the morning however, you are all startled awake by a loud crash coming from the other end of the camp. "For pity's sake, I SWEAR I WILL..." Mortag seethes for a second before taking a deep breath and stomping his way over to the source. They glower at each other while waiting for your input. "Lad, it's just a spider. A wee crawlie won't hurt ya anywhere near as much as the terrifying beasts that we'll find later on. The only thing less dangerous than that spider is the ground we're walkin' on, so I suggest you get over it and allow us to GET SOME SLEEP I swear..." Mortag then proceeds to storm out of the tent and fall to sleep as forcefully as possible.
Mortag stacks as much food as is reasonably possible onto his plate, and then some. "I have always been curious what the life of a Pathfinder is like." "As am I; this is my first ever assignment. Gotta say, the room and board are several leagues ahead of what I had before, but considering that bland, old, miserable monastery... it's a low bar to surpass. Still nice, though. And the food; you never know how much you really miss meat until you spend several years eating bread and... bread." Mortag then resumes gorging himself on the buffet in front of himself
"I walked all this way. In that horrendous weather. To just be told 'get on a boat tomorrow'." Mortag heaves a deep sigh and then proceeds to raise his head. "You know what? Considering the usual blather, this was a short meeting. Thank you. I'm going to leave now." Mortag makes his way to the door, sticks his hand out and turns to the room with an expression of moderate pain on his face. "I don't suppose any of you would have an umbrella I could use? You would think hooded robes would be good for these kinds of situations but all they do is be uncomfortable and refuse to wash well."
"No matter, just come on in. Watch where you stand, and if you're not dry do not sit in any of my chairs." Mortag makes a point to sit in one of the chairs after hearing this. "No questions here. Fight a big cat, loot an ancient temple and those two things in some order. Could've saved us all the earful if you were at all succinct..."
The door to the waiting room creeps open as a short man, wearing a robe that hides his features from outside observation, enters the waiting room. He begins pulling back the hood of his robe only to reveal... "Blimey, of all the days to forget my raingear." An exasperated Mortag shakes his head as if to wake himself up and drags his hand down his face as if to wipe away the water. "Am I late?" he asks to no-one in particular in a most tired and uninterested manner. |
