With his long polearm in the second rank, Morven continued to urge his comrades on with a mixture of skald song and the occasional bestial roar, his tusks flaring as he swung his long-hafted weapon into the pirates before him.
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The incredibly tough Morven was looking straight at the flash as it happened, but shrugged off the momentarily blindness as he maintained his raging song. He left his post behind Salty, amazed that the hulking figure was not already a pin-cushion, to move into the second rank where he could make use of his long-handled Guisarme to strike over those ahead of him.
Not equipped for further ranged combat and fully expecting Salty to receive some fire, Morven held his guisarme one-handed as he prepared to add his own brand of magical healing to the Half-Orc once we was wounded. Readied Action to Heal Salty Upon Receiving Wounds:
Morven moved behind the now massive fellow Half-Orc and began a furious tone just before the boarding action truly became a grim reality- it was a low humming growl tinged with Morven's magic and rage that seemed to grow in power as he started to snarl, compelling others among the crew to give in to the anger and fury the tone inspired... Morven was fully clad in traditional hide armour and with the cover of the hulking Salty, had opted to heft his long-hafted Guisarme into the fray. His eyes blazed with excitement and fury, his rage emanating to those around him and inviting them to join the bloodlust... Raging Song:
A skald is trained to use music, oration, and similar performances to inspire his allies to feats of strength and ferocity. At 1st level, a skald can use this ability for a number of rounds per day equal to 3 + his Charisma modifier. For each level thereafter, he can use raging song for 2 additional rounds per day. Starting a raging song is a standard action, but it can be maintained each round as a free action. A raging song cannot be disrupted, but it ends immediately if the skald is killed, paralyzed, stunned, knocked unconscious, or otherwise prevented from taking a free action each round to maintain it. A raging song counts as the bard's bardic performance special ability for any effect that affects bardic performances. A skald may learn bard masterpieces. A raging song has audible components, but not visual components. Affected allies must be able to hear the skald for the song to have any effect. A deaf skald has a 20% chance to fail when attempting to use a raging song. If he fails this check, the attempt still counts against his daily limit. Deaf creatures are immune to raging songs. If a raging song affects allies, when the skald begins a raging song and at the start of each ally's turn in which they can hear the raging song, the skald's allies must decide whether to accept or refuse its effects. This is not an action. Unconscious allies automatically accept the song. If accepted, the raging song's effects last for that ally's turn or until the song ends, whichever comes first. At 7th level, a skald can start a raging song as a move action instead of a standard action. At 13th level, a skald can start a raging song as a swift action instead.
Inspired Rage Effects:
Inspired Rage (Su) At 1st level, affected allies gain a +2 morale bonus to Strength and Constitution and a +1 morale bonus on Will saving throws, but also take a –1 penalty to AC. While under the effects of inspired rage, allies other than the skald cannot use any Charisma-, Dexterity-, or Intelligence-based skills (except Acrobatics, Fly, Intimidate, and Ride) or any ability that requires patience or concentration. At 4th level and every 4 levels thereafter, the song's bonuses on Will saves increase by 1; the penalty to AC doesn't change. At 8th and 16th levels, the song's bonuses to Strength and Constitution increase by 2. (Unlike the barbarian's rage ability, those affected are not fatigued after the song ends.)
Morven's enthusiasm was not matched by his accuracy and many foul curses could be heard muttered by the corsair as his best shot was a near-miss- the rest far, far worse.
Morven didn't hesitate to fully arm and armour himself before assisting with the sailing as ordered by the Captain.
Morven gave Salty a curious glance at breakfast the next morning, the hint of a smug smile upon his face. "Hey Salty, looks like you healed well overnight eh..." the sailor said with a slightly exaggerated air of innocence.
Morven might have initially spotted the object, but squinting, he couldn't quite make it out himself.
Morven stared at the man for a moment, his tusks rising a little as his nostrils flared in irritation. He moved a little closer to Errol as he spoke, not quite being aggressive but making the air certainly feel a little tense. "Hard on him? The sea is a fickle friend, Errol. Not everyone is as lucky as me. I do hope Brayan takes others up on these lessons. Maybe if we're lucky and it will inspire the others. If you really are comfortable with colleagues who are walking liabilities then, sadly, your gambling habit might not be your worst problem. There was a selection process to join this crew. I think perhaps ability to should have been on the list".
Rapidly becoming one of the most reliable sailors upon the deck, Morven did his duty with his usual competence, re-securing rope and rigging as he ran a proud, critical eye over the apparatus of the ship, looking for faults that might get someone killed in the next storm.
Morven watched the lashing with little emotion, but he did approve. Naturally, it was never pleasant to witness but there was little room for leeway and mercy upon most ships. The last thing the Captain could afford to do was lose face. Nevertheless... Salty was clearly a powerful ally for Morven to have; especially with his over-salted food apparently not the only "recipe" to his repertoire. A plan came to Morven's mind as he watched the badly wounded Half-Orc stagger away in agony.
That evening, Morven spent some time with the wounded chef. He sat beside his hammock and told the hulking alchemist a series of crude stories, attempting to relate to the older man by speaking about fabulous raids made by his tribe, in particular a successful looting of a fantastic, three storied tavern. Morven strained his limited knowledge of culinary ingredients as he described the exotic meats, fruits and spices his tribe had lived off for the next three weeks. Morven was a good storyteller and he hoped that his tales kept Salty in good spirits.
When the time came to eventually go to sleep, Morven lay quietly awake, biding his time and waiting until he was fairly sure that everyone was asleep. When he was... DM/Salty ONLY: Morven tiptoed as quietly as he could over to Salty's hammock and, as quietly as he could manage, cast Cure Light Wounds twice upon the wounded Half-Orc's form, many of the scars and cuts healing over entirely.
Morven leant against one of the beams as he worked, fatigued from his efforts and welcoming the brief respite and the conversation. "Quiet? You should hear me telling stories in the hold, heh. Its just been... something of an eventful voyage thus far. Lots to do, plenty to keep a professional sailor busy. I'm thinking... honestly, I've been in contempt for those foolhardy enough to risk their own valuable lives for one who sails without learning how to swim. The situation is untenable; Brayan will learn to swim or... I am sure there will be consequences." Morven smirked and held out his hand. "I'll take that copper now. It will sit nicely atop that pile of silver I won last night".
Morven continued to work diligently, uneasy with the situation that had transpired. Able crewmen throwing themselves into the sea to rescue a foolish one didn't sit well with him. He quietly swore to himself he'd see Brayan learn to swim, or drown him personally...
FYI in this campaign you cant crit or auto fail a skill check. Thats RAW anyway, unles you meant to write "can :)
Morven set his strength to securing the sail. While he did feel a brief note of sympathy for Brayan; one who could not swim had little place aboard such a vessel. The carpenter had no one to blame but himself; the idiot should have stayed a land-lubber or learnt to swim. Get over here and help me with the sail!
You've done yourself proud Morven, you have indeed. No problems with the ropes or rigging and plenty of friendly notions for the others to judge me on... Morven smiled over the gambling table. "A fine meal, Salty! What you lack in subtlety you surely make up for in culinary expertise and more! A toast to our new chef, eh lads!" The Half-Orc was disdainful of the carpenter's pathetic excuses for not having learnt to swim, but was well-mannered enough not to show any sign of it. "Dice, eh! I've been known to have a few lucky streaks here and there myself! I'll gladly throw a silver in..." Morven almost snorted into his stew at Errol's words. "Forced? Tragedy? You poor man, there's no place young Morven would rather be! Aboard the sea and away from the stinking, fetid, putrid tribe that raised him; Morven always finds his home aboard a vessel! Picked up a few tricks here and there too..." Morven said with a tusked smirk, seizing the opportunity to mutter the words to a simple spell and pointing a finger at one of the die. With nothing but the spell he had cast, he gently levitated it into the air then propelling it across the table to roll it, grinning broadly as the dice landed on a 4. An average roll, but such dramatic flair would hardly have been fitting for him to have rolled a 1.
Morven takes a moment for every crewman he possibly can, offering a firm handshake, a warm smile and his name; seeking to cement himself as a popular figure from the very start of the voyage. Special attention and reverence was made to Elenia's monkey and he proudly informed the woman that the familiar was Abadar's symbol and a fortunate omen for the voyage to come.
In lieu of the rules, Morven stowed his small arsenal of weaponry, pausing as he moved to remove the whips strapped to his belt. Indecision visibly wracked him for a moment before he eventually removed the steel whip, keeping the leather one on his belt to act as much as a tool as a (non-lethal) weapon. Seeing that the Elf had been assigned to the same officer as him, he gently patted the fellow sailor on the shoulder as they strode together, chatting amiably. "Up on the deck like true sailors, eh... Mirandir wasn't it? Tell you what, i'm just happy to not be working in the hold... no use sailing the sea's from inside a wooden box, don't you think? Your first time on a ship or are you seasoned? Mutual respect, that's the key to a profitable venture on the high seas..." Upon meeting Miss Avalon, Morven's irritation was prickled a little as the woman did not even deign to look at him; but this was simply the way fresh meat was treated upon most vessels. He saluted; and then took out his anger upon the ropes he was assigned to, expertly tying off the lines in a furious display of competence with no further instruction required, grumbling to himself as he made his way back to the hold.
Should be a bit more free to post now i've updated all my own games :).
"No such thing as over-qualified with a willing soul, but you are most kind to say so! Hmm... I think I know a shanty that would suit; something I picked up from a Dwarf. Dour fellow, worshipper of Droskar, God of Toil. Alternatively..." Morven said, leaving the word hanging as he grasped the hilt of his leather whip, uncoiling it and giving it a little flourish for show. "I'm more than capable of doling out the stick, as well as the carrot, officers permitting of course."
The other tusked Half-Orc seemed to be utterly nonchalant about his place in the queue, smiling and waving others to go on ahead of him. Very tall and hardy looking rather than a brute of herculean strength, Morven made for quite a handsome Half-Orc, if he did say so himself. If he was worried about not making the cut because of a first come, first served bias, he showed no sign of it yet. A very youthful light green Half-Orc, barrel chested and with a pirate's bandana tightly wound around and over his head, the heavily-armed Morven eventually made his way to the desk. He spoke confidently, seeming utterly comfortable in his surroundings and favoring the clerk with a warm, genuine smile. He is impressively scarred and tattoo's are visible upon his bulky forearms. As he spoke, he tilted his down slightly in a deferential manner more akin to a diplomat than a warrior, despite his appearance telling of the contrary. "My name is Morven Greigor." "I have seen twenty summers." "I've earnt my sea legs. Been fighting for seven years, sailing for four of 'em. Got my sea legs, know my way around a ship, a blade; even a bit of skald-magic; winds and healing, battle-songs to lift the men's spirits in a boarding action. Oh, and I can swim. I'm sure I don't need to tell you, sir; always tragic when a self-professed "sailor" drops like an anchor when he goes overboard..."
Checking in. Sorry, I have a vehement dislike of RP in recruitment threads so I have quietly lurked since submitting my character.
Morven Greigor
Morven's life and path is a curious product of his city-raised teenage years and his brutal childhood; the latter spent after leaving his tribe (the Skildarn's) after becoming inspired by tales of the wonders of mercenary life and abundant coin, tales spun by one of the merchants who frequently spent time visiting the tribe and trading necessities for the furs the tribe obtained through hunting and raiding. Always feeling he had been meant for greater things than the pet plaything of the tribe's shaman (one extreme bout of rage had left his hair and scalp a casualty of the campfire), Morven smuggled himself away from his tribe as a young teenager in the back of a wagon and never looked back. He soon found work as a hired thug in the closest city and worked his way up to means and status from there, becoming a well-respected warrior in his own right. Now a few years older, a little more prideful and far more heavily scarred as a result of the mercenary life and rough times mixed between sailing and tavern brawls, Morven has a deep fascination with life at sea. His tribe was utterly land-locked and the first time he saw the vast expanse of the ocean, he felt it calling to him. Now a warrior-sailor by trade, Morven is a vastly prideful young man who has been known to take great offence at any perceived slight. His unusual ferocity and near un-earthly toughness also allows him to fight on long beyond where most men would be at death's door, so men naturally learn to be wary of giving offence to the big Half-Orc. Morven is a pious worshipper of Abadar and has made a point of learning much about the faith of The Patient One; seeing his zealous obsession to gain more and more wealth, through means fair or foul, as a way of showing deference to the God of wealth, civilisation and order. An ambitious and talented man, Morven's pride is matched only by his ambitions... __________________________________________________________________________ Name: Morven Greigor
General Appearance: See above Bio: See above Reason to go to sea: Wanderlust, wealth 3 words to describe you character: Prideful, Tough, Ambitious
Morven gave only the barest of acknowledgements to Brenn's praise, but a faint nod of his tusked head made it clear that it was appreciated. What a pitiful band of robbers. Barely worth unsheathing my sword for. I doubt their spoils were a single day's take. The warrior resumed his vigil, keeping an eye on the waters ahead.
Before sheathing Gorumskaag, Morven hacked a sizeable hole into the barge as instructed. When he put his sword back into his shoulder sheath, the zealous light in his eyes dimmed. As promised, Captain Kale, I make a better warrior than an oarsman.
Not to be outdone by the Sorceress, Morven ignored the unconscious chattel before him and headed straight for Holy Ehezera. In a second display of brutal and yet skillful swordplay, Morven hacked Gorumskaag straight into the man's mask...
Morven strode slowly towards the closest potential boarder, clearly giving time for the enemy to see his formidable physique headed towards them. He made a show of struggling to raise his heavy sword Gorumskaag over his head- but the facade was rapidly dropped as he effortlessly hewed through the man with a vicious downward sweep that he immediately brought up into a parrying stance.
the young Half-Orc roared, zealous light flaring in his eyes as he spilled blood in the name of the Lord in Iron.
Morven growled in frustration at Brenn's attempt to delay the glorious melee that was to come.
Morven bade his time, covered by the stack of barrels upon the deck. Peering round the corner, he patiently waited for the melee to begin.
Having given the warning, Morven's purpose of mind became crystal clear. Sure that battle was to follow, Morven drew his sword, found cover and called upon the Lord in Iron for his blessings in the fight he believed was to come...
Morven bore a grim look as he reluctantly sheathed his sword over his shoulder and took a fresh pole. No sooner did it enter his hands than a long crack ran down it, the wood split and the Half-Orc stared deadpan at the Gnome instructor as he held it out to her. This one is broken he stated in his harsh voice. Strangely, when he passed it back to Tish the pole seemed to have repaired itself once again. But the next pole he was handed also almost instantly sported scratches and fractures- clearly it would not stand up to duty in the water. Morven handed the pole back to the Gnome once again and looked down at her sternly as he explained. I was not hired to steer boats. Only Gorumskaag, my sword, can withstand the destructive power coursing through me. Morven was born in battle; I will keep a watchful eye for these toll barges your captain spoke of.
Morven watched the merry chatting with a grim stare- not looking at any of the speakers in particular but directed their way nevertheless.
The half-orc replied in fairly guttural Orc, his eyes blazing with the intensity of a true zealot. Orcish: Gorumskag. The arc of the blade through the air is a song paying homage to Gorum. I consider it the eighth holy poem.
Morven Greigor was the next to arrive. Dressed in hide armor including a wolf's head helm, he seemed quite the savage. Like many of his kind, he had inherited fierce looking tusks from his Orc parent. Rather than filing his off or attempting to diminish their presence, it seemed the burly looking warrior had sharpened his. With a nod at the boat's master, he took a seat in the shade, unsheathing a particularly heavy-bladed falchion and resting the sword on his lap.
Its very lonely here on Team Alpha...Too true, too true. Let's go find something to beat up. Absolutely. These losers can keep having group dynamics, synergy, planning, teamwork and a hilarious frog-like Jar Jar Binks. We'll be just fine beating things over the head with our strong, silent types.
The pint sized bodyguard can wait for a game with rolled stats I think. Having trouble making mechanics fit concept. Instead, I (AK) am submitting Morven Greigor, a half-orc raised by Halflings in Isger. More details backstory being sent to DM but heres the cliffsnotes. He was found abandoned on a battlefield during the Goblinblood Wars in 4697AR, wrapped in a bundle along with a sword of Orc design. His finders were Halflings and, fortunately, the benevolent sort. They raised him in the vassal state of Isger in the small, fearful town of Logas, where he became a valuable addition to the local militia with his heirloom blade. Never particularly bright, when he reached adulthood and wanderlust took him he bid his farewells and joined a mercenary group for a time, fighting and pillaging his way to the River Kingdoms. Born on a battlefield, Morven seems instinctively drawn back to them. A divine spark seems to be in him and his adoptive parents superstitiously speculated, as they noted some limited clerical powers emerging spontaneously, that perhaps Morven was literally brought into being by the spirits of battle and conflict. The truth is likely to be far more mundane and involve either some kind of misguided boyhood ritual or simple abandonment, but there is no denying that the Half-Orc seems to be able to produce some divine power, albeit with great difficulty. While the destructive urges of his forefathers run deep in him, Morven is also tempered by the good-natured kindness and morality of his adopted parents. While he can sometimes display acts of cruelty and appears to enjoy destruction for its own sake (he claims it brings him closer to the Lord in Iron, Gorum) his ways are often tempered with kindness and benevolence. The half-orc is very malleable at his young age and the experiences of the next few years in his life are likely to heavily shape his character. Morven knows that he is strong, tough and blessed by the Lord in Iron, surely an ascended Half-Orc himself. He was surely a match for any brigands that might threaten this "Tatzlwyrm".
Assuming I play him Morven has disable device (and perception) as a class skill and is putting ranks into both. He can disarm non-magical traps and we can use dispel magic on the rest if they are too deadly.
Paizo needs better alias management, and thus I am recycling Morven's name and profile. Background to follow but people seem keen to get char genning so wanted you to have my crunch available. Stat Block: Morven Greigor Half-Orc Oracle 1 CN Medium humanoid (human, orc) Init +1; Senses Perception +4 -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC 14, touch 10, flat-footed 14 (+4 armor) hp 11 (1d8+3) Fort +2 (+4 vs. hot or cold environments and to resist damage from suffocation), Ref +0, Will +2 -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 20 ft. Melee bite +4 (1d4+6/×2) and . . falchion +5 (2d4+6/18-20/×2) Ranged pilum +0 (1d8+4/×2) Oracle Spells Known (CL 1st; concentration +3): 1st (4/day)—divine favor, cure light wounds, gorum's armor 0 (at will)—detect magic, mending, light, vigor -------------------- Statistics -------------------- Str 18, Dex 10, Con 14, Int 10, Wis 10, Cha 14 Base Atk +0; CMB +4; CMD 14 Feats Endurance, Extra Revelation, Weapon Focus (falchion) Traits adopted, heirloom weapon (maneuver), isger fixer (isger), veteran of battle Skills Disable Device -1, Heal +4, Perception +4, Spellcraft +4, Survival +1 Languages Common, Orc SQ attached, disable by touch, mysteries (battle), oracle's curses (wrecker), orc blood, revelations (skill at arms, weapon mastery) Other Gear Hide armor, Falchion, Pilum (2), 5 GP -------------------- Special Abilities -------------------- Attached (Heirloom Weapon) If your attachment is threatened, -1 Will & -2 save vs. fear Disable By Touch Disable Device becomes a class skill for you and you can make Disable Device checks to destroy nonmagical traps as a move action without the need to use tools or take any action beyond simply touching it. Endurance (Shaman's Apprentice) +4 to a variety of fort saves, skill and ability checks. Sleep in L/M armor with no fatigue. Heirloom Weapon (Maneuver) (Falchion, Sunder) You carry a non-masterwork simple or martial weapon that has been passed down from generation to generation in your family (pay the standard gp cost for the weapon). You gain a +2 trait bonus on one kind of combat maneuver when using that specific we Isger Fixer (Isger) (1/day) Tinker with broken item to eliminate the broken condition for 24 hours. Orc Blood Half-orcs count as both humans and orcs for any effect related to race. Veteran of Battle +1 Initiative, draw a weapon as a free action during the surprise round. Wrecker The destructive power of the Abyss and its teeming hordes of demons seeps from your very pores and into your belongings and surroundings. Held objects gain the broken condition when you use or equip them but regain their actual condition if employed
Heh, she has the right of it there. We were talking about this just the other night, Corinne and I. I said i'd become a hero or die in the process. I didn't expect there to be a third pathway...
Morven grunts in agreement, sitting close to Corinne and struggling to drink a hot beverage without spilling it over himself.
Corinne murmurs to Morven to let him know what they've found. I thought i'd be a hero or die in the process, Corinne. I didn't want this... Morven whimpers, clutching his further-ruined face.
Well, i'm done. I'm heading back to my academy and I bloody hope they'll restore my eye in return for a debt. I just need to find a carriage heading that way with a trustworthy driver...
Theodric follows quietly, muttering about fire, his father and Pharasmites; occasionally reciting scripture. As you exit the ruins you occasionally spot shadows flickering around corners and the light level in Harrowstone seems to become just a little darker, a little gloomier. You leave the haunted prison behind you as you begin to walk back towards Ravengro. Morven's condition has not improved and neither has his temperament; he roars in bestial pain and rage at Quiddling's incessant questions.
She means the carvings in the town... Morven gasps out, still clutching his wrecked eye and talking between piteous moans of pain.
The whole group enters to properly search the room, looking around the fairly sparse chamber. DM Only:
M- T- C-
Sniffing around and looking around the brazier itself, Morven suddenly says- Can anyone else smell that? Stannis, Quiddling:
You certainly can. It smells of burnt flesh. Without warning, six of the branding irons suddenly flare up into the air, their tips red hot as though they had been under a fire for too long. Morven screams in pain and shock as one of them lunges right for him, stabbing directly into his one good eye. To your horror, his eye melts, the iris no longer visible as it is reduced to a white paste. The half-orc falls to his knees in torment and anguish, moaning and clutching his face. A seperate branding iron lunges for the rest of you, one for each of you. You can faintly hear echoes of mens screams, sounding like anguish and humiliation mixed with pure agony. They are almost drowned out by Morven's screams though. Behind you, the door suddenly slams shut. VS Theodric- ,
Theodric is struck directly in the face too, the horrible branding iron burning him right on his scars. Theodric begins screaming, the fresh burns on his face no longer distinguishable with the new. He rams the door open for just a moment, the usually calm Inquisitor acting as though utterly panicked by the burning. The door slams once more behind him, as though it let him pass. Stannis' branding iron lunges for him, catching his flesh on his neck just above where the chainmail would have protected him, burning a hole into his body as the tip penetrates his skin. Quiddling and Corinne luck out, their constant movement as they search causing them to inadvertently dodge the attacks upon them. Initiative (surprise round)- Branding Irons- 23
DM Only:
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