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"You get used to the scent of death, after awhile," Orik says to Cerin. "At least we're not doing this mid-summer. Those gob corpses would be ripe then." As they head through the thickets, Orik unlimbers his sword and shield, ready for action against...well, whatever has taken up residence at Thistletop.
"Maybe I will, at that," Orik replies. "If the show is still playing when we get back, that is. The rest of the company is marching off as soon as they're done buying stuff. How long is it running?" As if in realization that he doesn't have all day to drink, Orik takes a few gulps of beer, causing his nose to scrinch a bit at the bitterness.
Orik takes a swig from the tankard, and hisses inwardly through his teeth. "Ah, that's the stuff," he says, nodding in approval. "New play, you say? How heady is it? I wouldn't mind hearing a play, but if the actors drone on for hundred-line soliloquies, my mind wanders off." He takes another pull from the tankard, enjoying the bitterness of the brew.
"A good pint of bitter," Orik says, sidling up to the bar. "If it doesn't make me wince when I drink it, then it's not hopped enough." He takes a look around the tavern. "Nice place you got here. Big enough to rival some of the alehouses in Magnimar, I'd reckon, and busy for a mid-day as well. What's your secret?"
Continuing the Trigger Warning: Eek. Yeah, I'm glad I don't have to sit on that. Just based on your read of the situation, I'd say that he is guilty of some degree of sexual assault - both of them were chemically impaired, and therefore not able to give consent for any activity. I'm not sure I'd go first degree, but I'm not the prosecution either. They probably put 1st degree on the table to see if he'd plea out.
"You all buy your things," Orik said before leaving the confines of the Dragon. "I've already got a cold iron weapon, and my sword is as magical as I'm going to get. I'll be around town." True to his word, he wanders the streets, eventually finding himself not far from the theater. "Damned odd to see one of these in such a small town," he says to himself. "Wonder how they swung that." Looking around, he notices a pub nearby called Cracktooth's, and he decides to head on into the establishment for a pint and some answers.
It's been about a half year since we had this discussion, but I think we came to the agreement that I'd be using the gutbite belt. I don't think I really need anything else in town for now, so I might try to see if I can find some trouble for Orik to get into. As a Vancaskerkin, that shouldn't be too hard.
What, you think it's that easy to keep a Vancaskerkin down? Well...you're right. But I'm in anyways! Let's do this!
Hey, I won't turn away a Con bump if it's up for grabs.
Sorry, things have been crazy recently. There was a second round of layoffs at my company, and while I have been spared again, it's taken a toll. Huh, looks like I'd been figuring my AC wrong for awhile now. I've been giving myself the full Dex bonus, even though banded mail allows +1 Dex max. Yeah, sign me up for the +1 breastplate, and throw my +1 banded mail on the loot pile. I'll update my sheet. I assume this was Nualia's?
"So, fiend-killing," Orik says. "Never done it before. Is that what we need silver for, not ghouls?"
"Only thing I know of down there is whatever demon the crazy b*tch was trying to free," Orik says with a shrug. "No idea if it's there or not, but she definitely believed it was. 'Course, she's nuttier than a sack full of goblin scrotes, so take that for what it's worth."
"We're talking about going back to that gods-forsaken rock off the Nettlewood coastline," Orik says sullenly. "You know, the place where we all almost died multiple times. I guess we haven't gotten enough of the f**king place."
Orik watches Gwyn disappear up the stairs before tearing a bit of his sweetroll off for Fluff. "If she asks, I gave you nothing, squab," he says, tossing it to the precocious bird.
"Oh, right, werewolves," Orik says shaking his head with a wince. "Though it sounds like ghouls can turn you into a ghoul if they bite you, just like a werewolf, so I have no idea why you need silver to kill one and good hard steel to kill the other." He does grimace a bit when Helena describes the way that ghouls kill their victims. "Well, that's f**king morbid. Don't let that happen to any of you."
"That's the limit of my knowledge," Orik replies. "Do you need silver to kill 'em? I think I heard that once."
"Now that sounds like a plan I can get behind," Orik says, waving Bethana over to their table. "Small ale and some of that smoked salmon I've been smelling. I'm not going to be able to save s**t on an empty stomach."
Orik heads downstairs after a fitful sleep, noticing the group at a table in the Dragon's common room. He sits with a yawn. "Looks like I wasn't the only one who didn't sleep well," he says, regarding Gwyn's state. "So, what the Hell comes next? Nualia's been captured, the goblins broken up - did we win?"
Orik has grown quieter the closer the heroes got to Sandpoint, trying his best to fade into the background while the people cheered their success at Thistletop. He follows Gwyn back to the Rusty Dragon, taking a seat on his bed, his blades and shield resting against a table. Alone in the room, he faces the thoughts that have been plaguing him. What the Hell, Vancaskerkin? When the Hell did you become a hero? And what do you think you're going to do when the townsfolk find out where their heroes found you? What the Hell gave you the first thought that you could be better than you are? He has no answers. When sleep finally does come, it's dreamless and light.
I hear that, Gwyn.
Orik blinks as the blade splays open the crawler's skull, spraying him with viscous green fluids. He stares dumbly at the blade for a moment. "Hot damn, that's a good blade!", he shouts, giving the tentacled beast a few more stabs just to be sure it's dead. * * * * * Orik finds something else to do while the farmer fixates on his former employer, preferably out of the man's eyeshot.
"Don't you gurgle at me, you ugly sonuvab@@#$!", Orik spits, slashing at the carrion crawler's slimy head with his glowing blade.
"It sucked ass being on the receiving end of this thing," Orik says, drawing Nualia's blade. "Let's see how this ugly f**ker likes it!" He steps up, ready to strike at the creature.
"Good riddance to Thistletop, and none too soon for my f**king tastes," Orik says, tying Nualia's sheathed sword to his belt. "The sooner we turn her over, the better." On the way back, he takes charge of prodding the madwoman should her marching slow. He listens silently to Gwyn's stories - not the he could get a word in edgewise if he were so inclined - and gives the Lamashtan a shove whenever Gwyn's story hits a little too close to home for him. Nualia gets shoved a lot on the way back to Sandpoint.
I'm good with Orik as he is. He's not a complicated man, mechanically or narratively, and I'm actually really interested to see how he reacts now that he's an ongoing part of the Runelords narrative. In my home game, he ended up being persuaded to come back to Sandpoint and work for the guard, so he was a minor recurring character there.
"Hey, if it's in demon jail, then it can stay there for all I care," Orik says. "If she'd freed it, why didn't she sic it on us? If you want to check things out real quick, then fine, but we can't have another battle like this. Gwyn and the squab - FLUFF, fine, sorry, stop giving me that look, Fluff - nearly died, Helena looks like she's spent, and Cerin? You took a Hell of a beating. Shalelu, Kyrian and I are about as healthy as we're going to be, so if we're checking out the rest of this area, then we should probably lead, but I have no interest in dying here. We beat feet the minute things get bad."
I don't really know what to say - as a Rog3, Kyrian's BAB is only 1 away from full BAB class, and though archery presents problems, you've taken the correct feats to mitigate the major problems with it (PBS, Precise Shot, etc.). The +2 Dex is a bit low, but since you're about to hit 4th level, I presume that's the first thing that'll be increased, which brings you in line to where I'd expect that to be at this level. Really, Kyrian's build is fine, which means that the only real problem are the low rolls. There's nothing you can do about that, really. Honestly, I wouldn't focus on Kyrian's perceived short comings in this fight. We just went up against the boss of the first book, and she should be pretty hoss. She had answers for just about everything we had, and we got really lucky at the end there. Heck, we very nearly lost Gwyn! I suspect that if you had fought through the rest of Thistletop with us, you'd feel a bit more solid about his performance, since not every enemy is going to have the AC and action denial that Nualia did.
"I think this is a mistake," Orik says, having picked up his own sword in the meantime. "She would have killed us all. We'd be doing the world a damn favor ending her. But, hey, not my call."
Orik huffs and puffs as he watches Nualia fall, incredulous that the ordeal is finally over. He's about to fall upon her and crush her skull with his hammer when Gwyn crawls over the aasimar, sword in hand. Let her have it, he thinks to himself. She's earned the kill more than me.
"GWYN!", Orik shouts, his eyes widening with fear as Nualia brings the elf low. He turns to regard her. "Alright, b~*+$. That's IT. You killed those townsfolk, you killed goblins that displeased you - you even killed Tsuto, and I was looking forward to slitting his throat myself. But you do NOT get to kill her!" He steps over Gwyn's unconscious body, providing some meager protection, and swings his hammer again at her, channeling his rage into his swing.
Orik reacts by instinct, raising his shield as he spies movement on his periphery, deflecting the whirling blade as it goes by. Spying a chance to end Nualia, he gives a warcry and raises his warhammer high, racing towards her. He breaks his stride as he gets close, finding it impossible to bring the hammer down upon her.
"Thanks," Orik says, reaching for a silver-headed warhammer on his belt. "Go help the squab, if you can." He advances upon Nualia, a warcry escaping his lips as he bounds up the stairs.
Orik grits his teeth from the pain, remaining standing despite the agony. "Dammit! Archers! Light this b*tch up!" He staggers away from Nualia, dropping his blade to retrieve a potion and quaff it, sighing as his wounds begin to heal.
Orik howls in pain as Nualia's wicked sword cuts deep, and he staggers back a step. "F**K me! Just f**king DIE!!" In desperation he continues to swing for the fences, hoping to end her life before she can end his.
+ Orik maneuvers himself into a better position to finish off Nualia, placing her between his blade and Shalelu's. He swings his blade in a wide, powerful arc, hoping to fell her before she can find a way past his defenses.
I am leaving for GenCon in a few hours, and will have limited access to the internet during that time. I will probably be back on Monday, August 22, assuming the eclipse does not portend the end of humanity's existence.
Damn, that girl has a mouth on her, Orik thinks to himself as he half-listens to Gwyn's patter. He really doesn't have much to say to Nualia anymore, having spent the better part of his ire against Tsuto. He bats her blade away with his shield, seizing the opportunity to follow through with a slice at her chest.
Orik sneers at Tsuto's still form as he falls to the ground, raising his sword again to finish the man off. Finally..., he thinks, positioning his blade to stab his hated foe in the throat, ending his life. Cerin's scream, however, halts his thrust, and once again, Orik has a decision to make. Vengeance? Or valor? Followed by one more thought. Dammit. He turns from Tsuto, advancing upon the demon hound. "HEY, UGLY!", he shouts at it. "I'm putting you down!" He slashes at the creature with another powerful overhand strike, hoping to end it swiftly.
"Yes we can, b*tch!", Orik shouts back to his old employer, moving his blade away from her magic just in the nick of time. "Too stubborn to die?", he says to Tsuto with a snarl, pulling his blade free from Tsuto's midsection. "Guess we do have something in common after all. Won't save you though." He lowers his shield for a moment to bring an overhand strike down upon the half-elf's shoulder, feeling the crunch of his collarbone as it connects.
Orik spins as he hears a new arrival behind him, smirking as he notices Kyrian's arrival. "Now there's something I didn't expect to see. Hoorah, the f**king cavalry's arrived!"
If we find a copy of Twilight, I'll need Gwyn to cast erase on it.
"Damn, son," Orik says with a dark chuckle, spitting blood. "You sure pack a punch for a scrawny son of a b~@%+. I took harder beatings from Papa Saul, though. You know what I'm going to enjoy most about this? I get to kill you in front of the crazy lady. First you, then her. Dunno which I'll enjoy more!" He leaps at Tsuto again, another deadly slash aimed at the man's midsection.
If Nualia hoped to get a rise out of Orik, it doesn't seem to work. "I'm good at disappointing people. It's sorta my thing. Anyway, I quit, you b-", he says, his oath interrupted by a powerful blow to the face. He sees stars for a moment, and his nose breaks, taking a step back. When his eyes clear, he sees a familiar face, already preparing to launch another attack. "Tsuto," he spits, getting ready to attack the wayward Kaijutsu, when another howl arises from the ceiling. A chill runs down his spine as he spies the remaining hound, and he almost feels the fear take him again... ...but with Nualia here, and Tsuto... ...and the heroes... ...no. He stands his ground. "You two die today," he says. "Get her! Kaijutsu is mine!" He swings a powerful attack at the half-elven archer, hoping to bring Tsuto to his knees swiftly.
Orik follows suit, but sneaking about was never his style. The clanking of his armor does little to assist him.
"No sign of Nualia or Tsuto, and that concerns me," Orik says quietly. "That means they knew about this trap, and were hoping we'd fall into it. What else have they prepared for us?"
Knowing my luck, it's probably me. Dammit.
Orik exhales in relief as Bruthazmus falls, seizing the opportunity to hack off the bugbear's head. "Never liked you, you stinking son of a b@$*+," he says, spitting on the creature's corpse. "I hope whatever is waiting for you is painful." He slumps against the wall, relaxing as Cerin heals his wounds. "One down, two to go," he says, to no one in particular.
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