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Owen feels a long forgotten thrill of satisfaction as he and his battle companions smashed the metal monsters to pieces. The purity of purpose that fills him in this moment is worth wading through any number of ankle biting critters. He hurries to keep up with the destructive force of nature that is Groomahk.
Owen sidesteps into position then grits his teeth and brings his sword around in a mighty blow.
Owen approaches the monster warily, sword at the ready.
Owen pulls Chotka aside. "Our large friend seems to be bleeding from his... everything. Could you ask him if he'd like me to patch him up?"
"I've spent an hour blind and all day bleeding because of piddling little creatures. If pushing forward means I get to kill something today then I'm all for it."
Owen finds a quiet moment to heal himself when he notices that his aches and pains are not from his old wounds flaring up. He also offers to heal up Izzak and Groomahk when he realizes that the blood staining their footsteps is their own.
Owen sighs. "There was a time when I fought against true warriors, under the open sky."
Owen curses the cramped confines of the caverns as he maneuvers his way into a useful position.
"All things die," Owen says, then smiles. "Your pests will die sooner than most."
Owen ambles along at the back of the group, keeping one hand on his sword.
Owen lets the orc get far enough out in front so that he won't get caught in the splash damage.
"I don't see much sense in rushing ahead blind. I had enough trouble doing any good while I could see."
Owen will wait for the right moment to strike.
Owen staggers forward out of the corridor, rubbing furiously at his eyes with one hand to try to clear his vision.
Can I move towards the enemy effectively even though I'm blind? Not sure how the RP works for that. Never been hit by a one hour(!) blind before.
Owen felt his blood begin to race as the familiar beat of the war drums vibrated in his bones. He steps forward and attacks.
"A giant frog? Now I've seen everything. Or is it a toad? Toads are on land, right?" While Owen ponders what exactly it is that he's fighting, he moves forward and readies his sword.
Owen finishes finger-combing his beard and moves up to stand near Karek.
Owen takes a look at the pool. It reminds him of latrines he's seen in the past. Unfortunately, it isn't getting any sweeter smelling as he looks at it. He squares his shoulders and dives in.
Upon arriving in the cave, Owen immediately sets to work squeezing the foul water out of his beard.
Owen shrugs. "Better than trying to breathe water on my own."
When I'm not talking you should just assume that I'm stroking my beard thoughtfully and looking solemn unless otherwise noted.
Just to double check on the language: HeroLabs gives me Common and Hallit. I've just been assuming that Common turns into Taldane but on reflection I don't have an int bonus and I think I only have two languages because of my ethnic background. Under our language rules do I only speak Hallit? I may need to be a little less vocal from now on.
"Easy, now," Owen says, positioning himself as something of a shield for the girl. "Let the girl get settled and I'm sure she'll be happy to tell us what happened." Owen spares a glance through the window to check on the wreckage of the robot, alarmed at the mention of a self-repair function.
"It's over, child," Owen says, smoothing her hair as he attempts to calm the girl.
Owen drops his greatsword and starts trying to pull the net off the girl.
Owen carves open the window with his greatsword. Upon seeing the girl inside he'll try to cut her loose if he can.
Owen hears the change in pitch of the little girl's screams. It spurs him to move faster than he has in years. He ignores the ominous popping sounds coming from his joints and races around the corner to stand in front of the unbroken window. He feels an old anger begin to stir as he sees the girl silhouetted against the oiled paper and the menacing figure that threatens her.
Owen lumbers forward, drawing his greatsword as he moves.
"We'd best see Joram first. I'd rather not drown."
"That's a lot of folks gone missing. Did Khonnir find any bodies?" Owen's no stranger to men chasing adventure, but it still surprises him sometimes just how many people will jump straight in to a risky situation when they ought to know better. He tries not to dwell on the fact that he's planning to do the same thing.
It's fine by me as well.
Owen is content to listen rather than speak for the moment, though he's always ready to aid another who is having trouble getting their point across.
"Underhill? Owen asks, glad to hear that somebody has already started investigating recent events but saddened to hear the results. "Did he bring anybody with him?" In Owen's experience, most underground mysteries aren't the kind of places a man should explore alone.
Owen looks down at the faded line of the scar running across the palm of his hand. He looks at his missing finger. He closes his eyes and sees the faces of missing friends. He crosses his arms, tucking his hand out of sight. Blood oaths, pacts of vengeance... he's lost his enthusiasm for such things. Yet Ulfar's words weigh on him still. "What must be done, will be done."
Owen sat stone still as Ulfar recounted the portents. He could feel the weight on his shoulders pressing down harder with each new revelation. It had been a long time since he had received a premonition. He had hoped to speak with Ulfar and hear that his concerns were groundless. That he should go home to his family. He wondered how long it would be before he saw them again. Owen waited for the others to finish speaking before adding his own observation. "This morning a flock of meadowlarks flew over my camp. One tumbled from the sky and landed at my feet. It had a third wing growing from its back."
Howdy! Let me know if I have too much/little in the bar. Also, should we actually do something with roll20 right now?
You can't go north with just one barbarian. Too many things would go unsmashed. Crunch:
Steiner Strongarm
Human (Ulfen) barbarian (drunken brute, invulnerable rager) 1 CN Medium humanoid (human) Init +4; Senses Perception +5 -------------------- Defense -------------------- AC 15, touch 12, flat-footed 13 (+3 armor, +2 Dex) hp 15 (1d12+3) Fort +4, Ref +2, Will +1 -------------------- Offense -------------------- Speed 30 ft. Melee earth breaker +5 (2d6+6/×3) or . . warhammer +5 (1d8+4/×3) Special Attacks rage (6 rounds/day) -------------------- Statistics -------------------- Str 18, Dex 14, Con 14, Int 7, Wis 13, Cha 7 Base Atk +1; CMB +5; CMD 17 Feats Potion Glutton, Power Attack Traits Blood of Giants, reactionary Skills Acrobatics -2 (-6 to jump), Intimidate +2, Perception +5, Survival +5 Languages Common, Skald SQ raging drunk Other Gear studded leather, earth breaker[UE], warhammer, 3 gp -------------------- Special Abilities -------------------- Power Attack -1/+2 You can subtract from your attack roll to add to your damage. Rage (6 rounds/day) (Ex) +4 Str, +4 Con, +2 to Will saves, -2 to AC when enraged. Raging Drunk (Ex) Move action: consume alchohol - this round does not count against rounds of rage/day. Potion Glutton You can drink a potion, elixir, or other potable as a swift action without provoking an attack of opportunity. Background:
Though he grew up far from the frozen north, Steinar is clearly of Ulfen descent. His almost unnaturally pale skin and enormous size suggest that there may have been something a bit more exotic way back in his family tree, but Steinar doesn't fret much about such things.
Steinar's primary interests in life are: (1) drinking, (2) fighting, and (3) wenching, usually in that order. He's made his living as a mercenary like his father before him. His prowess on the battlefield is only matched by his profligacy in local taverns. He doesn't consider anybody to be a true friend until they've either drunk each other under the table or beaten each other unconscious, preferably both. By the same token he does not hold grudges and respects anybody who puts up a good fight. Recently he's been feeling a restlessness in his blood. Although he enjoys the thrill of the battlefield, he was raised on tales of the wild north as the last place that a man can truly run free. So far it seems much like the south, only colder. ETA: Paizo #182954 |
