Continuing her circumnavigation of the giant, Bries steps a bit more in a clockwise rotation about the mountainous monster.
To hit longsword: 1d20 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 3 + 2 = 7
She takes a swing - or was that a swing. It's really hard to tell since it came nowhere near the nearly unmissable wall of flesh.
An unladylike word comes out of her mouth.
Bries sidles to the side, hoping to eventually set up a flank. But the thing is so big she knows that it will take a while to do so.
"Ouch! Torgen, you are falling into a bad habit there."
"Too many like that and its going to take more than a potion to revive you."
To hit longsword: 1d20 + 3 + 2 ⇒ (1) + 3 + 2 = 6
Unfortunately, Brie gets her sword all tangled up in the flail chain and almost loses it when the ettin pulls it back.
Kn Local: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (16) + 1 = 17
"No surprise there. That's an ettin, of course, though a bit smaller than the ususal, I would say."
Predisposed to take things a little more carefully, Brie was going to let the giant come to her. To her surprise the Dwarf takes off like a shot, throwing himself into the creature mid way through her explanation.
Brie follows suit, crossing behind the dwarf and also hits the off-balanced ettin with a heavy swing from her longsword.
To Hit, fav enemy, charge: 1d20 + 3 + 2 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 3 + 2 + 2 = 25
Heal: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21
Brie takes her sword and holds it across his mouth, watching as the moisture from his breath leaves its trace.
"The blood is coagulating and his breathing is quite regular. Just be gentle so you don't open the wounds and he'll be fine. Wonder what his story is. Shall we tie him up and use the potion on him? I'd like a few answers myself. Though," she adds with consideration, "the potion is worth a fair bit. Maybe we should let nature do the healing. Then again, we are in a bit of a hurry, aren't we?" Her voice lilts upward in an obvious plea for persuasion one way or the other. Brie seems quite conflicted, her forehead furrowed with a frown and her mouth twisting to the side as she ponders.
"What? Just because two childish idiots drew a picture of the thing dashing off towards town does not mean it is gone. I could think of a dozen other explanations. But I guess we are honor bound to follow the fools to their deaths... Let's go."
Brie leads the way to the cave but pauses to see what manner of tracks were left, hoping that Merry was right.
survival: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (15) + 6 = 21
"You think the hooligans bribed an ettin to attack the town? I sure hope not. Maybe they want to be heroes and defeat the ettin using the amulet. No, you are probably right. I'd take it pretty seriously. Giants are pretty dang dumb and easy to manipulate, but also pretty dang dangerous and easy to piss off. 50/50 chance, no, a 90/10 chance they're dead now if they tried. A giant of that type rarely looks past the next meal, and that includes people like them."
"You do know that if it IS an ettin, we would have to be idiots to go in there."
"Hmm," is Brie's only response to the wisdom of dwarves, not much interested in treasure and not at all interested in mining and pretty much missing the entire point as he lost the poor girl at 'searching for treasure'.
Forcing herself to engage, she shyly approaches the puppeteer and blurts an awkward and too loud introduction.
"Hello. My name is Brie."
diplomacy: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2
"Merry, you up for a sack race? I'd be willing to give it a go if you are."
We probably get some diplomatic bonuses for participating or winning events
"Thank-you Mrs. Mayor."
I wonder if that whole dragon thing is true. Not sure I want to meet a dragon, even a good one.
Merry willing, Brie will enter the sack race.
Brialla tags along with Merry, her long legged strides constantly threatening to overtake her companion and forcing her to interrupt their rhythm with an occasional half skip. She nervously eyes the crowd and starts sweating a bit under the pressure of so many people in one place. Every once in a while she pulls out an arrow and looks for defects, smoothing the fletching and sighting down its length at some imaginary target (most frequently the dragon), a nervous habit anyone who knows her would be familiar with.
"We should check out the jewelers, Merry."
If she spots a place to buy arrows, she will want to stop and check out the merchandise.
Meraina by Eddv wrote:
Hello friends, COUSIN. What brings you all to Highdelve? My name is Meraina, from Port Ice. And yours?
Brialla stops herself before reflexively offering her name. "Oh, stop it Merry. It's not like they haven't supped with each other the whole way here in the caravan! And I know you don't need to know why I've come here!"
Brialla lounges on the bench like it is a tree limb and she owns it, back resting against the wall, one leg draped over the length of the seat and curled up just before it reaches her cousin, the other sprawled at a 90 degree angle sticking between the legs of the dwarf. She seems uncomfortable on the man-made wooden seat, though, and fidgets frequently. Though normally shy, she knows everyone at the table or she would make more room between herself and the others as you well know from past experience. She usually lets Meraina do the talking for her when around strangers.
follow alias link for character description of Tally.
I'm going to submit Twang, a Zen Archer. Follow link from icon for crunch.
Dad: So, you are off on another of your road trips are you?
Twang: I can't help it, dad. I'm always torn one way or another. I love it here under the mountain, but I can't get enough of the forest, or the open road.
Dad: It's your fey blood son. Runs in the family. If it wasn't for your mom, I'd be joining you.
Twang runs his fingers through the shock of blue hair running down the middle of his head, his hand ending up cupping his all so slightly pointed ears.
Twang: It sure makes a mess of things some times. The other dwarven lads don't know quite what to make of me. They pound things with hammers, while I hunt for live game with a bow. They spend hours studying dwarven lore and chants, while I wander the forests singing elven tunes. What so you think will come of me?
Dad: You will find your place in this world, son. Don't worry about it. Your differences is your strength.
The young dwarven lad remains unconvinced, self-conscious as only a tweener can be. He hunches over to minimize the extra height his fey blood inflicted on him, a habit he acquired soon after the teasing began. Colorful hair, pointy ears, and a gangly frame brought him plenty of that.
Twang: Well, I hope this exploration party is more open to diversity than my old classmates. I don't want to have to thump them, but I will.
Dad: Yea, about that. I didn't teach you those skills so you could go around thumping folks. Remember the way of the monk is the way of peace, inner and outer. You lose your peace and you lose your strength.
Twang: I'll try dad, but sometimes people make me so mad. So judgmental and critical. I just want to stuff heir helmets down their...
Twangs voice starts to rise as he speaks, only to be interrupted by his father again.
Dad: Enough! You cannot control others, only yourself. No amount of stuffing will change minds. You find peace, you bring peace, that will change their hearts. Now go! Begin this journey and come back to me a man. I have faith in you, Twang.
PbP Submission wrote:
Updated with additional crunch and a lot more personality.