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I know this is probably not how it's intended, but, since Bone'ead has the duck, I imagine it working like: Bone'ead speaks whatever it is he normally says, the duck translates it, and the translation comes out of the duck sounding like Donald Duck-esque. Why? Because my ducky that's why.

Also, I wanted to get a bit into Bone'eads size. According to my class and what I inferred reading the DW handbook, he can get REALLY big. Huge to be precise. The Handbook makes it sound like that is dragon sized. Bit of a problem considering the space theme...

So, should would be possible, instead of dragon size, we just visualized huge a bit smaller?

Bone'ead looks around, scratching his head for a moment before speaking

Bone'ead Hungry. Space place have foods? Well, that was what he would have normally said, at any rate. However, with the strange wooden duck now in his possession, what comes out is..

Well, will there be any food? I'm getting hungry just standing here. Some of us don't run off batteries, you know.

Sorry for the lack of posts folks. RL kept me busy, but I'll try and jump in when I can

CHEESE! CHEESE FOR EVERYONE!

Hundred-Claws mind was in deep meditation as Sees walked out of her tent. Relaxed, he breathed in deeply as he continued to settle his mind for the first time since being captured

Peace...

He felt a rush as he took life into his body and filled his lungs. He felt as it spread through his body, coursing down his arms and legs and tail, and tingling sensation that would be impossible to explain to those who did not walk the Path. Those who did called their meditations 'Seeking the Dragon', for they believed that Dragons did not simply slumber upon mountains of gold like it seemed, but cast their minds inward, seeking a greater state of perfection. He slowly exhaled.

Tranquility...

He felt the air leave his lungs, and yet the feeling of life and warmth within him did not fade. Instead he felt his life own life force become tempered, more focused. He could feel the beat of his own heart, each pulse pumping his lifeblood through his body in a rush. He could hear the deep breathing of his slumbering Kobold kin, and the crackling steps of another leaving the tent. He paid it no heed. He had not meditated in some time, and it was one of the few pleasures he allowed himself. He breathed in again

Peace..

The feeling was exhilarating. How can one describe the feeling of life itself filling your body to the brim, coursing through and through, until you could almost get lost in it. He had not felt so in a long time, and he savored it. Those ancient masters of the Way would chastise him, for it was the goal of those who walked the Path to distance them self from all feeling, to find a stillness of existence in service to the Great Ones. Still, he allowed himself this feeling of excitement. He was a Kobold after all, and dragons blood flowed in his veins as with all of his race. He felt as those he was on a great precipice, his wings ready to unfurl as he leaped into the air..

Tranqu...

His meditation was interrupted as he exhaled by the voice of the Herald. He kept his eyes closed and his body still, as he brought his thoughts and senses back into focus. His connection with his life force diminished, pushed to the background as he was pulled from his meditation. The path was not one easily walked he reminded himself. He listened as she spoke, carefully pondering her words and their meaning. He opened his eyes and responded, careful to mask any irritation at this disturbance from his voice..

I had thought my actions earlier spoke loud enough to be understood. I see I am mistaken, for you still see division. I will dispel these thoughts. You are the Herald, and for you words have power, and are powerful when you speak. I pray you listen to mine, for I am not one who cares to waste my breath.

He turns his gaze towards the young dragon nestled in the crook of her arm and says calmly I am Hundred-Claws, and I will serve the Dragon, Tanard, with mind, body, and soul.

He turns his gaze back to Sees Now, what service does the Herald require?

Also Morr, I think you have your stats a little off, unless that's a feature of your class? You're supposed to have the stats of +2, +1, +1, +0, +0, -1, and you have yours as +2, +1, +1, +0, -1, -1. So one of your -1s should be a +0. I suppose that could be because you're old and wizened. Is that why?

I have a move called "I'm not getting any younger" that gives me a -1 to strength, con, and dex. Part of the consequences of age and being an old man. But, you did point out my error with strength, it's supposed to be a 0. Thanks!

I finally got around to fixing up Bones sheet. He is now bigger and covered in bone protrusions. Must be due to all the good eating

Bone'head grunts as he notes the 3 combat mechs nearby. He blinks for a moment before stuffing the entire pizza box down his gullet

Bone'head think all you need GO WAY!

He reaches for the Mortar tube strapped to his back, and loads it with one of his Mortar rounds. He then swivels the large tube at the 3 mechs, aiming it as if it were some sort of overly large shotgun

Time for BOOM!

Bone'ead grins widely at the three mechs before he depresses a large red button on the mortar tube, and his ears fill with an explosive roar

Shoot Mechs with Mortar: 2d6 ⇒ (2, 6) = 8

Mortar damage, +2 damage, explosive, 1 piecing: 1d10 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10

I shall be playing Ancient Morr.

At first glance, Morr appears to be nothing more then a senile old man, wandering from town to town, muttering to himself, seemingly without rhyme or reason. His memory fails him, taunting him with answers to questions he does not remember asking. At times, he will find himself remembering an ancient battle against a savage dragon...in others he is simply enjoying in a temple to the God of Hidden Knowledge and Secrets, Sceptus. He strains under the weight of his own memories, trying to piece together the puzzle of his own past.

He rides along on his Donkey and cart, chasing bits and pieces of memories that may or may not be real... He often questions himself - Did I really prevent a ritual to summon forth an army of demons in this quiet hamlet? Or is the weight of age causing madness to take hold. Still he continues on, muttering to himself as he follows flashes of memories he can barely understand

Suddenly, a memory of a city..Wrey. He cannot understand why..but he remembers the way. He pictured a cottage within the city...perhaps he lived there? He struggles to remember..but the answers continue to elude him. Why Wrey? Morr cannot remember..but, he knows that it is as good a place as any to find answers.

Ancient Morr is a mentor class character. He's old as dirt, and quite probably senile to boot. Except for when he actually remembers things. He enjoys reminiscing about the good old days he may or may not remember, and hates the disrespectful youths of today :p

Bone'ead turns a corner, holding a large box of pizza in one hand, and his tree-club in the other. His eyes widen in shock as he notices the chaotic battle taking place in front of him.

Uhh...Need Bone'ead help? BONE'EAD CAN HELP!

He quickly chomps down on the large pizza, box and all, and stomps forward to join the melee

Good job guys, you found a fat kid. Hog tie him and drag him back home. "MEATS BACK ON THE MENU" and all that :p

Greetings all. I had to step away for a bit, but I've been able to get things back together and find time for some DW fun! Anyone mind giving me a rundown of what I missed?

Hundred-Claws nodded his thanks as he took the offered cup of Orcish ale. Though he did not normally partake in the drinking of spirits, he did not wish to appear rude. He sipped the cup as he listened to the female Kobolds words, curious as to what it is she wanted. He had remained silent this, content to let the other two Kobolds of his tribe speak for him. It seemed that he always found himself protecting members of his tribe as of late, and it left him physically and mentally exhausted. His mind wandered as the female droned on, pondering the events that had lead him to be here.

If only Trindag had not found the evil ones...

He remembered fighting that dark day, his entire Tribe had gone forth to face the enemy, Trindag at the head. Yet, for all their numbers, the Tribe was broken, scattered like leaves in the wind. He had done his best to protect the survivors of his tribe, those he could find at least, but he had been overwhelmed and captured. His mind returned the present, and he chastised himself for loosing focus. The fact that his mind had wandered was further proof of the trials he had endured to this point, for those who walked the Path sought focus and stillness, living moment to moment, every thought focused on the task at hand. He inhaled slowly, closing his eyes as he focused himself once again at the matter at hand. He listened as the Kobold introduced herself, and suddenly he felt a strange compulsion to answer her questions, strange considering he hardly chose to speak at all.

Feeling? I have seen my Great One fall, and my Tribe broken, and those I could find taken into slavery. I feel tired.. more so then I have ever been. Few Kobolds choose to walk the path, and fewer understand what we desire...for how can such a thing be described? I seek to be as the Great Ones, and serve as best I am able. To live life in every breath, and a stillness of the mind. I wish to know what you want from us, Herald of Tanard. You have given us freedom, and for that I am grateful. I am tired, and we are far from home, and have no desire to waste words.

Hundred-Claws only has one question, "What do you wish I would do. It was also the answer to "What do you wish I would do" that was asked of him. He only wants to know what you are seeking from them. He has no other thoughts or concerns at the moment

Greetings all, it's Pork. I've decided to roll with a Kobold Monk. I'm running with the idea that he is one of kobold slaves recently freed. I'll let our DM figure out how to make it all work. I look forward to digging in and seeing what adventures await.

Actually, would you guys be opposed I I rerolled a character? It's been awhile since I played Pork, and alot has gone on through the mental scale since then. I also remember feeling like I was stepping on toes, with a Shaman in the party, and now a Necro...

Greetings all. I played a druid at the start of the game, Pork. Unfortunately, real life took a downturn for me, and I had to step out. Life has taken an upturn, and I now have some time to be able to dedicate to DW fun. You guys still open to players?

So, heres is my idea for where I'm going with this.

Pork takes the "Invocation" priest move, and becomes a follower of Urgathoa. She seems a fitting diety for one as Hungry as Pork. She represents Gluttony, Disease, and Undeath.

Gluttony, well, Pork has always been a Hungry Kobold. But, where his hunger before was more a Primal sort of hunger due to his affinity, now add to it a darker edge. Where before his primal hunger could be sated by eating some delicious mushrooms or fresh fish, now it'll take much more to feed his dark hunger...

Disease is something that Pork would be well aquainted with in the swamps of his home. Where before he understood it perhaps as a natural part of the dangers of his home, he will now seek to spread it far and wide, vengence in rememberance of that which has been taken from him.

Undeath? Well, Not normally something a Druid would consider natural. But, he refuses to accept this death that has been delt to his land. He will not allow it. He will refuse to let this happen...and he will spread rot and decay and death to all to make sure the spirit of his home is never truly forgotten.

Flavor wise, I'm wondering if changing the flavor of my shifting would be too much. As an example...instead of Shapeshifting into a Boar, I would shift into an Undead version of it, Skeletal perhaps, or Zombie. Mechanically nothing would change, it just would add a darker flavor to the druids normal "Thing"

So, that's my idea. Lemme know if it's too crazy.

Pork looks back at the desolation brought forth by the destruction of the mountain, and gazes upon the land that was formerly is home.

My Swamp..it's gone. It is really gone..

He could hardly believe it. His home he had wandered in for many years, acting as it's guardian. Understanding it in ways no other Kobold could..gone. Dead. These foolish adventurers had somehow managed to do something he never thought possible. They had killed his home.

It's..gone. I can no longer feel it's pulse..it is..dead. Dead...dead...They have brought death to my swamp...

He gripped his spear tightly...They brought death to his swamp. His home...His purpose of being was gone. All that was left was...vengeance? No. Vengeance was not enough. A new hunger stirred within him. It was a Hunger fed by the death of his land. It was a gnawing in his soul now...a desire to bring death to not only thoe who had killed his land, but bring death to ALL lands. Yes..the Swamplands was no stranger to death. The touch of Rot and Decay was common throughout his now destroyed home. Before, he avoided places where death lingered. It was..unnatural in his eyes. But now...his land was gone. His home was dead...was he to do nothing? Was death really the end?

No. He would not allow it. He would not accept it. Death would not be the end for his home..his land. Something so intimately connected to him would not simply be left to die. No..

Death! I will bring Death to all lands, all peoples! This will by vengence to those who have done this to me! Death will feed my hunger! I will gnaw upon the bones of all those who have done this to me!

He cried out in rage none around him could understand. How could they? They had lost family, friends, clan, and Master. He had lost...everything. The grounds he had walked on since his youth were gone. Blood dripped from his clawed hands, so tightly did he grip them in his screaming rage. To any other race, the anguish cries of a tiny Kobold must sound pathetic indeed. But, something out there heard him. Something dark. Something Hungry. And something who knew death as intimately as a lover. It had heard his cry of rage and anger, and answered...

So, Pork's lands are gone, figured I'd make the most of it. Enter the Death Druid. Blighter Druid, however you want to call it. It should bring a nice dose of evil to the game :P

Pork flies out of the cage with a chirp, his small form covered in MUD as he shifts from the form of a tiny to something more suitable for the occasion...

Shapeshift into a Giant Crocodile!: 2d6 + 2 ⇒ (4, 6) + 2 = 12

Pork listens for a moment, the cries of the denizens of the swamp disturbing him, and grunts.

That is my purpose, strange as it would seem to most. This land is my home. It must be protected. If I can placate the fire, I must try. If the spirits agree, then all will be well. If not...

Pork glances at the others and snorts

Well. Then we would not want to linger here. Will you aid me? The risk will be great in trying.