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Quite the impromptu band of defenders have rallied here. Guess I'm not the only one who like spilling goblin guts. As before, Harsk takes aim at the nearest goblin with his trusty crossbow, trying to go three for three.
"Damn!" The smoke in the air stings Harsk's eyes, throwing off his aim.
"So, your magic is good for more than just impressing folks with parlor tricks, well done putting out the blaze..." Harsk is speaking to Ezren when the screams ring out and everyone dashes away to investigate. Here we go again. Bring it on, gobbos, I can do this all day. Harsk again reloads and stumps off after the others as fast as he can manage.
"Well done lads and lass! Keep a sharp lookout now, there are bound to be yet more around!" Harsk follows his own advice, keeping his eyes peeled for any further goblin activity.
"Somebody put that fire out!"
Harsk emerges into the smoky street, ready to hunt some goblins! He takes aim and fires at the nearest one he can see.
Of course there are more! There are always more... Cursing under his breath, Harsk pauses to reload his heavy crossbow, then moves out in the direction of the newest round of singing goblin voices.
Harsk strides over to the nearest goblin corpse, hacks up a big wad of phlegm, and spits violently on the cadaver. "Vile things. Never much known for good sense, but you're right Ezren. It seems a bit odd."
The goblin lears down from the top of the cart where it has leaped, sticks out it's tongue and has it neatly blasted off along with most of its face by the bolt that flies true from Harsks crossbow. The creature topples backward off the cart as its two companions let out cries of exitement at the scene of carnage.
"I'm on it! Shut it, filthy goblins..." Harsk replies to Ensu as he raises his loaded heavy crossbow to his shoulder and lets fly at the nearest of the foul creatures.
Harsk, beginning to feel weary of the crowds and noise, is thankful that the festivities seem about to come to a close. "Well enough, then. The final speech, and let's get it over and done with," he mutters softly.
A beautiful and delicate butterfly flutters down and gracefully lands on Ezrens shoulder.
To answer your question Mr. Dwarf. I'm in town lookin' fer someone. Someone who has it comin'. His name's Orik Vankaskerkin - a lyin' Riddleport scumbag . He's a yella-bellied, no-good, murderin' outlaw. He killed my Pa in cold blood. That's why I'm here. Justice." Harsk nods solemnly. "I know a thing or two about the ones you love being taken too soon. If you need the blade of a dwarven axe to help you settle your score, you just give the word. What makes you think this fellow's in Sandpoint now?"
Ezren sighs, "Why must they take something as naturally beautiful as swallowtail butterflies and muddle them up with religious hoo haw?" He pauses momentarily only to take a sip of Winterdrop Mead before continuing. "Do they not realize that those they call deity simply do not care what happens to them? Take Abadar for example. Do you think he cares who prospers and who falls? No, the Golden One stays in his vault, aloof and uncaring. Bah! Why can one not simply enjoy something as simple as a butterfly without attempting to involve the divine." He sighs once more, knowing full well that he is likely the minority when it comes to such views. Harsk squints as he gazes up into the midday sun, marveling at the riot of swirling colors produced by the myriad of butterflies. "Eh, I think I know what you mean, old timer. I've always thought of myself as beneath the notice of the divine and powerful. But that's all well enough. It's taught me to look out for myself, and not have to rely on anything or anyone else for a hand up."
Harsk stands under the shade of a tree, munching contentedly on yet another helping of Ameiko's curry-spiced salmon. Catching site of Miss Mattie cantering by on her pony, the ranger calls out absently, "What is it you're prowling about for, little one? Why not come and share a spot in the shade?" Pointing to Gallus and Galstok he continues, "These big brutes won't bite...I think. Leastaways, not with stomachs full of food like this."
"Aye, and that were a long, long time ago!" Harsk chides Ezren, trying to keep the mood light. There are some old wounds there, to be sure, if I don't mistake the old wizard's tone.
Harsk endures the various speeches with a modicum of good grace, but his patience is worn thin by the long-winded theater master, Cyrdak. The dwarf mutters, none too quietly "Oh, for the love of the gods, let's get this wrapped up, you great ponce of a windbag." Apparently, Harsk is not terribly interested in the finer arts. At last, when the opening remarks have wrapped up, Harsk announces to all those nearby, "Right then, I'm off to find something to eat. Who's along with me?" Without really waiting for an answer, the dwarf moves off among the vendors' stalls to assess the available vittles.
The half orc grins as he speaks, "Finding a comfortable tree to lean against while she sherif speaks. Good man but not much of a crowd pleaser." "Wonderful," growls Harsk with a roll of the eyes. "I'm not much for speeches, even from those who are good at making 'em. Hopefully, he'll keep it short at least." Along the streets of Sandpoint, Harsk keeps a sharp eye out, especially making note of the location of the Red Dog Smithy. Always a good place to mark, never know when I may need a new axeblade. He then responds to Galstok's question regarding Chopper, "Well, if my recolection is correct it was some five years ago. Sandpoint was subjected to a month long string of murders. Eventualy it was discovered to be a local artisan." He pauses a moment as if in thought before proceeding, "His name, however, eludes me... perhaps Grog knows. At any rate, he was captured by the local sheriff and then killed while attempting to escape. A rather grissly smear on what has been, to my knowlege, a rather peaceful existance for Sandpoint." In a low voice, Harsk eyes the crowd and mutters, "Ezren, it may be best to keep your voice down. The locals may not want all their dirty laundry aired out so publically on a festival day such as this. It best seems a time for new beginnings, eh?"
"I guess we should be off to the cathedral I for one am looking forward to see a ceremony that does not end with some sort of human sacrifice." "And that," harumphs Harsk, "is why I make it a point never to set foot in Cheliax."
Harsk finishes his tea in one long gulp. "Food later, then. Mistress Ameiko, my thanks for your hospitality. Let's be off." Gathering his weapons, Harsk follows after the others toward the new temple, gazing up at all of the tall warriors who have suddenly come out of the woodwork. Handy lads to have around in a fight I'd guess.
Harsk looks on, a bit suspicious of the half-orc, though his mind is reassured when he realizes that Ameiko apparently knows the new arrival. "Aye, that's right. You seem to be familiar with Sandpoint. What can you tell us of the Festival? Anything you'd recommend?"
Harsk gives Ezren another firm clap on the shoulder. "Well done, old timer, I guess we're 'companions' now. Don't be late for your first show." To Ameiko, Harsk answers, "I thank you for your generosity, but I doubt there'd be anything much about me to be impressed with. Unless there's somebody you need shot full of bolts, that is." Harsk taps the stock of his crossbow meaningfully. Finally, to Bethana. "You've been most patient. I'll have a mug of strong tea, not sweetened. And, a plate of whatever is creating the delicious spicy smell in the air. My thanks."
"A free room for all of us? He says yes." Harsk interjects before Ezren even has a chance to answer Ameiko's query.
"Bunch of paupers we all are, it seems." Harsk nods in commiseration as he waits to be served. "Well, I've got enough coin to enjoy a good meal, maybe see a bit of the Swallowtail Festival, anyway. After that, who knows? Probably hit the road again, and see what comes."
Harsk can't help but chuckle at Ezren's showmanship, proving that a smile can occasionally crack even his gruff demeanor. He gives the older human a rough clap on the shoulder, saying, "You may as well come and join me at a table when you're done impressing the locals with your magic show. Eh, you too Ensu, if you can sit still for five minutes. We shared enough meals on the road, what can one more hurt?" "A mug of strong brewed tea and a plate of whatever that is that smells so good," the dwarf calls out to the nearest server as he finds a table. Harsk narrows his eyes and listens to the music of the birds singing while waiting for his meal.
As he enters the town he raises his cane, tapping his left forearm and the road dust simply... falls away. Looking over his shoulder, Harsk witnesses Ezren's minor display of magic. "Hmph. Wizards." he mutters to himself before stumping into the inn, spurred onward by a rumble in his belly.
Harsk nods in the direction of the locals, acknowledging the greetings with a hearty resounding "Hmph." To his companions, he says in a low voice, "Well, spirits do seem to looking up around these parts, and that's a good sign. They've had their fair share of troubles in this town of late. Maybe they can put all that behind them now, and get a fresh start with the new temple and festival and all." Approaching the inn, Harsk pauses to breathe deeply the aroma of the spicy food. "Smells like the place to be." Still remembering Mattie's words, Harsk brushes off some of the road dust from his beard and clothes, then moves to enter the inn.
Harsk sighs in exasperation. "It's crowds I don't like...not cowards. Well, not that I like cowards either, mind you. I got plenty enough grit for the both of us, don't worry about that." The dwarf sighs heavily once more. "Never mind, let's just keep moving."
Harsk's brow furrows as he pauses behind Ensu, taking in the sights, sounds and smells. Even so, his hand never drifts too far from the stock of his heavy crossbow. Even in such idyllic scenery, the dwarf remains vigilant and careful, ever alert to the possibility of sudden danger. "Feh, just need a cup of good strong tea for me, maybe a leg of lamb or some such. Not sure why I even let you talk me into coming. Never did much like crowds."
My fault, I thought Miss Mattie was a bard. I stand corrected.
But do we still have our wizard and rogue?
You'll be changing directions a lot of you plan on doing that with Ensu too long; he tends to not sit/stand still long. Sounds like Ensu may find himself annoying Harsk on a regular basis, then. Should be fun. :) "Sit down and be still for once, damned gnome!"
Harsk nods stoically in the general direction of the newcomers.
AJ's Dad, I noticed that the default stats you provided for Harsk were actually 3.5 D&D stats. Since we are using Pathfinder rules for the game, I went ahead and updated Harsk to use the Pathfinder stats (I found him as a pregen character in the first Kingmaker book). Hopefully, this is okay. There isn't much difference in terms of his ability, it mostly just cleaned up the old skills, added CMB/CMD, that sort of thing.
"I'm as ready as I gonna be to get dragged into some hare-brained adventure. Just tell me there'll be some giants to slay, at the least." I'm going to play Harsk as perpetually grumpy, but don't let that put you off. He's a good enough sort, underneath. :)
I'm ready to go as soon as our GM gives the word!
Cool, I'm excited about this! :)
I'll probably just use those stats to save time. I'm cool with rolling without a battle map, I'm sure we can work out the details as we proceed. The fun's the thing! We need one more, an arcane caster. |
