Redleg's page

Redleg snores like a pig.

"Shnarg. Shnarf."

Redleg laughs rakishly as the gnolls' futile blows bounce uselessly off his armor.

"It's my turn now, _______" Redleg says, before using an especially crude orcish epithet to describe the gnoll.

Attack: 1d20 + 5 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 5 + 1 = 17

Damage: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (6, 6) + 1 = 13

Redleg attacks again.

Sorry, I forgot I had gnoll killer attribute before.

Attack: 1d20 + 5 + 1 ⇒ (14) + 5 + 1 = 20

Damage: 2d6 + 1 ⇒ (1, 6) + 1 = 8

Brandishing his greatsword and yelling the ancient Orcish warcry, "Geronimo!" Redleg runs nearly his full 120 ft range to the gnolls. Next opportunity he gets he attacks.

Attack: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (19) + 5 = 24

Damage: 2d6 ⇒ (5, 5) = 10

Initiative: 1d20 ⇒ 7

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Redleg snorts and wakes up from his nap.

"Huh?" he says groggily, "Goin' on some kind of avencher? Hang on, let me grab my axe."

Yawning and scratching his crack, Redleg follows after Amani and Shenlon

September 11?

Everyone who was posting on the board and fought the slime mold gets 200 xp.

** spoiler omitted **
** spoiler omitted **
** spoiler omitted **

Is that 200+X or just X total?

Redleg claps Shenlon on the back.

"Well, there's nothing here but weeds, buddy," he says, "Might as well head back and finidh clearing out those Pugwumpis."

"I sense something..."

Redleg trails off.

"A presence I've not felt since..."

Mysteriously, he turns and marches towards the courtyard to join Shenlon.

Chakram, biznatches!

Attack:

1d20 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 4 = 13

Damage:

1d4 ⇒ 3

Redleg pats the corpse on the head.

"Thanks, buddy," he says, as he rips the leather armour off and holds it up for the group to see, "Anybody want this? If not, might be worth a few coins when we get back."

If no one takes him up on the offer, Redleg stuffs the leather into his backpack.

"Hipoc, you'd better grab those holy symbols."

Nodding silently, the cleric does so.

Redleg hands the mace off to Amani for safekeeping. He leads the way into the next area.

Testing the weight of the mace, Redleg sheathes his greatsword and says, "Don't want to dull the blade. This is better for smashing anyway."

He turns back to Fizzlethorpe.

"The passage is clear. I'm going to check out the crypt."

He begins smashing the skeletons in the crypt with the mace.

did we get anything from A20 before we spontaneously moved on?

Trusting the superior judgment of his teammates, Redleg attempts to pluck the mace out of the skeletons' hands and then proceeds to smash them with the hilt of his greatsword.

"I don't mind keeping guard or leading the way," Redleg says, readying his greatsword, "But it's up to Hipoc whether we take that treasure or not."

[OOC] assuming Hipoc lets us take some

"Amani, how much is it worth?"

<OOC> Not sure to what extent we're establishing prior relationships, or if this is our first adventure together. I have a couple of ideas, let me know what you think, and throw out your own.

1) Amani - if you're actually involved in the pesh trade, we may have run in the same circles. I did some "bodyguard" work for some less-than-reputable types in Katapesh City. Do you have a reputation for being involved with pesh? If you do, I may come to you to get some. I'm not addicted. I can stop anytime I want.

2) Shenlon - if you come and go like the wind, we may have fought together in a war or you may have bailed me out of a tough street brawl. If we've fought side-by-side before, I think I'd be more likely to trust you. If this is the first time we've really worked together, I think I'd be more likely to be suspicious of you. Also, the gay lover option is still on the table.

3) Fizzlethorpe - if you're the type that needs obscure chemicals and ingredients for your creations, you may have hired me in the past. Otherwise, are you famous for creating anything in particular? I may have come to you to obtain something for myself or a wealthy patron.

Any other relationship ideas? Or did we all just meet in a tavern?

A black spot appears on the horizon. You all take notice. Friend or foe, you wonder. Hands move to weapons, magic-users begin to mutter under their breath.

The figure is hazy in the midday heat, but definitely bearing a weapon. You tense. He is man-sized, a little taller even. Then you all relax as you see that it is your fellow traveler, Redleg the half-orc, back from a patrol of the caravan's perimeter.

"What news?" you shout.

"No gnolls," Redleg growls.

It doesn't seem like he will elaborate further. Redleg takes his place in the party, picking some stray meat out of his tusks with his sharp claw-like nails. You're happy to have the fighter back where his bulk can get between you and the baddies. You just wish his hygiene habits were a little less disgusting.