Schwertleite, Child of Stone's page

Hey folks, sorry for my extended absence. It's been a combination of work stress and in-person GM'ing commitments, but I'm feeling overwhelmed with everything going on in my life. I'd thought - I'd hoped - that things would blow over in a week and I'd fall back into the swing of things, but it's just not happening and it's not fair to everyone else in this game to have me "here-but-not-here". I need to withdraw.

I wish you all the best of luck with the game, and it has been wonderful playing with you even for the little time I had. Remember to do everything the correct way (which would be the dwarven way, of course), and may the dice be ever in your favor!

Warpriest 2!
- +11 hp (22)
- +1 BAB (+1)
- +1 Fortitude, Will (+5, +6)
- +1 Handle Animal, Heal, Knowledge (engineering), Survival
- Fervor!!! (1d6)

"Aye, let's surroond whoever's inside." Schwertleite marches to the front door and waits for either a signal to push them open, or for her patience with the tall-folks' hand-wringing to wear out.

"Whit's thare tae ken aboot th' poison - we awready ken someone didnae waant him poking aroond th' burned kirk." Schwertleite grumbles as she follows after the humans. "Dinnae ken whit folks expected though, building something oot o' wood instead o' solid stane. Tis nae a proper kirk if tis nae hewn fae th' rock..."

Either's good for me, though Schwertleite would lean towards Brogann's approach here. XD

"Sara's a guid yin - solid lik' granite. We'll blether tae her foremaist." Considering the matter obviously settled now that she's weighed in, Schwertleite heads towards the smithy.

Schwertleite the character might be quite set in her decisions, but as a player I'm fine if folks want to do something other than what she thinks should be done. And if she's coming on too strong, just let me know so I can adjust.

"Soonds lik' tis a sedative," Schwertleite answers bluntly. "Unless Brogann means thay knocked him ower th' heid wi' th' boattle, hah!"

"Ah'ament surprised," Schwertleite snorts before pausing. "Or mibbie ye juist haven't bin aff tae th' richt kinds o' churches."

Schwertleite nods approvingly at the two sensible humans - well, sensible enough to worship a god of duty and valor. Those were honorable concepts, even if Iomedae was infinitely younger than Torag and thus less of a tactician who espoused headlong charges into danger rather than striking from a defensible position. What can you do though - they're only human.

Schwertleite nods approvingly at Brogun's guess. "Aye, that's some quick thinking. Whit aboot th' claymore he wis fun wi'? Ony engravings or markings oan it that tis creator cuid recognize?"

"Sae then he obviously bought th' hope-claymore fur someone else." Schwertleite shakes her head. "That seems ah kent that awreedy, even if his engraved message is kinda self-centered." She follows
Sigrún and Brogann out the door, obviously leading from the rear.

Perception vs DC 17: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (5) + 3 = 8

"This isnae even a proper kip," Schwertleite scoffs under her breath as she pushes her way past all the tall folks and examines the bloodstained bed.

"Och stoap yer bellyachin' 'n' let's git movin`," Schwertleite agrees. "Forby, ah cuid uise something tae dram."

"O' coorse yi'll waant dependable dwarven hulp," Schwertleite answers loudly. "Dinnae ken how come ye didnae ask sooner. Sae dinnae ye worry - we'll fin' whoever's behind this dishonorable deed 'n' send thaim tae th' a munter heap whaur thay belong."

"...think they'd gang tae fetch th' undertaker if thir's bin a death," Schwertleite complains loudly to Brogann as they follow Frum. "Gowk laddie needs tae learn th' proper wey tae handle thae hings 'n' nae come running tae th' militia fur ilka kinch..."

"Aye, a'm aye up fur a short donder afore sleeping," Schwertleite agrees, scowling at the empty chairs around her table. Scooting her own chair out with a loud noise, she rises to her feet. "Thae folks cannae tak' ony criticism wi'oot getting thair pride hurt. LEARN TAE TAK' A SOMETHIN TAE ADD, YE COWARDS!" The last part is bellowed at a group of militia members who are currently drinking near the bar and conspicuously not looking back at her.

Diplomacy: 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (1) - 1 = 0

Schwertleite might have gotten a warmer reception if she didn’t insist on loudly talking over anyone about how dwarven coming-of-age ceremonies were much more practical than this circus.

lol

Schwertliete grumbles about foolishly pushing your luck, but Brogann's enthusiasm and the crowd's cheers seem to have made the dwarf less cautious than normal.

Woo! Those poor fellows. XD

“Richt, a' th'gither noo,” Schwertleite commands. “Pat yer back intae it, bit dinnae dae anythin' glaikit. Wear thaim oot.”

Strength, Take 10: 10 + 15 = 25

"Where's yer sense o' honor, challenging a youngling th' moment she becomes an adult?" Schwertleite answers, marching to the stage. "'Ere, this is fur ye." The dwarf hands Ruby her mug of ale. "Dram up - tis guid fur ye!"

Schwertleite stands at the front of the crowd so nobody can stand in front of her and block her view. One hand holds a mug of ale, while the other is empty for cheering and other such jubilation. Even if all of this is a bit excessive, she thinks to herself before taking a swig, it's not hurting anybody. And there's plenty to be said for recognizing when a child becomes an adult. Must be the harshness that makes 'em grow up so fast here. The dwarf takes a break from her ponderings to glare at some foolish human who thought he could stand in front of her. She clears her throat loudly to get his attention, then motions to the side with her free arm to direct him out of her line of sight to the stage.

Oh, that would be wonderful!

No worries, GM - do what you need to do. Best wishes in these crazy times.

"Ye'r trying tae strike it rich by swinging a pickaxe at a rock 'n' praying fur gowd." Schwertleite raises a mug from her table towards the brothers and Sigrún. "Stubborn as stane, she is. That's something ye kin depend oan - 'n' something ah will dram tae, hah!" With that hearty endorsement, she finishes her third mug and gets up for a refill.

Hugs, GM. Take all the time you need.

"Guid, guid - tis important tae keep traditions alive." Schwertleitie finishes her stein and wipes the foam from her face. "Dae ye hae loads o' bairns running awa' fae hame? Or mibbie that's a tradition itself - hah!" She guffaws heartily at her joke.

"Throw it lik' ye mean it!" Schwertleite bellows as Brogann pulls back his arm in preparation for another dart. "'N' whin ye git dane playing at bein' bowmen wi'oot bows, yer drink's duin." She holds up a pair of mugs and sets one down on the rickety table before taking a hearty swig from the other.

Ha! But who could ever really say for sure?

Scwertleite, that's who. XD

"Gorum doesn't care wha falls in battle, ye nitwit. He doesn't even waant win fur either side - juist mair fightin' 'n' carnage." Schwertleite's voice is flat as if she's tried to explain this simple concept multiple times to Brogann and he still refuses to understand. "Yell aboot him while battle - he'll lik' that - bit if ye'r aff tae git caught up in an everlasting senseless bloodbath then gang dae it somewhere else. We're heading back tae toun."

The dwarf scowls as both Sigrún and the hell-spawn repeat what she just said. Maybe they're too dense to understand? Or they just need to repeat something before they can understand it? I suppose that's what happens when you grow so tall your head sits in the clouds. Her expression lightens somewhat as the angel-kin approaches with a properly respectful attitude. "O' coorse ye wid," she answers proudly. "Tis a highly-useful trade leid 'n' gey sensible."

"Gorrrrrummmm!"

"Och shut yer geggy, ye braggart." Schwertleite scowls at the posturing Brogann and smacks him gently with an armored hand. "Ye'll bring doon mair o' thaim oan oor heids. Save it fur th' tavern efter." She grins and holds up one finger. "Ye git yin - YIN - dram oan me th' nicht."

"That is great. Am I still a thrall for more time or not? I need this arrow removed, it hurts and I am still bleeding."

"Ah tellt ye awready - ye'll a 'thrall' 'til ye decide tae graw up 'n' stairt contributing tae th' community." The dwarf shakes her head. "Tis nae a one-and-done deal - ye hae tae constantly pat th' effort in tae keeping th' community safe. Dae that, 'n' th' community wull support ye back. A dinnae ken how come tis sae pernicketie fur ye tae ken."

"Gabsen. Who are you?"

"Ye kin address me as Schwertleite, Bairn o' Stane." Scowling at the wagons, she continues, "We ur fae Trunau, sent tae mak' sure th' caravan fae th' north arrived safely. Ye'r jammy we arrived whin we did, or thare wid hae bin hee haw left o' this caravan." The dwarf pauses to shift her scowl to the warrior. "Especially given yer lack o' judgement."

Clapping her hands, Schwertleite turns her attention to the wagons and drivers. "Noo, let's git movin`!" she bellows.

"Ye'll hae tae huv a go harder than that tae break a Bairn o' Stane!" Schwertleite retorts, hanging her hammer on her belt as she steps away from the orc. "Forgefaither, mend mah wounds!" A soft glow emanates from the priest's hand and leaves the flesh underneath whole again - though still bloodsmeared.

Cure Light Wounds: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8

Converting divine favor to cure light wounds. If Red is down from Sigrún's attack, Schwertleite will cast and then step closer to the drummer. If not, she'll step away from both orcs before casting.

"He'll hae tae skelp harder than that if he wants it!" Schwertleite bellows back at the orc priest. "Torag's git mair power in yin o' his wee fingers!"

Warhammer vs Yellow: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (20) + 4 = 24
Bludgeoning damage: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7
Crit confirmation: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7
Crit damage: 2d8 + 6 ⇒ (4, 7) + 6 = 17

"Aye, let's dance!" With her sturdy shield between herself and the orc behind her, Schwertleite shifts her attention to the raider's priest. "Noo ye'll see how come yer feeble god haes na power!"

Warhammer vs Yellow: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11
Bludgeoning damage: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

Schwertleite continues her inexorable approach, raising her warhammer high. "Fur Torag!" she bellows!

Warhammer vs Green: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15
Bludgeoning damage: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9

Move and attack Green.

Schwertleite begrudgingly salutes Brogann on his cliffside perch before even more begrudgingly beginning to run after the long-legged Sigrún. "Dinnae ye worry - ye hae nae escaped th' doom that is upon ye!" she bellows, picking up speed like a rock rolling down a hillside.

Full-round action to Run, moving 80 ft in a straight line to catch up with Sigrún. AC currently 18, and let's hope none of these orcs have Sneak Attack because Schwertleite currently doesn't have her Dex bonus to AC due to Running.

"But I am the thrall, and my better ideas do not change that."

Brogann shrugs. "You and Schwertleite figure it out. Just tell me what to do."

"O' coorse ah will tak' charge, ye stoatin ninnies, " Schwertleite answers matter-of-factly. "'N' o' coorse we'll climb up th' gentler brae. Ainlie an eejit wid climb straecht up that cliff..."

Her voice trails off as she spots a figure doing just that. "Forgefather save me, wull human folk ne'er learn ony sense?" she mutters crossly. "'N'... thare th' orcs gang. Chaynge o' plan - we're th' hammer tae th' caravan's anvil. Let's juist hawp thay kin haud it th'gither lang enough." The dwarf begins stomping down the bluff towards the orcs, hammer in hand.

Double move. I'm not quite certain on the scale/grid for the map, so feel free to adjust as needed GM.

I'm trying out a Scottish "translator" because Schwertleite'll be damned if she's going to put more than the bare minimum of effort clean up her Common to be more "proper" when everyone should really be speaking Dwarven. XD Let me know if it's not understandable and I'll add a "translation" spoiler to her posts.

"Ye'll a 'thrall', as ye sae childishly pat it, 'til ye decide tae graw up 'n' stairt contributing tae th' community." Schwertleite's low rumble of a voice matches her stature compared with the two humans standing behind her. One hand rests on the handle of her hammer hanging on her belt, while the other shades her eyes from the sun's glare.

Perception vs DC 20: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (7) + 3 = 10

"Bit supposing whit ye say is correct, th' sensible thing tae dae wid be tae hae th' caravan set up a fortified position 'n' mak' th' orcs break thair wallies upon thair steel." She snorts derisively. "Human folk ur seendle sae wise. Yer plan is a guid yin, Sigrùn - hauld yer horses 'til th' archers ur duin tae fire, then strike thaim doon 'n' let th' raiders below flounder lik' th' worms they're." Grinning, she looks back at her companions and hoists her hammer. "Urr ye duin?"

Woohoo! Are we ever!

Alright, finally got Schwertleite's backstory finished and profile created. And only... a week late. XD

@Brogann, let me know how you think these two would know each other. Based on reading your backstory and description, I'm not certain if she would approve of his "wild" tendencies - but it looks like he appreciates a good sword, so that's a point in his favor in her book.

I'm thinking to have Schwertleite also be a part of the town's militia, or at least serving in it as a way to get lessons from the town's giantslayers before she heads deeper into the Hold. @Brogann, do you want to already know each other?

Ooo, skald could be fun!