Sven Langrebe's page

So, this game is dead, hunh?

Sheathing his bow Sven redraws his axe, bringing it down upon the Northern most Goblin's mug.

"To arms! Our exit is blocked!"

Attack: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16

Damage: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (1) + 3 = 4

After the party gives the lab a good once over Sven shoulders his axe and passes his torch on to whoever will take it. Knocking an arrow in his shortbow he peers over the cliff, hugging the north wall.

Sven mutters as they hurry down the stairwell No doubt we're walking into an ambush, the whole Warren must be on high alert..

"...I'm not even quite sure what a grapnel is." Sven whispered under his breath

"Who? What what? Lead the way? Very good then, come friends, keep close and vigilant"

Torch in hand Sven leads the party down, down into the darkness, marching with a haste

To answer Gulver's earlier question Sven cast his torch at a goblin during the scrap and then promptly forgot about it. I have two of my own that I can lend you, and owe ya a pint ;)

Following Gulver's lead across the desolate room Sven prepares to take the lead once the party is ready to descend the stairs, hurrying along with a wary haste. If the way becomes too dark he will light a torch, resolving to wielding his axe with one hand.

"No doubt the archers have warned the remainder of their nest..

Stowing his axe Sven swallows nervously, looking out over the gully. The handholds seemed infinitely far away from his grasp, and the entire structure made him nervous. Stepping out onto the rickety bridge he stooped down, his mail rattling as he plodded across.

Upon reaching the other side Sven falls against the wall outside the doorway, readying his axe once again.

"I've been told that some magicians can create light from magic alone, are any of you capable of this feat?"

Should've clarified last time, I'm a small business owner, so...I apologize, I'll try and stay more on top of things <3

Tearing the thin shoddy arrows from his armor Sven bolts over to the door, admiring Annie's initiative and remarkable upper body strength. Silently thanking the gods of battle he bashes the door with the blunt end of his axe, putting all of his weight into one great swing

Powerattacking a door!: 1d8 + 5 ⇒ (2) + 5 = 7

"Give me strength!"

*dolphin noise*

I'm so sorry, everyone, I've been pulling doubles at my place of business lately, my apologies. Glad you're alive and well, Zander. I'll just bite the bullet and do the coding from my phone.

Sven snaps back into reality, momentarily paralyzed by his nerves. He charges into the fray, rushing to Lucky's aid, attempting to flank as many buggers as possible, ideally Goblins 1 & 2.

Attack roll: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

Charging power attack

damage: 1d8 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13

Sven sneers at the chattering goblins with a grim determination, regripping his battleaxe and making a mad dash towards the beasties. Nodding at Lucky as the two of them make a charge, Sven attempts to always keep himself between the magicians and their foes.

Not sure what my possible actions are at the moment. I've used 15' of movement, yes? So...I'll myself in the middle of the room this round, though I'd like to be able to make a charge next round. Hence the..above...stuff, I wrote.

Taking a deep breath Sven raises his battleaxe and sprints down the stairs, his mail clanking loudly as his voice splits the goblin's chattering.

"Oh gods of battle, hear my prayer!"

Upon breaching the open doorway Sven hurls his lit torch blindly into the room, the blade of his weapon coming down upon the first beast within reach.

Attack: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (12) + 3 = 15

Damage: 1d8 + 3 ⇒ (8) + 3 = 11, this is a two handed attack, just to be clear. Thanks for waitin' on me, everyone.

Sven takes a sip from his wineskin, setting hie axe down for a short while, he squints at the roughly hewn demon door. Taking his weapon up again Sven haunts Gulver's shadow, his eyes fixated upon the crack of the door. He whispers to the party.

Someone oughta' have a listen..

With a hesitant sigh Sven leans his glaive against the tree, drawing his battleaxe and thankfully taking Gulver's torch in hand.

"I've dealt with these little devils once before, but never within their own burrows."

Swallowing his nerves, Sven slowly squeezes himself through the narrow passageway, dropping into the darkness below.

Sven's jaw drops ajar slightly before morphing into a goofy smile. He readjusts his cloak, gripping his glaive tightly.

"Ah-ha! Damn fine shootin', boy! I could stand to learn a few things from ya'! Now then..."

Toddling out into the clearing Sven leers off into the surrounding foliage, prodding the goblin corpses with his weapon. Receiving no response he quickly frisks the creatures, looting and clue-hunting.

Perception Roll To Notice Things: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20

So, was there a gnome sorcerer at some point? Or...am i tripping?

Sven readies his things and joins up with the group, picking up a few days worth of Hardtack bread on the way out of town. He packs his pipe, staring up at the cloudy sky with displeasure. Falling into step with the group he pulls his hood up.

Perhaps one of the local farmers has been paid a visit recently...we oughta ask about..

Sven will walk with the magicians in overland travel, and lead the group in corridors and the like. Last watch is fine enough for him.

Sven takes a moment at the bar to lay down his gear, spark his pipe, and drink a fair amount of wine. Listening in on the conversations behind him he lets out a sigh of relief, thanking the party gods that he has been guided to the proper tavern. Rising to his feet Sven toddles over to the party, smiling shyly and stooping a bit. A very tall young man, Sven measures up 6'5" inches, his broad muscular shoulders are contrasted by a thin torso glued onto a set of wiry, spindly legs. His matted hair is deep brown, and a greasy beard covers most of his unweathered face. His battered scale mail clanks quietly, muffled by a heavy cloak.

Beggin' your pardons, sirs, but I noticed them fliers of yours as well. Something of an expedition sounds fine by me if a slot's still open for another swordarm. The name's Sven, it's a real pleasure to be makin' your acquaintances.

Puffing on his pipe, Sven smiles down on his new found companions

The morning was bright and clear as Sven wandered lazily about the streets of SwiftWater, his dusty mail clinking and clanking as he sauntered along. He hummed an elvish tune to himself, searching for the tavern that a minstrel told him of a few days back. Supposedly some unnamed party had put a call out for travelling companions, and Sven liked to consider himself something of a companion.

In a tightly packed corner of a loud and chaotic Market-alley the sickeningly sweet smell of fresh pies filled Sven's nostrils, he followed his nose to the baker's stall and bought himself a hefty slice. After a few more minutes of aimless wandering, and being forcibly doused in incense smoke by a rotund dwarven clergyman, Sven conveniently found himself at the tavern the minstrel had mentioned. Taking a few seconds to gather his gumption and pack a bowl into his pipe, Sven took a deep breath.

"Well, here goes nothing..."

The floorboards creaked as he stepped inside, his eyes falling upon a Probable priest, feral Dwarf, bouncing Gnome, and...a scrappy looking young lady, off in the corner. He nods to the patrons and steps up to the bar, hailing the sweeping girl.

"Barkeep, tall mug of hot wine, if you'd be so kind."