Yes... ish.
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For information's sake... though not as critical as it'll likely have very minor to no impact on the flow of the thread at the moment... I will be heading away on holidays tomorrow! Myself and family will be travelling off to London for both the Rugby World Cup, and taking my mum back to the UK for the first time since she emigrated about 50 years ago. Will be fun... not so much the transit (kids plus planes = tired parents) but once we get there much fun and frivolity should ensue. We have wifi at the accommodations I'm going to, but I can't promise that I'll be around often enough to get frequent posts in, nor verbose ones if the situation calls for it. If I can lean upon DM generosity of spirit as needed then that would be appreciated. I'll be back in KL and ready for resumption of general service on the 9th-10th ish of October.
GM Dien: Sensing that an important time is upon him, what well macerated, digested and dissolved particles of Thrymr remain in the orks gut rebels... seeking to sicken the resolve of the bastards to fight.
Enjoy the overseas sojourn - being an expatriate myself it's an awesome opportunity to wallow in some culture and whatnot. Sweden's got the 5th fastest internet in the world (based on average speeds) - you'll do fine ;)
Good luck for the RPGSS dien (and anyone else who entered)!
Secret Stuff for dien: So the rolls for the Thrymr replacement were a slightly less epic: 12, 9, 13, 11, 13, 12
If possible, I would like to pitch an Occultist from the new Occult Adventures book. He'd be a god-respecting vikingr with a couple of physical defects that have kept him from being a 'proper' combatant. Eg. has a mildly deformed left arm (fused muscles) that makes it hard for him to hold a shield, so he uses a crossbow as primary weapon, he's got ptosis on one eye. Instead he turned his life to the runes, and the laying of them. So he's not a spellcaster per se - but his magic would be flavored to drawing from the inherent power of the runes and their laying. From a practical sense this would limit his spell choices to the less overt displays - such as magic weapon over enlarge person, etc - and if possible would lead him to not being overtly seen to practice seidr by the general populace... after all the runes are borne of the gods, and channel their will. His 'implements' would be a bag of runes (divination), his crossbow (transmutation) and a warding talisman (abjuration). Does that pique enough of an interest to see it written out in long form with a full disclosure of abilities and what not?
GM Dien: *Rapid decomposition under the assault of gastric juices*
Less castrated and eaten... and more his hund got eaten, then all the fingers on his right hand were severed... followed by him joining the hund in the stockpot. Humbled as I am by the interest in Thrymr, he was very much built for a specifically Ulfen and outdoorsy campaign... so I'd need to research and pitch a different character for here. I'll cast eyes over the thread and other characters and see if I can come up with something to fit. For full disclosure I have played through a modified Feast of Ravenmoor previously, but I'm able to divest player and character information.
GM Dien: Thrymr's body slowly cools before commencing the long and arduous decomposition process.
Are they turning you into a unic? A unicorn? - no... I don't think I'm lucky enough to be getting turned into the national animal of Scotland. A eunuch I believe was the word you're looking for... and then still no. I don't believe Thrymr is joining the ranks of the castrati.
Thrymr's last name seems appropriate now...
GM Dien: Roused to his senses, Thrymr awakens as though in a dream. The world is viscous, torpid and turgid... his smell filled with the metallic tang of blood, and his throat drowned in a putrid mixture of vinegar and bile. Sounds echo, shadows clothe his vision... and his sense of touch is haunted now by the echo of what has been lost. His eyes are drawn first to his brutalized hand... assessing with a distant dispassionate gaze. Through the soup of agony he can still feel his absent fingers as he sends messages to them to wiggle... but they are not there.
In error he attempts to stand, the ties that bind his left hand to legs rendering that a useless gesture that sends him toppling to one side. As searing torment assaults him again, the only charity offered is that at least he fell to his left. Lying as he does, the words of the crone are heard... though it takes the Ulfen long seconds to truly hear them. A number of images pass before his mind's eye... his hund, the bracing chill of a oncoming blizzard, the harsh majesty of his land... and that in the eyes of the Ulfen he was now less than useless. He could never again hold a mattock, drive a plough... till the fields. The miasma of self-pity swirled within him as he imagined the gods of the sky slowly turning away from him... abandoning a now useless northman. But as the divine shadow of his mind left... there was a single figure that yet cut through the fever dream. Long haired and bearing a sceptre... and then a moment of clarity cuts through the mind-fog and gives Thrymr pause. Words seep into his mind and stain his thoughts
Thrymr starts to wheeze, then huff, then cough... and finally laugh. Not a nervous laugh, nor a mirthful chuckle. This laugh filled his throat, chest and belly and spilled out to fill the room and echo off the walls. The cackle of a madman who had been broken... but remained un-bent. Rolling unto his side, Thrymr held out his destroyed stump and etched a single rune onto the ground... three strokes forming an arrow, pointed towards the ork.
Unfortunately no happy fun times in the cave-shower for Thrymr... yet...
GM Dien: Thrymr is returned to a world of shadows and dull, throbbing pain as the impact of the orc's axe makes his vision fade to black.
GM Dien: Still carrying the anger that bore him through the bonds that tied, Thrymr is not blind and can clearly see the futility of the fight... yet he is of Ulfen blood. Death-seeking, crazy-brave or merely small-minded he lashes out at the nearest ork with a meaty fist... even though his fatigued form leaves him well open to counter...
Fist of Punching:
For GM Dien:
For GM Dien....: Thrymr emerges through the haze and wakens suffused with the surface thought that was atop his mind as he succumbed... anger... deepened only further by the lack of Gifr in his field of view. He only half hears the orc's question... and doesn't respond in any cognizant way. Looking down he takes a deep breath and channels the essence of Magni, growling as he tenses his body entire and attempts to tear his bonds apart through brute strength alone...
Strength: ...enfeebled and reeling he barely makes the ropes twist upon his skin. His initial display does not bow his spirit though... and he subvocally intones "Blod och vrede" before screaming at the top of his very healthy lungs to arc his back and attempt again to rip the bonds apart...
For GM Dien Reference: So Gifr is at -3/19 HP and Thrymr is at 10/21 HP (18 non-lethal)
If they are not being 'aided' to recover:
If they are being 'aided':
All moot if further injury is done to them. Does this tally up with your understanding?
Not that Thrymr or Gifr have much to do... but just a quick note that I'll be on tour this weekend down to Singapore for an under 7s rugby tournament... so it should be a hoot. Downside is that it might curtail my general propensity for verbiage and long windedness... though I should still be online of occasion.
Thrymr moans belligerently as he is orc-handled.
FWIW - Thrymr wouldn't want you to come forward. And 'this' orc is a wee bit higher than CR 1 ;)
Nah - not in the slightest, it's all part of the weft, wend and roll of the thing.
Well, you were given orders not to attack them.... No guts no glory!
The green skinned bastard puts his axe through Gifr, near severing the bearish-hund's back in a single blow. The hund falls with a feeble whimper... managing only to feebly paw at the snow before being rendered unable to move...
The ulfen upon the stone does not see this... as the solid brick like wave of grief that flows across him banishes his conscious mind from action and instinct takes over. His fists go white-knuckled and the solid wooden handle of his mattock creaks with the strain of it. A growling intake of breath is reversed as the farmer lives up to his namesake. A bestially roared fills the clearing and echoes off the rocks.
Lunging forward with his head, Thrymr tries to force the orc to take a backward step and give him space to free his arms. The feinted headbutt is followed by a sequence of wild crossbatted swipes with his mattock, full body, soul and fury put into the blows in an attempt to punish the orc for it's transgression...
Just noting that if any of those uber-orcs actually manages to crit we will be subjected to the chunky salsa rule ala Shadowrun. 3d12+30? for second level PCs? Remind me not to make you break out the big guns :P
As more of Knute's arrows fly across the ground to slam into the orcs descending, Thrymr takes stock of the situation as his blood surges within. The balance of the battle had begun to slide and skew... a further push and it might topple entirely. To that end he gave Gifr a grunt and pointed towards the greater orc... and made to lend his thews to the effort. Thrymr Climb:
The rocky ground proves no barrier to the ulfen's intent. Letting his hund lead Thrymr stalks with purposeful and steady steps, mattock held red handed in the near guard trailing to one side. Gifr sprints past the orc with loping strides before twisting and turning to attempt to close his jaw upon the bastard's hamstring...
Thrymr pulls in just as the orc is distracted by his companion... and with a bestial growl and vicious twist of his trunk, brings his mattock up in a diagonal strike from the low guard...
Putting a steadying and restraining hand upon Gifr to keep his hund quiet Thyrmr measures the situation. The fact the larger orc was grunting towards the passageway was ominous... and the other orcs had not yet gone far enough to be rendered a non-factor. Thyrmr waited... seeking the presentation of opportunity.
Taking stock of the situation Thrymr holds up a hand to where Knute is with fist closed. The other lifts his mattock head to nestle Gifr under the muzzle and pulls the hund into eye contact. The raised fist is then held with single digit extended to his mouth to imply quiescence before Thrymr crouches and motions Gifr to tight heel by holding his arm down by his side. Over the pain of the twin arrow wounds that wave aches into his form, the ulfen forces his breath to quell and flow like the tide... in and out smoothly and without a breaking wave. Belying his size, the man's movements slide over themselves like oiled hide as he stalks to the cover leeward of where he suspects the approaching orcs are coming from. Gifr joins his companion in cover, lip bared in a nascent snarl but padding on clawed feet in silence.
dien - aye... I was a bit mental there for a while. I'll get the stat line updated soonish.
Taking a second arrow to the breast, Thrymr hacks a cough that mists crimson into the air. The orc falling doesn't stop him taking another few steps and burying his mattock into the fallen beast...
Gifr keeps low to the ground and pads up beside his master, sniffing the air as he comes...
GM Dien - I feel you for the concertina of PbP overextension and whatnot... at my worst I was actually DMing eight at once, which in retrospect wasn't the wisest thing to be doing. I'm still here and engaged and won't be going anywhere - you're doing a good job even with the work stress you're going through, etc. Edit: the cold weather rules is one reason why I like Rugged Northerner as a feat. I laugh in the face of the cold ;)
The arrow causes Thrymr's body to twist and he hisses through clenched teeth... but his momentum is unchecked. Legs rhythmically churning through the snow he puts his breath to lungs to force himself to close the distance as quickly as he is able...
Beside him Gifr is overcome by the hunt and lengthens his stride to surge ahead. Picking his footing at speed the hund attempts to speed up the slope...
In Ulfen tradition... Thrymr is either going to have a glorious day... or greatly regret the heat of his blood ;)
Thrymr's first instinct was to react in kind with how he appeared, to fall away as a lone wanderer and hope to draw the orc inquisitive and alone to seek his blood... but the arc of Knute's bow put paid to any question of flight. The bastard orc would now see not one many but many, with bows, and certainly tend to withdraw. It took the Ulfen blood within the man's veins but moments to sort through the feelings welling within him... memories of bloodied snow, fallen men and children within sacks. Keeping enough of his mind to not bellow with all the prodigious voice that his barrel chest could muster Thrymr settles for a loudly barked "Hakkaa päälle!" that carries across the snow to Knute and Tassidar... as he sets his thick legs of coiled muscle to use... eating up the distance between him and the stones leading up to the orcs perch. Beside him Gifr initially shies away from the arrow, but hearing his companion's cry reacts instinctively to match pace. A growl is not far from his muzzle, but for now the bearish hund lopes easily along.
War Cry:
I will be incognito till Sunday as I am on a short family jaunt.
Neither breaking stride nor focusing his eyes towards the figure, Thrymr keeps trudging.
Unless given pause by Tassidar, Thrymr shoulders his mattock and tucks up his collar. Gifr is called to heel and walks beside Thrymr as the Ulfen walks with assertive ease into the clearing...
Thrymr squints his eyes before grimly speaking "Keep eyes on it, and I'll keep walking. Best way to see if it's friend or foul is by giving it an opportunity."
Thrymr shakes his head, but doesn't stop the trudge.
Spitting to the side as a prelude to show what Thrymr thinks of Tassidar's woodscraft Thrymr refutes "They aren't walking, carried for the most part. They know where they're going and could have pushed through the night... we don't. They took Hofn, they know what they're doing and we aren't catching them on the road. We find where they are and we use our eyes... then we see what needs doing."
"Orcs just wanted them dead - easier to kill them at Hofn. Their being taken for something else." letting imagination run to fill in the gaps.
Thrymr deadpans a flat response "Didn't stop to chat... too busy spilling blood." intimating that perhaps the intelligence of a steed was not something incidentally gained during the swirling melee of a fight while the rider and varg in question was shrouded in darkness.
With a modicum of sleep returned to my tortured brain matter and the time difference a mere 1.5 hours and nary worth the worry - I'm back on the active list and ready for more mute and word-thrift Ulfen-ness.
Thrymr continues to revel in the cold as easily as breathing, showing no signs of any discomfort - though he does cast a sly glance towards Gifr on occasion. The talk of the raiding party gives him a reason to reminisce and he ponders before adding his own words "The orcs were many, led by one astride a vit varg. He called the dark... and spoke words that the orcs heard." though he does not contribute to the small talk of the children or the honesty of the land they walk through.
Couple of more sleeps and then I'll be back in KL and back to full post making-ness.
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