Torden Ironcask's page

Torden looks back at the shack and the sounds that came from it the previous night.

His eyes narrow a bit as he speaks to Brynmor. "What's in there? Why would they avoid it? Is there something inside we could use to repel them?"

"Right now I fear for our camp. Perhaps the cannibals already know of it, have surmised it is our point of origin and now it is their target. I suggest, unless Mr. Brynmor has something to offer from inside, that we get back to our camp as quickly as possible. Or. . . dare I say it, intercept the cannibals if they are marching in some kind of attack."

Bardic Knowledge 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (13) + 3 = 16

Torden does his best to regain his composure after Brynmor’s sudden scream and exit from the hut.
“Blast it, boy!” He wants to tell the man how much he scared him, but decides against revealing his fear. Instead he opts for bridge building. “I’ve had my share of nightmares recently.” He casts his case to the shadows of the underbrush.

“Those drums . . . they are . . . I don't think they are a call to war. Perhaps a rite of some sort.“

He casts his gaze back at Brynmor. “Are you suggesting we go visit their village again? Mr. Witt, tell me you're joking. Let’s go back to the others. We need to find out how they are doing, and we need to build a boat. Isn’t that what we talked about? Building a boat?”

Torden’s silence deepens. Up to this point, shipwreck and all, this has been merely a wondrous adventure—slightly more exciting and exotic than his diplomatic tours, but an adventure and little more. Now, however, the thrill of the battle worn off, Origen’s condition not only worsening but also becoming more mysterious, and now Jonagher reminding him that they are on an island—shipwrecked and isolated, the dwarf feels a bit of fear and a bit of sadness. His songs and the library of epic tales he normally can recall in a moment have left him.

“Your friend Origen has proven a strong ally in our journey thus far, through the museum debacle and now on this island forgotten by the gods, but I heard what you heard and saw what you saw. His condition is concerning not only because of what it might do to him, but what it might do to us. We are fortunate to have come across this Brynmor, but then he starts speaking infernal. This is bad business.”

Talk of fighting the cannibals only troubles him more, until Jonagher mentions the lighthouse, signaling a ship or even building a boat.

“Yes, yes, getting off the island. We should focus on that. We’ve forgotten our purpose for coming here. We’ve spent too much time exploring the island, we need to just get off of it. But building a boat? I don’t know that I could help much—though I’m willing to try just about anything once.”

Torden spends much of the discussion staring back into the jungle, looking for anyone or anything that might have followed them.

Perception 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5

He only glances back to the group when is name is mentioned, but even then he finds himself quickly distracted by Origin and his condition. Torden shows no concern for the sorcerer and doesn't move to care for him. Rather Torden's brow knits in both curiosity and concern. Only the feel of Jonagher glancing at him, and some non-spoken communication between the two draws his gaze from Origen to the half-elf.

Did he hear what I heard Torden wonders to himself.

Flummoxed by the comment, or perhaps winded from the previous events and the climb to the shelter, Torden huffs a bit before responding to Jonagher.

"Fleeing? I was not fleeing. The plan was to fall back, no? A tactical maneuver. I simply . . . executed the plan better than you all."

The thrill of the battle--the adrenaline--leave Torden and he takes in the carnage. He finds this fight more unsettling than others given that the dead are humans. The fact that they seem to have resorted to a base (and perhaps evil) form of existence is little comfort.

Finally shaking off the effects, he takes to following the rest. "Well met Mr. Drakh. Your arrival was most fortuitous. Please, please you all, my legs are not as long as yours and this jungle undergrowth hinders me even more."

Torden draws out his hammer and moves forward and into the center of the path, and urges the cannibals forward, hoping to draw them closer to his allies.

"C'mon dogs," he roars.
I think, depending on the vegetation movement restrictions, Torden moves to L14

Torden prepares his sleep spell, "I really want to put someone to sleep," he mutters to himself as much as to anyone else.
He readies to target the back most cannibal in the on-coming patrol.

Torden does his best to follow Isandril and Yuuwa into the trees.

Stealth 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8

"Gads, these bugs are indeed bothersome. Some of them are as big as my head." Torden whispers loudly to the sailor.

Having seen the fire, heard the drums, and felt his lungs and heart pump with the recent run, Torden's adrenaline pushes him forward with the others.

His usual trepidation is lost in the excitement, his voice takes on the growling dwarven quality he often suppresses. "Yes, yes, let's take 'em on."

Torden hurries after the others, bent now on not getting left behind for the sake of curiosity. Nonetheless, once down the trail a bit, he takes time to inform his friends of something he believes he's discovered.

"Those drums . . ." he breathes, "they're signal drums . . ." again a breath, "they're calling back the scouts," breath, "due to the fire and apparent attack on the village." He takes a deep breath. "There may be some coming from ahead of us, making their way back."

He continues moving forward in retreat along with the others.
double move or run if needed to stay with Isandril and Origen

Torden is engrossed by the conflagration and the return of the drumming. It sounds so deep . . .

Turning and seeing that everyone else has made their way back down the trail, Torden snaps out of his fascination and head after them.

Torden’s curiosity overcomes the trepidation he has had about the conflict with the cannibals. He inches closer to the bend in the path to get a better look at what was happening.

Just a double move (though partial) to get to square AC3—trying to stay out of the firelight and the sight of the cannibals, but also trying to get a good picture of what is going on. ---Clearly no longer holding any action.

Torden flinches at the sounds of the chaos erupting down in the village and the snuffling of the lizard so close by.

He fights to keep his concentration as his legs attempt to get him moving and his throat struggles to push out the words, let’s go, let’s go.

He remains firm, standing by his companions, ready to accept whatever challenge emerges from the jungle.

After all the build up and anticipation, the sudden burst of action sets Torden back on his heels. Upon recovering he notes the success of the fire elemental on the guard post and shifts his attention to the trail. He prepares his sleep spell, ready to cast it on the first thing coming down the path that is not friendly.

readied action, Sleep on first baddie through.

Perception 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11

"I can see okay, but all of this foliage hinders my sight a bit."

Torden then prepares to cast a sleep spell on the first sign of discovery by the watchmen.

Torden's stress increases as the conversation continues. He is sure their presence will soon be revealed, either by the animal ahead or some sort of sentry or scout.

"I say we do it now if we're going to do it. Jonagher, please try to make sure there are no innocents in the huts before you set fire to them, and we will all use our best judgment as to who is a threat to us and those left back at the camp."
As he talks, his voice slowly gets louder and louder. Upon recognizing his own volume he returns to a whisper.
You all seem to be well-trained in combat, and can use less lethal forms of attack should an opponent warrant such mercy. But please, let us get moving."

Torden listens to the others. Yuuwa’s joke is lost on him, as he only heard a few of the words she spoke. He scratches his beard and occasionally shifts his gaze toward the cannibals and back the way they came.
“I am with Yuuwa in my fear of what may be inside the huts. However, as to waiting here and raining arrows down upon these fiends is more than acceptable . . . though I do not carry a weapon for doing so. And believe me, when the call to flee goes up, I will move quickly.”

Torden whispers to the group.

My initial thought was to startle the animal, driving it toward the camp, thereby distracting the guards while we circle around them. However, we'd need to first figure out if it is some sort of guard animal and/or the type to startle.
I also have "sleep" that I believe I'm in range for--I just don't know how powerful (how many HD they have) as to whether I could get one or both of them.

Perception 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (5) + 4 = 9

"What is that you say Jonagher? Snakes? Are there snakes about?"

Torden again looks to the underbrush for any movement.

Torden takes Isandril's words to heart. He breaths in deeply and the grins.

"Indeed, tales to report.

"Let us continue south. I will stay near the rear and keep my eyes and ears peeled for anyone who dares track this group through the jungle. And I'll try to be as quiet as I can."

Perception 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (4) + 4 = 8
Stealth 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7

"These plants continues to fascinate me, I will have to study it more closely and write about it some."

"Hey did you see that bird in yonder tree . . . magnificent plumage, mayhaps I could sketch it."

"Look here at this lizard . . ." Torden watches the small reptile scurry into the undergrowth and suddenly remembers his dreams of vipers and moves as close to the center of the path as possible, eyes flitting back and forth to the foliage and what it may hide.

Torden sits on a rock and puts his head in his hands. The heat, the hunger, and now thoughts of despair creep into his mind. He wanted to come along on the voyage in the search of knowledge and adventure--he had no plans on being shipwrecked with cannibals.

Jonagher was right. They would more than likely have to fight and kill some of these poor sods. Misfortune had placed these cannibals here every bit as much as it had those from the Jenivere

Even if they did fend off the nasty locals, the same fate might still befall Torden and his mates.

He looks again at the unconscious man. Is possible that he could revert to some base state much as this poor fellow had?

Shaking the thoughts from his mind, he gets back to his feet.

"No sense crying over spilled ale," he says. "Let's get moving."

The cliche is sadly weak for the heavy moment, but Torden is happy just to get some light words out of his mouth and into the air. In an attempt to not let the others see his creased brow, the bard presses ahead of them into the jungle.

Linguistics 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15
Knowledge Religion (Bardic) 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (10) + 3 = 13
Knowledge History 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19

"Easy now, fella. Easy. We've no intent to harm ya." Torden continues to try and calm the man.

"Don't know if he understands me or not. I certainly don't know what he's sayin' or even what language he's about. Still, yer all correct, those are the symbols of Asmodeus. And as memory serves, when the Chelaxians first came down to Sargava, to claim it as their own, they lost a ship called Thrune's Fang . Could be this boy here is a decedent of that expedition.
And I don't think they're too happy to see us."

Torden huffs and puffs as he struggles with the last few steps of the climb and then surveys all that the others have taken in.

"Sorry for the delay," he pants. "There are so many interesting plants on this island, growing in the most unusual patterns."

He glances at Jonager as he describes the trap and then down the slope up which he just ascended. "Oh. Oh? Oh! They were placed that way by men. Yes, of course they were."

Then he turns to Origen. "Heal him? But," Torden looks at the sharpened teeth of the man and his strange tattoos. "MMMM, well, yes, I suppose he might provide useful information. Though I do wonder what we will do with him then." Torden worriedly looks at his companions, uncertain as to their motives.

Cure Light 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (1) + 1 = 2

Perception 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

"Thank you for your efforts to assist me Master Origin, but I think I can make it."

Climb take 10

Torden carefully attempts to pick his way up the slope, slinging his hammer and fumbling through the underbrush.

"I see him too," Torden whispers.

Torden then begins to chant slowly and then suddenly burst out in a roar.

Spell "Cause Fear." I'm not sure of the range at this point. If that is not appropriate, then Torden will draw and ready should anyone else appear.

Torden thanks Yuuwa as he dons his armor and gathers his gear. "I've certainly had a bad couple of days--perhaps a day in the cool breeze of the waterfront, in just my skivvies is what I need." He grins to himself if to no one else. "Okay, okay, to the village."

Torden scans the skies and the underbrush as they move--and knowing his stealthiness is weak, brings up the year--by a few yards so as not to give away Jonager.

Perception check 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (19) + 3 = 22
Stealth 1d20 ⇒ 10

"Next time: duck. Now rest, your watch is over, even if you cannot sleep, let your body recover from the combat."

"Doubt not, young lady, I'd prefer duck to that thing," Torden's stomach grumbles as her positive energy takes away the worst of the pain and seals the wound.

He needn't be told twice, but makes for a quiet place to rest. There he offers a quick prayer of thanksgiving and supplication to Grunndinnar in hopes that his torn arm can be completely healed. Then he takes the step of stripping off his armor and lying down to rest, hoping to see nothing more until the sun is in the sky.

Fort save 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (20) + 1 = 21

Torden howls in pain as the things rips into his arm, but channels his fury into his dagger attack.

Though empowered by his successful attack, he scrambles at the call of Origin's voice and the hope of cover.

Perception 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5
Knowledge Nature 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (20) + 7 = 27
Torden roars, recognizing the dimorphodon from a tome he perused prior to their 'landing' on the island. "Careful, lads, those flying lizards generally don't come after prey our size unless there's more 'n one of them."

"Origen, Origen," Torden yells loud enough for all to hear as he kicks the mumbling sorcerer. "A bird! A bird in the night sky!"

He quickly grabs, two daggers, one to throw and one to hold at the ready should the creature swoop down at him.

attack roll if possible (not adjusted for range--do so as you see fit) 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 2 = 16 dmg if applicable 1d4 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 1 = 5

Torden looks at the others, a bit dejected.

"Okay, then rest we shall. I will be happy to take the middle watch."
He offers, but doubts that he will get much rest during the first watch.

Seeing the others struggling, Torden works to set the camp and prepare some food and find some water.

"Jonager," Torden cries out from the rear of the marching order. "Gads, for a bit I thought a constrictor or viper had selected you for supper. 'Twas just a vine, eh? A trap? Someone doesn't want company."

Forced march 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (15) + 1 = 16

Perhaps his dwarven blood, or perhaps his curiousity about the drums, or maybe his fear of falling asleep and dreaming of snakes pushes Torden to keep marching.

"C'mon Isandril, you'll be fine. Keep moving. We should keep moving."

Torden thinks back to his dreams from the night prior.

"Let's press on. We've rested enough. We should find Bran's attackers--whether they be in a village or on one of these wrecks. We can always circle back around and inspect the shipwrecks later--I don't think they're going anywhere."

After examining some of the troubling shacks, Torden sits in the sand and observes the spores as they thaw. Soon, his mind begins to piece together some tale he heard long ago and the event just witnessed.

"Ah," he finally says, regaining his feet. "Over there, those plants," he points to the Yellow plants they'd seen from above. "Yellow Musk Creeper, indeed. Yes. Those plants are the ones we should avoid, those re the plants the will eat us rather than the other way around. I dare say we don't need to turn completely carnivorous, just cautious."

Hearing Jonagher tell of his discovery, Torden's mood again sours. " The Bloody Doll. . . how horrid. This place gets worse and worse. Why not The Throaty Mermaid ? Though a disreputable ship, I've heard, the name is much more lively."

Torden stands quietly over the few leafy remnants, stunned by the swiftness of the things dispatch.
“Well,” he says after overcoming his shock. “That was not a ‘zombie’ as we might think of it. The undead are surrounded by true death and rot. This creature had life, plant life to be sure, but life nonetheless.”
He pauses and thinks of the infection he recently incurred from the thorns.
“I can’t say that I know enough to truly believe that those thorns may have eventually resulted in a similar fate for me, but I think it is safe to assume that there is some aggressive form of plant around here that we should be aware of.”

Torden then moves to assist in the searching of the settlement.

Perception 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19

"Ah . . . vegetation, I see," finally understanding Isandril's previous comment. He turns his attention from the treeline and to the . . . villager?
Knowledge [Bardic] 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (16) + 3 = 19
Then Torden moves around the thing, in an attempt to draw its attention and/or provide flanking, if it can be flanked.

"Torden, what goes on within this castaway village?" She grips her shield and holds her trident ready, while kneeling behind a decripit shelter. While she looks for what holds Jonagher's focus, her eyes are constantly drawn to the horizon, scanning the shipwrecks for other signs of life.

"Starstone fall on me, it appears more of the walking dead inhabit the village. Isandril yelled something else, but I missed it. It sounded like he said vegitation, mayhaps there are more in the tree line. Let's catch up."

Torden moves as far toward what is presumably combat as he is able before initiative (and on his turn if he needs to.)

"Oh, much better, thank you Ms. Majid," Torden stretches and dons his armor. "Though I must say my rest was fretful, full of snake-filled dreams."
climb 1d20 ⇒ 5

"Bah, that climb doesn't look too difficult."

"Now those flowers, they look interesting," he continues.
Knowledge (Nature) 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (4) + 7 = 11

Torden scribbles in his journal as the group breaks camp, though he often looks distracted, glancing to the underbrush and rubbing his ankles. His eyes look tired and his skin is still irritated from the viper nettles.

"You know, I can make this hardtack taste like roast beef with magic, but I can't do anything about the texture. Torden, you should put that in your chronicle to inspire some academic to research one."

Origen hands some rations to his friend. Those viper nettle stings look as if they still hurt. A lot. "How are you feeling, Torden?"

"Huh?" He doesn't look at Origen, but takes the hardtack from him. His eyes remain fixed on the underbrush, pen poised above the page. "Yes. . .academic research on vipers . . . yeah, that would be good."

Survival 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (5) - 1 = 4

“Uh,” Torden again looks worried as he rubs at the welts on his forearms, “you think those folks might have been the ones who tried to tote off Bran?
“Yeah, let’s rest here—no fire. I can take middle watch.”

Glancing down the slope the whole time Torden unslings his drum, his warhammer, and takes off his armor and shield. Prior to resting during the first watch, he chants out a spell, invoking the name of Grundinnar-the Peacekeeper.

Cure Light 1d8 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6 current HP 14/15

"Ahh Miss Majid, I thank you," Torden says after she has called on the power of Gozreh to aid him. He pushes back the urge to chastise her for her commentary.
Then Torden eyes the berries. He knows he should take them all back to Aerys, but he eats some anyway, to see if they will cure him from his sickness.

-------

"Perhaps those folks down in the shelters would put us up for the night?" Torden offers hopefully.

Torden fights against the cramp in his stomach, and curses the fact that even in the oppressive heat of the jungle he still feels chilled.

"Why might they not like us, Mr. Witt? It might only be that they don't know us yet."

With that, Torden turns and retches again.

"Well that was considerably more difficult and painful than I'd first thought. Those thorns are nasty. Cursed vines."

Knowledge (nature) 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (5) + 7 = 12 would eating some berries counter the poison?
Also--at 5HP

"Ahh, the vines," Torden replies after studying them for a long time.
"Those are the viper nettles that Aerys spoke of. They contain a berry that she's been looking for. Let me see if I can gather some for her."

DM Berwick--not sure what type of roll you'd want here (if at all), but if you do want one, go ahead and make it for me. Otherwise, I just gather some to take to her.
As for the tracks--I'll follow what the others think is best.

"What do you make of those, Torden?"

Torden listens in on the conversation regarding giant crabs and the possibility of men being the hunted. The heat becomes a little more intense and he pulls his leather armor away from his neck.

"What do you make of those, Torden?"

He continues to wring his hands around his warhammer, tightening his grip as he considers both the tracks and the dense jungle.

"What do you make of those, Torden?"

"Huh? Oh, yes, uh, the vines, well . . ."

Knowledge Nature 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (10) + 7 = 17

"Yeah, together, let's stick together." The unfamiliar environment, the signs of the predator and the possibility of cannibals or some such threat has shaken Torden. "But you stealthy folks, you take the lead."
Torden puts himself near the rear of the group, certain that something nasty will leap from the dense brush with little or no warning.

"Blast it, Origin," he curses at the sorcerer who found and stepped on the only dry twig on the island, "watch yourself."

Perception 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18
Stealth 1d20 ⇒ 16

"Yeah, together, let's stick together." The unfamiliar environment, the signs of the predator and the possibility of cannibals or some such threat has shaken Torden. "But you stealthy folks, you take the lead."
Torden puts himself near the rear of the group, certain that something nasty will leap from the dense brush with little or no warning.

"Blast it, Origin," he curses at the sorcerer who found and stepped on the only dry twig on the island, "watch yourself."

Perception 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7
Stealth 1d20 ⇒ 11

Torden looks hesitantly around at the indications of the predator that his companions pointed out to him.
"I hate to leave whatever it is at our backs, but if we can avoid a fight and believe it might have no interest in our camp, then let's avoid it."

Torden continues to wring his hands nervously around the grip of his hammer.

"If we're gonna move on, let's get goin'. Pretty soon whatever it is will get a whiff of Mr. Witt. . . Though that might serve to repel it."

Perception 1d20 + 3 + 1 ⇒ (4) + 3 + 1 = 8
The glare off the water is too much for Torden to see much of anything, but he feels relieved to have the hat on his head relieving the pressure of the elements.

Survival 1d20 - 1 ⇒ (19) - 1 = 18
"I see the trail. But we should probably close the gap a bit."