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Vakghul nods in agreement and turns to his Warmaster, offering a few quick orders to ready their warriors but keep them back for now. Should they be needed, he will let them know with the signal. That done, he turns and heads off on foot with Grod. "I fear my skills are far more focused on instilling chaos and disorder. Perhaps it would be best if you were to challenge the chief?"
Vakghul shakes his head with a deep frown as he draws a hand up to tap at the nose of his mask. "Perhaps, but that may prove to be rather time consuming. Goblins are inherently bullies. If we can single out the strongest and best him in single combat, or prove ourselves as truly the most cruel, we will have their allegiance. Or at least, they will follow us until they think they can retake their pride. Perhaps it would be best to simply walk in?"
Vakghul nods approvingly to Grod and then turns to do much the same, waving his Warmaster over. "We march on the goblins. They will bend knee or we will break them. Prepare our warriors."
Vakghul, upon hearing this news, widens his stride to catch up to Grod and nods a swift greeting. "Goblins, then. They insult our ancestors. Shall we sweep over them like a cleansing tide? Or perhaps it would be best to simply take their chief and let them serve? I am in favor of the latter, but I could be swayed."
The Nine Sun clan and the Iron Dogs work together remarkably well, considering. Certainly, they had been neighbors for quite some time, but it is as though they were meant to be allies. Vakghul practically swells with pride as he helps load packs alongside members of both tribes. He does make certain to keep a weather eye on the horizon, though. Just in case.
Vakghul simply nods and makes a few quick notes on his map, blotting out Dogtown. He marks a rough path for the two tribes, rolls the map up, and summons one of the guards to gather his people. Preparations begin immediately and the star is not getting any closer.
"If it is conquest you seek, there are miles of open plains between us and the star that means to overtake the Nightmother," Vakghul replies, tilting his head to spit onto the dirt in one corner of his hut. The motion is particularly bizarre because the spit comes straight from the mask's jaws. "If you mean to save your people, I fear I do not know the best way to go. Our hunters and scouts have been finding less game every time they hunt. Just as I trust yours have, as well." He pauses again, this time thoughtfully as he surveys his map. "But if you mean to follow the signs. The dreams. Then I think it is the star that calls to us both. Each for different reasons, perhaps, but it calls just the same. "Should you elect to go in search of the star, you will need warriors. Allies. Friends, even. Should you choose that path, we will go with you."
Vakghul stays silent and simply listens through Grod's speech. Every so often, he nods along as his mask stares eerily. When the Iron Dogs chief pauses the first time to gather his thoughts, he interjects quickly. "I have taken no offense, Grod, chief of the Iron Dogs, and your people are welcome here. We saw the smoke from your home and have been preparing to offer aid." Again he quiets himself when Grod continues. Again, he finds himself nodding in agreement. He would have to be blind or stupid or just deluded to have missed all the signs. If it had been just the hunts, perhaps. But this... This reeks too much of the hidden hand of fate. He had thought it simply the cruelty of the Dawnchild manifest, but perhaps it is simply His way to send a message. It is always harder to talk to those who do not listen. Vakghul had been listening to all the wrong words on the wind, it seems. "You are welcome to any supplies we can spare. Kalea Bloodbane will show you what your people may take. Your people will spend the night within the village and you may leave when you are ready. However, I have seen the signs, as well. My people suffer just as yours have. So I will ask, where do you intend to go?"
When the Iron Dogs near the Nine Sun village, tribesmen of every shape and size can be seen toiling away. It seems that most everyone is gathering together their resources, though its purpose remains unclear. At least, until one actually enters the village, itself. A guard outside the edge of the encampment stops Grod and his scout, but ushers them in when they identify themselves. The Iron Dogs are expected. Within the village, every hut has three or four cots for the refugees to sleep on. The outside of every hut is painted in sweeping relief of all manner of solar and lunar imagery. What meager food and water remain is being stocked in the village center, where a fearsome orc woman sets to dividing it. A great spear carved from one massive tusk is strapped to her back. The pelt of a large cat adorns her head and shoulders. She casts narrowed eyes and a scowl at the visitors, but says nothing. It is obvious they will be watched. Finally, the guard leads the pair to a hut subtly larger than the others. He simply pulls back the front flap and gestures them in. Within, Vakghul and a hulking orc with twin stone axes look up from a dried skin stretched taut over a table. While his advisor wears leather plates strapped all across his body, the chief wears little. His vile mask of bone and feathers, a ragged cloth kilt, and the many ritualistic scars that cover his skin are all he wears. At Grod's approach, he offers only nod. "Welcome, my brother. If only better tidings brought your visit. Durak, see that water is brought for our guests. And ale." Durak dutifully nods and thumps his chest with a fist in his chief's direction, before heading out the door. He, too, offers up a lingering stare to the Iron Dogs. "Now, come. Let us sit and you may tell me what brings you here."
A whistling wind whips through the scrubland, picking up dried bits of brush. Twigs and cactus needles skitter across the darkened earth like night creatures emerging from their burrows. Above, the moon is practically eclipsed by a blinding star. Vakghul stands amidst the small shrubs staring up. At his back, great plumes of smoke stain the heavens an inky black. Before him, the quiet hustle and bustle of a village bedding down for the night sings through the air. The fingers of one hand drum against the chin of the grisly skull-mask he wears. It is as gnarled and scarred as the meager foliage around him. He has had the mask nearly as long as he can remember. Once, it was little more than carved vertebra. Now, dark feathers erupt from the back like a mane. A long, thin strip of dyed leather forms the tongue. Ash blackened cloth binds the monstrosity together. He recalls scrawling the vile runes into the bone. The sound of sharpened obsidian against bone. And, later, that same obsidian against his own flesh. He remembers the burn of every scar he etched into himself. The cool, calming kiss of the mask against his skin had quelled his pain. He hopes it will quell his mind, now. Instead, it whispers of what could be. What may come to pass. It tickles his mind with long, serpentine fingers. But it does not soothe. Later, when he has time to listen, perhaps the tune will change. For the moment, he simply sighs and shakes his head as he turns from the star that seems to grow brighter by the day. On the opposite horizon, the silhouette of an inferno's ghost blots out the stars. Dogtown burned. Vakghul makes a mental note to send what little aid they have, if it survives. If not, there will be refugees to house soon enough. Nightmother willing, they will do all they can. Dreams and omens be damned. The Irondogs may need help. Afterwards, there will be time for thoughts of migration.
Hello! Sorry for not posting earlier, life has been crazy. I'll throw something up in the gameplay thread ASAP. That said, I imagine the Nine Sun tribe would know most any orc tribe that does any sort of interaction with others. Especially those willing to part with stories and/or their dead.
Crunch complete! Take a peek at the Alias if you're interested in how it shook out and thank you again for the reflavored trait. Works beautifully with the character I have in mind. I'll get to work on his backstory and whatnot next.
How dare you keep us waiting! What kind of garbage DM does this?! Nah, no worries. Sorry to hear your PC's on the fritz. Hope you can get it sorted out soon!
Thank you! Good luck to you and everybody else as well. There are some really great characters in here. I don't envy having to pick from the lot of them.
Whoops. I meant to have my faction in there with mine, as well. If the wanderlust and exploration deal wasn't a big enough give-away, Grun's going to shoot for joining the Pathfinder Society. Eventually, anyway.
Hi there! I'd like to toss my hat into the ring, or rather toss Grun's hat in. His stat block and whatnot is (read: should) be all set up on the profile page, so feel free to take a peek. I've never actually played a fighter, much less one with the potential to wield weapons bigger than himself, so I'm pretty excited. Sadly, I'm fairly new to PbP Pathfinder stuff so there's no real posting habits or post quality for you to look into. Which I realize makes considering me for the campaign a bit of a leap of faith, but hopefully the quality of this post will give you a peek into what to expect? That's my plan, at least. As for my schedule, checking the thread (at least) once a day should be well within my capabilities. I love forum roleplay, so more than once a day is probably much more likely. That said, let's get on to the good stuff! Grun: Past:
Grun, contrary to what might be expected of a full-blooded orc, was not always the first to wade into the bloody melee. No, he was far more commonly found among those who ventured forth from orcish strongholds to blaze a new trail! Or at least, scout out where to raid or trade with next. Due to his stubborn demeanor and lack of light blindness due to regular staring contests with the sun that he was determined to win, he made for a halfway decent scout. He always had a deep and unbridled love for travel and new experiences, second only to his fondness for an orc woman from his tribe by the name of Krullgiss. He saw what they had as the closest thing to true love that an orc can have, complete with all sorts of affectionate bruises and grisly gifts that had once been living creatures. Together, they enjoyed hunting, trapping, and trading with the local humans of Trunau to their green hearts' content.
Regretfully, all of this was called to a very abrupt halt when the orcs began allying with the giants. Grun had no particular problem with the giants; sure, they were big and ugly and mean and rude, but so was he most mornings. Granted, he was the product of an unwilling union of an orcish ancestor and one of the giants' kin, but his people did much the same to other races. He could hardly fault them for such a temperament, especially when it must be so very hard to make clothes that fit their enormous bellies. No, it was when a handful of orcs were given over to the giants as a show of good faith for whatever ends they wished that his opinion soured. One of the orcs in question was his beloved and, as a lowly member of the scouts, neither of them had a say in the matter. Many tears were shed as she was carted off to never be seen again, fostering within Grun a deep and furious hatred. He committed the face of the giant that took her away to memory so that he might one day exact his vengeance. Though he tried to change the minds of his fellow orcs about allying with the giants, his skills lay far outside the realm of social interaction. Even for an orc, Grun was far from attractive or even remotely charismatic. Efforts went less than swimmingly, needless to say. Grun: Present: Unsatisfied to simply swallow his pride and budding rage, Grun left his tribe and sought out the local town for residence. All the better to bide his time and find some competent friends to help him with his half-cocked plans. The town itself was not particularly keen on having an orc take up residence within; trading temporarily was one thing, but orcs as literal neighbors was another entirely! There goes the neighborhood. Initially turned down when he attempted to simply enter the town and join their citizenry, Grun was not to be deterred. He built himself a shack out by the Barterstones and set about offering his "services" to anyone that needed an extra hand or a strong back. Fortunately for the man himself, one of the local villagers he helped was willing to take a chance on a strong, hardworking newcomer and convinced one of the Councilors to let him prove himself. While his wanderlust is rapidly growing to be too large of an itch to ignore, he has quelled the urge for the time being as he works tirelessly for the town anywhere he can in the hope of being accepted if not welcomed. He has since been in the town for about a month and does odd jobs that include anything from chopping wood to tending to farm animals to lifting heavy objects for old ladies.
As for the friends and enemies, I'm looking at his mate/girlfriend/wife as the close friend, the villager that vouched for him as the unknown friend. The known enemy would be the giant that took his sweetheart while the unknown enemy would be the orc that is/was acting as liaison with the giants and made that deal. If necessary, I can pick a pre-existing villager for that NPC or make one up. The same can be said of the orc and the giant, I just had not picked a name for them yet. |