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Vort shakes his head violently to knock the cobwebs loose. "Ugh. Vort feel like he's been drinking Numerian Ale all night after a hunt. Strange magicks make Vort mad. Now Vort mad! Raargh!" Vort charges (+2 to hit, -2 to AC) forward with his greataxe and hacks at the strange construct.
Vort curses beneath his breath at the sight of the strange apparition. "Foul Ustalavic sorcery. Bah."
Vort continues forward, giving himself a slight lead from the party in case he attracts attention.
Grethel's lights illuminate the surrounding area. Vort takes the lead as they head out into the darkness.
Vort heads toward the light, greataxe in hand. Here goes nothing.
Certain that the moment of danger has passed, the barbarian preps his gear once more. Vort straps on his armor and hefts his greataxe. The weight feels good in his hands. He anticipates sinking it into warm flesh again soon.
Yes. Sorry to see him go.
"Yes. Beat the bush to make the snakes stick their head out. We are the snakes..."
Vort ties his gear together and throws his pack across his broad back. He slaps the greataxe back into his massive paw and nods. "Vort is ready!"
"So do we fortify ourselves here? No tracks to follow it seems."
Vort begins strapping his armor into place when his ears catch an errant sound from beyond the house walls. Realizing he doesn't have time for such luxuries, he drops the plate to the ground and snatches up his greataxe. "Bah."
Vort's eyes snap open at the first sound from Alex. He rolls over and dons his breastplate in a precise almost mechanical fashion honed from years of hunting on the plains of Numeria. He tilts his head to try to catch the sound from outside. .
Vort finishes loading wood into the fireplace and then finds a nice corner to set up his bedroll. He carefully lays his greataxe and x-bow to the sides within close reach. He doffs his breastplate and begins the process of quieting his mind to drop to sleep. "Vort keep middle watch. Let spellcasters rest."
Vort begins searching for wood and tinder for the fireplace. "Perhaps a fire will draw hungry eyes our way."
Vort nods in agreement. "Yes. This looks good."
We'll follow the trail to the wolves directly.
Vortigorn's brow wrinkles. "Vort no smell bad." The barbarian sniffs his arm pit. "Vort no smell good either." Vort shrugs his shoulders and hefts his greataxe over his shoulder. "Smelling good for tracks. Find tracks. Find werewolves." Vort begins the search for tracks at the edge of town.
"Wild beasts should be put down."
Vort nods and motions almost imperceptibly with his eyes to the figure following behind them. "We are followed still..."
Vortigorn's eyes instinctively snap open at the break of dawn. He glances out to see the fading purple veil of night slowly rolling back to allow the new day to rise. He stretches his limbs and cracks his neck to try to relieve an annoying twinge. Vort checks his gear and then leaves his room to hit the streets below. After a brisk jog around town, Vort returns to the inn. He follows the enticing scent of a fresh cooked breakfast into the main hall. Vort claps a meaty hand on Llano's back as he settles into a seat at the table. The barbarian minces few words as he digs into the steaming plate of meat and eggs. His freshly worked sweat makes a small puddle on the floor beneath the oblivious barbarian. Vort listens intently as he eats. He takes in the discussion of the prison and the cult with an occasional nod, grunt and chortle between bites. Vortigorn pushes away his third plate and rises. He stretches his arms overhead and twists his back before settling his gaze back on his comrades. He slams his fist into his palm. "Enough talk. Vort is ready. We hunt!"
Meanwhile. "Zzzzzzzzzz.....
Vort nods at Llano. "Yes. My axe will be ready!"
Vortigorn welcomes the diversion of momentary chatter with Zokar. "I work for the Professor. But I come for the hunt. I seek a great beast. A beast of many forms. Man. Wolf. Bear. It has slain many of my people. I will take its head and put the restless spirits of the lost warriors to rest..."
Vort tosses his gear in the corner and spreads his tokens to Desna throughout the room until he feels comfortable with their arrangement. He peers out the window to the dark sky flickering with stars overhead and relaxes with thoughts of the Song of the Spheres floating through his head.
Vortigorn finishes his meal, pays the innkeeper and heads to his room.
Vort flips a gold coin to the innkeeper and raises the mug to his lips once more. He stops short and thinks for a moment. "Yes, friend Hans. Your words are wise. Our enemies could be closer than we think. We'd be best prepared. Vort shall gnosh instead." Vort signals for the innkeeper to bring a leg of the house meat to the table.
Vortigorn nods to Grethel. "Hmm. Yes. Come to me. That will make it easier to hit them with my axe." Vort raises his mug. "Here's to a long life and a merry one. A quick death and an easy one. A pretty girl and an honest one. A cold pint-- and another one." The barbarian drains his mug in one chug.
Vort drops a gold piece on the bar to order a drink. He finds himself a nice dark spot in a corner to watch the rest of the room.
Vortigorn turns to Johannes revealing a small fetish from his belt. His thick fingers run along the deep engraving covering the surface. It resembles slightly a skeletal deer running along a riverside as though it were a tracing of a constellation of stars. "I do not mean to offend you, friend Johannes. The Tiger tribe performs such rituals to honor our foes. These marks speak to the spirit of our battle and to the gods who watch over us. We thank our foes for giving us strength. Today and forever, we are one under the stars." Vort slaps the inquisitor on the shoulder and turns to head to the Laughing Demon for a libation.
Vort turns the jagged skull fragment in his fingers and feels torn between inscribing a proper sigil that would appease the creative nature of his goddess Desna and scrawling a mark to signify the strength of his Tiger clan. Vort casually tosses Mard's head on the burning body. The severed head lands with a wet thud scattering sparks and sticking to the burning corpse.
lol *fingers crossed*
It seems like the boards are finally working again.
Vortigorn will continue working on his fetish made from a fragment of Rufus'(?) skull. .
Vort picks up various beakers, flasks and tweezers scattered along the camp perimeter to return to the Doctor's wagon. He nods his head in thanks to Johannes, but inside feels quietly disappointed in his own fear in the face of last night's blood moon.
Vort quietly scoots Rufus' head into a small sack. He looks forward to drying it out and fashioning skull fragments into a proper fetish to honor the hunters of his Tiger tribe during their first bit of downtime. The barbarian seeks out a soft spot in the treeline to lay back and cast his eyes to the stars. His thoughts race back to the fierce encounter with the lycanthropes and his failure to track the horses. Vortigorn's eyes close and exhaustion overtakes him.
Vort nods in quiet resignation. "The hunt will wait for another day..."
"Vort will track..." The barbarian bends to a knee and begins working his fingers in the dirt.
Website's been down every time I tried to check in yesterday.
Vort nods in agreement. "Yes, but the spider needs no light...to find the fly."
"Vort need light."
"Hmmph. And don't swing at Vort musk. Takes many months to brew."
"Doctor...something moves to the north...are we hunter or hunted?" Gritting his teeth to fight through his deep seated Kellid superstitions about beasts that walk in shadows, Vort readies his greataxe as he walks alongside the doctor.
I went ahead and moved us over. I don't want to act of turn, so let me know if we need to wait.
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