Ónar's page

Hey folks - apologies for my absence over the last week, as I touched on previously was burned out with work.

Bad news is things are continuing to ramp up over the next month here in my Ops role, and I’ve a bunch of front loading to do ahead of my planned seasonal family vacation to Dubai for 2 weeks from 12-29 Dec.

Knock on has been I’ve been mentally wiped and struggled for motivation and impetus. I’ve always taken pride in being a player who didn’t just post for postings sake, and enjoy the role-play as much as the roll-play.

As such I’ve came to a hard decision that I’m in a real period of creative inertia and cannot (at present) give the games I play in the input and investment they so richly deserve.

With the exception of a couple of (very) long running games I’m taking the very, very tough decision to drop out of the majority of the pbp games I’m in.

Want to take the opportunity to thank you all for the creative collaboration, and particularly our illustrious DM Wandering Loremaster whose brought alive Middle Earth so admirably.

My hope is down the line in 2021 that I’ll be recharged and refocussed enough to resume indulging this amazing hobby of ours on a broader scope. As/when that happens I hope to be lucky enough to game alongside some of you again.

Meantime I sadly will bid you adieu, and thanks again for the patience, understanding and most of all fun and memorable moments in Middle Earth.

Work has wiped me out this week guys, been a long weekend of duty calls and after action meetings. Likely to be closer to Friday before I'm in position to post. Please bot Onar as/when required.

DC15 Perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (19) + 1 = 20
DC15 Investigation: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13

Ónar too spies the bloodstains, but lacks the ken to draw further conclusions.

"Ach. Who leaves their arms and armour? Makes no sense... even at haste ye would grab a blade or bulwark!"

Listening he nods slowly at the others conclusions, then looks to where Morwen spies further insight;

"Canny eye Dúnedain! So beyond the portal holds the threat?"

DC14 Wisdom: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 1 = 12

Ónar heeds the words of his companions, but feels the doom as his hard gaze falls upon the sundered doors of the keep;

"That does nae bode well... Our work do not just crumble through the passage of time. We dwarves are made to last, as are the places we build..."

As his words settle, the dwarf's brow furrows in concern and melancholy.

Ónar eyes his own bruises and nicks, with a frown;

"Och. Ne'er a scratch on my whiskers. Agree let us press on."

Despite his strike going wayward Ónar grit his teeth and lines up another hacking blow at the stubborn arachnid;

Martial Melee (Great Axe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (19) + 4 = 23
Damage (Slashing): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (4) + 2 = 6

As one spider is dispatched, Ónar attempts to do the same with the other.

The doughty dwarf swinging his axe once more...

Martial Melee (Great Axe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7
1d12 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 2 = 10

... but weary from the road he misses the mark!

At the ambush Ónar bellows his anger and intent;

"More o' these fell attercops! Have at 'em!"

He brings his great axe to bear upon the creature with gusto! (Melee Attack vs Spider 2)

Martial Melee (Great Axe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21
Damage (Slashing): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8

24th APRIL

Ónar listens, brow furrowing and rising at Bergur's tale like the ebb and flow of the tide.

The warrior mulls his thoughts, then speaks;

"Our dwarven smithies oft say that the true shape an' character of a blade or bulwark is not revealed until it is truly tested. Reckon folk are like metal, an' life is the forge we're all made in."

25th APRIL

Ónar scans the poor wretch's corpse for clues to his life...

Investigation DC15: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (13) + 2 = 15

"Manacle marks on wrists an' ankles. This starved scarecrow o' a Viglunder was enslaved or a prisoner once."

Satisfied the thugs have turned tail, Ónar keeps out of the way as those more skilled with battlefield dressing take charge.

"We dwarves are peerless builders, but are not so good to mend things..."

Once Bergur is settled and attended to the doughty warrior keeps vigil with axe and pipe handy.

At the Barding's pained question, the dwarf raises a bushy brow and mutters an aside from his sentry point;

"No need to explain laddie, we all have been felled by foes. Part of the learning curve of a warrior!"

As Harry moves to tend to Bergur's wound Ónar instead holds position, placing a booted foot defiantly o'er the soldier he downed;

"So ye'll tell tales to yer Lord? Will that tale mention a staunch son of the Lonely Mountain? Or defiant daughter o' the Mark?"

The dwarf shifts his hands upon his axe, the positioning for a killing blow;

"Be the answer nay, then yer welcome to come collect your friend here. Yet if ye have a notion to suggest you craven louts almost bested fighters such as our company boasts... Well then laddie, I'll be taking the lying tongue an' the head that house it."

As the response from their foes turns more lethal, Ónar's mood blackens, but he continues to batter his axe haft into the soldier;

Great Axe (Marital Melee): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21
Damage/Type (Non-Lethal): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

Seeing the leader fall, Ónar almost smiles, then presses home another attack, battering one of the thugs with his axe haft;

Great Axe (Martial Melee): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (18) + 4 = 22
Damage/Type (Non Lethal): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8

At the leader's jibe, Ónar's deep frown furrows to a scowl;

"Only need one dwarf, an' one axe to fell you pack o' blaggards!"

The warrior moves forward with intent, slamming the haft of his great axe into the nearest foe;

Great Axe (Martial Melee): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (12) + 4 = 16
Damage/Type (Non Lethal): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 2 = 5

Also just catching up - RL is still stymieing my efforts to get time, energy and creative spirit for posting. Might also be slow, but steady for the forthcoming wee while.

Ónar grimset as his want, stands and listens, before adding his voice to the group's collective thoughts;

"Viglar we'll handle, that much I'm sure. Might invoke a blood-feud with his Fa but that's the morrow's problem..."

He grimaces as the local fare is presented and when shown what constitutes a bed, can barely conceal his contempt at the pauper lifestyle;

"I care not for their watery vittles, nor lack of a sturdy bed and mattress. Makes ye wonder if this Druscilla had the right idea to take to the road..."

DC13 Con Save: 1d20 + 5 - 3 ⇒ (3) + 5 - 3 = 5 ...

His poor night's sleep does little to alleviate the dwarf's dark mood and he arises bleary eyed, flea-bitten and foul-mooded...

Cheers Illyria - much appreciated.

Given my boards moniker is Black Dow I'm all about the grim dark lol.

I'd be definitely interested :)

9-16 APRIL 2947: The Journey to Drusilla's Steading

Ónar listens intently to the words spoken by Viglund, then his companions.

Away from the ears of their host he eyes the company warily;

”I like not this task. You know me, and my people well enough my friends. We do not shirk red-handed deeds when called upon. Yet this trial set by Lord Viglund feels foul no?”

The dwarf’s brow creases in thought, nodding at Morwen’s take;

”We have only his word that this fallen chief, this Drusilla, is a murderous captain. Perhaps this is true, perhaps not. He admits she is a nail in his shoe. Best we find the truth as well as this rebel, lest we are but convenient instruments of his revenge and pride.”

He nods with a hard smile at Illyria’s words;

”Aye Daughter of the Mark. I hope you are right… but I fear you are no.”

13 APRIL 2947

”Mouth of Dust…”

A proud smile crosses the dwarves features, not an expression you often have seen from the warrior.

”Is it no beautiful my friends? Weather’d and worn as it is, the craftsmanship is still plain to see.”

He nods at Harry’s words;

”Aye Master Kettlegrass has the right o’ it. Inside there will be caches aplenty. Treasures of my folk long hidden and perhaps lost… Should we find them? I do not know. Somethings are best kept lost. Others seek to be found. For both reasons weal… and woe…”

Lost in his thoughts, the warrior silently stares at the stonework and his expression returns to a more solemn, grim set.

Hey folks - just a wee update that I've had some much needed time to recharge and refocus - very much appreciate the kind words and understanding from everyone.

I've had a brilliant start to the holiday weekend and have a busy day ahead, but hoping to have a post up shortly.

In short - I'm back, but won't be in full flow in all my games until tomorrow :)

If possible Ónar will also use the Short Rest burn a HD and recover 1d10 ⇒ 8 HP

Folks, just a heads up that my posting might be erratic this week. Got a bunch of RL stuff that is stymieing my creative flow and has frankly ground me down mentally...

I’m still missing my boy terribly, and while we’ve discussed getting another rescue pup of late, a sense of “replacement guilt” has weighed on me heavily. Additionally while gym's reopen in a week’s time here in Scotland, but it's been a long time coming, and that lack of “iron therapy” has been acutely felt of late in my mental wellbeing.

Lastly, but not least, I often set myself up as a defacto union rep in my workplace. Lately there’s been some issues that have put me at loggerheads with upper-management, whilst trying to do right by co-workers and the small team I’m responsible for. Sleepless nights and frustration has ensued, which has also contributed to my headspace being less than stellar.

I’ve taken Friday off, to bookend a bank holiday this weekend. Hoping to use the time to recharge and deload. If my posting is off, or I go awol for a day or three hope you’ll understand why in light of above.

Thanks ahead of time for your collective patience and understanding.

Gary/BD/Ónar

24 MARCH 2947

Ónar peers at the scroll, lip curling in dismissal.

"Best not to read such fell lettering. Burn it I say."

29 MARCH 2947

As the group trudge through the muck and marsh, the dwarf's sullen demeanour does little to abate.

Athletics DC13: 1d20 + 2 - 1 ⇒ (13) + 2 - 1 = 14

Ónar merely scowls and bobs his bearded head at the Dúnedain's question;

"Been better lass. Been worse."

Ónar continues to puff, mulling what he sees and hears between the two warriors as the battle with words;

DC10 Will vs Corruption: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (7) + 1 = 8 ...

The fraying of the bonds, remind this Son of The Lonely Mountain of hearth tales of Thorin Oakenshield, of a warrior's pride before all things especially their companions.

"Best you lasses leave it there eh, before cutting words become cutting iron..."

He shifts uneasily, tapping out his pipe on his boot with a rueful shake of his head as the cloud of melancholy hangs o'er the doughty dwarf.

"We should move on, this place stinks of Rukh and their foulness. Better climes and the road will serve to clear heads and cool blood perhaps."

Grimset and mirthless, Ónar grabs his pack and looks to move onward.

As the war of words between Morwen and Illyria, Ónar raises a bushy eyebrow and produces his pipe as he wryly mutters to Harry;

"Best settle in Master Kettlegrass. This is a battle not easily one... could take a while."

The dwarf sparks up his pipe as listens intently...

Ónar pauses, breathing heavy and leaning on his axe as he tips the nod to the nearby Bergur;

"Well fought Son o' Ragni. Well fought indeed lad."

The dwarves gaze flits over the downed host of foes, as he tallies up the orcish blood spilled;

"So how many did ye all get? By my own reckonin' I did fir three... an' the leader who counts double! So five by my axe!"

Would be remiss not to keep a tally of who felled what :)

ROUND 7

Gauging that both Morwen and Illyria can likely hold their foes Ónar rushes to assist Bergur against his orc;

"Hold lad! Ye'll have the aid o' my ax!"

The dwarf charges forward, bringing his great axe to bear;

Martial Melee (Great Axe) vs Bergur's Orc: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5 Burn an Inspiration Point for an Advantage)
Martial Melee (Great Axe) vs Bergur's Orc: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (3) + 4 = 7 ***!
Damage (Slashing): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13

As the orc stubbornly refuses to die, Ónar grimaces and lines up the brute for another hack;

"Run or fall Rukh. Makes nae difference to this Son O' The Lonely Mountain!"

The dwarf arcs a mighty swing...

Martial Melee (Great Axe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15
Damage (Slashing): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 2 = 12

Ónar scowls as more of the orcs pour into battle with the company.

He avoids the initial charge of one of the brutes, then returns in kind with a heavy swing of his greataxe:

Martial Melee (Great Axe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (10) + 4 = 14
Damage (Slashing): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13

@Illryia: Keep forgetting about Inspiration! Thanks for the catch :)

Despite being off balance, Ónar still flails wildly hoping to land a blow against the remaining orc before them; (Use 1 Inspiration for the 2nd roll)

Martial Melee (Great Axe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (11) + 4 = 15
Damage is 9 as per rolled above :)

Ónar has little time to gloat o'er the orc leader's felling before more of the craven brutes appear.

When Morwen urges the dispatching of the sole survivor of the initial pack, the warrior is all too happy to oblige... (Close the distance and attack)

Martial Melee (Great Axe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (1) + 4 = 5
Damage (Slashing): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9

... but is too eager and stumbles across one of the many orc corpses littler the basin!

Ónar reels from the lead orc's brutal strike, before furiously bringing his own axe to bear;

Martial Melee (Great Axe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (13) + 4 = 17
Damage (Slashing): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 2 = 13

He swings once, then twice (Action Surge Class Ability) attempting to sunder his foe!

Action Surge: Martial Melee (Great Axe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (17) + 4 = 21
Damage (Slashing): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (2) + 2 = 4
Fighting Style Damage Reroll (Slashing): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9

With a furrowed brow, Ónar meets the orc leader's challenge head on;

"Best I remove that ugly Rukh head from those stinkin' Rukh shoulders!"

Martial Melee (Great Axe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (14) + 4 = 18
Damage (Slashing): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (6) + 2 = 8

Apologies Harry - missed that in my haste to spill orc blood!

Attack Roll 1 Advantage: Martial Melee (Great Axe): 1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 4 + 2 = 17

Damage (Slashing): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (7) + 2 = 9

Attack Roll 2 Advantage: Martial Melee (Great Axe): 1d20 + 4 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 4 + 2 = 24

Damage as rolled above

Surprise Round

Ónar charges toward the nearest orc, axe raised and bellowing his battle cry;

"Baruk Khazâd!"

Martial Melee (Great Axe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10

Round 1

While the first mighty swing goes wide, the dwarf growls and brings his great axe to bear far more accurately with the follow up;

Martial Melee (Great Axe): 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (15) + 4 = 19
Damage (Slashing): 1d12 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 2 = 14

Dwarves do not sneak!

Ónar nods at Illyria's stratagem;

"Aye lass. Hit 'em hard and fast. They'll rout like the black-blooded curs they are."

The warrior grips the half of his great axe and readies for the charge...

"On your signal then Daughter o' the Mark."

Ónar nods sagelike at Beorn's departing words;

"Aye Lord, we'll parley as is your wish."

He mulls the situation to come, brow furrowed;

"My hope, is that cool heads will prevail... but know if they do not, by my axe, those same heads will roll."

As they prepare for the road ahead, the grim faced dwarf checks his equipment, then nods to the others he is ready.

Ónar eyes the now depleted spread with a wistful shrug;

"We dwarves trade for our food, so learn not to be picky eaters... That being said. A fine haunch of venison with some ale to wash it down with wouldn't go amiss..."

He smiles, then refocusses on the task ahead;

"Aye Master Kettlegrass you have the right o' it. Play it canny but keep our axes close."

Ónar nods in agreement at first Beorn's word's then those of his companions;

"Aye. He'll do best to honour the flag of truce. Especially when faced with the keen blades and keen minds in our company!"

Ónar eats heartily of the offered fare, trying in vain to avoid his beard becoming honey tangled...

As Beorn outlines his will, the dwarf listens until the wild lord's gaze turns toward him and his companions;

"A fine spread Lord. A fine speech too. So we are to be mere messengers in all this? Mediators and heralds? Alas you'll no find me the best talker Lord Beorn..."

He pauses, labelling a heavy spoon of porridge;

"For we dwarves... Actions speak louder than words!"

Come to Bonnie Scotland! Freeeeeedom!

As & when chief - we'll keep for as long as it takes :)

Ónar warily takes in the measure of the bear of a man, knowing full well the stories told of his prowess at the Battle of the Five Armies.

Insight: 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (15) + 3 = 18

He nods solemnly in agreement at the others assessment of their coming to be here, in his audience;

"Aye, that is the fact o' it Lord Beorn. We have returned your kin, safe and sound as promised to them. We'll not tarry long..."

Ennalda's insinuation Ónar scowls, and face reddens in contained anger.

When Bergur's parley bears fruit, the dwarf nods to himself, then reluctantly surrenders his arms.

As he places his weapons in a pile, the warrior growls a warning;

"I'll be collecting these in good time. Best for you I find them here and unsullied by hands not mine own."

He then joins his companions in eating the fine fare offered, then sated, slumps upon his rustic bed.

Ónar nods to their host as Morwen announces his name;

"As she says. We afforded your kinfolk safe passage and protection... that alone should be enough for lodgings and hospitality no?"

The dwarf raises a bushy brow, awaiting further question, or humble acceptance.

Absolutely here also - no rush as I'm up to my eyes in pesky RL work.

Ónar nods slowly as he continues to puff upon the pipe;

"Aye. I can see the merits of travelling incognito lass, but rest assure'd, I'll no speak of your true bloodline to those outside our company."

He frowns, then lowers his voice;

"Know I too am troubled lass. Whenever I lay my head, the same vision haunts my dream.: The sound o' dread drumming, or the ominous words "Drums, drums in the deep". I no not what it means, nor who "The Watcher in the Water" I also seek could be... tho' when I wander, I listen for the sounds. I seek counsel to those who may know who, or what, haunts my dream... Restless I will be until its portent is revealed."

Ónar's brow furrows as he listens, then puffs in thought;

"Hunted... Ye think you yourself are hunted lass? Even now?"

The dwarf taps the handle of his axe with a hard smile;

"If they come. They will find no lone Dúnedain..."

Ónar takes a deep puff of his pipe, then nods;

"Morwen it is lass. So... visions and dreams... I am no stranger to such phantasms. Tell me o' yours if you so wish... What troubles your sleep so?"

As the others rest and heal, and Morwen skins the wolves, Ónar keeps a vigil o'er the company.

Later that eve he and his pipe join the Dúnedain;

"Silver penny for your thoughts Mistress?"

Great Axe [Martial Melee]: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (7) + 4 = 11

Despite seeing the wolves clearly with his dwarven sight, Ónar still finds himself fighting the cramped conditions more than their lupin foes!