Ongoing Games (In-Character)Play-by-post games are going on in this forum as we speak (well, read). All threads on this board are actual games, so please, only post on a thread if you are a player of that game.
Happily receives his gourd, sniffing it carefully and then packing it away in his bag. From the other items he snatches up the wand, waving it around wildly as he does. He'd never had a real wand before. Finally sliding it into his belt he looked at Slorb. "Where are the fireworks?"
Naknuk looks into the bag of remaining items, and sees two objects left. Of the two that remained, he instead pulled out the gloves, before putting them on. He thought that the gloves would help him keep a good, firm grip on his bow, which, admittedly, has been getting a little bit shaky lately.
And Khuraargh got the sword cuz he no have enough, haha.
"Fire works here on big red X on map," Slorb fished through the inside of his dirty coat and pulled out a tattered map. This map showed a dotted path from the Licktoad village which crossed into the Brinestump Marsh,which ended at an old shipwreck near the coastline. However, what every goblin knows is that the goblin cannibal named Vorka lives somewhere on the coast, so carefulness be a thing. Slorb held the map out for someone to grab it. <If anyone wants to make a local knowledge check for Brinestump Marsh or to elaborate on Vorka, it is optional>
Nexus-R.C._Mina won't be up for posting a short while due to real life issues, however, in order to keep the game from staling from too long, if you'd like, we can take this as a moment for a little extra roleplaying, whether it be simple info gathering or just talking amongst your characters.
There comes a rustling through the tree canopy above, something, or someone clutching at the rush-weaving of the hut's roof. With a whoosh of displaced air and a solid thud upon the ground, Khuraargh leaps in from above, landing in a crouch.
He leaves his quivering shield stuck in the loam as he stands and dusts himself off. He straightens his clothing and harness of studded leather, leaves and twigs falling off of him like a crackling rain. Conspicuously new, his legs now sport a wraparound lizardskin kilt, each scale of which still seems to slither in the light and shadows as he moves.
Khuraargh flashes a toothy grin at Slorb from beneath his turtleshell hat-helm as he begins to reach for the last item--- his father's sword... and then he stops, scratching idly at his chin in sudden thought. Giving a decisive nod, one overlarge callused hand claps Squeeb upon the shoulder, then clicks his fingers twice and makes eye-contact with the aspiring goblin knight.
The scarred goblin unbuckles his quiver of javelins from his back and leans them against the nearby wall. More lashings are undone and as he stands tall once more--- well, as tall and proud as a tree-monkey goblin can be--- he holds in both hands a slender, curved scabbard. Now that the rag-wrappings have been discarded, it is seen that beneath the now-chipped-and-scratched blue enamel, the scabbard itself is made of solid brass, without a hint of rust.
Khuraargh then lets go of the hilt for but a moment, revealing a handle with a tight binding in copper wire, a hand-guard of spiked brass and a gold-flecked solid steel pommel as large as a halfling's fist. He then slowly draws the finely-honed, well-polished blade--- one without hole or blemish or chipping, one clearly forged from man-iron.
The scarred goblin sheathes the sword, locks gazes with Squeeb, then points at his feet. He wriggles and spreads his toes, yanks meaningfully at an errant clump of hair from his head, then points back at his feet with spread fingers. He then points out the nearest window at the sun and claps his hands together and bows his head as if in prayer.
Khuraargh then spits vilely and flashes a ferocious grin as he jabs a finger at Slorb, then nods proudly as his jabs another pointer at where chief Gutwad now sleeps, then thrusts his thumb over his shoulder, pointing out the window and holds up nine fingers. He then gestures over an expanse of empty space outside the chief's hut and holds up four fingers. He jumps into the middle of the clearing, assumes an erect posture, with legs bowed, as if riding... he then goes on all fours and snaps and lolls his tongue like a dog. Khuraargh then jumps back out of the clearing, points back at Slorb and the Chief, draws both dogslicers and leaps back in, stabbing and slashing madly.
He sheathes his dogslicers again, Sarenite sabre now raised defiantly. He makes a show of mighty blows, of ducking and weaving and blocking with a shield... only for the shield-arm to be wrenched viciously aside, his silent face now a mask of agony. He spasms, jerks, gasps as if stabbed in the side. He struggles to stand, then slowly falls, the sabre falling from twitching fingers, the sword-hand still raised, faithful fingers still spread in the open hand holy gesture of the Sarenites.
Khuraargh then leaps back up, switching positions from vanquished to victor, then "takes" the sword and thrusts it into the air. He looms over his remembered-and-imagined foe, sees the last defiant gesture of the faithful and reaches over...
...and, thrusts his loot into his belt, then reaches over and bends the "halfling"s middle and ring fingers down, with the little and pointer and thumb still up, thus forming the sign of the horned dog, the sacred sign of Lamashtu the Beast-Mother and of the Four Great Barghest Hero-Gods.
Khuraargh, panting a little after his performance, strides over to Squeeb. With a hand on his shoulder, he makes him kneel. The goblin prince thumps his own chest with a fist, gestures at the Chief's Chair, then runs the blade's edge over his left palm...
...and then slices across Squeeb's as well. That done, he lightly cuts Squeeb at both shoulders and wipes the blood off upon Squeeb's sleeve. Khuraargh then sheathes the scimitar with a decisive click, gestures for Squeeb to rise and then presents him with the scabbarded sword and its complementary rags.
Khuraargh then licks his wound closed, nods at Slorb and takes the map. He lays this out flat on the nearest sitting-stone and gestures for the others to gather around so that they may all have a look.
A smirk slashes up the scarred goblin's face. He leaves the map in the others' care, darts for the goodie-bag and snatches up his father's sword. He then secures its scabbard to his javelin-quiver and re-fastens the lot to his back. Leaning down, with a mighty haul and grunt, he heaves out the shield which he'd left sticking up in the ground, reaches up to the branch where he'd left it and returns to where the others are, shield gripped by his left arm, backpack with sundry supplies strapped to his back, right hand resting on the hilt of one of the paired dogslicers at his waist.
Cheatsheet, as requested:
>Eh, you want this, alrighty then.
>Sword came from a sun-worshiping halfling. Back when the chief and Slorb were a bit younger, we were part of a Licktoad warband that ambushed a bunch of longshanks adventurers who were invading goblin territory. We fought, I killed him. He died honouring his goddess... and I converted... him after death to worshiping our beloved Mother Lamashtu and our Barghest Hero-Gods.
>By the power vested in me by the chieftain and by Lamashtu, I command you to serve your tribe to your fullest, bring glory to the Blood and the Fury.
>Arise, knight of the Licktoad.
Hey, you. Yes, you. Come on. SMILE.
Slorb grumbles something incoherent and rolls his eyes at Khuraargh and picks his nose in process as Khuraargh plays charades. He wipes a lovely specimen of booger on his dirty new coat.
As for Sparky, the map being of such simplistic nature, the equivalent to a crayon map by a five year old, it does not take much to get it memorized in his head. The important thing is the river that they could follow through the swamp that leads to the coastline.
The marsh is a place of great bounty, with lots of places to hide and lots of delicious things to eat. Some of those things are kind of poisonous, though, so take care. One of the best things about the marsh is that the humans don’t normally come into it. They’re afraid of the monsters. Which are a concern, but if you know about them before they find out about you, running is always an option. Among the dangers that you can expect to face in the portion of Brinestump Marsh that you’ll be heading through are wild dogs, giant bugs, giant snakes, and giant frogs. Oh, and Lotslegs Eat Goblin Babies Many.
One of the greatest terrors of the swamp, at least to the Licktoads, is old Vorka, a ravenous cannibal goblin who, legend tells, was once the wife of a Licktoad chieftain. She murdered and ate that chieftain, as well as several other goblins, before she was driven out of town many years ago. Since then,
the story says that she’s lived alone somewhere along the coast to the west of Licktoad village, and while she’s never returned, most goblins who go missing in that part of the swamp are assumed to have been eaten by the cannibal.
Khuraargh joins Sparky with a heavy, commending hand clapping his shoulder. He gives an approving thumb and beckons to the others with another bit of hand-flappery.
Once they get going, he points at his eyes, his nose and pulls at his ears, then gestures with a couple of circular motions at the shadows of the marsh around them. He slowly draws a javelin, holding it ready as he watches their surroundings.
Hey, you. Yes, you. Come on. SMILE.
And so our rascally pint sized "heroes" ventured out with a chorus boos and tomatoes from some of their fellow peers.
The goblins walked and walked, and walked some more, their little calloused feet taking them over twigs, small rocks and nature's debris which littered the ground. Their journey took them into the swamp, where they had a bit ways to go before they could come across the river to follow. The water here was murky, yucky dark murky and as deep as the size of a goblin chopped in the middle. And it had nasty critters who liked the gamey flavor of goblins. Who knows what could be hiding in the murk and mangrove trees.
Fortunately for the goblins crisscrossed around the swamp were thin mounds of mossy ground about a foot wide and just barely reach above the murk water level for slightly higher ground. <Make Perception Checks>
Naknuk, now traveling with this goblin group, looked at his crew. Noticing Sparky was hopping about, all cheery, he sighed silently. *He seem too cheery for Naknuk's taste...* thought the goblin as he brought out his bow, just in case any creature try to attack.
Squeeb was pulling on the reins of his pig, Noble Steed, who had recently decided to roll around in the swamp water. "Come on!" Squeeb squeaked at his mount. "We got adventuring! No time for baths."
Giving up for the moment, Squeeb sighed and took in the sights, unfortunately they were very swampy sights. As far as he could tell there were no fair maidens, dragons, or even bridges guarded by knights wearing black. But that didn't bother Squeeb any, he knew that beyond the next puddle, for sure this time, there'd definitely by at least one of those things.
Harsh breath rasps through flared nostrils
Peeled peepers peer from beneath the carapace brim
Dim morning light shines from javelin's whetted stone head
Khuraargh hefts the spear and the shield, anticipating today's kills
Beneath the mangroves and the shadows of myriad branches, day is dim
There, in Brinestump Marsh, beyond the Licktoad's marches, brawny goblin takes the lead
Perception check (1d20+5)
Hey, you. Yes, you. Come on. SMILE.
No one sees anything out of the usual for this stretch of walking and gallavanting in the swamp except for the occasional pain in the butt mosquito.
Birds caw, insects buzz, swamps blurgle and gurgle as foul smelling bubbles pop.
Until then suddenly something makes a lunge for Squeeb and his delicious steed but seems to fall short hitting its nose end and eating mossy dirt. It sinks back into the murky water.<Initiative and reaction fun times>
At the marsh monster's entrance, Khuraargh knocks on his hat-helm and hisses at the others to get their attention. He jabs his javelin upwards, then suiting deed to un-word, leaps up into a set of low-hanging branches and then tenses himself, preparing to hurl the spear at wherever the thing would next pop up.
*Ready an Action to hurl the javelin wherever the thing pops up next.
Hey, you. Yes, you. Come on. SMILE.
Naknuk saw the beast having leapt out of the murky swamp water and was startled slightly. But he shook his startledness off as he pulled his bow out, along with an arrow. He then readied himself as he held the arrow in place, waiting for the creature to emerge and expose itself.
Since Nexus' idea for his readied action seemed like a good idea in general, I would do the same. Wait for the submerged monster to expose itself before attacking for my readied action. But I'll go ahead and do the rolls here and now.
The creature re-submerges! It turns out to be an alligator trying to take another chomp but...!
Naknuk attacks with his bow and arrow! <I will calculate his favored enemy thing into this> His arrow strikes hard into the alligator's neck lodging itself right in there.
Sir Squeeb at the same time slashes his rapier giving the alligator a nice little cut on its harden muzzle. Noble Steed, being bored, seemed to not have put much effort in its attack and bounced off against the gator but likely after Sir Squeeb slashed at it.
Khuraargh like a monkey climbs to the first low branch of a mangrove tree as he hurls a javelin with one hand. It hits the gator's body leaving a gash and plops onto the murky water, floating there as the javelin's weight pulls itself slowly down.
Skortch lets out a bolt as it hits the gator squarely between the eyes. And Sparky is readying an action after the gator I believe.
The gator was extra mad and thrashed its head from all the hits it was taking, its tail smacking the water. It lurched at the tasty pig Noble Steed again who was first closest before Sir Squeeb.
....but...totally missed as Sir Squeeb pulled up on Noble Steed and hopped to the side in a comical manner.
The gator hurt itself in the process when it missed and the hit mossy strip of land hard. Derp!