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AlkarRahn
Promising
Legendary Hero
Divine Arcanist
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posted July 24, 2012 09:56 PM |
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Tristan wondered why hay would be in a place with water all around, but wondered something else even more. He continued with the mace, bringing it up from the ship's deck. He gave it a few swings, but treated it more like a sword than a mace.
"Anyway, when are we expecting to arrive at our destination?"
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gnomes2169
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Duke of the Glade
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posted July 25, 2012 01:00 AM |
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Mat followed his "friend" cheerfully, happy to know that no one was likely to kill him. Weee. Now if only he knew where the hell he was...
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Yeah in the 18th century, two inventions suggested a method of measurement. One won and the other stayed in America.
-Ghost destroying Fred
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Kareeah_Indaga
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 26, 2012 03:09 AM |
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"What about hammocks, do you have any of those?"
"Those we have, but you'll have to get one of the crew to part with theirs. We already fished you out of the sea and fed you," he points out.
At this point a sailor pipes up that he'll let you gamble for his (and he produces a set of crude dice), but you have to do his morning swab of the deck if you lose.
"You don't bring hay along? You can use it for beds and pillows."
"You land folk are soft. It's a waste of space and it catches fire easily. If we were moving livestock it would be a different matter, but we're not—you'd have smelled us miles away if we were!"
"Anyway, when are we expecting to arrive at our destination?"
"We'll be arriving in port about sunrise, so only a few ((~5)) hours from now."
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Tsar-Ivor
Promising
Legendary Hero
Scourge of God
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posted July 26, 2012 03:17 AM |
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Quote:
At this point a sailor pipes up that he'll let you gamble for his
Ha, now you're speaking my language, what are the rules?
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"No laughs were had. There is only shame and sadness." Jenny
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Kareeah_Indaga
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 27, 2012 12:52 AM |
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The sailor briefly explains how to play the game.
((And to keep this short, I'm condensing it down to one roll. Pick Low, Middle or High and I'll roll. If the number falls in the range you chose, you win, otherwise you lose.
Low: 1-50
Middle: 26-75
High: 51-100))
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Tsar-Ivor
Promising
Legendary Hero
Scourge of God
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posted July 27, 2012 01:26 AM |
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"I'm a high-roller by nature, and it has yet to bite me in the ass, significantly >.>"
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"No laughs were had. There is only shame and sadness." Jenny
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Kareeah_Indaga
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 27, 2012 01:38 AM |
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((Roll = 53))
Fandral wins, albeit by a narrow margin, and the sailor shows him off to his hammock, grumbling under his breath about his morning chores.
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Tsar-Ivor
Promising
Legendary Hero
Scourge of God
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posted July 27, 2012 01:54 AM |
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Fandral happily follows, though feels sorry for the poor sailor, lady Fortuna has always been at his side.
As they approach the sleeping quarters.
"And don't worry about your morning chores, just show me what needs to be done. It's been far too long since I swabbed the deck of my own ship, it's only right that I repay the generosity that has been so freely offered"
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"No laughs were had. There is only shame and sadness." Jenny
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War-overlord
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
Presidente of Isla del Tropico
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posted July 27, 2012 02:14 PM |
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Broïndur had wandered off from the group some time ago. He had found his way to the cargohold and had made himself comfortable against some sacks of something or other. He would catch himself a few winks of sleeps before the ship made shore.
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Vote El Presidente! Or Else!
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AlkarRahn
Promising
Legendary Hero
Divine Arcanist
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posted July 27, 2012 03:46 PM |
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Tristan is unsure whether he should be tired or not. He is usually awake, shining brightly, at this time of night. He finds a spot where he can 'practice' with his mace. He does so for roughly half an hour, then starts feeling fatigued due to this new body. He finds a place to sleep, and is out quickly.
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Geny
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
What if Elvin was female?
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posted July 27, 2012 04:56 PM |
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Tired from all this excitement, Rincewind curls up in some less drafty corner and tries to get some sleep. His imagination and fears do all they can to stop him, but eventually he manages to dose off. And finds out his enemies turned out to be sore losers.
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DON'T BE A NOOB, JOIN A.D.V.E.N.T.U.R.E.
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Kareeah_Indaga
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 28, 2012 04:41 AM |
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Fandral actually gets a hug for his troubles. "I hate swabbing the deck!" The sailor thanks Fandral and leaves him to sleep.
The night passes swiftly for those who manage to sleep and as promised, about sunrise the group is awakened by the sounds of the ship coming into port. (Fandral's new friend also wakes him up for his volunteered-for chore, and is suitably pleased that the human man already knows what a holystone is.) From the deck, most of the south side of the island is visible—it's not large by any stretch of the imagination, the settlement thereon consisting of a few small dwellings and a scattering of larger buildings, mostly concentrated on the west side of town.
((Yellow square—Town Hall
Pink triangle—Self Guild
Orange 4-point star—Elemental Guild
White square—Town Shrine (Light) with the well next to it
Dark green circle—Alchemist
Red square—Inn
Gray square—Blacksmith (which functions as an armorer here too; it isn't a very big town.)))
There are also two other ships in port, the Seademon and the Duke of Glory, and even your unfamiliar eyes can tell that the Turquoise Bay is of an exotic make in comparison—wood, style, even crew composition are visibly different, with the other two possessing mostly human crews. Beyond those differences, the Seademon is a very dodgy looking ship (patched and graying sails and rough wood deck stained in patches by who-knows-what), while the Duke of Glory is obviously a medieval yacht (brightly painted, gilded, and with crew all in fancy regalia completely out of place in this backwater town).
((It's about 6 AM. Fandral's chores are going to keep him busy until 8, the rest of you can disembark when you like.))
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Adventures in Helnith has moved!
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gnomes2169
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Duke of the Glade
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posted July 28, 2012 05:26 AM |
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Mat left with Trelmer in the morning, feeling well-rested and looking around the port cheerfully. "Well, this is a nice enough place, I guess... When are they holding this competition?" He was both eager, but also trying to discover how long he had to gamble at some sort of tavern or another. Unfortunately, that would require some money... "And if we have time, would you mind coming with me to an establishment where money may be put up for chance? Not too high and mighty, really more of a hole in the wall would be best."
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Yeah in the 18th century, two inventions suggested a method of measurement. One won and the other stayed in America.
-Ghost destroying Fred
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Tsar-Ivor
Promising
Legendary Hero
Scourge of God
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posted July 28, 2012 05:37 AM |
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Fandral swayed to and fro, almost dancing; whistled with the morning breeze. He was remembering his old journeys and adventures, his mind turned mostly to the lofty eyrie of the Valkyries (due to the chill). and even to the tranquil waters of Llyn Gwynan.
And when he gave himself a chance, he glimpsed at the town and surroundings, and he was certain that he could see a woman in the distance, collecting seashells by the looks of it.
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"No laughs were had. There is only shame and sadness." Jenny
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NoobX
Undefeatable Hero
Now, this is a paradox...
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posted July 28, 2012 09:21 AM |
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Bowie woke up. It was then when he realised that he has been carrying a longsword all the way since he found himself in this new body.
"How could I have not noticed you?
Oh, well, I better see if I can find me some lambchops."
Bowie left the ship and noticed an inn.
"I could make some decent money there... and then I'll order breakfast for everyone... and everyone would love me because of that..."
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Ghost said:
Door knob resembles anus tap.
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War-overlord
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
Presidente of Isla del Tropico
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posted July 28, 2012 12:28 PM |
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Broïndur woke well enough, considering the circumstances, when the ship made port. When he rubbed his eyes, he noticed his sharp nails scratch his face as he did so. He could not remember the last time he had done anything about them and took a good look at his hands. And to his great disgust, they were an olive shade of green. Broïndur felt sickened to his soul. Of all the things to turn into, he had turned into a Greenskin. Samussin, the Goddess of the winds and retribution had played a vile trick on him. It must have been her, for all the Greenskins his axe and morningstar had sent to their deaths, he had been turned into one of the savage beasts. It was little wonder the crewman gave him those funny looks last night, he must have been sounding like he was talking out of his arse. (OOC: Yeah, I've given up)
Broïndur slipped off the ship relatively unnoticed and made his way along the beach to somewhere secluded. The morning sun made the seawater reflective and Broïndur took a long and hard look at his new self. He was an Orc, there was no doubt there, along the green skin, there were the tusks, the pointy ears, the squashed piggish nose and the hulking physique. Broïndur screamed in anger and frustration, though it came out more of a roar than anything else. Like his fellow shipwrecked, he had been stuck in a body not his own. "And of all things, a Feckin' Bloody Orc!" For a good while, Broïndur stood there, raging on the beach.
Broïndur forced himself to calm down. And it took a while to do that.
As he sat panting, he forced his thoughts back in line. The Gods have played him for a fool and had turned him into an Orc. He took the small pendant of Vraccas out and held it in his Orcish hand. The pendant still went warm as he touched it, so his God had not forsaken him yet. "There be yet hope fer me. Let's see what I'll have te work with."
He strode calmly back to the water and looked at himself again.
He was still an Orc, but started seeing a great deal of difference with the Orcs he was used to sending to their death. For one thing his face was angular and he sported a wild beard. As opposed to the misshapen, hairless and broken faces of Tion's brood back home. Broïndur quickly put some plaits into the beard as was Dwarven custom back home. There was not much to work with, admittedly, as the beard was just long enough, but not by much. He bound his beard and hair together with some leather straps his found in his clothing.
As he looked at the armour and clothing, Broïndur saw even more differences with that of the Orcs he knew. Instead of the filthy rags the Orcs back home wore, he wore an outfit of leathers and furs, decorated with the claws of some beast. His armour constisted primarily of a mail of bony scales of some reptilian beats presumably. As opposed to the rusty metal scrap the Orcs back home strapped to themselves by way of protection, nor was it covered in the rancid lard they usually rubbed their armours down in, in the ridiculous hope that it would deflect blows. All in all, it was primitive but it did not hamper his movement and it would take the bite out of glancing blows.
Next Broïndur inspected the weapons the Orc he had taken over carried. The shield was made or ironbound wood, but it had a wicked shard of iron sticking out the bottom and to spikes just above it, making it usefull for jabbing and bashing with. The sword he carried was something else. And calling it a sword was doing it a favour. The thing was heavy, though oddly not off-ballance for something of such weight. It had a keen edge, several in fact, though they were not that keen. The weapon clearly relied more on it's weight than it's sharpness, so if it did not cut, which was likely, it would surely bludgeon. And the Orc he now inhabited was surely strong enough to wield such a weapon.
Broïndur sat a while thinking after that. The men he was shipwrecked with would all want to find a way back home. And truth be told, so would he, but in this body he would be killed on the spot when his tribesmen would see him. "Nay, I'd have te find meself a new body first. And there should be Dwarves in these lands if that crewman is to be believed. I'll have te find them and inhabit one of their bodies before I ken go back home. But fer now, me new mates on the foxhunt and see where we ken go from there."
And with a notion of a plan, Broïndur set out for the small town.
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Vote El Presidente! Or Else!
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Kareeah_Indaga
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 28, 2012 11:56 PM |
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Mat:
"When are they holding this competition?"
"Noon today; His Grace was supposed to be having a speech or something beforehand. You'll probably want to let them know you're competing first."
"And if we have time, would you mind coming with me to an establishment where money may be put up for chance? Not too high and mighty, really more of a hole in the wall would be best."
"You can probably find someone willing to gamble at the inn," Trelmer replies. "And sure I'll go with you; I was planning on getting a drink that wasn't Tobersk brandy anyway."
The pair of you make your way to the inn; it's surprisingly crowded, with several determined-looking groups seated inside, swapping stories and eating breakfast. A harried looking innkeeper is busy directing even busier-looking help in keeping the food and drink flowing.
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Fandral:
About a third of your way through swabbing the deck, a very important-looking man comes to the ship, flanked by bodyguards whose uniforms match those of the crew of the yacht. He's an older human man in an outfit that must be completely impractical in this small island town—draping formal robes, more jewelry on his person than the rest of the island's population probably owns, and a coronet encircling his brow to top the ensemble off.
He greets your rescuer from the night before—apparently the latter's name is "Captain Suntamer"—with an excess of heartiness. The two exchange pleasantries before the Captain invites the important-looking man on board and they lock themselves in the captain's quarters, leaving two of the bodyguards stationed outside.
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Bowie:
You also make your way to the inn, and find a similar sight to Mat. The inn, not an enormous establishment in the first place, is packed with people, most of them warriors or other obviously adventurous sorts. Quite a few of them are competent-looking too, with good gear in good repair and other signs of relative prosperity, although there are others obviously not so well off here as well.
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Broïndur:
((I'll let you continue when you've got time then; poke me if you need me.))
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Adventures in Helnith has moved!
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gnomes2169
Honorable
Undefeatable Hero
Duke of the Glade
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posted July 29, 2012 01:07 AM |
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Mat began looking around the throng of people to see if someone had a nice game of dice in a corner somewhere. This was somewhat difficult for him, since he wasn't used to being half-blind and tavern patrons kept bumping into him... but if there was dicing to be had, then he would have it!
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Yeah in the 18th century, two inventions suggested a method of measurement. One won and the other stayed in America.
-Ghost destroying Fred
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NoobX
Undefeatable Hero
Now, this is a paradox...
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posted July 29, 2012 09:30 AM |
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Bowie made it to the counter where he ordered some ale.
"Listen up! Is there anyone who wants to challenge me in drinking ale? Or are you all cowards?"
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Ghost said:
Door knob resembles anus tap.
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Kareeah_Indaga
Responsible
Undefeatable Hero
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posted July 29, 2012 04:25 PM |
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Broïndur:
You return to town just in time to see a few of your fellow body-swap victims enter the local inn, along with one or two of the crew from the Turquoise Bay. A procession of sorts is gathered on the dock: an older man of some obvious rank and his bodyguards. After a moment or two they all go aboard the Dark Elf ship with your rescuer from the night before. Beyond that most of the activity seems to be centered around the inn, with the rest of town doing about what you'd expect in a village this time of day: stores opening up, people shopping and doing their morning errands.
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Mat:
It's a little early for most to be gambling, but you find an all-Dwarf party in the corner that are willing to make room for you at their game. Trelmer takes a seat nearby and orders his drink along with something for breakfast that isn't hard tack, pressing a few coins on the barmaid for payment.
((If you want to play, choose a number between 1 and 6 – you win if the number matches the roll.))
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Bowie:
You get a few disbelieving looks, a great deal of disinterest and one scoffing comment that it isn't even noon yet (which the dwarves gambling in the corner—each of whom has a full tankard—indignantly ignore) before a huge full-orc in heavy iron plate takes the seat next to you. He doesn't quite growl, but the expression on his face makes it unnecessary.
"Be happy to drink you under the table, little half-blood." He grins, and it isn't a nice grin. "I'll even pay your tab if you win."
((I'm going to roll percentage dice. The first round starts at 90, and every round after that drops by 10; first person to roll over that round's number loses.))
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