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[Xantalos]

NOT SO TOUGH NOW, ARE YA? HUH?!

Bukkar stomps very hard on the Seargant Kobold's throat.

[Dwarmin]

"Oh, stop whining, you'll live you sneaky little witch. Should have bought a Health Potion for yourself, like, well the one I have here on my designer wyvernleather belt-it's so fresh and delicious, capable of easing the greatest pains and wounds in a single magical draught..." She mentioned idly.

"Hah, as if I'd ever need one of these! Save it for yourself, when someone stabs you in the gut or something to let the hubris out. Ow! Hmph!"

"I think you're letting out quite hubris right now for the both of us!" Foxglove replied cheerfully, stepping over a puddle of Medha-juice.

[Errol]

"I think you're letting out quite hubris right now for the both of us!" Foxglove replied cheerfully, stepping over a puddle of Medha-juice.

"It would be such a shame if you were to slip on it, fall and break your delicate back..." Medha's back to grinning unnervingly.

[lawastooshort]

Turn Seven

Continue staunching my wounds while grabbing a crossbow and shooting the fleeing sergeant.

Spotting an apparently functioning crossbow in the pile of splattered kobold a few feet away, Whiz makes a false move towards it. He feels a fresh spray of blood shoot out of his face as he grabs the crossbow and turns to aim at the fleeing sergeant and, slumping down, one-handedly lets a bolt fly out.

It strikes the kobold in the side; he drops to one knee but tears the bolt out of his ribs and manages to struggle back up and keep moving.

Wound Acquired: Kobold Sergeant: Pierced Ribs!

Bukkar stomps very hard on the Sergeant Kobold's throat.

Action: Thank Ravena the Goddess for saving me chest damage!

Then, take the crossbow from a Kobold different then the one whose neck I broke, and twang the lightning faced leader in his beady little head. If no bow is available, assist Gervedder in a duo takedown.

Escape

The kobold sergeant keeps moving until suddenly Bukkar Crangrom shoots through the air behind him and administers a flying stomp to the head!

…The skull is fractured!

The kobold runs almost blindly away over the field until Lady Foxglove strides over, pushes him to the floor, and shoots him in the beady little head with a looted crossbow.

He doesn’t move again.

Fetch some bolts from one of the deader-seeming kobolds. Shoot one of the fleeing kobolds in the rump, then move to capture them.

A few metres away and happy not to be bleeding to death, Gervedder rummages around a kobold corpse for some bolts, …but finds nothing.

He realises his crossbow is already loaded and he has the spare bolt he just pulled out of his guts – he levels the crossbow and shoots a fleeing kobold in the backside.

…The kobold drops in pain and …runs directly at Gervedder in his panicked attempt to find cover.

Gervedder raises his crossbow again.

The kobold throws both himself and his short sword to the ground, and rolls about a bit in a universal grovelling motion.

Attempt to staunch the bleeding, using bits of Whiz's robe, since hey, it's already torn up.  If I can't see to do that, go finish off the sergeant.

In the other hedgerow, Whiz is surprised to suddenly find bits of his dress seemingly rip themselves off, nakedness slowly creeping its insidious way up his legs, and he isn’t entirely sure if he feels relieved when this is explained by Tackov’s materialising from his invisible state.

Whiz gives Tackov a cold hard stare, as intimidating as someone with a crossbow bolt in their chin can.

Tackov gives Whiz a long soft sheepish look, as unself-conscious as somebody with bits of bloodied wizard dress and bloodstains covering his hands as he gently rubs up and down his naked thigh can.

The uncomfortable silence and over-long eye-contact broken by Medha’s sudden cry in the middle of the field, Tackov kind of deliberately as if that’s all he was going to do anyway ambles over to the kobold sergeant’s body and gives it a half-hearted kick in the head before seeing what’s up.

Don't move erratically. Use robe as an impromptu bandage to fix up my wounds, somehow. If someone brings me my rib, pocket it. You never know when you'll need a rib...

"Oh, hell. Would anyone help me out here?" wonders Medha, lying about on the floor like… some kind of…  pierced liver victim.

"Please? Someone see my rib at least? I'm emotionally attached to my ribcage!"

Tackov breaks off from kicking the dead kobold in the head to pick up what …looks like a rib in the moonlit night. He chucks it unceremoniously on the floor next to Medha and starts some awkward small talk, failing miserably to dig a small hole in the half-frozen ground with the toe of his soft shoes.

”So… er… ribs, eh? I think that was a rib. Or a buffalo horn. What were you doing with a buffalo horn in your chest? Crikey. Hey, I got hit too – you wanna see? Look – right in the thigh!”

…Medha totally fails to not move erratically as she jerks instinctively away from Tackov’s horrifying blood and bandage covered naked thigh-hole with like all twitching muscle bits poking out and everything, rolling over and screaming in hideous pain as all around hear a rather ominous sounding snap.

”Hey! That one’s definitely a rib!”

Wound Acquired: Medha Correo: Severed Rib!

Thrashing about on the floor in pain, Medha at least manages to tear off half her dress, and is now well supplied in bandages

Spoiler: GM Notes (click to show/hide)

Body count: two splatted kobolds, one fractured neck kobold, one sergeant, one captured melee kobold with a crossbow bolt in his backside.

Current Players:

Spoiler: Tackov Cedtry, Toaster (click to show/hide)

Name: Tackov Cedtry
Class: Wind Mage
Status:
Health: [HP: 35/50] | Pierced Thigh!
Abilities: Wind Blast I, Wind Step I, Squishy, Sissy Slap Fight
Inventory: Minor Mana Potion x1

Spoiler: Whiz, Chink (click to show/hide)

Name: Whiz
Class: Whiz Wiz(ard)
Status:
Health: [HP: 55/75] | Pierced shoulder!| Pierced face!
Abilities: Shield I, Gee, Mr. Whiz, You Sure Are Fast! Obviously a Powerful Wizard, It’ll Make You Blind!
Inventory: Damaged dress.

Spoiler: Medha Correo, Errol (click to show/hide)

Name: Medha Correo
Class: Curse Crafter
Status:
Health: [HP: 30/75] | Severed Rib! | Pierced Liver! | Severed Rib!
Abilities: Bad Luck Curse, Curse of the Fool, Wandering Asshole, Curse of the Curse Crafter
Inventory: Dagger. Half a dress. Bandages.

Spoiler: Gervedder Vietzo, Harry Baldman (click to show/hide)

Name: Gervedder Vietzo
Class: Opportunistic Messenger
Status:
Health: [HP: 45/75]
Abilities: This Messenger Delivers, Make Way for the Messenger! Important, Stop For Directions
Inventory: Crossbow

Spoiler: Lady Foxglove Vainglorious the III, Dwarmin (click to show/hide)

Name: Lady Foxglove Vainglorious the III
Class: Ravenhaired Crusader
Status:
Health: [HP: 50/75]
Abilities:Opportunistic, Honeyed Tongue, Vain, Self-Reliance
Inventory: Minor Health Potion x1

Spoiler: Bukkar Crangrom, Xantalos (click to show/hide)

Name: Bukkar Crangrom
Class: Ragin' Mage
Status:
Health: [HP: 75/75]
Abilities: Ass of the Flaming Foot I, Lightning Fist I, Always Looking For a Fight, Always Hungover
Inventory: Minor Health Potion x1

[Errol]

Bandage. Bandage EVERYTHING. (Prioritizing the wounds would be prudent...)

((Wow. It's like the time Father Errol Red managed to mess up everything. At least I'm not on fire yet.))

[Harry Baldman]

Take all of the kobold's stuff, including any bolts if there are any.

"So, my friend, care to tell me where the rest of your group tends to hide? Are you mobile or do you have an encampment?"

The messenger scratches his chin.

"Wait, do you even speak my language?"

Interview kobold. If it can't communicate meaningfully with me, knock it out and try to go help Medha before she bleeds to death.

[Dwarmin]

Action: Find that useless Halfling Scout and get him to go summon the rest of the pony warriors. Start a Kobold Ear Collection Necklace in the meantime!

[Toaster]

Be generally helpful and not awkward and stop people from bleeding.


Also, you forgot to update my status, as I'm still listed as invisible.

[Dwarmin]

((Also make sure to add a crossbow to mine and chinks inventory!

Here's hoping for unlimited quivers so Lawas doesn't have to track non-special ammo.))

[Chink]

Attempt to fix my wounds.

[Xantalos]

Bukkar searches for any remaining kobolds. And kills them.

[Dwarmin]

As Lady Foxglove Vainglorious (the third) went about the grisly task of removing Kobold ears, she was not overly bothered by it. Her hands did the work-despite her lofty nobility she tended to not trust anyone's competence but her own. And yet, her mind was elsewhere. Bloodshed was never good for her mood.

The delicate clink of a silver fork on a fluted wine glass-a signal for the children to cease chattering, the harpists to cease their playing, and the servitors to stop offering additional wine or snacks on plates. Even the Dukes hounds raised their heads to attention. It could have been the setting if a fantasy tale, but just underneath...

The young woman with the jet black hair and innocent seeming blue eyes sitting on the very end of the table-furthest away from her father-is Lady Foxglove. She was then, merely Araline Foxglove-the youngest daughter of the family line, and she sat to attention as ordered. Even at young, she knew there was...a certain dignity in ones bearing, that always had to be held. Even if, the wine glasses were slightly chipped-the wine itself, slightly less aged-the harpists, drunk and not doing their best-the hounds, underfed and desperate for scraps. Her family was noble, but they were not rich, and while they might have lived comfortable as somewhat of a lesser station they were too proudful to accept it. So they lived content half measures, chins held up high, and ignored the shortcuts and sacrifices they had to make.

Duke Foxglove held attention for a moment longer, enjoying this admittedly minor bit of his own power. He was a man who was now often calculating and somewhat cold, though he secretly wished for the happier times before...before, well, everything-he had once been well liked, with a sense of dry humor that had endeared him to his current wife and kept them together. As things go, though, he changed. A run of bad luck that extended into the surreal, he watched as his carefully planned investments and business wilted away one by one. The Elven Riots in Aerhaven ended his ambition of cornering the suncloth market. A trio of Dragons-not one, but three!-descended on Fortress Angar on the Wild Border, and the country side burned with Orcish bonfires not long after-burning his painstakingly planted Hearthwood orchards along with them. The Octomen had flooded the Triptych sealanes not long after, driven from their deeps by Gods knew what, brandishing their coral spears and shields with hateful malice, sinking his wine and fur imports....though he could not know it, these first stressors were important marks of the breaking to come-darkness, darkness, everywhere.

...but he was making do. The Duke was nothing if not practical. Through certain lines of communication, he had found a suitable arranged marriages for his three children-two daughters and a son, all of which were considered high enough blood and of sufficient class to endear...a sizable price. For his eldest son, he had (in his own mind) wrangled a suitable coupling to an older court woman in high bearing. His eldest daughter would be wed to a Gemstone mining magnate for a sizable share in stock (though this business would too fail in coming years)...that left the youngest, Tala. She had been the most difficult-too young to marry at the moment, it would have to be in contract and word. She would have to be promised on her 18th, which had all sorts of difficulties attached to it...the greatest prospect, somewhat plump owner of a string of moderately wealthy ranches-mostly raising goats. In his own words, he needed 'companionship'. He was offering a sizable bride price. In advance-with the understanding that the couple would have adequate time to get acquainted with one another before the marriage.

The Duke announced all this as such, at that moment-to various reactions from his family. His wife merely set her lips and looked down at her plate. The older brother shrugged, not bothering to mention how he hadn't much of sticking around anyway-the army always needed more soldiers, and the young man would find great acclaim in but a few years time with his own blade and shield. The older sister, quietly resigned to the fate she would endure. The youngest had crossed her arms, quite frustrated with the whole situation. But said nothing.

She hated Goats.

The very next day, Araline Foxglove climbed by herself into the attic-looking for the records on the families heirs and right of inheritance...

Lady Foxglove winkled her nose, smiling grimly at the memory. She had done terrible things to win her freedom and inherit the household-ruined good names, manipulated rivalries, seduced, robbed, burned, stole.  Whatever it took. Most of her family, what was left of them, had all but disowned her in their own minds-all but, except she kept a tight hand on the funds, what little was left. It kept them in line. Father was old and beaten down-Mother hardly more so. Reams of cousins, aunts and uncles kept quiet and still in the sidelines, talking behind her back. Only her brother Desmond, who had become a moderately famous mercenary commander, seemed to hold her still in high esteem. They often wrote, and she still signed her laters 'Ara', as she had since childhood-he had once been her Knight, and once he left for a warriors life, she had to protect herself...Of her sister Clarice, she had not heard in many years. She tried not to think about that.

She lamented her lack of close family relations at times, but in the end, they were the ones who had betrayed her...and she had given them much same regard. Much as she had the rest of the world.

How could she be expected to trust anyone, really? Anyone at all...

Spoiler: Why?! (click to show/hide)

OOC: I have a bad habit of loreing up my characters during minor lulls in GM posts. Call this a really classy bump.

[Tiruin]

It all began in a race with time;
a struggle together;
a mission sublime.
Let none forget the traveler's tale
Of the six who've emerged from the veil.

On Autumn's Eve did they adjourn,
Their meeting of solemn accord.
Of the twelve that set out from their lands,
Halved in number, they marked the land.
In the Winter lies this begotten tale.

((Love that one Dwarmin ^^

...Where is SC? ))

[Errol]

((I mistook that for an actual update, Dwarmin. I got excited and everything. A pox upon you!))

[Dwarmin]

((I mistook that for an actual update, Dwarmin. I got excited and everything. A pox upon you!))

((Good thing I wore my Pox-proof armor today...

Also, why not entertain us with an enlightening and longwinded story of Medhas mysterious past? ))