Sure drop the plus one to strength so charisma can be at -2, and drop marksman down to zero and drop doctor to -2 and beast to -2
Just jam some of the jagged metal no doubt sticking out through the cloth and try and bend and bash the end of it to prevent the blanket from falling off
[str 5] After a lot of clanging, banging, and cursing, you mange to get the blanket rope securely fastened to the island.
Groo uses his daemon katana to open the crate. Then, without taking actual action, Groo wonders about how to set the balloon up.
[Groo str 6] Groo uses his daemon katana to hack the crate open cutting the wires that tie the lid down in a couple of whacks. He also puts deep gouges in the wood as well. [int 5] Groo isn't entirely sure but he thinks that if took the smelly stuff and used a match while holding the big baggy thingie over it something good might happen.
"Okay. I don'the know how coherent they'll be. And I should probably wake soon, we weren't exactly in a good situation when I passed out, and it probably hasn't improved."
Reminiscing time. First, the memory of watching Damian and Damien fighting with maces until Daemian's arm broke. Then the scolding from dad about how important our family is to each other and how hurting each other didn't help any of us. Then the lecture on how death in pursuit of a greater goal was noble, and death by irresponsible sparring wasn't. Then dad teaching us how to duel, and reminding us that it was important to know how to fight without daemons, since we may not always have them or be able to rely on them. And the utility of beating up pompous rich kids in duels to knock them down a peg when our honor was insulted. And that ought to cover it.
[int 4] taking a breath you summon the images the memories playing front of you like a movie projection screen. Though it’s not in black and white, Weird. You start with the memory of your first duel with your brothers using maces.
You stare across at the opponent your about to engage in battle over cereal rights, your younger brother Damien, he glares back at you across the room, the bowl of cereal that you both claim as yours placed safely to the side of the room. Your brother comes at you screaming a high pitched battle cry his mace comically large in his child-sized hands. You heft your own mace and dodge back from Damien his mace crashing into the floor boards leaving yet another dent in the incredibly dented wooden floors. You slam your mace into Damien as he attempts to pull his mace back into the ready position after his wild blow fails. Your blow slams into Damiens upper arm breaking his humerus with a loud crack, He cries out in pain dropping his maces handle and clutching his arm screaming,
DAD! DAMIAN BROKE MY ARM AGAIN! The door to your blow slams open and the imposing figure of your dad looming in the door, his eyes flashing with anger.
“WHAT DID I TELL YOU KIDS ABOUT DUELING OVER CEREAL?” He yells at you as he takes a strip of gauze out of his pocket and grabs a piece of destroyed furniture in this case a chair of which there are many in the daemonst household and fashions it into a makeshift splint, his voice becomes softer and calmer as he comforts Damiaen, Hey come on sport chin up, you’ll be fine, a couple of weeks in a cast and you’ll be right as rain. He helps your brother out of the room, The memory distorts slightly as it suddenly cuts to your father standing in front of his assembled sons,
"look kids" he says, his deep voice rumbling,
"I know you all want to practice your melee skills but don’t fight using actual weapons, the only time your allowed to get hurt is when a noble cause calls for it, cereal is not a noble cause, and breaking your brothers arms and legs over it doesn’t’ help anyone. He glares at you in particular, Got it?"The memory flashes backwards a year or two ago when your Dad first taught you all how to duel
ALRIGHT KIDS LISTEN UP!, your dad is currently dressed in a military uniform and he has a large bag slung over his shoulder,
YOU WILL BE DAEMONSITS THAT’S WHAT I AM AND THAT’S WHAT YOUR MOTHER WAS, HOWEVER DAEMONSITS ARE NOT ALWAYS GOING TO HAVE ACCSSES TO DAEMONS BECAUSE SOMETIMES THEY’RE ABOUT TO KILL YOU AND YOU REALIZE THAT PERHAPS IT WOULD BE BETTER TO USE THE LARGE MEDIVAL WEAPON YOU ARE HOLDING IN YOUR HAND LIKE A LARGE MEDIVAL WEAPON. Now we are going to learn how to fight, so here he slings the bag off his shoulder and dumps it’s contents onto the ground, dozens of blunted swords spill from the sack like the gifts of a demented santa Clauses presents.
"Alright kids pick the weapon you like, preferably one that you can actually hold damian, he smiles and winks at your brother, no holding a one handed sword with two hands and swinging it like a mace does not count as “holding” it." The memory begins to distort and imbues you with a kind of dull drudgery as you speed by the monotonous training, to you as a teenager.
Your memory suddenly stops on one of the happiest moment in your life, The day that you realized that if you in fights in duels with kids outside of your family your dad wouldn’t get as a mad.
The scene changes into a picture of you walking to the steel shops.
Hey look, its one of the daemon kids, why are you here did your mother realize that she had another five ugly bastards and kick you out to make room? Fuck off you say in response to one of the jeering kids as you pass by the private school on the way to pick up yet more metal for your fathers endless experiments,
Well, I’m not sure why I should after all your dad never did stop after he had the first five now did he?the kids continue to jeer. It’s at this insult to families honor that you snap reaching in your trench coat that you always wear in the chilly Chicago fall you draw the two three pound maces that you always have strapped to your side for just this kind of occasion you draw them and toss one of them to the rich kids calling,
"ALRIGHT THAT’S IT! I’m challenging you to a duel." The kid fumbles the weapon in surprise;
I suppose I’ll oblige he replies. You square off as the other kids form a circle around you. The kid charges at you clearly not used to holding maces and his attacks are clumsy and slow you but your not great at dodging either, he gets a hit into your shoulder leaving you with a bad bruise as you fall back, and bring the weapon through a swipe into his knee his leg nearly collapses but luckily nothing seems to break, the kid backs off clearly worried about this now and acts much more defensively treating the mace like a sword, you snicker quietly, the fool, You make a feint that he falls for and then slam the mace into his other leg hitting a nerve and sending him to the ground as his leg collapses, You hold the mace over his head, yield you say voice heavy with anger. The boy sobbing at this point respectfully throws his mace and yields away curling into a ball from the pain, whistling you grab your mace stuff it back into trench coat wincing as it tugs at your bruised arm and precede with your way as the rest of the boys cluster around your former opponent. You scratch your head you know, you honestly can’t remember what exactly happened after that. You’re not quite sure what. You dismiss the memory and face the daemon, The daemon looks at in you in an pensive way,
A man willing to fight for honor, perhaps there is something to you after all.
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Topic: Mainpiston 2.0: Epilouge (Read 192866 times)