(Adventure) The Monestary of Saint Feragon <Judge:Macbeth>

[dpdx]

[Oh, stop. You can certainly be suave in a cast. As long as your place is clean, and you're not running around in your underwear and a cast, you can apply the charm just as if you were mobile. In fact, the sympathy points are big - offer to do things for her which require you to go somewhere (even if it's just across the room), and you'll be the hero - playing hurt, and all. Now finish your pancakes, then go roll my Cure Light, and then post to Casual! ]

[edit: and zen, approve my deity (Chennet' demands your obedience!), and zen, no and zen!]

 

[Uriel]

[Oh, stop. You can certainly be suave in a cast. As long as your place is clean, and you're not running around in your underwear and a cast, you can apply the charm just as if you were mobile. In fact, the sympathy points are big - offer to do things for her which require you to go somewhere (even if it's just across the room), and you'll be the hero - playing hurt, and all. Now finish your pancakes, then go roll my Cure Light, and then post to Casual! ]

[edit: and zen, approve my deity (Chennet' demands your obedience!), and zen, no and zen!]

OoC:
:|
CLW returns 7 HP to Rurik, 'Off to see the Chennet...'

 

[Ankh-Morpork Guard]

((OOC: I'll use a CLW on whoever needs it the most...good to know that I'm not dead. ))

 

[nimisgod]

Sir Ismael takes a deep breath as he lowers Violet. Disgust crosses his features at the corruption of the monk's mind and body. And yet, there was still work to be done.

"Doth any of thee have want for aid?" he asks his companions. "Fate has spared me injury for now and I have still one vial of healing liquid should any wound hamper our progress."

 

[dpdx]

Rurik, feeling better but not at full health, raises a hand from his wound. "Er, I could use it, if yer got any ta spare."

 

[nimisgod]

Sir Ishmael hands the healing potion to Rurik with nary a moment of hesitation. Afterwards, he scans the area ahead for the approach of any more vile creatures.

 

[dpdx]

"Ko'vetiye*. I owe yer one." Rurik hoists the potion bottle to Ishmael in toast before he unstoppers and drinks. [Another CLW check...]

He then fishes the jug out of his pack, and chases the second potion with a swallow of Mom's ale. He grimaces, but soon feels like himself again.

"Now, that 'un there," Rurik indicates the orc he slew, "had hisself a weapon, a glaive if I recall correctly. Ach, there 'tis."

He picks it up, and tests its blade against the recently departed orc who wielded it. [Appraise check, +2 dwarven bonus for metal items.]

"Figure'f I could get back ta the Forge, might make a reasonable weapon."

* Phrase from Rurik's dwarven dialect, meaning "thank you."

 

[Uriel]

OoC:Folks, speak up as to who would like healing...
Rurik's Potions heals 8HP.
the Glaive was sestroyed in your attack (remember my colorful 'miss' a few rounds back? It looks fairly standard, if that helps you, it wasn't anything special.

 

[dpdx]

"Or not," Rurik adds as the blade falls off of what's left of the haft, and shatters on the stone floor.

"So, anythin' behind these other doors?"

 

[nimisgod]

Sir Ishmael nods a "You're welcome" to Rurik.

He follows the group's lead to take a front-line or second-line position on the next door. While waiting for the party to move, he continues his inquisition of the area.