Mercenary Adventures of the B-Team (closed group)

[trolled]

Ches watches the strange human out of the corners of her eyes as he talks to her companions. She tries to place him in any of the number of local histories she has recently read. While these backwater yokels can't agree on who had the fattest hog last harvest, they can usually agree about men with axes for hands. [History]

When he finally turns to her and asks about her education, she takes a moment to process the question. In the meantime, she lights another cigarette and takes a long drag before speaking next. Say one thing for Ches, say she is methodical.

Formally, I was trained by a wizard named Sern. Informally... I suppose I have been burning things since the blasted fool taught me a cantrip to light a fire. I showed him how to make it bigger. His death was fire related, but I assure you I was only tangentially involved. He didn't need any help to end up dead. They never do.

Ches chortles to herself in a way that reminds those around her that she probably isn't more than 45% sane.

 

[Phesic]

"Well, nevermind me - what's your story, Trainwreck? You look like Moradin's worst nightmare came to life and then puked you out on the world. Makes my hand look like this year's fashion statement."

A light hissing issues from Surge's innards. It could be a sigh or maybe a small leak. His one good Eye dims slightly as part of his mouth begins to move.

You are not far off, axe man. Cobbling together a working form after surviving a dying forge was much as you described.

His stride pauses for just a moment as his memory of birth comes and goes, and a small smile creeps into his half mobile mouth. .

But it has made me exceedingly good at putting things back together.

Surge lets out a little chuckle after that statement and remembers that night in Billburry

To the party

I will trust him until he proves I can't. If I was willing to mistrust based on appearance I certainly wouldn't be adventuring with the 3 of you.

 

[whardell]

[/COLOR]

"You fights better. I's not fighter, I make stick and stakes pointy for others." He points to the POS longsword at his side. "Not mine. Wish I's was better...." He trails off, head lowered as the beaten, dejected thing that he is (in Falkrunn's eyes at least), and drags his feet as he walks on back toward town.

[/COLOR]

"Stump has likker, and girls, and werks for peeples like you. Get this. Steal that. Kill him. Find her. Always has..." Smash seems to be trying to remember something. With a glimmer of memory, he seems to recite: "Has 'Sumthin fer Sumone and Sumone who needs Sumthin.' Or somethin. I think."

Making the swords sharp is the first step to getting good with them Smash. Being good with the sword after it's sharp will get you all the "Likker" you like, though I'd advise you to steer well away from the girls. They may not all be as obviously lethal as Chess, but every one of them will burn you, just the same.

I'll make you a deal Smash, you keep our fire lit, our blades sharp, and our latrines dug and everyday I'll show you a good way to kill a man in combat. One day, when I get tired of you, I'll try to kill you. If you survive, I guarantee you'll be among the fiercest Orcs to every walk the earth. But live, or die, I guarantee I can make you better.

 

[larryfinnjr]

I will trust him until he proves I can't. If I was willing to mistrust based on appearance I certainly wouldn't be adventuring with the 3 of you.

Ches watches the strange human out of the corners of her eyes as he talks to her companions. She tries to place him in any of the number of local histories she has recently read. While these backwater yokels can't agree on who had the fattest hog last harvest, they can usually agree about men with axes for hands. [History]

Based on what Ches can remember and piece together, Hatchet seems to be on the level. He had humble beginnings as a simple merc, taking on odd jobs here and there without much glory or recognition (most of his jobs were credited to others). It wasn’t until the gnolls caught him and his former team in the act of trying to kill their elder that he roared into mercenary legend. They were tortured for days, Hatchet surviving to the end. His hand was amputated and hung over the door to his cell, while Hatchet bided his time and waited for the gnolls to finish him off in a promised ceremony which, obviously, didn't end as expected. Seems he may have embellished a bit though - "legend" says there were 10 gnolls... but most agree the number was more like 18.

Oddly, other than a deep-rooted, and understandable hatred of gnolls, he's an otherwise easy-going guy with a reputation as a ruthless completionist. As for his hand, he personally doesn't refer to it often, but when he does, for him it’s simply “an industry hazard.”

 

[larryfinnjr]

Making the swords sharp is the first step to getting good with them Smash. Being good with the sword after it's sharp will get you all the "Likker" you like, though I'd advise you to steer well away from the girls. They may not all be as obviously lethal as Chess, but every one of them will burn you, just the same.

I'll make you a deal Smash, you keep our fire lit, our blades sharp, and our latrines dug and everyday I'll show you a good way to kill a man in combat. One day, when I get tired of you, I'll try to kill you. If you survive, I guarantee you'll be among the fiercest Orcs to every walk the earth. But live, or die, I guarantee I can make you better.

"I steer girls good, dark elf! But nevr seen fire devil womans before now...." Smash lightly touches some of the burns on his face and hands, wincing at the tender flesh. "I's not gonna get girls in the straw for some moons now...need see priest."

Chortling at Mal's comment about eventually killing him and Mal's obvious understanding of orcish culture, Smash seems to consider his offer. "I's got to do some things, see Cap'. He sayz ok, I's come back later." Smash shuffles off to see the enigmatic "Cap," leaving you to persue...whatever.

GM: Back to you, gang... where to?

 

[whardell]

[Putting on his best elitist impression]:

"What's that Chess, someone should ascertain the vicissitudes of the town under Orcish rule? I quite agree that the best course might be to enjoy libations with the natives. Yes again I agree the task could be quite dangersome. No no, I don't mind at all really."

With that, Mal strolls toward the Hungry Orc with a thought to have a drink, learn the lay of the land, and pick a bar fight. Not that it needs to be in that order.

 

[larryfinnjr]

It's not difficult to get one's bearings in this meager village, or what remains of it:

Bloomten

The Hungry Orc is one of just a few original buildings left standing. It looks large enough to likely have been a community barn where the town's livestock was stored. There are no 'rooms' in the bar, but piles of urine-soaked straw in and around the area serve as sleeping areas.

Sleeping in a burned out farmhouse may be fine for some, but there aren’t enough proper living conditions for everyone to sleep in... including orcs. Tents were brought in when they invaded and are used by any number at any given time. Each "tent" is nothing more than a cloth supported by poles, leaving them open and exposed with mats, straw, and worn blankets to sleep on.

The church at the center of the village has been gutted out and converted into a giant apartment/restroom for the Harad’adak – all religious symbols inside have been defecated on and all the windows have been smashed out. It seems foul enough to cause sickness and disease to those without the constitution to handle it.

Still singed but mostly intact from the invasion, The Manor is a three-storey house that Stump calls home. Many other orcs frequent here and can be seen patrolling the area.

And lastly, somewhat separated from the village center to the north, is the cleverly named Had'rak Hotel XXVII, the 27th in a series of such locations as the tribe has cut its swath of violence across the land. It's quite a wasted inn, barely holding twenty orcs simultaneously, but they seem to be the elite commanders of the tribe, keeping themselves separate from the regular rank and file.

 

[larryfinnjr]

"Now that you've had the tour, lemme get you that drink I promised," and Hatchet leads the way into the Hungry Orc.

The entrance is nothing more than barn doors. Hay spills out of the doorway and as you look inside, it covers the entire floor too. Torches haphazardly line the walls illuminating the tables and makeshift stalls scattered about; only a few of them are available for seating. A crude looking bar has been erected ahead of you and stairs to the right lead to a loft above.

There is a disgusting and pervasive aroma of urine, and there is no question that the buckets and barrel beside the door are filled with vomit. There's music playing, but it is soft compared to the shouts, grunts, and hollers from inside. The hay on the floor is damp, sopped with beer, and covered in crumbs. There are orcs are passed out in all directions: on the floor, on tables, and under chairs. Arm wrestling, mug smashing, and other benign tests of strength are underway, but all gazes shift to you as you enter. The pervasive vibe is that you are unwanted, but you are at least tolerated for now.

"And there's Ol' Stump, livin' like a king as always," Hatchet says as he points across the room. Across the way, there's no mistaking which table he means. It's the largest and it's been placed atop a finely woven rug. Numerous torches and candles illuminate the table and a board game of scattered pieces centers it all. And seated between two scantily clad orc females, the one known as Stump pays no heed to your arrival, but the two hobgoblins standing in front of him do.

Nabbing a tight stall near the door, four of you squeeze into the straight-backed seats while Surgeon makes due with a flipped over crate at the end. After a few moments, what passes for service at the Hungry Orc stops by the table and places a few mismatched bottles of varying liquer and ale, some obviously already sampled, one nearly empty. The mugs follow suit - some glass, some pottery...all filthy, most still with remnants of drink and other things stuck to the rims and bottoms.

The barman holds out a stained hand. "Tree gol' fer da lot a'ya."

With his good hand, Hatchet goes fishing through his pockets for the coin....

 

[larryfinnjr]

GM: does anyone speak either goblin or orcish? and i bet Ches is just LOVING this place already! LOL

 

[Phesic]

Surge Looks at the "fare" set before him. Gingerly, he reaches out for a bottle of almost empty rum. Placing the top between his teeth, he crunches down on it and begins grinding the glass into more usable components for later.

Glancing over at Hatchet, He speaks in his affected voice.

I'm a gadget guy by trade. If you are interested and have both the patience and the coin, i could get that axe of yours into a more functional form.

[sblock=DM Only]

OOC: Perception Check as I glance around trying to note 2 things, Who might be dangerous and who might be an easy mark

[/sblock]