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Author Topic: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]  (Read 4598 times)

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Offline ShadowOfHeavenTopic starter

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #125 on: November 20, 2012, 11:58:55 AM »
I assume the applications have been closed out?

multi-class applications are still open.

Offline TheGlyphstone

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #126 on: November 20, 2012, 12:13:16 PM »
Are you going to have a co-DM to run this? We're already up to 9 players, which is a huge game.

Offline ShadowOfHeavenTopic starter

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #127 on: November 21, 2012, 02:36:52 AM »
Are you going to have a co-DM to run this? We're already up to 9 players, which is a huge game.

Nope!

Offline Lidian

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #128 on: November 21, 2012, 03:35:25 PM »
So I was thinking a Wizard 1/ Rogue 1. Here goes nothing!

Shae could only help but hold her breath as the guard passed, getting caught now wouldn't only get her landed in the stocks, the 'client' would be furious, and that would just be plain old bad for business. It would be with the quietest of whispers that she would mutter an incantation. As soon as the words left her lips there would be a clamoring and clanking on the other end of the hall, causing the guard to turn his attention the other direction as Shae would slip out of her hiding place, keeping her head low and her gait long and silent. It would be with great difficulty that she'd try to keep a grin off her face as she'd hear the guard questioning another about the sound.

The half-elf would slip through the door, silently closing it behind her, leaving the guard with little to no reason to investigate the room further. Once she did, she knew her prize was within reach. She had been contacted by one of the local lords. All he ever dreamed of was having the amulet that rightfully belonged to a rival house, one kept under lock, key, and other means of protection, and there it was, Shae's ticket to wealth, fame, and glory. Or at least a couple hundred gold she may or may not blow through in a few weeks. She'd slide herself up against the corner where the two stone walls met. Grabbing the Amulet would be easy, if it weren't for the fact that there was a magic circle around it, softly glowing and pulsating with raw power.

She'd find herself pacing in increasingly tight circles, reading the magic circle as she'd grind her teeth together. Deactivating it would be too long, and too complex, especially since the guards were likely just outside the door now. She'd let out a small huff as she'd reach out with her hand, muttering another incantation, a ghostly hand appearing just close enough to grab the amulet. She'd find herself shivering in anticipation, already thinking of how she was going to spend all that gold... just as the tip of her foot would cross the outermost line of the magic circle. It would be with a blaring ring in her ears that she'd realize she'd trip the Alarm, the two guards already running for the door.

Once the door had opened, there were two very angry guards on the other side, weapons drawn and ready to cart her off to the absolute last place she wanted to go right now. She'd break out into an outright run, sliding between the two of them, and running down the hall. Already breathing heavily with a mix of excitement and heart-wrenching terror as she'd jump into a closet and pull it shut tight behind her. Now, locked in a closet, with a group of guards waiting to arrest her at any moment she'd just sigh to herself and pull her knees up to her chest.

It would be hours before it sounded like the search had died down, or at least moved to another part of the manor. Darting across the hall and out window that had been left wide open rather irresponsibly. She'd climb her way up onto the roof and throw herself down into a laying position, trying to calm her heart from pounding from having been a hairs breath from being caught for so long. Holding up the Amulet to the moonlight with a grin before pocketing it, and trying to convince herself that everything had gone exactly as planned.
« Last Edit: November 21, 2012, 03:36:55 PM by Lidian »

Offline ShadowOfHeavenTopic starter

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #129 on: November 22, 2012, 07:45:09 PM »
So I was thinking a Wizard 1/ Rogue 1. Here goes nothing!

Shae could only help but hold her breath as the guard passed, getting caught now wouldn't only get her landed in the stocks, the 'client' would be furious, and that would just be plain old bad for business. It would be with the quietest of whispers that she would mutter an incantation. As soon as the words left her lips there would be a clamoring and clanking on the other end of the hall, causing the guard to turn his attention the other direction as Shae would slip out of her hiding place, keeping her head low and her gait long and silent. It would be with great difficulty that she'd try to keep a grin off her face as she'd hear the guard questioning another about the sound.

The half-elf would slip through the door, silently closing it behind her, leaving the guard with little to no reason to investigate the room further. Once she did, she knew her prize was within reach. She had been contacted by one of the local lords. All he ever dreamed of was having the amulet that rightfully belonged to a rival house, one kept under lock, key, and other means of protection, and there it was, Shae's ticket to wealth, fame, and glory. Or at least a couple hundred gold she may or may not blow through in a few weeks. She'd slide herself up against the corner where the two stone walls met. Grabbing the Amulet would be easy, if it weren't for the fact that there was a magic circle around it, softly glowing and pulsating with raw power.

She'd find herself pacing in increasingly tight circles, reading the magic circle as she'd grind her teeth together. Deactivating it would be too long, and too complex, especially since the guards were likely just outside the door now. She'd let out a small huff as she'd reach out with her hand, muttering another incantation, a ghostly hand appearing just close enough to grab the amulet. She'd find herself shivering in anticipation, already thinking of how she was going to spend all that gold... just as the tip of her foot would cross the outermost line of the magic circle. It would be with a blaring ring in her ears that she'd realize she'd trip the Alarm, the two guards already running for the door.

Once the door had opened, there were two very angry guards on the other side, weapons drawn and ready to cart her off to the absolute last place she wanted to go right now. She'd break out into an outright run, sliding between the two of them, and running down the hall. Already breathing heavily with a mix of excitement and heart-wrenching terror as she'd jump into a closet and pull it shut tight behind her. Now, locked in a closet, with a group of guards waiting to arrest her at any moment she'd just sigh to herself and pull her knees up to her chest.

It would be hours before it sounded like the search had died down, or at least moved to another part of the manor. Darting across the hall and out window that had been left wide open rather irresponsibly. She'd climb her way up onto the roof and throw herself down into a laying position, trying to calm her heart from pounding from having been a hairs breath from being caught for so long. Holding up the Amulet to the moonlight with a grin before pocketing it, and trying to convince herself that everything had gone exactly as planned.

Closets are useful! Approved.
There are links to the OOC and IC threads above.
If you need help with character creation, just message me.

Offline yesiroleplay

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #130 on: November 22, 2012, 07:46:34 PM »
But is she coming out of the closet?

Offline Lidian

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #131 on: November 22, 2012, 07:52:05 PM »
Sometimes you have to stand up and be proud of what you are. Which is a Wizard-rogue who hides in closets.

Offline Strangler

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #132 on: November 26, 2012, 05:54:29 PM »
multi-class applications are still open.
Hi SoH,

I'm writing up a character right now. I tend to put a lot of effort into these things so it might be a while yet.

Quick question: How brutal are you as a DM, on a scale of 1-10?  O:)

Offline MrBubbles

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #133 on: November 26, 2012, 05:59:55 PM »
Question concerning apps as well;

Are you willing to let someone use the Monte Cook Ranger?

Offline yesiroleplay

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #134 on: November 26, 2012, 06:23:11 PM »
Question concerning apps as well;

Are you willing to let someone use the Monte Cook Ranger?
It's a Player's Handbook only game (no feats, classes, or spells from other source material), so I doubt it.

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Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #135 on: November 26, 2012, 06:25:08 PM »
Question concerning apps as well;

Are you willing to let someone use the Monte Cook Ranger?

Isn't that a revision on the 3.0 ranger?

Offline MrBubbles

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #136 on: November 26, 2012, 06:43:50 PM »
It's a Player's Handbook only game (no feats, classes, or spells from other source material), so I doubt it.

In that case, I still got a multi-class idea in store.

Isn't that a revision on the 3.0 ranger?

... Perhaps  :P

I've seen it used for 3.5 though, although considering that yesiroleplay pointed out the class is invalid in the first place, I'll have to work without it.

Offline Strangler

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #137 on: November 26, 2012, 10:42:31 PM »
Selwyn Baraccus

A Chaotic Good Cleric/Fighter with an emphasis on Grapple.

---

A notoriously notorious establishment, the Death's Door had seen more than its fair share of unsavoury customers. For as long as anyone cared to remember thugs, thieves, hustlers, embezzlers, conmen, cutthroats, ill-tempered brutes, vagabonds and all other manner of undesirables had thronged in its stuffy warmth; hunkered down under the dim light beneath the low, lumpy ceiling. For generations this clientele had pressed and bickered and fought for the service of the world-weary barmen; who pushed their drinks through to them via specially-sized gaps in the iron grille that covered the entirety of the thick oaken bar. For generations this clientele had hurled each other over its long, low tables, whether for pride, greed, or just for kicks. For generations the Thieves Guild had made light work of the inebriated who staggered into the street outside in the early morning hours. It was steady, reliable work; as honest as a thief could get. There were purses to be snatched, jewellery to be palmed, organs to be harvested.
 
On this particular night a fight was brewing outside the
Death's Door. This wasn't an unusual occurrence in and of itself, but some novelty was to be found in that it was a fight over religion.

---

"Back down Selwyn." Wyldred hissed, tugging at my sleeve. "You can still leave here tonight without having your throat cut."
"Forget it brother. And have some faith." I said.
The stocky cleric turned a brighter shade of pink.
"Don't you dare question my faith, you trumped-up rookie." Wyldred huffed. "Don't you see? Even if you win, they're not going to let you go. They're still going to cut you open!"
"So you think all this is but a coincidence?" I asked. "That there was no higher purpose in our coming here tonight?
"I think that this is foolishness, is what I think." Wyldred said.
"Are you going to give me that blessing or not?" I said. Wyldred shook his head.
"This just doesn't make sense lad. It just doesn't make sense." Wyldred said.
"Well, Kord moves in mysterious ways."  I said, roughly shrugging off my compatriot as I headed on.
 The shorter cleric paused for a minute. Then, grumbling furiously, he shoved his way past a brawny fur-clad barbarian, who nearly overbalanced in surprise.  I grinned, knowing only too well how much power was contained in my comrades' stocky Dwarven frame.

However as I walked on uneasiness began to set in. After a few dozen paces I halted my progress in the small pool of light cast by a street lantern overhead. All around me the barbarians were organizing into a ragged oval consisting of lean torsos, broad scars, hides and furs. They jostled into place from every side, jeering and hurled insults in a common tongue bolstered by a thick and fibrous accent.
A familiar voice spoke from behind me.
"So. Tonight we learn whose God is stronger. Am I right?"
I turned to face him.

When Wyldred and I had approached the table earlier that night, hoping to spread the word and deed of Kord over a few ales, I'd seen a chance for likely converts. The barbarians were primitive for sure, but they seemed like solid, honest men all the same - The kind who don't shirk a fight, and revel in war but at the end of it all look forward to returning to their women, their children, and the hard but tranquil life of a rural smallholder.

I had been taken aback at the vehement reaction that my evangelism had raised. In the first place I hadn't truly perceived just how many of these hardy folk were present in the Death's Door that night. They must have been a group returned from active service (or searching it out) because at the first sign of a brawl they pushed their way through the milling masses and crowded around the table I had previously besieged - knives fingered from their belts and axes resting lightly upon their broad shoulders.
All at once, and over one another, they demanded a retraction of my statement that Kord was the 'strongest' of all gods. As the confrontation went on they grew louder and louder, and ever more belligerent:

"If your God is so strong, how come we've never even heard of him?"

"Uthgar could carve your god in two easy as I draw breath."

"Take it back, priest, or the only thing that'll be powerful is the smell of dung in your breeches."


We were saved (if that is the right word) by one of their number dressed in full chain. He had only half a nose and no upper lip on the right hand side of his mouth. He pulled a stool from nearby and sat between me and the rest of the barbarians. The others behind fell quickly into a hush. Half-Nose waited for their hubbub to subside.
"Uthgar works in deeds, not words." He finally said. "And I'll back my god to best yours any day." A roar went up behind him.
I gathered as much calm as I could. Fortunately that had always been a merit of mine. 
"A man of strength and wisdom truly. Are you sure you don't follow Kord?" I asked faux-innocently.
A few of the men behind Half-Nose took an angry step forward. But they halted in their tracks as Half-Nose raised a hand.
"If you wish, you and me will fight outside. The loser renounces their god. Do you accept? Or is your god like all the others, all words and no heft." Half-Nose said.
He and his fellows waited patiently for my response.
"This is a bad idea." Wyldred whispered in my ear. 
I nodded thoughtfully at his counsel, then turned my head to smile beatifically at Half-Nose.
"I accept." I said. 
A loud roar of approval went up.

Which is how I came to be alone, surrounded by barbarians, with only the strength of my convictions on my side.

Standing there, half-encased in darkness, I felt fear lurch suddenly into the pit of my stomach. I clamped down on it, swallowing it as whole as I could. I couldn't afford to reveal any weakness.

Half-Nose stepped from the shadows into the flickering light. He regarded me thoughtfully.

---

I think I'll leave it there or I'll go on writing forever  :-)
« Last Edit: November 26, 2012, 11:29:05 PM by Strangler »

Offline MrBubbles

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #138 on: November 27, 2012, 12:16:19 AM »
Name: Brandon Circeli

Classes: Ranger/Rogue

Daybreak within the forest was cold, grey and foggy, although it was far from dreary. The muted light of the sun gave the woodlands a chance to reveal color combinations that would’ve otherwise gone unnoticed; from the dark brown of the trees and the bright greens of lichen that marched up their trunks to the loamy soil and the hardy green undergrowth, the forest was a serene palette of greens and greys. Even the smells seemed to be amplified by the air, an invigorating blend of life and decay that so often fills the autumn air.

Out of all the senses, perhaps the one most affected by the morning moisture was sound. The chittering of squirrels in the forest canopy and the staccato taps of a woodpecker echoed within the woodlands as a lone frog boomed with its morning calls, adding their sounds to the symphony of the forest… Except one sound was out of tune with the rest.

The rustling of undergrowth and the slow crunch of boots against fallen leaves heralded the arrival of a visitor to this part of the woods; a man, tall and graceful was moving through the forest with deliberate strides, a long-sleeved tight-fitting leather jerkin covering his well-toned chest while a grey hood and cloak obscured his face. In his left hand was a masterfully crafted longbow wrought in richly colored yew, in his right a slender arrow, broadhead tipped and fletched with grey goose feathers. His waist was ringed with a collection of satchels, skinning implements and survival gear that clinked ever so faintly with movement. The man’s face as seen from the hood was rugged, his short hair a honey blonde while his eyes were a shade of green. The hunter bent down near a stump overwhelmed by moss and mushrooms, his knee yielding slightly into the soft earth as his fingers reached out to touch a small mess of congealed blood flecked with bits of lung against the stump’s base. “Can’t be too far now” the Hunter thought, his sea-green eyes flicking from the blood on his fingers to the endless sea of trees and bushes around him as thought expecting an answer to his personal declaration.

The Forest answered with the shrill, piercing cry of an animal in it's death throes, the clear sound muting all others as the Hunter’s ears perked up at the sound. Fluidly, the Hunter got up as he wiped the sanguine mess on his fingers against his cloak, bounding through the bushes and grass towards the source of the vocalization with a hint of urgency. After a few moments traversing the undergrowth and another metallic cry of pain, the Hunter came across his quarry, a stag, the sight of which caused his heart to drop.

The hart was leaning tiredly against the trunk of a great Elm, its broad chest heaving with ragged breaths as puffs of air steamed out of its nostrils. Its mouth was frothing with pink foam, a symptom of its mortal wound and a result of the arrow, the Hunter’s arrow, still embedded in its chest. The stag turned its head towards the Hunter as he approached the prone beast, but it made no move to run, consigning its fate to the will of the predator that had dogged it for days.

It’ll be over soon” the Hunter cooed to the beast as he approached, placing his arrow back into its quiver and producing a sharp dagger strapped to his belt. The stag responded with a wheeze of pain, dropping its head back down onto the ground as its wide eyes followed the Hunter as he moved to kneel beside the dying creature. The Hunter pulled back his hood as he looked upon the stag, his brow furrowed in guilt at his failure to give the creature a clean death. “You’ll be with the Forest Father” the Hunter said as he wiped a sleeve against his damp brow, tightening his grip on the blade as he pondered what will come next.

The Hunter’s name was Brandon Circeli, and he was poaching a royal stag in the King’s Forest. To be caught in such a predicament would mean death, but the payoff if he should leave with the beast’s flesh was enormous. Venison was highly sought after as a delicacy by cooks, merchants and the wealthy alike, and Brandon was not one to turn down the prospect of easy coin, “Besides” the Huntsman would tell you, “ain’t like the king or those nobles will miss a deer or two.

The stag let out a tired groan as it looked up at the Huntsman, an expression in it's eyes that could almost be described as understanding. Once the deed was done, Brandon would clean the deer, flay it and section off meat, antlers and hide to be sold once he got out of the woods. The choicest bits of the hart would however remain, an offering to He Who Provides, Silvanus. That would be a task for later, for now it was just the Huntsman and the Hunted. Brandon eyed the knife in his hand, bringing the tip to the stag’s neck as he took in a deep breath and muttered a short prayer.

The cut was sharp and clean.
« Last Edit: November 27, 2012, 10:10:41 PM by MrBubbles »

Offline ShadowOfHeavenTopic starter

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #139 on: November 28, 2012, 09:21:51 AM »
Hi SoH,

I'm writing up a character right now. I tend to put a lot of effort into these things so it might be a while yet.

Quick question: How brutal are you as a DM, on a scale of 1-10?  O:)

I prefer variety. Characters will die, but it won't necessarily be because they didn't have the proper combat feats.
When a situation is dangerous, I do my best to let you know it's dangerous.

Offline ShadowOfHeavenTopic starter

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #140 on: November 28, 2012, 09:23:29 AM »
Name: Brandon Circeli

Classes: Ranger/Rogue

Daybreak within the forest was cold, grey and foggy, although it was far from dreary. The muted light of the sun gave the woodlands a chance to reveal color combinations that would’ve otherwise gone unnoticed; from the dark brown of the trees and the bright greens of lichen that marched up their trunks to the loamy soil and the hardy green undergrowth, the forest was a serene palette of greens and greys. Even the smells seemed to be amplified by the air, an invigorating blend of life and decay that so often fills the autumn air.

Out of all the senses, perhaps the one most affected by the morning moisture was sound. The chittering of squirrels in the forest canopy and the staccato taps of a woodpecker echoed within the woodlands as a lone frog boomed with its morning calls, adding their sounds to the symphony of the forest… Except one sound was out of tune with the rest.

The rustling of undergrowth and the slow crunch of boots against fallen leaves heralded the arrival of a visitor to this part of the woods; a man, tall and graceful was moving through the forest with deliberate strides, a long-sleeved tight-fitting leather jerkin covering his well-toned chest while a grey hood and cloak obscured his face. In his left hand was a masterfully crafted longbow wrought in richly colored yew, in his right a slender arrow, broadhead tipped and fletched with grey goose feathers. His waist was ringed with a collection of satchels, skinning implements and survival gear that clinked ever so faintly with movement. The man’s face as seen from the hood was rugged, his short hair a honey blonde while his eyes were a shade of green. The hunter bent down near a stump overwhelmed by moss and mushrooms, his knee yielding slightly into the soft earth as his fingers reached out to touch a small mess of congealed blood flecked with bits of lung against the stump’s base. “Can’t be too far now” the Hunter thought, his sea-green eyes flicking from the blood on his fingers to the endless sea of trees and bushes around him as thought expecting an answer to his personal declaration.

The Forest answered with the shrill, piercing cry of an animal in it's death throes, the clear sound muting all others as the Hunter’s ears perked up at the sound. Fluidly, the Hunter got up as he wiped the sanguine mess on his fingers against his cloak, bounding through the bushes and grass towards the source of the vocalization with a hint of urgency. After a few moments traversing the undergrowth and another metallic cry of pain, the Hunter came across his quarry, a stag, the sight of which caused his heart to drop.

The hart was leaning tiredly against the trunk of a great Elm, its broad chest heaving with ragged breaths as puffs of air steamed out of its nostrils. Its mouth was frothing with pink foam, a symptom of its mortal wound and a result of the arrow, the Hunter’s arrow, still embedded in its chest. The stag turned its head towards the Hunter as he approached the prone beast, but it made no move to run, consigning its fate to the will of the predator that had dogged it for days.

It’ll be over soon” the Hunter cooed to the beast as he approached, placing his arrow back into its quiver and producing a sharp dagger strapped to his belt. The stag responded with a wheeze of pain, dropping its head back down onto the ground as its wide eyes followed the Hunter as he moved to kneel beside the dying creature. The Hunter pulled back his hood as he looked upon the stag, his brow furrowed in guilt at his failure to give the creature a clean death. “You’ll be with the Forest Father” the Hunter said as he wiped a sleeve against his damp brow, tightening his grip on the blade as he pondered what will come next.

The Hunter’s name was Brandon Circeli, and he was poaching a royal stag in the King’s Forest. To be caught in such a predicament would mean death, but the payoff if he should leave with the beast’s flesh was enormous. Venison was highly sought after as a delicacy by cooks, merchants and the wealthy alike, and Brandon was not one to turn down the prospect of easy coin, “Besides” the Huntsman would tell you, “ain’t like the king or those nobles will miss a deer or two.

The stag let out a tired groan as it looked up at the Huntsman, an expression in it's eyes that could almost be described as understanding. Once the deed was done, Brandon would clean the deer, flay it and section off meat, antlers and hide to be sold once he got out of the woods. The choicest bits of the hart would however remain, an offering to He Who Provides, Silvanus. That would be a task for later, for now it was just the Huntsman and the Hunted. Brandon eyed the knife in his hand, bringing the tip to the stag’s neck as he took in a deep breath and muttered a short prayer.

The cut was sharp and clean.

Approved.
I'll have attribute rolls for you shortly in the OOC thread.

Offline ShadowOfHeavenTopic starter

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #141 on: November 28, 2012, 09:23:59 AM »
Selwyn Baraccus

A Chaotic Good Cleric/Fighter with an emphasis on Grapple.

---

A notoriously notorious establishment, the Death's Door had seen more than its fair share of unsavoury customers. For as long as anyone cared to remember thugs, thieves, hustlers, embezzlers, conmen, cutthroats, ill-tempered brutes, vagabonds and all other manner of undesirables had thronged in its stuffy warmth; hunkered down under the dim light beneath the low, lumpy ceiling. For generations this clientele had pressed and bickered and fought for the service of the world-weary barmen; who pushed their drinks through to them via specially-sized gaps in the iron grille that covered the entirety of the thick oaken bar. For generations this clientele had hurled each other over its long, low tables, whether for pride, greed, or just for kicks. For generations the Thieves Guild had made light work of the inebriated who staggered into the street outside in the early morning hours. It was steady, reliable work; as honest as a thief could get. There were purses to be snatched, jewellery to be palmed, organs to be harvested.
 
On this particular night a fight was brewing outside the
Death's Door. This wasn't an unusual occurrence in and of itself, but some novelty was to be found in that it was a fight over religion.

---

"Back down Selwyn." Wyldred hissed, tugging at my sleeve. "You can still leave here tonight without having your throat cut."
"Forget it brother. And have some faith." I said.
The stocky cleric turned a brighter shade of pink.
"Don't you dare question my faith, you trumped-up rookie." Wyldred huffed. "Don't you see? Even if you win, they're not going to let you go. They're still going to cut you open!"
"So you think all this is but a coincidence?" I asked. "That there was no higher purpose in our coming here tonight?
"I think that this is foolishness, is what I think." Wyldred said.
"Are you going to give me that blessing or not?" I said. Wyldred shook his head.
"This just doesn't make sense lad. It just doesn't make sense." Wyldred said.
"Well, Kord moves in mysterious ways."  I said, roughly shrugging off my compatriot as I headed on.
 The shorter cleric paused for a minute. Then, grumbling furiously, he shoved his way past a brawny fur-clad barbarian, who nearly overbalanced in surprise.  I grinned, knowing only too well how much power was contained in my comrades' stocky Dwarven frame.

However as I walked on uneasiness began to set in. After a few dozen paces I halted my progress in the small pool of light cast by a street lantern overhead. All around me the barbarians were organizing into a ragged oval consisting of lean torsos, broad scars, hides and furs. They jostled into place from every side, jeering and hurled insults in a common tongue bolstered by a thick and fibrous accent.
A familiar voice spoke from behind me.
"So. Tonight we learn whose God is stronger. Am I right?"
I turned to face him.

When Wyldred and I had approached the table earlier that night, hoping to spread the word and deed of Kord over a few ales, I'd seen a chance for likely converts. The barbarians were primitive for sure, but they seemed like solid, honest men all the same - The kind who don't shirk a fight, and revel in war but at the end of it all look forward to returning to their women, their children, and the hard but tranquil life of a rural smallholder.

I had been taken aback at the vehement reaction that my evangelism had raised. In the first place I hadn't truly perceived just how many of these hardy folk were present in the Death's Door that night. They must have been a group returned from active service (or searching it out) because at the first sign of a brawl they pushed their way through the milling masses and crowded around the table I had previously besieged - knives fingered from their belts and axes resting lightly upon their broad shoulders.
All at once, and over one another, they demanded a retraction of my statement that Kord was the 'strongest' of all gods. As the confrontation went on they grew louder and louder, and ever more belligerent:

"If your God is so strong, how come we've never even heard of him?"

"Uthgar could carve your god in two easy as I draw breath."

"Take it back, priest, or the only thing that'll be powerful is the smell of dung in your breeches."


We were saved (if that is the right word) by one of their number dressed in full chain. He had only half a nose and no upper lip on the right hand side of his mouth. He pulled a stool from nearby and sat between me and the rest of the barbarians. The others behind fell quickly into a hush. Half-Nose waited for their hubbub to subside.
"Uthgar works in deeds, not words." He finally said. "And I'll back my god to best yours any day." A roar went up behind him.
I gathered as much calm as I could. Fortunately that had always been a merit of mine. 
"A man of strength and wisdom truly. Are you sure you don't follow Kord?" I asked faux-innocently.
A few of the men behind Half-Nose took an angry step forward. But they halted in their tracks as Half-Nose raised a hand.
"If you wish, you and me will fight outside. The loser renounces their god. Do you accept? Or is your god like all the others, all words and no heft." Half-Nose said.
He and his fellows waited patiently for my response.
"This is a bad idea." Wyldred whispered in my ear. 
I nodded thoughtfully at his counsel, then turned my head to smile beatifically at Half-Nose.
"I accept." I said. 
A loud roar of approval went up.

Which is how I came to be alone, surrounded by barbarians, with only the strength of my convictions on my side.

Standing there, half-encased in darkness, I felt fear lurch suddenly into the pit of my stomach. I clamped down on it, swallowing it as whole as I could. I couldn't afford to reveal any weakness.

Half-Nose stepped from the shadows into the flickering light. He regarded me thoughtfully.

---

I think I'll leave it there or I'll go on writing forever  :-)

Approved. I'll have rolls for you shortly in the OOC thread.

Offline Strangler

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #142 on: November 28, 2012, 10:48:15 AM »
Approved. I'll have rolls for you shortly in the OOC thread.

Cool! Looking forward to it.

Offline MrBubbles

Re: D&D 3.5 Campaign Seeks Players [NC, Extreme, Plot]
« Reply #143 on: November 28, 2012, 11:27:20 AM »
Approved. I'll have rolls for you shortly in the OOC thread.

Awesome! Never played a campaign quite like this before, will definitely be fun.