>>4303639
Delita
28
>I am a Slayer from the Great Northern Wastes. Long have my people hunted the most dangerous prey and I have set out to claim my own glory and riches while I travel the land.

>>4303639
>>Other
>I am a man who wishes to impress a girl I'm infatuated with

>>4303639
>Name: Mira Zarde
>Age: 21

>I am a trained Hunter for the Kalton Empire. Orphans have little value beyond what labor they may provide and many are taken to be trained for bloodier work.

>>4303643
>>4303645
Ok m80’s gonna clarify here. Op is a shit writer and dislikes doing female PC’s intensly.

>>4303639
>Name: Tryggvi the Bloody-Handed
>Age: 24
>Backstory: I am a Slayer from the Great Northern Wastes. Long have my people hunted the most dangerous prey and I have set out to claim my own glory and riches while I travel the land.

>>4303639
Name: Bahr Camor
Age: 23
Wanderer from Ashlands

>>4303639


>>4303639
Name: Bagal Rattan
age: 20
Background:
>I am scum, with bounties of my own head, from another continent. Here I can be anyone, because who I was is dead.

>>4303644
Ok but where are you from you horny bastard

>>4303663
>The Moon

>>4303657
Support

>>4303662
+1
Based scoundrel scum

>>4303639
Grug
27
>>Other
No remember tribe, me no no things, me just hunt and kill.

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>>4303671

>>4303671
Strong support of based Grug. With further support that each time we die we just go down the character list.

+10 for high leathality.

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>>4303639
>I am John Stugman, I am a mech pilot from a different time, I have no idea what's going on and all I have is my trusty pistol

>>4303651
switching to >>4303657

>>4303671
>>4303674
As much as Grug tickles my testicles, unfortunately a caveman has no place in this totally not a Witcher ripoff quest. Perhaps we could do a oneshot shits and giggles with primeval monster hunter Grug

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>>4303681

>>4303686
>I may also do drugs

>>4303662
Support, based scoundrel scum x2

>>4303681
>>4303671
>I Grug Stugman, From future past! Me Dinorider. not know where home. Hope this leap last. Also rape.

>>4303662
+1

A man with a past and a price on his head. Sounds like good fun.

>>4303662
If not Grug, then this'll be good.

>>4303689
Character creation was a mistake

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>>4303662
Looks like our boy Bagal Rattan is the winner!

RIP based Grug, you were too pure for this world of mine.

Writan.

>>4303693
It literally always is but I fucking love it when it’s beautiful like this

>>4303639
Name: Sulik
Age: 34

>I am a Wanderer from the Ashlands. My people cast me out for my desire to leave behind the old ways and see the world, I had only one trade to support myself, Death.

Sulik is bald and sports a large carved bone that pierces his nose. His tribal heritage is evident as he take care to make up coal powder around his eyes, giving him a sinister look that goes well with his prominent yellowish skin.

>>4303698
>fallout poster.
GET OUT OF HERE STALKER.
but stick around.

>Bagal Rattan
>Age 20
>Background: A wanted criminal, bloodied hands and harried by the Bounty Hunters of his old homeland, he has come to this continent to seek his fortune.

You straighten, pulling your hood back from your face as the chill night air crawls across your skin. You look up towards the night sky, the stars there unfamiliar to you. Sometimes you look back on the deeds that set in motion your exile to this far away land, the blood that stains your hands and soul irredeemably in the eyes of your once countrymen. You had been poorer than dirt itself as a child and with the death of your parents from the Green Pox, you were left with nothing but a natural aptitude for violence and a brutal cunning. A few coppers here and there quickly grew into robbery and murder on the roads. You had discovered that spilling blood was not only easy for you, it was profitable. One slit throat, your dagger gliding through the fat jowls of a begging copper clipper, saw you and your small gang with more coin than your parents and grandparents had made in their entire lives. You’d moved up in the world after that, selling your blade to whoever was the highest bidder. Spice Dealers wanting a bodyguard? Done. Slavers wanting a ringer in the fighting pits? Done and done. Kerashi Nobles wanting their bastards or rivals killed in the night? Done as easy as breathing.

It was too good to last forever however and someone, you’ve no idea who, but someone had ratted you out. You’d awoken in the night to find Adkeri Guardsmen kicking down your door and slaughtering the few you’d called friends. A inglorious tumble out a window after smashing a bottle of Dragons Blood in their cunt faces saw you nursing cracked ribs in the stinking hold of a Khuldani Slaver ship, headed for the Caldean continent. Far far away from those who knew your face and hopefully out of their reach forever. There was much opportunity for a man of your talents in this new continent. The squabbling petty kingdoms and empires kept the lands in constant chaos while the lawbringers were stretched as thin as Vrossili lace. You kneel on the cold, wet ground and drag your fingers across a track cast in silver black light. Rising with a small smile, you press on, continuing on the trail of your quarry.

>You’d managed to bring one of your treasured possessions with you in your flight from your homeland. You’d brought a...

>A Stolen Spellbook. While most of the arcane scrawls were painful to look at for you, a few of the basic Arcane Words were simple enough even you could use them. (Learn words of Power Pyritus, Imperos, Mallus, Glacies.)

>A Alchemists Kit. A assorted mess of powders, oils, dried fungi and herbs, it could be used to create a variety of volatile or helpful creations if you can find or buy ingredients.

>A Kerashi hand bow. A small but powerful crossbow fitted into a gauntlet, excellent for surprise shots in and out of combat. (15/15 bolts)

>Other (write in encouraged)

>>4303722
>>Other (write in encouraged)
>Grug's big rock

>>4303722
>A Stolen Spellbook. While most of the arcane scrawls were painful to look at for you, a few of the basic Arcane Words were simple enough even you could use them. (Learn words of Power Pyritus, Imperos, Mallus, Glacies.)

Most people never expected a low life to suffocate them in their sleep with a word. Shame about the nosebleeds.

>>4303722
>A Kerashi hand bow. A small but powerful crossbow fitted into a gauntlet, excellent for surprise shots in and out of combat. (15/15 bolts)
Basically the assassins creed hidden blade but a crossbow? I’ll take it.

>>4303724
>A rock you once took from a simpleton, just because you could. He claimed that it was magic, that it made his bones and hands iron....You called it bullshit. After getting run over by a wagon in a drunken stupor, you realized the rock was in your pocket. Sure enough, the skin and muscles on your ribs were painful beyond description, but your bones never cracked.

>>4303722
>A Stolen Spellbook

>>4303722
>>A Kerashi hand bow. A small but powerful crossbow fitted into a gauntlet, excellent for surprise shots in and out of combat. (15/15 bolts)
>Other (write in encouraged)
A trinket from a friend long dead. A simple rock on a string. Grug's memento

>>4303728
Or this

>>4303722
>>Other (write in encouraged)

>A pair of boots with magical soles that make no noise when treading on the ground

>>4303722
>A mundane-looking longsword you found in an ancient tomb among more impressive treasures. Although it was dull, it cut better and withstood harsher blows than any other sword you'd ever seen in your life, and sometimes you had the oddest feeling that someone was watching you.

>>4303736
gayest shit I've read all day

>>4303737
you got a problem with that, fag

>>4303740
Yes nigger.

>>4303727
Basically yes. It’s a small, metal crossbow that springs out with a lever on the side of the gauntlet. The bolts it fires aren’t large but they can punch through skin, bone, scaled hide and leathers with no trouble.

>>4303728
Supporting lucky rock

>>4303728
Ok anons I’ll tell you what. I will give you a Grug memento, a shiny pebble on a cord given to you by a old member of your group. I will even toss in a minor damage resistance buff because it’s a Arcana charged pebble because I really like the dedication to bringing the Grug. But I’m gonna need choices on the two choices that seem to be tied which are
>>4303725
>>4303729
And
>>4303731
>>4303727

So if you greasy shitters can decide whether you want to be a sneaky crossbow boi or a Cantrip slinging Rogue we can get this show on the road.

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>>4303763
Grug Stone.

>>4303763
the magical soles :(

fiiine the crossbow

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>>4303770

>>4303771
haha Spell book go brrrr.

>>4303778
Grugman

>>4303763
I will go for crossbow still

>Kerashi Handbow 15/15 bolts
>Grugs lucky pebble: Crude Amulet of Protection (-2 to Attack rolls against you)

You idly adjust the buckled leather straps that go across the underside of your forearm, securing a angular metal gauntlet to your arm. You’d won the object in a game of dice with a pair of Kerashi Mercenaries, the robed men parting with it and their coin with curses in their guttural tongue. As backwards as some of their traditions may be, the Kerashi make some of the most intricate metalworks and jewelry the world over and this compact weapon is no exception. With the depression of a small button on the side, the steel spring arms would spring out to the sides, drawing tight a braided steel cord. A simple lever trigger would protrude slightly from the underside, able to be triggered with a motion of your palm. The hand length bolts it fired weren’t accurate at long ranges but there was no better weapon for surprising an opponent who thought themselves out of reach of a sword. Many a hired blade had found their life at an end with a sudden sharp pain in their chest as a needle sharp bolt pierced their lung.

Ceasing your fiddling with the handbow’s straps, you bring your hand up to a small pebble that hangs from a cord around your neck. The egg shaped stone resembles smoky quartz shot through with streaks of blue and yellow. Barely bigger than a robins egg, it had been pressed into your hand by a former member of your group, a simple minded brute of a man named Grug. He had been assured the stone was lucky and wanted you to have it as he bled to death after a tussle with some Khuldani Dragons Guildsmen. You’d like Grug, his simple demeanor and limitless strength coming in handy more times than you could count. So you had kept the stone and by all the gods if you hadn’t been more lucky than you had before you’d worn it. You’d had some bad tussles since then and you’d come out with far fewer scapes and slashes than you probably should have.

Tucking the lucky pebble back under your shirt and adjusting your simple leather armor as you walk, you keep one eye on the ground and your ears open as you continue on. You’re not much farther from your prey and you’ll be damned if they get the drop on you and not the other way around.

>Your prey is....

>A trio of petty bandits wanted for the murder of a village priest near the town of Burlsborg.

>A mage gone rogue near the village of Whitehollow. The Ealdorman reports strange sounds coming from the forest.

>A Haftigor has been terrorizing the farmers of Midcopse. The brute has been extorting food and drink for weeks.

>A small group of demon worshippers have taken refuse in the sewers of Bronzegate. They may have sacrifices already in chains.

>>4303805
>>A small group of demon worshippers have taken refuse in the sewers of Bronzegate. They may have sacrifices already in chains.

>>4303771
Crossbow. We a sneaky shooty

>>4303805
Mage. I irrationally hate mages.

>>4303805
>>A trio of petty bandits wanted for the murder of a village priest near the town of Burlsborg.

>>4303805
>A trio of petty bandits wanted for the murder of a village priest near the town of Burlsborg.

>>4303806
Supporting.

Also that they would dare take people's trash. Demonic Garbagemen.

>>4303805
>leather armor

SHAKE MY HEAD.
Also that crossbow sounds like a bitch to reload...

fucking mages

>A mage gone rogue near the village of Whitehollow. The Ealdorman reports strange sounds coming from the forest.

>>4303805
>A small group of demon worshippers have taken refuse in the sewers of Bronzegate. They may have sacrifices already in chains.

>>4303806
>>4303812
>>4303824

Demon worshippers gonna get it. Writan

>>4303830
I am a hard working citizen who enjoys starting his day with the moving of his morning bowels and I'll be damned if I have to worry about imps crawling up my ass every morn'

The Bishop of the town of the Bronzegate had looked at you with barely contained zealous disgust when you entered his office to discuss the open contract on the cultists in the towns sewers. The followers of the Sacred Flame had little patience for their own and less so for actual “heretics”. The fact that you were not a fire worshipping nutter was not discussed as he counted out a sum of two hundred Crowns, payable upon completion. Apparently these particular nutters had been nothing more than a minor nuisance for the clergy and townsfolk until late but apparently they had gotten bolder or their profane ceremonies required more “potent” fuel as they stopped stealing chickens and cats and instead apparently abducted one of the Chapels acolytes. A beggar had found her three days later in the outflow tunnel from the sewers, her body mutilated almost beyond recognition.

The captain of the town guard allegedly claimed that he had no men to spare to hunt down the cultists, a sentiment the Bishop didn’t share. According to the portly, red faced man in robes, the town guard were simply cowards of insufficient faith. Circumstances led to you being the fortunate sod having to traipse through tunnels ankle deep in filth and track down a few raving lunatics convinced the dark powers were going to grant them immortality or gold or horse cocks or something along those lines. It’s with a mild annoyance driven headache and a resigned shrug that you find step through the tall, dew laden grasses and spy several sets of tracks and a staggered drag mark leading through the mud towards a low stone tunnel, a trickle of murky odorous sludge dripping from the mild overhang.

>Examine the tracks. Neither the Bishop nor the Captain knew how many of these nutters there are.

>Examine the area, this seems to be Their main point of entry and egress but it couldn’t hurt to check.

>Draw your weapon and head on inside. You’re not being paid to dither about.

>Inspect your gear, it will be good to take stock of what you have on you.

>Other

>>4303840
>>Examine the area, this seems to be Their main point of entry and egress but it couldn’t hurt to check.

>>4303840
>Examine the area, this seems to be Their main point of entry and egress but it couldn’t hurt to check.

Doesn't matter how many of them there are if we can just seal the damn tunnel up and then smoke them out (or to death).

Fucking babbling idiots, the hostages weren't part of the deal, just gettin' rid of the cultists. #scumbag style

>>4303840
>>Inspect your gear, it will be good to take stock of what you have on you.

oooh? We have more goodies? Do we have a MuNdAnE sWoRd with us?

>>4303840
>Draw your weapon and head on inside. You’re not being paid to dither about.

Imagine being careful and shit

>>4303840
>Inspect your gear, it will be good to take stock of what you have on you.

>>4303840
>>Examine the area, this seems to be Their main point of entry and egress but it couldn’t hurt to check.

>>4303846
You have some basic gear, utility items and whatnot but yeah this is a chance to take stock and decide your main weapon. I’d give you guys some leeway to be pretty creative here as you’re in generic fantasy setting #35769 that is most definitely not a complete Witcher knockoff. A Longsword? Fine. Paired shortswords? Bueno. Rapier? Cool. A Vrossili scimitar? Cool beans. A Kerashi Cutlass or a Koltan Halberd? Awesome possum.

>>4303855
Cutlass!!!!!

>>4303855
Club.

>>4303855
Fists.

>>4303684
Make Grug an NPC companion, it'll be great.

>Examine the Area. This seems to be the main point of entry into the cultists makeshift hideout.

If you guys could feed the ever hungry Cursed a 1d100 that would be awesome. Best of three as always.

Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>4303873

>>4303855
Flintlock pistol. Or if that’s too advanced a cutlass, gotta get that pirate feel.

>>4303855
So we got a crossy, lets get a few throwing knives and maybe something for a little personal? A pair for daggers would be a perfect fit

>>4303855
Shortsword. As we'd probably find ourselves in narrow spaces, a short makes sense. Also go inside, start stabbing.

Rolled 91 (1d100)

>>4303873
>>4303864
>Enchanted fists.

Rolled 75 (1d100)

>>4303873

Rolled 12 (1d100)

>>4303873

>>4303876
Yeah a flintlock is passed the technological curve of the setting. Your collapsible hand crossbow is considered cutting edge in some places and flat out witchcraft in others

>>4303855
Warhammer. I'm talking an actual one, not the "Warhammers" that are basically an anvil strapped to a stick.

>>4303881
>91! Excellent success!

Using the rising moonlight at your back to illuminate the ground in tones of silver and black, you crouch as close as you dare to the fetid mud that the tracks cut through. You carefully move from track to track, deducing the gait of the ones who made them, their weight, any oddities or quirks to their step that could tell you more about them.

From your first examination, you can tell that there are three cultists at most that took this way back in. The fresh drag marks in the mud are likely from their newest capture, likely a young woman by the size and shape. By the staggered appearance of the drag marks, she was kicking and fighting the whole way yet none came to help? They likely had her gagged. Some spatters of blood, black in the moonlight stand out against the dull grey brown of the filth that trickles lazily from the sewer exit. Resting in a particularly large splotch of blood, a chunk of flesh resembling that from the webbing between a thumb and forefinger. Delicately picking it up with a pinch of your fingers, you brush away the filth and grimace at the ragged edges of the torn flesh. Seems some poor sod had his hand over her mouth and she decided to bite the living blazes out of him. The tracks get muddled there for a moment and then they carry on, the drag marks now solid and even, a small spatter of blood and a broken tooth showing that somebody had lost their temper at the woman’s struggles and punched her in the mouth.

Examining the tracks further, you come to your final assumptions on the group. One, a thin and tall man with a limp in his right leg was the leader, walking ahead of the others with the aid of a walking stick. The second was a short man of average build, badly pigeon toed and either clumsy or a drunkard judging from the stumbling path through the muck. The third was a large man, heavy and broad, tasked with dragging the struggling woman. It was he that had likely had the chunk bitten from his hand as she fought. The woman was young, slender but strong, possibly a milkmaid or a tavern server. She’d put up quite a fight before being beaten into submission and you doubt that she would go under the knife peacefully.

Looking down the dark maw of the sewer tunnel, you can hear nothing but the trickle of water and other fouler liquids burbling about in the dark along with the squeaking and chattering of the everpresent rats. You’d seen some in the Roksendra sewers that were the size of dogs, bloated with foul magic and even fouler gases.

>Examine your gear, check and make sure you have everything you could need. (Decide weapon and utility items)

>Draw your weapon and head down the tunnel. You’re not being paid to dither.
(Decide weapon, begin hunt)

>head into the sewer and make a racket. They’ll be less likely to kill her if they know you’re coming. (Softie at Heart)

>Try to set a bonfire at the entrance and see if you can smoke them out (Heartless Bastard)

>Other

>>4303906
>>Try to set a bonfire at the entrance and see if you can smoke them out (Heartless Bastard)
>Try to set a bonfire at the entrance and see if you can smoke them out (Heartless Bastard)
>Try to set a bonfire at the entrance and see if you can smoke them out (Heartless Bastard)

>>4303906
>Try to set a bonfire at the entrance and see if you can smoke them out (Heartless Bastard)
>Try to set a bonfire at the entrance and see if you can smoke them out (Heartless Bastard)
>Try to set a bonfire at the entrance and see if you can smoke them out (Heartless Bastard)

>>4303906
>>head into the sewer and make a racket. They’ll be less likely to kill her if they know you’re coming. (Softie at Heart)

>>4303908
>>4303909
This is good.
As long as we don't blow up the sewers.

>>4303906
Sorry but I want to unlock the Fade_to_black option, if you know what I mean.

>Draw the cutlass and move inwards through the tunnel. No need to make a racket tho

We know there are at least two cultists that can fight, might be some more, but I doubt they'll put much of a fight.

>>4303906
>Draw your FISTS and head down the tunnel. You’re not being paid to dither.

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>>4303906
>head into the sewer and make a racket. They’ll be less likely to kill her if they know you’re coming. (Looking to get some action on the side afterwards)
Also, drawing our bandit knife.

>>4303906
>head into the sewer and make a racket. They’ll be less likely to kill her if they know you’re coming. (Softie at Heart)

>>4303906
>Try to set a bonfire at the entrance and see if you can smoke them out (Heartless Bastard)

>>4303906
>Try to set a bonfire at the entrance and see if you can smoke them out (Heartless Bastard)

We're a hardened criminal, not a softie.

>>4304007
>>4303999
>>4303911
>>4303909
>>4303908

It seems we’re a black hearted bastard after all.

If you guys could toss me a 1d100 for your bonfire success. Best of three, this will be a rather high DC however as these are expansive sewer systems.

>>4303972
I like that knife quite a bit. That’s a nice knife knigga

Rolled 99 (1d100)

>>4304010

Rolled 3 (1d100)

>>4304010

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>>4304013
Literally pic related

Rolled 98 (1d100)

>>4304010

>>4304013
Damn

Rolled 100 (1d100)

>>4304010

Rolled 65 (1d100)

>>4304010

>>4304019
Uh so close

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>4304019
Here I am torn between the rule of cool and the Bo3 rule. The dice shall decide.

>Allow this crit for lulz

>Rule of three stands

>>4304022
fUUUUUUUCK
98, 99 and 100 all in the same roll tho, lol

>>4304011
I know, right? I tried putting in DS3's Bandit's Knife, but for whatever reason it didn't take.

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>4304027
First to three

Rolled 1 (1d2)

>>4304027

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>4304027

>>4304013
>99! Outstanding Success!

You think long and hard for a few moments, crossing your arms and scowling at the entrance to the sewer. While you know for a fact that young woman is likely still alive, the fact of the matter remains that if you go in after her she’ll likely be dead or at least maimed horribly before you can find her. It would be better to spare her a agonizing death so you can be sure she is properly avenged.

Or at least that’s what you tell yourself as you begin gathering dry, sticky pine branches and bundles of dead grass from the surrounding scrubgrowth. Piling the gathered kindling and fuel into the mouth of the sewer, you build a waist high mound that extends nearly eight feet into the tunnel in a relatively short span of time thanks to the surrounding dead foliage in the area. Packing several large handfuls of tarry pine cones and clumps of the sap filled needles you stand back. Rummaging through your belt, you draw out a flint and steel. Taking the respective pieces in both hands, you strike them together at a sharp angle and are gratified with repeated showers of heavy sparks. Within moments curls of thick gray smoke are beginning to drift upwards from the gathered fuel, drifting inwards into the sewer. You smile and step back, crossing your arms as the small hungry embers grow into flickering flames. The thin whisps of smoke grow into thick streams, pouring upward and into the depths of the tunnel like a ash colored serpent. Cinders and sparks are carried along the burning hot stream of air and glow like the eyes of devils as they course down the sewer tunnels, past suddenly panicked and suffocating rats.

It only takes a short while for the flood of vermin from the smaller tunnels to begin, smoke oozing out behind them. Those small openings are far too narrow for men to crawl through no matter how desperate he may be. So you keep your eyes trained on the entrance to the sewer tunnel, the flames casting angular black shadows against your face as the bonfire sends the lethal plumes of smoke into the depths of Bronzegates sewers. If you strain your ears, over the crackle of the fire and the terrified squeaks of burnt and smothering rodents, you can hear panicked shouts and howls of fear.

And they are drawing closer by the moment.

Taking several steps back from the entrance you stand at the edge of the sewer, your hand going to your hip to draw your...

>What are you armed with my melanin infused compatriots. Be free to be creative but also within reason.

>>4304070
See >>4303972.

>>4304070
Morningstar

>>4304070
Our crossbow, and a flanged mace.

>>4304070
Hewing spear, good for boars, bears and the occasional man with a blade

>>4304070
>>4304073
Bandit knife support. Sneaky stabby

>>4304070
The cutlaaaaaaas. Godamn it...

Can we also have a fling and stones?

>>4303972
>>4304088
As the only option to break 2 votes. The bandit dagger wins! It is a light weapon so you may throw it with no penalty to accuracy or range.

Writan!

>>4304070
How about a Speer?

>>4304119
Crossbow

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The blade that springs to your hand almost with a life of its own has so long been at your hip it may as well be a part of you. The blade blurs the line between a dagger and a shortsword, nearly a foot and a half of heavy blades, single edged steel. The blade widens out at its belly from the simple brass guard, tapering upwards into a sharp and piercing tip. The handle is dark, sweat stained wood riveted with soft iron and bound tight with strips of leather cordage. You’d long ago considered notching the blade with the tallies of lives taken under its edge but honestly, there’d be nothing left of the blade at this point.

Spinning the dagger in your hand, you grip it in a reverse grip and ready yourself, knees bent slightly and breathing even. Your mind calms and goes to that soft and quiet place while your hands do the work they were born for. Your vision goes flat and gray, seeing everything and nothing all at once as the makeshift bonfire rages, sending torrents of lethal smoke churning up the sewer, broiling the cultists as they scream for their misbegotten god to save their worthless flesh.

With a shower of sparks and burning coals, the bonfire bursts outward as a howling brute of a man plows through it like a cart horse through a snowdrift. His tunic and tattered trousers are smoking and smoldering, his exposed skin is streaked with thick sweat and angry red burns and his blistered left hand weeps blood from a ragged gouge. Below a bald and misshapen scalp his piggish nose is squashed upwards, broken more than a time or two and streaming mucus and blood. his beady ratlike eyes are bloodshot, tears coating his cheeks as he hacks and coughs, cursing in a slurring, hoarse groan. As he wails and waves his burned hands about, you can see he his missing a good portion of his tongue, his scattered few teeth poking from his gums at odd angles. Behind him comes a stocky, bearded man dressed in layers of ragged cloth that steaks and smokes as he charges through the path made by the oaf. His thick black beard and tangled hair are both singed and smoking and he is heavily favoring his left arm, burned horribly from the impact with some heated portion of the wall. Thrown over his shoulder is the limp form of a young woman, her head and torso hidden by his frame but her mud streaked legs and torn, bloodstained pale blue dress are both evidence that she is the one they had dragged through here earlier.

>Cont

>>4304195
You at first assume the lass is dead but a weak kick of her leg as the squat Cultist grips her buttocks with a leer and pushes after his lumbering companion. Behind the stocky member burdened with their captive comes the apparent leader of the tiny cult, a aging man who you would normally mistake for a beggar if not for the strange, angular symbol carved into his forehead. His eyes are bloodshot and wide, blood streaming from his nose as he quickly shuffles forward, stumbling and nearly falling as he steps down from the sewer pipe if not for the gnarled walking stick in his hands. His face is thin and sallow, the skin drawn tight over his skull and his cheeks and watery eyes sunken deeply. His nose is long and hooked while his hairline has receded far back, exposing a pockmarked scalp dotted with wispy remains of hair. He is clad in a dirty gray robe, spotted with dried blood and other assorted filth near the bottom while tucked into the cloth belt at his waist is a sickle shaped, double edged dagger that is stained on every conceivable edge with dried blood. You’re sure if any dagger ever had “sacrificial” stuck to its name, it would be that one.

The cult “leader” hacks and coughs, spitting a wad of bloody phlegm on the ground as his compatriots mill about in equal parts anger and confusion. The squat Cultist dumps his charge to the ground and lazily kicks at her ribs, prompting a weak groan of pain from the limp figure. Turning to the brutish oaf, the stocky member curses
“Damnit Kor! Damnit! Who’s job was it to keep the bitch quiet? Eh? Eh? Who’s job? You let the bitch squeal just cause she nipped ya and now look? Some cunt done tried to burn us out! Ya know what?!”
Stepping forward, he smacks the brute across the head and chest, the towering brute cringing back from the blows.
“He didn’t fuckin’ try! The fucker did burn us out! We’re right fucked! Fucked cause you!”
The stocky man begins punctuating his words with blows to the cowering oafs face and neck.
“Couldn’t! Keep! That! Bitch!” Qui-”

>Cont

>>4304196
“Quiet Rald. We.. ack.. we need to move. The zenith is nearly upon us and the Chained King demands we finish the ceremony.”
The thin, scarred Cultist finally speaks, his voice relatively calm for a madman who was just nearly burned alive. He gestures with his walking stick, his other hand resting on the hilt of his dagger.
“Kor. Take the girl. We need to get out of here before the guard come by. Their fear for their souls will only keep them away for so long”

Kor immediately stops his cringing, nodding feverishly and stopping to carefully pick up the weakly moaning young woman. His voice is deep but almost childlike in its simplicity.
“C’mere pretty lady. Fathah say you gots t’go wif us. C’mon! Ups ya get”

Like a sack of potatoes, the young woman is thrown over the brutes shoulder as he follows the “leader” like a lost puppy, the stocky man following close behind him as they begin to file out of the depression leading from the sewer, their path taking them in the opposite direction of the city, parallel to where you stand hidden by the stark shadows cast by the fire.

>Rald, Kor and Father are all headed away from the town to finish their ceremony in peace.
>What do?

>>4304197
See if we can pick off one of them, or possibly filch that sacrificial dagger off the Pa. Can't sacrifice someone without a consecrated sacrificial dagger.

Also, if we try to steal the dagger, try not to touch it with our bare hands, we don't know where it was. Use a bag or one of our socks to carry it.

>>4304197

Rush at them from behind and before they notice the rustle Bagal's sprint makes, jump at the weak looking one and stab them real hard. Give the brute a bolt in his chest and leave the old man for last

>>4304197
>>What do?
follow, and wait for opportune time to gank them.

>>4304197
Discrtion is the better part of valor. A duelist told you that once before the poison you slipped in his drink did him in.

Drop the father, a bolt to the neck or back, same to Rald. Doesnt gotta kill em, the dagger can do that afterwords. Like slipping in between the ribs of a downed deer.

Kor is likely a simpleton, when he turns around he gets a shot to the vitals, maybe the belly. A brute like him would keep fighting on with a bolt to the chest, or probably even the head, its gotta hurt. Gotta make him cry.

>>4304197
Wait for them to turn their backs, then bolt 'em and stab 'em

File: C0A10326-FAE8-42B0-B5F2-7(...).jpg (41 KB, 500x500)

41 KB JPG

>Popular consensus seems to be follow them stealthily and then fire a bolt into the weakest ones back as your first action.
>can I get 2d100 please? Best of three as always

Rolled 8, 36 = 44 (2d100)

>>4304663

Rolled 4, 90 = 94 (2d100)

>>4304663

File: 07C695A8-A3FA-4051-9529-D(...).gif (2.4 MB, 392x266)

2.4 MB GIF

>>4304664
Crikey

Rolled 49, 58 = 107 (2d100)

>>4304663

>49! You’re not as sneaky as you thought
>90! Rald is definitely having a rough day

The three man cult continues on through the brush and undergrowth of the scattered foliage surrounding the outflow of the town sewers. Rald continues quietly cursing Kor’s various shortcomings as the cult leader, “Father” leads the way with a surprising vigor for a aging man that requires a walking stick. The hulking Kor takes the middle of the single file line, the weakly moaning captive woman slung over his shoulder like a sack of rags, her tangled dirty blonde hair streaked with mud and blood. The moon crawls ever higher in the sky as you follow after them, keeping the rear of the group within eyeshot but moving slowly enough that your footfalls in the soft ground and foliage are inaudible.

You go over possible routes of attack on the cultists, formulating a plan as you walk. Rald is the most seemingly violent of the trio, his attitude and build suggesting he’s had some history with violence. He’s likely the only one with any real idea of what to do in a fight but you doubt his knowledge extends beyond bar brawls or back alley tussles. Kor is a simpleton plain and simple. You hardly doubt he even knows what’s going on, just being led around by the nose by the charisma of “Father”. While he may not be overly aggressive on his own, like a faithful hound if he felt his master was threatened he could be a frightful opponent. You’ll have to hurt him, put him in enough pain that he’ll be thrown off balance enough for you to hit something important. The leader of the three, the scarred madman seems to be relatively frail but he’s moving with surprising ease despite the limp, easily leading the group through the foliage. You doubt he’s much of a fighter but you’d rather not take a cut from that dagger, filthy as it is. There is also the possibility that he knows some sort of Arcana, perhaps gifted to him from whatever vile ceremonies they had undertaken.

>Cont

>>4304697
Whatever your plan may have been, it’s cut short in its development as your foot snaps down on a dried branch hidden beneath a tuft of grass. The resounding snap echoes out and Rald, Kor and The Father all turn about to see you cast in silhouette against the firelight, blade in hand, moonlight glinting off the razor edge. You suck air through your teeth as Rald’s eyes widen before narrowing in a sneer as his unburned hand dips into the layers of robes and pulls out a broad bladed Cleaver, the single edged short-sword notched and pitted from rust and hard use, rasping as it slides from the hidden sheath. Kor looks back and forth between you and Father, his beady eyes wide and frightened as his mouth hangs open. Rald gestures to you with the tip of the cleaver, his burned arm tucked against his chest as he takes a step towards you, rolling the blade in a figure eight as he does.
“You the cunt that tried to burn us up? I bet ya are. See... I hate fire yknow? Fuckin’ hate It. An’ now my arms burnt to all fuck. Probably gon’ lose a finger or two cause’a you. So I’m gon’ make sure you feel every damn bit o’thi-“

*Twang*
“Gah!”
Rald grunts out in sudden agony as your arm jerks up, the Kerashi handbow folding outward in a split second. You twist your closed fist downward and hit the sensitive trigger, firing a needlelike bolt directly into his gut. Rald grunts and doubles over, a stream of muttered curses oozing from his lips as he reflexively clasps the forearm of his burned hand over the wound. Blood spreads slowly through the layers of dirty fabric, a growing scarlet stain that tells you unless he gets to a healer as quick as possible Rald is a dead man walking.

He just doesn’t know it yet.

Shaking, blistered fingers wrap around the scant inch of the bolt that protrudes from his belly and with a hissing snarl of pain he rips the bolt out, the razor like head slashing the puncture wider as he does. Straightening as best he can, he looks at the crossbow bolt, held in peeling and seared fingers, smeared with blood and spits in your direction. His lank, sweaty hair hangs over his face as he scowls at you, tossing the bolt at his feet and holding his burned hand over the wound.
“Tricky fuck aren’t ya? Shoulda ‘spected somethin’ like that from a weasel arsed cunt like you. Fuckin hell... C’mere ya poxy son of a whore, I’ll send ya off right an’ proper”

The Father watches this exchange with a mildly concerned but also curious gleam to his wide eyes. Turning to Kor, he pats the brute on his upper arm and turns, making his way off into the darkness as Rald slowly advances towards you.

>Father and Kor are abandoning Rald to slow you down. Rald is mortally wounded but it’s a slow wound. He is still fighting capable and his advancing towards you.
>What do?

>>4304698
Reload and back up, put a bolt into the walking green mile. Dont even waste time trying to engage with Rald, he is fucked up and we are fresh. Evade and let his curses be music to our ears as he bleeds out.

Rule of one living long; dont assume unneeded risk. We didn't come across the bleeding ocean just to die in a forgettable back water in the middle of the woods.

Any lurkers want to throw their idea in the ring? I’ll move forward on one vote but I’d hate to leave anybody out

>>4304702
Supporting this

Rolled 82 - 5 (1d100 - 5)

>>4304702
>>4304726

Evade Rald as he bleeds out and put a bolt in the back of Kor. The simpleton is far too strong to take on even footing.

If you guys could give me 2d100 please. Best of 3. The first 1d100 in the rolls must beat my roll for Rald’s Attack or you will be stuck in melee combat with him until you either kill him or disengage. Rald is rolling at a increasing penalty as he bleeds out.

>>4304702
Put another bolt in him, and quickly take after the other two

Rolled 95, 36 = 131 (2d100)

>>4304729
Damn son he strong

Rolled 94, 47 = 141 (2d100)

>>4304729

Rolled 20, 38 = 58 (2d100)

>>4304729

>95>77! Bob and weave
>49. Welp, you’ll never find that bolt.

Rald advances towards in a shuffling charge, the cleaver held high while he clutches his burned forearm over the deceptively mortal wound in his gut. His heavily bearded face is tight with pain and fury as he advances in you, cracked and yellowed teeth bared in a snarl of rage as the blade comes down in a whistling arc that would cleave down through your shoulder if you’d stood still to receive it. Like a Khuldani dancer, you turn and pivot around him as he swings, the blade sinking deeply into the wood of a fallen log as he stumbles forward with a surprised grunt and a curse. You raise a brow with a small smirk as you look back at him, your foot lashing out and connecting with the side of his knee with a wet *crack* that sees his face go white beneath the hair and soot-stained sweat. Rald groans in pain, collapsing to one knee as his now crooked leg juts off to the side. You give him a dismissive shrug and turn to follow Kor and the Father, pulling a new bolt from the bandolier across your chest.
“Too slow mate. Better luck next time eh?”

Slotting the fresh bolt into the handbow as Rald explodes into curses so vile they nearly prickle your skin, you pull back on the small spring loaded hook on the rear of the handbow, ratcheting the bolt back into the ready position. The razor sharp head of the bolt glints silver white in the moonlight as you raise your forearm, taking careful aim at the lumbering brute that trudges on after the thin form of the Father, both of them being swallowed by the darkness of the thickening forest. You take aim directly at the junction at the rear Kors knee, seeking to cripple the big bastard and force them to fight on your terms. With a sharp *tung* the handbow snaps forward, sending the bolt buzzing out like a furious hornet. But perhaps it may be the distance, the moving target or your own poor fortune but the bolt misses by a hairs breadth, disappearing off into the darkness as Kor and the Father disappear into the forest.

“Son of a BITCH”
You mutter under your breath, tapping the blade of the dagger against your thigh as you scowl, shaking your head in frustration. Those bolts aren’t cheap at all and you REALLY don’t want to chase these idiots through the forest. But two hundred crowns is two hundred crowns so a chase through the woods it is. Pulling another bolt from its loop, you reload the handbow and fold the arms back down, flipping the dagger in your hand as you take off after the cultists, Rald’s pained curses following after you as he clutches his ruined knee and his punctured belly.

>Follow them stealthily. Last thing you want is to be surprised

>Follow them at a full sprint. Your money is NOT getting away.

>Circle around, you know this thicket of trees isn’t as thick as it looks.

>Other

>>4304763
That 49 was meant to be a 47. It still missed though

>>4304763
>Other/ Follow them stealthily. Last thing you want is to be surprised.

As soon as an opening presents itself, put another bolt into them from the dark. Make sure they never get to where they are going.

>>4304763
>>Follow them stealthily. Last thing you want is to be surprised

>>4304763

>Follow them at a full sprint. Your money is NOT getting away.

We have aaaaaaaaaaaall the advantages we need. There is no way the cultists are not expecting us either, so stealth is not kino

>>4304763

>Follow them at a full sprint. Your money is NOT getting away.

>>4304763
>Follow them stealthily. Last thing you want is to be surprised

Rolled 36, 73 = 109 (2d100)

>>4304771
>>4304800
>>4304859
Follow stealthily wins by a nose. If you guys could roll me 1d100 please, best of 3. Just beat my perception checks for Kor and Father. Kor is rolling at a -10 penalty because he’s a simple minded idiot and Father is rolling at a +5 because he’s a cunning lunatic.

Rolled 47 (1d100)

>>4304891
now they get the bolt to the benis.

Rolled 86 (1d100)

>>4304891

Rolled 34 (1d100)

>>4304891

Rolled 78 (1d100)

>>4304891

Rolled 1 (1d1)

>>4304891
here comes the nat 1

>>4304904
Whew you lucky duck. It’s only in the first four I’ll consider taking crits.

>>4304910
look closer dude

>86>26! Kor is clueless!
>86>78! Father is flummoxed

The dew heavy undergrowth and fallen leaves under the trees swallows any sound your footsteps may have made as you creep past like a Wraith. Your blade is held in a underhanded grip, the edge giving only the barest of glimmers when errant beams of moonlight spear through the canopy and glance off the silver-blue edge. Your senses are on high alert, your own heartbeat as loud in your ears as a Talvani battle drum. The hushed coo of a Midnight Dove, the squeaking of rodents in the undergrowth, the wind coursing through the trees, chasing clouds across the sky. And there, beneath it all, the deep yet disturbingly childlike voice of Kor.

“Fathah? ‘Ow much more we gots t’go? M’hands hurt Fathah. Tha fiah got me good”
The oaf grunts out, blowing ineffectually on scorched fingers, spittle spraying out from his misshapen lips. You nearly roll your eyes at how preposterously easy this almost was as you creep after the stomping figure. You’d be able to track him blindfolded from all the breaking branches and crushed twigs that trail after him with every step. You’ve seen enraged bulls leave less of a trail than this simpleton has. With how concerned he is with his seared flesh and his endless whinging to his master, you could be following them with bells on and he’d never notice you.

The thin cult leader scowls, turning his head this way and that as he walks. His walking stick digs into the earth as he twists it, the metal cap at the end grinding deep into the soil. The angular symbol carved deep into the thin flesh of his forehead itches fiercely as it always does when his true Master is trying to tell him something. But without conducting the ceremony, he cannot hear his lords voice, he cannot feel his meager flesh being overtaken by the blessings of the Chained King. Rubbing the twisted scar with two fingers, he mutters a prayer to his infernal liege and turns, never once seeing you peel yourself from the shadow of a gnarled tree. You take careful aim, sure that these two nutters are well within the effective range of the handbow. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself and let it out slow, firing at....(Roll me 1d100 along with your vote. Might makes right, highest Roll wins)

>Kor (what body part are you trying to hit?)

>Father (What body part are you aiming at?)

>The Hostage (What are you aiming at? +1 Cold Hearted Bastard)

>>4304911
There were four other rolls before that 1. I looked very close.

Rolled 58 (1d100)

>>4304936
>>The Hostage (What are you aiming at? +1 Cold Hearted Bastard)

heart, spoil the sacrifice

>>4304938
>1d1

>>4304936
>The Hostage (What are you aiming at? +1 Cold Hearted Bastard)

>>4304904
Oh hell I just looked closer at *this* roll. Hahahaaa fuck you

>>4304941
Roll with your vote broseph. Highest vote wins

>>4304936
>Father (What body part are you aiming at?)
Back of the head.

>All these votes for the edgiest option, rather then the most lucrative option.

Rolled 38 (1d100)

>>4304936
>The Hostage (What are you aiming at? +1 Cold Hearted Bastard)

Rolled 21 (1d100)

>>4304944
Right then. Rolling for >>4304945.

>>4304945
Roll with your vote amigo. Highest roll wins

Rolled 29 (1d100)

>>4304936
>>Father (What body part are you aiming at?)
aim for the testicles

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>4304944
no need so far but ok

>>4304936
>>Father (What body part are you aiming at?)
the anus.

>>4304959
Just something fun I felt like doing for this. You’ve got what amounts to sneak attack advantage here and these are the starter mission mooks. I’m gonna give you quite a bit of leeway to have fun here.

>>4304960
You forgot to roll dude
Roll high

Rolled 12 (1d100)

>>4304960
I'll anus roll for this Anon.

Rolled 17 (1d100)

>>4304936
>The Hostage (What are you aiming at? +1 Cold Hearted Bastard)
[/spoiler]Right tits[/spoiler]

Rolled 30 (1d100)

>>4304936
>>Father (What body part are you aiming at?)

Smash the head and the body will flail uselessly

Hmm... a lethal shot from the back is not as lethal... ah, but his old frame and thin body won't stop the bolt.

Shot him in the back, pop a lung

>>4304959
>>4304941
Winner winner. You cold bastard you

You’d fancy yourself a pragmatist. A man who does what’s necessary for survival, to ensure that you see the next dawn no matter what. You’ve robbed men, broken hearts, murdered and kidnapped, strangled folk in their sleep. You’ve done it all, every black hearted deed and cold act of callous cruelty. You’re willing to do anything to make sure that you succeed and that you come out the winner. Anything at all.

It’s with that cold reptilian rationale clicking through your brain that you take aim and fire the handbow. Your arm jerks slightly from the recoil as the powerful metal arms and springs fire, the bolt buzzing off after its target. You allow yourself a small, sympathetic wince as your target kicks weakly, thudding her fist against the broad back of Kor. The bolt buries itself right below her left shoulder blade, driving deep into her body and directly into her vitals. You don’t even need to hear her pained, suddenly choked scream to know that she’ll be dead in seconds. You’ll blame her death on the cultists, maybe make the entry wound a bit more ragged to resemble that dagger the old man carries. You’ll spin the story that you tried to save her but he’d stabbed her in the back as you fought through the others.

Or something like that. You’ll think of it. You always do.

Kor pauses as his flailing charge suddenly screams, her cry going ragged as her lungs rapidly fill with blood. Within moments, the struggling young woman goes still, blood trickling from her nose and mouth as her arms and legs swing limply. Father turns, his eyes wide in horrified anger as he realizes his sacrifice is wasted, What was once meant to be a pure and vital offering to the Chained King is now only so much dead meat. Father clasps his hands to his brow and howls in rage, his voice gearing against your ears like the claws of a beast as he jabs a finger at you, his eyes wide and glassy in the dim moonlight as the nails of his other hand carve bleeding divots into his brow.
“KOR! Kill him! Kill him now! Now! Now! NOW!””

The brute turns to look at you, his ratlike eyes narrowing as he finally realizes the woman he’s carrying is dead. Unceremoniously, he shrugs his bullish shoulders and drops her to the ground like a sack of rags, clenching his ham sized fists and gritting his crooked teeth.
“You! You done messed it all up! Fathah.. Fathah is gonna be mad at Kor! Kor gon’ SMASH YOU!”
Like a charging Minotaur, Kor lowers his head and rushes you with surprising speed for a man that size, his arms wide and hands ready to grip and tear and smash.

Your foot twists in the dirt as you ready yourself, knees bending and blade flicking out to a ready position.

>Kor is rushing you while Father is seemingly consumed in the grips of near mindless rage. Your handbow is unloaded and you are armed with your Bandit Dagger.
>What Do?

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>4304979
>Roll inbetween his legs, stab his groin from behind.

Rolled 78 (1d100)

>>4304979
Use the brute's charge and ready the blade to stab itself on the man's heart. Yes, the impact might dizzy you a little bit but *shrugs*

>>4304982
No rolls with votes here, that was just something for the free hit y’all got. Just make your votes and we’ll roll for success on the most popular choice.

>>4304979
Dodge the big stupid dude as he nears while cutting him from the side and then throw the knife at Father.

Do you guys want to keep the “roll with your vote thing?” I just did that for the free hit you guys got with your handbow due to the surprise round but if you want to keep it I’m game. Should make things more interesting

>>4304987
Nah. Keep it for free hits only.

>>4304989
That’s what I was thinking to be honest

>>4304979
What the others said, stab Kor as we dodge him

>>4304987
no

>>4304984
as we roll between his legs, split his groin open from stem to stern. Lotta vital bits inthere. He'll bleed out fast.

Rolled 72 (1d100)

>>4304982
>>4304997
Slice as we dodge seems to be the winner along with several votes for “stab as we dodge.

If you guys could feed me 2d100 please. First for your dodge and second for your attack. The first 1d100 in the Roll must beat my roll for Kor’s Attack for your dodge to be successful.

Rolled 50, 42 = 92 (2d100)

>>4305031

Rolled 70, 95 = 165 (2d100)

>>4305031

Rolled 16, 22 = 38 (2d100)

>>4305031

Rolled 59, 4 = 63 (2d100)

>>4305031
here come two 100's

>70<72. Grabby grabby.
>failed dodge roll! Attack negated!

You’ve fought big men before. You've fought large creatures before. By all the hells, you fought a brute in a Khuldani fighting pit that folk swore was half giant. You know how to dance around bigger men and bleed them until they’re too tired to fight back. You know what parts of a man will hurt and what parts will kill, quick and slow. As Kor rushes towards you, his massive paws spread wide and a feral snarl on his oafish face, you quickly make your mind up. You ready yourself to spring forward between his tree trunk like legs, your blade slashing out and upward and cutting through his groin. All the important veins in that area along with being cut from root to stones tended to put a man down quicker than most wounds.

It’s only when you leap forward that you realize Kor is much quicker than he looks. You’ve already set yourself in motion when a kneecap covered in coarse, filthy cloth rams straight into your jaw, jerking your head back and filling your mouth with blood as you bite your cheek. A massive hand wraps around your forearm while the other curls around your back as you reflexively jerk back, pulling you into a crushing one armed bear hug as Kor slowly but steadily pulls your blade arm out of its socket. You’d curse your own stupidity if all the air wasn’t being squeezed out of you, your ribs protesting the sudden pressure as Kor chuckles stupidly, his uneven piggish eyes boring into yours as he grins happily, the iron like muscle of his arm and chest crushing you like a rabbit.

>Kor has your blade hand gripped in one hand while holding you off the ground to his chest in a one handed bear hug. Father is still cursing in rage and howling for Kor to crush you.

>what do? Is this how Bagal Rattan meets his end? Crushed by a simpleton in a backwater imperial town?

>>4305177
Legs are still free, knife might not be able to reach his bollocks but our boot can.

>>4305177
Knee his balls. Repeatedly

>>4305177
Clench that arm before it becomes dislocated! We need that arm.

Damn it, no bolt in the crossbow either... we can only kick them vitals :(

>>4305185
supporting

>>4305185
+1

>>4305177
our wrist bow. we shoot the dumb fuck through the jaw into what he'd call a brain.

File: 0D09162D-D1CF-4C47-B68E-E(...).jpg (109 KB, 1024x1019)

109 KB JPG

Rolled 92 (1d100)

>Dick kick supreme

Roll me a 1d100, bo3. Beat my roll for Kor, fuck it well call it a “constitution check” but really it’s a “withstand kick to the cock” check

Rolled 9 (1d100)

>>4305243
fuck
we're ded

File: hqdefault.jpg (12 KB, 480x360)

12 KB JPG

Rolled 26 (1d100)

>>4305243
Guess we'll just fucking die.

Rolled 55 (1d100)

>>4305243

Rolled 68 (1d100)

>>4305243

Rolled 951 (1d1000)

>>4305243

Rolled 43 (1d100)

>>4305243
COME ON WHAT IS THAT DICK MADE OF

Rolled 22 (1d100)

>>4305243

Rolled 37 (1d100)

>>4305243

Rolled 26 (1d100)

>>4305243
RIP. Killed by metal dick.

Rolled 70 (1d100)

>>4305243
keep rolling!!!

Rolled 46 (1d100)

>>4305243
If you fail
try, try again

>>4305289
I kor a fuckin eunuch?

>55<92. The man with the iron balls.

“Hehehehe... Kor gon’ squish the bad man. Gonna squish the jelly out’is guts.”
The stinking oaf giggles like a cruel child pulling the legs off a spider as he cranks the pressure up another notch, your chest on fire with pain and lack of oxygen as he attempts to wring every speck of air from your lungs. Your vision throbs, your pulse pounding in your ears like thunder as Kor tightens his grip on your forearm, pulling with a inexorable pressure that feels like your arm is going to be ripped clean off. A whistling, gasping rasp emerges from your throat, the veins in your neck and face bulging as Kor squeezes ever harder and harder, your tongue almost emerging from between your lips like that of a hanged man. Your legs flail instinctively, kicking against the brutes legs and hips as you desperately try to push away.

The sudden idea comes to your desperate brain, the crudest and easiest of bar fight tactics. No man, no matter how tough can shrug off a kick to the bollocks. You’ve seen everyone from armored Telvari Knights to Barbarian Northmen crumple like sack cloth after a hard boot to the stones. It’s with that determination that you draw your leg back and drive it into Kor’s groin with all your might.

“Hehehehe...”
The idiotic giggling doesn’t stop, even when your knee smashes directly into the delicate soft tissue. You *know* you hit your mark and you hit it hard enough to pop but the oaf doesn’t change his expression, doesn’t cease his endless childlike giggling and doesn’t cease pulling your arm out of its socket. You would howl in equal parts impotent rage and pain if you had the air to do so, the dimwitted giant of a man slowly crushing the very life out of you.

“Good Kor! Good! Kill him! Crush him! Crush him for me! Crush him for the Chained King!”
Cackles the clearly insane Father, his eyes wide, bloodshot and glassy as marbles. The madman is nearly frothing at the mouth, veins standing out like cords in his skin as he stalks forward. He jabs his walking stick at you, punctuating his words with reach poke forward.
“Kill! Him! Now!”

>Kor is still crushing the life out of you and you’re getting dangerously close to passing out/having your arm pulled out of the socket. You’re still trapped against Kor’s chest and your handbow is currently unloaded. You do have a free hand however...

>>4305307
again i say. just do the easy thing. make contact with your crossbow and shoot him in the brain. If that arm is restrained, just gouge out both his eyes and palm strike the nose.

>>4305307
Eyes, it's our last possible hope. With one hand free we can try to gouge out one of his eyes with a thumb.

>>4305307
Bite him in the neck like a fucking vampire.

>>4305309
WE CAN'T EVEN LOAD THE DAMN THING DAMN IIIIIT.

GRAB A BOLT FROM THE BELT AND STAB HIS EYEEEES

>>4305317
support blind the bastard

>>4305317
dang. thought it was already loaded.

Rolled 42 (1d100)

Go for the eyes! If you guys could toss me a 1d100 for your general success on this. Bo3 as usual. Kor gets a chance to resist/evade so beat my roll please

Rolled 63 (1d100)

>>4305378
WHAT NEXT FAGGOT.
BOTH HIS EYES ARE ACTUALLY GLASS?????

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>4305378

Rolled 48 (1d100)

>>4305378

Rolled 90 (1d100)

>>4305378

>>4305390
>84>42. One scoop or two?

You can feel your ribs starting to pop, the mounting pain spiking into the center of your mind like red hot nails. Kor’s idiotic chuckles and disturbingly childlike voice echo in your ears as your blood roars like thunder, the muscles and tendon of your arm being strained audible to the ear as Kor slowly pulls you apart. You kick, you flail, hammering at his head and neck with your free hand but it’s like striking a stone. A stone that giggles back at you and only squeezes harder, harder, harder, intent on crushing the life from your soon to be corpse. Blood trickles from your nose as the pressure bursts blood vessels, your eyes almost bulging from their sockets as the inhuman pressure cranks up by the moment.

Your free hand scrabbles against Kor’s face, nails scraping against his flabby flesh and you instinctually go for what you know will wound any man or beast beyond reason. The tough, wet tissue of Kor’s left eye bursts like a rotten grape as you drive your thumb into it with all the force you can muster. Blood and fluid coat your hand as Kor trashes about like a hooked fish, your thumb digging into his eye socket as you twist and gouge and finally *rip* with all your might. The wailing agonized shriek as Kor throws you away from him like a hot coal rings in your ears as you hit the ground with a jarring tumble. Blessed air rushes back into your lungs as you sit up, gasping for breath and holding ribs that are very nearly cracked. Your blade hand is almost number, the joint and muscles screaming in protest as you clench as unclench your fingers, working life back into the limb. You cough, spitting a mouthful of thick blood onto the grass and stagger to your feet, the pounding in your ears lessening by the second as Kor flails about, clutching one massive hand to his face while blood drips between his fingers.

Opening your bloodstained hand, you turn your palm and let the ruined, ragged lump of flesh fall to the ground with a wet *plop*. Sucking in a lungful of deliciously sweet air, you cough heavily before spitting out another mouthful of clotting blood and giving Kor a contemptuous, vicious sneer as his master urges him to fight.
“What’s wrong big guy? Though you liked pain? Not so... ach...not so funny when it’s you is it?”

The brute pays no heed to your mockery or to his masters orders, clutching his hand to his ruined eye and sobbing like a child between wails. Father resorts to smacking him across the back and shoulders with his walking stick, screaming at the oaf in a increasingly ragged and hysterical voice.
“Kor! Damn you you inbred fool! Kill him! Kill him NOW! Do! As! I! Say!”

>Kor is currently incapacitated by pain (I know that feel m8) and is making no moves toward you this turn. You are free and able to move and your weapon is still in your possession. Your handbow remains unloaded.

>What fuckin do.

>>4305437
Stab Kor multiple times with all our rage until he goes limp.

>>4305437
Stabbity stabbity

>>4305437
Give the old man the poke while he is distracted, sneak into the underbrush and finish him off with crossbow bolts to the head or neck. We are not a throw down fighter.

>>4305449
lets try and cripple the old man quick and then dash back in to the forest

>>4305437
Well, stab him in the neck, aiming down toward the heart.

>>4305449
supporting this

>>4305449
na na na, miss me with that shit

>Sprint to the old man and drop kick his head off

>>4305437
Cut his throat

>winner seems to be Stab Kor in his vital bits. Kill this mans until he dies from it.
>I’ll just ask you guys to throw me a 1d100 for your Attack here. Kor’s got no defense set up, you just popped his eye like a grape. Sorry if i fall asleep, I have been awake since 4am US central.

Rolled 86 (1d100)

>>4305675
okay, time to kill!
I wanted to chase the oldman :/

Rolled 88 (1d100)

>>4305675

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>4305675

Rolled 77 (1d100)

>>4305675
>I have been awake since 4am US central.
oof

>>4305675
We aught to retrieve the bolt from the body and make it look like they stabbed her, then after we wipe the blood off we can loot the bodies before putting out the fires to see if there's any loot in their old hide out.

D&D session is running later than expected but as soon as it’s finished well be right back at it boys and boys

>88. Excellent success.
>Kor got gored.

The taste of blood, thick salt and iron is heavy on your tongue, spilling freely from the interior of your torn cheek, running in hot rivulets from your nose, pounding like forge hammers in your veins. You’re no stranger to blood, having been coated in it, spilled it, hell even drank it once in a Vrosilli blood oath that you later turned your back on for the promise of more coin. You’re no stranger to losing or spilling blood and it’s with a vicious *thirst* to see Kor dead and empty on the ground that you spring forward like a bolt from a dragon hunters ballista. You breath tears at your throat, a soundless howl of animal fury screeching through your clench teeth as your blade spins around in your hand, coming around in a gleaming razored arc as you slide by the wailing giant, his agonized moans taking a different pitch as the blade cuts through the thick meat of the outside of his thigh.

Cloth, skin and muscle all part beneath the edge like Telvari silk beneath a razor as you sweep the blade across his right thigh. Blood spurts from the deep gash, the raw dark red muscle beneath beneath white fat for a moment before the wound fills with a gush of crimson. Wheeling about, your heels cutting deep gouges in the soft earth, you come back around with the blade whirling in your fingers as Kor reflexively moves the hand not clutching his ruined eye to clasp the gash in his thigh. Your mind absorbs all the details with the dispassionate gaze of a murderer while your fury batters at the gates of your mind. You shift your weight just so, twisting beneath a flailing strike from The Father’s staff, the iron cap at its butt gliding by your ear as you turn, the blade coming up and around in a graceful thrust.

Kor’s sobbing howls of pain and fear are suddenly choked by a gurgling groan of pure agony as the blade punches between the ribs beneath his left arm. The blade punches nearly six inches deep as the razor edge carves a ruinous slash across his side. Deep scarlet blood gushes from the wound, the bubbling flow that tells you you’ve pierced a lung. You twirl the dagger in your hand, admiring the thick coating of blood across the blade and smile at the simpleton and his madman master, blood staining your teeth.
“Bad wound that. Reckon you’ve got maybe a minute before you drown in your own blood there Big’un”

The Father seems to realize that his muscle is rapidly expiring as he grasps the wheezing Kor by the arm and points at you with his staff.
“Kor! Kor! That bad man is going to kill me! He’s going to hurt you more! You’ve got to fight Kor! You’ve got to kill him!”
His glassy, bloodshot eyes are wide as saucers, terrified like a deer in a snare as you slowly advance towards him and his mortally wounded minion.

>Cont

>>4306848
Blood trickles from Kor’s mouth as the oaf struggles to his feet, bleeding from a ruined socket, a bone deep gash and a mortal wound to the lungs. But still the simple brute stands, resolute and unyielding as a bull in a Khuldani fighting ring. You’ve got to give the oaf that much recognition at least, he’s not a quitter even when it would be the least painful decision. He squares his stance, clearly favoring his right leg and clutching the heavily bleeding wound on his side with one hand. Blood drips from his lips, his flabby skin gone pale as he staffers forward a pair of steps, gulping air as sweat beads on his misshapen brow.

>Kor is slowly advancing towards you, bleeding from a surely mortal wound. Kor’s right leg is heavily wounded, severely hampering his movement. Father is backing away towards the trees and leaning heavily on his walking stick, holding a hand to the scar on his forehead.
>What do?

>>4306850
rush the father and stab him quick

>>4306850
Rush down His father and kick away his stick, grapple his neck and get him in between Kor and you, Slit his throat in front of Kor.

>>4306850
Reload crossbow, shoot "father"
Deal with Kor afterwards

>>4306850
There is no way Kor can catch us, Just circle around, go into the brush if we have to, and while we talk this leisurely stroll, reload at the same time because its a trivial task and the old man is gonna get it.

>>4306856
We can do this

>>4306850
Circle around Kor and aim to shoot the father. At this point we can out pace Kor for the fact the longer he live, the sooner he'll drown in his own blood, and the sooner he'll bleed out.

>>4306850
Reload, shoot Father. Let Kor bleed to death.

Rolled 61, 23 = 84 (2d100)

>Evade Kor, circle around and put a bolt in Father.
>if you guys could roll me 2d100 pls, bo3. First needs to beat my roll for Kor’s Attack/pursuit of you while the second needs to beat Fathers roll which were gonna call a “evasion/dodge” roll

Rolled 78, 46 = 124 (2d100)

>>4306906

Rolled 60, 68 = 128 (2d100)

>>4306906

Rolled 32, 41 = 73 (2d100)

>>4306906

File: 1585429734739.gif (1.63 MB, 360x270)

1.63 MB GIF

>>4306906
grandpa getting gimped

Rolled 84, 66 = 150 (2d100)

>>4306906

>Turns out id forgotten about your Grug Talisman so I’ll be subtracting -2 from Attack rolls against you from now on.
>76>59. Kor isn’t doing too well.
>68>23. Father gets feathered.

Kor slowly shuffles towards you, his flabby misshapen face beaded with sweat, blood flowing freely down his face from the ruined eye while thick clots hang from his lips. His breath is wheezing like a plague victim, the wet gurgling rasp of a man drowning in his own blood. You almost pity the oaf as you simply sidestep him, pulling a bolt from the bandolier at your chest and slotting it into into the handbow. The weapon makes a satisfying click as you load it, holding it out and taking aim at the desperately screeching Father with almost leisurely slowness. The madman’s attention is completely fixated on his dim witted compatriot, gripping his walking stick with both hands so hard his knuckles have gone white and the seasoned wood is bending dangerously. He seems to realize you’re pointing that strange contraption at him for a reason a moment too late as you depress the trigger and send a bolt humming out to greet him.

Surprisingly, the old bugger has half decent reflexes as he jerks backward away from the oncoming bolt. He’s far too slow on the draw and his frenzied shouting is cut off with a pained howl through gritted teeth as his hand clutches a miniature bolt that is jutting out beneath his left clavicle. Blood oozes slowly from the puncture, staining the cloth a deep wet black in the silver moonlight as he staggers back, wordless curses spilling silently from his lips as he comes to terms with the fact that he is surely about to die. He turns to face you, lunatics eyes ablaze as he leans heavily on the staff, touching two fingers to the angular symbol scrawled into his forehead. Suddenly his head snaps up, eyes locking on yours as a spreading blackness oozes across his pupils. His hand extends slowly, fingers twisted into a clawed fist before suddenly a small scarlet flame manifests between his fingers. Blood trickles from the corner of his eyes and from the scar etched into his forehead as he grits his teeth, concentrating with all his might as the flame within his hand grows in both intensity and size.

>What fuckin do m80’s

>>4307569
Kor can still be useful, circle back around him and put his bulk between us and the old man.

>>4307569
Kor body shield of course. Fucking sorcerers. Load a new bolt just in case.

>>4307575
support take Kor-ver

>>4307569
aaaaaah

>run away and hide behind some bushes, effectively hiding from his sight.

If the bolt lodged below the bone, then it pierced the lung. I doubt we are lucky enough so it damaged the Aorta, but it *could* be. Anyway after we ensure his evil magiks do not burn, we sneak and finish the job

>>4307582
Nah, if it hit him there he'd have dropped instantly.

>>4307569
If he is concentrating he isn't dodging, that's for sure. Give him the Bolt to the head or hand, and break into a charge to give him a knife to the gut.

Rolled 92, 100, 74 = 266 (3d100)

>Use the bulk of Kor as cover while loading a new bolt, taking fire at the Father when opportunity presents itself.
>Kor will be attempting to attack you but he’s suffering severely so let’s just give him a -20 penalty.
>Give me 3d100 please, first for evading the dying Kor, second for evading the spell and third for hitting father once again with the handbow. Beat my rolls please

>>4307614
>100
Oh dear

Rolled 59, 71, 61 = 191 (3d100)

>>4307614
I TOLD YOU WE SHOULD HAVE RUN AWAY NOT HIDING BEHIND SOMENEEEEE

Rolled 15, 20, 73 = 108 (3d100)

>>4307614
Fuck that 100, that 92 can go fuck it's self too

Rolled 30, 8, 2 = 40 (3d100)

>>4307614
For fucks sake

>>4307614
>59<72. Kor still has some fight in him.
>Nat100>71. HellFire, surprisingly hurts like a bitch.
>73<74. Missed by a hair.

Your brows rise in more than a little shock at the orb of Hellfire growing in his clawed fist. You didn’t think this wannabe Cultist would actually be able to summon any real arcane might, especially not with a bolt under his collarbone. Judging from the blood oozing from his eyes, nose and scar he’s suffering from severe Arcana Burn, this orb of flame likely the absolute most his body can support conjuring. Even so, you’d rather not be hit by it so you quickly reverse your direction, juking over to put the slowly shuffling bulk of Kor between you and any magically conjured flames. Your feet slide across the wet grass, slick in spots with blood and dew as you fart around, blade singing as it cuts the air. Just a quick sidestep and...

“Bad man!”
Kor’s childlike grunt rings in your ears almost as loud as the sudden crashing impact that rattles your skull and sends blood and spittle flying from your lips. By all the hells you’d misjudged the oaf yet again. Dying, wounded, half blind and running out of blood, Kor has still lunged forward and launched himself into a brutal assault once more. A fist the size of a mans head crashes into the side of your skull, battering you almost to your knees before a second mammoth fist crashes into your stomach, driving the air from your lungs in a retching gasp. You look up just in time for a dirty foot to nearly stave in your chest as Kor simply boots you away from him. You hit the ground and slide, tumbling like you’ve been thrown from a runaway cart and gasp, coughing out blood and shaking your head to clear the grogginess brought about by nearly having your skull pulled. You can already feel your face swelling, your entire head likely to be black with bruises by tomorrow morn.

If you survive this shitestorm that is.

There is heavy thump as Kor collapses to his knees, a heavy gush of blood from his lips signaling the end for the powerful idiot. Holding his wound with his hand, he coughs weakly, blood and clots of gore spewing from his mouth with each one before he slowly sags forward and hits the ground with a thump you can feel from nearly ten paces away. Father watches his most devoted companion collapse into a heap with what would be a incredulous look on his face if not for his bleeding, black eyes illuminated by the orb of hellfire he holds ready. His gaze locks on you and you desperately try to swing the handbow up to fire while simultaneously leaping to the side just as he howls with insane fury and throws the ball of flame.

>Cont

>>4307901
Perhaps it is your previous injuries muddling your aim, perhaps it is the distance, perhaps the mild panic overtaking your senses but your bolt is just a hair off course. It buzzes by the Fathers cheek so closely it nearly splits the skin, the madman reflexively jerking back from it. You however are not so lucky in your attempt to avoid the firebolt, your attempt to dodge serving only to get your face out of the line of fire. You are midway through your leaping dodge when the firebolt impacts your side. Pain, white hot pain sears your mind as the arcane flames burn through your armor, scorching and burning the flesh beneath. You hit the ground and roll, the area almost immediately going numb as the arcane fire continues to smolder. Gritting your teeth you smack the fist sized burn in hot side, smothering the remaining flames at the cost of nearly cracking your own teeth from clenching them too hard.

“Y...you... you bastard. You murdering BASTARD!”
snarls the exhausted Father, blood trickling down his face and staining his crude robes. You’re in no mood to point out the overwhelming irony of a cult leader practicing human sacrifice calling you a murderer. Besides, he’s not technically wrong anyway, you just kill when you have a reason to. The older man sags against his walking stick, wiping at the blood oozing from eyes, ears and nose with a sleeve as he looks forlornly on the body of Kor. With difficulty due to the crossbow bolt in his shoulder he slowly manages to wrestle his dagger out of his belt as you struggle to your feet, body aching, skin smoking and mood thoroughly soured. He does his best to put himself into a entirely amateurish fighting stance and whips the sickle shaped dagger through the air several times as he slowly backs away.
“You stay away! Stay away from me!”

>What do boyos?

>>4307902
Dagger time. With all the blood he lost he's not to run any time soon. The same could be said for us.
Load another bolt and prepare to stab.

>>4307909
supporting. Shoot him in the foot so he doesnt get too far, we have some talking to do, some things to learn, some compensation to be had. If he wont talk right away, the knife'll loosen up his tongue or take it right out.

Bolts are expensive tho... I rather vote for engaging in melee once and for all

>>4307932
I was thinking more along the lines of loading a bolt just in case, no firing, then stabbing. I honestly dont care and am fine with whatever goes.

>>4307938
How expensive to be exact we dont really know. I hope it's not more than a few silver per bolt. Ut would be a bonus if its less.

If anything, if they're something around the lines of a gold piece per bolt then we can search again in the day time. After we recover. If theyr hide out hasn't been entirely burned to all hell then it might be worth going through it and sifting through the ashes for anything that might had survived.

Rolled 25, 74 = 99 (2d100)

>Quickfire a bolt then get up close to subdue him before he can try to escape.
>Roll me 2d100 please, beat my rolls!

Rolled 8, 32 = 40 (2d100)

>>4307999
Nice trips