Goliad Brawnlimb had been making his way through the sparsely-packed treeline that surrounded the entrance to the Iron Mine when, to his left, a peculiar sighting caught his eye. Halting in place, and investigating from a distance, the remarkably large, seven-foot tall, shirtless orc hid amongst the glorified shrubbery. If such a scenario were to take place during the day, naturally it would go unnoticed only by those most gifted in absent-mindedness, however, as the true sky gently revealed itself over Varna, the orc felt quite at ease in the approaching dusk.
He had been travelling to the mine in search of three men, only half-expecting to actually find them.
...These three, however, were not those men.
Goliad was fairly certain that "a trio of indistinguishably seedy, torch-wielding, club-toting, ruffians" was not quite the description Henri had given him earlier that day. Yet here he was, watching as such a suspicious group huddled together, muttering quietly amongst themselves next the toolshed. While he couldn't quite distinguish the details of their discussion, it was all too easy to determine their identities as his 'fellow co-workers' here at the mine. No men of industry or ambition these, nor nowhere near acquaintances of Goliad, rather a group of grumblebumming malingerers who wouldn't take a day's work without a heaping serving of trivial sniveling! From his occasional observations of them while at the mine, Goliad could recall that the relatively least pleasant of the three was, more or less, the leader of their little layabout gang and was simply called 'Big', with the right-hand man being 'Guss'. The name of the last one eluded Goliad, but he was certain it started with a 'D'.
Positive that they were unaware of his presence, Goliad continued to scrutinize their overall questionable behaviour, primarily convinced that he was witnessing the unfolding of a shady situation. But then again, who was he to make such a judement? Maybe he had it all wrong! Perhaps they were merely exchanging ghost stories or something similarly benign.
Goliad was rendered rather entangled in his own silent ponderings on the possible reasons for the get-together, until an unnaturally steady glow began to calmly announce its prensence from the mine's maw. Piquing the interests of all four people within proximity, the light continued to grow bolder in its defiance against the creeping darkness as a second group of three marched forward from the entrance. Walking alonside eachother, bathed in a bewildering brightness, Goliad was able to unmistakably make out their features, verifying that these were indeed the three strangers he needed to see.
The source of the synthetic sunlight was nestled in the tip of a staff, which in turn was nestled in the hand of a dark-haired man in blue, humble robes who was postitioned on the left. Now Goliad might have been one of the blunter butterknives in the bakery, but he was quick to follow a recipe and recognized magic when he saw it. All of his scepticism for the supernatural had dissipated away long ago.
A composed and sturdy-looking swordsman paced along the right side, long, dark hair doing well to accentuate his rather rugged appearance. A man of might! Anyone who could clearly comprehend the purity that is bodily endeavor was someone Goliad felt he could readily understand.
And strolling forward in the center of the party was a slender individual, a lute holstered on his back while a rapier shined, oh so deceptively coy, at his waist. Most likely a bard, and surely of noble birth, his clean, classy, crimson clothing and discerning demeanor demanded attention. Noting the man's fair, flowing hair, Goliad began to instinctively twirl his own thick, gloriously golden, handlebar mustache, as if to console his most prized possession out of any insecurity it may have been feeling.
No sooner had Goliad finished his examination did the troublesome toolshed trio commence to tread from their hiding place to approach and face the others, ending up about twenty feet in front of him. With the thugs making their obvious intentions even more so once Big stated a blatant threat, Goliad immediately resolved to join in if a melee were to break out.
The first man to speak launched a momentous retort at the assailants with a flurry of words and bravado (confirming to Goliad he was absolutely a bard) in an attempt to dissuade his opponents of violence, then laid down his lute and promptly ran forward to initiate the battle alongside his imposing comrade! Although his mind was taken aback by this tactic, Goliad's body had already begun bounding forth in full force, exposed to the many lights in the dark. Rarely wearing a top, Goliad's exceptionally-sculpted and well-defined, forest green musculature ripped through the night air as he sprinted. His shaven bald head, save for a single lock of curly blond hair that was now waving furiously just above his brow, contrasted magnificently with the Brilliant Brawnlimb Bristles, seemingly constrained behind two pearly white tusks protuding from his bottom lip, that gave prominence to his strong, cleft chin.
Making a beeline for the two cronies directly in front of him, Goliad readied his two impeccable weapons and prepared to throw his first punch in far too long. With the gap rapidly cowering away, Goliad bellowed a boisterous battlecry, the baritone note filling the scene:
"
HOOOOOOOOO!!!"
{Full Round Action}
Goliad charges directly upward from bottom sideline to square 1-left and 1-down of Man 1.
Goliad attacks Man 1.
Goliad Brawnlimb rolled 23 using 1d20+5. Unarmed Strike, Attack @ Man 1
Goliad Brawnlimb rolled 8 using 1d6+5. Unarmed Strike, Damage @ Man 1.
This message was last edited by the player at 05:01, Sun 31 Jan 2016.
