themocaw
2009-09-03, 12:47 PM
Grogg was an orc. He was a slave, rescued from slavers by the Paladin Roy, of the House of Ziegfried: others claimed he should die, but Roy believed that all creatures, even evil ones, deserved the benefit of doubt. In gratitude, he pledged himself Roy's servant and squire. He was not the most intelligent of companions, but he had a strong back and a good heart, and he always strove to please the "Shineyman" who had rescued him.
We were deep in the jungles of Chult, fighting monsters, when a magical effect suddenly transported us across the world to the mountains north of Thay in the dead of winter. There was a blizzard closing in, and we were ill-prepared for the bitter cold. Somehow, we made our way to a cave and found shelter from the storm, but try as we might, we could build no fire (no one rolled above a four on their Survival checks).
It seemed that our deaths were inevitable.
Then Grogg rose and said, in his dull voice, "Grogg will find fire for shineyman!" And with those words, ran out into the driving snow. Though Roy tried to follow him, he soon lost track of the orc in the snow (damn movement penalties for plate armor) and was forced to return to the cave.
It was a miserable night, but we survived by hudding together in the snow and finally building a tiny fire out of twigs and branches (finally managed to get a decent Survival roll).
The next morning, we emerged, half-frozen and exhausted, from the cave and found a dead orc, laying face down in the snow.
"Poor guy didn't get very far, did he?" sighed Roy, the paladin.
". . . wait," said Cale, the Bard. "He's facing TOWARDS the cave."
"And that's a torch in his hand," said Anton, the rogue.
"Sonovabitch," murmured Roy. "That crazy bastard actually found fire."
We built a cairn for him on that snowy mountaintop, and laid him to rest under rocks. No sword had we to lay at his head, the torch he found would suffice. On a piece of slate, we inscribed this epitaph.
HERE LIES GROGG
He found fire.
For all we know, he lays there still.
We were deep in the jungles of Chult, fighting monsters, when a magical effect suddenly transported us across the world to the mountains north of Thay in the dead of winter. There was a blizzard closing in, and we were ill-prepared for the bitter cold. Somehow, we made our way to a cave and found shelter from the storm, but try as we might, we could build no fire (no one rolled above a four on their Survival checks).
It seemed that our deaths were inevitable.
Then Grogg rose and said, in his dull voice, "Grogg will find fire for shineyman!" And with those words, ran out into the driving snow. Though Roy tried to follow him, he soon lost track of the orc in the snow (damn movement penalties for plate armor) and was forced to return to the cave.
It was a miserable night, but we survived by hudding together in the snow and finally building a tiny fire out of twigs and branches (finally managed to get a decent Survival roll).
The next morning, we emerged, half-frozen and exhausted, from the cave and found a dead orc, laying face down in the snow.
"Poor guy didn't get very far, did he?" sighed Roy, the paladin.
". . . wait," said Cale, the Bard. "He's facing TOWARDS the cave."
"And that's a torch in his hand," said Anton, the rogue.
"Sonovabitch," murmured Roy. "That crazy bastard actually found fire."
We built a cairn for him on that snowy mountaintop, and laid him to rest under rocks. No sword had we to lay at his head, the torch he found would suffice. On a piece of slate, we inscribed this epitaph.
HERE LIES GROGG
He found fire.
For all we know, he lays there still.