The Divine Forge - IC (Ongoing Campaign)

[Sir Grave]

I was told that I would receive a boon, not coin. A boon is a more general reward, correct? And I am fighting your foes. Is it so wrong that I ask the same of you?
She looks him straight in the eyes.
As to why I need soldiers, it is to take the city of Sharn, and kill Merrix D'Cannith.

Grave stared hard at Spiker, a mix of tiredness, shock, and concern formed over his face. he looked at Sir Cynric, who shrugged. He then looked back at Spiker,shaking his head.
"I'm sorry," he said, coolly, "but you came a long way for nothing."

[Vhaidara]

Grave stared hard at Spiker, a mix of tiredness, shock, and anger formed over his face. he looked at Sir Cynric, who shrugged. He then looked back at Spiker.
"Then it seems, 'friend'," he said, coolly, "you came a long way for nothing."

Spikers soulmelds darken
I do not care for the city, but D'Cannith experimented on me, without my consent. He hunts me still. As long as he lives, my life is in danger. That is the price I ask: Justice for the crimes taken against me since the day I was forged, and peace of mind to live without fearing D'Cannith's machinations.

Spoiler: OoC

Show

The Vassal is probably god enough at reading people (and Spiker bad at controlling her emotions) to tell that it is legitimately fear that drives Spiker to this, not malice

[Sir Grave]

Spikers soulmelds darken
I do not care for the city, but D'Cannith experimented on me, without my consent. He hunts me still. As long as he lives, my life is in danger. That is the price I ask: Justice for the crimes taken against me since the day I was forged, and peace of mind to live without fearing D'Cannith's machinations.

Spoiler: OoC

Show

The Vassal is probably god enough at reading people (and Spiker bad at controlling her emotions) to tell that it is legitimately fear that drives Spiker to this, not malice

Grave takes a moment to mull over what Spiker tells him. "I... cannot truly know what you experienced when you were created. But I cannot give you what you are asking of me."
He leans forward. "However, should you seek the sanctity of my Hall, I can provide it. D'Cannith has no power here. You would be safe."

[Vhaidara]

You want to know...
The soulmelds switch from an almost black navy to a nearly transparent blue as her eyes fall to the ground.
I don't know if the Creation Forges give us souls. I don't think D'Cannith believes they do. So he tried to force souls into me. And it hurt. They became the Incarnum I now wield, but I can still feel their pain.
Her eyes snap back up to the Vassal, the incarnum returning to its more neutral color.
I will accept your offer, but know that one day I will find him. And when I do, he will be lucky to die.

[Sir Grave]

You want to know...
The soulmelds switch from an almost black navy to a nearly transparent blue as her eyes fall to the ground.
I don't know if the Creation Forges give us souls. I don't think D'Cannith believes they do. So he tried to force souls into me. And it hurt. They became the Incarnum I now wield, but I can still feel their pain.
Her eyes snap back up to the Vassal, the incarnum returning to its more neutral color.
I will accept your offer, but know that one day I will find him. And when I do, he will be lucky to die.

The Vassal nods. "The Keep is open to all in need."
He turns to the rest of the group. "Now..." he said. "Does anyone have any further questions, boon requests or payment demands they wish to make?"

[Prehysterical]

The argument between Spike and Grave interests Halberd, who stays silent. Spiker's earlier comments are starting to make a little more sense now. 'Not forged in war'... you have a lot to answer for, Cannith. Halberd makes a mental note to speak to her more on the matter later.

Turning his mind back to the present, he briefly considers the matter of how to bring up his quest to this Vassal. Fleshlings always have difficulty comprehending that anything metal can talk, so how do I tell him?

Eventually, Halberd awkwardly raises Endbringer and points the handle toward Grave. "He... it... told me that I needed to see you. That you could help me with my quest. But frankly," he says as he looks the Vassal up and down, "you don't seem to be in much shape to help much of anyone."

[Sir Grave]

The argument between Spike and Grave interests Halberd, who stays silent. Spiker's earlier comments are starting to make a little more sense now. 'Not forged in war'... you have a lot to answer for, Cannith. Halberd makes a mental note to speak to her more on the matter later.

Turning his mind back to the present, he briefly considers the matter of how to bring up his quest to this Vassal. Fleshlings always have difficulty comprehending that anything metal can talk, so how do I tell him?

Eventually, Halberd awkwardly raises Endbringer and points the handle toward Grave. "He... it... told me that I needed to see you. That you could help me with my quest. But frankly," he says as he looks the Vassal up and down, "you don't seem to be in much shape to help much of anyone."

Grave looks at you. Then at the sword you present him. "...Namhias addressed you... or your sword... as 'Ithquent sventlin'... It means 'God Slayer.'"

He stares into your eyes, as if looking into your soul. "We shall speak privately, soldier, tonight. Upon the tower."

[Sir Grave]

Spoiler: Guard

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If you wish for me to edit, PM me.

Malvin took in all of the information being provided in the conversation. He finally spoke. "I... do not seek payment as much as information. This storm, made from evocation and necromancy, displays intent. If it is being controlled, who... or what... would want to specifically target you or your dragon?"

Grave pondered this question before he replied. "The few enemies I have made are, indeed, powerful. But I have no quarrel with the drow. I've never even met one. That said, I doubt they would be responsible for the storm in the first place.

"As for this... Devil... Perhaps it is possible. I was directly involved in the battle for Brindol, defending the city from a horde that payed homage to Tiamat. They used extraplanar creatures as a strategic edge. But it's not right... I don't smell Tiamat's stench about this...

"This unknown enemy... It seems to be holding me hostage... Forcing me to act... Perhaps in it's favor?"

[Yas392]

Ahh, so that's how it is. Clever. That complicate things so that it leaves their strongest at their weakest. That's why the dragon did not heed my bribery. It was reserving it's remaining life force to ward this sacred bastion. Kalim nods his head in understanding, careful not to cause property damage with his unorthodox seating position near Sir Grave as he takes settles his legs on his chair while his buxom is on the table, bearings on the Vassal of Bahamut.

I have no need for wealth, sir. As for my boon, I do have some requests that I would like to see fulfilled. They cannot compare respectively to the generosity you offer. However, they will add up in the end if you would allow multiple transactions. If you would be kindly enough to spread some of your wealth to the address that I provided, I am forevermore grateful. Kalim hands a sheet to the Vassal. It may seemed untimely to ask of you this in your failing health but combating whatever threat you or my companion listed for us require further preparation. Are there any items in your vault versatile enough for this cause? Kalim faces the window, basking in light piercing through the windows, sky scarred yellowish-orange of the Mournlands staring back at him. My last request is upholding the prerogative that was promised with Sir Cynric. The basics of the term is the immunity from other forms of justice and his questioning on my morality. I would like to ask the same of you in the latter for that is the only way you will earn more of my time in your service.

[czieg]

Listening to his companions, filing away bits and pieces of certain information, the gunslinger finally speaks.

Despite my ally's lack of desire for material wealth, I do appreciate the offer. However, I have my own objectives beyond this mission as well. I would like to use your keep to research reliable ways to kill devils along with a base to create a new breed of firearms. One that would give your soldiers a great advantage over your foes. Provided you help me if and when I need it. The new firearm can wait until this business is done though.

[Sir Grave]

Ahh, so that's how it is. Clever. That complicate things so that it leaves their strongest at their weakest. That's why the dragon did not heed my bribery. It was reserving it's remaining life force to ward this sacred bastion. Kalim nods his head in understanding, careful not to cause property damage with his unorthodox seating position near Sir Grave as he takes settles his legs on his chair while his buxom is on the table, bearings on the Vassal of Bahamut.

I have no need for wealth, sir. As for my boon, I do have some requests that I would like to see fulfilled. They cannot compare respectively to the generosity you offer. However, they will add up in the end if you would allow multiple transactions. If you would be kindly enough to spread some of your wealth to the address that I provided, I am forevermore grateful. Kalim hands a sheet to the Vassal. It may seemed untimely to ask of you this in your failing health but combating whatever threat you or my companion listed for us require further preparation. Are there any items in your vault versatile enough for this cause? Kalim faces the window, basking in light piercing through the windows, sky scarred yellowish-orange of the Mournlands staring back at him. My last request is upholding the prerogative that was promised with Sir Cynric. The basics of the term is the immunity from other forms of justice and his questioning on my morality. I would like to ask the same of you in the latter for that is the only way you will earn more of my time in your service.

"Hmm..." the Vassal considered your words with care before speaking. "I'm sure I can fulfill the request as far as donating part of my treasury to these addressees. And I most certainly understand your need for exclusivity from our judgement, though understand: our knighthood is not a branch of the King's Law, but of Bahamut's. Unless you do something that is specifically cruel or unjust, I don't see how we'll have problems with your methods.
As for items that may help... You are free to consult my priests for scrolls and potions."

Listening to his companions, filing away bits and pieces of certain information, the gunslinger finally speaks.

Despite my ally's lack of desire for material wealth, I do appreciate the offer. However, I have my own objectives beyond this mission as well. I would like to use your keep to research reliable ways to kill devils along with a base to create a new breed of firearms. One that would give your soldiers a great advantage over your foes. Provided you help me if and when I need it. The new firearm can wait until this business is done though.

The Vassal nods. "I can offer reward for your services. For those who are interested, I can award you 500 platinum per head in advance, and 1000 more upon completion of your task.
"That said... I'm not much of a gun smith... And as far as I know, you carry the most advanced form of firearm...
"But you are wise to caution against evil outsiders. A few of my priests are alchemists, and can coat your ammunition in cold iron. Perhaps that might help?"

Spoiler: All

Show

You may purchase scrolls, potions and wands, and you may have your weapons enchanted, or given descriptors, up to a +1 bonus.You must pay the appropriate amount, though keep in mind that you now have an exta 5,000 GP to spend.

[Guard]

Malvin is fascinated with hearing his companion's reasons for undertaking this jurney. It seemed they were not as rag-tag as he had presumed, united primarily under the banner of coin to be gained.
While he had been truthful in his earlier proclamation of scholarly intent, Malvin's eyes still gleamed at hearing the size of the payment offered. He'd left a sizeable library of arcane tomes behind him when he ran, and untill he'd lost it he had not noticed how much he had depended on the availability of those books in order to solve his problems. Currently, he was down to the few spells contained within the pages of his personal research, and it chafed.

When he thought of the sheer unadultered power meant to run through some of the equations he'd seen in those books... It left his stints on the battlefield look like the batting of a moth's wings in comparison. No, a library like that was the work of decades, a lifetime even, but with a lump sum like fifteen hundred platinum coins at his disposal, he might be off to a head start, and eventually he could turn scrolls bought from here into formulae for his collection. Still, there was the matter at hand to take into account first.

"This devil is aware we're coming for it, has been edging us on, even. It will be certain to be prepared in most devious ways. While I yet do not think much of our chances of succeeding in this quest, I am agreed to your generous proposal, Grave."

"Now, in our preparations, I suggest we consider our adversaries. It would be prudent to expect the dark elves, the walking dead, and devils. I suggest acquireing silver weaponry, if you rely on such in combat; I'll look into a way to make weapons easier able to hurt fiends."

[czieg]

"Hmm..." the Vassal considered your words with care before speaking. "I'm sure I can fulfill the request as far as donating part of my treasury to these addressees. And I most certainly understand your need for exclusivity from our judgement, though understand: our knighthood is not a branch of the King's Law, but of Bahamut's. Unless you do something that is specifically cruel or unjust, I don't see how we'll have problems with your methods.
As for items that may help... You are free to consult my priests for scrolls and potions."



The Vassal nods. "I can offer reward for your services. For those who are interested, I can award you 500 platinum per head in advance, and 1000 more upon completion of your task.
"That said... I'm not much of a gun smith... And as far as I know, you carry the most advanced form of firearm...
"But you are wise to caution against evil outsiders. A few of my priests are alchemists, and can coat your ammunition in cold iron. Perhaps that might help?"

Spoiler: All

Show

You may purchase scrolls, potions and wands, and you may have your weapons enchanted, or given descriptors, up to a +1 bonus.You must pay the appropriate amount, though keep in mind that you now have an exta 5,000 GP to spend.

Oren nods in appritation about the cold iron and his eyes gleam at the size of the reward.
I thank you for your generosity. I shall see to it that I am prepared for when we contact this creature. If my weapon were to be blessed with holy power, would this also bypass any resistances of such evil creatures?

[Prehysterical]

Looking over the refugees present, a thought begins to form in Halberd's mind.

"Do you have a smith here in the keep? Tried my hand at it for a time. If we are staying the night here, might be a good idea to get these civvies armed with some good steel."

[Sir Grave]

Oren nods in appritation about the cold iron and his eyes gleam at the size of the reward.
I thank you for your generosity. I shall see to it that I am prepared for when we contact this creature. If my weapon were to be blessed with holy power, would this also bypass any resistances of such evil creatures?

"Again, my priests will happily oblige... for a small donation."

Looking over the refugees present, a thought begins to form in Halberd's mind.

"Do you have a smith here in the keep? Tried my hand at it for a time. If we are staying the night here, might be a good idea to get these civvies armed with some good steel."

The vassal leans back. "My first profession was as a blacksmith. I love the craft. I would be more than happy to help, as I am not doing anything else.""

[Sir Grave]

Malvin is fascinated with hearing his companion's reasons for undertaking this jurney. It seemed they were not as rag-tag as he had presumed, united primarily under the banner of coin to be gained.
While he had been truthful in his earlier proclamation of scholarly intent, Malvin's eyes still gleamed at hearing the size of the payment offered. He'd left a sizeable library of arcane tomes behind him when he ran, and untill he'd lost it he had not noticed how much he had depended on the availability of those books in order to solve his problems. Currently, he was down to the few spells contained within the pages of his personal research, and it chafed.

When he thought of the sheer unadultered power meant to run through some of the equations he'd seen in those books... It left his stints on the battlefield look like the batting of a moth's wings in comparison. No, a library like that was the work of decades, a lifetime even, but with a lump sum like fifteen hundred platinum coins at his disposal, he might be off to a head start, and eventually he could turn scrolls bought from here into formulae for his collection. Still, there was the matter at hand to take into account first.

"This devil is aware we're coming for it, has been edging us on, even. It will be certain to be prepared in most devious ways. While I yet do not think much of our chances of succeeding in this quest, I am agreed to your generous proposal, Grave."

"Now, in our preparations, I suggest we consider our adversaries. It would be prudent to expect the dark elves, the walking dead, and devils. I suggest acquireing silver weaponry, if you rely on such in combat; I'll look into a way to make weapons easier able to hurt fiends."

"A wise precaution, mage. After all, I am counting on your return."
He turned to Halberd. "Perhaps you wouldn't mind working in silver?"

As he says this, another enters the room: a warforged, plating painted like the forest, with twin shortswords at his hip. "You wanted to see me?"

Grave nodded to the warforged. "Wotan," he responded. "I require your skills as a hunter. The people could use more food, and another scout keeping an eye out for new waves wouldn't be bad, either."

Wotan nodded. "Not a problem, old friend," he said. He then looks at Spiker. "You there. I noticed your handiwork outside. I can use someone like you. Care to join me for a few rounds?"

[Prehysterical]

Halberd grunts in response. "Huh, never had the chance to work with silver. I'll see what I can do."

[Vhaidara]

Spiker nods.
Of course.

[Yas392]

Kings and those of the followers of gods. Sometimes, the line blurs that they are not so different. I am merely putting this up in the event you will need to deal with inconvenience. Kalim takes his turban and fumbles with it as the wrap has loosen. Anyone specific? There are many priests here. His eye ridges rises as his mouth runs itself, not impressed with dealing with many of them.

[Sir Grave]

Spiker nods.
Of course.

Kings and those of the followers of gods. Sometimes, the line blurs that they are not so different. I am merely putting this up in the event you will need to deal with inconvenience. Kalim takes his turban and fumbles with it as the wrap has loosen. Anyone specific? There are many priests here. His eye ridges rises as his mouth runs itself, not impressed with dealing with many of them.

As Spiker leaves with Wotan, the Vassal addresses Kalim. "Not as many priests as you might think, actually. As you may have noticed with Cynric and my wife, we're not all "shiny paladins" or, "preachers of divine faith." My Knighthood boasts a wide variety of specialized persons. Wotan, himself, was a former Cyran Scout during the Last War,, and after that, a mercenary.
My knights can redirect you to the right people, friend. All you need do is ask.
"Now... I believe there is much work to be done. Halberd, if you would meet me outside in the courtyard, at the center of the keep. I must change out of my armor, first, of course. "

[Prehysterical]

Halberd shakes his head at Grave's words. "You want to take off your armor in the middle of a recognized combat zone? You Fleshlings... Fine, I will await you outside." The warforged marches off in the direction that Grave indicates.

Are you sure about this, Endbringer?

[czieg]

Well, I guess I better go see about those cold iron and silver bullets. I may also look into enchanting my musket, a little extra magic never goes too far aray.

[Sir Grave]

Spoiler: Halberd

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Outside, you notice the rain finally clearing up. A few of the common folk hang around, outside, for some fresh air. A few of the soldiers train at the western end of the courtyard. In the southern end, you see a smith's working area:; a hammer and anvil, a smelter, a grindstone... a standard set-up, with a few tools you don't recognize... You figure they are for more specialized metals.
Eventually, Grave enters the courtyard, having regained some of his strength... At least you believe. You peg him for a man who doesn't know when to rest... Or does know, but doesn't anyway. He wears common clothes, with an old, tattered blacksmith's apron. He, and another knight, pull on a wagon full of stone which could only be silver ore.

"One of the merchants was willing to provide us with some material. The price was steep, but it's obviously not an issue, if the need is dire."

As you both work, you begin to understand the basics of crafting silver as he teaches you. You almost instantly get the hang of it, as the same principles apply to smithing with other rare metals, such as mithril.

Grave ceases teaching, and strikes up conversation. "You remind me of my first commanding officer, during the war. He, too, said little, leading by example.
"Tell me, Halberd," he continued. "What's your story?"

Spoiler: Spiker

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The rain finally begins to clear as the two of you hunt. You find that Wotan is very experienced, saying nothing and yet still communicating what he needs from you. You even lose sight of him a few times.
You make it to one of the roads leading east, in the forest. Peering from the undergrowth, you see Wotan in the trees. He points.

Two deer graze on the dewy grass, unaware of you. Wotan signals you to attack the one on the left, when he gives the go ahead. He moves to another tree, above the one on the right. He draws one of his blades. He signals the attack, descending from the tree upon his target...

Spoiler: Wotan's attack

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(1d20+12)[26](1d6+6)[12]

Spoiler: Malvin

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You are studying the scrolls in the Keep's Library, which is actually a pretty sizable collection. Oren is on the other end of the library, researching outsiders, by the looks of it. You ignore him, keeping your focus on your scrolls.
Sir Cynric approaches you. He, too, studies scrolls, both arcane and divine. "Hope you don't mind if I join you."
He takes the seat in front of you. He allows silence for the better part of ten minutes before he speaks.
"You know," he says, "I've been intrigued by you ever since we met at the Longbow. Where are you from? What's your story?"

Spoiler: Oren

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You curse, silently, in the library as the only books you can find on firearms are imprints of the rifle you already have, and even then, they are only a handful of books. When a familiar voice booms from behind you.

"Oren? Oren Longshot? Moradin's Beard! What're yeh 'doin here, lad?!"

You turn around, seeing the dwarven merchant you met in the Blade Desert: Rurik.

Spoiler: Kalim

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You finish your rounds as far as purchasing what you need. You head into the Vassal's hall where the gathering of commoners hang about. Many are stressed.
You notice a strange beggar, wearing tattered vestments, feeding the others soup. He walks over to you. He...doesn't look human. He is green skinned, lined with dark green spots upon his face. He bows.
"May I offer you soup, travelar?" he says.

[Sir Grave]

Halberd shakes his head at Grave's words. "You want to take off your armor in the middle of a recognized combat zone? You Fleshlings... Fine, I will await you outside." The warforged marches off in the direction that Grave indicates.

Are you sure about this, Endbringer?

Spoiler: Endbringer Halberd only

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"About as sure as a being that predates your civilization by over a millenia, sure."

[Vhaidara]

Spoiler: Spiker's Private Thang

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Spiker emerges from hiding, snapping her tail at the other deer.

Attack: (1d20+6)[14]
Crit Confirm: (1d20+6)[7]
Damage: (1d6+3)[9]
Crit Damage: (1d6+3)[4]
Attack: (1d20+6)[7]
Crit Confirm: (1d20+6)[18]
Damage: (1d6+3)[5]
Crit Damage: (1d6+3)[9]
Attack: (1d20+6)[23]
Crit Confirm: (1d20+6)[12]
Damage: (1d6+3)[9]
Crit Damage: (1d6+3)[9]

[Prehysterical]

Spoiler: Forged in War

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Not wishing to waste any time, Halberd continues to shape the silver metal as he responds to Grave's question. His words occupy the empty space between the hammer blows.

"Like most warforged, I was made to fight in the war. Served under all five nations at one time or another. I would fight for my objective and defend my comrades. When I was disabled, I became the property of the victor and started over. Not really thinking or believing, just existing.

When the Treaty of Thronehold was signed and the warforged were free, at first I didn't know what to do with myself. What's a warforged without war? So, I tried my metal at the civilian life. Worked as a blacksmith. Hammered away at the forge for hours at a time, making new weapons. It was what I knew. The Fleshlings in the village would curse me and my brethren for taking their jobs and loved ones away from them. It rusted at me, and one day I left to pick up mercenary work.

I liked it. Didn't even really want the money, just something to fight, a reason to fight. To exist. As I started travelling, though, I noticed that other warforged were in the same trench. They seemed to be missing-in-action, confused, and exploited. They were hated and enslaved at the same time. Called soulless, even. I don't care about gods one way or the other, but none seemed to be in a hurry to claim us or appear to us.

Then, one day, something... sparked inside of me. I've heard you Fleshlings describe it as 'waking up'. Myself and a few others were assaulting this fortress that had been taken over by bandits after the war. Turns out they were led by a demon-possessed barbarian. Only reason I made it through that fight was because of a priest of Pelor keeping me up. After the fight, we found a booby-trapped room with a sword on a stone pedestal. A monk who was travelling with us nearly got himself killed getting it.

Turns out, the sword was sentient. Called itself Endbringer and said that it was now at my service. I asked if it wanted that, and its response was that it had never been asked before. At that moment, I knew for the first time what I actually wanted. I had a real purpose. It's been keeping me going for a while now. I swore that I would free Endbringer from his prison, his slaved existence as a weapon to whoever picks him up. I'm going to free all of us, find a place for us, and no man, demon, or god will stand in my way."

The hammering stops as realization strikes Halberd. He looks toward Grave curiously. "Huh. That's the first time anyone ever asked about my history. You said you fought in the war. Which side were you on? I don't recall seeing you."

[Guard]

Spoiler: For sir Graves

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Malvin nods at Cynric as he sits down at the table in recognition of his prescence. He works on in silence, content that Cynric was simply looking for a workspace. He does not immediately respond to the priest's question, although the lines around his mouth and on his brow deepens a smidge. For a long while, there is only scratching sound of claws carefully handling parchment as he unrolls scrolls, refold them, and either returns them or adds them to the meticulously ordered stack that consists of the writings he plans to bring with him.

Then, a scroll brings him pause. He traces the writing with a black, talonlike nail, and a smile spreads on his face.
The expression is no gleaming explosion of joy, but nor does it carry sarcasm or vitrol. Without the frown lines, the tiefling seems to lose a decade's worth of years.

"Look at the bindings. They're simplistic, almost primitive, yet the spell itself is so elegant." Malcin seemed to be speaking to himself. He bent in close, his horns almost scraping the parchment, smile still firmly planted on his face. "It seems to rely on the faith of the creator to give it structure, yet it is clearly of arcane origin." He rolls up the scroll, and puts it aside, neither returning it to its rightful place, nor adding it to the pile he'd purchase. He wouldn't be able to make use of it, having found direct manipulation of energy a crude field of study, and consequently beneath him. Looking at that spell made him, if not regret, then at least re-examine that viewpoint.

He looked up at Cynric, and although he was no longer smiling, he was not frowning, either. He then picked up another scroll to decipher, returning his attention to it. "My parents were both human. They were well liked, rich, owning both an inn and a collection of magical goods they traded with travellers from time to time." Malvin delicately discards yet another scroll. "The items themselves were strictly off limits, but the library..." He doesn't seem to be seeing the graphs and the text before him. "I sneaked down there at night, read of magic, gods, otherworldy denizens," The dry wryness of his humor is is back in his voice. "Sometimes, I'd lose track of time. Once, I failed to notice the morning light creeping into the study. Mother was quite cross with me, as one might imagine - Khyber is hardly an appropriate subject of study for a young mind." The frown returns to his face, and he closes his scroll with a snap before adding it to the growing stack. "In retrospect I suppose the pair of them must have been powerful, having access to resources like that."

Spoiler: Testing Colors

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"How's this for text?" Dingdingding! This'll be the spoiler text color.

"This is legible. Or is it?"

"Here goes nothing."

"Yippie kay-yay motherfvcker"

"These dreams / Under my pillow / In the twilight, of these white nights"

[Sir Grave]

Spoiler: Spiker's Private Thang

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Spiker emerges from hiding, snapping her tail at the other deer.

Attack: [roll0]
Crit Confirm: [roll1]
Damage: [roll2]
Crit Damage: [roll3]
Attack: [roll4]
Crit Confirm: [roll5]
Damage: [roll6]
Crit Damage: [roll7]
Attack: [roll8]
Crit Confirm: [roll9]
Damage: [roll10]
Crit Damage: [roll11]

Spoiler: Spiker

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Both of your attacks are simultaneous. Both are good, clean kills. Wotan stands, pulling out his blade as you walk towards your prize.
"Perfect" he said, finally, as he cleaned off his blade.
He hoisted his kill over his shoulder. "Such a design to your anatomy... It can only be the work of d'Cannith." His eyes, a glaring red, dimmed. "He must have caused you... a great deal of pain."

[Vhaidara]

Spoiler: Thang

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Spiker nods as she lifts her own kill.
Not physically. But either we have souls, or our bodies are incompatible with housing them. I still wonder if there might be a way to see if humans really do have souls. I'd like to test it on that monster.

[Sir Grave]

Spoiler: Forged in War

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Not wishing to waste any time, Halberd continues to shape the silver metal as he responds to Grave's question. His words occupy the empty space between the hammer blows.

"Like most warforged, I was made to fight in the war. Served under all five nations at one time or another. I would fight for my objective and defend my comrades. When I was disabled, I became the property of the victor and started over. Not really thinking or believing, just existing.

When the Treaty of Thronehold was signed and the warforged were free, at first I didn't know what to do with myself. What's a warforged without war? So, I tried my metal at the civilian life. Worked as a blacksmith. Hammered away at the forge for hours at a time, making new weapons. It was what I knew. The Fleshlings in the village would curse me and my brethren for taking their jobs and loved ones away from them. It rusted at me, and one day I left to pick up mercenary work.

I liked it. Didn't even really want the money, just something to fight, a reason to fight. To exist. As I started travelling, though, I noticed that other warforged were in the same trench. They seemed to be missing-in-action, confused, and exploited. They were hated and enslaved at the same time. Called soulless, even. I don't care about gods one way or the other, but none seemed to be in a hurry to claim us or appear to us.

Then, one day, something... sparked inside of me. I've heard you Fleshlings describe it as 'waking up'. Myself and a few others were assaulting this fortress that had been taken over by bandits after the war. Turns out they were led by a demon-possessed barbarian. Only reason I made it through that fight was because of a priest of Pelor keeping me up. After the fight, we found a booby-trapped room with a sword on a stone pedestal. A monk who was travelling with us nearly got himself killed getting it.

Turns out, the sword was sentient. Called itself Endbringer and said that it was now at my service. I asked if it wanted that, and its response was that it had never been asked before. At that moment, I knew for the first time what I actually wanted. I had a real purpose. It's been keeping me going for a while now. I swore that I would free Endbringer from his prison, his slaved existence as a weapon to whoever picks him up. I'm going to free all of us, find a place for us, and no man, demon, or god will stand in my way."

The hammering stops as realization strikes Halberd. He looks toward Grave curiously. "Huh. That's the first time anyone ever asked about my history. You said you fought in the war. Which side were you on? I don't recall seeing you."

Spoiler: Halberd

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Grave smiled. "It would be difficult to remember me, friend," he said. "I was but a regular foot soldier from Sharn, serving under Bulwark. I was younger, then, enlisting even when my father didn't allow it. Sometimes... I wonder what my life would have been like had I listened to him.
"In fact, I nearly died in my first battle. A Karnn boneknight shoved a sword straight through me. I honestly thought it was the end...
Until... By chance... I saw a winged beast in the sky. A dragon. I had never seen one before then. It... inexplicably... filled me with the strength to stand. And I fought on, at Bulwark's side. We were victorious. I never explained what had happened to anyone, except to my closest friends."