Post by Morreion on Dec 6, 2008 0:51:02 GMT -5
I don't play a Dwarf often, but when I do, it tends to be over the top ;-p
The squat engineer, dressed in a greasy blue padded jerkin, bent over the grenade turret, spanner in hand. A tall, regal-looking but somewhat nervous Elf stood behind him.
"Now jest like I tole you when we were lookin' for that Gavin Sherer, 'anytime them camp officers send ya out ta find some human what's lost his way, might as well start lookin' fer the body in the grass, 'cause you'n me both know that Norsca be fulla the clueless'. And was I right? Was I right, laddie? Didn't we find him trussed up like a plump sausage in that spider den? HAH!" A raven lighted out of a nearby pine tree, flapping wildly for the horizon at the explosive punctuation of the Dwarf's story. "More'n half the people they send me out ta find have met their Maker." The Dwarf unscrewed a bolt with a grunt.
"Master Dwarf," the Archmage said, unconsciously straightening his fancy robes with nervous fingers, "we seem to be awfully close to the brigand camps..."
"Basket of food, crate of swords, now- the keg a whiskey," the Dwarf said with an alarmingly white grin that split his oil-streaked face. "That there camp seems ta have a keg next to the big tent. See how it has a guard sitting next to it. Now THAT is whiskey or I'm a Goblin!"
The Elf nodded his head in a convulsive birdlike spasm.
"Now ye might not have much experience with whiskey," the Dwarf turned to the Elf and laughed, a booming sound that rolled over the grass, startling a deer in the brambles. "'course ya don't, bein' whatcha are. Stick with me an' it'll all be well..."
The Archmage in his impeccable robes looked worriedly as He saw a brigand sentry staring at them in the distance, his mouth hanging open. The sentry turned and strode quickly towards the camp of tents, built around a central fire.
"This be a Mark IV Grenade Projector, mass-produced in Ekrund by Dwarven craftsmen," the Dwarf said in an over-loud voice. "I call her Henrietta. She be a sturdy piece a machinery, but they've always had issues with a smooth feed in fast-operation mode!"
The Elf cringed at the Engineer's deep rumbling voice as he belted out a series of technical improvements that were needed. As the sentry reached the central fire and tossed a thumb over his shoulder towards them, he saw heads turn in their direction by those gathered around the fire.
"Lord Dunborne! It appears that we have been noticed-"
The Dwarf snorted loudly and with such force that the Archmage readied a heal. "I be no lord, laddie," the Dwarf said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve, rearranging the grime located there. "Talk to them fancy-pants merchants what sit in the mountain-fortresses and issue proclamations all day long without puttin' in an honest day's tinkering like your hands-on Engineers do..."
The Elf was alarmed now to see a group of brigands gather at the fire, preparing their weapons as the gazed incuriously at the two interlopers.
"Now, as I was sayin'-" Dunborne shot the Archmage a black look for the interruption- "that the Mark IV's biggest issue has been the longish fuse required a the ammo. What good is a grenade turret when your enemies are aswarmin' all over ya and it's projectin' rounds that lay there in the grass for precious seconds before explodin?" The Dwarf rapidly unscrewed grenades and tossed out short fuses as he bellowed out his mechanical version of The Way Things Should Be, a practical philosopher with black crud under the fingernails.
"You're- you're taking out the fuses?" the Elf said in an alarmed voice. He gaped at the approaching brigands, grins on their faces, weapons at the ready.
"OK laddie! Ready them heals now!" The Engineer slammed shut the launcher cover and flipped the main switch. The turret buzzed and spun, acquiring targets. The Dwarf hefted his black-powder rifle, squinted down the barrel fiercely and jerked the trigger, the huge roar of the buckshot round causing the brigands to cower back as they were showered with hot bits of bolts and shot.
The Elf waved his arms in a frenzy, blue energy swirling around him, as the grenades clunked out of the short stubby barrel of the launcher, tumbling into the crowd-
There was an immediate huge series of explosions, brigands vanishing in the blasts as the grenades exploded nearly as soon as they left the barrel. The launcher fell over onto its side, turret spinning wildly. The clouds of choking gray fumes covered the suddenly-silent field.
"AHAHAHAHA!" the Dwarf emerged from the thinning smoke, covered in soot, tunic ragged from shrapnel hits. He hefted the whiskey keg on his shoulder, turned the stopper, and craned his neck so that the flow of brown liquor ran directly into his mouth.
"You're- you're INSANE!" the Elf sputtered. "Never have I seen such a crazed display of-"
The Mark IV Grenade Launcher buzzed loudly on the ground, its feed tray clicking as it attempted to feed more shells.
The Elf shouted in fear and ran as fast as his dignity and flowing robes would allow him across the field.
"Elves," Dunborne said, wiping his mouth with his filthy sleeve. "Well, it worked agin. Time to add another keg to the wagon, Henrietta!" The Dwarf sat down the keg with a grunt and started to lovingly disassemble his Mark IV.
The squat engineer, dressed in a greasy blue padded jerkin, bent over the grenade turret, spanner in hand. A tall, regal-looking but somewhat nervous Elf stood behind him.
"Now jest like I tole you when we were lookin' for that Gavin Sherer, 'anytime them camp officers send ya out ta find some human what's lost his way, might as well start lookin' fer the body in the grass, 'cause you'n me both know that Norsca be fulla the clueless'. And was I right? Was I right, laddie? Didn't we find him trussed up like a plump sausage in that spider den? HAH!" A raven lighted out of a nearby pine tree, flapping wildly for the horizon at the explosive punctuation of the Dwarf's story. "More'n half the people they send me out ta find have met their Maker." The Dwarf unscrewed a bolt with a grunt.
"Master Dwarf," the Archmage said, unconsciously straightening his fancy robes with nervous fingers, "we seem to be awfully close to the brigand camps..."
"Basket of food, crate of swords, now- the keg a whiskey," the Dwarf said with an alarmingly white grin that split his oil-streaked face. "That there camp seems ta have a keg next to the big tent. See how it has a guard sitting next to it. Now THAT is whiskey or I'm a Goblin!"
The Elf nodded his head in a convulsive birdlike spasm.
"Now ye might not have much experience with whiskey," the Dwarf turned to the Elf and laughed, a booming sound that rolled over the grass, startling a deer in the brambles. "'course ya don't, bein' whatcha are. Stick with me an' it'll all be well..."
The Archmage in his impeccable robes looked worriedly as He saw a brigand sentry staring at them in the distance, his mouth hanging open. The sentry turned and strode quickly towards the camp of tents, built around a central fire.
"This be a Mark IV Grenade Projector, mass-produced in Ekrund by Dwarven craftsmen," the Dwarf said in an over-loud voice. "I call her Henrietta. She be a sturdy piece a machinery, but they've always had issues with a smooth feed in fast-operation mode!"
The Elf cringed at the Engineer's deep rumbling voice as he belted out a series of technical improvements that were needed. As the sentry reached the central fire and tossed a thumb over his shoulder towards them, he saw heads turn in their direction by those gathered around the fire.
"Lord Dunborne! It appears that we have been noticed-"
The Dwarf snorted loudly and with such force that the Archmage readied a heal. "I be no lord, laddie," the Dwarf said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve, rearranging the grime located there. "Talk to them fancy-pants merchants what sit in the mountain-fortresses and issue proclamations all day long without puttin' in an honest day's tinkering like your hands-on Engineers do..."
The Elf was alarmed now to see a group of brigands gather at the fire, preparing their weapons as the gazed incuriously at the two interlopers.
"Now, as I was sayin'-" Dunborne shot the Archmage a black look for the interruption- "that the Mark IV's biggest issue has been the longish fuse required a the ammo. What good is a grenade turret when your enemies are aswarmin' all over ya and it's projectin' rounds that lay there in the grass for precious seconds before explodin?" The Dwarf rapidly unscrewed grenades and tossed out short fuses as he bellowed out his mechanical version of The Way Things Should Be, a practical philosopher with black crud under the fingernails.
"You're- you're taking out the fuses?" the Elf said in an alarmed voice. He gaped at the approaching brigands, grins on their faces, weapons at the ready.
"OK laddie! Ready them heals now!" The Engineer slammed shut the launcher cover and flipped the main switch. The turret buzzed and spun, acquiring targets. The Dwarf hefted his black-powder rifle, squinted down the barrel fiercely and jerked the trigger, the huge roar of the buckshot round causing the brigands to cower back as they were showered with hot bits of bolts and shot.
The Elf waved his arms in a frenzy, blue energy swirling around him, as the grenades clunked out of the short stubby barrel of the launcher, tumbling into the crowd-
There was an immediate huge series of explosions, brigands vanishing in the blasts as the grenades exploded nearly as soon as they left the barrel. The launcher fell over onto its side, turret spinning wildly. The clouds of choking gray fumes covered the suddenly-silent field.
"AHAHAHAHA!" the Dwarf emerged from the thinning smoke, covered in soot, tunic ragged from shrapnel hits. He hefted the whiskey keg on his shoulder, turned the stopper, and craned his neck so that the flow of brown liquor ran directly into his mouth.
"You're- you're INSANE!" the Elf sputtered. "Never have I seen such a crazed display of-"
The Mark IV Grenade Launcher buzzed loudly on the ground, its feed tray clicking as it attempted to feed more shells.
The Elf shouted in fear and ran as fast as his dignity and flowing robes would allow him across the field.
"Elves," Dunborne said, wiping his mouth with his filthy sleeve. "Well, it worked agin. Time to add another keg to the wagon, Henrietta!" The Dwarf sat down the keg with a grunt and started to lovingly disassemble his Mark IV.
