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Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf
Portrait: C10
Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 1
Backstory: Klörf became a pyromaniac at a very young age. His parents forgave him when he burned down their chicken coop the first time, and let him off with a stern lecture. Five burned chicken coops later they discovered his microcephalic skull retains lectures the same way a strainer holds water, and sent him off to fight in the war.

Break down that gate? In any way he sees fit? The giant, wooden, possibly flammable gate?

Klörf, the simpering simpleton, runs off giggling. Wielding a pot of oil in one hand, and a lit torch in the other. He warns exactly none of his fellow legionnaires as he drenches the wooden parts of the gate with one hand, and sets it alight with the other.

1d100+10=21

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Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 1->2

Klörf foregoes the use of his legion-issued stick and opt to headbutt the enemy instead. It's not like he has any goods to damage.

1d100+1=36

Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 2->3

Strategy
Klörf listens in on his fellow soldiers proposing elaborate strategies on how to halt the caravan. He simply smiles and nods after every suggestion. When you have a brain the size of a rotting onion, even the dumbest idea sounds like the grandest strategy devised by a master tactician. After everyone has had their say, their eyes all fall on Klörf, who is casually picking his nose. It takes a while for a him to realize that they expect him to speak. When the quarter finally drops after an uncomfortably long silence, he stands up, smears the booger from his finger onto his pants, and begins to talk in an uncomfortably loud voice.

"Uh... When Klörf was kid, he used to burn family's hen house for fun. Was great fun to watch chickens run around in panic. And cooked chicken tasty! My idea... Well, beasts of burden are like chicken. Except huge, and pull carts! Spook beasts with fire, they panic? And possibly hurt soldiers in cart? Is like plan poison, but more fun because fire?"

Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 2->3

(1d100)=54 (plan spook the beasts with fire)

Not knowing when his next meal would be, Klörf decided it wise to prepare some food for the journey ahead. He started a nice fire and smoked some fresh cuts of meat over it.

(1d100+10+2)=15 (smoke some meats using the 'starting fires' skill)

Ah... Singed beyond recognition. Just the way he liked it!

Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 3->4

Where others looted weapons, food, armor, or useful things, Klörf rummaged through backpacks hoping to find a certain luxury good: a flask of oil. Well, *he* considered it a luxury good -- and he didn't care what his fellow Toäns thought!

Trying to find a flask of oil, 1d100=62

Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 4->5

For most of the post-combat rest and relaxation period, Klörf didn't interact with most of his fellow conscriptees in any significant way. Other than taking a brief nap near a freshly lit campfire and eating some (practically charred) stips of smoked beef jerky, the simple minded fool simply stared off into the distance -- drool drizzling freely from a corner of his mouth. Klörf may have been physically present, but his mind wasn't quite there. Until he heard Humbug mention something familiar.

Scribbleykins posted:

Humbug eyed Grimper as he proposed the change of plan. He had, after all, a sneaking suspicion that the caravan carrying Magda had not so much been heading for Gateway Fortress as it had been heading for that most infamous prison - NÄGEL.

Light, nay, fire, returned to the pathetic creature's dead fishy eyes. "NÄGEL!", he screamed from the top of his lungs with equal parts frustration, anger and despair. "Long ago, Klörf had friend. Bolbörf. Was good friend. BIG friend. Almost as big as General Grimper, but hairier. And eye-ier". His visage saddened, and he continued in a dour tone of voice. "Only friend. Taught Klörf how to start fires when others would laugh at size of Klörf's skull. But Bolbörf started fires with breath, not by rubbing sticks together or torches". Tears began to well up in his eyes, and snot flowed freely from his nose. "Before war, Frömen come to Klörf's town. Asked town to give Bolbörf to them for expurtishmentation in new Frömen prison. Town agreed. Klörf tried to follow, but father said no. Klörf had to work on farm. So Klörf set things on fire to get sent to prison. But ended up here instead!"

Reduced to little more than a quivering ball of snot and tears, he bellowed out a plea to those around him. "PLEASE SAVE KLÖRF'S FRIEND BOLBÖRF. GO TO NÄGEL IN NOOSTRA!"

Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 4->5

Scribbleykins posted:

"Your big friend - was he really a fire-breather?" asked Humbug curiously, trying to remind the lad of better days than his best (and apparently only) friend being shipped off to that ominous place.

Klörf took the detective's tissue, dried his tears, blew his nose, and handed it back to him. As best as he could he tried to stop sobbing. "Yes, Bolbörf really wa-- no, IS, fire-breather! Could blow little embers to start fire for kettle, but also great big flames. And even blue fire. Really pretty!" The pinheaded Töan stood up, placed his hands near his mouth, and mimed blowing great gouts of flame from it with the enthusiasm of a child. "Woosh! Woosh! Like dragon from stories, but REAL! Even tried to teach Klörf how to do it". A weary sigh followed. "But no matter how hard Klörf try, could not learn. Only knows how to start fire with flints or wooden sticks. Klörf bad pupil -- brain muscle is too weak..."

Just as his expression was about to turn sombre again, a happy memory seemed to resurface in his mind.

"But! Klörf do know how to fake fire-breath! Need flask of oil though. Would love to show to new friend mister Hamb--" he paused mid-sentence. "Mister Hambug, will you be Klörf's friend?"

Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 4->5

Klörf enthusiastically shook hands with all Töans Humbug introduced him to. To his surprise, none remarked negatively on his deformed head or insulted his intelligence. Or if they did, they were doing so in a manner too subtle for Klörf to pick up on. Either way, it was a marked improvement over the candid disapproval he constantly experienced in his home village. These people weren't all that bad!

After sharing some of his rations with his new friends he gathered some more firewood to throw on his bonfire and invited everyone to spend the night in the comfort of the crackling flames. Who knew going to war could be so much fun.

Build a campfire to keep out the cold of night, 1d100+10+4=31

Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 5->6

A frown appeared on Klörf's face, or at least it appeared to be a frown to an outside observer. In actuality, he was formulating a plan. And that required thinking, something he wasn't used to doing.

"Blend in", he spoke. "Might work better if we use props? Go back to Fröman caravan and take carts. Stuff many Töans in cart and pretend to be traveling merchants. Then strike at night?"

Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 5->6

Scribbleykins posted:

"Let's see if we can't acquire some of those stolen Frömen cloaks - that oughta help. Some hot-burning torches, as well - that's your speciality isn't it, Klörf? At night, all cloaked up and with the red tint of the torches' light our skin will almost be as red as theirs!"

"Special tea! Special tea!" Klörf excitedly proclaimed as he ran off to gather enough materials to make as many torches as he could before nightfall. He gladly handed them out to his fellow horde mates, regardless of whether they were going to attempt to blend in like him. In his mind any of the proposed tactics were better with liberal application of fire.

Make many torches and hand them out - (starting fires skill) - 1d100+10+5=82

Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 6->7

Covertly discussing how to proceed next was out of the question what with a mob gathering in the city's streets. Luckily there wasn't any need to do so anyway; a plan had grown organically among the horde's infiltrators. One half of the group was going to attempt to redirect the mob, while the other half would sneak of to go looting or to murder the city's leadership. Klörf considered which team to join; a decision that did not take him very long to make. His pudgy little frame wasn't made for fighting, and those wet noodles taped to the side of his rotund shape had little capacity for carrying ores, ingots or tools. Redirection it was, then.

He saw how Shiny tried to get the mob to charge the stick figures erected outside of the city borders. For a moment he considered if he could do the opposite and get most of the mob to flee away from them instead? Redirecting the mob was good, but dispersing it entirely was even better.

"Aaahhh!", he yelled loudly while running away in a panic. "It's orcs! Orcs! Will kill us!". Hopefully that would assist in causing panic to break out. Failing that, confusion was a good alternative outcome.

Redirecting the mob, 1d100+6=66

Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 7->8

A nasty waft of acrid air violated Klörf's nostrils, who could do nothing but fall to his knees and violent decorate the town's square with streaks of a half-digested breakfast. It bothered him a little -- this was a waste of perfectly edit smoked meats! A good thing then that this mining town had a general store he could loot from.

Loot general store. 1d100=73

Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 8

As Klörf walked through the mining town, he couldn't help but feel a bit unnerved. The behaviour of the Frömen was almost unreal. Not a few hours ago they'd been subjugated by the Unexpectables. But now they were going on with their day as if the clock had been turned back a day. He felt as if he could walk into just about any house, clear out their kitchen, and walk out with all of that family's food without them caring in the least.

Not that he had any plans of doing so. No, something had caught his attention. Something he had always wanted to do, but couldn't because he was born as the son of a lowly farmer and not as a smith's apprentice. In the town's periphery, near one of the mining entrances, stood a strange building with a very tall smokestack. Despite being barely literate, Klörf recognized the building from a picture in a picture book he once thumbed through. Yes, that was a forge.

He entered the building with glee, but was dismayed to see the forge had turned cold. It was a good thing, then, that he had brought along enough matches and tinder to fire it up again! Within minutes, smoke left the building's smokestack.

"Klörf need help!", the little blue man yelled to his fellow Töans. "Need ore for smelting! And strong arms for hammering iron in shape! Who help Klörf to make sword? Shield? Nail for Magda, perhaps?"

Attempting to light a dormant smithing forge, 1d100+10+8=106

Zybourne Clock fucked around with this message at Oct 14, 2017 around 16:10

Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 8->9

Transfixed by the graceful dance of the forge's flickering flames, Klörf sprang to attention when Humbug, his second friend ever waltzed into his temporary abode.

ScribblyKins posted:

"Lad! I found you some spare iron. Careful - it's probably cursed, haha!"

"C-c-cursed?", he stuttered. That certainly didn't sound all that good to him. He was there to witness how warlord Grimper drove a Nail into his very flesh; something that disturbed and somewhat disgusted the young Töan. Klörf could remember the time he accidentally sat on a push pin, and did not wish to imagine how much more painful it would be to hammer an even blunter object into one's own flesh.

On the other hand, it was impossible to deny the ritual's usefulness. If these Fail Nails held even a little bit of power, it could potentially help out the horde in a big way.

"Thanks, Hamburg! Good friend! Klörf will make something useful. Or at least try!"

As his friend the sleuth left the building, Klörf returned to his fire. He'd seek out this Stårn fellow in a few minutes to discuss melting some interesting ore that had been found in the mines, but first he had to refuel his forge. So he grabbed the nearest pile of firewood and raised the flames higher and hotter. Slowly but surely, a thick blanket of warmth spread out over everything in the building and the pyrophiliac's mind became cloudly as smoke.

Several hours later...

Stårn proudly displayed his orichalcum on the wooden table in the center of the room. Its green luster was a sight to behold. Klörf held it aloft in one hand, appraising it with one eye closed and holding a thumb on his chin. Despite looking the part, wearing a smith's apron and all, he really did not know the first thing about metallurgy. Or smithing. Or minerals. Or anything other than how to start a fire, really. But he did not wish to disappoint the siege engineer.

"Yes. Would make good ramming head. No. GREAT ramming head! Will smelt orki-, okich-, uh green rock for you". He was about to place the ore inside of the crucible, when suddenly the building's door violently swung open. There in the doorway stood Tharbad, violently bashing a metal rod on a nearby metal drum. The noise drowned out the conversation Stårn and Klörf were having.

Sperglord Firecock posted:

"WE NEARLY GOT KILLED OUT THERE. We need more people bashing peoples heads in with bars! You make metal, right?!"

The little blue Töan wanted to do nothing more than cower behind the nearest object when Tharbad spoke. He'd seen the man before; there was nothing gentle about him. With a voice filled with anger and a short temper to match, the figure reminded Klörf of his bullies of old. Trying his very best to remain brave, he cleared his voice and spoke in a voice that only barely concealed his freightened state of mind.

"Klörf smith metal, yes", the lie was almost as blatantly obvious as droplets of sweat making their way down his head. "Tharbad like good bar?" He showed the intimidating man a leather pouch, given to him by Humbug. "Magda gave Klörf Nails. Have powerful magic. WIll make magic bar for Tharbad!". He threw them into the crucible with some other bits of scrap metal, and waited for them to smelt.

Humbug's warning echoed in his mind. Maybe the nails contained residual power that could be imbued into other objects. Maybe they were cursed, and working them into a weapon was a bad idea. Klörf considered none of these things. He just didn't want to be on the scary man's bad side. And if he did end up making a horrificly cursed object of unimaginable terror? Well, at least its wielder had his fate coming to him!

Zybourne Clock fucked around with this message at Oct 14, 2017 around 21:50

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Zybourne Clock
Oct 25, 2011

Poke me.

Name: Klörf

Skill: Starting fires
HP: 3
Glory: 9->10

Klörf's dead fish-eyes lit up the moment Grimper mentioned Nägel. Even if this was just a scouting mission, it would put him one step forward to his goal of freeing his abducted friend.

He gathered his sharpened stick and wordlessly joined the rest of the Töans preparing for the mission. If they failed, it certainly couldn't be blamed on Klörf's dedication.

1d100+9=53

His competence, on the other hand, was certainly not beyond reproach.

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