[ Styx gives the ravine a long, hard look. He kicks a pebble in, listening and waiting and being completely not surprised when he can't hear it hit bottom. ]
[ And then he's just squatting a little ways back from the edge, scowling at the world in general. ]
Right. Fuck this. So who else thinks we should just set up camp right here?
PHASE II
[ Guess who never goes anywhere without flint and steel? That's right, this guy. Squatting in the least windy part of a hollow, Styx is hunched over a sad little pile of tinder painstakingly scavenged from his surroundings, trying to make sparks fly. It's easier said than done- even if the goblin has nimble fingers, it doesn't help when those fingers feel like frozen lumps of meat. ]
C'mon, c'mon...
[ He spits out a long string of curses as the one spark he strikes flies off in the wrong direction- and they grow even more inventive when he accidentally strikes his thumb instead. Here's hoping not too many people are depending on him. ]
PHASE III
[ Styx actually has the tools he needs to deal with an airborne threat- he's got throwing knives, some real sharp aim, and experience with hitting moving targets. Quick as a flash, the goblin's hurling daggers at the griffins, counting on the others to distract him for long enough to get a killing blow in. ]
[ Except, apparently, getting hit by throwing daggers is enough to distract the griffins toward HIM. Styx curses and beats a hasty retreat- ]
No no no no no NO NO NO-
[ - aaand gets nabbed by a griffin's claws. The beast flaps its wings and does its level best to get away with its prize, while Styx is doing his level best to brutalize the griffin with his daggers before it can rip him to shreds or get high enough to drop him. Either way, he could REALLY use some help, here. ]
PHASE IV
[ Great! Coats and blankets! They aren't going to die horrible, horrible deaths now. Styx's clothing wasn't inappropriate for the weather, but he's not going to turn down anything that'll help him keep warm, so he claims ownership of one of the coats almost immediately. ]
[ ... of course, the coats aren't exactly scaled down for goblins, so Styx trudges toward the entrance, swamped in fabric and looking like a kid playing grown-up with his dad's trenchcoat. ]
Don't you even think of laughing.
[ And he immediately plops himself down, taking a wicked-looking knife to the ends of his coat with full intention of ripping it down to fit him. ]
no subject
[ Styx gives the ravine a long, hard look. He kicks a pebble in, listening and waiting and being completely not surprised when he can't hear it hit bottom. ]
[ And then he's just squatting a little ways back from the edge, scowling at the world in general. ]
Right. Fuck this. So who else thinks we should just set up camp right here?
PHASE II
[ Guess who never goes anywhere without flint and steel? That's right, this guy. Squatting in the least windy part of a hollow, Styx is hunched over a sad little pile of tinder painstakingly scavenged from his surroundings, trying to make sparks fly. It's easier said than done- even if the goblin has nimble fingers, it doesn't help when those fingers feel like frozen lumps of meat. ]
C'mon, c'mon...
[ He spits out a long string of curses as the one spark he strikes flies off in the wrong direction- and they grow even more inventive when he accidentally strikes his thumb instead. Here's hoping not too many people are depending on him. ]
PHASE III
[ Styx actually has the tools he needs to deal with an airborne threat- he's got throwing knives, some real sharp aim, and experience with hitting moving targets. Quick as a flash, the goblin's hurling daggers at the griffins, counting on the others to distract him for long enough to get a killing blow in. ]
[ Except, apparently, getting hit by throwing daggers is enough to distract the griffins toward HIM. Styx curses and beats a hasty retreat- ]
No no no no no NO NO NO-
[ - aaand gets nabbed by a griffin's claws. The beast flaps its wings and does its level best to get away with its prize, while Styx is doing his level best to brutalize the griffin with his daggers before it can rip him to shreds or get high enough to drop him. Either way, he could REALLY use some help, here. ]
PHASE IV
[ Great! Coats and blankets! They aren't going to die horrible, horrible deaths now. Styx's clothing wasn't inappropriate for the weather, but he's not going to turn down anything that'll help him keep warm, so he claims ownership of one of the coats almost immediately. ]
[ ... of course, the coats aren't exactly scaled down for goblins, so Styx trudges toward the entrance, swamped in fabric and looking like a kid playing grown-up with his dad's trenchcoat. ]
Don't you even think of laughing.
[ And he immediately plops himself down, taking a wicked-looking knife to the ends of his coat with full intention of ripping it down to fit him. ]