The Knighthood of DuRollanz

[DueceEsMachine]

Alright, opening a new thread for this now. You can do what you want with it.

[Galvain7]

Thank you for getting this up so fast!

Unfortunately there is little thanks for the courage of David Du Rollanz. After delivering the mysterious metal box and meeting the Duke, you are sent to rest and recover. Nefendy said your reward would be forthcoming, and true to his word you are summoned by his scribe (whom you recognize as the man who tried to intercept you when first entering) the next morning to receive your reward.

Master Jacques the Scribe informs you in a bored tone that for your courage and zeal in delivering the Holy Festival supplies, and for slaying many hated Pagani, you are to be rewarded with 1000 silver pieces. He continues to drone on that the loss of troops oxen, wagons, and horses must be accounted for, and that you have been fined 900 silver pieces to make up the cost. Your troops, despite their extreme courage (and holy zeal) are to receive only one silver penny. :smallfrown:

Preparations for the Holy Festival continue briskly all around the castle, but you have no assignments and have the rest of the day to move around freely and observe. At nightfall the acting Captain of the Guards informs you that you have been assigned to guard the Holy Festival proceedings. When you move off to take your place down by the entrance to the feasting hall, he stops you. Your place will be behind the Duke's own table, at the door of the ducal kitchen (separate kitchens for himself and everyone else was an express requirement by the paranoid Nefendy).

The importance of this position cannot be lost on you. You are directly beside the Duke's own bodyguard, albeit a little further behind and to the left...

[DueceEsMachine]

Du Rollanz

*While the thanks and appreciation he receives are minimul, the reward he is told he will receive raises a brow - quite surprising that so much would be... and then the deductions are stated, and he merely smiles politely. Of course. Someone would have to pay for the replacement of lost goods. *

*Spending most of his day watching the preparations for the festival, David allows his men leave to rest, should they have no other duties, and advises them to see to the betterment of their souls - whether through attendance of mass, or simply relaxing is up to them to decide.*

*When the Captain of the Gaurd informs him of his assignment, he would be quite pleased indeed - he had his doubts as to whether his efforts would be recognized. Service, however, is it's own honor - this is merely acknowledgement of his accomplishment.*

*Unless his duties required anything else, he would spend the evening gaurding dutifully, honored by the assignment.*

[Galvain7]

*Dutifully your troops (technically still the Duke's troops, but nobody bothered to release you from command yet did they? :smallwink:) go about various chores in the castle.*

Okay, this next part might get a little dull, but we need it for later...

From your position near the Duke's table, you can get a good view of the festival hall. The Hall itself is enormous. Five tables that sit fifty people each stand 10 feet apart from one another. A six table atop a raised dais three feet tall on the north end of the hall (the Dukes) sits 15 people, but only on one side. Two massive oaken doors 15 feet tall are on the opposite of the Dukes table. Besides the double doors that lead to the Duke's kitchen, these are the only doors into the room. A balcony runs the rim of the entire hall, 30 feet up from where you are standing. The stairs are behind you.

The hall is already filled before you arrive, and four massive fireplaces (two on the east and west side) spread the savoury aroma of slow burning sage and pine into the hall, while soft madrigal music drifts down from the balcony above. Massive tapestries depicting the Twelve Apostles (including Judas) hang over the tall but thin arrow slit windows,dramatically reducing the chill. The Duke and his family arrive with much fanfare, and after a short prayer of thanks, the feast begins in earnest. Tomorrow is the solemn Holy Festival, but tonight is given over to more secular pursuits.

You, of course, are not given any food. You are on guard duty. Did you remember to eat before hand?

Whether you did or not, there are other delights to behold besides that of good food. For instance, a beautiful raven haired woman with pale skin and dark luminous eyes keeps looking at you over the rim of her wine glass. If ever you saw a come-hither look, this was it. As the night wears on toward midnight, the part of your brain not devoted to honor and protocol keeps attempting to find an excuse to saunter over to the table. But your little fantasy is cut to a brutal death by a sound not unlike that of a spear-butt going through a man's face....

How the old crone managed to get into the hall, you do not know. How such a bent over hag could muster the strengh to beat her iron tipped staff on the stone floor with such force, you do not know. What foul thing could create a gut wretching stench that you can smell 30 feet away, you could but guess. But of this you will be certain of forever- never before had you seen such an ugly thing before, not even in your nightmares.

Her skin was a diseased white that hung around her knobby bones like bags of untreated leather- her hands that wrapped around the staff were warped and claw like, with black nails and oozing sores. Her hair was but wisps of grey that clung to her near bald hair like clumps of dead rats, and her eyes were the color of beer vomit. A single raven feather hung from a necklace made from the bones of rodents, and when she spoke, it was like nails across a chalk board.

"Once I Curse you for sins of past...
Twice I Curse you for sins yet cast...
Thrice I Curse you for sins made new
For the Raven knows all you will do! Stand in awe mortals, and behold your doom!"

With a final crash of her demon-staff, a thick green cloud of foul gas errupts from nowhere, staggering the Duke's guards and rendering most them inert. The remainder of the guards panic and focus only on removing the Duke and his family. Guest's panic and stampede out the main doors. A servant, blinded by the gas and wretching, crashes into you.

Two fortitude saves: One to avoid being knocked to the ground by the dying servant, another to resist the effects of the gas!

[DueceEsMachine]

Du Rollanz

Alright - so, two fortitude saves coming up. sorry it took so long to post. Yesterday was a bit.... troublesome. Anywho. Here goes.
[roll0]
[roll1]
Okay, taking a wild guess that 14 isn't going to make it, but I'll change it if nee be.


As the servant crashes into him, David manages to keep his footing for a moment, but as he attempts to steady the man, he haplessly inhales a large tendril of the noxious fumes, dry, stretching pain spreading through his lungs as he does so.

His vision blurs for a moment as his head swims, and he moans slightly, attempting to clear his head and focus on the task at hand. Trying to focus on something else, he screams at the old hag, hoping to attract her attention.
"Your Raven has no power here witch! Tell him to come *cough, cough* and I will finish the job I started!"

[Galvain7]

The foul witch cackles at your taunt, and begins to mutter in a foul, unholy tongue, whipping the staff above her head as she does so, spreading the filthy vapor. The gut wrenching green gas forms a whirlpool, from which smoke and demonic cries issue forth... A single warped, wicked hand covered in scales and with fingers twisted into claws reaches out from the vortex, accompanied by a low hiss....


(The witched gained initiative because of your being stunned by the gas, and spent the first turn summoning a monster. You've got a full round to move into position and make your first attack. To make things interesting, apply the necessary modifiers for being fatigued to your attacks. You're not really tired, but the gas is affecting your ability to breathe properly. I'll allow charges if you make a good will save.)

This is the kind of helmet you have, except steel, and with a knob and horse hair tail on the top, as part of your ranking. The Duke doesn't cut costs on helmets.

http://www.mlahanas.de/Greeks/LX/CorinthianHelmetLouvreBr4491.html

[DueceEsMachine]

Du Rollanz

Alright - sorry this took so long - I have been feeding my new addiction to Borderlands. Oh my good heavans that game is addictive - it's just such a simple interface/shooter, but with so much to do, and challenging! Ah!
Okay, let's see how I do for a will save...
[roll0]
Edit: Okay - I'm not even going to add my modifiers to that... that... Suckage...
I'm going to have to double-post to put in my attack roll, but that shouldn't matter too much since it's just us.


*Coughing and spluttering as the dessicated hag stirs the winds, he tries to get out some sort of continued degrading resistance, but the poison steals the breath from him, and an off- balanced lunge with his blade is the best that he can manage udner the circumstances.*

*As his vision blurs slightly, swimming with stars, he begins to wonder to himself if now wouldn't be a good time to begin thinking about religion and faith as more than a tool to be used to manipulate the masses. He may find out soon enough.*

[DueceEsMachine]

Du Rollanz

Attack, longsword -
[roll0]
Crit, if need be -
[roll1]
Damage -
[roll2]

[Galvain7]

Faith or not, you stagger so badly that it takes the witch off guard, enabling you to plant the steel of your longsword, square into her sternum, and you hear the sickening pop of her bones as they snap like old, dry chicken bones.

(The first hit goes in- and the damage from the second roll is the blade coming out.)

The crone gives an astonished chocking gargle, spewing black blood and bile from between her crocked yellow teeth. She steps back a pace, apperently in death stagger saying:

"I do believe you slew my son in the same fashion, Sir Knight on the road through our forest. My poor boy- he never had my fortitude... heheheheHAHAHA!

Suddenly the mist shifts and a second scaled arm appears next to the first-The muscles tense and a black, slimy beast covered in the scales like a fish, with yellow/green eyes and a mussle of long cruel teeth like a dog hurtles up through the gas, landing between you and the clearly not dead witch.

For a brief moment, it seems you will fight two hell-spawn alone, but a distressed cry of "Sire!" snaps your attention to the main door just long enough to see two of your men ploughing through the fleeing civilians straight for the fight...

(The witch cannot have much life left, but you now have a demon to contend with. In another round two of your troops will be behind the witch/ demon.)

[DueceEsMachine]

Du Rollanz

*The moment of releif at his much needed assistance is short-lived, his wracking cough at the gas seeming to sap the strength from his body. Eyeing the demonic monstrosity, he snarls and redoubles his determination, twisting his bloodsoaked grip on his blade for a better hold.*

"You have no power over me, witch - your soul is forfeit for the dark arts you so gleefully practice."

*Lashing out with a fast downward chop, he aims at the right side of the demons face, hoping to partially blind it. Perhaps then he will have a better chance of living to see another sunrise.*

"Back to your masters, Beast!"


okay - not the best of posts, but I'm a little off my game at the moment. Anyways. Attack roll
[roll0]
Crit, if needed [roll1]
Damage [roll2]

[Galvain7]

The demon ducks just under the swing of your longsword swipe, snarling. The low duck provides a handy springboard for a powerful lunge- which carries one clawed hand smashing into your shield harmlessly while the other lands a raking slash across your chest.(8 points of damage) The momentum of the forward attack brings the demon-jaws inches from your throat, his hate filled eyes just slightly below your own- but your solid shield between you and the demon prevents him from getting closer, and the jaws close with a frustrated hiss...

By now the gas has dissipated, and the witch appears ready to perhaps make more, the staff raised up to smite the floor. Before the guttural words can be formed, a loud cry of 'GOD'S SOLDIERS!' sends the first trooper straight into the witches' unprotected bank, bowling her over with a solid shield charge. An eye blink later the he second trooper drives his sword into the hag's now prone form with a curse.

But the bag of bones refuses to die- the witch rolls over and utters a single foul word. From in front of her crooked fingers a blast of chocking liquid-gas shoots forth. The closest soldier screams in agony, dropping his sword and spewing unnaturally bright red blood. The second soldier raises his shield just in time- he coughs for a moment but seems sound.

(Questions: Is this getting too long for you? Can you visualize what is happening adequately? All this stuff is plot related I swears! Do you remember those to German 'rookies' that kept rolling crits? Well, its like that: the one trooper rolled a hight bull rush attempt, and the other got a crit on the longsword strike- before utterly botching his fortitude save against the gas while the other got a critical success...)

[Galvain7]

Testing

[roll0]

[Galvain7]

More Tests

[spoiler[roll0]spoiler]

[Galvain7]

Darn. More Tests.

[roll0]

[Galvain7]

[roll0]...Victory?