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Thread: lich ruler

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    Dwarf in the Playground
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    Jun 2007

    Default Re: lich ruler

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    __D ____ H1
    __N H3__ H2___ ___ M
    __C ____ H4
    ________ Y


    As H4 is unconscious and wounded, Yorrick will deliver a non-lethal coup de grace to the unconscious H4.

    As per what Derek ruled when I asked him, the blow is nonlethal damage and an automatic hit, but not a critical like a regular coup de grace.

    So, rolling for nonlethal damage to H4:

    (2d6+8)[11]

    Derek, I know they're already unconscious, but please do let me know if the nonlethal damage is enough to leave them knocked out completely for the next little while. Remember that nonlethal damage goes down by 1/hour, so even if the current hp - nonlethal damage is -1, he'll be out for a lot longer than 4 rounds.


    Vigilance was not needed. As Yorrick stood ready to endure any javelins thrown his way, the sorcerer finally came into play. Arcane might, an explosion of colour and light. The orange-skinned warriors were left weaving, reeling in the face of the spellslinger's magical might. All but one toppled, insofar as Yorrick could see, and the one left standing soon found itself outnumbered.

    Yorrick's grin turned wicked for a moment, as he glared at the wounded hobgoblin before him. The peltast was still breathing, some natural fortitude staving off any additional harm from the blow he had dealt it. But, it was unconscious, prone on the ground, helpless before him. The wicked grin turned wider, killing intent written all over his face. He lifted his greatsword above his head, not noticing its considerable weight. He began to bring it down, his only intent to slay the hobgoblin, to end its miserable existence, to murder his helpless opponent.

    "Murder?!" he thought, his eyes opening widely for a moment.

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    Everything hazy. Eyes can't focus. The memory unclear, grasping at a mere tendril of smoke rather than the fire itself.

    A Masaw-mosid warrior lay before him, wounded and unconscious.

    "Captain, I cannot bring myself to finish these wretches. I want to slay them, to protect Efer-nim. But I cannot slay them like this, I cannot kill them like my father was killed, like my mother was slain before my eyes. I cannot." Yorrick, or the man whose eyes Yorrick was seeing with, said. Tears were rolling down his cheeks, painful memories brought to the fore. His head was buried in his hands, shame overcoming him.

    "My brother, I know thy heart nearly as well as my own. A great warrior you are, but honourable to a fault. Truth be, I cannot commit such an act devoid of mercy and compassion, even against these brutal savages. Let us make a pledge, on our brotherhood, that we shall always think coolly about these matters, to always act with as much compassion, mercy, and honour as we can, and to never forget our true selves in battle." the Captain responded, his face blurry and his voice distorted, indistinguishable. Straining as he might, he could not make out the Captain's features.

    They clasped arms in the way of those of Nimlot's guard, swearing to hold true to their vow forevermore.

    "So mote it be."

    "So mote it be."

    (OOC: Sorry, Nexus, I didn't have quite the right touch to emulate Neshi's mode of speech. That can be forgiven, I hope.)

    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

    "... to never forget our true selves in battle."

    By some sheer force of will, he began to shift the trajectory of his sword's path. It was moving faster and faster, gravity combining with the sheer hatred behind his initial blow, ascent towards the earth and the awaiting hobgoblin flesh virtually assured. Yorrick began to pour all his strength into changing the predestined path, into interrupting the unwavering devotion of his initial swing. Time began to slow as he fought his most difficult battle yet; a fight against himself, his own strength, and his own emotions. "I cannot give up." he pledged to himself. He began to scream, incomprehensible gibberish as he exerted as much of his strength as he could.

    Closer. Closer. Almost there. Almost connected. Almost a murderer. No. He couldn't. He couldn't give up. Shift it! Stop it! Change what he had started! Stop the mistake! Frantic. Heart pounding. Fear. Fear at himself. Fear at what he was, what he had been, or what he would become! Fear that he had disappointed the person from his memory.

    With a final twist, a final push, a final shove, the flat of the blade struck against the hobgoblin with considerable force, trading magicly-induced rest to sleep inspired by concussion. He'd succeeded. He'd changed. He'd changed the unstoppable swing. He'd changed himself. He'd kept his promise.

    He stabbed his sword into the ground, leaning on it for support. He felt drained, all of a sudden, as if he could not fight any longer. As if he could not stand up any longer. A tear rolled down his cheek, shame at what he had intended to do filling his heart with grief. He spoke to the downed fighter before him, not caring that the savage goblinoid would not hear his words. "I cannot slay anyone who lays harmless before me. I cannot murder you. I will not slay you. I will not murder you."

    "Captain, I cannot break our vow." he whispered, lips barely moving. The sound was carried away on the wind, dispersed amongst the trees. Those trees bore witness to Yorrick's renewed promise, nodding in sage agreement at a thousand-year promise kept and a warrior's resolve renewed.

    Somehow, inexplicably, Yorrick gained strength from his own words, renewed strength surging through his body, a rapid-flowing river of courage and steadfastness. He rose, yanked his sword out of the ground, and moved to aid his comrades in the final stages of the conflict.

    "But... Where did that memory come from, and why did I stop?!" he thought to himself, no longer feeling quite in control of his own actions. Or was he? Was this his true self?
    Last edited by Methalor; 2007-07-05 at 03:43 AM.
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