Spoiler
Show
You are ushered into an aery pavilion. Instead of chairs the patrons have their choice of hide covered benches or fluffy cushions on the floor. Cool water is complimentary as is a small loaf of spice bread. Wine, cheese, and fruit are available for extra (1gp small serving, 5gp platter). Perhaps 35 others join you in the pavilion to watch the coming show. Most are human, but there is a smattering of other humanoids, including one ornately clad cloud giant under the effects of a compression spell.
Before you stands a low wooden platform, with curtains on the three sides not facing the audience. A bard comes out and sits on the edge of it holding a beautiful stringed instrument. For several minutes he plays a slow wistfully melody as a two more stragglers enter and are seated in the back.
"A tale you wish to hear I see." The bard suddenly begins. "A tale you shall receive, no it is more than a tale." He continues slowly still playing. "An epic ballad of valor with as much lore as glamor you shall hear, and even see. The Battle of Nail Hill we now present to thee!"
At this point the bard suddenly stands and tosses his instrument aside, but the music does not end: a drum and lonely woodwind off stage start their own haunting melody.
"Nail hill, you must understand, was more than a simple, single, hill: greater still than its old iron mine, for gold struck and rubies were found, thin yet assuredly there. All this that stood below the Humnaheims, that dwarven realm of the Emerald Mountains tall and above the rocky Gnarlwood forest that BloodFist, the goblin chieftain king, had claimed. For years a human buffer town lived between the foes, and hilltop tower built as well. But! when the pox came through and men moved on that hill, tower crowned, stood on. Contested ground it surely was and those goblins moved in quick, but with gold at stake and an encroaching foe the dwarves could not look mildly on: A dwarf march took war to old nail hill."
ohHOOOWWWN
A horn blares as the bard delivers the final line and the air behind the stage shimmers before settling into the illusion of a ruin-strewed grassy hill with a dark wood in the background to the left and majestic mountains to the right. A quartet of dwarves of and a half-dozen goblins appear as well, with three real dwarves and four real goblins also stepping on stage as well.
"And thus that battle began!" the bard suddenly screams while the two sides lunge at each-other. The goblins open with a volley of javelins, and the dwarves reply with crossbows before the two sides before the two forces met with a clash of shields, axes, and maces. The reenactors are all fighting defensively and pulling blows to avoid lethal strikes, but they are truly fighting. As a combatant falls they are pushed off the back of the stage, and a few seconds later they reenter again from the wings as if fresh units in a massive struggle. Nearly two minutes slowly tick past before a worg with an elaborately decorated goblin rider enters the stage as well as a buff dwarf in gleaming armor. The bardic narrator also reappears striding amount the still fighting combatants and new challengers.
"The goblins, 200 strong with worg allies besides fought as one under RawBreath's banner against IronFist and his 150 souls." The bard continues as the two new combatants join against the other in a swirling frenzy, and the bard continues into a genealogy and listing of others of fame: a still contrast to the beating drums and clash of steal elsewhere.
After two more minutes of reeling and fighting the goblin leader is knocked out and dragged halfway across the stage by his battered mount. "With time, a full hour more than you see today, IronFist and his kin began to prevail, but then! Then that lizard, RustingBreath, a great dragon huge in size, it rose forth to claim both tattered sides and battered hill as it's own sprawling prize!" At this note everyone turns to face stage left where in a flash of swirling light an illusionary green dragon appears with a roar.
"Battered yes but dead no the ancient foes turned a new as heros rallied forth, to join together in fragile piece: a truce at nail hill thus born." At this the bard hops off the stage and a steady drum beat begins to grow as the a cleric heals the fallen RawBreath who claps hands with IronFist as the two lead a charge against the dragon.
Round and round the mortals fought, scattered and regrouped until at last the the overwhelmed dragon was pulled down, but the fighting paused only long enough for a dirty and bleeding IronFist to raise his banner in victory, while RawBreath swong a heavy mace against the dwarf from behind.
"The dragon dead, the battle not, the fighting raged a-new, as goblin treachery slew anew the truce on the bloody hill." The bard finishes as a mist settles across the stage. "The dwarves were beaten back, and goblins all did flee, but both call the dreadful day at least a partial victory.
Today there stands a distant hill a few brave prospectors dare try, but every night the hills sing woe and the ghosts arise again: for none have told these restless ones there foe no longer stands"
Originally Posted by Psionic Dog
Re: Planar Olympics (IC)
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