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  1. - Top - End - #211
    Ettin in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    I'll die before I let you take them! Illiiya cried out, her face twisted in a mix of anger, fear and spite as she swung with all her might.
    The scythe swept up, its edge slicing raindrops in two as it sped through the air. Next to the shimmering blade of darkness, the knight’s sword seemed dull and prosaic by comparison – but the two weapons clashed with the force of a cavalry charge, the sheer impact making Illiiya stagger where she stood.

    Hooking the elf’s long blade with his own as she tried to pull it back, the knight threw her guard wide open, using his superior height and strength to deadly advantage. As she stumbled in the hoof-churned mire, the hilt of the sword smashed hard into her face, sending her reeling with blood streaming from her nose. The blade swung high above her, then hacked down.

    Through the legs of the kicking destrier, Lothar saw Illiiya fold like a marionette, crumpling senselessly to the earth. There were curling fronds of red mingling with the mud around her, far too much red – as the knight turned his visor back to his human attackers, the sword came back into view, dripping with equal parts rainwater and blood.

    With desperate shouts, the villager threw themselves at their enemy, weapons beating in vain against steel plate. Cursing loudly, Ricard wheeled his horse about, coming around for another pass – as he levelled his second pistol, the knight pulled hard on his reins, making his horse rear high on its hind legs. Unable to correct his aim, Ricard’s bullet sped past it, scoring the arm of a Hohlesbrucker instead – the peasant yelled out in pain, stumbling back to clap his hand to the wound.

    A little further back, there was a quick thud-thud as two crossbows released within moments of each other. The bolts shot straight and true, slamming into the knight with enough force to slew him sideways in the saddle. One broke against solid plate, while the other found a joint – straightening up, the knight pulled it out with one mailed fist, casting it to the ground.

    Snorting and stamping, the armoured warhorse swung around on a new bearing. Treating the shouting villagers surrounding him as little more than annoyances, the silent rider was now gazing straight towards the frantically reloading crossbowmen.

    ~

    The polished steel of Sigurd's blade stabbed into the twist of muscle in his hand, running it through from one side to the other. Clutching the impaled thing tight enough to crush it, Sigurd looked quickly, expectantly up.

    The knight hadn’t noticed. Before his eyes, Illiiya was cut down, the bloody sword looping up to claim another victim. He turned the dirk in the wound, but the armoured figure didn’t even flinch.

    It couldn’t be. Mustering all the subtle art he could, he stared at the dried-up thing in his hand, trying to see past the clotted pall of darkness that clung to everything in this accursed place.

    Sigurd’s Witchsight

    Spoiler
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    What he saw instead were the maggots. They were at his feet, they were on his feet, swarming up his legs. He tried to shake them off, but the stubby spines that ringed the glutinous, whitish segments of their bodies caught in his clothes.

    One coiled around his arm, slithering like a snake to the hand that held the heart. To his right, he heard Indigo give a sudden cry of pain, but he had no time to look away. The thing sank its foul mouthparts into the skin of his wrist, and he felt real pain as it drew blood – he watched in horror as it pushed itself into the bite, its obscenely pulsing body becoming a writhing bulge beneath his skin.


    The wizard suddenly staggered, as if in pain – his dog yelped at the same precise moment, jumping as if she had been bitten by a tick. Sigurd was clutching at his arm, the arm that held the heart – and his own blood was seeping between his fingers.

    He jerked again, and again, flinching as if beaten by invisible cudgels. Other circular bite-marks were opening across his skin, dark stains spreading across his shirt-sleeves and breeches.

    OOC:
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    (1d6)[6] wounds for Sigurd, 1 wound for Indigo.
    Last edited by LCP; 2012-07-11 at 05:50 PM.
    Spoiler: My Games
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    The Hour After Midnight
    Threads: I, II, III
    The Lord of Lost Heart
    Threads: I, II
    Ill Met By Morrslieb
    Threads: I


    Threads: I, II, III


    Chapter I
    Chapter II
    Chapter III
    Chapter IV
    Chapter V

  2. - Top - End - #212
    Troll in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Pieter flinched in sympathy when Illiiya fell under the knight's blows. No... That could not be... She could not die like that, not after surviving the pyre and slaying Morsleek in single combat. Desperation welling up in him, the initiate lashed out at the horse again.

    Spoiler
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    Swift attack.

    WS 56: (d100)[28]
    Damage: (d10+3)[8]

    WS 56: (d100)[18]
    Damage: (d10+3)[8]


    Again, his shortsword did nothing but sparks against the horse's barding. At this rate, it would be dull as a spoon before the battle was over.

    “Lothar, gods dammit, get that fµcking sword out of his hand!

    Like you did to me a hundred times in training.
    Last edited by -Sentinel-; 2012-07-11 at 06:08 PM.
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    GMing:
    Campus Vigilantes 3 - The Root of All Evil (nWoD)

    Playing:
    Ill Met By Morrslieb (WFRP) as Pieter, Ranald-worshipping revolutionary
    The Bloody Crown (WFRP) as Elsabeth Holt, renegade pyromancer
    They All Uprose (DH) as Solomon Tark, interplanetary bounty hunter


    Quote Originally Posted by Cyriaque Lamar -- Cracked.com
    Well, that's it. The written word has peaked. Time to shut down this whole "literature" thing. Please burn down your local library on the way out the door.

  3. - Top - End - #213
    Ettin in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Master Sigurd Waite

    Sigurd howls in pain, shaking his arm frantically. But he's more captivated by the heart - how can this be failing? Isn't it the weak point of the whole tomb?

    He begins to step away trying to flee the field...

    Spoiler
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    Actions TBD by conditionals in OOC thread.
    I just published my first novella, Lúnasa Days, a modern fantasy with a subtle, uncertain magic.

    You can grab it on Kindle or paperback.

    Proud to GM two Warhammer Adventures:


    Plays as Ulrich, Student of Law

  4. - Top - End - #214
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Time almost seemed to slow for Ithelus as the knight hacks down Illiiya. A cry escapes his lips as he brings the crossbow up to his shoulder. The elf pauses for half a second to take aim before firing the weapon with a look of pure malice in his eyes. There should be grief, he should be weak at the knees and sobbing, but instead there is just an emptiness. He doesn't care that the knight seems to be invulnerable, he is going to kill that thing. He will avenge her passing.

    I thought we had a deal you bastard.

    Spoiler
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    Half action to aim, half action to shoot

    roll vs 52 (aiming and sickness cancel each other out) (1d100)[43]
    damage (1d10+4)[10]

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    Sigatar by Me

  5. - Top - End - #215
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Teeth bared in a rage, Lothar leapt for the knight, sword flashing. He hacked and hacked, cut and snarled and spat in rage. Some part at the back of his mind, some training, some intuitive leap, or some irritation at Pieter's smarmy command, made the soldier aim at the knight's wrist. Modern steelwork clashed against antique ironmongery.

    Lothar managed to keep the red mist from his eyes long enough to twist, and see the arming sword fly from his enemy's hand. He spat, phlegm spattering against the plate of the fallen Panther.

    "C'mdown 'ere, an' fight like a man. Ulric's teeth, I'll soddin' end you."
    Last edited by goblinpaladin; 2012-07-14 at 11:10 AM.
    Games:

    [WFRP] Ill Met By Morrslieb, as the increasingly-scarred Lothar Fischer.

    [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart, reprising Lothar Fischer.

    [WFRP] The Hour After Midnight as Lothar Fischer, former soldier.

    =

    January 19-25 2014 is GOBLIN WEEK!

    I did writings for it! Read them here!

    =

    sext: take my hand as the bombs fall. we will engrave our affectionate shadows on the walls in dush and ash, to last a thousand years. [my twitter]

  6. - Top - End - #216
    Ettin in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Ithelus’ shot slashed through the air towards the knight, but the melee was a chaotic swirl of bodies – a Hohlesbrucker’s axe swung up to strike, and the elf’s bolt struck him in the hand. Crying out in pain, the wounded man staggered away, blood pouring between the fingers of his good hand as he tried to pull the stubby projectile free.

    Lothar managed to keep the red mist from his eyes long enough to twist, and see the arming sword fly from his enemy's hand. He spat, phlegm spattering against the plate of the fallen Panther.

    "C'mdown 'ere, an' fight like a man. Ulric's teeth, I'll soddin' end you."
    All eyes tracked the sword as it was thrown from the knight’s grip, tumbling pommel over point through the rain. Seeing it lance down into the mud, the knight’s reaction was immediate, swinging his right leg over the saddle and sliding to the ground. Both armoured feet came down at the same time, splashing down amidst brown rainwater.

    One of the Hohlesbruckers was already reaching hesitantly for the sword. The knight took a single stride over to where he stood, the dull plates of his gauntlet closing around the hilt and pulling its blade from the earth in a single, fluid motion.

    The villager stumbled back in alarm, raising his pitchfork again and thrusting as hard as he could. The knight turned to the side of the wild blow, the dull tines glancing from his gorget. Shedding his torn and tattered riding-cloak, he looked left and right, searching for the commoner that had challenged him. Seeing that Lothar was still blocked out by the armoured bulk of his charger, he began instead to advance inexorably on his terrified, pitchfork-wielding attacker.

    Behind him, the horse stamped and danced, tossing its head and whinnying as weapons scraped from its steel coat. Walled in on all sides by shouting bodies, it turned its mad, reddened eyes on one man who ran forwards to pull Illiiya away. Rearing on its hind legs, it kicked out with iron-shod hooves, sending the man tumbling back into the muck with a scream of pain. His leg was broken twice over, bent below the knee at an unnatural angle – a white jag of shattered bone thrust out of his shin, the crippling wound pumping out blood into muddy earth.

    With the threat of instant decapitation from the knight temporarily lifted, the man’s friends threw themselves at the rearing stallion, hacking with wild abandon to find some chink in its armour. One of the crossbowmen had finished reloading, and now took careful aim at the dismounted knight – the bolt flew high, zipping over the fighters’ heads. Still clutching his bleeding hand in a vice-like grip, the man Ithelus had shot looked up with a face as white as chalk and shouted:

    “For Sigmar’s sake, stop shooting!

    Sigurd Only
    Spoiler
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    Sigurd tried to seize the wriggling thing as it burrowed into his flesh, his hand closing on its slimy body – too slimy, as it slipped from any pressure he tried to exert. There were others, all over him, and he only had one pair of hands.

    They worked fast, faster than nature could allow. In seconds, the first of them had disappeared into the rotten wound its lamprey-mouth had carved, becoming a slithering bulge beneath the skin of Sigurd’s forearm. The others followed suit, vanishing from sight. Soon even the bulges had vanished, but he could feel them, gnawing and wriggling deeper into his body.

    Slowly, the feeling ceased. A wave of revolted nausea swept his empty stomach, the wounds in his arms and legs still real and weeping blood. Looking up, he saw Indigo looking concernedly at him... apparently, she had only felt the first sting of the bite.
    Spoiler: My Games
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    The Hour After Midnight
    Threads: I, II, III
    The Lord of Lost Heart
    Threads: I, II
    Ill Met By Morrslieb
    Threads: I


    Threads: I, II, III


    Chapter I
    Chapter II
    Chapter III
    Chapter IV
    Chapter V

  7. - Top - End - #217
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Pieter turned away from the fight to bring his attention to the injured peasant. Any man could kill, but only a few men could heal. Over his shoulder he shouted at the fighters: "Stop poking at him, try to grab him!"

    "Hold on, don't faint," Pieter told the injured peasant. "Let me look at that." He reached for bandages.

    Spoiler
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    Heal 57: (d100)[62] (Aww crap. Heal tests don't allow second tries, correct?)

    Is that stupid horse in critical territory yet?

    Quote Originally Posted by goblinpaladin View Post
    or some irritation at Pieter's smarmy command [“Lothar, gods dammit, get that fµcking sword out of his hand!]
    Must take some skill to say that smarmily.

    It... did not look good at all.
    Last edited by -Sentinel-; 2012-07-15 at 10:41 AM.
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    GMing:
    Campus Vigilantes 3 - The Root of All Evil (nWoD)

    Playing:
    Ill Met By Morrslieb (WFRP) as Pieter, Ranald-worshipping revolutionary
    The Bloody Crown (WFRP) as Elsabeth Holt, renegade pyromancer
    They All Uprose (DH) as Solomon Tark, interplanetary bounty hunter


    Quote Originally Posted by Cyriaque Lamar -- Cracked.com
    Well, that's it. The written word has peaked. Time to shut down this whole "literature" thing. Please burn down your local library on the way out the door.

  8. - Top - End - #218
    Ettin in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Master Sigurd Waite

    Sigurd claps his hands over the places where the worms were. They can't... they didn't... did they go inside him?

    Tears run down his face.

    Spoiler
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    I'm going to give him a WP test to see what he does. On a success he has the presence of mind to try to continue to help; on a fail he will flee.

    (1d100)[8]

    He'll load the crossbow. Indigo readies an action to attack anyone who attacks Sigurd.


    Sigurd looks around for Illiiya. She could help him? But she's on the ground, maybe dead... what if no one can help him?

    "Waite, get a hold of yourself," he says out loud. For a second he thinks Indigo said it.

    He reaches with heavy arms for his spent crossbow, and begins to reload it.
    Last edited by Another_Poet; 2012-07-16 at 10:57 PM.
    I just published my first novella, Lúnasa Days, a modern fantasy with a subtle, uncertain magic.

    You can grab it on Kindle or paperback.

    Proud to GM two Warhammer Adventures:


    Plays as Ulrich, Student of Law

  9. - Top - End - #219
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Ithelus drops his crossbow, deciding reloading would take too long. He just wants to rip this knight to pieces. His sickle and dagger flash into his hands and the elf moves to get a clear path to the knight.

    Spoiler
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    Half action to ready, dropping the crossbow and drawing the sickle and dagger.

    half action to move so that he has a clear path for a charge attack next turn, if possible. I'll leave the exact movement path to your discretion.
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  10. - Top - End - #220
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    "Hold on, don't faint," Pieter told the injured peasant. "Let me look at that." He reached for bandages.
    The man was scarcely in a position to refuse. Pieter had to catch him as he buckled to his knees, still clutching at his mangled wrist. The blood pumping between his fingers had dyed his good hand red, drenching the cuff of his sleeve so that you could wring it out like a towel. There was another damp stain above his shoulder, where Ricard’s bullet had glanced him; his face was deathly white, the white of shrouds and marble.

    “St’p... shoot’n’...” he mumbled the words breaking up between his teeth. Eyes rolling back in his head, he went limp in Pieter’s arms.

    In the heat of the melee, Lothar was a whirlwind of sharp edges, hacking and slashing at the dumb animal that stood between him and his enemy. The way it fought back didn’t seem that dumb; it used its weight and armour plating with a quite un-horse-like aggression to turn aside his assault. Lothar was no fearful militiaman, though, and he saw how to carve this lobster at the joints – his sword stabbed and flashed, cutting first across the creature’s muzzle and then driving beneath the steel skirt of its barding and into its foreleg. The stallion screamed, and for a moment Lothar saw its teeth, white and sharp like a wolf’s in the rain-mottled light.

    Tossing its head, the armoured beast turned and shouldered its way out of its pack of attackers, soup-plate hooves sending up a spray of liquid mud as it accelerated away towards the trees. The horse’s flight revealed the knight once more, like a theatre curtain being drawn aside. Dirty water trickling from the battered plates of his armour, he was pulling his sword from the chest of the villager who had tried to take it. The blade made a drawn-out sucking sound as it slid free, the man’s body crumpling lifelessly into the mud.

    No-one stepped forward to take his place. The knight was standing in the centre of a slew of bodies, the rain making thick blood drip from his sword like water. Lothar could see Illiiya now, lying so still among the humans in whose defence she had been cut down. The Panther stood over her, the sodden bandages that wrapped his chest seeming a grotesque parody of the dreadful wound he had carved across her collarbone. His dark visor stared straight at Lothar, one gauntleted fist tightening around the hilt of the weapon that had done the deed.

    The Hohlesbruckers kept a wary distance. One of them tried to pull away the man whose leg had been so gruesomely broken by the rearing horse, but he was beyond help. The others only backed away, watching the tension thrum in the air between Lothar and his enemy. Crossbows wavered in readiness, holding an unsteady aim on the armoured warrior’s back.

    Only a few of them saw Ithelus approaching from behind, his sickle and dagger gleaming wetly in the rain. The knight, for one, seemed totally unaware - but then how much could he see, from inside that faceless helm?
    Last edited by LCP; 2012-07-17 at 05:49 PM.
    Spoiler: My Games
    Show


    The Hour After Midnight
    Threads: I, II, III
    The Lord of Lost Heart
    Threads: I, II
    Ill Met By Morrslieb
    Threads: I


    Threads: I, II, III


    Chapter I
    Chapter II
    Chapter III
    Chapter IV
    Chapter V

  11. - Top - End - #221
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Master Sigurd Waite

    Sigurd finishes drawing the crossbow string. He almost falls over getting his foot back out of the stirrup-thing. Reaching frantically in his bag he notes he's down to just two bolts. He loads one.

    Spoiler
    Show

    Half action: finish reloading started last turn
    Half action: fire at the Knight

    attack (1d100)[44] vs 30
    damage (1d10+4)[13]

    Indigo continues to Ready an action to step in front of Sigurd and attack the Knight, should he come close - so basically a readied Charge, if that's allowed.



    Sigurd hadn't exactly seen the chaos caused by friendly fire earlier, and he gives it no thought now. He raises the witch's crossbow and promptly fires it through the gap between two Hohlesbruckers.
    I just published my first novella, Lúnasa Days, a modern fantasy with a subtle, uncertain magic.

    You can grab it on Kindle or paperback.

    Proud to GM two Warhammer Adventures:


    Plays as Ulrich, Student of Law

  12. - Top - End - #222
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Quote Originally Posted by LCP View Post
    “St’p... shoot’n’...” he mumbled the words breaking up between his teeth. Eyes rolling back in his head, he went limp in Pieter’s arms.
    "Wait, no, don't die on me," pleaded Pieter.

    The man's blood stopped pumping out of his veins.

    A feeling of defeat filled Pieter. Many men had died today, and possibly Illiiya as well... and he, the healer, had failed to save a single one of them. He had always been busy, or elsewhere, or just plain inadequate. If he was no good at that, what was he good at? His skill at counting cards when gambling, his rabble-rousing, and his glib tongue with the ladies? What good did it really do in the big picture? Had a man ever made the world a better place by being a great Five Knives player? If nothing else, he could have spoken up against the whole plan to destroy the tree. But he had not.

    It took him a moment to notice that silence had fallen over the battlefield.

    The mortal combatants surrounded the knight, still outnumbering him greatly, but none of them eager to be the first to get within his sword's reach. Pieter opened his mouth to say something... Maybe a cold and dramatic: What do you want, knight? But Mr Waite fired his crossbow, and combat started again.

    Pieter let go of the dead peasant and threw himself headlong at the knight, trying to knock him down.

    Spoiler
    Show
    Charge + grapple.

    Target 46: (d100)[58] - Failed.
    Knight's Agility test: (d100)[96]

    No idea if Dodge applies and, if it does, if the knight is using it against this attack. (Edit: Irrelevant this round, but I'd still like an answer for next round.)
    Last edited by -Sentinel-; 2012-07-18 at 06:59 AM.
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    GMing:
    Campus Vigilantes 3 - The Root of All Evil (nWoD)

    Playing:
    Ill Met By Morrslieb (WFRP) as Pieter, Ranald-worshipping revolutionary
    The Bloody Crown (WFRP) as Elsabeth Holt, renegade pyromancer
    They All Uprose (DH) as Solomon Tark, interplanetary bounty hunter


    Quote Originally Posted by Cyriaque Lamar -- Cracked.com
    Well, that's it. The written word has peaked. Time to shut down this whole "literature" thing. Please burn down your local library on the way out the door.

  13. - Top - End - #223
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Ithelus pads through the mud, eying up his chances against the knight. Looking across the field at Lothar he tries to make eye contact.

    I can't defeat this guy, but I can keep him busy so you can ram your sword through the hole where his heart should be.


    Without even a shout Ithelus rushes forwards, too tired to even shout.

    Spoiler
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    attack roll vs 45 (charge and sickness cancel out) (1d100)[99]
    damage : (1d10+4)[8]

    I'm not sure if Ithelus has used his fortune point yet today, can anyone remember?
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  14. - Top - End - #224
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Lothar snarled, his equine enemy escaping, but his eyes were caught by the iron-clad monster that had struck down Illiiya. Hefting his stolen sword, the former soldier bared his own teeth in a snarl.

    "By Ulric's teeth an' Sigmar's Hammer, I'm gonna end you, monster. I'm gonna carve your bloody limbs apart and leave 'em as warnings for your filthy little gods to leave humans alone."

    He levelled his sword at the thing, and started to run at it. There was no indication that he had seen Ithelus' look, or Pieter starting his own run. It was just steel and iron, now.
    Last edited by goblinpaladin; 2012-07-19 at 12:16 AM.
    Games:

    [WFRP] Ill Met By Morrslieb, as the increasingly-scarred Lothar Fischer.

    [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart, reprising Lothar Fischer.

    [WFRP] The Hour After Midnight as Lothar Fischer, former soldier.

    =

    January 19-25 2014 is GOBLIN WEEK!

    I did writings for it! Read them here!

    =

    sext: take my hand as the bombs fall. we will engrave our affectionate shadows on the walls in dush and ash, to last a thousand years. [my twitter]

  15. - Top - End - #225
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Sigurd's crossbow bolt skimmed a few inches over the knight's head. Nervous fingers itching, the militamen let fly as well, their own shots failing to find a mark. The brief peace was dead.

    Ithelus came charging in first, the knight's head turning at the sound of running feet. Pivoting into the elf's attack, he met the thief's blades with an upraised arm, catching Ithelus by the collar of his coat and pulling him staggering to one side. Boots slipping in the mud, he almost collided with Pieter, the initiate's own charge coming up short as the point of the upraised sword swung round. Then, with a great crash of steel on steel, Lothar came barrelling in.

    The knight stumbled from the first battering blow of the soldier's shield, trying to turn in time to parry. In his muddy plate, he was too slow – Lothar's sword stabbed forwards, ripping through soiled strips of cloth to drive straight into the knight's heart.

    There was no resistance, no thickness of intervening metal to turn the blow aside. Lothar's sword buried itself up to the hilt, shorn bandages falling away from a deep rent in the battered breastplate. The tear in the rider's steel shell was jagged and rusting, ripped open by a force far greater than Lothar's blow. Through the hole, Lothar could see the edges of dessicated twists of flesh: decayed things that might once have been lungs, adhering like scabs to the dried-out walls of the ribcage. He smelt the stink of old wounds breathing from the ruptured cavity, far stronger than before.

    Things were moving in the darkness there, crawling in a black, glossy carpet over the stringy tissue in which Lothar's sword had lodged itself. Fighting his revulsion, he wrenched the weapon free, and a cloud of fat-bodied flies exploded out after it, filling the air like ink in water. They swarmed at Lothar's face, crawling into his mouth and nose and battering against his eyelids.

    Striding through the buzzing halo, the knight came after them. Coughing and retching to clear his mouth, Lothar saw a gauntleted hand reach down, pulling a hatchet from the murdered peasant's belt – the next thing he saw was the blade of the sword, ripping towards him with such speed that it left an eddying wake in the circling swarm. The knight was not slowing down.

    OOC:
    Spoiler
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    Cloud of Flies, activate. This is exactly the same as it was with the Plaguebearer: -10 to WS while in contact with the knight.
    Last edited by LCP; 2012-07-19 at 08:10 AM.
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    The Hour After Midnight
    Threads: I, II, III
    The Lord of Lost Heart
    Threads: I, II
    Ill Met By Morrslieb
    Threads: I


    Threads: I, II, III


    Chapter I
    Chapter II
    Chapter III
    Chapter IV
    Chapter V

  16. - Top - End - #226
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    In tales and legends, immortal beings always were the villains. This unfair situation appeared to be true in real life as well. Not that Pieter had much personal experience with immortal foes.

    The actual fight, he realized, really came down to Lothar and the knight. Anyone else who intervened was like the knight's horse; they could help, but they were ultimately distractions. So Pieter did the best he could: he tried to grab the knight with his bare hands (Madness!) and keep him more or less pinned.

    Spoiler
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    Aim + grappling Standard Attack.

    +20 for outnumbering, +10 for aiming and -10 for the cloud of flies. Total +20.

    Effective WS 56: (d100)[84]
    Knight's Agility: (d100)[11]


    At the last moment he shied away from the knight's sword.
    Last edited by -Sentinel-; 2012-07-19 at 04:41 PM.
    Games
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    GMing:
    Campus Vigilantes 3 - The Root of All Evil (nWoD)

    Playing:
    Ill Met By Morrslieb (WFRP) as Pieter, Ranald-worshipping revolutionary
    The Bloody Crown (WFRP) as Elsabeth Holt, renegade pyromancer
    They All Uprose (DH) as Solomon Tark, interplanetary bounty hunter


    Quote Originally Posted by Cyriaque Lamar -- Cracked.com
    Well, that's it. The written word has peaked. Time to shut down this whole "literature" thing. Please burn down your local library on the way out the door.

  17. - Top - End - #227
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Master Sigurd Waite

    Sigurd clenches his teeth. He had missed... his shaking hands had fired too soon. He sucks his breath as the mercenaries converge, and lets out a triumphant little yip at Lothar's thrust.

    "Hah!"

    But it sounds more like a sob, and the Knight doesn't drop: now a cloud of flies are there, like last night's demon. His fumbling hands seek the final crossbow bolt when it occurs to him he can't see anything and, anyway, is more likely to hit friend than foe.

    Sigurd looks around... what else can he do? He can't dare to risk another spell. (At the thought, he's sure he feels something running around his bones like a frantic mouse beneath his new wounds.)

    That's when he sees Pieter. Sigurd doesn't have a great talent for swordsmanship, but he can recognize talent in others. Pieter lacks it. He fights like the son of a banker: repeating drills he was taught even when, given the enemy's movements, the drills no longer apply.

    But the healer throws himself into the fight with abandon. He has no intention of winning--he gives himself only to hold the bastard down for Lothar.

    Something primal and human in Sigurd is moved. He, too, can give himself. He lets the crossbow fall from his hands and, cane-dirk clenched in a white fist, runs toward the fray.

    Indigo, surprised, yells something in a real language, but no-one hears it in the chaos. Resigned, the dog follows suit.

    Actions:
    Spoiler
    Show

    Sigurd will Charge-Disarm the Knight (aiming for The Sword, not the newly acquired offhand weapon)

    WS is 29 -5 plague -10 flies +20 outnumbering +10 charge =44

    Disarm: (1d100)[80] vs 44


    Indigo's action is conditional. If Sigurd is successful, she moves and grabs the sword with her mouth, carrying it away if possible (otherwise playing tug-of-war with him when he tries to grab it back). If Sigurd is unsuccessful she mimics him and also tries to disarm the knight--

    If needed:
    WS is 46 -10 flies +20 outnumbering +10 charge =66

    Disarm: (1d100)[81] vs 66


    Retconned w/ Pip's approval: Sigurd switches to dirk (half action) and moves toward the fight (half action). Indigo half-action-moves in the same direction, not using her remaining half-action.
    Last edited by Another_Poet; 2012-07-21 at 12:15 PM.
    I just published my first novella, Lúnasa Days, a modern fantasy with a subtle, uncertain magic.

    You can grab it on Kindle or paperback.

    Proud to GM two Warhammer Adventures:


    Plays as Ulrich, Student of Law

  18. - Top - End - #228
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Ithelus snarls, trying to bat away the swarm of flies that seem to be intent on crawling into his mouth and nose. The elf gives a few swings of his sickle and dagger, not with the intent of wounding the knight but merely trying to keep him busy.

    Spoiler
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    Defensive stance. Just to check do we now get a modifier for outnumbering as it is 3vs1?
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  19. - Top - End - #229
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Spitting a crawling fly from his lips, Lothar braced up his shield and lunged in again. This time, he struck with precision, trying once again to twist the heavy sword out of his enemy’s hand. This time, the knight was ready for him.

    Marius’ sword met ancient iron with a long slither of scraping metal, the knight’s superior strength and control turning Lothar’s attack effortlessly aside. A second strike, a second attempt – the knight raised his armoured forearm, stopping the blow dead with a loud clash of steel.

    Lothar was overextended, and realised it only as the knight pushed back. Stumbling in the mud, he found his guard thrown wide open, broken as easily as by the drill sergeant in his first days in the regiment. The sword stabbed into the space that had been created with deadly speed, its point tearing open chain links and shearing thick padding to rip into Lothar’s flesh. He felt the burn of cold metal, hot blood spilling over it.

    Lothar Only
    Spoiler
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    The kiss of the blade brought more than pain. As it broke his skin, a wave of black despair washed from the wound. It was a deluge of icy water, extinguishing the fire of his anger: the sensation was so sudden that it came as a physical shock.

    The world around him seemed to come into sharp focus, where before it had been a whirl of maddening colours. The colours of the forest clearing were cold and muted, every murky raindrop picked out in utter precision; they fell on Illiiya’s white face, washing her blood into the deep hoof-prints of the absent charger. With all this sudden acuity, he could see no sign she was breathing.

    Dead, came the thought, with hollow certainty. Dead, or dying.

    The rage and struggle had gone out of him. There was nothing to fight against, nothing that could turn back time on those terrible wounds. It was a solemn fact, as inevitable as old age and the setting of the sun.

    He tried to hold on to the thoughts he had cherished ever since they left Delberz. Returning to Hargensdorf, seeing the faces of his family, maybe building a cottage of his own on the stony shore. His mind could no longer hold those pictures without seeing the absurdity in them. He pictured his mother’s face, and it was hard and frowning.

    What were you hoping for? came the empty, doleful voice at the back of his head; his own voice. What welcome did you think they would give the son they gave up for dead? Their son, bringing witches and fair folk under their roof? Their son, the deserter?

    Images mingled in the driving rain. He saw the fire-scarred husk of the tree, the gaping gullet of the barrow. In the same grey downpour, he saw the weathered old keep of Hargensdorf, and a heavy gibbet swinging in the wind.

    You can never go back.


    The blade pulled free, ready to strike once more. Lothar was staggering, as if in agony: before a coup-de-grace could descend, Leopold came charging in, throwing his weight hard against the knight. He rebounded from the armoured figure like a child from a brick wall, but it bought Lothar the time to breathe.

    The Hohlesbruckers were watching in dumbstruck fear. Ricard had circled around to the left of the melee, unwilling to risk another stray shot. Still pressing the wound in his side, Mils was dismounting as Sigurd came up alongside him, dirk in hand.

    Sigurd Only
    Spoiler
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    As he approached the combat, Sigurd felt a sick tremor in his stomach. Tightening his grip on his weapon, he flinched as he caught a glimpse of a fleshy bulge, moving swiftly over his wrist. It wriggled across the tendons there, then vanished and was gone.

    He looked surreptitiously left and right, to see if anyone had noticed. The sick feeling had not subsided. Looking ahead, he saw the sword, its Aethyric miasma yawning blacker than ever as it cut into Lothar’s side.

    The darkness was stirring, all around. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the earth ripple like his own skin, as if grubs were writhing beneath it. They were flowing radially inwards towards the barrow, and the dripping remains of the burnt-out tree.

    On the edge of hearing, far fainter than even the rustle of the rain, he heard spiteful, child-like laughter rolling on the wind. It was laughter he had heard before.
    Last edited by LCP; 2012-07-21 at 06:00 PM.
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    The Hour After Midnight
    Threads: I, II, III
    The Lord of Lost Heart
    Threads: I, II
    Ill Met By Morrslieb
    Threads: I


    Threads: I, II, III


    Chapter I
    Chapter II
    Chapter III
    Chapter IV
    Chapter V

  20. - Top - End - #230
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Things were not looking good. Not that they ever had in the first place. It looked like a nice time for Ranald to turn the tables, but when could one ever trust the Trickster?

    If Lothar gets killed, I'm getting the hell away from here, Pieter decided, throwing himself at the knight for a third time in a desperate attempt to pin him down.

    Spoiler
    Show
    Aim + grapple.

    WS 56: (d100)[22]
    Knight's agility: (d100)[91]
    Games
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    GMing:
    Campus Vigilantes 3 - The Root of All Evil (nWoD)

    Playing:
    Ill Met By Morrslieb (WFRP) as Pieter, Ranald-worshipping revolutionary
    The Bloody Crown (WFRP) as Elsabeth Holt, renegade pyromancer
    They All Uprose (DH) as Solomon Tark, interplanetary bounty hunter


    Quote Originally Posted by Cyriaque Lamar -- Cracked.com
    Well, that's it. The written word has peaked. Time to shut down this whole "literature" thing. Please burn down your local library on the way out the door.

  21. - Top - End - #231
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Master Sigurd Waite

    Sigurd scrambles through mud to reach the fray. Something stops his feet for a moment: his face looks panicked. Sputtering at Mils, he waves blindly at the barrow entrance.

    "Watch the tomb entrance for demons!" he yells.

    That's all he has time for. Pointing his dirk forward at the fray, he continues his charge before he can lose the guts to do so. He holds the dirk with poise, but more like he was trained to use it for ritual than combat. It has a certain play-actor feel, the way he approaches combat.

    He enters the cloud of flies, and certain images flash before his eyes. Ithelus, with his unholy grin; Illiiya, bleeding in the mud, a peaceful smile fixed somehow on her face. If these elves could give their immortal lives here, he could too... he could too...

    Spoiler
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    SIGURD
    free action: speak
    then: charging grapple attempt (moves to the square NE of the Enemy

    WS is 29 -5 plague -10 flies +20 outnumbering +10 charge =44

    Grapple: (1d100)[13] vs 44

    INDIGO
    charging grapple attempt (moves to Illiiya's square)

    WS is 46 -10 flies +20 outnumbering +10 charge =66

    Grapple: (1d100)[4] vs 66
    Last edited by Another_Poet; 2012-07-22 at 12:46 PM.
    I just published my first novella, Lúnasa Days, a modern fantasy with a subtle, uncertain magic.

    You can grab it on Kindle or paperback.

    Proud to GM two Warhammer Adventures:


    Plays as Ulrich, Student of Law

  22. - Top - End - #232
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    The flies, they were getting everywhere. But worse than the buzzing and the crawling were the very recent memories they brought with them. Memories of bile and rot.

    Ithelus continues to swing at the knight as best he can, hoping that the numbers will keep the Knight from swatting his blows aside.

    Spoiler
    Show
    half action aim, half action standard attack

    attack: roll vs 45 - 10 (flies) - 10 (sickness) + 10 (aim) + 20 (outnumbering)
    (1d100)[78] vs 55
    damage: (1d10+3)[7] (I'm guessing the sickness reduced by strength modifier, if it doesn't then just add one onto the damage roll.
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  23. - Top - End - #233
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Lothar reeled, spitting flies. He slowed now, feeling every metal ring pressing into his body, every aching muscle. His arm hurt, throbbing with every slow pulse of blood. He blinked, and it was leaden.

    He came against the knight, his movements slow, and the buzzing flies competing with a pealing bell behind his ears. His attacks were careful, measured, the knight easily knocking aside the first, stepping beyond the second- and then, ha! The soldier locked his sword with the knight's, and made to twist---

    but why? The monster in templar armour was older, better trained, and had the advantage (the enormous gain! the blessed benefit!) of not caring. He would win. Lothar would fail to twist the sword from his mailed grasp, the knight would gut him, and the deserter would die in the cold mud of a foreign village, far from the water.

    His hesitation cost him, and the knight easily slid his longer blade from the weapon lock.

    Lothar could feel the sneer behind his opponent's metal mask.
    Games:

    [WFRP] Ill Met By Morrslieb, as the increasingly-scarred Lothar Fischer.

    [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart, reprising Lothar Fischer.

    [WFRP] The Hour After Midnight as Lothar Fischer, former soldier.

    =

    January 19-25 2014 is GOBLIN WEEK!

    I did writings for it! Read them here!

    =

    sext: take my hand as the bombs fall. we will engrave our affectionate shadows on the walls in dush and ash, to last a thousand years. [my twitter]

  24. - Top - End - #234
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Sigurd’s charge was stopped dead by the knight’s axe, the wizard skidding to a slithering halt in the mud to avoid bringing his face straight into the arc of the hatchet. Ducking economically under Ithelus’ wild assault and letting Leopold’s smallsword bounce harmlessly from his armour, he met and matched Lothar’s faltering attack.

    The soldier’s sword was turned aside with disheartening ease. Shifting his grip on the hatchet, the knight turned his attention more fully towards Lothar, taking a heavy pace forwards – and Pieter slammed into him from the side.

    The suddenness of the move took the armoured killer by surprise, sending him staggering to the left under the momentum of the tackle. Pieter had his arms locked around his torso in a desperate bear-hug, pinning his sword-arm to his side. Eyes and mouth tight shut against the flies that swarmed up over his arms, he clung on as tightly as he could.

    It wasn’t tight enough. The knight had him outclassed in sheer strength, and his fingers could find no purchase on the rain-slick metal – slowly at first, then all at once, he lost his grasp. The knight cast him aside with a great sweep of his arm, red-tinged raindrops flicking from the point of the sword. Reeling, Pieter kept his feet, only to find himself staring straight into the black eye-slit of the knight’s visor. He had a sudden, sinking feeling that getting the silent warrior’s attention might not have been the best idea.

    Before the sword could swing up, Indigo had leapt into the fray. Jaws locking around the knight’s left vambrace, the hound used the weight of her body to pull him off-balance. Her teeth could do nothing more than scratch the dull metal they bit against, but the force of her bite exerted a powerful grip.

    From the direction of the barrow, there came a shivering crack. The damp, fire-scarred bark of the tree had ruptured, a long split snaking up from its base. The crows in the surrounding trees set up a mad cawing, taking wing away from the edge of the clearing.

    Bubbling out in slow, treacly drips, an opaque sap was oozing from the fissure, like pus from a burn. Thick and dark, it trickled down the trunk of the tree. As it did, the scorched skin of the tree beneath it began to shift and move. Dead bark peeled and flaked away in sodden strips, convulsions wracking the dead wood like the belly of a woman in labour. A foetid wind rattled through the rain, drifting out from the widening wound like the breath through a drunkard’s teeth.

    With a sound like Ithelus’ bone dice against a hard table, something the size of a child’s head came rolling out of the split. It bounced from a jag of broken bark, sailing for a short way through the air before rolling to a halt on the scorched, muddy grass. The putrid sap still dripping from its shell, it uncurled, long feelers caressing the air. It appeared like a huge carrion beetle, its segmented shell mottled with patches of dead white. There was something hideously anthropomorphic, however, about the arrangement of its legs.

    A plate of bark fell away behind it, trailing strings of crimson-laced sap. White worms writhed in its uncovered side, worms that could not possibly have survived the fire. Penned up behind its decaying mass, an avalanche of bodies now came tumbling out, spilling onto the blasted earth beside the clicking, insectile thing. Blowflies zig-zagged into the air, weaving drunkenly between the raindrops; leprous woodlice unfolded too-long legs from beneath their chitinous coats, crooked antennae twitching their way out into the rain. Most numerous of all were the bloated, infant-like figures that had danced in the inn’s kitchen, their malevolent voices filling the air with bickering laughter. Some blew or beat on pipes and drums that were nothing more than scraps of hollow bone. One with a head like an enormous bluebottle blew into a chipped horn, producing a brassy, buzzing note that rolled out through the rain.

    The instruments were only an accompaniment for their voices. Jumping and prancing joyfully, they were rolling down the slopes of the barrow, voices raised in a sing-song chant like a children’s choir.

    Despair all ye good folk,
    Deny not you’re sick!
    For your blood is like water
    Where once it was thick!
    Your minds have grown leaden,
    Your bodies grown weak.
    Venom pours from your lips
    When-ever you speak.

    The Hohlesbruckers stared in terror.

    OOC:
    Last edited by LCP; 2012-07-24 at 06:49 PM.
    Spoiler: My Games
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    The Hour After Midnight
    Threads: I, II, III
    The Lord of Lost Heart
    Threads: I, II
    Ill Met By Morrslieb
    Threads: I


    Threads: I, II, III


    Chapter I
    Chapter II
    Chapter III
    Chapter IV
    Chapter V

  25. - Top - End - #235
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Pieter stared, first in disbelief and then in resignation, at the nurglings emerging from the tree. Not for the first time, he felt like a puppet in the hands of a cruel god whose sole purpose was to put him in trouble.

    "Is there no justice in this world?" he moaned.

    He slashed at the knight in a sudden frenzy, eager to get it over with so they could run the hell away.

    Spoiler
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    All-out swift attack!

    -10 cloud of flies, +20 outnumbering, +20 vs grappled enemy. An additional +20 for the first attack.

    WS 86: (d100)[78]
    Damage: (d10+3)[9]

    WS 66: (d100)[22]
    Damage: (d10+3)[4]

    *sigh* Soaked, soaked. I HATE PLATE ARMOR.

    Again, he failed to find a crack through the armor.

    "Leo! Think you can give Talberg an opening?"
    Last edited by -Sentinel-; 2012-07-25 at 10:43 PM.
    Games
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    GMing:
    Campus Vigilantes 3 - The Root of All Evil (nWoD)

    Playing:
    Ill Met By Morrslieb (WFRP) as Pieter, Ranald-worshipping revolutionary
    The Bloody Crown (WFRP) as Elsabeth Holt, renegade pyromancer
    They All Uprose (DH) as Solomon Tark, interplanetary bounty hunter


    Quote Originally Posted by Cyriaque Lamar -- Cracked.com
    Well, that's it. The written word has peaked. Time to shut down this whole "literature" thing. Please burn down your local library on the way out the door.

  26. - Top - End - #236
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Master Sigurd Waite

    Sigurd feels a rush of pride in Indigo's performance: he had spent years finding just the right pup to bind her in. But he has no time to celebrate his craftsmanship. Like a sick joke in a mummer's charade the tree cracks open and yields its crop of demonettes.

    Sigurd squints at the wrestling mass before him and lunges in.

    Spoiler
    Show

    SIGURD
    Sigurd will Aim and then attack the knight.

    WS is 29 -5 plague -10 flies +20 outnumbering +20 grapple +10 aiming =64

    (1d100)[96] vs 64
    for (1d10+3)[4] damage

    INDIGO
    If the Knight tries to escape (a full action) Indigo can resist with an opposed Strength test - (1d100)[9] vs 32

    The Knight acts before Indigo, so this creates a conditional:

    If the Knight is still grappled on Indigo's turn, she will try to shove her snout into his chest wound and chomp him. Dealing unarmed damage during a grapple requires (yet another) opposed strength test:
    (1d100)[11] vs 32

    If the Knight has broken free, Indigo tries to grapple him:
    WS is 46 -10 flies +20 outnumbering =56
    (1d100)[6] vs 56

    Last edited by Another_Poet; 2012-07-26 at 12:12 AM.
    I just published my first novella, Lúnasa Days, a modern fantasy with a subtle, uncertain magic.

    You can grab it on Kindle or paperback.

    Proud to GM two Warhammer Adventures:


    Plays as Ulrich, Student of Law

  27. - Top - End - #237
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Lothar hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the dancing, wriggling daemonlings. He shrugged, flicking his sword about his wrist and lunged again for the knight's blade. Despite being locked in place, the taller fighter was able to handle his blade, shifting it easily from the deserter's.

    Lothar's scarred brow furrowed, and he slowed his approach, looking for an opening.

    Somewhere in the back of his mind, the realisation that he was doomed was trickling into place, like the blood dripping from his torn mail.
    Games:

    [WFRP] Ill Met By Morrslieb, as the increasingly-scarred Lothar Fischer.

    [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart, reprising Lothar Fischer.

    [WFRP] The Hour After Midnight as Lothar Fischer, former soldier.

    =

    January 19-25 2014 is GOBLIN WEEK!

    I did writings for it! Read them here!

    =

    sext: take my hand as the bombs fall. we will engrave our affectionate shadows on the walls in dush and ash, to last a thousand years. [my twitter]

  28. - Top - End - #238
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    The sings brings more memories flooding through Ithelus. Two demon attacks in two nights was not right, it was something out of legends of old. However, there was nothing left to break inside of him, nothing left to make the elf flee in terror.

    Turning his attention back to the knight Ithelus continues his attack, trying desperately to hook his sickle in a gap in its armour.

    Spoiler
    Show

    Aimed attack on the knight vs 45 -10 (sickness) - 10 (flies) +20 (outnumber) + 20 (grapple) + 10 (aim)

    (1d100)[62] vs 75

    damage
    (1d10+3)[6]
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  29. - Top - End - #239
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Chanting and burbling, the Nurglings came spilling down the slopes of the barrow. Needle teeth flashed yellow through the rain, their mischievous laughter cutting anarchically through their discordant song. A pair of them reached Mils’ horse, the animal shying and rearing in panic as their claws tore at its ankles.

    Pulling his horse sharply around, Ricard applied his spurs, riding straight towards the oncoming swarm. Levelling his right-hand pistol, he fired with a crack of blackpowder, the point-blank pistol-ball bowling one of the pint-sized daemons head over swollen feet. Absorbing the bullet like a sack of suet, it rolled back to its feet, pus and yellow entrails leaking from the hole in its midriff. It didn’t seem to mind at all.

    A shaken volley of crossbow bolts shot into the creatures’ midst, each one striking home. Still the things came scuttling forwards, uncaring. Mils stared, the old lord’s hand tightening around his sword.

    “Find the horses,” he said to Hans. His voice was working very hard not tremble. “Get everyone back to the village!”

    Letting go the reins of his own horse, he gripped his sword with both hands and plunged headlong into the swarm. The Nurglings welcomed him with cackles of spiteful laughter, rolling playfully out of the path of his blade as he came charging in.

    The two bloodied men standing on the outskirts of the melee did not need telling twice. Hearing their lord’s words, they began to make for the woods, hovering on the edge of an outright rout. The villager with the carthorses began to try to drag them away, fighting to keep them from bolting too. The militia was at breaking point.

    In the centre of his circle of assailants, the knight tried to shake Indigo off with a whiplash motion of his arm. The deerhound’s jaws stayed locked around his gauntlet, pulling him determinedly to one side. Taking advantage of a sudden opening, Leopold stabbed inexpertly forwards, finding a chink in the Panther’s armour.

    If the knight felt anything, he made no sound.
    Spoiler: My Games
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    The Hour After Midnight
    Threads: I, II, III
    The Lord of Lost Heart
    Threads: I, II
    Ill Met By Morrslieb
    Threads: I


    Threads: I, II, III


    Chapter I
    Chapter II
    Chapter III
    Chapter IV
    Chapter V

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    Jan 2007
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    Default Re: [WFRP] The Lord of Lost Heart (II)

    Seeing the knight shrug off yet another wound started to break Ithelus's resolve. Seeing the nurglings advancing pushes it further.

    We had a deal, but this monster is unkillable.


    And so Ithelus runs, as he did in Delbrez, with shame in his heart. The elf stoops to scoop up the crumbled body of Illiiya on the way.
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