One Sword, Two Boards

Examining his new, heavy metal, heater style shield, Fortu traces the stylised octopus design with two of his fingertips. Although dark, it’s so well rendered, he can almost imagine the tentacles reaching out to envelop his opponents. It radiates a level of defensive magical energy that even he can sense and it’s an extremely generous gift from Lord Urdurel… 

Although, considering what he and his companions have agreed to do for him, it’s more of a bribe really.

Fortu compares it to his old magic shield. ‘Old magic shield’; how strange that he’s become so quickly accustomed to possessing these fantastical magical items. His ‘old magic shield’ had saved him from serious injury many times, deflecting sword thrusts that otherwise would have wounded him, but now, just by the heft of them, he can tell how superior the new one actually is.

Looking at the two large shields side by side, it’s a shame he can’t use them both simultaneously, but then he wouldn’t be able to use his impossibly sharp and indestructible Flamberge Bastard sword. Another magical item that he couldn’t even have imagined wielding when he was in the brutal gladiator pits of Tuatata.

‘Awesome’ he had named it but Lord Urdurel said that, when he owned it, he’d called it the ‘Sovereign sword’ and the ‘Kingmaker’. Fortu frowns as he recalls the old man’s next words.

‘That’s not what it’s really called though...’

Turning the heavy, but perfectly balanced, Adamantine blade in the flickering lamplight of his spacious private room, Fortu observes the way that the engraved letters on both sides of the base of the blade gleam sinisterly. He’s possessed this sword for almost two months, ever since prying it out of the gauntlet of the mechanical knight that stood guard outside the main entrance of Dulcetta’s lost tower.

In all that time though, despite travelling through towns and villages, he still hasn’t managed to have the words translated.

In truth though, he hadn’t tried that hard and even now, when Lord Urdurel had dangled the truth in front of him, he’d balked. Why was he so reluctant to know what his sword’s inscription actually says? Perhaps, after everything he’s learned over the last few months, it’s because he suspects what language the inscription is actually written in?

No Noose is Good Noose

Smiling behind his mask, Torsion, the heavy-set, hooded prison guard, shouts down from the top of the stone steps and delivers the news that the eleven, newly incarcerated, prisoners had been waiting for.

“I come bearing good news men! Although you were scheduled to be hung tomorrow morning in the public square, Lord Urdurel has, for some unfathomable reason, granted you leniency.”

DeFacto, the acting leader of the surviving but captured ‘Dirty Dozen’ calls up from the gloom below.

“That is surprisingly good news! So what’s to happen to us now? A royal pardon?”

Torsion shrugs unseen.

“Lord Urdurel’s not quite that lenient. It’ll be ten years hard labour in the quarry, I’m afraid. It’s back breaking work but you might survive it and, if you do, you’ll still have a chance of a real life.”

There are audible sighs of relief from behind the cell bars but also groans. Ten years of hard labour is often just a stretched out death sentence, with the weaker members of the work gangs, usually not surviving beyond the first year.

Still, Torsion continues to smile. Despite his ‘Chief Executioner’ title, he’d never wanted to do this job in the first place. When he was young, he wanted to be a musician and make people happy but his dirt-poor parents couldn’t even afford to buy him a simple flute, so he was forced, because of his imposing size and lack of a formal education, into this, quite literally, dead-end job.

Uncivil Villains

“Please. Please don’t call me that.”

Cringing but still pleading, the gusset soaked lookout tries to shield his face whilst simultaneously covering his shamefully sopping crotch.

The four thugs surrounding him, all laugh raucously.

“What? ‘Pants-Wetter-Tattle-Tale’?”

“Why shouldn’t we?”

“yeah, that’s what you is, isn’t you?”

“You’re a stinky little pisser and you ratted us out to that armoured tosser, didn’t you?”

The smaller man, in the centre of the quartet of Thieves guild enforcers, gulps and begs.

“I didn’t mean to. I was trying to blend in and be inconspicuous, like what I was told to, but there was a Dwarf who noticed me somehow.”

One of the larger thugs shrugs.

“So what? You didn’t have to admit nothing.”

The quailing lookout grabs a handful of the big thugs tunic.

“It wasn’t him that made me squeal; it was the armoured Knight.”

Brushing off the clinging hands, the enforcer scowls.

“A Knight? A Knight?! If you ain’t learned to lie to a poncey nobleman, who can you be trusted to lie to?”

The young, panicking gang member, snatches at the bigger man’s grey tunic again.

“You don’t understand! He weren’t like no normal Knight what I’d ever seen before. His armour was dark and creepy but his eyes! His eyes were black as pitch! It was like he was Death himself and he was gonna rob me of my soul!”

The leader of the thugs shoves the slender lookout to the ground, where the others proceed to kick and stamp on him until he finally stops moving or moaning.

Walking away, the last thug mutters.

“Pants-Wetter-Tattle-Tale… That sorta sounds like one of those funny, long Gnomish names, don’t it?”

His three goon friends all turn and snigger at the slightly racist observation, despite their ex-lookout’s blood and brains still staining their boots.

The Illiterati

Assif recently (kindly) flattered my ongoing attempts at serialising our shared adventure but it made me consider some of the flaws (beyond my dyslexic spelling) in my writing style.

The weekly Orange inn posts are my way of maintaining momentum in the month(s) between sessions and to act as a recap/reminder of sorts, but they do more than that. They enable me to insert information that I’ve flubbed in-game.

As the DM, it’s my responsibility to describe the environment, opposition and situations that you, the players, find yourselves in. I’m not the most comfortable communicator and Scott noticed (and found funny) something I do in the pattern of my speech.

I can’t seem to help myself from doubling down in the way I write and speak. I like using alliteration, rhyme and the ‘rule of three’, but my most obvious (dodgy) trait is my need to repeat the thought, despite effectively, often creating double or even triple negatives. 

‘No, I didn’t do nothing!’.

In Lord Urdurel’s speech, I used the phrase; ‘Endeavour to try’. I ‘tried to try’. I understood that it was a redundancy but I just liked the ‘shape’ of the sentence.

The past description that made Scott chortle was when I was trying to describe the block of floating ground beneath Dulcetta’s magical spinning tower.

‘It’s like an upside down, inverted pyramid.’

Most recently, when writing about Fortu’s slaughter of the spy assassin in the tavern, I desperately wanted to write 

‘Bisected into two separate pieces.’

It’s a weird literary tic that I can’t seem to shake. It’s probably connected to my need to use emojis to repeat the thought of the preceding sentence. If I write ‘That’s hilarious’, I’ll almost certainly follow it up with a ‘laughing face’ emoticon.

Dragon Fang

Despite his advanced years and only having one working eye, Lord Urdurel notices Fortu glancing at the blue hilted, cold-iron Longsword sitting flat in the, perfectly carved out recess in the centre of the square tabletop. A table, small enough, to enable Lord Urdurel to reach its grip from any side. 

“Yes, the table acts as an oversized scabbard of sorts, I’m too old to lug a weapon around anymore. Do you like the sword nesting within it? ‘Dragon Fang’ I call it; I just recently had it commissioned  and although not a match for the one you now possess, it’s still a powerful blade and there’s a rich kind of poetry attached to it.”

Leaning in, Rifkin moves to stroke the shimmering blade, but then draws his slender, mandolin playing fingers away before reaching it.

“I felt sparks!”

The old man laughs, revealing a greying, but surprisingly still full set of teeth.

“About a year ago, I was informed that some of the great and terrible dragon; Theranthor’s teeth had been recovered by a group of adventurers. They’d apparently stolen them from the Orcish; Broken Lancer’s tribe, after her massive skull had been destroyed. I managed to purchase several of them and had them forged into this enchanted, cold-iron sword. I found it ironic that my last days, might be spent standing against my second wife’s true Master and I wanted to wield a weapon crafted from the last creature to defeat him.”

The Demi-Elven Bard’s semi-almond-shaped eyes widen.

“That truly would be poetic justice, but surely, a man of your advanced years, doesn’t expect to actually join the fray?!”

With some effort, Lord Urdurel pulls himself up and out of his heavy, throne-like chair.

“I’m nearly a hundred years old. I sleep more than wake and my memory is starting to fade but I’ll be damned if I send another soldier to his death without standing, and risking my all, beside them.”

Run Away, Turn Away, Run Away!

 

Fights, Murder, Action!

After our first entirely (despite David) combat free, role-play-talky-talky session, you all (especially Assif) probably need to bash in some heads and loot their bodies. I can promise you nothing but let’s just see what happens next.

Reunited with the Triplets soldiers; Locke, Chape and Ringo, your ex-wagoneer; Cookie and a contingent of Lord Urdurel’s city guards wave you off on your fresh horses, saddlebags fully stocked with food, water and supplies. 

Now in the pay of Lord Urdurel, you’re heading out of capital city; Cottis through the neighbouring Kingdom of Agentia to present yourself to King Lucius (ex-brother-in-law to Lord Urdurel and twin brother to the late; Lady Dulcetta) in their capital city; Cheval and then onwards to the Gnome realm of Fustilarian to present Lord Urdurel’s sincere apology, promise of full financial restitution and plea to King Trololo Strongarm for his help.

April options

Saturday the 11th

Sunday the 12th

Saturday the 18th

Sunday the 19th

Saturday the 25th

Sunday the 26th

I currently don’t have any weekend plans that far in advance in April, beyond the first one, so it’s up to you jet-setters to decide if we get to play next month or not.

Edit: Thanks for the rapid response boys. Two days remained on the option list but, for some reason, I prefer Sundays. See you all (online) on Sunday the 26th at 9am!