The Paladins Tale (Our Story Begins)

[The Walox]

The Paladin’s Tale

Chapter One: Les Miserables

Citroen Swamp, Bijoux, July 15, 1352, 12:23 P.M.

The paved road that meandered through Bijoux’s massive Citroen Swamp was the best paved road through Citroen Swamp by the mere virtue that it was the only paved road through Citroen Swamp. It was on this road that the kings men, though seldom ever came to this God forsaken peasant mud hole, traveled. The road build, by the Archons in the dusty annuals of antiquity, bared the marks of its age. The cobbles were sunken and in places the road cut deeply into the surrounding ground from centuries of traffic.

Despite the muddy messy local this swamp was the stuff of legend, countless Gaul kings were buried in the mire, grand fortresses lost to time in the reeking peat. The one city of note during these medieval times was the ancient hamlet of Gavroche.

The people of Gavroche had made their living here for generations carefully faming in the peat, managing their flocks of sheep in the treacherous moorland; far away from prying eyes. It has always been said that Gavroche was the only place where a Bijean could escape from the heel of the monarchy, from the spears of the Archons.

Its quaint walls and lovely buildings were almost enough to make a body forget where it was he lived. That was until the king tore it down to build his peat mine, centuries of happy families, centuries of tragedy, centuries of memories claimed by the bog as all must be eventually. Bother I’m getting ahead of myself, Gavroche’s extinction wasn’t for centuries to come; in our story it lives still. The gates, the market, the church; warm, comfortable and familiar to countless souls.

It was on the aforementioned road leading to the aforementioned city that our tale begins. It was a warm balmy day, the cicadas in the willow trees sang their droning tune as the smell of damp earth and blooming swamp grass permeated the air with their particular perfume. Underneath the bright blue sky and the cool shade of the willow trees walk a solitary girl.

I say girl with the utmost respect, she was in fact a young woman; fully grown in her twenty fourth year. That being said it would be unjust to her person to call her a “woman”, for she was much too small and delicate. So it was that this lily of a girl walked alone, when in the sun her pale skin shone ethereally, she had soft pretty benevolent features, an upturned nose, platinum blond hair and dazzling emerald green eyes.

Over her tiny frame she wore what was then called an elf’s dress, a short silky garment that left her arms bare and most of her long legs exposed. It was simply embroidered with fine silver and leather fasteners. She wore its hood down and her beautifully leather satchel on a strap slung over her back. Her sandals were silver, the straps and fasteners reaching her knees.

She kept to the road avoiding the puddles and mud, to the superstitious she might appear as wood nymph, a spirit of the swamp-forest. As she walked along she hummed a pretty tune a she walked along skipping between puddles.

She stopped suddenly, the sound of hoof beats was suddenly upon her, and quickly she made for the nearest tree, but was too late. A magnificent purple carriage and six white horses careened around the bend and at the sight of the girl slide to a rough stop. Two men in purple tunics and bronze breastplates stepped down from to carriage; one had a large handlebar mustache and a grand feathered chapeau.

“You!!” said the man in the chapeau,”You are under arrest for crimes against the Marquis!!”The man’s companion was a round headed dunce, who answered with a quick nod of the head, the mustachioed man continued, “because of you The Marquis has no more linens to bed his concubines and Gerard can only speak in grunts!!”

Gerard, the other man, answered with a “digreee”,”Oui, Monsignor? Is that so?” She laughed, amused, though not surprised.”I have no idea what you are talking about; my name is Lady Cosette Cardinal and I do not like being accused of something so ridiculous. You disgust me you greasy little man.” Her voice was surprisingly deep; one would have expected a fairies voice instead.

The man raked over her with his eyes, something he didn’t seem to mind.”I do admit, Mademoiselle, you are too clean to be a peasant, “this was true Cosette had not the dirt or grim of the everyday person, Gerard even gave a “blugarrr” of agreement,”Though; ladies do not ware sandals when traveling, for, even as clean as you are, their feet get dusty. Secondly, a proper Bijean lady, if she wants to please God, doesn’t ware Elf Dresses, or any other heathen Polarian garments. Even if they are in style!! And thirdly Cardianal is an Alexandrian name!!!” Both men drew their swords.”You are a thief and a traitor!!! You will come with us!”

The guard’s shouting was so loud that Cosette almost didn’t hear the sound of approaching hoof beats. The guard, shouting so loud didn’t recognize the devilish smile that flitted across Cosette’s beautiful face. She threw herself into the guards arms screaming, “No Monsignor!! Please!! I am but a virgin please no!!! Do not disgrace me as though I were some animal!” The hoof beats had quickened their pace.

[Galvain7]

The greatest deception the forces of darkness ever conceived was to convince mortals they did not exist. Indeed, in modern times the mention of 'devil' probably conjures up in the mind of the listener an image of an effeminate, sly creature with red skin and small pointy horns. Too often the 'devil' in question takes the shape of a roguish cherub, complete with a petite tail and a dainty little trident for spearing olives. Such a thing is as harmless as a sparrow.

But in the not too distant past the minions of Hell walked the Earth, and they were the creatures of which no nightmare can depict justly. These beings knew nothing of love, nothing of fear, nothing of compassion. Theirs was an existence defined by cruelty, greed, and pure malevolent evil even the most depraved of mortals can only grasp at. Devils, unlike their demon cousins, waged unceasing war against the forces of good using order, law, and steely disciple like a well applied whip to lash the forces of darkness forward. Devils fought not with savagery, but with all the cold and logical precision of a machine.

And despite this doubtless horror, this perversion of order and law, there were mortals upon the Earth who glimpsed the Devils' hordes and saw in this monstrosity the means by which to bring order to a world lost, churning in the chaos of the So-called Dark Ages.

They were called Hellknights.

These men were recruited from the gutters and drop-houses of the continent's most squalid hovels and trained relentlessly in discipline and combat. While still raw recruits they were cast against devils themselves, so they would learn to abandon fear itself. Those who prevailed continued to against stronger opponents until they came up against a hellspawn no normal man could defeat-

And then defeated it in single combat.

Bearing the scars of their victory the new Hellknights were given a suit of the blackest sable armor and placed at the forefront of the Legions of their respective branches as they marched out of their mountain castles to bring Order to the land. All too often this 'Order' simply meant more suffering for the beleaguered commoners of the continent as the Hellknights sought to contain choas.

Some Orders of Knights prospered, some Orders failed. Many Hellknights died, but many more of their foes were destroyed before a Crusade finally put and end to the entire Hellknight ideal. History rightly remembers the most... efficient among them: Gaspard the Relentless. Black Knight of No-Limbs. Vladimir the Burner of Nations.

But there were some who law as an instrument of righteousness. These knights sought to use the Hellspawn as weapons against Earthly evil, and they walked a dangerous path, treading a fine line between fighting evil and becoming it. Those who succeed are remembered by name.

*****

The heavy hoof beats originate from a creature seldom seen this side of eternity. It is a horse, if it can be called so. The beast is a full 24 hands high, black as midnight, and encased from face to feet in black metal plate barding, covered in spikes. Surfer blasts out of its nostrils like a blacksmiths bellows.

But the mount is only a facet of the rider. No evidence of humanity is apparent in the cold metal casing of dark, lusterless metal atop the horse. A trained armsman would note with care that each of armor has no apparent rivets, not even the joints. The shield and breastplate bear the device of a long pike, and nothing else. In the left hand of the metal creature is a long spear, made entirely of metal, with a wicked spike and hook at the top, mimicking the device on the shield. The helmet is the face of a devil, smiling knowingly upon the world. It speaks.

"Sirs. Attempted Rape of a noblewoman is a burning offense, I will see it carried out upon you should you not act in a manner befitting your station."


Intimidate Check:
[roll0]

[The Walox]

Pierre was having a normal day; he got up, ate a hearty Bijean breakfast, oiled his mustache, marched up and down the square, and even beat his children half a dozen times. Yes all was well until one of the maids had discovered Gerard stuffed in an empty linen closet. Some dastardly fiend had stolen all of the linens, the Marquis’s silver, a small statue and horror of horrors, the Marquis’s spoon collection!! Oh, and whoever it was also damaged Gerard’s brain; that was kind of a bummer too.

And now when he apprehended the thief, the chimney sweep saw her illuminated by the light of the moon as she left the manor and was able to give the description of a lovely sort of pixie that stayed in town that day, He was face to face with the most terrifying thing he had ever seen. A dark stain appeared in Gerard’s crotchet and spread down his leg. Realizing what this, this, THING wanted Pierre pushed the girl away. She collapsed on the ground in a pathetic heap, sobbing; Pierre was terrified, he would of trembled but he was too scared.

“A hell knight? Not what I was expecting but I think I can work with that, Oui! I can work with that! hehehehehe.”

Cosette bit the insides of her cheeks, working up a steady flow of tears; she backed away from the knight a few inches, staring at him. Her tear stained face was visible beneath her bangs. She made some terrified noises as though trying to speak. She looked the part of a helpless terrified girl, small and delicate, unable to shake off the ravenous beasts that would have ravaged her.

The two guards were experiencing the real fear, unable to speak for fright it was impossible for them to explain. But then, there was a commotion as the door to the carriage swung open and a tiny man in the largest chapeau ever made stepped from out, even in his high heeled boots he STILL would have been shorter than Cosette. He was obviously the Marquis.

“What is this?!” He gave a start at seeing the Hell Knight,”Pah! You idiots! Can’t you see this is only a Hell Knight? Doubtless our good king has hired him to aid in tax collection. As to that all I can say is you needn’t have come here my good knight. There is no noble who lives in this swamp, living in this Devils armpit is payment enough for the good king. Now you two, we agreed that that was our thief grab her so we can enact our justice.”The two guards stood stock still, as though carved from stone.

“Pah!!! What is this? Hmm, impossible to find good help these days.” He strode over to Cosette pulling her roughly to her feet, She was three inches taller than the Marquis (Cosette being 5’6”, she looked smaller and more delicate than she was). She sobbed some, seeming almost resigned.

“I,I,I don’t know whwhwhat you mmmean, I’ve near even bbbeen her before.” She slumped her shoulders and looked away, “Oh, bugger, I sure hope Monsignor Knight believes me.”

She turned her pretty tear stained face towards the knight, and said very timidly”Monsignor Knight, please, I don’t know what he means. They mean to ravage me, and then take me away and lock me up in the harem. You mustn’t let them!” She weakly fell to her knees, the Marquis looked disgusted.

“The harem is where you belong! You thieving little harlot!! You are pretty enough, and the law has its right over beautiful women that break it!! It’s the harem for you!” At this Cosette began to weep uncontrollably.

“Harem!!!! Harlot!!!! This pig, has a lot of nerve, I should have stolen his stupid boots!!”, The Marquis looked satisfied, ”You can be on your way now Monsignor Knight, we can handle this.” And he made to grab Cosette again.

[Galvain7]

Alright, first things first- we need to know who we are dealing with here, exactly, and which laws are being invoked. I'm going to go out on a limb and make some (hopefully) logical conclusions.

So, first skill check is Knowledge (Nobility) to identify the Marquis in question by his symbols, colors etc. I only need a 10 to do this, anything beyond that is gravy (like court gossip, etc).
[roll0]

The next skill check is Knowledge (Local) to determine the exact laws in question here, as well as the magical jurisdiction upon which any legal mind must be ever cognizant.
[roll1]
(So glad Hellknights have this as one of their class skills, or else Cosette might be SOL)

Alright, so the thinking goes like this. It was written in the previous post that Citroen Swamp has no Lord, and that the King does not collect taxes here- he probably has it outsourced to a third party (like Hellknights). But taxes are tied to legal jurisdiction, because taxes are what pays for the court system, among other things. And if the Swamp has no lord, who runs the legal system?

Probably the local constable of the town. And, just as importantly, who does not run the legal system? The Marquis of the previous post. So the Marquis, though important in his own fief, does not have the legal power to make an arrest outside his jurisdiction. He can make an accusation, sure. He can even (and must, really) file the necessary paperwork to have the court case transferred to his fief, if that is where the crime in question took place. But again, he cannot make an arrest without consent from the local authorities.


"My dear Marquis, forgive me for being rude, but it is my duty to inform you that though your Grace's word is no doubt honorable and just, Your Grace may not make an arrest in this locality without a signed authorization from the judge in Gavroche. Secondly, the signed authorization must be delivered the the Signifer of the Order of the Pike, who, by Writ of the Royal Charter of Citroen Swamp has been empowered to make arrests fugitives who have crossed into Citroen Swamp to escape law from another jurisdiction, in the absence of the King's men, of course. The Signifer will then issue a warrant for arrest of the accused, provided Your Grace can provide sufficient evidence for an arrest. After the arrest is complete Your Grace may file for a change of venue which must be approved by the Signfier whereupon Your Grace may move the accused to a new venue for a trail. In the case of crimes committed by nobles to nobles, the wronged party must petition the King for an assemblage of the Chamber of Lords, or a Royal Audience."

The Hellknight pauses to ensure that his message has been received and understood before proceeding.

"If your Grace can provide suffient merit to the charge of theft, I am empowered to hold the accused in Tower Perilous, Stronghold of the Order of the Pike, until such time as the necessary forms of Law are complete. I am also duty bound to inform Your Grace that the unlawful search of a Noblewoman's person is an offense against the King provided... The knight pauses once more. "That the accused can provide proper evidence of Nobility."

[Galvain7]

I have got to read-do those rolls, because I previewed the post before I posted. Grr.

Roll 1:
[roll0]

Roll 2:
[roll1]

[The Walox]

The Marquis paused, frozen, his outstretched hand nearly to Cosette’s arm. Like it or not the knight was right. And being an impatient man the Marquis didn’t like the thought of waiting for due process over such a petty robbery.

Besides the court costs would far outstrip the value of the goods taken. But it wasn’t fair! Being outwitted by a slip of a girl, however there was another way to extract revenge. Impersonating a noble was punishable by death, and she did so in this fief. The sheriff in Gavroche would have to do something.

“You are correct Monsignor Knight,” He spoke slow and deliberately as though his thoughts were costing him considerable effort,”However Mademoiselle has never shown any sign of her noble birth. If she would oblige I shall drop the matter.” He finished his soliloquy with an air of insufferable smugness.

Cosette became more confident in her movements, “Oui Monsignor Marquis, here on my dress the seal of my father, proof enough for a king.” The Marquis bent over examining the large round silver fastener on her dress. He swore under his breath.

“Monsignor Knight, see I’m telling the truth.” It was indeed a Lord’s Seal, a very old battered and tarnished one. It was common knowledge, even in Bijoux, that Alexandrian nobles carried silver seals of their house. Each seal was enchanted to bear its markings only when on the person of someone of noble birth; if a commoner were to hold it the markings would disappear.

The marquis straightened, “I am sorry to have caused you this embarrassment Mademoiselle,” He said stiffly, “Good day Monsignor Knight, thank you for sorting out this trouble.” He wasn’t sorry, the girl did steal from him, he HAD a witness, but no this thief walked free; blasted Hell Knight. She would have made an excellent harlot too.

The Marquis Motioned for his stupefied guards to come; as he climbed in the carriage he muttered quietly enough for only himself to hear, “This isn’t over yet Mademoiselle, you may be safe with your watch dog, but I will have my justice!!!”The carriage pulled away, rattling along the stone path.

Cosette approached the Knight timidly, limping slightly,”Thank you Monsignor Knight! You saved me! I would have surly been dishonored if you hadn’t come along.” A large bruise was visible through the straps of her sandal; swelling on the shin of her injured leg, “I am afraid am in no shape to walk very far, would you have any flint? I hear that the nights in the swamp are quite cold; and I shall freeze without a fire, I’ll never make it to shelter before nightfall.” She clasped her hands in front of her breast, her large green eyes beseeching the inhuman mound of steel's kindness. She was the picture of innocence, a nymph unfairly savaged by her first unfortunate collision with society.

“Perhaps I may warm his heart and he shall take pity on me, I’d hate to run into those fiends again. Oui! He must give me ride to shelter, I’d hate to think I bruised myself for nothing, ugh I even scuffed my sandals in that fall; they were new too!”

[Galvain7]

This was one of the many times the Hellknight was thankful for the face concealing visor that hid his disgusted expression. Thankfully, years of practice allowed him to keep his voice neutral.

"It was my joy to serve you in the matter, Your Grace," , said the be-metaled man in his best Courtier voice, "And it is my sincere hope and desire that you find your callous thief soon." Pompous little toad man.

For a long moment the Hellknight regarded the passing carriage, seemingly unaware that the pixie women had spoken. Then, without warning he dismounted the enormous horse with a thud, causing A small cloud of dust to billow around his armored feet. Without really seeming too, he loomed over the pixie woman, covering her in the shadow of his dark armor.

"Forgive me, Mademoiselle, but you must be new to this area. On behalf of the people here, I bid you welcome to Citroen Swamp. My name is Sir Galahadrid du Gavorche, acting Signifier of the Order of the Pike. Unfortunately, this area is an unsafe wilderness at night. I cannot allow you to stay outdoors like a peasant. Please, mount my horse and we will ride to Gavorche, where you can find more suitable accommodation."

[The Walox]

Most of the time we find that our lot in life is a sour one indeed, your mother runs off with a sailor, the maid feeds your best cloths to next door’s goat or the chimney sweep is impervious to the sway of your good looks. Yes, life is like that, one thick gelatinous disappointment after another, but sometimes, sometimes, God smiles at us from above and our plans bear the sweat fruits of our labors.

This was one of those rare moments. “Merci, Monsignor, you are a gentleman.” Cosette gave a short curtsey, “How rude you must think me not to have introduced myself yet. My name is Cosette Jacquette Cardinal, Heiress to the Manor Cardinal of North Redbriar.”

She limped over to the horse tried to mount the beast herself but failed. “Excuse me Monsignor, but in my injured state I am unable to seat myself upon your fine horse. Would you be so good as to give me a hand?”

[Galvain7]

Once again, Galahadrid was thankful his face was obscured.

Damnations! I should have been more attentive.

"Oh! Pardon, Lady Redbrair! Allow me."

With that the knight easily scoops the pixie woman up in one arm and hefts her onto the horse before mounting gracefully himself, despite the enormous armor.

"Are you comfortable? Its a long ride."


I'll lay on hands Lady Redbrair to heal 1d6 points of ankle damage. Yay paladin!

[The Walox]

Cosette was a bit heavier than she looked, but still it was an effortless task for the knight to set her on the horse. She steadied herself on the mount astonished at the vanishing bruise. “Merci, Monsieur, I am in your debt once again.” She smiled, “So it is a long ride to Gavroche?” She was full of questions.

As they rode along under the shade of the weeping willows and the mossy elms Cosette Thanked Galahadrid several more times, asked him what he did and where he lived. Apparently she was traveling across Bijoux for Alexandria with her family when they became separated. She had nothing more than the clothes on her back and the gold and assorted positions in her satchel.

They arrived later that afternoon, during the heat of the day. The ancient city walls of Gavroche were dwarfed slightly by the neighboring trees, moss and lichen coated the orange brick sides of the structure; the church’s steeple was visible for miles, a beacon of God in the overgrown swamp.

Two Germandes stood at attention as Galahdrid’s horse passed through the Open gate. The streets in Gavroche were cobbled stone and the building s close together; in places they blotted out the noonday heat. The sounds of activity were everywhere, the streets themselves one massive citywide bazaar, the smells of city life permeated the tepid stagnant air.

Cosette clung closer to Galahadrid as they entered the only civilized town for many miles. For her it could be good for business, for Galahadrid, or Monsignor Good Demon as the villagers called him, it was home.

[Galvain7]

As they rode down the road to Gavorche, Galahadrid managed to keep up a polite, though relatively vague conversation with Cosette, informing her that he was legally bound and morally responsible for protecting the countryside around Gavorche.

"Since 1134, the Order of the Pike has been responsible for policing the swamp and enforcing the King's Rule. In legal terms, we replace a lord as the primary means of redress for the people. Unfortunately, a decrease in personal has necessitated shifting the bulk of the legal workings to the local Judge." Galahdrid stops to salute the Germandes. "I act as the intermediary between this jurisdiction and any others, as well as supervising tax collection, such as it is."

The comment about Cosettes family makes the knight change topics abruptly.
"This is true Lady Redbrair? How completely awful! We must do everything in our power to reunite you with your family! Where are they going? I'm sure you'll be able to find suitable, if somewhat humble, accommodation at the Church until your people can be reached."

[The Walox]

Cosette heaved a great sigh, she crossed her arms across her tiny chest; she was saddened instantly.”We were touring the country; while we were in Valjean we became separated. I know that I’ll be fine if I can just get back to Alexandria, an. . . .” Her story seemed a little strange given that she spoke with a native Bijean accent. Her eyes glassed over with tears and she was unable to continue her story.

The church In Gavroche was an ancient building of grey stone, with dark worm-eaten pews. The aged Bishop Antoine was deep in conversation with the most grotesque figure that ether of them had ever seen; and that was saying a lot.

The monks of St. Percy of perpetual sorrow were among the most fascinating orders of the middle ages. Cloistered in the depths of the Citroen Swamp these monks lived the entirety of their service in utter agony. Their gruesome appearance was due to the iron and burlap suits that they wore.

Obscuring the entire figure with a sort of bloated bell shape their habits were covered in innumerable metale screws, these screws bored into the flesh leaving the wearer in constant pain. The monks wore heavy iron mittens and featureless helmets covered in similar screws. The only ornamentation was a large heavy crucifix on the summit of the helmet. Theses monks gave up sight, touch, hearing, they kept their ears stuffed with straw, and taste; all sences but pain. Thanks to their costumes they reeked of urine, blood, and some other unmentionables. Due to reasons that should be obvious the church reformed their abbey and these ancient and grisly ways were abandoned.

Bishop Antoine was a frail old man with a wisp of white hair, he was well known around the swamp for his kindly benevolent nature and smiled even at the most desperate of knaves; for any soul is worth saving. His companion, whose order I just described, walked with him to the door; his bare feet padding silently on the worn stone floor.

“God bless you and keep you my son,” the good bishop said in greeting of Galahadrid,” Ah! and I see you brought a guest!”And upon inspection of Cosette’s impossibly short garment,” A wayward lamb perhaps? Well I think you’ll find Gavroche is most accommodating to strangers, a rare treat.”

He motioned to his companion, ”Galahadrid my son,” His tone was businesslike now, “May I introduce my friend Prior Mable, we were just talking about you my son, he has a favor to ask of you.”

[Galvain7]

"Your Eminence," said Galahadrid with a slight bow, "It is my honor and privilege to inform you that you are in the presence of the Mademoiselle Cardinal, the Lady Redbrair. Lady Redbrair is waylaid from Alexandria, and I would count it as a great favor if you could arrange accommodations and couriers to her family, who were last seen in Valjean."

Turning to Ms. Cardinal Galahdrid says, "Your Ladyship, you are in safe and capable hands with his Eminence the Bishop, and he will soon have you reunited with your family. It has been a pleasure to aid you, and I wish you Godspeed."

"Now, my Lord Bishop, I am certain the Lady would like to rest herself. Would it please you to discuss business in the courtyard, after you have seen to her Ladyship's needs?"

[The Walox]

The Bishop Strokes his chin thoughtfully, “Alexandria you say, yes I shall have my curate see to her at once.” A stuttering young man stepped out a side door when the Bishop called for him. After giving the young man instructions to make accommodations and see to it that Cosette was given a clean change of clothes the Bishop led Galahadrid and Prior Mable into the court yard.

“Monsignor,” Prior Mable said, his voice quiet far-off and tinny as though he wasn’t in the habit of using it.”Many months ago I met with Mother Divinity, the matriarch of all of the cloisters regardless of sect. She gave me some distressing news, it seems as though we are to change our order; our old ways seem to impede our efforts to uplift the people of the swamp. According to Mother Divinity action must be taken if we are,” He swallowed as though what he was saying was costing him considerable effort, ”to survive as an order.”

He went on,” We are in the process of clearing out the abbey, but the lower chambers have been barred to us, I fear that something may have taken refuge there and even if we were fit to clear it out none of us are strong enough to open the door.”He gave a respectful bow, “We would be in your debt noble Hellknight if you could render us this humble service.”

[Galvain7]

"Certainly, Prior Mable, it would be an honor and a joy to assist you in this matter. You mentioned the door being barred? I'm afraid I don't understand. Are you inferring that whatever took up residence in the vaults barred the door?"


Sorry about the post's brevity. I'll get a longer one in next time.

[The Walox]

“Yes, It has no lock and I do believe that it opened freely several years ago,” He bowed his head thought fully, “I wish that I could tell you more, but while in the Abbey we keep the straw in our ears so as to remind us of suffering of the deaf. So I didnt hear anything on the other side, but it is most preculiar.”

Bishop Antoine nodded his head, “Yes, who knows, what may be lurking in there, not to be an alarmist of course but the swamp is a dangerous place.” He turned to Galahadrid, grave, “You must be careful my son. The Pagans venerated this place for many a reason, heaven knows how many of the ancient stories may be true.”

Prior Mable bowed his helmeted head in silent prayer then spoke abruptly,”Yes, I do believe you know your way to our humble house of God. My brothers and I shall be forever in your debt noble Hellknight. I must be on my way now. God bless you both.”

“Walk in the glory of God my son.” Bishop Antoine Blessed Prior Mable before the ghastly lone monk made his way across the yard. There was a trace of apprehension in the old Bishops face as the door to the courtyard closed.”Curious indeed, it seems as though our friends of St. Percy have been busy lately; I do wonder what Mother Divinity said to them.”

He turned once again to Galahadrid, “you must be on your guard my son. There may be forces of work beyond our feeble comprehension. The monks of St. Percy wouldn’t change their ancient ways on a mere whim.” He placed a withered hand on Galahadrid’s shoulder and gave a warm smile,”As long as you walk with god my son you have nothing to fear; you have my blessing in this enterprise.”

One of the ancient oak doors to the court yard opened with a great creaking squeal. The figure of Cosette stepped out closing it behind her. She was clad in worn dress that had been donated to the church for such reasons. It was full sleeved and the hem of her skirt brushed the ground as she walked and as its fabric fluttered a wink of thin bottomed sandals was visible; rather coarse and very simple in their construction. The pastel green and white of the dress’s gently worn fabric complimented her pale complexion wonderfully. She had tied her long platinum blonde hair back in a single French braid, her bangs nearly falling into her eyes.

She strode up to the bishop and Galahadrid curtseying politely, “Excuse me Monsignors but did I hear the good prior correctly?” She looked at them earnestly, her green eyes sparkling,” I would like to help in any way possible.”The bishop chuckled, “MY daughter, the swamp is no place for a noble woman, and certainly you have had enough excitement for one day, you must rest today, I won’t take no for an answer.”

Cosette blushed, “I want to help, please,” She turned to Galahadrid,”Please Monsignor Knight I want to help, you have been so good to me please let me return the favor. It can’t be that dangerous. Honestly I won’t get in your way, do say that I can come!”

[Galvain7]

"Lady Redbrair, the fact that I found you alone in the swamp leaves me with no doubt of your courage, and your willingness to assist the Church in this matter speaks volumes to your generosity and kind heart. However..."

"I must remind you to be aware of your station. It would be unsafe and simply unwise to let you come with. I am certain your family is searching for you, and if it was known that I- an agent of the nation of Bijoux, however indirectly, imperiled the privilege not to mention the safety of an Alexandrian nobless, well, you can see how it would look. Crawling around in dark holes chasing pests is better left to peons, such as myself, no? If you still desire to do good, I'm certain the good prior can use all the help he can obtain."

"As to this morning, you owe me nothing. I merely offered you the aid befitting your station and discharged the duties befitting mine."

[The Walox]

“I am sorry Monsignor; I would never want to place you in any harm. If you wish for me to stay in Gavroche than I shall do so.” She made to leave but stopped in her tracks,”Oh! Monsignor! If you ever need anything at all please do not hesitate to ask, it would be my deepest pleasure to help you.” She gave a polite curtsey and left.

“Hmm, quiet a spirited young woman,” the Bishops grey old eyes twinkled as Cosette crossed the yard and re-entered the church, “She not to be contrary to your knowledge my son but she is most defiantly a daughter of Bijoux. Only a Bijean is so willing to extend a friendly hand to their neighbor.”

“I suppose I have kept you long enough my son, if you wish to make it to the abbey by sundown you ought to leave soon. Though I would recommend waiting until tomorrow; the swamp that way is most dangerous at night.”

[Galvain7]

"Thank you for listening to the advice of a humble armsman your Ladyship. I am certain you will find a much more fullfilling use of your time here."

After Cosette is gone, he says:
"Ah! My Lord Bishop I am afraid you are blinded by your love for this country. I am certain that there are plenty of Righteous Alexandrians, though I have never, ever met any. But on the same token, all of my meetings with Alexandrians have been at lancepoint. You can see how that would affect my subsequent conversations."

The comment about the swamp being dangerous at night gets a genuine laugh from Galahadrid.
"I must say Your Eminence that your words could not be more correct. I said the same thing myself to the Lady Redbrair not but a few hours ago. Ha! But you are right yet again. We will head out in the morning- I need to rest my horse. In any case, I take my leave. Please send word to Tower Perilous when Lady Blackbrair's people come to escort her home. Good day, Your Eminence."

And with that the Hellknight gets on his horse and heads home to Tower Perilous.

[The Walox]

Galahadrid mounts his horse and leaves Gavroche in the fading sunlight; the nighttime the sounds of the swamp spring into full bloom as the lone knight wanders his way home. He is neither molested nor impeded in any way on his journey, for this is the Good Demon; sworn protector of Citroen Swamp and all that inhabit it.

Soon the ancient form of Tower Perilous looms out of the darkness its imposing shadow a warm welcome home for the Hellknight.

Several Months Earlier, Ispens Castle, Polaria.

“The stars have aligned it has begun.”

“What do you mean Mother Divinity?”

“It is simple Mother Premonition, the end times are set, the great chain that binds us all has begun to unravel.”

“So, the hordes of darkness shall cross the face of the world as foretold? That the knight will aid the matriarch of the Red Dynasty? It will be?”

“Centuries from now, yes it shall be, it is unavoidable. Send in Prior Mable; for now we regrettably must play our part.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

[The Walox]

Tower Perilous, the imposing home to the only formidable form of order Citroen Swamp has ever known. And yet, even the swamp had begun to reclaim this time weathered icon of order. The ever present moss and lichen grew over the sides of the walls, lending an earthy overtone to a structure so obviously man made.

Galahadrid’s massive steed enters the courtyard, challenged only by the weary call of the night owl. Once the imposing beast had been tended to by the capable hands of Galahadrid,he then turned in for the night. To a newcomer of the swamp the perpetual song of the tads and crickets would prevent a restful night’s sleep, but not Galahadrid; he had been here so long that the swamps very peat seemed to flow through his mighty veins thicker than blood.

The swamp does that; its own way of sorting its kin. The famers and swamp folk have all seemed to adopt the persona of the swamp; the countless generations of ancestors condemned to the bog, in life as in death. They were a proud lot these swamp folk, each and every one of them king of their own realm. No lords, no kings, only Gods to tell them what to do; their master was the swamp, a place no mortal could take.

It was to this swamp that Galahadrid woke to the next morning; as he did every morning. The Order of the Pike was currently experiencing a lull in membership. The only knight that remained was Galahadrid himself. He lived in his armor, he was so acosstumed to the metal suit that he even slept in it uperturbed; however if he did have to remove it he could do so unabated. So it was Galahadrid had all the help he needed to suit up and saddle his horse.

It was another balmy summer’s day in the south Bijean sun and the lone Hellknight was inwardly grateful for the plentiful shade from the elm and willow trees that guarded the worn stone road like countless sentries of wood. Galahadrid’s ride into the heart of the swamp was uneventful; this was place few ever came. Mostly for fear of the singular monks that lived there.

This part of the swamp was a gloomy juxtaposition to the main road. Dead moss hung limply from the skeletal carcasses of trees; the murky peat bubbling with a noxious smelly gas. The stones in the road had been worn away and in many places the road disappeared entirely; even the sun took on a gray, gloomy cast as though in respect for this ancient dead place.

The abbey of the order of St. Percy of Perpetual Sorrow wasn’t built with the monk in mind. During the Alexandrian occupation 823 an Alexandrian Nobleman, Sir Devon Longshanks, was awarded the wetlands of Citroen Swamp as a reward for his services to the queen in the Two Centuries war. Pleased with his new acquisition, it reminded him of the moorlands of his childhood, he set out to build a manor to serve as a seat to this new county of her Majesty the Queen.

The Glorious Longshanks Manor covered two entire acres. A three story gothic masterwork it had three stories, countless stain glass windows, fittings and chandeliers from the finest Polarian artists and three great halls for all of sir Devon’s guests. He died from the black plague in 826 shortly after his grand home was completed.

After the five day’s war in 854 the lands of Citroen Swamp were returned to the Bijean court and the long abandoned pride of Devon Longshanks became the home of the Monks of St. Percy. Since then the glory that was once a grand gothic manor was in deepest decay. Most of the structure had collapsed; due to the settling of the swamp and the roof had caved in long ago. The chandeliers of Polaria old had gone too, and none of the brilliant Stained glass remained. All that did remain was a miserable husk, swallowed by moss and lichen and inhabited by miserable men.

Galahadrid approached the ruins of the courtyard wall at a little after noon. Prior Mable greeted him as several monks in the terrible uniform of St. Percy toiled in complete silence.

“Welcome good Hellknight, I trust you aren’t too weary from you ride? Once you’ve had a moment’s rest I’ll show you the area in question.”

[Galvain7]

There were about three different ways to approach Tower Perilous, only one of which passed through the town of Gavorche. Galahadrid had already come through the town, so it was natural that he would proceed through on his way home. Even if he had not, he would have still come through Gavorche, even if it meant going a bit out of his way, for several reasons.

The first was because it was his job, of course. You could keep watch over the town if you never visited the place. Secondly the road through Gavorche had infinately more pleasant view than the country roads. Although Galahadrid was born and raised in the swamp, he still thought it was a bit ugly. Just a bit.

Thirdly, it reminded him of his own life, in a symbolic sense. The transition from dirt to peasant to knight and then dirt again was all laid out on the road. A bit macabre, yes, but even the mightiest of men had to remember their inevitable future.

And finally, the approach to Tower Perilous through Gavorche offered the view of the tower as it was meant to be seen: A massive spike of stone an metal appearing suddenly out of the mire like a spear cast down from Heaven itself. The sight of the colossal metal poles that would have been used to host the banners of visiting knights (and the heads of slain criminals) were tragically bare. But it was a comforting sight nevertheless.

******

"The pursuance of duty is a restless endeavor, Your Grace. Please see that my horse is stabled and we will proceed immediately."

[The Walox]

The monk Nodded and handed the reins to a passing fellow, “This way my son,” Prior Mable led Galahadrid trough the oaken front doors of the abbey into the cavernous front hall; the metallic clunking of the knights armor echoed off of the ceiling and walls.

The stone floors were coated in a think carpet of straw and mud; the inside of the abbey was just as miserable as the exterior. The pair walked in near silence towards the neglected stone stairs and descended to the basement.
A small oaken door stood ajar at the bottom, one side bore markings were it had been roughly forced open.

”Oh, oh, dear,”came Mable’s tinny voice from inside his faceless helmet, ”Something has forced its way inside,”his distant voice was thick with worry ,”this bodes quite ill indeed.”

[Galvain7]

"...Indeed. Prior Mable, please instruct your fellow monks to close and bar all means of egress to the outside, then retire to their cells."

Galahadrid waited until the foul-smelling monk was out of sight and earshot, before lifting the visor of his helmet and unfastening the bolt on his gorget.
"Come, out Zarlyx! I need you."

"Master!"

"Come, pet! I won't stand here and argue."

A small red humanoid with orange batwings, curled ram horns and organish batwings flies out of the throat of the armor.
"Master?"

"There is a good pet! Who is a good pet?" The Hellknight vigorously rubs the beast's back with the spikes of his armor, and the imp purrs appreciatively. "Zarlyx, go into the room yonder and search for signs of a creature. Let me know what you find."

"Master!"

Alright, I did some snooping. I cannot see through my framiliar's eyes, (Alas) but I can get a general sense of his emotions. Thankfully, Imps have at least a spark of intelligence, so I can get a 'feel' for whatever he sees.

I will also make a perception check to see if Galahadrid can get an idea of where this creature went. I get the alertness feat for having my pet nearby, at least for this first roll.

[roll0]

[DueceEsMachine]

Quinn Tollenbeck

*Quinn squatted low on his haunches, his hand reaching down to lightly brush the imprints in the path, slapping at a bloodsucker on his neck with the other while he did. The road was old stone, but everyone left marks when they passed - you just had to know what to look for. Reaching up to absently scratch at his teeth with his pinky, he stood slowly, stretching out his shoulders and back as he stared down the empty path. What would seem nothing more than mud to most told him a great deal, and for once, he was happy about it.*

*The heat of the swamp was only beginning to build. It wouldn't even be noticeable to the natives at this point, but Quinn was anything but native, and the cold climes he'd been hunting in had set his inner thermometer to broil - the setting it seemed to remain on for the time being. Pulling a long length of soft cloth from a pocket, he wiped the sweat from his brow with a sigh as he thought for a moment, cursing the heat as he did.*

"Passed this way nary a half hour ago by the softness. The lout seems to have found himself another stallion of impossible size, though by my guess, he's at least got a good farrier to tend the beast."
*With a glance over his shoulder, he sighed shook his head as the immense coal black canine next to him just stared down the road, seemingly uncaring. His face barely came up to the creatures shoulder, but he could see a bit of the mischief in the creatures eye as he studied it.*
"No. You know better. Horseflesh ain't for eating. Never has been - that's something you don't do. Try it and you'll regret it. Besides. This one isn't prey Fikus."

*The wolf didn't shift, though it's jaw did drop, letting it's immense tongue hang out in an exagerrated pant before the creature tilted its head to one side, listening to the passing sounds of the swamp.*

*Quinn gave the beast a hearty pat on the neck and laughed as he deftly swung up into the saddle, groaning a bit to himself at the tender areas that were once again subjected to the rubbing and shifting of the saddle underneath him.*
"Yes. You're not fond of the heat. Riight. Ya big mongrel! - I know better than to think it bothers you. You just like to complain. Now let's see if we can't make up some ground the priest said he was headed up this way to take care of a problem. Might'n be he needs some help."
*Quinn couldn't help but laugh and shake his head.*
"I've been hoping I'd be able to pull his hoop out of a fire sometime. Maybe today will be the day." *He didn't bother to turn to the half dozen other figures standing perfectly still along the road - they simply fell into step at a silent, easy jog to keep up as the wolf moved.* "And who knows - maybe all this talking to you lot has gotten me more than a little loopy. I'd like a bit of conversation with someone what could talk back."

================
Earlier that Morning

"Listen mister Antoine - "

"Bishop Antoine. It is a title I earned, after all."

" - Bishop Antoine... I'm telling you, I mean the man no harm. I'm an old friend, and I was hoping to catch him up, and raise a few drinks with 'im. Thas all. I swear it on the cost of my working manhood."
*The small man raised a hand solemnly and exhaled, trying to control his frustration. The esteemed Bishop knew of the man for sure - the big knight always was soft for religion and such. Plus word around town put the two on good terms, to say the least.*

"Well, you'll have to pardon me, if I have my doubts, even with such a.... devout proclomation. It's hard to think you don't want to cause trouble when you come walking in here with armed men at your heel."
*Giving a disdainful snort at the assorted lot of hard-faced men that stood behind the small fellow, the Bishop shook his head.*
"I don't beleive even the lot of you could best him, but I'd rather not assist you, should that be the case."

*Quinn stopped and turned to look at his small entourage, as though he'd forgotten they were even there.*
"Oh. Right. Those lot. I've been working as a travelling merchant, and wares don't often make it to market without security to see them there."
*With a sigh, Quinn ran a hand through his rough mane of hair and looked at the ground as he spoke quietly, pullig the collar of his plain cotton shirt down to reveal the edges of his harsh, scarred chest.*
"Sir Galahadrid did right by me several years ago. I'd been taken by a group of Ravagers after they'd slaughtered our caravan one night. I'd fought harder than the rest, so they took me for some sport. They couldn't break me, but that didn't stop them from trying, for certain."
*His tone is soft, and distant, the sound of truth in his voice impossible to miss.*
"I don't know how many days they had me, but I was more dead than alive when the man pulled me off the spit they were roasting me on. I owe him for that and every breath I've taken since. Imagine my good fortune to come across him all these years later. I tell you truth, Bishop, I mean the man no harm - can you tell me where he is?"

*Bishop Antoine stood silently for a moment, staring at the small man before nodding.*


OOC:

Alright! I hope that's introduction enough. I know it will take me a bit to hit my stride, and I'll try not to speak for Npc characters, but I felt like it was warranted to set an explanation down.

[The Walox]

The imp scampers off through the crack in the door; Galahadrid mediates on the small creature’s senses. As he peers though the crack at its vanishing back he can make out a long passage. The walls off the tunnel are stone, what isn’t in this bloody place, with an arching ceiling. It is lined with countless alcoves; each alcove contains a six foot tall statue of an ancient knight baring a kite shield and long sword. The statues stand on circular plinths two feet high and there are large grooves worn in the dusty that seem to be just as wide as the statues bases.

The soft dirt and dust on the floor is nearly a quarter of an inch thick and upon closer inspection a set of footprints is visible running the length of the hall; no return set of tracks is visible. The imp’s emotions are even more curios, first apprehension, then wonder, fright and then wonder again; followed by glee, food?

[The Walox]

There was a titter of forced laughter as Quinn’s mount resumed his steady trot. The noonday heat did little to improve the small band of men’s opinion of the ancient swamp; but soon shelter appeared ahead; just visible through the dead limbs and the gloom.

As the party approached the hole in the wall that served as the gate it became apparent that something was amiss. Though monasteries are hardly known for their lively atmospheres there should have been some activity. There was not a soul to be found.

One of Quinn’s men did a quick walk about of the area, “Sir,” he was always such a formal man, ”it appears to me that a large group of men just left not an hour ago,” he pointed east, ”They went that direction in no great hurry. From what I hear there aint nothing good in these woods; I’ve no idea why they’d do such a thing.” He smiled grimly

[Galvain7]

Galahadrid was never much for woodcraft, although it would certainly have been handy for many occasions. In this case following the clearly visible footsteps seemed easy enough, and so he did just that.

"Can't see a blasted thing in this light."

Galahdrid fishes into his handy haversack over his shoulder and retrieves an ever-burning torch. With a grunt he strikes the magical catalyst against his helmet, causing the torch to light up. Then, he places the haft of the torch into a special socket behind his helmet, locking it into place with a snap. In this new illumination he proceeds down the hallway, but not before adjusting the straps on his shield and bracing his pike against it.

As he moves he sends his next batch of emotional instructions to his minion.

Caution, come. Treat, you.

[The Walox]

The imp’s insides seem to struggle with the promise of food now, or a treat later. It chooses the treat and after a few minutes bounds towards Galahadrid; perching on his shoulder cooing softly. The footsteps follow the tunnel deep into the earth; taking off shooting tunnels seemingly at random.

As Galahadrid descends deeper the groves in the floor become more pronounced; the carpet of dust becoming thinner and thinner. Once at the bottom of what seemed to be the hundredth staircase Galahadrid takes a closer look at the statues. The stone knights on this level have eyes set with garnets that glitter malevolently in the flickering torchlight.

A few hundred yards later and the tunnel became flooded with an eerie faintly green light. The tunnel then culminates in a large elaborate circular chamber. Innumerable stone knights stand guard. In the center there is a massive limestone fountain in the fashion of a tree, on the four sides of the trunk there is depicted the face of a large blunt nosed man; His lips are gold and the running water has worn a featureless trough down his beard. His eyes are half lidded under heave limestone brows; the irises fashioned from jade and gold.

The branches radiate out from the mighty trunk and from the supports of the ceiling which towers overhead. The ceiling panels depict sense of warriors, hunters and jousting knights; they are delicately set in jade and gold. The great curved walls are set with similar panels; framed between large limestone pillars and alcoves housing knights.

Once the initial shock of the room’s splendor has passed, Galahadrid glimpses a sight which turns his blood to ice. Lying on the green marble floor in front to the fountain is a familiar figure clad in a framiliar skimpy green silken garment. The thick bottoms of her knee high sandals where what made the foot prints. Crumpled in a heap, in a lake of her own blood is the fragile form of Cosette; her fine silvery hair stained pink where it had soaked up the blood.

[Galvain7]

"There's a good pet! Treat for you! Yes!"

Galahadrid opens a pouch and spears a bit of sausage with a finger spike on his armor, and then feeds it to the imp. With a little prompting the miniature devil is sent back inside the armor.

"Zarlyx, what did you see in the room- Oh Gods!"

Galahadrid dashes over to the crumpled form of Cosette and knees, checking her for injuries- and a pulse.

Heal check to determine injuries:
[roll0]
Edit: That was a critical fail on that heal check :smallfurious:- but the lay on hands still worked

Lay on Hands, for 1d6 points of heal, in case Cosette is at negative hp:
[roll1]

[The Walox]

The source of the damage appears to be a large crude sword wound to the right side of her torso, her skin is deathly pale; no pulse. She has been dead for a least an hour; her poor flesh is cold, her lips icy blue.

There is a soft laugh from the direction of the fountain,”Hehe, just the man I wanted to see.”The trickling sound of water ceased, the face on the fountain was smiling at Galahadrid; it three mirror images copying the smile on each side of the tree.”Do not be alarmed, the world shall thank me for slaying her, it was quite necessary. We must speak you and I.” The stone face grinned, a warm grandfatherly grin.

[Galvain7]

Yeah. Just on a limb here we are going to use the detect evil ability.
Also, apologies for this post being short. In most cases long is better, but in this case I think it best to be curt.


"Speak, monster, and choose your next words carefully, as they may be your last."

[The Walox]

The stone faces gave a loud resonating laugh, a sound only replicated by a pipe organ.”My child, my dear, dear child, you mean not to tell me that you are perturbed by the death of this wretch, this spawn of a whore and a foreigner, this common earth of Bijoux? Most noble.” The fountain closed its eyes thoughtfully, as though truly moved.

As its four faces opened their eyes it spoke in a tone mirroring the condescension one would use on a misbehaving child.”And I am no monster I assure you. I am Charlemagne, this first rightful king of Bijoux!” The face seemed familiar now, a copy of countless statues and paintings. Charlemagne continued, “I had this sanctuary created upon my death, to commune with the heirs of the throne long after my departure from mortal life.”

This was also true, no evil presided in these walls, just ancient magic; older than the swamp, older than time, “Now you mustn’t think ill of me for resorting to such pagan magic as this; for centuries the kings and queens of Bijoux met me here to ask my opinions; but long ago the throne went astray and my descendents quit coming,” He stopped his soliloquy short; eyeing Galahadrid cautiously.

“Hmm, you seem distracted, the girl? You mustn’t fret for her, she was a thief and a liar; my sentries killed her quickly. It was a merciful death as I could afford her” when this did nothing to improve Galahadrid’s demeanor, he added irritably, ”once again how noble of you to concern yourself with the lives of the common, it will serve you well. . .still angry? Just hear me out, put the tainted lamb down and hear me out. If her life is valuable to you we can make a deal oui?” and under his powerful resonating voice, “It is a mistake.”

He continued matter of factly, “This well marks the site of an ancient pagan spring, the druids of lore called it the spring of terra; to us however it is the well of fate from which men’s destinies flow. All men are born free, free to shape their own lives but kings and emperors are slaves of fate, slaves until the day they depart from our mortal world. All who drink from the fountain accept their destiny and the chains that bind them to it.”

Charlemagne took a deep breath,”Long ago my family and yours were one. Now my family is dead and you remain. Noble knight you are the true heir to the throne of Bijoux! You do not believe me? Just drink from the waters of the well; if it is true your destiny shall be sealed, if not than it shall do you no harm...”

The fountain gave another deep laugh, “You are thinking that you will not do it? You must, only a man of pure strength as yourself can liberate the throne from the imposter who sits upon it oppressing the honest good men of Bijoux,”he spoke of the current king bitterly,”It conflicts with your covenants oui? That I know but this is for the greater good! Bijoux needs her proper king! I would offer you an exchange for the life of the girl but you must believe me, a chain of events so terrible no human mind could ever grasp would be set in motion. Centuries from now her grand children would be responsible for no less than handing the world for the devil!! The world engulfed by darkness just beacuse of this one life! It is best to stop it now!”

He heaved a great sigh,”perhaps it shall sort itself out then, if you will not drink for your country or overthrow you king for the temporary chaos it would create then, then,” his heavy face seemed sad and defeated as he spoke,”then do it for the girl, accept you fate as king, drink from the fountain and I will restore the life to her. I swear to this; just one drink is all I ask, even if you are not the heir I shall keep my word. I swear on my honor.”

[DueceEsMachine]

Quinn Tollenbeck

*As the group approached the gates to the ruined structure, Quinn couldn't help but growl low in his throat as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He closed his eyes for a moment and let his senses extend outward, feeling the flow of the swamp around him. It happened quickly, though time was always a matter of perception. WIth a nod, he turned to the men and pointed to the tracks.*

"From what you hear?..." *Quinn looked at the man curiously, but didn't press the matter.* "I don't know why they've gone, but we know where. There's no one close, that's for sure. I'm going to find the Knight and his horse - you six follow those tracks quietly and see if you can't spot the ones who made them without being seen this time. We don't want another repeat of the bear incident...."
*The pause was definite, and the six armed men shuffled slightly where they stood, but only until Quinn gave them a curt nod, at which point they set off at a curt pace, following the tracks easily.*
That lot is going to be the death of me someday. Still. You can't be in two places at once, and their loyalty was unquestionable.

*Swinging off the wolfs back, Quinn took a moment to look at the path left behind by whomever had left in such a hurry, following the steps for several paces before standing up and walking back to his mount.*
"Interesting - we just seem to be magnets for trouble, don't we boy? Still. That's never stopped us before."

*The destroyed structure was only a short distance away, so Quinn set forward on foot, his beast of burden falling in step behind him without a word. If it weren't for the link that connected them, Quinn wouldn't be able to tell - even to his keen ears, Filkus made not a sound as it padded along. Their steps soon brought them to the entranceway, where Quinn left the beast behind without a spoken word.*
"Keep a wary eye out for the horse, Filkus - and no eating. Find a good shadow in the rubble and let me know if anyone comes in behind me."

*The silent acknowledgement from across the link was all the confirmation he needed. This wasn't their first fair-day, after all.*

OOC:

Alright, so, I'm going to follow the markings into the rubble, and hopefully come across everyones favorite knight.

A couple things first -
A Dc 15 survival check when inspecting the tracks is enough to tell me how many men were in the group, their types (humans, I'm guessing) and their general health, any obvious wounds that would effect their tracks (broken legs, ect). Since I have a Survival check of +20, I won't bother rolling that.

The other item of note - Flikus, his mount, as well as the six other companions are actually constructs that he has built, so while they appear completely real (barring a successful perception check), and while they are intelligent, they're inextricably linked to Quinn, as they're actually small bits of his own life-force that animate the shells. He maintains a mental connection to them out to a range of about 500 yards, which is the limit to where he's able to communicate with them telepathically, after which they go silent.

Unfortunately, if any of them are destroyed, he suffers 2d10 damage from the disruption, so he knows instantly, should that occur. If the whole group is wiped out, well, he's in for a hell of a headache. And probably some serious internal bleeding. lol

I'll have exact write-ups for you in a bit, but I'm going to be late for work if I don't get going. Tchuss!

[Galvain7]

"Forgive me... uh... Your Highness, if this seems a bit hard for a armsman to believe. You are saying I'm supposed to be king? It boggles the mind... And it prove it you'll bring the dead girl back to life? Such a thing is not possible. Dead is Dead."

"But if you are right, and not just mad, bring the girl back to life first, then I'll drink from your heathen fountain."


So its a bit of a faux-pas to demand proof from the King in the Tree, but I think its a bit more realistic if my PC does not believe that people can be raised from the dead. Think about it- its a 5th level spell, which is serious mojo, and my character would never have encountered anything like that in his background.

[The Walox]

Filkus quietly paded over to a shaded corner near the gate; which gave him an excellent view of the neglected courtyard. As Quinn cautiously approached the ruined manor’s front door he caught a glimpse of Galahadrids horse. Its reins had been lovingly tied to the skeletal corpse of an elm; a worn feed bag strapped to its face. The horse seemed utterly at ease eating its oats and swatting at flies with its bobbed tail.

No danger here then, Quinn’s men hadn’t found anything yet ether. However still wisely cautious Quinn carefully passed through the open front doors; whoever left did so in a hurry. The smell of this place was horrible, an unholy amalgamation of mildewed straw, tepid mud and something . . . else even more unpleasant. Other than the treat of caching some disease from the filth, there was no danger here ether.

Obvious to his expert eyes Quinn could trace Galahadrid’s footsteps in the thick mud and straw coating on the floor. He deftly followed the tracks across the bare walled room; apparently the monks of St. Percy weren’t much into interior design. With feline grace Quinn tracked Galahadrid’s prints to a landing at the bottom of the stairs.

An old oaken door stood ajar; the passage on the other side was thick with impenetrable darkness. In the earthy carpet of dust on the passage’s stone floor there were three sets of tracks; Quinn was able to discern that the oldest belonged to a young woman, the second to a small humanoid, probably an imp. The freshest tracks belonged to some sort of walking behemoth; Galahadrid’s tracks.

There were at least thirty human men in the group. They were all barefoot and other than some sore on their feet they seem to be in as good of health as can be expected of people who live in their condition. They headed due east at an easy slow pace, they are greatly burdened which can be attributed to their horrible uniforms; which I am not sure that Quinn has seen. I’ll leave his knowledge of the habits of the order of St. Percy up to you.

[The Walox]

Charlemagne seemed as thou he wanted to cry,”Only if I restore the girl? Are you sure? Have you any idea of the repercussions? I see. It is the only way then; it seems my chains of fate have bound me to this.” The eyes of each stone face close in unison, deep in thought or prayer.

There is a heavy gasp from Cosette; as thought gasping for air after holding her breath. She coughs and gasps in the manner of a girl having inhaled a great deal of water; with each breath life returns to her lean little body. “Wha, What? What is going on?” the color was quickly returning to her cheeks. The blood that had been spilled seemed to seep through the marble floor; even the dried mess in her hair and her dress seemed to ooze off and trickle to the floor where it was absorbed by the green stone.

“Galahadrid?”it was the first time she had ever used his name,”Where am I, what is this place?”She grasped at his armor scared,”I, I remember going to sleep and then . . . wait no . . . I really remember now.” She turned to face the fountain of Charlemagne; the stone king seemed very gloomy all of the sudden, “You tricked ME HERE!!!” she rereleased Galahadrid’s arm and stood shakily on her own two feet; arms akimbo.

“I tried to be good, I wanted to help Monsieur Knight, but decided to stay in the church, but I couldn’t. And before I knew it I had slipped out of the church and walked here. I had no idea why!” Her round girlish face was flushed red with anger,”then when I arrived, you killed me with your stone . . . ARRGH,” She fell to her knees clutching her side. The gaping sword wound had just healed itself leaving her pale flesh unmarred; save for a circular tattoo that was beginning to appear. It was roughly two inches in diameter and depicted some intricate Celtic pattern.

Cosette looked at the fresh mark astonished, than faced Charlemagne her fury returning, “WHAT IS THIS?!!!?!” The stone face gave a small grin and drolled.

“It is the scar left from your wound, tish, I have brought you back to life; that should be enough. You don’t mean to tell me that you thought you’d escape that scrape unmarred. . .”Cosette interjected, “I didn’t mean to be killed at all!!!”

The fountain turned his attention to Galahadrid,”Now my child,” he said positively beaming,”you must uphold your end of the bargain,” there was a clamoring as the stone knights readied their shields. At that sound Cosette went pale, “drink my child and we shall see if you truly are king!”

[DueceEsMachine]

The Mighty Quinn

*Casting a wary eye towards the horse, Quinn smiles and shakes his head. The damnable thing probably ate more in a day than all the beasts of burden in the caravan had put together. Of course, they were about the same size as the mountain of horseflesh combined, so it really wasn't a stretch. Still. Quinn had to wonder where the knights could find such consistently massive beasts that were of sufficient temperment and intelligence to serve as their mounts. Perhaps it was simply one of the perks of the organization. Perhaps some mystic connetion with an ancient Pagan god of Equestrians. Hm. Unlikely.*

*Slipping in the open door, Quinn sidestepped deftly, positioning himself out of the stream of early afternoon light that shot through adjacent doorway, illuminating small specks of dust as they drifted slowly to the floor in a never-ending cascade. Quinn always did love the brilliant contrast between the world in light and the concealing amorphea that was shadow. The scene was almost wonderful, but it was difficult for him to focus on it, as his eyes had begun to sting from the horrendous musks that hung in the air.*

*Blinking hard, Quinn forced his eyes to adjust to the shadows and pulled the sweat rag from his sash, using it to cover his nose and mouth in an attempt to block out the worst of the smell, not to mention the churning acrid taste. It wouldn't take long for his senses to block out the worst of it, but he spent so much time listening to what they had to tell him that he could barely stand the near palpable rot that hung in the air. Quinn was no stranger to the smells of suffering - the heavy, damp smell of organics - cloth more than likely - decaying under the weight of years of mold and neglect. Feces - human and animal was faint, though present. Probably contained within a seperate chamber. The hay was probably the worst. The smell was lighter, but nearly omnipresent, as it clung to the very specks of dust that floated through the air. It was probably worse now than it would normally be - so many people passing through would have stirred up piles that were normally avoided.*

*As he pressed forward into the depths of the structure, his passing raising no more sound than the skrittering of the local inhabitants, he followed the path that his prey had taken, and kept a wary eye on the shadows around him. He could hear the faint skittering of rodents as they made their way through the walls and refuse. It was inevitable that such creatures would be drawn to the dank and filthy place. They served their purpose, for certain, but they were not his favorite creatures to say the least.*

"Gliding down the stone steps that lead to the ancient oak door, Quinn paused and ran a finger over the splintered and torn section of the door where it appeared as though someone had forced the portal open. It was old wood, but incredibly dense, the years having penetrated little more than the top layer of the wood.*

*Turning slightly to look around, Quinn was careful to watch his footing as he searched for other markings of passing. The three sets that set off down the hall were plain enough, but the question that leapt to his mind was one seeminly unanswered - who had forced the doorway?*

*As he inspected the ground, he quickly ruled out his large friend. The Knight could have easily torn the portal to peices, but there was no indication that his heavy steps had dug in to provide bracing for the heaving that would be required to burst the door. The smallest of the prints were completely out. The imps path started on the other side of the door, and followed more of a hopping path - no doubt relying on its wings for part of the journey. The feminine steps were hard to tell. Dainty. Careful. She moved like a person familiar with passing unnoticed. The toe-heel pattern of steps and focus of her weight on the blade of her foot left next to nothing of a print, making Quinn frown.*

*As he attempted to puzzle out the answers, the sound of raised voices carried down the stone corridor towards him, and he quickly decided it would be a question that would have to be answered another time.*

*Flitting down the corridor by the dim light alone, Quinn kept his pace fast, if silent. Best to keep his presence unknown until further details of the situation became apparent.*

OOC:

AlrighT! Better post, if I do say so. I'm trying to focus on being descriptive, so by all means, slap me upside the head if I get too in depth or step beyond details I should know.

For now, let's go with a couple checks -
Perception, to see how much of the converstation he can understand :
[roll0]

And Stealth, because let's face it: it's his strong point.
[roll1]

coincidentally, he'd only get a +20 if he were invisible! lol

[The Walox]

Like a shadow on a moonless night Quinn slips through the corridor as silent as the grave. There is a slight chill, moisture and moss cling to the stone walls; the carved knights standing guard with stony faces. As Quinn works his way through the twisting maze of tunnels his eye to the brutish tracks of his friend the hell knight, could Galahadrid possibly be more conspicuous, his ears are met with the distant booming of a deep musical voice.

He catches every word of its soliloquy as he draws nearer. A slight pause, just a sullen moment, then another voice joins in; Galahadrid. His familiar neutral tone echoes trough the tunnels, oddly quite; dangerous. Quinn draws nearer, and nearer, an ethereal teal light begins to illuminate the tunnel as he draws closer.

As Quinn crouches on his haunches in the thin black shadow of the doorway, unseen even by the statue sentries and their ungodly garnet eyes, he watches as the slender figure of a girl, coughs and convulses as she makes her way to the ironclad figure that is instantly recognizable as Galahadrid. With bated breath he watches has she makes her recovery, as she shouts at the fountain in the center of the room, as the fountain speaks and, most dishearteningly, as the stone knights prepare themselves for a possible skirmish.

Throughout the tunnels and the gloom; the dust of ages and the filth filtering through the cracks from above he has heard it all; almost every word. Was it true? Was this man whom saved him all that while ago really king, had this young woman really just died and then returned to life? Were these stone men more than they seemed? Was this really gold, this room was worth a small fortune; it was amazeing that nobody had absconded with these magnificent jewels.

As Quinn worked his master craft through the tunnels he received a telepathic message from his men. They had followed the monks to a deep bog, where the singular holy men walked into the depths of the peat; vanishing beneath the black soupy water without a trace.

[DueceEsMachine]

The Mighty Quinn

*As he skirts down the hallway and into the chamber, Quinn listens intently to the conversation taking place, his breathing little more than passive exchange between his lungs and the cold, musty air around him, his chest unmoving and still - a trick he'd learned through years of slow and careful pursuit of incredibly perceptive prey.*

*As he watched the situation unfold, he stood slowly, his form shifting from a crouching position to one leaning against the shadows of the doorframe like a natural shift of the shadows in the gloom. Despite his intrusion into the seemingly private situation, Quinn felt comfortable and folded his arms over his chest with expert smoothness, never making a whisper. For all the indication he gave of his presence, he may as well have been a spectre materializing in the room.*

*Could this man really be a true heir of the crown? It would be interesting, but not wholly unbeleivable. Even in his travels across the darkest paths he could find, he heard whispers and tales told of the Demon Knight. He probably knew little of them himself - he had no ego to stroke with such stories. Yet he had become something of a camp-fire tale brigands told to scare one another - was it really so hard to see the qualities in him that one would desire in a righteous and just king?*

*It was something that would bear more thought, for sure, but Quinns attention was drawn to the surroundings - the fountain itself as well as the myriad of statues that were housed here. There was a clashing of architecture, known historical records and artistic styles. The place was a mixing pot that defied classification, and it bothered him. He knew enough about the history of the area to know the legends of the creation of the structure they were in, yet the stonemanship and carving style spoke of a much older influence - as if the manor had been built around an older foundation. Possible. But even the statues bore markings of different master craftsmen, and the obvious Pagan symbolism clashed in odd ways. It was another mystery to which he had no answers.*

*His attention still focused on the converstion, he let his eyes wander over some of the statues, where the faintest glimmer of light in the jewelled eyes caught his interest. Wealth and gold were interesting in their own right, though not motivation enough to provoke him to theivery of such an incredible place. Letting his vision slip past the statue and go slightly out of focus, he concentrates for a moment, letting his mind slip into a familiar place, hoping to discover the secrets of the items creation and preservation*

OOC:

Alright - I'll maintain my silence for now, as the scene unfolds, but I'm going to use my Artificer knowledge ability to see if there are any magical auras around the statues - it's not an identify ability, but would give him an idea of the measure of power of the statues, assuming they are indeed constructs.
It's a Dc 15 check, level + Int
[roll0]

[The Walox]

As Quinn lets the magic of this sacred place seep into his pores, he can t help but recall the tale of the ten thousand knights of Charlemagne. It was a tale that every child in bijoux knew; coincidentally it was also a tale that every traveler to this kingdom knew as well. It was a simple poem that read thus.

Ten thousand days and ten thousand lights in the land of ten thousand fights, lived a man of ten thousand rights who claimed his throne with ten thousand knights.

Long ago, after the glory of the Archons had faded away the tribes of Bijoux lived without a king. Countless chieftains and tribal men struggled in vain to establish themselves as king of the land where an emperor no longer reigned. For countless years the ancient pagans fought amongst themselves and against the organized Arassians form the west and the Alexandrians from the East.

Many a mother’s child of Bijoux looked to the future, expecting to become the subjects of a foreign power once again. Until one day, risen from the bogs of the small pagan fief of Citroen came a man. Legend says that he skirmished entire armies alone, that his mighty sword, which he wielded single handed, was seven feet long and had been forged by the smiths of Alexandria’s highlands. He was a monstrous man, a mountain of sinew and muscle; his ancient iron armor black with patina, formed long ago by some forgotten artisan.

They say that his horse was just as impressive and of an even rarer breed than its master. A Kashmin, one of the six legged equestrian legends of yore; extinct thanks to fanatics who labeled the creatures a spawn of Satan thanks to their handsome but warped visage. The Kashmin of the man who united ten thousand noble knights was a black beast of thirty hands whose blood is rumored to live on in the great warhorses of the Polaria and of the draft horses of Bijoux.

The man around whom all of this lovely and of whom modern day Bijoux owes the thanks of it existence was Charlemagne. Charlemagne with his brutal powers of diplomacy managed to band the tribes of Bijoux together and drive out the foreign invaders with his arm of ten thousand good and noble knights. So that for the first time, the lands of Bijoux were united by a native king.

King Charlemagne reigned for many, many years and before his death he ordered a shrine to be built deep in the swamp he called home as a lad. It was in this magnificent place that he honored his own life, but also the men who helped him rise to power; ten thousand statues were ordered. Each was unique as it represented one of the ten thousand knights. Ten thousand loyal men to stand over this hallowed ground, ten thousand guards, standing watch for eternity; or at least until the swamp swallowed them whole as it does all else.

This was an ancient and interesting place flowing with magic, everything here was special in some way. Quinn reflects on how the magical aura that was so prevalent in the lower levels was absolutely absent above. Also how the aura spiked in power as soon as he encountered the Knights with the garnet eyes. The statues are probably constructs and their power, they have quite a bit truth be told, steams from the well somehow.

Quinn gets another message from his men in the swamp. They have o’ so cautiously inspected the bog, and just below the surface are countless glass bells large enough to conceal a man. Moss and slime cling to the insides of the glass. Ancient cages resplendent of gothic styled iron run across their surfaces like thick metallic spider webs; providing protection from the smooth yet weathered and beaten glass.

[DueceEsMachine]

The Mighty Quinn

Stretching his senses out, Quinn lets his senses connect with one of his creations - it wasn't discomforting, but was most definitely out of the ordinary, his mind stretched between his current location and the distant effigy.

It offered him no control of the creature, but through it, he could see the world, hear and sense what his creations did, and he could see the swamp as they described it. Iteresting creataions - almost like true isolation chambers, and not something that the monks would have made themselves. There didn't appear to be anyone in them, though Quinn didn't dare risk his creations by having them explore further into the bogs. He would track the monks himself when the opportunity arose.

Forcing his senses to expand farther, he felt himself split, the process almost agonizing this time, as he spread his mind among all six of them. He could feel his perception slow to a painful crawl, the colors seeming to drain away as he spread himself thin.

His command was simple, kept short to save time. "Return to me, and remain out of sight as Filkus does. I will let you know more. Well done, people."


The ten thousand.... Hm.
*Shifting ever so slightly, Quinn turns his head with the slow, careful movements that kept him so very well-hidden, and took a quick assessment of the number of statues he could see, as well as those he had passed. It didn't take a genius to tell that there was nowhere Near ten thousand, though there was the definate possibility that there was more to the underground than they could see. Some sort of hidden chamber, or even hidden lower chambers would be able to hold such a vast number of constructs, though their creation would have been an immense investment of resources - even for someone as skilled as Quinn.*

*Thinking for a moment, Quinn realized that the statues were probably linked to the fountain in much the same manner as he himself was linked to his creations -allowing control and perception or more. It would be an extremely useful tool for defense, to be sure - especially considering the amount of power that the constructs seemed to posess. Their main weakness would be their lack of speed, which would easily be made up for with their sheer resilience to most kinds of outside influence.*

*These thoughts and more occupied his mind as he watched, from the possibilities of his friend being the heir, to the ramifications it would mean on a social level, as well as the tactical situation, should open fighting occur. That was the least pleasant situation. Infighting would be brutal, bloody and nearly impossible to deal with - the area was no longer populated by warring individual tribes - there would be no distinct way to tell friend from foe at long distances, so all conflicts would be close and hectic. It was not a situation that would turn out well for anyone.*

*What other options where there? There was a definite possibility that none of it would matter, as his large friend turns out to -not- be the indicated heir. That would be a simple solution to the problem, but simple solutions were rare. No. It would likely turn out that his friend needed his help severely, and just didn't know it yet.*

*As his mind whirled like a kalaedescopic pinwheel through the possibilities, Quinn couldn't help but smile. There was certainly a debt to be paid in all of this - that was first and foremost, but there were untold possibilities as well - for profit, prestige, and prosperity as well.*

[Galvain7]

Wait a minute....

Ten thousand days and ten thousand lights in the land of ten thousand fights, lived a man of ten thousand rights who claimed his throne with ten thousand knights...

Ten Thousand. Well bugger me sideways. That certainly rules out the possibility of reasonable fight, but certainly not desperate, suicidal kind."

With one smooth motion Galahadrid grabbed the wayward Cosette by the scruff of her dress with his thumb and forefinger. Then he hefted her off the ground like a mother cat swinging a kitten and deposited her unceremoniously behind him and to the right. "Begging your pardon, Your Ladyship. Please don't enrage the heathen God-Emperor in the tree."

"Very well, Your Majesty, I'll drink from your fountain, as we agreed for saving the Lady Rebrair, and for which I thank you. However..."

"Embarking on a crusade to overthrow the monarchy was not part of the original bargain, if you will. If it is your intention to see me overthrow the current king and become enthroned-" Galahadrid has trouble twisting the word out of his mouth, like it is painful. "safely, then I feel bound by duty to inform you that I will require the legitimate symbol of your house, if for no other reason than to prove to the common folk that I have your blessing, and am not just another popinjay with more confidence than sense. Furthermore, it does me no good to bear the standard if I do not have your support along with your blessing, so it stands that I must also have access to your more... temporal power." As he says this Galahadrid waves his hand to encompass the room, with the knights and jewels.

"But of course all of this precludes the notion that I am in fact the one you are looking for which, though I do respect Your Majesty, I find unlikely. In any case, I fulfill my promise."

Galahadrid fluidly rotates the pike into his shield hand, then uses the now free hand to brace the tower shield against the ground firmly before leaning the pike against it, forming an impromptu stand. With both hands free Galahadrid begins to remove his headgear. The first step was to unbolt the great helm from the gorget, which he does using the spikes on his fingers like screwdrivers. After removing the great helm he unties the cheek-impact plates, which pull away to reveal the under-helm. This too, is swiftly removed to reveal the padded chainmail arming cap. When this is taken off the knights face is at last revealed.

His head, though averaged sized, looks small in proportion to the spalders and gorget surrounding it. His skin has an almost unhealthy palor, both from fatigue and lack of sunlight. There are dark circles under his eyes and his longish blonde hair needs combing. Galahadrid blinks for a few moments in the dim light before opening his eyes wide to reveal the most apparent marker of his angelic heritage.

His eyes are large and almost almond shaped, set in his face at an angle like the inhabitants of the east. The irises are a luminescent silver that quite literally projects a grey light around his head. He blinks and shakes his head, obviously uncomfortable. Amidst his somewhat undignified mutterings he removes his gauntlets and over-gloves so that he can finally remove the last protective covering over his mouth, fully revealing his face. As he does so a small silken bundle falls from the over-mouth piece onto the cold stone floor, scattering a heap of flower petals- lilac and lavender.

The surprise and embarrassment on his face is readily apparent, replaced just as quickly by a look of horror and disgust as the smell of the place assails his nose.

"Righteous heavens! I wonder that Your Majesty ever had a nose! The stench! With all do respect, I would have built my pagan tree fountain oracle... sanctuary with a different order, like St. Calistra the Lusty. I would take the perfumed silken debauchery of the saph- this... uh..." Galahadrid stops himself and colors a bit at the checks, suddenly remembering his company. Without the armor covering his face he seems much more human.

"Forgive the ramblings of an armsman, Your Majesty. I forgot myself."

Without waiting for a reply Galahadrid steps up to the fountain and kneels, taking a long drink.

[The Walox]

The well’s ancient water was cool and as Ghalahadrid drank he could taste the metallic taint of the brass of the fountains pipes. There was a rush of water as the great sandstone faces of the fountain resumed their stony stare; the fluid returning to its trough down the rock beard of the dead king.

Just beneath the surface of the water a rough circular object is visible.
An aged pewter medallion, on its surface emblazoned the flur de lis; the symbol of Bijoux the seal of the great house of Charlemagne. The beautiful walls of the chamber reverberate with the melodious sound of the fountain’s trickling. Cosette folds her arms eyeing the fountain suspiciously.

“He is gone?” she shook her head, unconsciously running a hand through her flaxen locks,”Mordieu, honestly, what on earth was that about?” She folded her arms again, “This fountain, this stone king, he was quite rude no? Please Monsieur Knight let us leave. I do not like this place; it makes me uneasy.”Cosette was right, there was something very strange in this ancient wellspring; probably just the antique magic of the forgotten sages.

Ghalahadrid’s head seemed clearer than it had in ages he seemed more aware somehow; he couldn’t put his finger on it. Was there something to all of this madness or was this just the side effect of the first water he had tasted in days?
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… …………………………........................................ .........
Le Moliere, Valjean, Bijoux, at that very moment. . .

“I don’t want to hear It!!”

“Certainly my liege, but I don’t see how this constitutes the termination of our services.”

King Pierre Thernardier I stood at the base of his throne in the audience chambers of Le Moliere. The bright afternoon sunlight filtered in through the colorful mullioned windows that towered overhead in the vast hall. His voice echoed off of the lavishly sculpted stone walls. He was alone, save for his two guests, Sir Oliver Armatage, chief overseer of Hellknight activities in Bijoux, and the geriatric Court Mage of Louis Philippe.

Sir Oliver shivered in his light robe; all visitors to the king were stripped and searched so as to prevent assassinations. This sudden decision by the king was a disaster. No more Hellkinghts in bijoux? But certainly chaos would reign, but that was the law and the law was absolute. He bowed to the king feeling quite naked without the six hundred stone worth of armor he normally wore.

As the tall gilded doors to the hall slammed shut, denoting Sir Oliver’s exit, The King turned on the old mage, who smiled pleasantly.

“As for you,” Pierre took a sealed envelope out of his tunic and passed it into the blue veined hand old the cheery old mage, “take this to Louis, his son shall be pleased with his new posting. After much deliberation I have decided that it’s high time that filthy swamp had a nobleman.” He waved the wizard away with a disinterested flick of his wrist.

The wizened mage dissolved in a cloud of thick black smoke, seeping through the polished marble floor. Thernardier frowned, Effervescence, This mage was probably arriving at Philippe’s domain at this moment. He shuddered, it was for the best that this oldest of pagan which crafts was nearly forgotten; if just one assassin knew how, no, he mustn’t go there. Besides with the Hellknights on their way out bijoux would be free from all foreign authority.

And the nerve; that one lone knight stopping Philippe in his arrest of the thief in the swamp. Surely the law was in favor of the Hellknight, but the law was wrong to keep a noble from whatever he pleased. Pierre though for another moment, he needed some further advice. . .
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………… …………………………….......................................
With his refreshed senses Ghalahadrid felt that something was . . . wrong, he couldn’t say what but something was terribly wrong.

[Galvain7]

Galahadrid smacks his lips several times and shakes his head, trying to dispel his sudden, terrible unease. Its probably the water. I hope its just the water....

Galahadrid's brow furrows as he hears Cosette's words. He does not answer her right away. Instead, he fishes the medallion out of the water and passes it to the in-armor imp for safe keeping.

"Uneasy? Uneasy? Why-" Galahadrid calms himself with two deep breaths. "Lady Redbrair, not but three minutes ago you were dea- um. I mean, bleeding all over the stones. It is a holy miracle you are still alive! What in heaven's name were you doing here? Forgive me for my heat, your Ladyship but this is exactly why I asked you to stay in town in the first place. What do I tell your parents when they find you?"

Galahadrid takes another series of breathes to calm himself further.

"Forgive my heat, your ladyship. But I must detain you from leaving until you tell me why you came. We are alone here- the monks will not bother us."

[DueceEsMachine]

The Mighty Quinn
*As interesting as the idea of hearing the extent of the womans reasoning might be, Quinn didn't want to risk intruding on their conversation more than he already had.*

*As he stepped slowly through the shadows, Quinn smiled to himself, letting his slow pace cover the distance between himself and the couple, deftly balancing himself atop the propped shield and weapon with an almost impossible grace, positioning himself in such a way as to make the perch look as comfortable as a well-stuffed chair.*

*The small man remains silent as he pulls a paper wrap from his pouch, filling it with a bit of tobacco from a pouch before lighting it dramatically with a tindertwig, setting the area around him suddenly ablaze with light as he puffs lightly for a moment.*
"Well, not entirely alone, though you are correct that the monks won't be bothering you - they've left the manor."

*Giving the twig a violent shake, he extinguishes the flame before it gets far enough to burn his fingers and grins madly, the small embers at the end of his smoke lighting his face eerily in the sudden darkness.*
"Been a while, Sir Knight - I'm glad I've found you well."

OOC:

Well, I have to admit, I'm a fan of the dramatic, and I've been wanting to climb up there ever since he propped those things up!
Acrobatics -
[roll0]
Stealth -
[roll1]

Why? just because I wanted to get another test run out of my skill rolls.
Hmm... well, a dc 60 acrobatics check would let me balance on a surface the width of a hair, so probably a good bet that I can pull that off...

[The Walox]

Rotten days come and go, and as far this day was concerned it was a rotten one. Sure she was fortunate enough to return to the land of the living, but Cosette still found herself in the underground chamber, where at any moment one of those ridiculous statues might catch her off guard. And to make matters worse Monsieur Knight was expecting an explanation, who did he think he was?

Cosette stifled her rising temper; Ghalahadrid had her best interests at heart, even if she was capable of taking care of herself. Yet he still demanded her confession, which would no doubt compromise the big knight’s usefulness. So one can no doubt imagine the gratitude the young woman felt when a Halfling alighted to the top of Ghalahadrid’s shield, bringing the conversation to a screeching halt.

Cosette seized the opportunity at once and took full advantage in the change of subject, “Monsieur Knight, you didn’t tell me that you had a friend. I am afraid that I’m at a great disadvantage without an introduction.”