tomboys and troublemakers: a wfrp 2e game

[bramblefoot]

the man with yellow eyes brings up the blade in a desperate parry, and the axe skates off the blade!

Spoiler: grimgoth

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this is clearly no ordinary blade

(1d100)[17]

sir bertelis, your beastman grimly persists, tho he's not looking so good

[-Sentinel-]

With a hiss, Emil struck back at the beastman that had attempted to tackle him to the ground.

Spoiler

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Aimed attack. Target 54: (d100)[32]
Damage: (d10+4)[7] - meh.

[bramblefoot]

emil leaves a shallow gash on the beastman. it snarls and gets back up, circling warily. suddenly it attempts to attack, missing narrowly
(1d100)[50]

(1d10+4)[8]

grimgoth and wighard: the man with yellow eyes disengages and rabbits for the woods

sir bertelis: the beastman will make two more swings of the axe. because of its wounds, the attacks go wide
(2d100)[71][83](154)

(1d10+6)[13]
(1d10+6)[7]

(1d10+6)[15]
(1d10+6)[16]

[MrAbdiel]

Flushed with elation as he feels victory against this enemy champion in his rasp, Bertelis bulls into the beastman's guard after a wide swing, shoulderchecks him to get him rolling backwards, and pursues with two more hacking blows, intending to put the beast down, and done!

Spoiler: Coup de grace!

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C'mon, final attacks!

Thrust1vs56 - (1d100)[32] for Damage - (1d10+5)[7] Hit! But not impressive damage!
Lunge2vs56 - (1d100)[100] for Damage - (1d10+5)[10] Miss! Actually, you know what? Rolling a 100 on the attack? Now is the time for the drama.

The first blow makes a shallow cut, and the second hunts for the monster's heart - but as the weapon sinks in, torqued by the fall of its body, the tormented acid-wracked steel of Bertelis' father's sword snaps just above the ricasso, leaving his hand with a hilt, and about four inches of unsharpened steel. He looks aghast at the weapon's betrayal, stunned, before casting his eyes around for another target - seeing Gimgroth and a frenzied Wighard running off the witch, and Emil holding his own against his bestial opponent.

[bramblefoot]

you do kill the beastman. however, your sword snaps in half with the blade still embedded in the beastmans chest. what now, oh knight of bretonnia?

[wilphe]

Wighard

Wounds 15/15

Fortune Points: 3/4 (Used bonus only)


Wighard drops his sword TAKE THIS and charges after the yellow eyed sorcerer attempting to get a hold on him

Spoiler: OOC

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Yellow Eyes is 12 yards away

Wighard's charge distance is 12 so can catch him up

(1d100)[22] WS49 (1d100)[69] FP if necessary

[LarsWester]

Gimgroth | Fortune Points 1/2 | Wounds 9/16 Lightly Wounded
Like a hungry wolf that had its prey escape its jaws Gimgroth's teeth ground together. He'd put this yellow-eyed evil magician down or he'd die trying. The dwarf charged in a fury hefting his axe for a mighty swing. Let's see him cast spells without an arm Gimgroth thought as his axe bit into the yellow-eyed man's right arm.

Spoiler: OOC

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Full Action Charge +10% outnumbering +10% BQ Axe +5%
WSvs87 - (1d100)[33]
ImpactDamage - (2d10)[4][4](8) highest+5 9 damage to right arm

[bramblefoot]

the man with yellow eyes gabbles out a spell as the axe bites into his arm. a foul miasma appears and sucks him away, leaving the blade and his right arm behind. the remaining beastmen do not make it out.

take 200 xp for the fight, and combat is over

[wilphe]

Wighard emits a deep primal scream of rage such that even a few of the beastmen look around hopefully as if expecting more of their kind and grabs the severed arm beating the ground where the sorcerer disappeared

[MrAbdiel]

Bertelis is tossing his shield aside, taking up the double-bit axe of his fallen enemy, and moving to assist Emil; but then his eyes are drawn to the profane escape of the warlock. This mark of victory, a mark of failure by the beastmen, is felt by everyone on the field; and he lets out a whoop of triumph that is drowned out by Wighard's louder, more disturbing exultation. As the beastman lines dissolve into flight, the defenders instinctively move to run them down; and the rest is, as strategists might say, mop up.

With the field claimed, he returns to recover the remnants of his sword; and striving to ignore the pain in his arm, assesses their losses in this unexpected fight.

[bramblefoot]

the numbers are tallied. half a score dead, and a score more injured. seven of the injured likely will not survive the night. the rest will come back to the town of trundheim changed, but grateful for their one stab at the darkness. the mine is plumbed, and nothing strange is reported.

Spoiler: ooc

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will all of you toss me a d100 to see what loot you gain? as always, lower is better

Spoiler: wighard

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how are you feeling about the warlocks escape?

Spoiler: emil

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the eye is still warm in your pocket. are ya gonna ask wighard about that?

Spoiler: sir bertelis

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there is a missive from your father asking you to check up on an acquaintance of his in talabheim, a horse trader by the name of baudoin caboche

Spoiler: grimgoth

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there is a letter from your mother saying they've sent a dwarf smith named khazad fire-beard to the village of troutbeck to journey with you

[wilphe]

After he calms down Wighard finds that the rabbit skin in is pouch is warm and wet with fresh blood that mysteriously doesn't drip or stain anything else.

He keeps this to himself.

And as his anger dissipates it cools and dries.

It takes a few minutes for him to recover but he looks at one of the survivors milling around doing nothing

He points at the arm and sword

Watch those. Let me know if anything odd starts to happen and on no account is ANYONE to touch that sword

He then goes to wash up a bit and start work

Spoiler: OOC

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(1d100)[95] Stuff

[MrAbdiel]

In the aftermath, a bedraggled Sir Bertelis stands in the slow-milling crowd of volunteers packing up their effort, and reads the butcher's bill - seventeen dead, two more from yesterday's clash. Others cloven and maimed. With eighty two being the number that marched with them to the mine, the total added up to about twenty five percent casualties. For a battlefield commander fighting the final conflict to put their enemy to flight once and for all, this would be an acceptable loss. But for any kind of sustained campaign, this is the kind of victory that, with a few iterations, would doom any army. The young knight watches as the non-combat volunteers load a cart with the wrapped bodies to be taken to Morr's Garden. Bloodspeckled, arm in a sling prepared by one of Wighard's assistants, he seems to be overwhelmed by gloom and perhaps even guilt. There is some idealism dying in him, in real time; it was permitted to live with their near miraculous victory over the trolls the night before, but could not survive today's pressing toll.

A realistic assessment might be more generous. The villagers had come to clear the mine from its occupants, not to engage in a field engagement with a troop of savage beastmen. They were militia, not professional soldiers; they were prepared to move in skirmishing units to chase warbands of beastmen, five or ten at a time, back into the woods after they burned a silo or kidnapped a child. They were not prepared to rank up and fight in concert against a foe of equal number and superior savagery. They had enjoyed precisely one day of formation training. They were all, at varying levels, traumatized by the expedition into the repulsive chaos-afflicted mine. But they had fought like desperate warriors; like the unberogen inheritors they were; and certainly, their god must be proud of them. The mine had been cursed, and the root apparently had been the parasite slug. Bertelis had been wrong completely - and because of his insistence to bypass the fangpit seeking the place to lay the explosives, he had almost gotten them all dissolved. The mining charges were going back to town, along with the bodies of the slain; there was no clever solution to this problem that did not cost the blood of good men by the gallon.

He takes a few minutes to walk around as everyone is breaking camp. He tries genuinely to shake hands and say an encouraging word to everyone he can, from the veterans counselling the maimed militiamen who would likely soon be amputees, to the rugged townswomen shovelling soil over the pit of ashes and beastman bones. And then, when he has discharged his guilt as much as he can, he joins the party scouring the mine a final time. When he emerges, he has discovered nothing to contradict the reports that the flesh-sickness of the mine is gone, and there is no trace even in the depths of a troll tunnel. All he has discovered is a dusty book and indiscernable chart which, at the time, he mistakes for an old map of the mine. He tucks them away for later examination, and emerges once more.

He finds his way over to Wighard, as the final medical consultation of the expedition takes place. He chases the haunted sadness from his eyes as he addresses the young wizard-doctor.

"...You fought more furiously out there than I have seen from you, before. From most people. Are you... well, Wighard?"

[wilphe]

Wighard sews, patches and occasionally saws - losing himself in his work and trying to put the day's experiences out of his mind for now.

He more or less succeeds, but there are still too many who have injuries that will stay with them for the rest of their lives and a few whose lives will change completely.

As he reaches the end of his work he thanks Siobhan and bids her wash up, then returns to the arm and sword with a few thick blankets.

Thank you for watching these

He wraps each in a blanket, not watching to touch them with bare flesh, the former can go to the council - probably to be nailed above a gate - the latter to Olga to see if there is any dark magic about it.

+++++++++++++++++

"...You fought more furiously out there than I have seen from you, before. From most people. Are you... well, Wighard?"

Wighard deflects the question, Are you?

This is not a joust on noble steeds with plaited manes under the pretty eyes of high-born maidens where the worst that might happen is a few bruises and the mockery of your peers.

This is and was war, and only thing worse than a battle won is a battle lost.

We won.

And you deserve some credit for it.

And yes some good people died, and your concern does you credit for Myrmidia only knows how many foppish nobles and chevaliers fainéants would pay no account to the lives of peasants and throw them away like chaff.

Emil could probably name quite a few though.

But it is your position, it is your birthright and you've now tasted responsibility.

Well done

Most young nobles in your position won't even take responsibility for the serving girls they've knocked up.

But responsibility is like wine.

Take it in moderation, don't let it dominate your life

He kicks the ground in frustration

So don't look so miserable.


As for me

I don't know, I should not lose my head like that and never have.

But if my discipline, your sword and Gimgroth's beard are what we had to sacrifice to cleanse this place then so be it

[MrAbdiel]

Bertelis nods through Wighard's consolation; his eyes do not flash with hope, but such words are planted seeds that may take a few day's light to germinate. As his sword is mentioned, Bertelis' hand unconsciously moves to touch the scabbard; the elements of the blade, and the truncated hilt and remnant, are all in there, bound up with narrow rope to prevent it being drawn by compulsion.

The young knight's lips move, but Wighard saves him the effort of drawing him back to the question about his state of mind by addressing it directly. This awareness seems to be enough for Bertelis; and he offers his own consolation in turn.

"Perhaps it was simply all too much - the trolls, the mine, and then finally beastmen we did not anticipate needing to engage at all... And you are more sensitive to the injuries around you, than perhaps I am. I must assume when a man is cleaved in the fray, your mind runs to... stitches, and bonesaws, and difficult conversations. You would not be the first good man whose discipline, compressed, turned in a moment to rage. But you channeled the rage towards valor, atleast; and this witch-man, who might indeed have been the author of all this madness, has in all likelihood bled to death in whatever vile hold he fled to. I think, perhaps, we are all entitled to a few days rest, when we get back to the boar's head."

With that, and that kind of exchanged glance that serves busy men as a stand in for all manner of greetings, and farewells, and assurances, the knight turns off to find Emil. The agitator had struck Bertelis initially as a blowhard, at their first meeting; a creature who was, in the Ostland expression Bertelis had discovered and treasured, a man with a mouth for a chest. But multiple times now, he had proven himself capable when words fell away, and it became all blades, and blood, and broken brainpans.

When he finds him, he performs the universally understood masculine ritual of approach: he entered the space near to where Emil was occupying his own time, and there set about doing something entirely unrelated to talking. In this case, it was wrapping a the trophy weapon he had taken from the beastman champion; after making a brief show of looking about then halting to realize, silly me, the thing I was seeking was in the slingbag I was carrying the whole time, he produces a rough blanket, and some rope, and hunkers to wrap the axe's double head so there will be no accidental cuts in transport. After a minute of this, without halting this side-by-side activity, he asks Emil.

"...When we return to the burghers, we will get another payment; and I intend to alert them to the need to have more active rangers searching for beastsign all the way to the mine. We could impress upon them, also, that they have a special need to care for the walking casualties, and the widowed. Militia men are under contract, yes...? They have some... manner of entitlement to compensation, under the law? What do you think...?"

And, before an answer to the first question is mustered, he adds a second.

"...And the witch-man got away; though perhaps he has died. Ought we... alert the emperor's witch-finders? I am given to understand they are as often a grief to a town, as they are a boon."

[-Sentinel-]

"...When we return to the burghers, we will get another payment; and I intend to alert them to the need to have more active rangers searching for beastsign all the way to the mine. We could impress upon them, also, that they have a special need to care for the walking casualties, and the widowed. Militia men are under contract, yes...? They have some... manner of entitlement to compensation, under the law? What do you think...?"

Emil nodded. "Yes, absolutely. I'll speak in these brave folk's name and try to make sure the injured are provided for. I can't promise I'll get results, but I'm probably the one with the best chance."

He was pleasantly surprised that the nobleman cared about such things. Too many men of his station would see commoners dying in battle as merely fulfilling their duty, in the same way that they paid taxes and obeyed their lord's edicts.

"You did well during the battle," he admitted. "You're a natural leader."

"...And the witch-man got away; though perhaps he has died. Ought we... alert the emperor's witch-finders? I am given to understand they are as often a grief to a town, as they are a boon."

The agitator gave it some thought and shook his head. "I wouldn't involve them. They care more about keeping the populace scared than finding the real culprits. And I would bet that any mutant or witch of consequence, like our yellow-eyed fellow, know how to stay ahead of them."


He then discreetly went to Wighard. "Remember this thing?" He showed him the bejeweled eye that had been given to them by a dying man in the mine. "It's warm to the touch and I don't know why. Don't wizards have special senses, or something? Perhaps you can tell us more about this object's nature and purpose."


OOC

Spoiler

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Loot roll: (d100)[58]

[MrAbdiel]

Emil nodded. "Yes, absolutely. I'll speak in these brave folk's name and try to make sure the injured are provided for. I can't promise I'll get results, but I'm probably the one with the best chance."

"Good." The knight nods, making eye contact for the first time in the uncomfortable but thawing exchange, before looking back to the axe he is binding. "Good. I'll stand with you there, then.
I can add my voice, for its given value; but for how long I've been here, I still get lost in Imperial law. The burghers seemed decent enough, but coin-men have often have two faces. I will follow your lead."

"You did well during the battle," he admitted. "You're a natural leader."

Praise from Emil, added to that from Wighard, seems to have a multiplicative effect. A deeply entangled mesh of naivete, humility, and survivor's guilt renders him mute; and he smothers the nascent effort to find an articulate response before it leaves his throat. Emil, fortunately, gives him a way out, by moving on to the other query.

The agitator gave it some thought and shook his head. "I wouldn't involve them. They care more about keeping the populace scared than finding the real culprits. And I would bet that any mutant or witch of consequence, like our yellow-eyed fellow, know how to stay ahead of them."

"Yes. Yes, I think you're right. I've not met one; but I have heard no praise for them that did not come with a glance past the shoulder. Perhaps we tell the wise-woman; she seems to be their protector for such things."

With that, the conversation tapers off to a comfortable silence; and they go on their own ways. Finally, Bertelis finds Gimgroth; this time bringing a small stopped bottle of unlabelled spirits, and two wooden cups. Presumptuously, he unstoppers it, and splits it between bottle and vessels, just enough for one quick drink in each

"One of the older militiamen, Adalwolf, had this. He was not well liked; I think. Town rascal, I think. But he cornered me after training, and told me he would split this 'fine, fine brandy' with me after we had killed all the trolls. Never took the time after the trolls, but..." The fact that Adalwolf had been among those slain by the goatmen need not be repeated; Gimgroth, the warrior who was unseparated from the men by the shadow of noble's priveledge, would have likely known better than any of their party. He offers a cup to the dwarf, keeps one himself, and prepares to pour out the last mouthful from the bottom, for Adalwolf's sake.

"...What do you think, Gimgroth? The mine seems to be cleared; no sign of the trolls at all, as if they came from the dark and the air. We have done what we came to do. Not without price. Did we do something wrong? Or is it the best result hope dares to reach for, in such an age?" 'We' in this instance, seems to stand in for Bertelis personally; the more direct question launched with 'I' seeming too presumptuous of group leadership, or too vulnerable to the weight of the cost. Either way, he seems genuinely interested in the dwarf's reflections; and reaches out to click wooden cups with him, before throwing back his drink.

Spoiler: OOC Randomized Drink, for the sake of fun

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How about I roll a d100 for flavour, and you roll a d100 for strength, Lars? If it's particularly strong, maybe we'll test consume alcohol. If it's particularly bad, atleast it'll be fun to react to. Where 01/01 is the most finely flavoured, most intensely alcoholic beverage in the world, and where 100/100 is the most toxic, least intoxicating drink you can imagine.

FlavourRoll - (1d100)[56] - Not great! But hopefully it atleast has a kick to it.

[bramblefoot]

the party returns to trundheim with great pomp and circumstance. you are welcomed as heroes for clearing the mine, and given 175 gold crowns as a reward, along with free drinks for the night. what's the plan?


khazad fire beard: you are currently drinking in the boars head when you hear a big commotion outside. it sounds like a celebration or a return

[Johnny93]

*Khazad rises from his chair and goes outside to see what the commotion is about*

[bramblefoot]

khazad walks outside. there is a procession of men and two horses headed down the mucky thoroughfare, with a wagon trundling behind. the wagon is laden high with dead, and the procession looks grim and battle-worn

Spoiler: grimgoth

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what exactly is your relation to khazad, and how close were you?

Spoiler: khazad

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you notice grimgoths beard is noticeably shorter and patchier than when you last saw him. gonna rag him about it later?

the party notices a dwarf with flaming red hair and beard walk out of the boars head and look around

everyone is up

[LarsWester]

"...What do you think, Gimgroth? The mine seems to be cleared; no sign of the trolls at all, as if they came from the dark and the air. We have done what we came to do. Not without price. Did we do something wrong? Or is it the best result hope dares to reach for, in such an age?" 'We' in this instance, seems to stand in for Bertelis personally; the more direct question launched with 'I' seeming too presumptuous of group leadership, or too vulnerable to the weight of the cost. Either way, he seems genuinely interested in the dwarf's reflections; and reaches out to click wooden cups with him, before throwing back his drink.

Spoiler: OOC Randomized Drink, for the sake of fun

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How about I roll a d100 for flavour, and you roll a d100 for strength, Lars? If it's particularly strong, maybe we'll test consume alcohol. If it's particularly bad, atleast it'll be fun to react to. Where 01/01 is the most finely flavoured, most intensely alcoholic beverage in the world, and where 100/100 is the most toxic, least intoxicating drink you can imagine.

Strength - (1d100)[69] - Not great! But hopefully it atleast has a kick to it.

Gimgroth grunts in reply. His mood is very sullen and downtrodden. Can't make sense out of it Knight. Does Wighard blame me for Yellow Eyes escape? He had the spell caster in hand and caught until I severed the arm and let him escape. Fool I am.
And after he helped me with what remains of my beard. I have shamed myself in his eyes. You did well against that large axe wielding beastman Bertellis. I regret the loss of your sword that is cruel twist of fate. As Bertellis offers a cup to toast Gimgroth's mind flashes back to Adalwolf. The old man fought with honor. Many foes preceeded him in death. I'll drink to his memory and the many more lost in this battle.
The brandy was average tasting but strong enough to casue the dwarf to gasp slightly. I thought this was a manling drink not proper dwarven brandy.
A drink worthy of the man.
Strength - (1d100)[69]

[MrAbdiel]

Can't make sense out of it Knight. Does Wighard blame me for Yellow Eyes escape? He had the spell caster in hand and caught until I severed the arm and let him escape. Fool I am. And after he helped me with what remains of my beard. I have shamed myself in his eyes.

Bertelis blinks. In a moment of his own shame, he realises he had approached Gimgroth with some internal inkling that the dwarf would serve to reassure him. But it seems that there was enough shame to go around; and he decides, rather than scolding himself for his own foolishness, that perhaps that shame spread around is enough.

"I fear, master dwarf, you are scourging yourself now, where misfortune has done a fair enough job of that. I wonder if the mess we met in the mine has clouded your self-judgement, some. Wighard had seized the witch-man, it's true; but he more likely owes you his life, than you owe him a debt of honor. If you had not flown across the field as fast as you had, perhaps the enemy would have reversed that hold and struck our friend with a magic blade that, for all we know, might have ... turned him to a cloud of bats, as likely as killed him. Against an opponent with an evil weapon, you seek a chance to disarm; this we all know. You did nothing wrong; and in all likelihood, the witch-man fled only to bleed out pitifully, a failure before the altar of his gods. I do not pretend to understand completely dwarf honor; but if you surrender your pride to this, you give the enemy a victory they have not earned over you."

You did well against that large axe wielding beastman Bertellis. I regret the loss of your sword that is cruel twist of fate.
As Bertellis offers a cup to toast Gimgroth's mind flashes back to Adalwolf. The old man fought with honor. Many foes preceeded him in death. I'll drink to his memory and the many more lost in this battle.
The brandy was average tasting but strong enough to casue the dwarf to gasp slightly. I thought this was a manling drink not proper dwarven brandy.
A drink worthy of the man.

He gives an appreciative grimace, instinctively touching the bound hilt and scabbard; a fracture that will not heal except by the hands of a master craftsman. "Thank you. Yet I managed to gather its shards, atleast; perhaps it will serve again, in one form or another. Better the sword to the beast's heart, than his axe to my neck, I suppose."

When the drinking comes, Bertelis fares less well than Gimgroth; his face the grimace of a young man raised in a land of fine wines, whose palate has not adapted to rougher fare. "Worthy of the man indeed." He wheezes, pouring out the remainder from the bottle - ostensibly in Adalwolf's honor, but coincidentally removing any responsibility for him to finish it off.

* * * * *

Bertelis walks, with Siobhan and Abigail seated on Rainier and Abelhard's saddles. His code of honor forbids him to ride in normal circumstances when there are ladies walking; and he is idealistic enough that he interprets that rule in its least convenient, all-classes encompassing way. He has managed to cajole Siobhan into riding side saddle, though Abigail is impenetrable to his preferences, and he has not the spirit at the time to make more argument.

From time to time as they proceed, he raises a hand to farewell one soldier or another peeling off to reunite with their family; most reunions happy and releived; some grieving terrible injuries; some not reunited at all. The only thing worse than a war won is a war lost, Wighard had said. It had not, in the day's march, become less true.

He cannot help but notice the red-haired dwarf as the procession comes past the boar's head; its last members heading off, a group of the volunteers taking the cart off to the Morrites, to plan internment and rites. But with a bag of gold in hand and a bottomless tab at the Boar's Head, the exhausted party isn't going any further than this, tonight.

For Khazad's eyes, Bertelis is obviously a knight. He has a mail coif, and shirt; with a bloodied and stained and punctured blue tabard hanging over it. Absurdly however, that is where the knightliness ends; he is wearing peasant trousers and shoes, which makes him seem like a knight and a peasant had bumped into each other in a hurry, and run off without realizing, embarassingly, they had accidentally exchanged torsos. But he is more than well armed; a shield over his back, with the shape of a wrapped greataxe slung beneath it; a foil and longsword scabbarded on one hip, a main gauche and hatchet on the other. Like everyone else in the train of militia and volunteers, he looks like he's wandered through a few acres of hell to get here.

When he catches himself staring at the dwarf's vibrant hair, he makes an effort to smooth it over so it does not seem disrespectful.

"Evening to you, master dwarf." The Bretonnian - his accent gives it away - nods back at the Boar's Head tavern, behind him. "Have they tapped a particularly fine keg tonight; or will we weary travellers be forced to content ourselves with the usual?"

[Johnny93]

"Evening umgy. Aye the spirits are acceptable".
Khazad replies to the human unsure of what to make of him due to the hodgepodge of equipment on him.
To your eyes Khazad is clad in full leather and a full set of mail armor on top of that, a shield on his back and a dwarven style axe at the side of his belt on the right.
His pierceing blue eyes shift towards his compatriate and a sullen expression comes on his face.
"What happened to you brother?"

[wilphe]

"Remember this thing?" He showed him the bejeweled eye that had been given to them by a dying man in the mine. "It's warm to the touch and I don't know why. Don't wizards have special senses, or something? Perhaps you can tell us more about this object's nature and purpose."


Remember that last time I used my special wizard senses on something we found in the mine my brain near caught fire and I ran in terror

So when I am calm and in a less horrible place I will check this out. he rubs his nose

Consider however, that is an artificial eye and we just fought a man with yellow eyes - those two facts may be related, perhaps if wound up he can see through it

[wilphe]

Wighard is an affable looking young man, who appears to be by far the happiest and most merry looking of the party. He wears only light leather armour and carries a crossbow, sword and shield.

He doesn't look like a fighter, but on the other hand has clearly seen some action. So maybe some sort of camp follower or tradesman?

Or given that his shield bears the symbols of Shaylla and Moor - perhaps a Priest?

[wilphe]

The four of them make their way to report to the elders, Wighard comes to attention and kicks off proceedings

Your worships, the mine is clear so far as we can tell and we eliminated trolls, beastmen and a sluglike chaos beast with no survivors.

The only escapee was a sorcerer with yellow eyes, and his escape was only about 93% successful

He unrolls the blanket with the arm

You can either burn this or stick it above the gates as a warning to others. In any case I shall circulate a description amongst the roadwardens

[-Sentinel-]

Emil stepped forward and bowed to the elders. "The people of your village conducted themselves bravely and admirably," he said, "and their victory will make future generations much safer. You can be proud of them. Unfortunately the battle was not without casualties... I trust the injured and the widowed can count upon the support of their community?"

Spoiler

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Charm 69: (d100)[71]
Fortune: (d100)[63]

Eh. I passed, I suppose, but a larger margin of success would have been welcome. Good thing I was the one to roll that test!

[bramblefoot]

the council agrees to pay decent pensions for widows and the injured.

Olga looks over the blade and sees no taint that she can discern. the blade is of good-craftsmanship with flamberge edges for better sending shockwaves through the enemies arm upon contact

i think we should skip to leaving town we'll say everything is ready and you can all leave

[wilphe]

Wighard will offer than if any of his helpers (Linda, Valentina, Janessa) want to travel with him, he will be happy to have them.

Other than that he will spend time at the shrine of Shaylla and discuss a few matters with the Priestess of Morr as well as penning a report on recent events - one to go to Altdorf and another to go to his sub-order

As Olga reports on the sound he looks to the others, Well on the one hand I am by far the worst warrior here and I have weapons, but on the other should I ever wish to return to the order I would need to bring a magic item or two with me.

Might I suggest Sir Bertelis bear it until he has his repaired, then Emil and perhaps later we may have found more magic and I can relinquish any claim on it?


(I guess there are no more mysterious messages at the inn relating to Drawven stout?)

[LarsWester]

Back in the safety of the village it took two days before Gimgroth's honor could stand it no further and he sought out Wighard. He approached the man with head bowed low. Speaking softly he states Brother Wighard I regret it has taken me this long to approach you but I waited for to bring the offense to me as is Dwarven culture. I most humbly and abjectly apologize for my blow that separated you from your quarry as much as it separated arm from body. There is no a magic user of chaos loose because of me when you had the man firm in hand. Honor places me at your service until such a time as you deem the debt repaid.

Wighard should know from the look in Gimgroth's eyes that release him from this self imposed debt at this time would be a mistake and slight Gimgroth's honor even further.