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I may have been in the mess tent, but when I knew others had joined, I felt moved to pen this ditty…
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GM Note: Starting in turn 2, rolls that exceed 100 due to bonuses are now represented as (00+) to obfuscate stance bonuses.
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The Ratchet watches from afar for reasons known only to himself
Yes…
Funny thing battles, never seem to wait until you are ready.
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As a reminder:
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Time has seemed to have buffered our Immortals’ impulsiveness. Stances in the 15th Century much more evenly distributed. Trending a tad higher in aggressive.
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I knew that the strange immortal I knew only as the worker would be almost certain to fight for the Ottomans again. But I also knew that he’d know I’d know that, and would avoid somewhere so obvious as Constantinople.
I needed to search for him elsewhere. I made my way back from China, and became a preacher by the name of Giovanni da Capistrano. I undertook missions for the popes and searched for the Worker in Milan and Burgundy, while ostensibly opposing the Antipope. It was but a ruse as I searched for my nemesis. Eventually, news came that Constantinople had fallen. I made sure that I would be well placed to find him. I responded to Pope Callixtus’ call for a Crusade, raised an army of peasants and marched to the aid of Belgrade.
The castle of Belgrade held us safe for a while, but eventually the Ottomans breached the falls. My peasant army rushed to fight, and I followed them onto the field.
I saw Mehmed enter the fighting, but then he took an arrow to the knee.
At the next moment, I heard a cry, and there he was - the stranger with the plank of wood.
Again, I tried to engage him in conversation, and again he refused. I fought more calmly this time, and although I again had the upper hand throughout the battle, the fates smiled on my adversary and his unusually defensive style, and luck saw him survive, again. We fought all day, and were ordered back behind the walls at dusk. When we came back out at dawn, the Ottomans, and The Worker were gone.
This identity used up, I used the convenient excuse of the plague to fake my death and moved on through the years. Maybe next century we’d meet and finish this.
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Mercifully my account is brief. I met up with two clerics who came a great distance to participate in the Inquisition. They were the ne plus ultra of barbarity and mercilessness, and I learned from them.
I also learned to be less timid and more timely in sharing my travel plans with associates.
Hide the women and children! Content Warning: Inquisition tactics!
They mispronounced my name and called me “Mrs D’oyle” if you can believe it.
https://stancarey.files.wordpress.com/2012/04/father-ted-careful-now-down-with-this-sort-of-thing.jpg
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How odd that the nemesis of that mortal Yowo1, Rachel McGuinty (@CleverEmi) doesn’t appear in the results. Is she facing the Kurgan?
Also, by my estimation, there should have been at least five beheadings this round. Yet NINE of our twenty duelers escaped with a single HP. hmmmm…
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Hey, the dog started it, mate.
Well it’s a dog eat dog
Eat cat too
The French eat frog
And I eat you
Businessman, when you make a deal
Do you know who you can trust?
Do you sign your life away?
Do you write your name in dust?
Hey, hey, hey
Every dog has his day
It’s a dog eat dog
Dog eat dog
Dog eat dog
Read the news
Someone win
Someone lose
Up’s above and down’s below
And limbo’s in between
Up you win, down you lose
It’s anybodys game
Hey, hey, hey
Every dog has his day
It’s a dog eat dog
Dog eat dog
And it’s a eye for eye
Tooth for tooth
It’s a lie
That’s the truth
See a blind man on the street
Looking for something free
Hear the kind man ask his friends
“Hey, what’s in it for me?”
Hey, hey, hey
Every dog has his day
It’s a dog eat dog
Dog eat dog
That’s a good pooch, now.
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Perhaps your moldy old papers do not hold so much knowledge as you thought.
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Yes, but why are our weapons wielding so much damage , but no beheadings? Even your blade, Slaughter, remains unfed. Just as we have seen a mortal pass himself as one ofus, so my records suggest other matters are being hidden from us. By whom? to what purpose?
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I did not journey for months across a great big sea so as to have a decent meal, just to also have to deal with a bunch of idiots who cannot handle their corn beer.
One of them in particular got on my nerves , he carried an odd, awkward looking thing (what is it with these foreigners and their impractical weapons ) and kept trying to put platforms in the way of men at work . One poor ,wide-mouthed mason nearly fell to his death when the idiot ran a wire straight across the poor man’s path of travel .
“Give me patience,” I pleaded with the god of successful hunting and full bellies. Unfortunately, he wasn’t listening, and I knew inevitably the clash would come. Finally, after listening to him use his axe in such a way that somehow made my ears even worse, I gave into the temptations and told him he could put up or shut up.
The young gods did not feel we warranted the honour of being sacrficed and sent a torrent from the skies. He screamed something and suddenly ran off to collect some of the things he had scattered around, as though he feared the rain would harm them.
Once again I could give thanks that I still breathed, but I knew I would have to do better if I wished to remain a survivor.
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Aw, quit your clyping. That’s a lie and you know it.
Great fight, though. Lots of fun, would fight again. 4.5 stars. Woof woof.
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You know, when you see a guy ( @miasm ) try to pass off his vicuna as an alpaca, you don’t expect that same guy to have FOUR FREAKING BLADES on his weapon. Tough.
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Cuckoo Beaucoup des coupes (English: cuts), des coups (English: blows) et des cous (English: necks): the hapless huckster mortal sold neck protectors to the immortals, miscalculated how many would need them, didn’t save one for himself.
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When I got word that Peter Pan and the Pans were touring Machu Picchu for six weeks I couldn’t help but want to get on board, I mean, pan flutes don’t weigh anything, don’t plug into anything, they’re just woodwind instruments, how hard could this be?
Well, nobody told me that there were goddamned huge mountains in Machu Picchu. I mean, just massive. So as I’m literally being spat upon by a llama (lama?) all I can think about is how little I’m being paid for this gig, breathing like an asthmatic and wondering how these guys actually play instruments at these heights. I mean, this was nuts. Like “no brown M&M’s in the tour rider” nuts. But I did pack a little surprise up my sleeve, these Incans weren’t going to know what hit them. A lot of people know about Crimea: it’s lovely seaside, their wine region, the sunflower exports, the seaport. What they don’t know is that the bustling trade region was the major supplier of fireworks in the 14th Century if you knew the right stall in the right market. And I most certainly knew the right stall in every market. When the show’s at 8 PM you don’t have time to wander alleys that are too small looking for the right kind of incense when your keytar player needs to find their mellow groove, you can’t waste that time.
One thing I hadn’t expected to find at the top of the hill when I finally got there was the kites. Apparently it’s a thing there, kites. Huge land murals, which you can only really see from above, it’s impressive, but they have these kites that fit people. Or the right amount of fireworks if you’ve got time, string, and a recent visit to the Crimean Fireworks Palace. Well, with only pan flutes to set up and sound check six hours away, I certainly had the time. A visit to the right local stall (see?) meant I had some kites (string was free, can you believe it), and, well, I had a lot of fireworks.
As I spend the rest of the day setting up it seemed like Peter Pan and the Pans were apparently a huge local hit, which I had not known. The small outdoor ampitheatre was at the bottom of a small hill and it seemed like everyone and their llaama (lamma?) wanted to come by and have a look while I’m trying to get these kites off the ground while keeping the fuses intact. I finally found a local kid who was great and he helped get everything in the air. Totally earned his tour shirt, that kid. But the sound check needed to happen and Peter was suddenly nowhere to be found. Luckily sound check consisted of the sound guy making sure the amphitheater was properly shaped and any loud noise would do, so I pulled out the axe and started in on a little Stairway, you know, just to loosen things up.
Now, I don’t know who was in charge of security, but they failed. Miserably. Maybe it was the llaammaas blocking their view or the spit, I don’t know, but this panflute superfan took objection to glancing in and not seeing Peter Pan and the Pans or something and literally started throwing anything she could my way. Knives, a sawblade, some sword, she had a variety of edged weapons that I found excessive for a calm agricultural society spending an evening listening to the dulcet tones of the pan flute. Her reckless abandon left a few openings to poke back through and, while it seemed like I had the upper hand, torrents of rain came over the mountain and I realized that my fuses would be ruined, not to mention the fireworks. I had to get the kites down or risk everything we’d worked so hard for. Security came along on a few llamamas by then a she fled while I got everything down in time to save the show.
No tour shirt for her though, security kept an eye out and she apparently never made it to the show. Too bad for her, fireworks looked kick ass. Only had one minor issue at the very end but after a full night’s rest I was okay.
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Ah, Orleans in the spring! The birds are singing, the sap is rising and the peasants are revolting…again. The town was under siege when I arrived, some little contretemps with the English. My target, however, was inside - a sweet little wide-eyed zealot called Jean. My father had always told me “Don’t stick your thing in The Crazy, nothing good will ever come of it” but I wasn’t after being good, and there’s a lot of fun to be had if that’s the case. I had also found, in my extensive experience, that a woman crazed with battle and bloodlust was about as much fun as you could have outside of a convent on All Hallows Eve.
I found her at the Shrine to the Virgin Mary, praying for aid and succour. I offered her some of mine but she brushed off my initial advances with nary a thought. I tried a bolder gambit, complimenting the strength of her army and the beauty of her battle lines. We skirmished some and then both tried some bolder sallies. I feinted then, losing a few battles to draw her out. The success let the lust for battle rise in her blood as she grasped victory in her hand. As she finally encircled my forces I counter-attacked and pierced her defences, and we celebrated victory together.
I left her under an apple tree, smiling softly, and made my way back to the English lines. My retreat was complicated by a German mercenary who damn near took my head off with a two handed sword, at least until I tripped him off the wall. After that it was easy to get back to the Earl of Salisbury and declare that the Maid of Orleans was no more. As I left with a fat purse and a swift horse I reflected that he may have misinterpreted my words.
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