Badass Dragoons of the Highlands - Turn 4 results

The Iroquois Wars

The desperate, bloody battles to secure access to a rapidly dwindling population of furred mammals stands as a testimony to the shortsightedness of living in mortal bodies.

@Nightflyer v. @ghoti

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      rolls tgt          tgt rolls
 Hit! ( 96) 70 Nor v. Def 30 ( 93) Hit!
 miss ( 28) 40 Def v. Agg 60 ( 14) miss
 Hit! ( 43) 30 Agg v. Rck 70 ( 75) Hit!
 miss ( 12) 50 Nor v. Nor 50 ( 92) Hit!
 Hit! ( 54) 30 Rck v. Cau 70 ( 10) miss
 miss ( 22) 60 Cau v. Agg 40 ( 51) Hit!
 Hit! ( 73) 30 Agg v. Rck 70 ( 27) miss
 CRIT (00+) 70 Nor v. Def 30 ( --) ----
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Evelyn Wolff  (1/5) v. (0/5) Bark McBarkruff

Evelyn Wolff (@Nightflyer) experiences a Quickening!

And even so, the bloody battles between Immortal bodies speaks to a different sort of sightedness. The Prize beckons each of them so powerfully that they would risk their own Immortal existence to gain it.

@penguinchris v. @daneel

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      rolls tgt          tgt rolls
 miss ( 31) 50 Cau v. Cau 50 ( 96) Hit!
 miss ( 23) 30 Agg v. Rck 70 ( 19) miss
 miss ( 21) 30 Nor v. Agg 70 ( 28) miss
 miss ( 13) 70 Nor v. Def 30 ( 97) Hit!
 miss ( 59) 70 Nor v. Def 30 ( 95) Hit!
 CRIT (00+) 60 Nor v. Cau 40 ( 39) miss
 Hit! ( 94) 50 Nor v. Nor 50 ( 84) Hit!  [Zero is Unphased]
 ---- ( --) 50 Nor v. Nor 50 ( 98) Hit!
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NESSIE  (0/5) v. (4/6) Zero Demos

Zero Demos (@daneel) experiences a Quickening!

3 Likes

Well met, @DreamboatSkanky.

In the century that followed, many mortals got us mixed up in their retellings of that duet.

It was you who danced so elegantly, so light. It was you who had the moves that later got attributed to me.

You had them moves of a hammer bagger.

Got them ooh oo OO oo ooh moves like bagger.

7 Likes

An evergreen reminder:

An additional seven Immortals met their fate this turn should describe their final moments for posterity. Non-fatal pairings should feel free to recount what on earth happened that allowed the two of you to keep your heads.

5 Likes

well so it goes…

and it was such a nice opera.

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Bark ruuuuffffrufff woofarf bark

RUFF! Wooff arrrrufffarfarf YIP YIP YIP YIP!!!

… grrraaaaaghhhh…

… gack…

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I knelt beside the still, white body, tears in my eyes. When I journeyed to the New World, I knew I was only delaying the next duel, the next death. I knew another Immortal would find me eventually, and the only way to survive would be to kill. “But why did it have to be you?” I don’t think we’d ever spoken, but I’d admired the plucky little Westie, and I’d never wanted–

----- the lightning took me -----

~the sensation of warm sun on fur~
~running joyfully through the sweetly scented grass, soft under four paws~
~the pleasure of being scratched behind a pointed ear~
~scenting the world, the breeze carrying unseen dimensions of information of the surroundings~
~the rich taste of a fine steak~
~curling up to sleep in a cozy, contented ball~

-----images, thoughts, sensations flooding me, nearly overwhelming me, a life in all its trials and glory, the last expression of a soul, now lost forever-----

~and as the last sparks of the Quickening flickered and faded, she crumpled to the ground, sobbing her heart out, gasping apologies and begging forgiveness from one who could no longer hear.~

10 Likes

[excerpt from The Diaries of Other Pendragon © 2017 by TrilloCom LLC]

I was reluctant to leave Europe at a time of such intellectual ferment, and even considered accepting the the Royal Society’s invitation to join them, but the constant warfare and upheavals dismayed me, and poetry, not science was becoming my main interest. I had heard that in the far-off islands of Japan they had created poetic forms more subtle than the sonnet or even the sestina, so I took ship with the Dutch trading fleet and journeyed thither, where I presented myself to the Shogun and asked to be permitted to study under Master Bashō.

The Shogun was gracious, and even introduced me to Hitomi, a young lady of the court who would be my interpreter. As a girl she had shown a talent for languages, and had been sent away to study. She had recently returned with two of her friends from a ladies’ seminary and was eager to travel, for at seventeen she found Edo excessively formal and boring. I have no doubt she was ordered to keep track of me and report back to Edo, but that mattered not to me, as I was no more than I claimed to be. We journeyed into the mountains, where I implored Master Bashō to take me on as a student.

For the first five years I was assigned to sweep the floor of his study and empty his waste basket, which often contained poems such as I would have given an arm to have written, if it were not my sword arm.

Hitomi proved invaluable, working on my grammar and vocabulary with great patience. In the afternoons she would make tea in the courtyard, a leisurely and subtle art involving many exquisitely graceful gestures. (Her skill at this was such that once, when a terrible thunderstorm approached, she completed the task in less than two hours.)

Another autumn
Dreams of sushi. Rice again
More please, Bashō-san

For the next five years my task was to rake the gravel in front of the master’s porch, creating pleasing curves like the ripples on a pond, although which ones may have pleased him he did not vouchsafe.

In our free moments, Hitomi and I would wander the mountain paths, enjoying the beauty of nature. We had much merriment over the differences in our languages and cultures. I remember one time, as we sat beside a little stream, she smiled up at me coquettishly and said, “Tell me, Othuru-san, have you a katana or a wakizashi?”
“Neither,” I replied. “I have a seax, which is not so long, but which has always sufficed.”
“Ooh,” she said, wide-eyed, “May I hold your seax?”
“Nay,” I said, "It is for my hand alone."
She giggled, and then stared pensively at the stream for a long time.

Countless little stones
Young blossom, is tea made yet?
Grey grey grey grey grey

When five years were ended, Bashō-sama said my job henceforth was to clean his brushes. “It’s a good thing I’m immortal”, I muttered sotto voce, and he struck me with a bamboo flute, at which I experienced a moment of kenshō.

Then one day Hitomi, who had been out harvesting daikon and cucumbers, of which she was extremely fond, came rushing up the path. “Othuru-san,” she cried, “a barbarian with copper hair approaches, wearing a skirt!”

“No time to lose, Hitomi-san,” I said, “make the tea.” To my sensei, who was sitting in the lotus position on his porch, I said, “Bashō-sama, an enemy approaches. What do you advise?”

He raised his eyes to the mountain in the distance and chewed contemplatively on his brush. The fingers of his left hand twitched as he counted the syllables of his first line. I had often seen him thus, sometimes for days, and I could not wait for his reply. I grabbed my sword and strode down the path to face my wyrd.

As I had expected, it was the ill-mannered little Scot I had encountered in Avignon so many years ago. He addressed me in his crude patois. “What’er ye lookin’ at, ye great jobbie?” he began, “Awa’ n bile yer head. D’ye think a hackit scrote like you wiz meant to defeat me?”

With a wild yell he pulled out his strange flail-like sword, sprang at me, and the battle commenced. His four blades wove elaborate patterns in the air, and in seconds we were both bleeding from dozens of cuts. I drew my sword.

Parrying four blades at once is an art I had learned in my youth, but it is tiring, and I wondered if my endurance was enough to withstand him. But you can’t live the life I have led without learning a few tricks about fighting Scotsmen. As he began a particularly intricate reverse-figure-seven move, I shouted “Look out behind you!” As he turned he lost control of his weapon and two of the whip-like blades wrapped around his neck. In an instant I had stepped forward and seized the hilt of his sword. A quick tug and snick, his head came off.

His last words were, “Aw, shite.”

At once, a powerful feeling overwhelmed me, as if my veins had been filled with the strong spirit they brew in the Highlands and I had been head-butted by an ox. A great rage came over me, but also a deep feeling of empathy. “He was a scabby wee bampot,” I thought, “but no sae bad over all, and good for a laugh doon the pub. Oh, so that’s what bawbag means.”

I buried him under the willow tree by the river, where the tom-tits sing. I thought he would appreciate that.

10 Likes

It was my first time in the new world, and I had allied myself with the Iroquois under the half-Dutch Mohawk, Canaqueese.

We spent a long time engaged in minor skirmishes with the Huron and Susquehannock, nothing proving decisive, until I was able to convince the authorities to allow me to sell guns to the Iroquois. Once properly armed, we were able to launch a proper attack on the Huron. I, personally took the opportunity to rid this land of some of those insufferable Jesuit missionaries. They were annoying back in Europe, no reason why people over here should have to put up with them too.

Fighting in these woods was difficult and brought new challenges - however, I was not prepared to be confronted by a monster out of legend, a giant serpent I assumed to be of the same ilk as the mythical Charybdis I remembered tales of from Ancient Greece. When I had studied the maps on the journey over, I had noted that they had said “here be dragons”, but I had assumed those were metaphorical. I was mistaken.

Again, my memories of the battle are hazy. I do, now, however, have a fondness for fish that was not previously present. And I have some strangely twee music stuck in my head now.

12 Likes

By the way, these Yunnan mushrooms are delightful. Such wonderous colours!

I’m bringing some to my next partay.

5 Likes

All the way from Ming china to the Massachusetts Bay Colony, just to mess with the minds of socially repressed young women?

You devil, you!

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You advocate repression
to those who fight supression

You preach salvation
to those who seek liberation.

Dear Mister Coll1ns,
Liberate yourself from such pride,
and such prejudice.

Free your mind,
and the rest will follow.

8 Likes

Mostly that was tripping, I must admit. Tell you what, a rubber pommel comes in rather handy, when you’re flailing around like that. I feel I owe you an apology for that first flurry of blows: I could have sworn your headdress was this jellyfish been stalking me since, i dunno, way back, it seems.

Anyhow, let’s dance again sometime. I’d love to show you my etchings.

6 Likes

The slaughter continues – some by own hand.
I await Halmar/ ElHar Aziz 's @TobinL description of our night at the Opera. I suspect it was the aria in the third act that was the coup de grace.

But never mind that for now; a librarian’s work is never done.

The stance preferences in this round changed remarkably – as the stakes go up, the survivors are getting more conservative.

Round 4 stances:

14%  Reckless
20%  Aggressive
29%  Normal
29%  Cautious
23%  Defensive

The best counter-stances would have been aggressive (vs Normal) and Defensive ( vs Cautious)

The average stances for the eleven surviving Immortals have been pretty even.

20%  Reckless
23%  Aggressive
17%  Normal
22%  Cautious
17%  Defensive

Yours in Truth,

Mr. Collins

7 Likes

Ennis was quite taken by the opera. The spectacle and costumes all quite reminded her of colorful songbirds that performed for just the right well camouflaged partners. She liked songbirds quite a lot.

giphy

Of course, the real finale was the indoor lightning. A sign of a true contest won.

Ennis liked the opera so much didn’t mind missing out on proving her worth to the old gods. However, now Juan won’t stop singing in her head off-key.

10 Likes

Nessie briefly returned to Scotland, only to find that it scarcely felt like home anymore. Her worldly travels opened her mind, and made puttering around a lake less exciting than it once was. Although, she thought, was it really ever?

She hitched a ride with some ships sailing for the New World, which sounded exciting and, well, new.

Making her way up the Hudson, she heard talk along the way of the skirmishes taking place among the native peoples. It took some portaging, but she eventually made it to the St. Lawrence. This great river reminded her in some ways of her home Loch. She made her way upstream, eventually passing through rather a great lake, and was intrigued by the quite fast current of the river at the southwest end of the lake. She fought her way up, the walls of the gorge suddenly, dramatically high, through a whirlpool, only to be confronted by an enormous waterfall. Another portage would be required.

She rode the current down, and found a clear path onto land. As she made her way up the escarpment, she terrified some local Iroquois, but eventually fell in with them. She was intrigued by their relatively primitive lifestyle - after her European backpacking trip she had this strange desire to chuck it all and live in the wilderness for a while.

Nessie joined the fighting, and was doing quite well despite the dense foliage, when the unmistakable stench of an Immortal filled her nose. She fumbled around and got caught up in the trees as she tried to fight. She always knew her long neck was a liability, but had always held her own, even in the narrow streets of Europe.

Rather a sad and bitter end for such a majestic creature to get caught up in trees and be unable to defend her neck in this narrator’s home region, which he strived to escape his whole life.

11 Likes

It’s not off-key, it’s differently tuneful.

And didn’t I tell you that was better than killing people?

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Oh, here is London

The soot fell like snow as I trudged up St. Symonds. The wind had died down, as had the flames and the public house I had hoped survived was just at the next corner.

The building was damaged - but standing - so I made my way in and hopped the bar hoping to find an intact bottle or two. I was crouched down when that peculiar buzzing just at the base of my neck began to tingle. The past few days since I’d come to town I’d been feeling it. I’d known there were other Immortals about, maybe a half dozen. I’d hoped to stay away from the fray and had done well so far. It seemed as if two other had not though. But, I was not as perceptive as some, so I kept my head down and stayed to mysel

Then the door burst open and I knew my luck had run its course.

Home of the brash, outrageous and free

“Oi! Barkeep. Where we s’posed to set up? There has to be a sound check fore we goes on.”

Of course, it would be him. Bottle in one hand, Lute in the other. Wearing that natty kilt and sleeveless shirt, he favored. He walked like that wasn’t his first bottle of the day, so it was probably best to get on with it

You are repressed , But you’re remarkably dressed

I rose from my crouch, the cutlass already free from its sheath. “By Neptune’s Balls, what do we have here?” I began. “If it isn’t some sheep-shanking, haggis-humping, two-bob crooner who sounds like he gargles with gravel.”

“ooh, and if it isn’t Little Prince Namor. Looking for your fish bowl are ye?”

The bottle and lute drop and his sword is in hand much faster than I expected. He either sobers up quickly or is used to fighting drunk. Even odds on that, I mused.

I vault the bar and land just outside striking distance. The dance begins.

Is it real?

We size one another up. It’s been over 300 years since I’ve tangled with another immortal so I go slow. The bastard across from me plays it cautious as well.

And you’re always busy

He lunges at me, but I side step and bring my blade down across his chest drawing first blood. Following through I run outside to give us more room.

I turn to catch him as he comes through the door, but he chose the window. That greasy hair of his catches on the shattered mullions and suddenly I am reminded of one fighting as if their veil was caught in the portcullis. This distraction proves painful as he catches me in the left shoulder, his blade sinking deep.

Really busy

I retreat into the street. The wind is whipping up again and flames begin to blaze. Bon closes the distance. We trade blows and more blood flows. The wind comes from behind me and the smoke and the soot blows into his face. I see an opening and strike as his eyes water and he begins to cough. My strike is good, but my sword is not and that damned Atlantean Steel shatters in his thigh.

Busy, busy

Bon looked pissed. And angry. We had managed to find our way across the street where I picked up a burning board with which to defend myself. When one finds themselves fighting with improvised weapons, you are reckless by nature. And Bon obvious knew that. He pressed on the fight and while I managed to light that alcohol laden kilt of fire, he managed to get me right between the gills.

_Oh, head lopper on fire. All around Sloane Square _

And so it ends. The lightning, the epic sound track and my head rolling around on the ground at his feet. Staring up. Under his Kilt. I still wonder where he got that blue ribbon?

And you’re just so busy

**Busy, busy **

Busy slashing

Oh, head lopper on fire

10 Likes

It was a nice time till this guy showed up during the intermission and cut my head off. I will never know how it ends now.

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Late to my own funeral! Wait, funeral? Why did no one tell me I died. Oh, they did. I was off dreaming about a broken down cart and then some kind of cunning magic involving two wheels and a funny looking chain. It was a nice way to forget about dying for a bit. The cart wasn’t I mean but the two wheeled contraption was. Oh you don’t care about carts or about two wheeled magical contraptions even if they are very neat? See if I tell you these stories again. Oh wait I’m dead and I can tell whatever I want to whomever has to hear me. This is great!

So the prelude to the funeral also known as the bit with me dying starts with me going back to London which as you know is probably not the most cunning thing anyone can do with their time although in my defense everywhere is pretty much terrible and London’s almost like home though totally not because everything’s always changing a lot which is something you’ll understand when you get to be my age. Assuming you get to be the age I got to be which most people don’t not even my gran who lived ever so long. I guess she’d be proud up until the ending bit which was embarrassing and exactly the kind of thing you’d expect. At least this time I had a worthy opponent who fought well and not a trip past a knife into a great big fall where … well you’ve heard that story already and one embarrassing story is enough where I’m the one being embarrassed ok?

I went to London because of this Annulis mirabilis. I’ve picked up a bit of Latin over the years (the English have a self esteem issue so the sh—cra—oh wait I’m dead! I can swear all I like! the Latin is EVERYWHERE OK) but if I’d remembered what mirabilis meant I might have given it a pass. Miracle my ass. Newton is an ass and the only reason he got around to all the stuff he did is because everyone was dying of the plague so Cambridge shut down and he didn’t have all those distractions. Well boo hoo if I wasn’t waiting on tables maybe I would have discovered the three body problem which sounds a bit naughty now that I think about it but who cares because I’m dead now and I can be as naughty as I like.

There I am in London being all very annoyed at having made all the trip for some crappy miracle just because I forgot some Latin and I start to sense like six other dying-averse folks like myself. Maybe it was seven. None of them were flipping Isaac Newton may he rot. I’m starting to think us hard-dying folk are a bit like scavengers showing up where folks are dying. I mean we can’t have all forgotten exactly half our Latin can we? It was shaping up to be a very very bad trip “home.”

I was staying at an inn nearabouts the pub as you do. No seriously, as you do. I wasn’t waiting tables. I got enough coin from some trinkets I sold off the trip with that Mark O guy and I’d been very good with my money not that it counts for anything now although I will say my mother can eat it rest her soul. I decided to see if I could scrounge some grog from the pub from some passed out Londoners (that’s how you get to have money, see; never spend it if you don’t have to) but I never made it to the pub because Jane spotted me in the dark all stealthy like. I barely felt Jane coming and I sure as heck didn’t see her coming.

I managed to get Mightier out of the sheath but only just and Jane hit me with a whollop or however it’s spelled. I thought I was done in right there and then but managed to get in a hit while she was going for me a second time and I thought surely I’m dead now but only I wasn’t—yet—and I managed to get in another one but it was only a normal hit or two and didn’t count for much.

And the next thing you know I’m all dead, see. Now there’s this very nice chap who calls himself the Baron who says I can ride horses with them on this thing they call the Headless Hunt and it seems like a nice thing I might like to do and it’s nice to be included even if the full thing he calls himself is “The Bloody Baron” which is a bit profane but again it don’t matter much cuz I’m dead.

Would you like a beer? No, wait, hahahaha. Get your own beer.

9 Likes