Badass Dragoons of the Highlands - Turn 4 results

[Wisconsin_Platt]

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

[TobinL]

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.

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.

[Eve]

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.