Badass Dragoons of the Highlands - Turn 5 results

Larger sums of Immortal energy become increasingly concentrated in the hands of a dwindling few. The 18th century flickers and is gone. Those that remain feel an irresistible pull toward a strange, far off place. As had been foretold millennia ago, the time of the Gathering has arrived.

Quick Links: Table of Contents

[Starting in this turn, those that battled together will receive combat results via PM in a moment. In this topic, players should continue to describe what happened in their battles for the rest of us.]


T.D. Himself became a founding member of the Illuminati
Bag of Hammers became a founding member of the Illuminati
Jane became a founding member of the Illuminati
Mr. Collins became a founding member of the Illuminati

“Bon” McEvoy had a hand in the French Revolution
Zero Demon had a hand in the French Revolution
Evelyn Wolff had a hand in the French Revolution
Ennis had a hand in the French Revolution

Mom acquired a signed first edition of Sense and Sensibility
Other Pendragon acquired a signed first edition of Sense and Sensibility

The time is out of joint. O cursèd spite,
That ever I was born to set it right!
Nay, come, let’s go together.


Professor Weishaupt gathered such diversity of brilliance!

I was so joyful at all I was recording - I wore down five quills in a single night!

The days turned to weeks, and I began to question if the probing professor has thought through the likely worldly consequences of his actions.

He announced that our initiation was upon us. We should all gather to be blindfolded and led as a group to our secret meeting place. How Masonic of him.

Was having four immortals in the same room wise?

There was tumult, and tremendous blasts of light – I don’t think our host was expecting this.

I became concerned, as I felt the now-familiar and hated rush.

I closed my eyes and breathed in, as I adjusted to I carrying the weight of a third soul – and a heavy one at that.

Yours in Truth,

Mr Collins


I’d briefly considered going to Ingolstadt, to see if I could ferret out any of this conspiracy nonsense that Mr. Collins and Other Pendragon were going on and on about. But I discarded the notion almost as soon as I’d thought it. Let the boys have their fun. I wanted a vacation from it all. Paris would do nicely, I’d mused. Fine wine and croissants, fashionable clothes, peaceful walks along the banks of the Seine.

But unrest was sweeping through France, pitting nobles against the clergy, peasants against the nobility. Paris was a powder keg awaiting the spark. Mistake, Yevgeniya, big mistake, I chided myself as I hurried through the cold rainy night toward the docks, and hopefully, an escape via ship from the imminent chaos.

I sensed an Immortal presence just before I saw her appear. A female figure, cloaked in red, awaited me at the mouth of the alley. Ennis. We stared at each other for a long moment. Should I turn and run? Try and defuse the situation, reason my way out of the brawl? No. I would not be a coward. There was no other course to take.

Simultaneously, without a word, we drew our swords.

She came on strong, a swift flurry of blows sweeping through the chilly downpour. I was in trouble. Her skill was at least equal to my own. But I’d faced fierce battles before, and lived to tell the tale. And as she slipped on the wet cobblestones, I felt a brief shiver of hope. I managed a deep slash to her shoulder, then a glancing blow to her leg, and I shifted to strike–

–and felt an impact to my stomach that drove the breath from my lungs. Looking down, I saw it. She had driven her blade through my middle, only the hilt still visible.

No. No! This can’t be it. I don’t want to die–

Through the shock and pain, I felt my lovely karabela slip from my nerveless fingers, heard it clatter to the ground. No longer able to stand, my knees hit the cobblestones beneath me. And as Ennis drew back her sword for the final blow, I desperately tried to spit out a final curse-- Bud’ ty proklyata– but I could only cough out a coppery mouthful of blood as the blade flashed–




There is another path to immortality.

To become one with a faith, through the pact of a blood ritual.

Three others were present when the new world order began.

And I was their sacrifice.



I may be gone, but never forgotten.

We, like les mortales, like to believe we have free will.

But, forever and after, it twas the devil that makes one do it.

@MalevolentPixy v. @guest_account_7

     rolls tgt          tgt rolls
miss (  6) 60 Def v. Rck 40 ( 87) Hit!   [Jane is Unphased]
miss ( 32) 50 Agg v. Agg 50 ( 41) miss
miss ( 51) 60 Rck v. Nor 40 ( 73) Hit!
CRIT (00+) 50 Rck v. Rck 50 (00+) CRIT
CRIT (00+) 50 Agg v. Agg 50 ( 66) Hit!
Hit! ( 83) 40 Cau v. Nor 60 ( 57) miss   [T.D. Himself is Uphased]
Hit! ( 83) 50 Rck v. Rck 50 ( --) ----
---- ( --) 50 Agg v. Agg 50 ( --) ----
---- ( --) 40 Cau v. Nor 60 ( --) ----

Jane (1/5) v. (0/5) T.D. Himself
Jane (@MalevolentPixy) experiences a Quickening!


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

Mr C. is not here. I had thought the prospect of a new and popular book would tempt him to try and snatch it, but there is no sign of him.

A hard time of it I had trying to find the author. The anonymous credit, “By a Lady”, threw me off the scent. It turns out the author is merely the daughter of a merchant, albeit well-mannered enough. Her name is Miss J___A___ , a spinster of above thirty years, neither pretty nor plain, but with a lively manner and a keen wit. She and her family welcomed me kindly as a fellow author, although unpublished, and listened rapt to some of my poetry, until Miss A___ excused herself, saying she felt unusually fatigued, at which her parents and siblings said they felt the same way, and all retired. Country folk go to bed earlier than their city cousins, it seems.

Over the next few days, the family received many callers, keen to meet a newcomer. I could not help but think many of the mothers in the area were there to assess if I must be in need of a wife. One young woman who arrived unchaperoned was a Miss Elizabeth Bennet, a neighbour and good friend of Miss A___ . She is a lovely young woman, and showed a great interest in my background and occupation. She had brought a generous wedge of apple pie for me as a welcoming gift. It was delicious, but on tasting it I felt a faint vibration that made me wary. “The pie, Miss Bennet, is as delectable as your company,” I said. “Tell me, am I addressing the creator of this marvelous bonne bouche, or may your esteemed mother claim the credit?”

She laughed fetchingly. “I pray you sir, do not repeat that to Maman. We are very well able to keep a good cook.”

“Then I must meet this paragon and compliment her myself,” I said, seizing the opportunity.

“Indeed, Mr. Pendragon, do call upon us for lunch tomorrow,” she replied, “and you may sing the good woman’s praises to her in person.”

The next day I strapped my seax under my tailcoat, for the country middle classes here look askance at the wearing of a sword, unless by the military. I borrowed a horse and set out for Longbourne, the seat of the Bennets. Lunch was superb, and I praised it over and over and insisted on meeting the cook. I sensed Mrs. Bennet would rather I praised her daughters, but she grudgingly said, “Very well, sir, but I’m sure I don’t know how to find the kitchen. Lydia, would you show Mr. Pendragon the way?”

Lydia, a silly and flirtatious child, was happy to do so, and led me downstairs to the hallway outside the kitchen door. The harpstring thrum of an Immortal presence was strong. “Thank, you, Lydia,” I said, “I will proceed from here. We don’t want to overwhelm the good woman.” I stepped through the door.

The kitchen was full of steam, and through it I saw a plump woman dicing a mangel-wurzel at a table. She pretended not to be aware of me at first, but then turned, feigning surprise. “Dearie me!”, she exclaimed, “But you gave me a turn. I hope you don’t mean any harm to a poor helpless old woman.”

“Desist, madam,” I cried. “You and I both know what we are.”

At that her expression changed. She snarled and let forth a flood of Billingsgate, effing and blinding like a sailor. Holding a paring knife in front of her, she began to advance toward me. “Huh,” I said contemptuously, “That’s not a knife. This…” but my seax was tangled in my tailcoat and I could not draw it. “This…” I repeated, as she stabbed furiously at the saucepan I held in front of me as a shield (mother would be so proud). “This…”, I backed away, tipping a tureen of mangel-wurzel soup off the stovetop onto the floor, as she threw a colander at my head.

“…is a knife!” I shouted triumphantly, drawing my seax. She let fly her foulest curse so far and threw the paring knife at me, reaching up to seize a great lamb splitter from the wall.

As she took hold of it, the blade glowed with an eerie light, like a will-o’-the-wisp from the marsh, and emitted a ghastly wail. Her blade was enchanted! “Have at you!” she yelled.

“Gesundheit,” I replied politely. “Don’t think, hag, that you can frighten me with that eldritch cleaver. Come at me!” (In truth, I thought I had met my doom.)

Raising the lamb splitter over her head, the beldam screamed “Mind your manners!” and charged, but slipped on the soup on the floor and fell at my feet. Forgetting any notion of chivalry, I swung my sword, and it was over. Her last words were, “Harold, the tea’s ready.”

A great sadness mingled with indignation overtook me. Who would complete the quilt for Mrs. Ennis’ grandson? My fingers made inadvertent knitting motions, and I thought “That little snip Lydia Bennet is no better than she should be.”

There was only one thing left to do. Reader, I buried her.*

*biographer’s note: It is unknown whether Jane Austen managed somehow to make a copy of this account and pass it to her fellow author Charlotte Bronte, but plagiarism is an ugly word. We must assume coincidence.

@old v. @teknocholer

 rolls tgt          tgt rolls
**Hit! ( 81) 50 Agg v. Agg 50 ( 87) Hit!  [Mom is Unphased]**
**Hit! ( 91) 60 Nor v. Cau 40 ( 26) miss**
**Hit! ( 86) 30 Rck v. Cau 70 ( 73) Hit!**
**miss ( 63) 70 Agg v. Nor 30 ( 67) Hit!**
**miss ( 31) 50 Nor v. Nor 50 (  6) miss**
**miss (  5) 50 Cau v. Cau 50 ( 86) Hit!**
**Hit! ( 49) 40 Def v. Agg 60 ( 69) Hit!**
**miss ( 51) 70 Rck v. Agg 30 ( 86) Hit!**
**---- ( --) 40  Agg v. Cau 60 ( --) ----**
Mom  (0/5) v. (1/5) Other Pendragon

Other Pendragon (@teknocholer) experiences a Quickening!

That is so cool !

I learned a new word today!!



Here’s how I see it. Saw it.

As the centuries wore on, so did poor old Number 2. We were both down to a nub, one of us physically, the other emotionally. The thing was to hang on til a suitable replacement. No, replacement isn’t right. Successor.

Secrets! That’s where we’ll tuck away. I’d always felt Number 2 had a coupla good non-lethal scribbles in her, and that seemed just the place to start.

By virtue of irrefutable symbology, I was let to be the Scribe, and for a long while was able to set down on Club letterhead the outline of a novel based on my travels, but people were flowers and the violence they threw at one another was weather and pollen. You had to read the between the lines, literally between the lines. I think the actual document is “Liber Kerzenlicht”, and frankly is a cartload of codswollop. But snuck in there is a rollicking Chapter One.

Brother Spartacus must have discovered this and taken issue, because all of a sudden my motions in Council were summarily dismissed. “No, we wouldn’t be infiltrating candy shops or performing at children’s birthday parties. No, the Feast of the Enlightened could not have biscuits. No, your little flower people story cannot be read at Council.”


But I was sure then, as I am sure now, that the Club is doing all these things, and more we know not of!

Then the Initiation. Oh, Brother Spartacus was SO excited, which should have told me something. All my troubles, all my life, have been due to NOT PAYING ATTENTION. So at the Sword Ceremony, which sort of kicks off Day Three of the whole thing, the face that was so friendly should have been also familiar.

But all I could hear was jellyfish chuckling. I’m not lying. A jellyfish. Chuckling.

Now, I don’t want to take anything away from Mister Collins. That fellow administers a papercut that feels both old and refreshingly new. It certainly ended my earthly wanderings.

I’m sad. I know I was never going to finish that novel, but it was fun pretending.


Ennis had unwittingly wandered into Paris, attracted to the terrible promise of violence that gripped the city like the electric tingle before a great storm. It was like watching the last moments of a proud noble buck, a breath before the hunter loosed an arrow.

Juan was well and quite pleased that they were wandering in a city, instead of communing with the old gods deep in the quiet silent of the dark forests. He had a grand time, happy with bullish delight, commenting on the pretty faces that went by, until the heads started to roll.

Ennis had seen violent things, and nothing more bloody than a troop of monkeys hunting one of their own. But blood attracts predators… and darker things. It was time to go.

They traveled, taking the time to pull up the hood of an absurdly red cloak that Juan insisted Ennis purchase. She felt a bit like a fox slinking, trotting stealthily snicker-quick from the warrens to a safe den. The pitter patter of rain was welcome. It helped deaden footsteps.

It was at this point that Ennis felt the pull of an old soul, one that she would have passed by if she could only rely on her eyes and not the inner senses that blessed all immortals. Ennis thought the woman was quite well dressed and adjusted for the times, hidden like the elusive leopard in the dread silent snow peaks of mountains. For some reason Ennis also thought she had a bit of doggish sort of energy to her… Did Ennis smell wet dog?

Perhaps had she not wandered down this alley, Ennis would have missed her entirely. But she did not and Ennis could only follow what instinct told her to do. The gods demanded blood.

It was a proper challenge and Ennis was intrigued by the curved blade so rarely chosen. It was one that also had teeth and Ennis chided herself to concentrate. They had all the time in the world, but they could be ended by swift strikes not lasting more than handful of heartbeats.

Ennis ignored Juan’s encouragement of using the normal stance because it was obviously the best one.

So the blades sung, and Ennis looses herself in the moment, all metallic teeth, and blood and pain and the chilling rain, and an opening one must take because it feels right, followed by a final solemn blow because it must end cleanly.

Ennis bends her head as the sky splits and sends an omen of Þórr. She finds herself in a confusion of different energy. Her head feels tight and flashes of thought and memory not her own pass by punctuated by a woman cursing and something that won’t stop barking.


This was to be our greatest performance.


Well, was supposed to be. In the end, it was simply our last.

I still smelt of smoke from that last trip to London. Paris was supposed to be our triumphant return. But this Greek fella literally reeked of brimstone and the fires of hell. Zero Demos. “Zero”?

And really, I figured the girl next to him was there on her own.

Singles bar
Got my eye on a honey
Hangin’ out everywhere
She might be straight
She might want my money
I really don’t care, no
Said baby
Drivin’ me crazy
Laid it right on the line
When a guy with a chip on his shoulder said
Toss off buddy she’s mine
Shot down in flames
Shot down in flames
Ain’t it a shame
To be shot down in flames

Hey you
Shoot me, shoot
That’s nice
Shot down in flames
Shot down in flames
Ain’t it a shame
To be shot down in flames
Shot down in flames
Shot down in flames
Ain’t it a shame
To be shot down in flames
I don’t need a thing
Don’t wanna be
Shot down in flames

Yeah, chip on his shoulder. Thought I’d aim at that. Gave it a good couple of whacks.

It weren’t enough.

Then it got dark.

I’m on my way to the promised land.

Yeah, but y’know what?

Hell ain’t a bad place to be.


Ah, the French Revolution. The fall of another empire. How could I resist?

I knew there was a certain risk in traveling there, even for one such as myself.


As soon as I arrived I could tell there were others in the city. Places and times like this always drew us together.

We met at the Place De La Revolution. I was standing near the tricoteuse. Events were proceeding as per normal, when behind me I heard him shout. I think he was asking if one of the ladies would mind knitting him a new hat.

Fortunately for me, he was young, and inexperienced. And Nessie was in my head, offering me advice on their curious native fighting style. Although there was something a little unusual - almost as if he was fighting inside-out, or upside-down, or something.

I had heard that the devil himself had all the best moves, but I had to resort to a few of my own to avoid being skewered. He was very direct in his attacks, so I had to alternate my styles. He’d forced me back and up onto the guillotine, when, over confident, he swung too hard and lost his balance. A quick shimmy, a shove in the back, and over he went.

And the rest, as they say, was history.


[Results 4 are closed and I had trouble posting while on the road. Sorry!]



Harold. why has the answering machine been off? Why are you not answering the phone? Do you know how hard it is to get a hold of you if you don’t answer the phone? What’s more I’ve been worried about you. Are you ok? Are you lying dead on the bathroom floor? Or are you sitting there drinking beer and watching the game? Well, take your feet off the coffee table anyhow. And clean up after yourself.

You won’t believe what your idiot son did on this ridiculous field trip. He pulled the fire alarm at the motel.

As a prank Harold; there was no fire. Apparently his friends dared him, and they all thought it was terrifically funny. Well, the night manager of the Ye Olde London motel didn’t think it was very funny. The police came to talk to Billy and all future class trips are banned from staying here, which is a shame since they have a very nice continental breakfast. There’s lots of fruit, and they have those sticky buns like they had at the reception after Martha’s funeral.

So Billy is grounded. Permanently. Don’t go promising to take him up to the lake to go fishing next weekend. He’s saying home and doing chores, and when I run out of chores, I’ll make up some new ones for him.

Also, I found out who goaded him into acting like such a fool. If was his friend Big Willy. I don’t know why they call him Big Willy, since he only weighs about 90 pounds. Maybe it’s his personality that’s big, because he talked Billy into pulling the fire alarm, and he talked me into not telling Mr Bernardo that he was part of the whole thing. But not before I gave him a good talking to. I really ripped his head off. All kids make dumb mistakes, but sometimes I just don’t know where their minds are. Anyhow, I think he’s learned his lesson and won’t make the same mistake again.

Well, one more day and we’re coming home. Remind me not to chaperone one of these trips again for a long time.

And don’t forget to put the trash out tonight, Harold.



Detective Wills and Detective Anderson drink black coffee at a diner. It is dark outside and they both look tired.

That’s the most fucked up thing I’ve seen this year, and Jensen keeps assigning me any case that’s got a meth head involved or an abandoned baby or or an abandoned meth head baby. Jesus. Or that thing with the clown car crash. I can’t even think about the circus without getting the chills.

Yeah, it’s a long way down from meth heads to a book club gone bad. It’s like some bad made-for-TV tearjerker. I ain’t never been in a book club, but my cousin tells me they’re all just an excuse to drink wine and argue about books.

Uh-huh. And arguing about Sense and Sensibility just doesn’t make any sense at all anyhow. I looked in the trash and the recycling and the six of them didn’t even finish their second bottle of vino. So I’m thinking it was a long standing grudge. We need to figure out who in this town knows both the victim and the perp and figure out what their history is. Or we gotta find the perp.

Well, the whole county is crawling with State Patrol, but I don’t envy the poor S.O.B. who tries to make the arrest. Did you see the stains on the wall? He took her head clean off and it bounced off the wall. Up high. With a cheese platter. That’s power. The Twins could use that guy in clean-up. They’re really sucking it up this year.

No kidding. And did you see the lady’s hand. Dead two hours and her hand still didn’t want to let go of that knife. [sighs] I’ve got twelve years to retirement and I don’t think I’m gonna make it.


They thought I was the perfect servant. Foreign, so no one would believe me if I said anything, not to mention deaf, so I couldn’t overhear anything, anyway.

I heard something, though. When he swaggered in, prepared to take his place in charge of this group that thought it could control the world.

I knew him, knew his reputation. He’d taken countless heads, soaked in their spirits. He thought himself invincible, and with each kill seemed to prove it.

He smiled at me, perhaps thinking that we would be next to join his pantheon. Suddenly, the cacophony I have known for centuries chose a harmony as the gods spoke as one. Not today, motherfucker.

He dodged my first few swings, growing cocky each time I missed. I could not hear his laughter, but I could sense the cruelty in it. It meant nothing to me – gods can be cruel, and what of it? He was but one, however, and I contain multitudes. And they were pissed right the fuck off. My blade bit deep as I did my best to ignore his strikes. I could not have succeeded on my own, but the god of strength aided my arm, and the god of successful hunts guided my blade to his neck.

I felt his shock as the lightning hit, then a laughing irony that he should be brought down by a slip of a girl who didn’t even believe in him. A new note joined the constant whine it my ears, and the pulsing seemed to pick up a beat I had never heard before. And then it was over.

The one who liked soft clothes found me as I began to prepare the body for the pyre. I think he was rather shocked that it was not my body he rushed in to discover. Or perhaps he was just displeased that I was using several of the books and papers as fuel for the flames. He certainly seemed agitated about it.

What? Did you think I came to help these European bastards to form their little club? No. _Let It Bleed


[Letter found in the correspondence of Sir Other Pendragon]:

August 18, 1793

My dearest Other:

I hope you are well and Bombay is not too hot. You’ll be glad to know I’m back in England. Paris was unspeakably horrid, but I did manage to get a few Immortals safely out of France. No thanks to that idiot Percy Blakeney, who kept getting in the way. I actually had to rescue him once. (Swordsmanship my adorable arse—a few francs in the right pocket and a flash of cleavage were what saved his head.)

I had arranged Charlotte Corday’s escape when the ninny decided she just had to strike a blow for the Girondins and got caught.

I have uncovered some more ancient documents in the Vatican Library that suggest that the Whanker (his true name not to be spoken) is older than we thought. A statement from a witness to the burning of the Library of Alexandria describes a strange creature seen fleeing the scene. I’m beginning to suspect that Mr. Collins did not accidentally knock over a lamp while fleeing with some stolen books, but that the Whanker set the fire deliberately. He lives to cause discord, and attempts to foster discontent and greed by his talk of carriages without horses and such nonsense. He is clearly not mortal, yet the source of his frequent returns from apparent death is unknown.

But that’s not why I’m writing. The Whanker is here! I saw him in the street three years ago, talking to a government type who addressed him as M. Guillotin. I followed them to a tavern, where I overheard him lobbying hard to make beheading the only official means of execution in France. Money changed hands. He is obviously hoping that as many Immortals as possible will be caught up in the Terror and killed. (At poor Louis’ execution, I heard him call out, “Jacques de Molay, you are avenged!”)

I miss you terribly, my love.

Yours ever,



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

I have seen Mr. Collins. He evidently came looking for Sense and Sensibility after all, but he must have figured out fairly quickly, as I did, that Miss A___ plays no part in the struggle we are engaged in, despite her choice of title. Yet he lingers.

Now I have observed him paying court to Miss Elizabeth Bennet. I had thought myself well concealed in a stand of trees, but he must have seen a glint from my spyglass, for he gave me a mocking wave.

I had better remain here until I am satisfied that Miss Bennet is safe.

[Biographer’s note: The reasons for Sir Other’s stay with the Austens after acquiring his copy of Sense and Sensibility have never been clear, but this passage suggests he was concerned for Elizabeth Bennet’s safety and reputation.]

[Marginal note, written in a feminine hand: Oh, please. Reasons? How about a nice pair of tits and an Empire waist? You couldn’t have dragged the great ninny away with a plough horse haha.]