>>3361119
>Ostentatious, verging on gaudy. Wherever the Dragon's Champion goes, all eyes should be on him.
Live life big

>>3361119
>>Ostentatious, verging on gaudy. Wherever the Dragon's Champion goes, all eyes should be on him.

>>3361125
>>3361134
Writing.

The Domain's engineers did what they could with the path snaking its way up the mountainside. Evened out the bumps, filled in the holes, replaced the steepest inclines with flagstone steps. They even added tall railings along the most dangerous parts (virtually all of it), which significantly improved the city's statistic for annual accidental deaths.

But they couldn't do much to improve the width. Which, given that even at this early hour the climb is already filled with petitioners, porters, messengers, and all other manner of rabble (there are even peddlers selling cooled water and ointments for aching feet!), precludes you from taking a horse.

It's not that you have trouble making your way through the masses. The moment you showed up at the foot of the climb, a sudden hush fell among those crowding the first ramp and, without any prompting from you or the stationed guards, people began stepping aside and giving way. You're now half an hour into the climb and word of you continues to travel at least a few hundred feet in advance. Up ahead, there is always a row of faces turned your way, staring. In reverence, in fear, a few in poorly disguised anger. Some greet you, some bow, some look away and clench their fists.

It's cause of the robes, clearly. Made of finest wool dyed bright crimson, with ample gold trimmings and intricate designs sewn with thick golden thread. With prominent shoulders that nearly double the width you take up and, peeking out from underneath the folds, the sheen of a silvered breastplate that not only reflects even the faintest sliver of light, but serves to remind everyone that there ostensibly is a warrior buried somewhere under this circus ringmaster's getup.

Having everyone stay out of your way like that almost makes up for the buckets of sweat you're swimming in under the clothes by the time you conquer the last flight of steps.

"You're late!" a fussy old man in servant's finery that nevertheless somehow almost rivals your own informs you the moment you step past the saluting guards and into the mercifully shaded courtyard.

"I'm not," you inform him with just the slightest hint of wheeze in your voice. You're confident you made absolutely stellar time, given the circumstances. But then again, Suule would find cause to complain even had you appeared in a puff of smoke before him the second after he dispatched the message.

"And you stink of sweat," the chamberlain screws up his nose. "When was the last time you even washed properly? Is that any way to present yourself to the Lord Sovereign?"

"I don't think he cares all that much," you say -- mostly to yourself, as Suule walks off suddenly, beckoning at you to follow. "He certainly didn't care that time I bled on him..."

(1/2)

(2/2)
You follow the chamberlain, who does not lead you down the usual route of side passages and corridors reserved for the fortress's residents. Instead, you're taken to the part of Akath Deler's you rarely have cause to visit: the main courtyard and concourse, reserved for those seeking the dragon's audience.

Aside from the increased guard presence, the passages here are filled with supplicants and petitioners: merchants, officials, foreign dignitaries, mages, scholars, priests, warriors seeking employ, but also ordinary citizens: doubtlessly victims of Vancia's bureaucracy, seeking to have their perceived wrongs addressed by the highest authority.

The poor bastards.

"Make way in the name of the Lord Sovereign!" Suule calls out periodically as he leads you forward. "Make way for the Dragon's Champion!"

Megerix never did like dealing with this part of being a ruler. Allegedly, it's why he never agreed to replace the path to Akath Deler with a system of lifts powered by the waterfall that shoots out from under the fortress and thunders half a mile down into the lake below. "I already face an army of solicitors every day?" he'd allegedly rumble. "Why should I make getting here even easier?"

And now, if the envious and frustrated glances being thrown your way are any indication, he's using you to remind the gathered supplicants of their place. "Your access to me is a privilege, not a right," this little scene is supposed to tell them. "There are both people and matters more important than you in this world. You will wait patiently until they're dealt with."

A lesson inevitably lost on some. Such as the portly man with a thin moustache, dressed in offensively yellow silks who steps out of the petitioner line to block your way.

"This is an outrage!" he proclaims, his double chin quivering with every word. "A week! A whole week already, spent climbing this blasted mountain every day just to keep my place in this line. And now he," he jabs a ringed finger toward your chest, "gets to go in first? Enough! Do you have any idea who I am?"

A foreigner, clearly, given the lack of recognition in the enraged gaze flitting between you and the increasingly offended chamberlain.

>Introduce yourself. Politely. Then less politely if that doesn't work.
>Let Suule handle this. It should be amusing.
>Keep walking. If someone gets knocked over and stepped on, it's his fault for not paying attention.
>Other

>>3361377
>>Let Suule handle this. It should be amusing.
Better to let him take out his bad attitude on this guy rather than us.

>>3361377
>Let Suule handle this. It should be amusing.

>>3361387
>>3361422
This is the man's job after all.

Writing.

Peregin Suule is not an imposing man by any means. The offensively dressed petitioner - now that you've had a moment, his garb identifies him as a resident of one of the distant southern satrapies - easily has half a foot of height and at least three times the body mass on the thin, balding chamberlain.

Nevertheless, there is something about the way he straightens out, juts out his chin, and locks his arms behind his back while transfixing the foreign dignitary with a sharp, stony gaze. Something that silences the half-hearted murmurs of agreement in the surrounding crowd. Something that penetrates the dense hedge of self-importance the man in yellow erected around his mind. Slowly, his complaints fade as his tongue begins to stumble over the words, and his sweeping gestures become soft and hesitant - his hands finally falling uselessly by his sides.

"What I'm saying is," the man licks his dry lips nervously, suddenly cognizant of the bubble of silence now surrounding the confrontation. "All I'm saying is..." he withers under the force of Suule's unblinking gaze. "I just wanted..."

His mouth at last fails him and he falls silent, squirming in place awkwardly as the enormity of his faux pas finally begins dawning on him. Suule lets this go on for at least a full minute.

"This," for the briefest of moments, the chamberlain's gaze flicks over to you, "is Oliver Black. The chosen Champion of Our Lord Sovereign, the Great Dragon Meregix."

There was a time when you used to take a perverse pleasure out of seeing all color drain from a man's face upon realizing who - or perhaps more accurately, what - you are. But these days, it's mostly old hat.

You give the man the shortest of nods and the briefest of smiles, and see him visibly shrink back.

Alright, so maybe you still enjoy it just a teeny tiny bit.

"Guard," instantly, a burgundy-clad guardsman is at Suule's side. "You will relieve this man of his token," the chamberlain's gaze never leaves the man's face. "Then you will issue him a new one."

There is a gasp, a few shocked murmurs. A new petitioner's token - so the very end of the line.

The guard salutes, while the man in yellow begins shaking - yet dares not protest, complain, or utter a single word.

Suule isn't even looking at him anymore. He turns forward and says, without even raising his voice:

"Make way for the Dragon's Champion."

You have to confess, this is the first time you've seen so many people doing their best to embed themselves into a wall.

(1/2)

(2/2)

Apparently, the throne room did not need to be widened to accommodate its current owner. The dwarves who built the fortress simply had a weakness for grandiose halls and tall, vaulted ceilings supported by towerlike pillars. All the dragon did was decorate the austere granite walls with panels of marble, enormous tapestries, and intricate mosaics.

Simply reaching the dais from the entrance requires a full minute's walk, but even with the distance involved you can clearly see your sovereign, his massive, claret-red form towering above a handful of humanoid figures, his neck craning down to hear what they have to say.

As you complete your lone approach - Suule having remained back in the petitioner hall - you recognize one of the men already in audience with the dragon. Even from behind, there is no mistaking the bald head and broad shoulders of Ambassador Thraniir of the Maltic League. And it is from the aggressive set of those same shoulders and the way his fingers twitch slightly every now and then can you surmise that the ambassador is not happy.

"All I can do, Lord Sovereign, is pass on the information I was given," the man's voice is perfectly calm and polite, not betraying a single ounce of the tension you can see in his body. "The reports bear the personal seal of the Trade Council - as their representative, I thus have no choice but to act as if they were accurate."

Megerix inclines his head, his gaze lazily shifting toward you for a moment before the ambassador once again has his attention.

"And those seals are the only reason we are still conversing, Ambassador," your sovereign's voice is like the rumble of distant thunder. "Oliver," he acknowledges your presence, prompting Thraniir to turn around and bow their heads in a silent greeting. "The Ambassador accuses me of allowing an attack on a League caravan within my territory - on my highway. What do you say to that?"

Not a damn lot, given that this is the first you've heard of it. However, that is not an acceptable answer.

You've never been much of a diplomat, but becoming the Champion included an (admittedly) hasty education on all things political. Which included a lesson on how official diplomatic interactions are rarely concerned with truth or objective facts: they're the domain of reputation, composure, and power - of keeping face, in other words. So while you may have no clue what the hell this is all about - a fact your sovereign is certainly well aware of - you're still expected to do your part to protect his reputation.

>If there was an attack, then the caravan must've strayed off the Dragon's Highway
>You personally finished exterminating every last bandit, marauder, and unruly kobold tribe in the valley over a month ago. There's no one left to mount such an attack.
>Dead people don't attack caravans in the Domain. And anyone who would is inevitably a dead man - even if they haven't quite stopped moving around yet.
>Other

>>3361592
>>If there was an attack, then the caravan must've strayed off the Dragon's Highway

>>3361592
>>If there was an attack, then the caravan must've strayed off the Dragon's Highway

>>3361597
>>3361606
You stay on the road (and pay for the road) or you get ganked.

Writing.

"Everyone in your Domain knows the rules, my Lord Sovereign," you straighten out, giving Megerix your full attention. "And the consequences of breaking them. If a caravan was indeed attacked, it must've strayed off Your highway and into hillfolk territory. It's the only circumstance under which they - or anyone else - would dare to attack."

"Unquestionably so," Megerix rumbles with an approving nod - incidentally and doubtlessly accidentally completely drowning out Thraniir's objections, you note. "And such is the plain truth, Ambassador. Your merchants must've sought a shortcut, or perhaps strayed off the highway to make camp in lieu of using one of the numerous rest stops provided for just such purpose. Nevertheless," the dragon's tone becomes a shade softer. "In light of the special relationship between the Domain and the Maltic League, I will order a full investigation of the incident in question. Simply to dispel any lingering doubts. I trust this is a course your Council will find acceptable."

"Indeed it will, Lord Sovereign," Thraniir bows deeply. It's pretty much the only thing he can do.

This marks the end of one audience. And the start of a much tenser one.

(1/2)

(2/2)

"Who failed?" the calm way in which Megerix asks this question is belied by the ever-widening web of cracks from where his claw taps against the floor. "Other than you."

The last is addressed to the only other person in the room beside you and your sovereign: Yarra, the dragon's elven spymaster. Who is not having the best of days.

The problem - as she was allowed to hastily explain to you after the Maltic ambassador's departure - was one that had no right to exist.

A month ago, League caravan was attacked shortly after crossing into Domain territory. Allegedly, the attack was carried out by the hillfolk - the intensely tribal and frequently bellicose native inhabitants of the valley, who nevertheless came to accept the dragon's rule (if only after a dozen clan holds have been obliterated by dragonfire). Most of the caravan's merchants and guards were slaughtered, but a few survivors were able to flee back across the pass and into League territory. And after their tales reached the Trade Council's ears, it elected to lodge a formal complaint.

Said complaint, delivered by Ambassador Thraniir, was the first that Megerix heard of the entire affair.

Which created two "impossibilities."

The first being that Kresh Hundred Spears, the closest thing the hillfolk had to a ruler, would be stupid enough to not inform Megerix of such an attack taking place.

The second being that Yarra's spy network would miss it as well.

"It's clearly part of some deeper game," she begins pacing back and forth and gesticulating. "Almost certainly a false flag operation. The question is who... probably the Knights of the Mountain. Maltic caravans used to go through their territory before you made the valley safe to travel. No, wait, that would be too obvious. Who else benefits here..."

It's a new - and entertaining - experience watching the typically calm and composed Yarra get completely blindsided for once. How frazzled it makes the otherwise smug, stuck up elven woman who never has any qualms about subtly reminding everyone how much older, and smarter, and more experienced she is, and how she's been with Megerix from the start, and how she, of all his servants, played by far the most significant part in propelling him to greatness. She and not some stinking upstart who somehow wormed his way into the dragon's good graces and who somehow became the most recognizable figure in the Domain behind only Megerix himself.

Long story short, you really appreciate having a residence in the city, exhausting climbs notwithstanding.

>Let her keep working herself up, this schadenfreude is delicious
>Take some pity on the elf, ask Megerix what your job is going to be

And this is going to be the last post from me for tonight, I'm afraid. Will be back with another post after I get some sleep. Thank you for reading and headache-free voting (so far)

>>3361733
>Take some pity on the elf, ask Megerix what your job is going to be

>>3361733
>Take some pity on the elf, ask Megerix what your job is going to be

>>3361733
>Let her keep working herself up, this schadenfreude is delicious

>>3361739
>>3361741

It's not that you dislike watching Yarra squirm. If anything, you're enjoying it far too much. But being privy to her embarrassment like that can only further hurt relations between you, and you'd consider a spymaster one of the few types of people it never pays to have pissed off at you.

So you step forward and into Yarra's path, which has the immediate effect of drawing both her and the dragon's attention to you.

"My Lord Sovereign, how do you intend this problem be handled?" you ask.

"Quickly," Megerix growls. "You will travel to Darsk and question Kerch on the matter. Find those responsible and punish them as appropriate."

Yarra gives a small, but audible gasp.

"My Lord Sovereign..." she hesitates, as many would when about to gainsay a dragon. "Oliver is ill suited for such a sensitive matter. I have any number of agents who could handle the problem both promptly and discreetly. Should you desire it, I could even go myself and-"

"Yarra," all it takes is the sound of her name to shut the elf down completely. "Go clean up your mess."

The spymaster shudders and bows her head in defeat.

"Yes, My Lord Sovereign."

As Yarra walks toward one of the distant exits from the throne room, Megerix spends the time idly scratching away at the damaged floor, his claw effortlessly tearing up chunks of flagstone easily half your weight.

To think you wanted to challenge that strength once...

"Do you also think I'm making a mistake, Oliver?" the dragon's baritone shakes you out of your thoughts. "Do you think my choice of who to send is guided by anger?"

In the three years you've spent serving Megerix, the dragon has made a point of demanding nothing but honesty from you. From most of his trusted servants, really. But when it came to your relationship with him in particular, you never hesitated to give him anything but the unvarnished truth - while in private, of course.

It was a matter of respect.

>Sending the Champion is a statement. Like having you walk here through the petitioner's hall. Megerix knows exactly what he's doing.
>You may be Megerix's representative, but you are, above all else, a weapon. Sending you practically guarantees bloodshed. But if that's what the Lord Sovereign wants...
>Yarra may have messed up, but a single mistake does not erase a lifetime of experience and honed instincts. This attack has politics written all over it and you really aren't that great at politics.
>Other

>>3362330
>Sending the Champion is a statement. Like having you walk here through the petitioner's hall. Megerix knows exactly what he's doing.
My Lord, with all due respect, I am but your tool. But I am not a tool that you use lightly.

>>3362330
>You may be Megerix's representative, but you are, above all else, a weapon. Sending you practically guarantees bloodshed. But if that's what the Lord Sovereign wants...

>>3362330
>Sending the Champion is a statement. Like having you walk here through the petitioner's hall. Megerix knows exactly what he's doing.

>1
Promising start, OP.

>>3362330
>Sending the Champion is a statement. Like having you walk here through the petitioner's hall. Megerix knows exactly what he's doing
You have my interest op

>>3362330
>Sending the Champion is a statement. Like having you walk here through the petitioner's hall. Megerix knows exactly what he's doing.

"I think you are angry, Megerix" you gesture toward the damaged floor, drawing a grunt from the dragon as he glances down. "But I do not believe you are letting that anger guide you. If I am the tool you're choosing to employ in this situation, it's because you see purpose in it. And I have never been a tool you use lightly," a thought strikes you. "And this is why you're sending me - isn't it? You want to appear angry. You want to make it seem like you've made a... permanent decision and I'm being used to enforce it. And even if we don't actually know who the guilty party is, you're betting on my mere arrival causing them to overreact."

Your sovereign does not respond immediately, occupying himself with grinding a piece of stone to dust between two claws.

"It is possible to master anger. To use it as a tool for focus. Or introspection," Megerix rumbles. "Guilt is much more difficult to control. Too easily, it becomes a vortex, warping every thought and every action for the purpose of assuaging it. Or justifying its cause. Go to Darsk, Oliver," the dragon regards you solemnly with his golden eyes. "And make sure everyone knows of your approach."

(1/3)

File: Yarra.jpg (52 KB, 527x960)

52 KB JPG

You leave the throne room through one of the side entrances, electing to take a less populated route out of the fortress. Yet, to your great lack of surprise, you find Yarra standing in your way.

"What did Megerix tell you?" she outright demands.

The spymaster has taken the time to compose herself and reestablish the usual haughty self-assurance that seems to roll off her in all your interactions. If you didn't know any better, you'd be willing to believe this was just a typical day for her.

"To enjoy my trip to Darsk," you step around her and keep walking. After a few moments, you hear her footsteps catching up with you.

"We're not done talking," she states, matching pace with you.

"But do we have time for chit chat, is the question," you say, looking straight ahead. "I have to pack and ready my horse. And you, I believe, were told to sort out a mess of some kind."

"Yes, I do," you can practically hear the woman grinding her teeth. "Which includes preventing you from turning it into an even bigger mess. Which is exactly what's going to happen if you simply kill Kerch."

You give the elf a surprised glance.

"Who said anything about killing anyone?" you raise an eyebrow. "I'm just heading there to investigate, to begin with. Or is there something you know that I don't?"

(2/3)

(3/3)

"A great many things," she shoots back. "But I had time to think this over and it's all but certain that he's involved in some way. He's the only one who could've prevented knowledge of this attack from spreading. But that does not mean he's a traitor."

"I don't know Yarra," you purse your lips thoughtfully. "Covering up such a blatant blow against our Lord Sovereign's reputation sounds very much like treason to me."

"Kresh is not an idiot," the elf insists. "He's the main reason the other clan lords accepted Megerix's rule. His position and reputation make him a lynchpin. You kill him and the more belligerent clan lords start acting out - maybe even violating Highway Law. The Domain loses its hard-won reputation for being the safest and quickest route across the Cloudrend. And Megerix has no choice but to begin burning down clanholds again. Everyone loses. Kresh knows that. He'd never willingly take part in something like this."

Why does it always have to be politics? You feel the beginnings of a headache taking root somewhere between your temples.

"So what do you want me to do, Yarra? I can't exactly ignore our Lord Sovereign's orders."

"But you can interpret them!" the elf gets in your way again, seizing the hem of your robe in a way that makes it clear that to keep walking, you'll have to bodily drag her along. "You've served Megerix for long enough that he doesn't care about blind obedience. He cares about outcomes. You're being sent to Darsk? Fine! Have your horse throw a shoe on the way. Investigate claims of banditry. Get sick. Give my agents a chance to get ahead of you and figure out what's going on and who's really responsible. Let me do my thing and I'll let you know where and to whom you should do yours. Can you agree to that much?"

>No, you trust Megerix's judgment over Yarra's. Not to mention, you have zero incentive to help cover up for her mistakes
>Well, taking an extra day or two on the road wouldn't hurt, you suppose...
>If you discover Kresh is responsible, you'll apprehend him, not kill him. But that's the only concession she's getting from you. His fate will be for Megerix to decide
>Other

>>3364231
>If you discover Kresh is responsible, you'll apprehend him, not kill him. But that's the only concession she's getting from you. His fate will be for Megerix to decide

>>3364231
>>No, you trust Megerix's judgment over Yarra's. Not to mention, you have zero incentive to help cover up for her mistakes

>>3364231
>If you discover Kresh is responsible, you'll apprehend him, not kill him. But that's the only concession she's getting from you. His fate will be for Megerix to decide
A middle road.

>>3364231
>If you discover Kresh is responsible, you'll apprehend him, not kill him. But that's the only concession she's getting from you. His fate will be for Megerix to decide
>It took 12 clans to be burn to cinders for them to bend the knee. Those she truly believe that shoving restraint is the way to deal with these people?
>Your presence there should help her immensely anyway. Avryone will be focus on us with big target painted on our backs. That's probably dragon plan anyway.
>Guilty will either try to run they will be easy to catch. Or hide and give her time to investigate her way.
Do we have personal guards or are we one person army?

>>3364269
Oliver is very much a one person army deal. Some would even say too much of one, in certain circumstances.

>>3364231
>If you discover Kresh is responsible, you'll apprehend him, not kill him. But that's the only concession she's getting from you. His fate will be for Megerix to decide

How long have we serve the dragon? And how long has he actually rule the valley?

>>3364231
Backing
>>3364306

>>3364241
>>3364248
>>3364269
>>3364306
>>3365093

You make a show of considering Yarra's offer, even though you already know you're not going to accept. Because what is she offering you, really? The opportunity to let her call all the shots?

That said, you're not above making a meaningless compromise.

"Tell you what, Yarra," you smile agreeably and are rewarded with a faint spark of hope lighting up in her eyes. "I'm not going to kill Kresh. However, if he is involved in this attack somehow, I will bring him before Megerix to explain himself."

Yarra's brows instantly furrow.

"Better, but still not a good way to handle this problem," she complains. "When the clans hear about their representative being dragged across the Domain like some criminal..."

"And when have the clans ever been happy?" you begin extricating your robe from the elf's grasp. "These are the hillfolk we're talking about, Yarra. The same people who resisted Megerix until he destroyed a third of their number. So what gives you the idea that showing restraint is the way to deal with these people? But in any case, the one you should be trying to persuade is our Lord Sovereign. For which I've just given you a few extra days," you pull yourself free and begin walking away, but not before throwing over your shoulder: "As my personal favor to you for today."

The spymaster doesn't follow, leaving you to face the chore of the return journey back down the mountain alone.

(1/3)

On paper, Megerix's Domain encompasses the entirety of the two hundred mile long valley snaking its way across the Cloudrend Range. In practice, even sixteen years after he conquered the valley, the dragon's law extends around thirty miles out from the fortress and the city of Vancia, encompassing a ring of farms and pastures that feed the capital. South of that ring, the valley opens up into the fractious southern kingdoms. And to the north is hillfolk land. There, the dragon's authority is recognized only along a thin sliver of land barely thirty feet wide, which nevertheless travels the entire length of the valley: the Dragon's Highway.

Built at great effort and even greater expense, using the best known engineering methods combined with the latest in applied high magic, the project took nearly six years and consumed a significant portion of Megerix's hoard. However, the dragon has never shown any sign of regretting the expense. Because the end result, a wide, almost impossibly smooth flagstone road, which remained passable even in the worst of weather, became the fastest and most direct route between the two halves of the continent - more than worth the toll Megerix put on caravans entering his Domain. Especially since the permit came with the dragon's guarantee that no merchant would be harassed or attacked by the valley's native hillfolk for as long as he remained on the highway - which raised profit margins by requiring fewer guards.

At least that's how it was until now. If there's one thing that Yarra's right about, it's that the incident with the League caravan has the potential to seriously damage the Domain's hard-won reputation as being safe to travel. Which, in turn, could have a serious impact on the state of Megerix's coffers.

And that would make the dragon very unhappy.

(2/3)

(3/3)

You've been traveling the Dragon's Highway for two days now on your way to Darsk. Aside from the smooth journey, you've been enjoying the relative anonymity it brings. With the Highway's traffic being mostly foreign merchants or travelers, the people you pass rarely recognize the Dragon's Champion, instead seeing you as just some ponce on a horse. And while you've long since got used to the reactions you draw from people, not having to see them for once is certainly nice.

Of course, nothing nice can last forever, though in this case you have only yourself to blame. Wishing for a proper meal instead of another helping of trail rations, you stop at a tavern - one of the numerous businesses that have begun springing up along the Highway since its completion. You're recognized there, of course, but the quality of the meal brought personally by the servile owner more than makes up for eating it amidst nervous glances and hushed conversations as knowledge of your identity spreads among the other guests.

The worst part is that you can quite literally see trouble brewing. Hillfolk are, on paper at least, the Domain's citizens and there are no laws forbidding them from using the Highway or entering cities - as long as they behave themselves, of course. However, the group of four, which entered the tavern shortly after you arrived have been glaring daggers at you for the entire time. One of them in particular, a youth with a mop of auburn hair and an impressive amount of scars across his bared arms, has been looking at you with nothing short of pure hatred.

You can tell that, in the manner of all people with sudden doubts about their chosen course of action, the four men are taking the time to work up sufficient courage - or anger - to confront you. A situation that, based on prior experience, you see no real way to avoid.

>Hopefully, you still have time to finish your meal. This is really quite excellent for being simple mutton stew.
>Might as well take the initiative. Confront them about what exactly their problem is.
>Time to leave. They won't let you, of course, but hopefully you can at least take this outside before the making of threats and the unsheathing of weapons begins.
>Other

As a side note, I hope people don't mind the multi-post updates. I'm trying to make them more substantive than a typical quest, due to how rarely I'm able to post.

>>3366810
>Hopefully, you still have time to finish your meal. This is really quite excellent for being simple mutton stew.
Multi posts updates are fine

>>3366810
>Hopefully, you still have time to finish your meal. This is really quite excellent for being simple mutton stew.
Maybe we should start writing guide thru dragon realm.

>>3366824
Supporting a tourist guide

>>3366827
>Oliver Black, 101 places worth visiting and more.
Basic guide thru realm of Great Dragon Megamix.
working title

>>3366810
>Try to take it outside

>>3366810
>Hopefully, you still have time to finish your meal. This is really quite excellent for being simple mutton stew.

>>3366810
>Hopefully, you still have time to finish your meal. This is really quite excellent for being simple mutton stew.

>>3366810
>>Hopefully, you still have time to finish your meal. This is really quite excellent for being simple mutton stew.

>>3366813
>>3366824
>>3366904
>>3366931
>>3368318

If people being angry at you was enough cause to interrupt your meal, you'd have starved to death a long time ago. So you offer the tavern's owner a genuine compliment and keep enjoying your meal, hoping to finish most of it before the inevitable confrontation.

However, you turn out to be wrong.

As you watch the four hillfolk out of the corner of your eye, you see one of them put on a clever expression, lean forward, and say something inaudible that causes a certain degree of commotion at their table. There is a furious whispered argument, with plenty of frowning, gesticulating, and glancing in your direction, especially from the youth, whose expression slowly turns from hateful to anticipatory.

And then the men begin ignoring you. Ostentatiously so. Shortly afterward, they get up, throw a few coins on the table, and file out the door.

They're not waiting for you outside when you finally leave yourself, patting your stomach. They're nowhere in sight as you saddle up and continue on your way. If you didn't know any better, you'd say that they've simply gone on their way.

But you do know better. The guard at a nearby post has fortunately been paying attention and confirms that the men you describe to him have moved ahead in the same direction you are heading. They were all mounted and the guard distinctly saw that at least one of them had a bow attached to the saddle.

>You have ways to deal with ambushes, nighttime or otherwise. Simply move on for now.
>You're not worried about yourself, but you'd rather not have to walk to Darsk if they decide to shoot your horse. Try to force the issue by going off the highway and into hillfolk territory.
>Other

>>3368857
>>You're not worried about yourself, but you'd rather not have to walk to Darsk if they decide to shoot your horse. Try to force the issue by going off the highway and into hillfolk territory.

>>3368857
>You're not worried about yourself, but you'd rather not have to walk to Darsk if they decide to shoot your horse. Try to force the issue by going off the highway and into hillfolk territory.

>>3368857
>You're not worried about yourself, but you'd rather not have to walk to Darsk if they decide to shoot your horse. Try to force the issue by going off the highway and into hillfolk territory.

>>3368857
>You have ways to deal with ambushes, nighttime or otherwise. Simply move on for now.

This is good stuff, QM. Infrequent posts of high quality beat rapid-fire garbage every time.

>>3368857
>You have ways to deal with ambushes, nighttime or otherwise. Simply move on for now.

>>3368871
>>3368872
>>3368892

Soon, you reach a relatively empty stretch of the road and turn your horse onto a gravel path, following it until the slope of a hill hides your from view from the Highway. You're now in a natural depression with limited lines of sight. There is even a nearby copse of trees within easy bowshot range. You're hard-pressed to imagine a better place to tempt the men into approaching you, so you dismount, secure your horse, and sit down on a large rock you spot close by.

It takes nearly an hour for the hillfolk to show themselves. You chalk it up to a perfectly justified excess of caution. Three of them crest the hill led by the youth you took note of earlier, who is attempting the kind of swagger that would require at least twenty more pounds of muscle to pull off convincingly. Which is not to say he looks weak. Just young and hotheaded. At his side hangs a sword with an elaborate hilt that he keeps thumbing at as he walks.

Both his companions are older. The one with the thick black beard has two axes strapped to his belt, while the last one, who looks old enough to have fathered the other two, carries a large round shield and a spiked warhammer. And the fourth, the archer presumably, is nowhere to be seen.

All of them are wearing little in terms of armor, other than the traditional sheepskin garb of the hillfolk. And while all of them carry themselves with the air of blooded fighters, your headband detects no enchantments on their garb or weapons, which means that even if there are any, they're likely too weak to matter.

In your opinion, you have nothing to fear from these men - even if they may think otherwise. So now that they took the bait...

>You might as well hear out whatever grievances brought them here
>This will end in a fight one way or another and their reasons for it don't really interest you. Make the opening strike
>Other

>>3369026
>You might as well hear out whatever grievances brought them here
>"If you must know, I'm very busy with my work, but I think I can fit your issues in... oh, I'm free on Friday at five in the evening. How does that sound to you, gentlemen?"

>>3369026
>This will end in a fight one way or another and their reasons for it don't really interest you. Make the opening strike

Jaded, "seen it all" protag a go.

>>3369026
>You might as well hear out whatever grievances brought them here
Don't kill them break their hands and lead them on or strap them to horse and pull them behind us. Dragon demanded that we must let them know that we are coming leding bunch of prisoners thru every town would make that effect

>>3369026
>>This will end in a fight one way or another and their reasons for it don't really interest you. Make the opening strike

>>3369026
>>You might as well hear out whatever grievances brought them here

>>3369026
>You might as well hear out whatever grievances brought them here

>>3369026
>You might as well hear out whatever grievances brought them here

PR is important.

>>3369172
PR? We're about to kill these jokers.

>>3369026
>>This will end in a fight one way or another and their reasons for it don't really interest you. Make the opening strike

>>3369026
>You might as well hear out whatever grievances brought them here

>>3369029
>>3369054
>>3369096
>>3369140
>>3369172
>>3370060
It's going to be about someone you killed, isn't it? It usually is.

>>3369032
>>3369074
>>3369186
Heard it all before. Don't care.

"I'll hear what you have to say," you call out to the men once they're close enough. "But only if those weapons of yours stay sheathed. They come out - it means talking time is over."

In the course of the many audiences and official functions you've been forced to attend, you've noticed that Megerix's favored tactic was immediately seizing control of a conversation by establishing some arbitrary ground rule for the other party to abide by - even if it was a completely innocuous one.

The three men twitch nervously, perhaps surprised to be addressed so directly and, for a moment, their hands do stray to their belts. But then the youth straightens out, relaxing his posture, and the other two follow his lead.

"I wouldn't think this would matter to the vaunted Dragon's Champion," he puts on a mocking sneer. "After all, what does he have to fear from mere men?"

"It's a matter of politeness. You don't see me waving weapons at you," you raise your hands, palms forward, showing the hillfolk that they are indeed empty. You're almost certain none of them noticed or cared that while you waited for them, you switched your riding gloves out for fully articulated gauntlets. "But the day's getting old and I'm sure we're all busy men. So please, let's hear whatever grievances brought you here."

Controlling the conversation means being able to set and change its pace, which in turn means that the other party becomes more concerned with adjusting to it than with forcing through their own agenda. At which point you can do pretty much what you want with them.

All of which would've been a lot more relevant in a public setting - if the hillfolk have decided to force a confrontation at the tavern, in front of witnesses, say. Right now, what you mostly want is to get all of this over with fairly quickly.

The youth's sneer is replaced with a frown, his almond eyes darkening as his anger comes to the fore. He steps forward, his lips curling back to reveal his teeth.

"I am Eric Calaigh!" he declares loud enough to make it a shout. "Of Clan Calaigh. And my grievance with you, servant of the beast, is the murder of my uncle, Tomas Calaigh!"

And you look back at him, eyebrows raised, your expression open and sincere, and you shrug helplessly:

"Never heard of him."

(1/3)

Eric comes within a breadth of breaking the no drawn weapons rule, his hand instantly on the hilt of his sword. Fortunately for him, the older of his companions is a hair quicker, grabbing him by the bicep.

"Do you deny the accusation?" the old hillfolk asks, his face expressionless, but his voice firm.

"What? No, not at all," you shake your head. "I just never heard the name before. Granted, most of the people I end up fighting don't bother introducing themselves the way Eric here did. So you'll have to narrow this down for me a bit. If you know the place or time..."

"Meallan's Rock," Eric practically snarls. "During the third month of winter, you-"

"Oh, that bunch. Yeah," you nod. "Around twenty of them? Decorated their hideout with banners... a sword of some kind? I think it was red. They've been raiding villages around Vancia for supplies and became notable after ambushing and defeating the Dragonguard unit sent after them. So I was called in instead. To be fair, I did ask them to surrender, but they threw down their weapons only after there were five of them left. I did take them prisoner and hand them over to the guard, but then I got called away to deal with some ogres, so I don't know what happened to them," you shrug. "But they were bandits and guilty of multiple crimes against the Domain, so you can probably guess."

The most interesting part of the story, you feel, is the various colors Eric's face progresses through in its recounting. From red, to pale, to red again, which deepens until it becomes almost purple.

"My uncle was not a bandit!" he explodes at you the moment you're done. "He was a clansman fighting for the freedom of his people! He sought to throw off the yoke of the beast's tyranny! Sacrifices of men like him will be remembered and honored across every hall once Bayye Ghlenn is finally free of its taint!"

"And it begins with the death of those who willingly serve 'the beast,' right?" you're not even bothering to hide the mockery in your voice anymore. "You know, I think I actually remember your uncle now. He delivered that same rant at me, almost word for word."

There is a metallic scrape as Eric's sword leaves its scabbard. The other two men back grab their weapons - but, to their credit, don't draw them quite yet. For your part, you do nothing to change your relaxed, nonthreatening posture.

"Talking time's over now," you state. "Drawing a weapon on a state official is a crime, by the way. But... I'm willing to overlook it cause you're young and an idiot," and because there are no credible witnesses to this violation of Domain law - you omit to add. "You know who I am and what I can do - you don't stand a chance against me in a fight."

"The men I brought with me are few, but they've all sworn an oath to end your life," Eric spits. "They all have grievance with you. Family slain. Friends murdered. And," he grins a wolfish grin, "we've discovered your weakness!"

"Blackcurrant wine and perky breasts?"

(2/3)

(3/3)

Their blank, confused expressions almost make this whole waste of time worth it.

"You mock us, servant of the beast," Eric rallies gamely. "But though you are as much a monster as the one who holds your chain, I know that your power needs time to build. And for as long as you appear human, you are still slain as easily as any man."

You give the man's statement due consideration as he licks his lips nervously, staring you down. His companions silently draw their weapons and begin fanning out.

"You're correct," you nod sagely. "By far the safest and most reliable way to kill a channeler is before he calls on his power: ideally attacking from ambush and with overwhelming force. However, this conversation we've been having has given me more than enough time to begin channeling," you stand up, grunting quietly as your stiff leg muscles protest at the sudden movement. "So why do you think I haven't done so yet?"

"Because you think we are beneath you. You underestimate the strength of Bayye men!"

"Of course," you chuckle. "That must be it. How silly of me."

You haven't missed the hand signal the bearded man made when he thought your attention was occupied with Eric. You are, however, surprised by the angle at which the whizzing arrow strikes you in the chest - you were certain the archer would have hid in that copse of trees.

However, still not as surprised as the three hillfolk when the arrow bounces off the hem of your robe, hags in the air for a moment while wobbling madly, and then harmlessly falls to the ground.

"You see, my Lord Sovereign was well aware of this weakness of mine," you drawl casually. "So, in his wisdom, he saw fit to pay for enchanted items that would protect me against the exact scenario I just described."

The three men hesitate for a long moment and in their eyes you see realization and fear battle against resolve. Briefly, it seems like the former may win out. But then...

"For Clan Calaigh!" Eric roars, leaping forward. "For Bayye Ghlenn!"

Well, you did give him a chance...

>He doesn't deserve a second one. Kill him and his men.
>Even idiots have their uses. Keep at least a couple alive. For now.
>Other

>>3371667
>>Even idiots have their uses. Keep at least a couple alive. For now.
We still need info.

btw, shouldn't the thread be in permasage by now? Did the 72h limit get extended at some point?

>>3371667
>Even idiots have their uses. Keep at least a couple alive. For now.

>>3371667
>He doesn't deserve a second one. Kill him and his men.

This is and will continue to be a waste of our time. Just kill the morons and move on. They're unlikely to know anything relevant. Prisoners are annoying and bothersome.

>>3371672
Presumably it did. I'm just glad it's still coming.

>>3371672
It's up to 5 days now.

>>3371667
>He doesn't deserve a second one. Kill him and his men

>>3371667
>He doesn't deserve a second one. Kill him and his men.

>>3371701
>>3371709
>>3371740
>murderhobos
y tho

>>3371667
>He doesn't deserve a second one. Kill him and his men.

>>3371667
>Even idiots have their uses. Keep at least a couple alive. For now.

>>3371667
>Even idiots have their uses. Keep at least a couple alive. For now.

>>3371667
>Even idiots have their uses. Keep at least a couple alive. For now.
Our lord demands that we
>"And make sure everyone knows of your approach."
Lets drag them along and execute them in some hillfolk town. Should be a better effect

>>3371667
>He doesn't deserve a second one. Kill him and his men.

>>3371667
>>Even idiots have their uses. Keep at least a couple alive. For now.

>>3371919
Supporting this.

>>3371671
>>3371698
>>3371861
>>3371880
>>3371919
>>3372137
>>3372355
Killing people in private is a waste. Execute them in public to make a point instead!

>>3371701
>>3371709
>>3371740
>>3371824
>>3372044
It's getting late and you have shit to do.

You use your forearm to deflect an overhead swing aimed at your head. The enchantment holds easily - all you feel is a slight pressure. Before Eric can recover, you step forward, your arm snaking around his, the other latching onto his vest. You then pivot in place, throwing him at his bearded companion, who barely has time to spread his arms open before both of them go down in a tangle of bodies.

"So what's your story?" you turn on the older man with the warhammer. "Also a dead relative?"

"My son..." for a moment, grief flickers across his mask of grim resolve.

"Fair enough," you nod and rush forward. The hammer bounces off your side and you deliver a front kick squarely to the center of the shield. There is a loud crack and the man is sent sprawling with a cry of pain.

An arrow whizzes past you and you finally notice the archer, some way up the hill. Now that the fight has broken out, he's broken cover in lieu of a better shooting position.

Eric and the axeman are back on their feet. They both rush you and for a few moments you endure a torrent of blows as they dance in and out of range, switching up angles, tempos, and footwork in a surprisingly coordinated and lethal dance. You focus on blocking or deflecting attacks aimed at your head, completely ignoring those that harmlessly bounce off your enchanted robes.

"Clan Calaigh?" something falls into place in your memory. "As in, the tenth dead clan?"

"Still alive!" Eric snarls, trying to sever your knee. "Still fighting!"

"By the time Megerix got to you, the other clans were already starting to fall in line," you muse amidst the rain of attacks. "By then everyone realized that there was no stopping him. No fighting him. That submitting to the dragon was the only sensible option," the axeman stumbles in his footing on some loose gravel and you're on him in an instant, breaking his nose and sending him sprawling with a backhand. "All save for the last few holdouts. The idiots," you smirk at Eric, who's by now breathing heavily. "Dead idiots, now."

Your taunt has the predictable result.

"As long as I live!" the hillfolk charges you with an enraged scream. "Clan Cal-egh!"

He folds around the fist you plant in his gut. You wrench the sword out of his hand, break his wrist and throw him to the ground, where he begins coughing and throwing up. But as you're lining up a kick to break a few of his ribs, a pair of muscular arms wraps itself around your torso from behind, binding your own limbs against it.

"Brendan! The head!" the axeman restraining you yells.

And the older hillfolk, his shield broken, one arm hanging uselessly by his side, runs at you and leaps into the air with a fierce battlecry, delivering a mighty overhead swing straight at your uncovered, unprotected head.

Which stops half an inch from your upturned head, bouncing off a wall of invisible force.

Before the old man can recover, you kick him in the groin. Hard. Hard enough to feel something give way.

(1/2)

(2/2)

"The thing is," you explain as Brendan collapses to the ground, all color draining from his face, "people don't keep fighting when they're clearly outmatched. Rare exceptions notwithstanding," you grunt slightly as you begin forcing the axeman's arms apart, "they choose to save their life. They break," you punctuate that by elbowing your grappler under the chin and throwing him to the ground. "And they run. Like he's doing right now."

You point toward the archer who is indeed sprinting away at an angle, trying to put the crest of the hillside between you. You aim carefully and there is a small pop as a bright yellow bolt zooms out of your gauntlet. A few moments later, it catches the man in the thigh, not quite but almost literally cutting his legs out from under him.

"You thought there was a gap in my defense," you turn back to your now captive audience. "And so you fought. Which spared me the trouble of having to chase you down."

The axeman spits curses at you while crawling along the ground, trying to reach his weapons. You stomp on his hand a few times, feeling finger bones give way under your heel. After a moment of consideration, you seize his arm and wrench his shoulder out of its socket.

You then walk over to the older hillfolk, who's sucking in slow, agonized breaths through his teeth, his good hand cupped around his groin. Crushed pelvis - unable to walk and dead from internal bleeding by nightfall.

You cave in his temple with his own hammer.

"Murderer!" Eric cries out, lips caked in vomit, eyes blinking back helpless tears. "Monster!"

"You need new material," you reply, looking off toward the fallen archer who's now trying to crawl away. Probably dead of blood loss soon as well. Probably. And if you walk over there to finish him off, the two you have here might try to run. And you don't want to cripple them, cause then you'll have to carry them.

You resolve the conundrum by firing off a few more bolts at the man, until he stops moving. It drains most of the power reservoir, but eh, it regenerates quickly enough.

"No!" Eric is outright weeping now. "You'll pay. I'll make you suffer for all you've done, monster. I swear it on the name of Eric Calaigh!"

"Yeah, sure," you shrug and walk over to your horse, retrieving a pair of manacles and a length of rope from one of the saddlebags. You return to the two men still alive and show them what you brought. "But first I'm going to tie you both up and start carving parts off your friend here until you break and tell me what I want to know."

>Any questions in particular you want to ask?
>Else, it will be the standard set of who, why, how, etc.

>>3375358
>"Sorry for cutting your revenge and all, but did you really think this would fix anything?"
>Else, it will be the standard set of who, why, how, etc.

Interesting, seems like our real danger is turning into some kind of monster, not being an uberwarrior. Though clearly we're superhuman physically in some way other than that. Barely even out of breath, almost casually bantering in combat, shattering a pelvis with a kick to the nuts. Probably more skilled than any one of these people, too. How much of any of this is magic is, of course, up for debate. We're walking around in an invulnerable clown costume with articulated magic-shooting gauntlets, after all.

>>3375358
>Else, it will be the standard set of who, why, how, etc.
Torture them. Even if they talk.

>>3375530
>>Else, it will be the standard set of who, why, how, etc.
Supporting

>>3375358
>Standard battery

>>3375530
>>3375543
>>3375605
>>3378408

Eric breaks quickly. Had you gone for him, he'd have resisted you out of sheer spite, but for his type seeing his friends being hurt is simply unbearable. A couple fingers and half an ear is all it takes.

Unfortunately, all your effort gets you is information that you more or less figured out on your own. Eric and his companions were yet another group of hillfolk with personal grievances against you and Megerix. Your encounter was sheer chance - they saw you on the road, followed you to the tavern to make sure it was you, and then let their hatred and overconfidence overcome their common sense. And you are all but certain that this is as far as it goes: these were not assassins sent by Kresh or whatever third party Yarra imagined to be behind the caravan attack. Just a bunch of idiots with a grudge.

Which is not to say they can't be useful idiots.

"So, just out of pure curiosity," you ask Eric while roughly dressing his and his companion's wounds. "What did you imagine getting revenge on me would accomplish? Let's say you somehow did manage to kill me: what happens next?"

The sullen silence coupled with the blank look makes it painfully clear that Eric did not in fact think that far ahead.

"Here's what happens: Assuming you're smart, you accept this small victory and flee the valley to escape Megerix's wrath. Cause he would be angry. Not about me being dumb enough to get myself killed, mind you: just about the blow to his reputation. Then you spend the rest of your days in exile, constantly checking over your shoulder for the dragon's assassins. Not a very fun fate, if you ask me."

Eric simply glowers at you.

"But, as we've already established, you're not very smart," you smile at him. "So what actually happens is you boast about your accomplishment far and wide and become a celebrated hero of your people, hailed as the slayer of the Dragon's Champion. Suddenly, for the first time in years, there is hope for the hillfolk. Hope that there is someone who can resist and stand up to - perhaps even defeat the dragon. Your people grow bolder and begin attacking Megerix's soldiers and officials. And, to their surprise, the dragon's response is sluggish and ineffective. Rumors spread that Megerix is weak or ill. So even more people flock under your banner - and perhaps even some clansbegin openly declaring their support for the future king of Bayye Ghlenn."

Suddenly, your smile disappears.

"And then, once you gather your people for war, Megerix emerges from his fortress. And he kills you all in one go. Cause all you did was save him the trouble of revealing all those who continue to oppose his rule."

You pat Eric on the shoulder and he flinches away.

"And the reason I know all that? Megerix told me. He explained exactly how he'd use my death. He always knows how to turn a loss into a win," you nod slowly - mostly to yourself. "It's why I respect him. Why I serve him, in fact."

(1/2)

(2/2)

There was a time in your life when you weren't even aware of the concept of "expedited justice." As the Dragon's Champion however, one of the privileges you've gained was the ability to cut through entire swathes of bureaucratic twaddle that often stands in the way of getting things done. And so it is that after you ride into the next settlement on the road to Darsk, your two prisoners in tow, you're able to have them accused, judged, and sentenced in the span of an hour, with the execution to be carried out the very next day.

There is some minor grumbling from the magistrate about how such events should be scheduled at least a week in advance to give time for word to spread and how this hurts the local economy by not letting the local peddlers and crafters build up enough stock, but ultimately he has no choice but to go along with what you want.

The following day is overcast, heavy gray clouds hanging low enough to obscure the surrounding mountain peaks. But the executioner's block being prepared still manages to draw a small crowd that, as noon approaches, swells with travelers deciding on an early midday break.

Finally, the hour arrives, Eric and his companion are led out and presented, bound and gagged - to the visible disquiet of the hillfolk present in the crowd. However, you took the precaution of summoning a squad of guards from a nearby outpost, so you're confident in any riot attempt being quickly squashed.

The village's magistrate reads out their list of crimes, which includes conspiracy, attack on a government official, and attempted murder - as well as a few things you don't recall mentioning, such as horse theft, vandalism, and rape.

Eric and his companion are executed and the rabble cheers as the executioner raises their severed heads for all to see. But before the usual post-execution festivities can begin, you yourself step onto the platform and call for attention. Almost immediately, a hush falls over the crowd - all eyes are on you.

Most of your short speech is a toned down, solemn condemnation of Eric's actions, along with some pithy statement about how blood feuds and grudges in Megerix's Domain have only one possible outcome - here you motion to the headless corpse. However, as your speech reaches its conclusion...

>You mention you're heading for Darsk next, to deal with unspecified "problems"
>You strongly imply that Darsk or its leadership are guilty of treason and that you're being sent there do deal with it in a decisive manner
>You mention Kresh by name and state that his recent conduct has sorely disappointed and angered Megerix
>Other

>>3379349
>>You strongly imply that Darsk or its leadership are guilty of treason and that you're being sent there do deal with it in a decisive manner

>>3379349
>You mention you're heading for Darsk next, to deal with unspecified "problems"

>>3379349
>You mention you're heading for Darsk next, to deal with unspecified "problems"

>>3379349
>>You strongly imply that Darsk or its leadership are guilty of treason and that you're being sent there do deal with it in a decisive manner

>>3379349
>You mention you're heading for Darsk next, to deal with unspecified "problems"; you strongly imply that Darsk or its leadership are guilty of treason and that you're being sent there do deal with it in a decisive manner

>>3379349
Supporting this>>3379390

>>3379349
>You mention you're heading for Darsk next, to deal with unspecified "problems"

We did tell the spymaster we’d give her a chance to get her ducks in a row before we kicked the doors down.

>>3379349
>Unspecified problems in Darsk

>>3379349
>>You strongly imply that Darsk or its leadership are guilty of treason and that you're being sent there do deal with it in a decisive manner

>>3379362
>>3379364
>>3379891
>>3380036
There are "problems" at Darsk.

>>3379355
>>3379372
>>3380208
There is treason at Darsk.

>>3379390
>>3379561
There's both, apparently.

>>3379891
>give Yarra time
Nah, in fact, that specific option did not receive a single vote.

I don't trust the spymaster anyways. We should take care to gather all evidence and prepare to bring her down once we return.

>>3381408
Voting for "problems"

"...unfortunately, there will always be those who'll think they have the right to defy our Lord Sovereign and the rule of law. Even the city of Darsk, tasked with overseeing and protecting the northern pass, is not immune to its share of problems. Problems that, in recent times, have grown too large to be ignored," you pause for a beat. Up to this point, your speech has been all business, with a deep frown creasing your brow. But now, you allow your expression to soften, the frown being replaced by a half-smile as you spread you arms in a shrug. "But, I suppose, this is why our Lord Sovereign has me."

You leave the village an hour later, after a light lunch. You take it easy on the horse for the rest of the day - you want to make sure the news has a chance to get slightly ahead of you.

But only slightly.

---------------------

Darsk is a complete accident of a city. It began as a mercenary camp in no man's land - a place where free companies and sellswords would winter over before another season of trading blood for gold in the internal wars and disputes of the Maltic League. After Megerix established his Dominion and defined its borders, it became a military outpost protecting the northern pass and the work crews hired from the League to work on that section of the Dragon's Highway. But it didn't grow into a proper city until Kresh Hundred Spears was allowed to build his new clanhall here.

Although calling Darsk proper anything is a complete stretch, you remark inwardly as you ride in through the crooked wooden gate. It's a rough place with its roots still firmly planted in the time it was nothing but a collection of taverns and brothels entertaining bored fighting men through the winter months. Even the Dragon's Highway seems to shy away from it, circling around the city from the east - as an immediate consequence, ankle-deep mud now squelches under your horse's hooves.

It goes without question that your arrival's been noted. For starters, the way your brightly colored robe clashes with the drab environs puts you in mind of a bird of paradise being thrown into a paddock of hogs - an image only reinforced by the city's smell. But even beyond that, there is an underlying and unmistakable tension permeating the air. As intended, your arrival has been expected.

And feared, if you are to trust the contents of the message delivered to you by a yazir this morning. Its seal was blank and the message itself was unsigned, but it described the developments in the city since yesterday - which you assume was when the news of your approach arrived.

(1/2)

(2/2)

Making your little speech as nonspecific as you did seemed to have kicked the proverbial hornet's nest. Any number of underworld figures, suspected criminals, and citizens of questionable repute have disappeared - either gone into hiding or outright fled. A fire broke out in one of the League liaison offices, with the suspected cause being the hasty burning of documents. A junior magistrate and a Dragonguard corporal were each found dead in their respective beds, their throats cut ear to ear.

The latter in particular promises to be a downright mess to sort out and you're happy in the knowledge that it isn't going to be your mess.

The part of the message you considered most pertinent described the actions taken by Kresh. The clan chief and de facto leader of Drask has done two things since yesterday. For one, he concluded a long-running set of negotiations with a group of sellswords he's been trying to contract as bodyguards: two men, a woman suspected to be a high mage, and an elf.

For two, overnight, he sent his wife and children out of the city with a guard detail of at least thirty men.

You're no genius, but it doesn't take one to figure out that these are not the actions of a man with a clear conscience.

The most troubling part of the message by far is the news of the high mage. The nature of their craft makes them - in theory - weak in direct confrontations, lacking both speed and flexibility in terms of what they can bring to bear. Their domain is enchantment - such as your robes and gauntlets. This does mean however that if she expects a confrontation, she will attempt to force it in a place of her choosing and has probably spent every free moment since yesterday setting up various magical traps. Which, in turn, puts you on something of a timetable: the longer you wait, the more dangerous the opposition you might have to face.

>Head for Kresh's clanhall and confront him immediately. If you can talk him down, all the better. And if not, you're at least giving his hirelings less time to prepare.
>As the Dragon's Champion, you theoretically have the authority to request anyone attend an audience given by you - for example, inside the local Dragonguard garrison.
>Get in touch with the Dominion agents in the city. Tap them for more details on all the other events mentioned in their message. Use that to begin cleaning up (read: wrecking) Darsk. Target Kresh's hillfolk pride by not bothering to inform him about any of this.

>>3381526
damn, I forgot to add
>Other
as a poll option.

Also, this update used to have three parts, until I realized I'm writing another tour guide entry about Darsk.

>>3381526
>Head for Kresh's clanhall and confront him immediately. If you can talk him down, all the better. And if not, you're at least giving his hirelings less time to prepare.

>>3381526
>>Get in touch with the Dominion agents in the city. Tap them for more details on all the other events mentioned in their message. Use that to begin cleaning up (read: wrecking) Darsk. Target Kresh's hillfolk pride by not bothering to inform him about any of this.

>>3381526
>Get in touch with the Dominion agents in the city. Tap them for more details on all the other events mentioned in their message. Use that to begin cleaning up (read: wrecking) Darsk. Target Kresh's hillfolk pride by not bothering to inform him about any of this.

>>3381526
>Head for Kresh's clanhall and confront him immediately. If you can talk him down, all the better. And if not, you're at least giving his hirelings less time to prepare.

Let's not waste any time here.

>>3381526
>Head for Kresh's clanhall and confront him immediately. If you can talk him down, all the better. And if not, you're at least giving his hirelings less time to prepare

>>3381410
And if there is no evidence implicating her? From what we know she's the least likely to be betraying Megerix.

>>3381526
>Head for the clanhall and confront Kresh immediately.

>>3381526
>Go to him immediately, but demand to be addressed in a room of our choosing that we can easily turn to our advantage.

>>3381732
And because I hope our counterpart is competant, Have his family detained.

They will make a good bargaining chip

>>3381526
>>Head for Kresh's clanhall and confront him immediately. If you can talk him down, all the better. And if not, you're at least giving his hirelings less time to prepare.

Relevant song:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AQVEAPjKae4

>>3381526
>As the Dragon's Champion, you theoretically have the authority to request anyone attend an audience given by you - for example, inside the local Dragonguard garrison.

I came here to laugh at you.

>>3381531
>>3381543
>>3381620
>>3381643
>>3381732
>>3381939
Go immediately.

>>3381533
>>3381541
Go to town on the city.

>>3382125
Summon Kresh to you.

Kresh's clanhall looms over the nearby buildings, as if desperate to highlight its owner's importance. As far as you understand it this was exactly the case: this was the first instance of a clanhall being built within an existing cities and the architect felt the need to compensate for the fact. As a consequence, the top steeply angled roof rises high enough to be seen from almost any point in Darsk.

"I'm Oliver Black, the Dragon's Champion," you introduce yourself without much ceremony as you ride up to the gate leading into the compound surrounding the hall. "Here to speak with Kresh. Open up."

Four guards at the gate itself. At least four more on the wall directly above it - you count silently. All of them looking at you with expressions betraying varying mixes of apprehension and belligerence. You just hope that their numbers don't give too much of a boost to the latter. All too often you've seen numerical advantage cause people to do some really stupid things.

Such as the hillfolk who swaggers up to you and squints in an exaggerated manner, making a show of peering closely at your face.

"Yer out of luck, lord champion ser," he drawls, drawing a few hastily suppressed snickers from the other guards. "Gate's broken. Been since morn'. None's getting through."

"Since morning?" you raise your eyebrow and the man nods vigorously. "And it hasn't been fixed yet?"

"Been bad meat in last night's supper Carpenter's got the worst of it. Been on shitter."

"Let me guess - since morning?"

"Aye," the guard grins broadly to the accompaniment of more snickers. "Ye have the right of it."

The enchanted gear your wearing may grant you great strength, but it's not quite enough to simply kick down an entire gate. Not without... escalating the situation past where you want just yet. So, faced with this bare-faced lie designed purely to delay and obstruct your progress, you...

>Maim the man in front of you. Restate your request to be granted entry. Repeat as necessary.
>Retreat for now and come back with the local Dragonguard garrison. And a battering ram.
>Begin hurting the guards on the ground in various unpleasant ways. This will make the clan members inside want to come out and fight
>Technically your magic enhancements give you enough raw strength to propel yourself over the wall with a jump. Graceless as it will doubtlessly look.
>Other

>>3383857
I vote for jump

>>3383857
>Maim and repeat

>>3383857
>Maim and repeat

No, You do not Deny the champion his passage. We will go through and we will appear graceful and refined. And do use the guard as a shield if the archers try anything. We have gaudy armour to draw eyes to our perfect form, not to make a mockery of us.

That said, jumping up onto the wall to ask the archers would be fun.

>>3383903
And maybe before we do, tell them that we are going to hurt him now. He will either jump to or shit himself.

>>3383857
>Maim the man in front of you. Restate your request to be granted entry. Repeat as necessary
>If that fails, begin hurting the guards on the ground in various unpleasant ways. This will make the clan members inside want to come out and fight

>>3383857
>Technically your magic enhancements give you enough raw strength to propel yourself over the wall with a jump. Graceless as it will doubtlessly look.

The fastest option, grace be damned.

>>3383942
Fastest, but not the funnest or most dignified.

>>3383942
We're here representing a dragon, is that really the impression we want to give? Someone they can force into humiliating actions without repercussions?

>>3384057
Boi, we're about to deal out the repercussions. Repercussions like "I just flattened this place".

>>3384069
Pretty bold assumptions there, that we'll flatten the building, that the outermost guard will get caught up in it instead of fleeing, that it'll make everyone forget about the humiliating jump. Even if we do flatten the building, that would be due to treachery from the clan head, not disrespect from this guy.

>>3383857
>Maim the man in front of you. Restate your request to be granted entry. Repeat as necessary.

>>3383871
>>3383942
The fastest option, grace be damned. Jump.

>>3383892
>>3383903
>>3383913
>>3384116
No. The Dragon's Champion will not be denied passage so brazenly. Begin with the maiming.

>>3383857
>>Technically your magic enhancements give you enough raw strength to propel yourself over the wall with a jump. Graceless as it will doubtlessly look.

>>3384657
I wonder......do hill people need dicks?
I am sure that since they require groups to stand up to us, they do not use those balls much. A swift kick and a sudden pop should send the right message.

Were you here for yourself, you'd simply jump over the wall, grace and dignity be damned. But, here and now, you are the Dragon's Champion. When you speak, it's as if Megerix himself has spoken. When you act, it is as if Megerix himself was reaching out across his Domain. In all things you do, you are your Lord Sovereign's representative.

And your Lord Sovereign will not be denied.

You lean back in your saddle slightly and kick the still grinning guard in the jaw. There is an audible crunch and his head snaps back as he's sent sprawling backward.

There is a moment of shocked silence, followed by cries of alarm and the scraping of weapons being drawn from their scabbards. The guards up on the gate scramble for bows. Through this you sit patiently, looking straight ahead, with little regard for the seven armed men or the one rolling on the ground, spitting teeth and groaning through a broken jaw.

"I am Oliver Black, the Dragon's Champion," you state in a loud, clear voice that rises above the noise. "Here to speak with Kresh. Open the gate."

"Fuck you!" one of the archers shouts and looses an arrow. It flies true and bounces harmlessly off your robe.

You sigh heavily and dismount the horse.

One of the guards, quite smartly, rushes you in the moment your back is turned, but his spear still glances off your side. You grab the shaft and yank it toward you and as the man stumbles forward, you punch him in the side, ribs giving way under your fist. He lets go of the spear and you immediately break it in two, throwing the bottom half at the archer who shot you. One end of it strikes the banister, the other smacking him on the arm with only a fraction of the original force, but it's still enough for him to cry out in pain and drop the next arrow.

The remaining archers take aim and the two guards still standing advance, but then everyone freezes, their eyes fixed on the spear point digging into the disarmed spearman's throat.

"I am Oliver Black, the Dragon's Champion," you state, once again not even bothering to make eye contact. "Here to speak with Kresh. Open the gate."

The silence stretches out for long enough that you begin to contemplating which limb of the man beneath you you're going to impale with the spear, when you hear loud cursing from the other side of the wall, followed by cries of "Stand down, damn you!"

Then the archers are pushed aside and a familiar figure appears on the parapet.

(1/3)

File: Lornan.jpg (101 KB, 564x802)

101 KB JPG

Lornan Stoneheart is a rare breed among hillfolk, in that his fierce appearance belies a thoughtful mind and measured temper: both a consequence of a lifetime of balancing personal bravery and valor required to distinguish oneself in his society, against the duty of keeping himself alive for when the clan finds itself in dire enough straits that he is required to call upon the magic in his blood and make the ultimate sacrifice.

This, in fact, was the exact fate you spared him from when you intervened during the destruction of Clan Karron's original hall. A fact for which he did not fail to express gratitude, and which led to your few meetings since then occurring on largely positive terms. Last you heard, he's been splitting his attention between his duties as the commander of Clan Karron's warriors and fathering children with women of specific lineages in an effort to build back the numbers of Stonehearts the clans lost in their war against Megerix sixteen years ago.

Now, the massive man takes in the scene before him with a studious, methodical gaze that slides over the guards who have lowered their weapons while still attempting to look menacing, the man with the broken jaw who is moaning and sobbing quietly, and the spearman trying to inch away from the weapon still at his throat, before coming to rest on you.

"Oliver."

"I'm here to talk with Kresh, Lornan," you motion to the men on the ground. "They refused to open the gate."

"And what business do you have with my chief?" he asks, his face impassive.

"I'm pretty sure you already know."

Even at a distance, you can see Lornan's shoulders slump.

"And what happens after you talk?"

"I'm not going to kill him, if that's what you're worried about," you answer completely sincerely. "But the Lord Sovereign will want to hear his explanation as well, I suspect."

Lornan grimaces and tugs at his beard.

"And if I tell you that Kresh is unwell and cannot see anyone right now?"

"What, he's on the shitter too?" you smirk and shake your head slowly. "Open the gate, Lornan."

"Or you'll continue," it's not a question.

"Or I'll continue."

(2/3)

(3/3)

The gates swing open with a remarkable lack of involvement from a distressed carpenter - though you decide not to mention the fact to Lornan, who's waiting for you inside with an escort of twenty men.

"Appearances," the man explains with a grimace and you nod briefly. It wouldn't look good to let a man who just attacked clan members to simply waltz up to their chief on his own.

No matter how futile or useless the gesture. Appearances indeed.

The short walk across the compound is silent, though as the entrance into the clanhall comes into view, you hear Lornan clear his throat.

"Kresh has always been loyal to Megerix," the clansman says in a strangely strangled voice.

"Until now," you shrug - only to feel a large hand close around your shoulder and spin you around.

"Always," Lornar rasps out, his gaze drilling into you insistently. "Do you understand, Oliver? Always."

Then, as if remembering himself, he lets go of your arm suddenly and awkwardly clasps his hands behind his back.

"He's waiting for you," he motions with his head. "Inside."

>Head in. You're confident you can overcome whatever trap is waiting for you.
>Actually, you're good right where you are. Kresh will have to come talk with you outside.
>Other

>>3385467
So you imply someone has leverage Hmm?

And no, lets have him out here with his guards.

>>3385467
>>3385508
Yeah, if Lornar is implying what I think he is, someone's got him over a barrel. Rock and a hard place. We need to keep our eyes open. Watch for specific reactions from people that AREN'T Kresh if he has anyone nearby.

For that reason,

>Head in.

If he's forced to come out, he'll likely be fed some bullshit line that we might have to take at face value and punish someone who doesn't really deserve it.

>>3385552
You make sense.....But all the same, have an "honor guard" go infront of us to spring any traps in place. 4 hill folk aught to do, we can dismiss them later.

>>3385467
>>Head in. You're confident you can overcome whatever trap is waiting for you.

It seems likely that the troops escorting his family out of town are not all that loyal to Kresh.

>>3385467
>Head in

>>3385802
Definitely possible. Right now we just don't have enough info to know anything for sure though.

>>3385467
>>Head in. You're confident you can overcome whatever trap is waiting for you.

>>3385552
>>3385652
>>3386393
>>3386722
From another perspective, they'll be the ones trapped in there with you.

>>3385508
Caution, prudence, and terrain advantage are among the terms you know.

You get the feeling that you don't understand all of Lornan's meaning. But you understand enough.

"Those new guards I heard Kresh hired recently," you stare off toward the clanhall entrance thoughtfully. "Expensive, weren't they?"

"Very," the man grunts. "But they didn't want gold."

Your lips slowly split into a grin.

"Just make sure to keep everyone away from the hall once it starts. You know how it tends to go with me."

"You promised no harm will come to my chief," Lornar mutters. "I will hold you to that promise."

"And I intend to keep it," you assure him. "But I'm not the one here looking for a fight."

Then you laugh, slap him on the back, and walk forward, into the hall.

--------------------

When you step into the darkened hall, the only other person in the room is a man slumped down in an ornate chair on the other end of the room, one hand idly toying with a goblet. He does not greet you or make any sign of noticing your presence, leaving you free to approach at your own pace.

There is certainly magic in the room, though it's too diffuse for your headband to provide much detail. There are a few "hot" spots that it points out - bright auras on the floor set down in places that anyone approaching the clan's chief would be most likely to pass. Someone even went to the trouble of rearranging the furniture to give the room an appearance of having hosted a wild feast - and to further limit the number of paths you could take.

A trap, but an unfinished and hastily improvised one, which you avoid by simply stepping over a couple of benches and kicking aside a stool as you approach the man you're here to see.

(1/4)

File: Kresh.jpg (92 KB, 564x816)

92 KB JPG

To some, Kresh Hundred Spears of Clan Karron is a hero: a brilliant diplomat who used his talents to make his people see that a humiliating survival is better than a valiant death. To others, he is a traitor, who sold his pride and enslaved his people to a monster in exchange for a few scraps of power and influence.

To you, right now, he appears simply as an old man weighed down by far too many regrets.

"Hello, Kresh," you greet him and, after a moment, he blinks and glances up, his eyes focusing on you, his mind rising from the mire of thoughts it had been submerged in. And in these eyes, you see the resolve of a man who just made a decision.

"I did it!" he declares loudly. "I attacked the caravan."

"Excuse me?" you blink. Of all the things you expected to hear from Kresh, a naked admission of guilt was very far down the list.

"I ordered it," he slams the goblet on the arm of his chair, his face twisting into an angry sneer. "I even led it personally. Just like the old days. Terror, death, blood. It's my fault, Dragon's Champion. Mine and no one else's," he glares at you. "That's what you can tell Megerix once you're done with me."

"And what do I tell him when he asks why you did it?" you ask, interested in just how Kresh intends to play this out.

"What does it matter?" the hillfolk looks away, his expression growing maudlin. "When a tool breaks, it breaks, and it needs to be replaced, no matter who broke it. For sixteen years I've been the dragon's tool," his voice hardens. "So let's be done with it."

"You want me to kill you?" you blink.

"There are no happy outcomes for me in this," the corner of his mouth quivers. "You have my confession, Champion."

And, as you suddenly become aware, with said confession, to certain parties, Kresh's value as a living person depreciates far below that of him as a useful corpse. Just as you've been aware of the fact that his "bodyguards" have remained in hiding all this time.

"Old man," you lift him out of the chair by the front of his robe. "My Lord Sovereign is very disappointed in your actions."

Kresh hangs limply in your grip and closes his eyes.

"But I made a promise. Two, in fact. Don't break a hip."

As his eyes snap open in surprise, you seize him around the collar with your other hand, pivot, and throw. With a yelp, Kresh flies across the hall and straight out the door, missing the top part of the frame with what you'd like to imagine was a healthy margin.

(2/4)

There is a moment of silence as you straighten out and readjust your clothes. Followed by raucous laughter.

They emerge from the rooms on either side of the hall - four of them, just as the message said. A broad-shouldered man in full plate bearing a kite shield and a mace. A tall southlander in a chain hauberk and with a large axe casually held over his shoulder. An elf in a deceptively thin gambeson and, uncharacteristically, carrying a crossbow that he does not neglect to aim toward you. And the woman - very unmistakably a high mage, given the arcane designs etched into her metal staff and form-fitting robe.

The axeman is the one laughing, though his mirth is directed at the woman.

"Told you he'd see through it and get the old fart out, Celia," he jeers. "Too fast even for your pet knife ear to react."

"The only reason I neglected to take the shot," the elf replies tersely, "is because I was certain the chieftain would crack his skull open on the door. Forgive me if I lack the necessary expertise on the ballistic properties of humans. That field of study rarely sees any practical application."

You wince inwardly. Surely the toss wasn't that close. But outwardly, you affect a bored air.

"The only reason I'm going to offer you a chance to surrender is because it will make it slightly quicker and more convenient for my Lord Sovereign's spymaster to find out what she needs about you," you address the woman, as it's clear she's the one actually in charge.

She gives you what assume is supposed to be a sweet smile. She's pushing forty and seems to be one of those rare women who don't give a single damn about maintaining their looks.

"And the only reason I'm going to offer you a chance to enter einarch then tamp down immediately and come along peacefully is because it will make our job ever so slightly easier," she responds in a pleasant tone. "If you resist, it will take longer, but the outcome will still be the same."

"Wow," it's your turn to smile. "I almost got chills down my spine. Great delivery. But the thing with threats is, they actually have to be credible."

"Arrogance is precisely what I'd expect from any channeler in your position," her composure doesn't waver. "Especially one who's reached stable duarch stage. But you won't win against me."

"And here I thought we were onto something interesting," you sigh, disappointed. "The number of times I heard that one before..."

"If you're that confident, then by all means, enter einarch now," the woman shrugs. "It's all the same to me."

(3/4)

(4/4)

You glance around at the fighters surrounding you. They look seasoned. Confident. Eager, even - the axeman especially grins like he can barely wait for the fighting to start.

The most worrying part is the way their gear glows to your magically enhanced sight. These are no mere chumps to be able to afford this grade of enchantments. It's still below what you carry, but this is one of those times when the odds are not in your favor... if you remain human, that is.

On the other hand, you did pick up a note of... overeagerness in Celia's voice when she insisted you fight. And she seems to believe that letting you open the channel won't affect the fight's outcome. Though you've never heard of anyone being able to counter a channeler with anything short of overwhelming force.

>Megerix technically did express some minor disapproval over you doing this inside buildings again but if she wants a fight, she'll get one. Enter Einarch [begin combat]
>Fights are won by those who can better dictate their own terms. Your own magical gear will become unavailable once you begin channeling. Might as well take a cheap shot at someone while it still is [Enter Einarch defaults to opening action of combat]
>Something smells here and it's not just the fact that you've been riding a horse in the same set of clothes for close to a week. A tactical retreat is in order - though who knows what contingencies this bunch has in place for if you try to run.
>Other

>>3388966
>Enter Einarch
She's too eager, it's a double bluff.

>>3388966
No so sure about double bluff, But I just want to fight in human form. Maybe work against their expectations to do so. And since there are 4 of them we of course should remove the ranged DPS first, get the knife ear out of the picture, then dance around the axe and shield blokes to take on mage bitch.

Only change if we are losing.

>>3388966
>>Something smells here and it's not just the fact that you've been riding a horse in the same set of clothes for close to a week. A tactical retreat is in order - though who knows what contingencies this bunch has in place for if you try to run.
Lets pick a time a place we would rather, instead of one they would rather.

>>3389000
The way combat went last time made it seem like we need some time to concentrate and change, which we won't get a chance do to if fighting in earnest. Not to mention it drains power from our gear.

>>3389005
Fleeing as a Champion doesn't look too hot.

>>3389011
Losing looks worse imo.

>>3389011
My my, a three way tie.

But He does have a point about picking a place......Hmm, new plan I can think of.

Depending on how channeling works, what if we could boost our strength/agility by a margin and run for the door, throwing tables and the rest at the fuckers, taunt them outside.

They obviously want us, so they will follow or they will lose their target. Once outside, we can fuck their shit up without them having all those little traps. And maybe toss one of our foes onto the traps on the way out if we get a chance.

Alright, I can at least support exiting the building before engaging in combat.

>>3388966
fight on own terms
let's try an metaphorically sucker punch the knife ear by pretending to start entering einarch and then just attacking with our gear

I did a stupid and completely forgot to post the combat rules and stats for Oliver. Which might well influence the decision here.

Combat Mechanics: https://pastebin.com/nHEJwXqx
Oliver's Charsheet: https://pastebin.com/LBSGvrFn

My bad about this.

>>3388966
>>Something smells here and it's not just the fact that you've been riding a horse in the same set of clothes for close to a week. A tactical retreat is in order - though who knows what contingencies this bunch has in place for if you try to run.

>>3388966
Try fighting them as a human

>>3388966
>>Fights are won by those who can better dictate their own terms. Your own magical gear will become unavailable once you begin channeling. Might as well take a cheap shot at someone while it still is [Enter Einarch defaults to opening action of combat]

Shoot Celia with both of our Articulated Gauntlets, and then Enter Einarch.

>>3388966
>Fights are won by those who can better dictate their own terms. Your own magical gear will become unavailable once you begin channeling. Might as well take a cheap shot at someone while it still is [Enter Einarch defaults to opening action of combat]

>>3389052
Wait, question about Impervious. Is it like, a number of times that an attack can be no sold, or does anything less than an attack rating of 3 not work? Because otherwise I'm wondering why it needs a rating.

>>3389206
The rating is basically damage resistance, like with Armor, but for all damage types.

>>3389219
Wouldn't that just be barrier, then? Amd that means that the latter explanation is correct, right? I think I'm missing something.

>>3389230
A barrier usually has some sort of limit, such as its own HP pool or a duration. Impervious applies constantly. It's not a no-sell. It's damage reduction against all damage types.

>>3389255
Ah. The axe/arrows thing confused me since it seemed like he just couldn't get hit by anything period.

>>3389279
I ran the first couple of combats as pure narration because Oliver was up against mook tier enemies who literally couldn't deal enough damage to hurt him. This fight's a different beast though, since he's facing enemies with enchanted gear that can overcome his robe's protections. So it gets the mechanics treatment.

I am still in favour of my idea being >>3389018 before going super sayan.

>>3389125
I vote this

>>3388966
>Fights are won by those who can better dictate their own terms. Your own magical gear will become unavailable once you begin channeling. Might as well take a cheap shot at someone while it still is [Enter Einarch defaults to opening action of combat]

I don't mean this rudely, but I'll be ignoring the mechanics. I prefer the narrative experience.

>>3390095
How can you ignore the mechanics when they form part of the narrative? And how do you figure that option is narratively better?

>>3390129
I ignore them by ignoring them. I just don't look at them. Let the numbers behind the scenes dictate what they may. I'm not much for stats and I've been enjoying reading this narrative.

I just enjoy the bent of character it gives Oliver. I don't know if it's /better/ per se, but it seems a more enjoyable route for me.

>>3390160
All the same, I suggest reading the character sheet. Knowing what we have and can do is important.

>>3390095
>>3390129
>>3390160
>>3390173
Yeah I think it's good to know all of Oliver's equipment and abilities.

>>3389071
>>3389000
>>3389040
Fight, but as human.

>>3389005
>>3389066
>>3389018
>>3389038
Tactical retreat/try and take it outside

>>3389125
>>3389201
>>3389040
>>3389553
>>3390095
Sucker punch Celia (2 votes) or the elf (1 vote), then transform.

The chat got a bit messy this time, but I think that's all the votes.

Also, having spent some more time tweaking the mechanics and then slleping on it, I think that I'd prefer to retain combat as a more narrative experience. I'll still keep all of Oliver's magical gear and powers as they are for reference, but, (taking inspiration from how Joker Quest did this, at least early on), the only real stats that will come up in posts will be Oliver's HP, Tempo, and Limit.

Lastly, since we're on page 9, I'll be archiving the thread and make the result of this vote the OP of the next one.

>>3391393
>Also, having spent some more time tweaking the mechanics and then slleping on it, I think that I'd prefer to retain combat as a more narrative experience. I'll still keep all of Oliver's magical gear and powers as they are for reference, but, (taking inspiration from how Joker Quest did this, at least early on), the only real stats that will come up in posts will be Oliver's HP, Tempo, and Limit.

I don't know, I read through the mechanics and I quite like them.

New thread:
>>3394789
>>3394789
>>3394789