The city of Bordèu stirs, all its citizens are out in force, they march towards the cathedral of St Andrew, heeding the summons of a king.

A fortnight ago the King of Valland called a parliament in Bordèu. He stirs trouble, Bordèu and surrounding lands—indeed, the whole province of Guyenne—belongs in fief to his distant cousin, the King of Angla.

Oh but we are getting ahead of ourselves. You are not here for the politicking of the high nobility, you are here for your own reasons. Remind me where you come from. Remind me of your oath.

>Angla
>Almain
>Montera

—
>As a young squire, you and your master were prisoners awaiting ransom. Your cruel captor left your master's wounds untreated, causing his death. Being of little value, your captor mockingly knighted you in his dungeon, he mistreated you and always made you thank him for his "generosity”. As his final act, he threw you out with only your clothes and a chipped sword. His men laughed from the walls: "Go on then, Ser Knight." They likely think you dead by now, but you remember your oath.

>Born an orphan, your miserable life changed when you met Fostin the Grey, a traveling Dwergz. Eccentric compared to all his kind, he and his company took you in. They taught you everything, made you someone, all without asking anything in return. Fostin was old by the reckoning of his people and time catches up with everyone, even those of the elder races. On his deathbed, you swore to return his clan's hammer to his children in the Pyren Mountains. You remember your oath.

>You were always equal parts poet and knight. A Troubadour as one would say in Guyenne. And in your homeland there was a particular lady who you were high in standing with, an heiress with too much wealth and too much love of song and romance. You got carried away, promises were uttered and deeds were done. A landless knight is no proper match for a heiress, she was imprisoned in a convent by her family. You on the other hand were hunted. But you shall return, you remember your oath.

>>6226549 (OP)
>Montera

>You were always equal parts poet and knight. A Troubadour as one would say in Guyenne. And in your homeland there was a particular lady who you were high in standing with, an heiress with too much wealth and too much love of song and romance. You got carried away, promises were uttered and deeds were done. A landless knight is no proper match for a heiress, she was imprisoned in a convent by her family. You on the other hand were hunted. But you shall return, you remember your oath.

>>6226549 (OP)
>Montera
>Born an orphan, your miserable life changed when you met Fostin the Grey, a traveling Dwergz. Eccentric compared to all his kind, he and his company took you in. They taught you everything, made you someone, all without asking anything in return. Fostin was old by the reckoning of his people and time catches up with everyone, even those of the elder races. On his deathbed, you swore to return his clan's hammer to his children in the Pyren Mountains. You remember your oath.

>>6226549 (OP)
>Almain
>You were always equal parts poet and knight. A Troubadour as one would say in Guyenne. And in your homeland there was a particular lady who you were high in standing with, an heiress with too much wealth and too much love of song and romance. You got carried away, promises were uttered and deeds were done. A landless knight is no proper match for a heiress, she was imprisoned in a convent by her family. You on the other hand were hunted. But you shall return, you remember your oath.

Nice turnout this early on, thanks for that anons. Anyways the vote will close 1 hour from this post, or if the votes shift to indicate a clear favorite.

>>6226549 (OP)
>Almain
>You were always equal parts poet and knight. A Troubadour as one would say in Guyenne. And in your homeland there was a particular lady who you were high in standing with, an heiress with too much wealth and too much love of song and romance. You got carried away, promises were uttered and deeds were done. A landless knight is no proper match for a heiress, she was imprisoned in a convent by her family. You on the other hand were hunted. But you shall return, you remember your oath.

>>6226549 (OP)
>Angla
>Born an orphan, your miserable life changed when you met Fostin the Grey, a traveling Dwergz. Eccentric compared to all his kind, he and his company took you in. They taught you everything, made you someone, all without asking anything in return. Fostin was old by the reckoning of his people and time catches up with everyone, even those of the elder races. On his deathbed, you swore to return his clan's hammer to his children in the Pyren Mountains. You remember your oath.

>>6226549 (OP)
>Angla
>You were always equal parts poet and knight. A Troubadour as one would say in Guyenne. And in your homeland there was a particular lady who you were high in standing with, an heiress with too much wealth and too much love of song and romance. You got carried away, promises were uttered and deeds were done. A landless knight is no proper match for a heiress, she was imprisoned in a convent by her family. You on the other hand were hunted. But you shall return, you remember your oath.

Rolled 2 (1d3)

>>6226608
VOTE CLOSED. Troubadour Knight and a long lost love.

Homeland
1-Angla
2-Almain
3-Montera

Almain, the land of a hundred princes and ten thousand knights, or so the songs say. In truth, it writhes in constant turmoil. Emperor Ludwig battles a pretender to his throne, while in the eastern marches an eternal war rages against barbarian greenskins.

You grew up in those marches, learning to fight and survive. Killing orcs and goblins came naturally to you, a talent that earned your knighthood. But it was your way with songs of battle that earned you a place at the court of Ruprecht the Red, Prince of Branburg and father of your lady Mathilde.

Those early years were joyous. You remember the stolen moments during hunts—getting "lost" and taking your time to find your way back. The late night rendezvous, your honey-laced words cajoling her maids to look away. The bliss of those times!

A plague swept the region one year, claiming all of Ruprecht's sons and leaving him a gaunt old man.With all his sons gone, your love suddenly lost her freedom. No more hunts. Her maids could no longer look away, and she could no longer act as she desired. You admit that you both were careless, but more than that—naive. Naive to believe your friends would stand by you.

Prince Ruprecht often lay bedridden and infirm. It meant the rule of his lands often fell to a council of nobles headed by a distant cousin, Wolbert. A jackal, a thief, a scheming coward. You considered him a friend once; you and Mathilde confided in him. He betrayed you, he falsely accused you of forcing yourself upon her.

You remember sweet Mathilde pleading your innocence, declaring that everything happened with consent and love. But her words only damaged your case. They twisted her speech, used her sex against her. "A woman is weak," they claimed. "She doesn't know what she speaks."

They declared her so stricken with madness that she had tricked herself into believing your lies. Whether the council believed their own words didn’t matter. In the end, this provided them an opportunity. They could use this situation to their advantage, install their own men, isolate Mathilde, and grow powerful in the absence of a prince. She was spirited away to a convent, for "healing" they declared. They tossed you into a dungeon to await the hangman.

But you still had friends—men and women who didn't believe you capable of your crime. They castigated you for being a romantic fool, yet in the end they set you free. In the dead of night, they opened your cage and urged you to run. What became of them afterward remains unknown—whether they suffered for their deeds haunts you still.

You ran, as far from Branburg as you could. And what better place than the city of song?

->

>>6226780
Is this write in time?

>>6226780
Hah, in truth you chose Bordèu because the merchants of the city pay good money for men like you. Men who know how to use a sword. The seasonal caravans heading south toward the pathways of the Pyren Mountains are always fraught with danger. Although the Dwergz offer protection if you pay their tolls, many independent merchants find it more lucrative to brave the passages with a private escort.

Note that lucrative does not mean safe or advisable. For every merchant who emerges on the other side, another meets his end at the hands of goblins, giant spiders, or any number of beasts that call the Pyren their home.

Still, you need all the gold you can get if you mean to raise an army and free your love. Unfortunately you can't say you've had much luck so far. Your name isn't known here, and the caravan masters are wary of wasting coin on an unproven knight. When you fill out their applications and sign your name, what letters stare back at you?

>>Name: Write In
> Ademar
> Fredrik
>Conrad
>Albrecht

And when you look up, in those few seconds before the next man in line signs his name, what do you tell the paymaster about yourself?

>Stat Rolls. I need 4 people to roll 4d6. The roles will apply in order to the following stats.
Constitution (CON):
Agility (AGL):
Intelligence (INT)
Willpower (WIL):

>I also need 2 people to roll 4d6+2. Which will apply to the following stats in order.
Strength (STR)
Charisma (CHA)

>>6226795
Sorry I got delayed by something, it's rolling time lads.

Rolled 6, 1, 1, 6 = 14 (4d6)

>>6226798
>Conrad

>>6226801
That is a 13 for CON. We drop the lowest number around here.

Rolled 4, 2, 3, 4 = 13 (4d6)

>>6226798
>Conrad

>>6226807
That is an 11 for AGL.

Rolled 5, 2, 6, 2 = 15 (4d6)

>>6226798
>Fredrik

>>6226811
13 for INT

So far, everyone is rolling decent. Nothing remarkable but the rolls are solid.

Rolled 2, 1, 6, 5 = 14 (4d6)

>>6226798
>Conrad

>>6226824
13 for WIL

Now we move onto 4d6+2 for STR and CHA respectively.

Rolled 3, 4, 2, 2 + 2 = 13 (4d6 + 2)

>>6226831
By the Gods I was strong then

>>6226798
>Fredrik

Rolled 2, 1, 2, 6 + 2 = 13 (4d6 + 2)

>>6226831

>>6226840
Oof a 11 for STR

>>6226842
And a 12 for CHA.

Quick vote. Reroll those 2 rolls, keeping whichever result is higher in exchange for The MC having a narrative weaknes that let's me hook him into trouble every now and then? Or roll with these results?

>Yes reroll
>No reroll

30 min window, from the time this is posted.

>>6226844
>Yes reroll

>>6226844
>>Yes reroll

>>6226844
Alright lads I'm heading off to work. I declare everyone free to roll. I also declare Conrad the winner. I'll format his character sheet after work. Thanks for reading and participating. Drop question f you want, I'll answer them when I'm free.

Rolled 1, 3, 1, 2 + 2 = 9 (4d6 + 2)

>>6226855

Rolled 6, 4, 3, 4 + 2 = 19 (4d6 + 2)

>>6226855

>>6226856
My god hes even weaker now, hes a twink knight

Attributes are important because they determine starting skill levels, but this quest is running on a skill based system. It's very simple, d20 to roll under the skill level. It’s very rare that your attributes will increase, instead it’s the skills that will be increasing as Conrad’s story progresses.

The skills are lifted straight from Dragonbane, if anyone is familiar with that. Every time a crit success [1] or a crit fail [20] is rolled, that skill is marked and at the end of the thread/arc we roll a d20 to see if that skill improves. Further chances of improvement are given out on the QMs discretion.

While I would love to do map based combat I fear it will slow the story too much to be worth it. Instead combat will be a mix of theater of the mind and vague tactical descriptions. No real update today or over the weekend unfortunately, We shall resume on Monday.

>>6226798
You tell others you're half poet, half knight, but the truth is you've always been more silk than steel. Not that you can't kill a man or beast, but your talents undoubtedly lie in the art of speech and song.

You don't admit that to the paymaster—you're not foolish. Instead, you declare you'd best any man here. The paymaster's weary eyes look right through you; he's heard that boast more times than he can remember.

He simply nods, offering no response. But a burly man in chainmail, carrying an axe and shield, hears your declaration. From your periphery you see him rise and stomp towards you.

"HEY! Ya cunt, what did you say?"

Your eyes widen. He moves faster than his bulk would suggests, and within seconds stands close enough for you to see his nostrils flare. On instinct, you step back and grip your sword belt.

Silence falls over the field. All eyes turn to the confrontation. The paymaster appears ready to speak, but his gaze drifts past both of you, and he remains silent. You glance back at him, searching for some clue, but his expression reveals nothing.

>What does Conrad do?

Managed to scrape together a small update during the slow moments at work. Write in with the most vote wins, if there's a write in that doesn't win but really calls to me, I reserve the right to mix it into the update, with the caveat that it doesn’t interfere with the winning vote.

>>6227638
>Why, that I could best any man at all. But you, sir, are a titan and I could not hope to test myself against those.
Trying to not back down in words while backing down in spirit.

>>6227638
>"I said: I can best anyone here! I'd bet money on it!" Then look aside vaguely to someone else and say "Someone, fetch the cards. I will show you my unmatched skill at Karnöffel."
>Play cards.

Slow day at work today. Got a chance to write. Vote closed. Doubling down on words, while deflecting.

Roll me Bo3 1d20. 14 or under.

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>6227869

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>>6227869
Huzzah!

Rolled 5 (1d20)

I wanna move on to writing so I'll roll the last dice. Unless it's a 20 Conrad passes.

>weak poet knight
why do i get the feeling Conrad is going to end up making another Oath while drunk and end up following a suicidal Dwergz around

>>6227638
You observe the angry man, who resembles a bull. One glance tells you he's stronger than you—there's no question about that. Yet you have plate armor while he wears only mail. You silently thank God that the caravan's camp lies on the city's outskirts and that you're fully armored. Outwardly, you project absolute confidence, not allowing any doubt to infiltrate your expression. You're reluctant to risk a confrontation, but you cannot retreat.

The next best option comes to mind: talk your way out of the problem.

"You heard me," you say confidently. His massive shoulders rise in anger as you confirm your words. But your twist is about to unfold.

"I'll best any man here," you declare, arms spread wide gesturing to the field of assembled men. "But there is no man before me—you are more giant than man." You give him a clap on the shoulder and your warmest smile.

The man's expression tells you that he isn't sure how to take your words. While he's busy deciding whether you've deliverd a compliment or an insult, you press on. "Well, tell me, giant, would you rather ruin your day with anger or spend it enjoying the drinking table with cards in hand? My inn has some fine-looking wenches, I tell you."

It now dawns on him that you're inviting him to drink and play. Whatever desire he might have had to clobber you is overwhelmed by the prospect of free drink and comely serving maids. He's forgotten all his anger and laughs.

"Hah, hah! You make a good point, boy. What inn?"

"The Red Arm. Ask for Conrad, giant." You tell him.

Deciding it's best to leave so as not to get entangled in more misunderstandings. You give the paymaster a nod; he nods back pensively. As you walk away, though you don't look back, you can feel eyes tracking your departure

>>6228035
look like we found a potential meat shield
>its best to play to his strengths and get him to trust and like us or at the very least view us as a source of coin to waste on drink and pleasurable company

>>6228207
Support

>>6228035
Support >>6228207

>>6228035
The remainder of the day is spent walking from camp to camp, jotting your name on the hiring sheets of various caravans and hoping that by tomorrow—if not sooner—one of their runners will seek you out.

Your inn lies in a well-to-do part of the city, near the street lined with guild halls and the offices of the provost. It lacks the splendor of St. Andrew’s Street, where the great nobles keep their townhouses and the Anglan governor “rules,” but even so, you have no cause to complain.

As for the city itself, it’s strangely quiet. Earlier in the day, you could have sworn the streets bustled with people coming and going. Now, a heavy silence hangs in the air. Turning onto the street where your inn is located, you spot a company of armored men clad in the livery of the King of Valland, patrolling the area. At the sight of you, one of them barks an order in Vallish. It takes a moment to parse the words through his accent.

“You there—foreigner! Halt. State your colors. Who is your master?”

Your confusion must be evident, because the man repeats himself more slowly.

“I serve no master,” you reply. “I am a free knight—Conrad of Branburg. I came here because I heard the caravan masters pay well for knights.”

The man regards you with a stern expression. “The King has declared that no unliveried man is allowed to walk the streets in harness.”

That takes you by surprise. When you first entered the city days ago, the guards at the gate gave you no trouble. Most who seek contracts with the caravans camp outside the city walls. You’re a rarity, having chosen to pay for lodging within.

You've had enough trouble for one day. Holding your hands up in peace, you bow slightly. "Forgive me, sers. I was not informed.". You point to the Red Arm inn standing a few houses down. "I'm staying there. Come, see for yourself. Next time I wander, I'll leave my armor behind.”

The leader glances at the inn, then back at you. He thinks for half a second. "It's fine. Be on your way, ser. It's a new decree—now you know.”

You thank him and walk on. Reaching the inn’s door, you turn back for a moment and see they’re still watching. Quickly, you slip inside.

->continued

>>6228472
The moment you step inside, a familiar voice greets you.

“Boy! Conrad! I was starting to think you were lying, but no, here you are. Good to see you!”

You’d hoped he might forget, or find something else to occupy his time. Judging by the looks on the staff’s faces, he’s been here a while—long enough to thoroughly wear out his welcome.

You force a smile. “Giant, I see you took me up on the offer—and quickly, too. No other engagements?”

“The name is Ardo,” he corrects, “and no, nothing beats free drink.”

His words draw your attention to your nearly empty coin purse—barely a dozen silver pieces inside. You’ll have to make sure he doesn’t run up a tab you can’t afford.

“I’ve already had a few—on you!” he declares, lifting his cup. One of the serving maids sways over and refills it, casting you a satisfied grin. Her eyes say it all: You brought in a stray—he’s yours to feed.

Oh dear. It’s going to be a long night

Rolled 13, 11, 9 = 33 (3d20)

>Contested roll. 3 d20s. Persuaion 14 vs his Will 12. D20s Bo3 vs Bo3. The way a contested roll works is that you need to roll under 14 but as close to it as possible. Same for Ordo and his 13. A "loss" here means he'll either run up a tab, you'll get drunk, something will occur etc. Nothing too bad. Just a chance to introduce mechanics.

>>3 people. Roll me 1d20.

Rolled 12 (1d20)

>>6228478
Here we go

>>6228478
dice+1d20
well met Ardo, lets see if we can win over our giant friend and earn ourselves an "ally" to watch our backs

>>6228494
fucks sake its too early in the quest to be fucking up my rolls like that
someone else take over im too drunk for this lets hope this isnt a sign of things to come

Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>6228478

Rolled 5 (1d20)

>>6228478

Alright. Conrad [12] vs Ardo [11]. Conrad wins this one. I realized I explained it sort of misleadingly. Winner isn't who rolls closest to their skill. It's the highest roll that is equal to or less than their skill level.

Don't expect to have much time to write today. So updates most likely tomorrow.

It’s no small task getting Ardo’s attention off his drink—especially with the serving girl so eager to pad your tab. Each time she circles back, you have to steer his attention elsewhere. By the end of it you're tired but it does lead to learning more about the man.

Take his name, for example. It sounds Almainic, but he tells you it’s Wisi in origin—a people you've never heard of. He explains that hundred of year ago his folk came from the east, beyond the White Mountains, near the old Eastern Empire. Their homeland was called Haem, he says; they migrated west after the fall of the Western Empire. They made it as far as Al-Yasma, in fact, Ardo boasts that his people were once kings there—long before the land was known as Al-Yasma, and before the dark elves came from the sea.

When you press him about the state of his people now, he grows somber. There are no kings among them anymore. They live along the jagged coasts in the north of Al-Yasma. He grew up in the flatlands—beneath the shadow of hills and beside the water. Now, the elves rule both his people and the land. It’s been that way for generations. No written records remain of their former glory; all their history is passed down by word of mouth, from elder to youth.

By the end of the conversation, a melancholic hush has settled between you. Ardo no longer feels like drinking, and you can’t help but share in some part his gloom—regretful, perhaps, for having steered things this way. Even the serving girl has stopped coming by, quietly withdrawing once the mood had turned.

Eventually you turn toward the girl and raise a hand to call her over. She comes around—this time without the pitcher she’d been carrying all night. Reading your intent, she leans in and quietly tells you what you owe. One silver coin. Not bad, you think, as you hand over the coin. Before turning away, she whispers that a new stricter curfew law has just been put in place.

Puzzlement must show on your face, because she explains that the king declared it during parliament. The criers will spread word of it come morning, but the king’s men are already out tonight—rounding up folk and shaking them down for easy coin, while the citizenry are still largely unaware.

She turns to Ardo and says she’ll do him a favor and let him sleep here. He asks if in a room to which the serving girl laughs and tells him no—he should be grateful she’s letting him stay at all, and that she won’t be tossing him to the wolves unawares. He can take a bench, she says, or the floor.

Ardo paces a bit, then points to a spot on the floor and declares that to be where he’ll sleep tonight.
His mannerism forces a laugh out of you, You bid him goodnight, then turn to the maid and offer her a small, polite bow. She smiles tiredly and urges you up the stairs, saying she wants to sleep now.

>The city stirs while its citizens sleep. The burghers are angry, the Anglans are angry. The King is proud. Roll Worst of 3. 1d20.

Rolled 20 (1d20)

>>6229091

>>6229096
Congrats on the first fail crit. Thankfully it's not for Conrad.

The city just blew up, Now I have to think "whats the worst that could happen in a single night?"

Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>6229091

Rolled 17 (1d20)

>>6229091
Oh fuck, there's been a revolt

This is an impressive collection of very bad rolls as pertains to the stability of the city. needless to say shit is going down. I need some time to think this definitely opens up some plot lines earlier than I imagined. Update most likely tomorrow.

inb4 the quest turns into Escape from Bordeu City

if the city is suddenly invaded from below by ratmen im standing by the idea our best choice is to find the nearest Dwergz with a deathwish

Seems we are back. Nice. Expect a update either Monday or Tuesday.

Fire and brimstone—that is what engulfs Bordèu.

A great ruckus rises from somewhere below your room. Your eyes flutter open, each blink sweeps away the fog of sleep. Annoyance replaces sluggishness. You rise with a groan from the bed frame and march toward the door, ready to end whatever has disturbed your rest.

As you reach for the door latch, instinct pulls your hand back. You pause and something tells you to fetch your sword and shield. Now armed you push open the door and begin to descend the stairs. At the final step, the common room comes into view. Its occupants, too engrossed in their affairs, fail to notice you standing in silence, observing the scene.

A Vallish nobleman slumps in a chair, clutching his injured shoulder where a crossbow bolt is lodged. Blood darkens his doublet, and pain contorts his face. Four guards stand protectively around him, armed with mail and helms, all bearing the same unfamiliar livery. They grip drawn swords, anger evident on their faces. You scan the room for Ardo. Instead of finding him in his promised section, your gaze falls on him sprawled across the floor some feet away, he clearly suffered a beating at the hands of the armored men.

The captain, judging by his bearing and slightly ornamented attire—points his blade at the innkeeper's chest. "You will provide shelter and aid as is your duty," he snarls. "Or are you in league with these rebel dogs? Is that why you hesitate to help a servant of your king?"

The innkeeper raises his hands placatingly. "My lord, please understand. We are simple folk. We have no stake in your quarrels."

Behind him, the barmaid speaks with more courage than a woman in her position should have."Say we shelter you. The streets teeming with armed men searching, they'll come here eventually and burn this place to the ground—with all of us in it!"

The captain steps forward, piercing the innkeeper's shirt with his blade's tip. "Treason carries a heavy price," he says, levying a harsh look at the maid.

The wounded nobleman coughs. “Raymond." He winces as he shifts. "Don't be so loud. We don't wish to draw more attention to ourselves."

"My lord," one of the other guards interjects urgently, "we cannot linger..."

You tune out their words momentarily and step back. It’s clear these men serve the Vallish crown—and their enemies, whether Anglan loyalists or rebellious townsfolk, are not far behind. Should you help them? Strike while they are distracted? Whatever the truth of the matter, it’s plain that Ardo and the group found reason to come to blows—and while they spared his life, they were generous with their punishment.

>What to do?

>>6231857
Watch it play out on its own. If a fight actually breaks out, then we do something.

>>6231857
Ask what's going on. Go help Ardo. Also tell them that given the look of them they're going to need more help than four bodyguards.

Rolled 2 (1d2)

Very different stances here. Rolling 1d2.
1= Wait and see.
2= Proactive action.

You draw a deep breath and prepare to step out. After a final glance, you step forward and clear your throat.

The captain locks eyes with you. His gaze traces your sword, and he instantly drops into a fighting stance. His comrades mirror his movements. You stand motionless, careful to appear non-threatening. Opening your arms wide, you pose a silent question: Combat or discourse?

"Name yourself," the captain barks.

"Ah, but I could ask the same of you, stranger. You trespass on my place of rest. I don't remember you paying any coin for a room."

"I have no time for your jest, boy. Speak, before we cut you down."

"Peace, old man. I could have cut you down while you threatened my hosts." You tilt your head to the side. "I didn't though. Some praise is owed, aye?"

A lull follows your words. You take the chance to circle slowly around the room to where Ardo lies face down. Throughout your movement, the noble and his men watch you like hawks. Kneeling beside Ardo, you keep your gaze on them, ensuring you aren't caught unawares. You turn him sideways and feel with the back of your hand. He breathes—shallow, but alive.

"I guess I have to ask, who are you and why exactly is my drinking partner unconscious?"

The wounded nobleman coughs. "I am Robert, Bastard of Lisor, cousin to the King. I was to be made governor of Bordeu." He points to his wounded shoulder. "As you can see, some in the city took exception to that. Whether it was the Anglans or the burgesses, it doesn't matter—war will follow either way."

He glances at your feet. "He woke when we entered. We forced our way in, he mistook us for criminals. I don't blame him—armed men make for an unpleasant awakening. He fought well enough."

Robert turns to look up at you, coughing as he moves his head. "I know your kind, errant Knights forever looking to make their fortune. Help me and I shall give you everything you could possibly desire. A rich heiress, coin, land, titles." His eyes narrow. "Or don't...and face Vallish steel." He turns to his captain and issues an unspoken command.

You peer through the window cracks where distant flames dance, and men's shouts grow louder. You swallow. The barmaid catches your eye. She moves her head subtly side to side—’Don’t!’ she’s telling you. Her jaw clenches in anger, and though her hand remains hidden behind a table, you recognize that expression and the tension in her arm, she's gripping something tightly…

>Help the royal nobleman
>Attack!

If combat is chosen do you guys want to run it all on here? As in I will roll for the NPCs and go through the round and each time I need Conrad to roll I will ask for rolls? It would be the most transparent but it would take a lot of time and the thread would be clogged up with post dedicated just for rolls

Or would you like me to keep most of it in the background, including Conrad's rolls and only prompt for rolls in critical combat moments?

>>6232573
>Help the royal nobleman

Ha. It is no question. Bastard though he may be, the noble is a royal, and blood speaks true. A small group like ours can cut through a mob of peasants any day. Having such a man owe us will also help us in our goal of reuniting with Mathilde, I can't say the same for the burghers.

>>6232574
Oh, and I'd prefer all the rolls be out in the open, but it isn't a dealbreaker for me. If we need a lot of rolls and there is insufficient participation to supply them in short order, then I don't mind either you rolling for us or temporarily switching to behind the scenes rolls.

>>6232573
>Attack!
Fuck it, we ball.

>>6232573
>Help the royal nobleman
Don't like our chances against 4 men and the peasants are going to burn this place down if we don't come out with his head anyway.

>>6232574
I'm so glad this quest is back. It's kino. Regarding combat, I'm glad to defer to whichever you think is best.

>>6232573
>Help the royal nobleman
We can't forget our quest, we must rescue our beloved!

>>6232573
>>Help the royal nobleman

You give the barmaid one last look. Your eyes betray your decision before your lips can form the words. The Vallish nobleman's offer has won you over.

"Well Lord Robert, one option sounds a lot more enticing than the other." You kneel and place your sword and shield at his feet. The nobleman hurriedly performs the oath ceremony, his bloodied hands trembling above your bowed head.
"Rise Ser..."

"Conrad, my lord," you interject.

"Rise, Ser Conrad," Lord Robert intones. "Know that in my service, valour and loyalty are well rewarded."

The innkeeper looks on with visible relief, grateful that the situation has de-escalated. Yet fear still lingers in his eyes—no doubt wondering what might happen should the mob discover the injured lord within his establishment. The barmaid stares daggers at you. Whatever warmth or kinship might have blossomed between you now lies withered.

The young knight who had urged departure speaks again. "As I said before, my lord. We shouldn't stay here. It's too dangerous." He throws a scornful look the barmaid's way. "Much as the wench is disrespectful. If they find us, it will be the end of us—they'll light the building. Please, allow us to escort you to the citadel."

Raymond looks at his comrade. "His lordship is too injured to move quickly."

Lord Robert brings his hand to his shoulder, touching it and wincing. His hand comes away fresh with blood. He stares at it for a moment, his face growing paler. He exhales slowly. His eyes clear of doubt, replaced with cold determination.

"We cannot remain here. I feel my strength fading. I need a physician. The question becomes: where do we seek sanctuary?"

The young knight steps forward. "The citadel, my lord. The King is there, all his household as well as all the knights and men-at-arms who traveled with us."

Raymond shakes his head. "The streets surrounding the citadel will be full of rebels. They know that's where the nobility shelters. They have probably surrounded it by now."

Lord Robert nods. "The citadel stands nigh impregnable. But the journey... It will be hard, and getting in if we actually make it that far…" He trails off, grimacing as a fresh wave of pain washes over him.

"What of St. Andrew's Church?" Raymond suggests.

A faint smile crosses Lord Robert's lips. "The church lies closer, and Bishop Malcolm has always shown sympathy to the crown. I know he employs men from the university. He would grant us shelter and one of his doctors. Besides, church custom demands it."

The young knight scowls. "And will these rebels respect church custom? These are not men of honor—they're butchers and bakers with pitchforks."

Lord Robert's gaze drifts to the window. "Would they violate sanctuary?" he murmurs, more to himself than to others. "It would take just one to give the rest courage..."

"The church isn't made to withstand an assault," you point out. "We would be easily overwhelmed if the mob turns truly vicious."

->

Silence falls over the room as Lord Robert weighs his options. The innkeeper hovers anxiously in the corner while the maid has her arms crossed like a shield, her eyes never leaving the group.

"The church," Lord Robert says, remembering. "Its cellars connect to passages that could provide escape if needed.” He thinks for some moments. “I'm torn, I need a vote."

It's a quick thing. Raymond and another knight vote for the church, while the young knight and another vote for the citadel. Lord Robert looks to you to cast the tie-breaking vote.

>The Citadel
>The Church

Once cast he nods and issues orders.. "Conrad, you'll watch our rear. Raymond, you'll support me. And Emil," he nods to the young knight, "you'll lead the way."

"Yes my lord," you all answer in unison.

>>6234688
>The Church

More accessible, shelter, and a protected escape if need be.

>>6234688
>The Citadel

>>6234688
>The Church

>>6234688
I'm >>6232709. I think I'll levy my vote towards
>The Church
It's less of a gamble and there's bound to be some sympathetic physicians there.

can or will the mc use any magic? or maybe learn it in the future?

>>6234688
What about out of the city entirely?
As in, directly through the streets and out the gate?

Bah, I forgot he needs medical help. The Church, then we flee the city.

>>6234688
>>The Church
Ask for a minute to put our armor back on (grab our things?)

>>6232574
Rolls in the open for sure. Part of the fun is rolling well/badly and seeing how that impacts the narrative. It doesn't interrupt the flow of the story (in my opinion) and the slower pace of the battle can give you time to think about outcomes etc/ get less burnt out

Vote Closed. Church wins. Sorry for the late response but a man's got tot work.

>>6235540
Yeah, Magic is possible to learn. Most magic is regulated through the church. Only clergy members and the religious military orders are permitted to learn, but sometimes a few odd magic spells slip the net. Alternatively there's always pagan magic, and wild magic, but practioners of those are hard to find and even harder to convince to teach someone.

Fire, violence, sin. All these things and more plague the city beyond the walls of the inn. Not that you would know—other thoughts occupy your mind, like the question of what exactly the barmaid means to accomplish by following you up the stairs toward your room.

When you glance back, an angry scowl meets your eyes.

"You're angry," you state rather than ask.
"You made a mistake, Ser Conrad." She places particular spiteful emphasis on your title.

You give an involuntary huff. "I don't see the need to explain myself. Besides, in my experience, women don't chase after men who've made them angry."

You reach the door, push it open, and enter, with the barmaid trailing behind you. Once fully inside, you turn to face her.

The corners of her lips lift into a smile—not a pleasant one, but rather that of a predator.

"This is bigger than you, bigger than your love troubles, merchants' greed, or a king's pride. Salvation is at stake here."

She crosses her arms in challenge.

On your part, there's no immediate challenge—only confusion. The words she's spoken aren't the talk of city girls. That type of discourse belongs to the philosophers and clergy of the universities.

Her words are strange enough to lead your mind to another thought. What is she doing here? Here, in this room with you. Surely the men downstairs would have stopped her. Why are you wasting your time with this conversation? Why is she smiling like that?

You sit on the bed, rub your temple, and close your eyes for a second.

Rolled 8 (1d20)

>Oposed roll. I am rolling for the barmaid. DOMINATE DC 13.

>Please roll for Conrad. Bo3 d20. DC 13.

Rolled 11 (1d20)

>>6239399
Dominating a barmaid thats really an agent? Counterdominating a secret spy nun for the church?

>>6239404
That's the spell name the barmaid witch is casting on Conrad lol. You guys are rolling to resist her trying to turn you into a meat puppet.

Rolled 16 (1d20)

>>6239399

Rolled 19 (1d20)

>>6239399

>>6239399
8 vs 11. Conrad shakes off the mind control attempt.

>>6239458
QM?