Sideburns McGee

>>18359812
Franklin Headsman
Obviously the vocation became tied to the family, much the same way blacksmithing families ended up with 'Smith'.

Hadrian Astor

Guys, it's clearly Sideburns McGee.

>>18359846

As the church bells tolls noon, the prisoner has his hands bound behind his back and loaded into a wagon to be carted off from the prison to the castle courtyard. The procession is escorted down the promenade by a jeering throng, eager to get a chance to throw one final insult and a rotten vegetable or two at the condemned. By the time the cart and its pathetic cargo trundled underneath the portcullis, the throng had swelled into a full-blown mob. Egged on by morbid curiosity, the good men and women of Glenshire filed into the courtyard to witness the execution. A half dozen guards made a perimeter around the cart to fend off the angry villagers, just in case anyone tried to enact justice prematurely. Two guards escorted the prisoner to a raised platform at the far end of the courtyard, the most dreaded sixteen square feet of Glenshire. Atop the center of the platform sat the chopping block, and stage right of the grisly stump stood the sheriff of Glenshire, Percival Crombottom, wearing a freshly polished suit of armor and a recently waxed mustache. The graying and crooked-backed Father Johns stands stage right, clutching his scripture shakily against his breast. You stand directly behind the block, holding your axe proud and stern like a standard bearer before a battle. You are Franklin Headsman, the dreaded executioner.

>>18359934

It is a stiflingling hot midsummer's afternoon, beads of sweat pour down your brow and your burlap hood itches your nose terribly, but you resist the urge to scratch it. You stand like a statue, a weapon of justice. Your father was a headsman, as was his father before him, and today the torch would be passed to you. Now your father stands eagerly at the front of the crowd, a broad grin across his bearded face.
You recognize the condemned as he ascends the sixteen steps to heaven. Nicholas Mayhew, eighteen years old, just a year older than yourself. For a considerable portion of your youth, he had been your primary tormentor. A grudge he held against you ever since his father was lawfully beheaded by your father. Apparently the apple didn't fall far from the tree.
A fanfare of horns from a balcony overlooking the courtyard signaled the arrival of Lord Geoffroy, Duke of Glenshire. A hush fell over the crowd as the portly royal steps forward. Lord Geoffroy looks to the Sheriff and nods his balding head.
Percival Crombottom clears his throat and launches into a prepared speech, detailing the extent of Nicholas Mayhew's villainy. It had been years since your last incident with Mayhew, he had stopped his bullying when you outgrew him. You remembered him being much larger, but you had grown to be over six and a half feet tall now Nicholas was the smaller man. It seemed as if his sinew and bone had been replaced with straw.

>>18359977

The scope of his transgressions was impressive to say the least. Nicholas Mayhew had been found guilty of nearly every crime that had been put to pen in the kingdom of Andura. Among the charges were blasphemy, consorting with harlots, inappropriate and forcible conduct upon the members of a convent, several instances of thievery, too many instances of assault to count, impersonation of royalty, and the killing of a twelve year old boy whom he had trodden over with his horse while inebriated.
“Nicholas Mayhew! You have been found guilty of these crimes, and have been sentenced to death!”
This makes the crowd cheer uproariously. When the hubbub settled, Father Johns musters up all the voice his elderly frame could support and speaks, “Does the condemned repent for his sins against God and the Kingdom of Andura?”
Mayhew nods meekly and mutters inaudibly under his breath.
“You are forgiven! May God have mercy on your soul!”

>>18359991

The guards force Nicholas Mayhew to his knees and place his head against the wood of the chopping block. Every man and woman in the castle turns their attention to you. You can see several children perched on the shoulders of their parents, about to be taught a lesson in what happens when you break the law. You step forward, your footsteps echoing loudly against the walls of the castle.
You compose yourself and raise your grisly axe high, and pause for dramatic effect (a trick your father taught you). In your hands, this axe can fell a tree in a dozen swings. Poor Nicholas doesn't stand a chance. A hush falls over the courtyard as your axe hangs above the neck of the condemned.
You swing with all your might, and the union of flesh and bone is undone. The shock of the impact runs up your arm and through your body like bolt of lightning. Nicholas Mayhew's head tumbles from his shoulders. Blood jets from his neck in spurts from his still beating heart. His eyes roll in their sockets, his lips are quivering breathless words.
In mere moments, the ordeal is over. The crowd begins to cheer.
Their blood-lust sated, the crowd disperses quickly. Your father clambers onto the platform and embraces you, his eyes full of joyous tears. “Good job, my boy! Very good job! A one-chopper on your very first execution! You have no idea how proud I am of you. How did it feel?”
You pull the burlap hood off of your head and rub the sweat from your brow, “Just like chopping firewood.”

>>18359994

After mopping off the platform and fixing Nicholas' head to a pike outside the castle walls, you wash your axe off in the moat and make your way through town to the Red Boar. As you walk down the streets, the citizenry makes a wide berth around your path. None of them look you in the eye as you pass. Such is the life of a headsman. People applaud the axe, but want nothing to do with the man who wields it. When you were younger, they used to mutter things about you as you walked by. Children even threw pebbles at you when you weren't looking. Separating a man's head from his body in a single swing seemed to quiet their tongues and divert their stones, but the silence some somehow even more unsettling.
The smell of smoking spice and ale assault your nostrils as you enter the tavern and Harry Malwood greets you immediately. Malwood is a curious specimen, the apprentice of the local torturer. Nobody was ever as intrigued by human suffering as young Harry was and he took to his craft most enthusiastically. Harry was your senior by two years, but he was considerably shorter and thinner. He is also a despicable human being, but he doesn't mind the fact that you decapitate people for a living which makes him your only friend.

>>18360006

Malwood orders two pints of ale and the two of you sit down at a vacant table at the back of the bar. He raises his glass high, “I propose a toast! To Nicholas Mayhew. Mayhew rot in hell!”
You knock your glasses together and take a deep gulp.
Malwood wipes some froth from his upper lip with his sleeve, “But one chop? Far too quick for the likes of him!” he spits on the floor to emphasize his point.
You shrug, “Pain isn't my profession.”
“That's the irony, innit?” says Erik, “We pokers need to keep 'em live and hurting as long as possible, and you choppers need to kill 'em quick.”
You remain quiet and sip your ale.
“But congratulations all the same. Drinks are on me tonight! Let's get pissed!”

tl;dr

After a night of revelry, you drunkenly stumble out of the Red Boar, using your axe to steady yourself and carrying the a barely conscious Harry Malwood on your shoulder. After depositing the torturer's apprentice on his doorstep, you turn and lumber down the darkened alleyways of Glenshire towards your house in the Old District. In the days when the city was under constant threat of attack, the Old District was the main garrison for the city's guard. In recent years, the barracks were turned into low-income housing and had since degraded into a slum of sorts. It's a rough patch, but it's home. As the church bell tolls eleven, you stop to urinate in a gutter.
Suddenly, you hear the screams of a damsel in distress coming from a nearby alley. You quickly buckle your belt and run towards the commotion. It's dark, but you can make out three shadowy figures at the far end of the corridor. A small figure, the woman obviously, is kicking and screaming against two larger figures who swiftly overtake and subdue her.

***** What do you do? *****

Uhh, we bark a challenge at 'em, and we angle our axe so light glints from the head.

Good bit o' writefaggin'.

Let us drink in moderation. Enough to relax, but not get sloshed. We aren't ashamed of our profession, no need to drink til we forget. Besides, we need to keep an eye on Harry.. he seems like he can be troublesome when drunk.

>>18360076
Alas I type too slow and more things have happened!

>>18360027
Give a roar that will send fear into their souls.

>>18360075
Sounds good to me.

>>18360107
>>18360090
>>18360075

This isn't the first time you've seen a maiden accosted in this part of town, and scattering ruffians is a part of life in the Old District. You raise your chopper high so the moonlight catches it. You fancy yourself some sort of monster of the night, nearly seven feet tall and wielding an executioner's blade. Usually this display is enough to send even the most ornery villain reconsider his mischief.

You lower your voice as to not betray your adolescence, "Oy! You there!" You snarl, "Release the maiden and be on your way, or there will be trouble!"

The two shadowy men look to each other and speak in Lirilish. One of them hoists the girl over his shoulder and his companion draws a saber, swishing it through the air with precision and menace.

He shouts something to you in his own language. You don't know much Lirilish, but he definitely used the word 'kill' in his speech.

**** What do you do? *****

>>18360226
Pick up some sand and rub it on your hands. Then throw some sand in their eyes and attack.

>>18360241
We're wielding an axe. Pretty stupid to drop it to grab sand and rub it all over our hands. but the core idea is nice. Kick up some sand and charge.

If the streets are cobbled then we should just charge with a sideways swing (only if the alley is wide enough) else we should do a upward slash making sure to fling dirt up at the same time

>>18360226
Chop 'em, chop-chop.
At least we picked up enough Lirilish from our grandmother to know when someone wants to kill us.

>>18360354
>>18360277
A good headsman axe and strong arms, we should have reach on him with a good downward chop to the shoulder of the sword arm. Not the head, we don't want to get hung up in his skull with a second man present.

>>18360226
Hopefully he isn't an amazing swordsman, it's dark so grab something in our off hand, a knife, a bottle something like that, distract him with a charge and swing while flinging it at him.

>>18360277
>>18360374
>>18360406


This was not the reaction you expected. The swordsman looks formidable, and his weapon is light and swift. You're pretty quick with a chopper's axe, but you wouldn't bet your life against this man's blade. On any other night, you wouldn't have put up with all of this bother and summoned a watchman, but goaded on by ale and the inflated sense of confidence from your one-chopper, you accept this man's challenge.

The building to your right is Gunnarsons's carpenter shop, and the cobblestones are coated in a fine layer of dry sawdust. With a terrible roar you launch yourself down the alleyway towards the villains. The swordsman raises his saber.

But this needn't be a fair fight. Just before you enter chopping range, you kick a cloud of sawdust up from the cobblestones.

***** Roll 1d20 *****

rolled 3 = 3

>>18360472
Let's not start this with impalement.

rolled 6 = 6

>>18360472
Rolling.

rolled 1 = 1

Rolling time!

>>18360496
>>18360484
>>18360497

And then he impales us through the heart and we die. Oh dear.

rolled 11 = 11

>>18360472
We can't roll today, we're going to die.

rolled 9 = 9

>>18360484
>>18360496
>>18360497

Oh dear gods of the dice why hath you forsaken us?!

Re roll?

rolled 17 = 17

Hit him in the face!

>>18360497
>>18360496
>>18360484

***** Rolled 10 *****

You are instantly blinded by your own maneuver and you swing your axe blindly about. Cursing your own stupidity, you pray that a Lirilish blade doesn't pierce your gut. As you clear the dust from your eyes, you notice that the Lirilish swordsman is doing the same. His companion is making his getaway with the hostage down the alley.

When the dust quite literally settles, the swordsman lunges toward you. His angled straight for your heart.

***** Roll 1d20 *****

>>18360646

>His blade angled straight for your heart.

Apologies.

rolled 17 = 17

>>18360646
Only one option now. Kick him in the balls.

rolled 7 = 7

welp here goes nothing.

rolled 7 = 7

>>18360646
Deflect that shit.

rolled 15 = 15

>>18360646
Dodge and chop his legs off.

>>18360672
>>18360667
>>18360666

***** Rolled 31 *****

You swing your axe as if you were trying to fell a mighty oak in a single chop. You knock the attacker's blade aside so that its Lirilish iron merely pierces your left shoulder. The searing pain reminds you of the time Nicholas Mayhew assaulted you with a branding iron.

Your chopper buries itself halfway through the neck of the unfortunate swordsman. Blood pours from your respective wounds. You will survive yours, the Lirilish man will not. He collapses to the ground in a gurgling heap, his blood flowing freely across the cobblestones.

You turn your attention to the swordsman's accomplice and his struggling captive pursue them down the alleyways of the Old District. Burdened by a thrashing maiden, you quickly gain ground. Like a wolf upon a lame calf, you descend upon the hooligan. When it becomes apparent that he will not escape you, he throws the girl into a nearby cart of straw and reaches for his sword.

***** What do you do? ******

rolled 1 = 1

>>18360842
Use your axes momentum with your charge, his blade will not finish its journey from its scabbard before your axe is buried in his chest!

>>18360842
Tell him to run, whatever you want her for it's not worth losing your head like the last guy. Hopefully he runs. If he doesn't immediately flee bury the axe in him.

We got lucky on the last guy and I'd rather not get into another potentially fatal fight, it could go badly, we could die, get a bad wound, hell this shoulder wound will take a while to heal anyway.

>>18360873
>>18360880

By the time his hand reaches the hilt of his sword, you are already on top of the swordsman. Your axe perched menacingly above his head. You look at him with the detached gaze of an executioner, the same way a butcher regards unslaughtered meat.

Wisely, the man does not draw his sword. You notice that the commotion has roused the citizenry from their sleep. Dozens of curious heads peek out from their windowsills to watch the action on the street. Three nightwatchmen bearing lanterns and spears hurry from around the street corner, and the town crier is summoned by the hubbub as well.

"What in God's name is the meaning of this?" a guard exclaims in regard to the bewildering scene.

***** What do you do? *****

>>18360842
This Ruffian, and his newly dead companion were accosting and kidnapping this poor woman, when I went to prevent this they attacked and I defended myself vigorously.

Shall I execute him now or later?

>>18361027

You explain the circumstances to the nightwatchmen. How you had witnessed the villain and his presently deceased comrade attempting to kidnap the maiden. When you intervened, the men attacked and you were forced to kill one of them in self defense. During the whole retelling, your axe is perched high above the ruffian's head. As you explain your story more guards and townspeople gather about the scene.

"Lower your weapon, Headsman!" It was Sheriff Crombottom who said this, wearing chain mail over his nightshirt. You oblige, "Is there an explanation for this?" he asks the nightwatchmen.

The nightwatchmen recount your story to the Sheriff who twists the end of his mustache fretfully. The sheriff turns to you, "I find your story very difficult to believe. You see, that maiden whom you were 'saving' is Princess Gwendolyn of Liril, youngest daughter of King Cyrus V, and soon-to-be wife of Lord Geoffroy. The 'ruffians' you attacked are her royal escort. Do you have an alternate explanation for this disturbance?"

You feel your heart sink into your bowels. You wish you weren't so big, and could just slink away through the cracks in the cobblestone.

***** What do you do? *****

"They were kidnapping her, i told them to stop. They didn't listen..."

simply reply "None"

>>18361192

"No, m'lord, I do not." Surrender your axe; submit yourself to the custody of the sheriff. We done fucked up.

>>18361192
All I know is what I saw, a woman kicking and screaming while being dragged by two assailants, position is unimportant in matters such as this. If you see fit to chain me then do so.

>>18361192
"I'm sure that the Lady can fill you in on her view of what happened, but i stand by my statement."

hand over axe as a show of faith.

ERRYONE'S GETTIN' THA CHOP NOW.

>>18361231
>>18361377
These

>>18361226
>>18361377
>>18361231

You tell the sheriff that you have nothing else to say. Looking to the faces of the growing gathering of the citizenry, you can tell that their minds have already been made up. It wouldn't be the first time an executioner got carried away with his chopper. You know what you saw, but it's the word of a lowly, half-drunk headsman against the testimony of a royal escort. You look to the Princess, she's about your age, possibly younger. Aside from you, she was the only one who knew what truly transpired, but she kept her mouth shut. You let your axe slip from your fingers, it clatters against the cobblestones noisily. You raise your arms as to let the guards shackle you. Your eyes fixed in a perpetual downward stare, you are lead off to the confines of the dungeon.

The trial is quick and your sentence is passed eagerly. You did not see your father at all in this time. The sentence was passed eagerly. You are to be tortured for two fortnights and executed immediately afterward. Before you were carted off to the dungeon Harry Malwood pulled you aside, “My master is in charge of your case. This will not be pleasant.”
That's one thing you always liked about Harry. He always told the truth, no matter how gruesome.

>>18361649

You were placed in the capable hands of Arthur Edwards, the local torturer, and you quickly come to appreciate how much of an amateur Nicholas Mayhew was in the art of torment. Over the following days, Edwards gleefully inflicted an exotic variety of pain on every conceivable surface of your body. There were thumbscrews, vices, dunkings, needles, red hot irons, and every form of pain a man could possibly befall. But this was all to soften you up. Edwards told you he would start breaking bones at the end of the first week, and he even considered castrating you when your term was half-complete and gouging out your eyes for good measure. “Patience is the best friend of a good torturer,” he told you many times. Or perhaps he was talking to himself. It was hard to tell.

When you were thrown back into your cell at the end of the first week, your body had been thoroughly battered. The cold floor burned your wounds, but it was the only solace you had. You consigned yourself to relive the horrors of the day in your nightmares when you hear the latch of the cell door open.
“Are you still alive?” It was Harry's voice.
The spindly teen helped you to your feet and threw you a spare tunic.
“I slipped something special into the guard's smoking spice. He won't be waking up anytime soon. I suggest you get out of here quickish.”

You turn to your only ally, “How can I ever thank you?”

“You can punch me in the face, for starters, so I don't become your accomplice.”

It was a sound plan, and something you have wanted to do for a while, so you slug Malwood across his pimply jaw, knocking him to the floor.

“I think you knocked loose a few of me teeth!” Harry spat out two bloody molars to confirm this, “Well done, Frankie. Now get out of here!”

>>18361668

You step out into the prison cellar. The lowest basement where the torture chambers are located. It's a long hall with doors on either side leading off to several chambers where prisoners were punished according to their crimes. At the far end of the hall was a spiral staircase. If Harry was right the guard at the top should be unconscious. The prison's only exit is always watched by at least two guards and the courtyard is in full view of the perimeter wall surrounding the city. Any guards on the wall might easily see you if you try to escape. A horse and wagon is always kept in the prison yard, to transport the condemned to the castle to be executed.

***** What do you do? *****

>>18361741
We won't be able to make it by just running. Steal a guards clothes, put them in yours, toss them in the wagon and say you were told to take them to the castle right then and there, orders are orders.

>>18361741
We need to find an axe and a way out of town quickish. Time to take this show on the road.

Lets sneak into the castle and cut the princess' tongue for getting us into this mess

>>18362156
>>18361774

You ascend the spiral staircase and come across the unconscious guard, slumped over sound asleep in his chair. With great caution, you tap the dozing soldier on the forehead. No response. Next you slap the poor man across the face. His only response is a blissful snore. Quickly as you can without making a racket you swap clothes with the man.

The soldier was not particularly tall, but he is portly enough that you can squeeze your figure into his wardrobe. His iron helm is nothing to brag about, but it will obscure your face at range. Also included are a sheet of plate mail to go over your chest, a chain mail jacket with a hood, steel gauntlets, steel boots, a steel short sword, and a steel codpiece that gratuitously misrepresents its former owner. You grab a pair of shackles and bind the unconscious man's hands and hoist him over your shoulder and walk towards the exit.

"You there!" the voice makes you freeze in your tracks, a guard sits at a table next to the door, ogling etchings of women in various states of undress, "What are you doing with that one?"

You are very careful that the unconscious man obscures your face from the guard, "We caught this one for public drunkeness and disturbance of the piece," you lie, "He's to be taken to the moat and dunked."

The guard scratches his stubble, "That'll set 'em straight. Off you go. And if you see the sketch-artist on your way back, do tell him that Boggins will pay him for... new material."

"Certainly," you say as you head out the door into the prison yard.

>>18362413

Once in the courtyard, you load the hapless slumberer into the cart and climb onto the horse. The gate guards believe the lie you gave to Boggins and the cart slowly trundles out of the prison and onto the grand promenade.

***** What do you do? *****

***** 30-45 minute intermission while you come up with something *****

>>18362445
Look inconspicuous, find an axe worthy to be the new headsman axe (or later) and get out of the village and head to the second nearest village to resupply.. we won't be coming back here anytime soon

>>18362670

The sun is setting as your horse trots lazily down the promenade, you have only about an hour before they close the gates, maybe less if they notice that you've escaped. You've made it up in your mind to leave Glenshire for good. Once you're out of view of the prison, you detach the cart from the horse and leave it behind. You make your way to the Old District, avoiding the guards at all cost.

The first place you stop is your home. A two story affair with a simple, thatched roof. You can hear someone chopping firewood in the meager courtyard out back. With great hesitation, you approach the noise. It's your father, Trenton Headsman, thwacking away. Time has diminished his strength, but his technique is flawless. You are reminded of the hours upon hours you spent chopping firewood, practicing to become a headsman like your father. Your father has already chopped his way through over half of the pile, he likes to chop wood when his mind is troubled. When your mother died of the plague, he scarcely did anything but swing his axe at lumber for weeks. You imagine it's been the same way since you were arrested.

He notices you before you have a chance to speak and halts his axe mid-swing. The two of you stare at each other for a long while.

***** What do you do? *****

>>18363291

say "Father... what I did was for my own reasons, my own choice of what I thought was good intentions, I don't blame you for thinking other wise, but I must go, I came to say goodbye and to pick up a few things before I leave."

explain to your dad what happened.

see if he can look into why the princess is such a whore and why she let you to rot after saving her while you're gone.

i guess ask for his advice on where to go

>>18363445
>>18363416

You spend a long time trying to come up with the right words to say, but your father is the first to speak.

"There are only two things I am certain of in this world:" He says, "My axe is sharp, and my son is an honest man."

You don't say anything.

"If what you said happened that night is the truth, then it must be so. Your word is enough for me."

You tell him you just need a few provisions, and that you'll bother him no more.

Your father approaches you and puts a hand on your shoulder, he seems to be on the verge of tears "Son, I'm sorry I didn't come to your trial. I couldn't bear to see my boy sentenced to death. To be marched out in front of everybody and get killed by some... fucking amateur."

Your father weeps silently for a while before composing himself. "Headsman... We don't belong on the blade end."

Your father hands you your axe. It's been over a week since you've held it last. The longest you've ever been without holding it since you first picked it up as a child. Holding it again felt like regaining a limb.

"Gather what you need from the house, and be on your way. Know that you'll always be in my prayers, and that you make me proud. God will sort this mess out in the end..." Then your father smiles most peculiarly, "Unless, of course you sort it out first."

With your father's blessing, you step into your home for the last time. You gather a sampling of your meager wardrobe (two tunics, leather boots, leather gloves, stockings, pants) about ten yards of rope, several loaves of bread, bedding, blankets, flint and tinder, your favorite whetstone, fifty-five silver pieces, a kitchen knife, a hatchet, and your burlap executioner's hood. All of these things you stuff into your a leather rucksack before exiting the front door to your home for the final time.

You hide your axe under a blanket, mount your horse and trot down the alleyways of the Old District to the nearby western gate. Your timing couldn't be better. Not more than two hundred paces after passing through the gate, a horn is blown, signalling that the portcullis would be dropped for the night.

You ride forward toward the setting sun. A hooded figure is walking westward, about fifty yards ahead of you. Aside from this stranger, you are alone.

Suddenly alarm bells begin to ring throughout from the city. You deduce that the guards must have noticed your departure and kick the horse into a gallop. Curiously, the pedestrian ahead of you has also begun to flee from the city. Being on horseback, you quickly overtake the stranger.

Out of curiosity, you turn your head to see the stranger's face, and upon seeing who it is you immediately yank on the reigns. It is the Princess Gwendolyn, running from Glenshire on foot.

***** What do you do? *****

Grab her ass and take her with you. even if you gotta drag her through the ground.

Dash out the gate and keep going till you can find a decent hiding spot or something so you can find out why the hell she put you through all this

>>18363636
That bitch needs to explain herself, Take her with you and find camp in a secluded place. Then show her your wounds from the torture. Make sure she sees what she put you through with her silence.

Grab her by the hair and drag her with us. When we are safely away from the town demand an explanation. When she finally explains herself, torture her in the same manner the we were tortured, but condense the week's worth into a half hour or so then decapitate her and burn her corpse.

She's the reason we were tortured by a very skilled man so fuck her. See if we help any damsels in distress ever again.

>>18363957
I agree with this, unless she doesn't understand our language

>>18363926
>>18363957

You bring your horse to a halt in front of the fleeing princess and remove your helm. She recognizes you immediately. She must know that because of her silence that you were sentenced to torture and death, but regardless she approaches you with a regal disposition.

"I don't suppose you're here to rescue me again?" she says. If you frighten her, she does not show it.

You lend her your hand and she climbs onto the horse. The portcullis of the Western gate begins to rise, there is no question that the guards patrolling the walls can see you.

You spur your horse onward. The next town is fifteen miles west but it is under the jurisdiction of Lord Geoffroy and is definitely not a safe place to stay. A broad forest lies not a dozen miles to the south, a thicket of ancient oak trees that extends for many leagues until it disperses into the mighty Anduran mountain range. If there was anywhere where you might evade capture, it was in the Great Southern Wood. You head southwest at a full and desperate gallop.

Long after the onset of the night, you let your poor steed rest. You and the princess dismounted. One could never imagine a more disparate pair.

You towered over her, all sinew and gristle. Your face marred by the tortures of the last week. She was pure grace and elegance. Pale skin, a gentle face, and her hair was long and very dark, almost black. She sat herself down on a rock, but she might as well have been seated on a throne.

Her pale blue eyes follow you wherever you go. After a lifetime of people averting their eyes from your gaze, you find this very disquieting.

>>18364412

"Thank you," she says this as though you had simply pass butter to her from across the table.

"I was tortured on account of your silence, I was to be executed and all you can say is, 'thank you'?" You try your best to not let your anger dictate your actions, Father taught you better than that. You consider this a herculean effort.

"I'm terribly sorry about that. After the night you attacked my escorts I was not allowed to leave my room under any circumstances. Not even to appear in court," her Anduran was impeccable, she had scarcely an accent at all.

"What happened that night? why were you in the Old District? Why were you struggling against your escorts?"

She broke eye contact for the first time, rather, she appeared to look through you. As though you were made of smoke, not entirely there, "I was trying to run away."

"You got one of them killed, and me thrown into a dungeon. Is there a good reason for why you were running away?"

"Two reasons," she said, "I have no intention of ever marrying that toad, Lord Geoffroy. I would rather die."

"And the other reason?" you prayed for her sake that is was really good.

Gwendolyn's eyes focused on you, as if you were a solid once more, "I am trying to prevent the next Holy War."

***** What do you do? *****

>>18364087

idk man, all this shit seems fishy.
she might be a victim of all this shit to, if this is going where i think it is.

>>18364436
"You have better explain this Holy War to me and explain it well for I am greatly tempted to do some violence to you, if not kill you outright."
I guess we'll probably beat her up a bit later. Maybe rape her, but that's doubtful. No killing.

demand an explanation while you try and enjoy being free from that dungeon.

look at some clouds, lay in the grass. that sort of thing.
you're not likely to have a lot of quite time while you're running from pursuers

>>18364498
i agree with this. if we don't believe her we can rough her up pretty badly. though i wouldn't mind killing her. i mean torture weighs pretty heavily on a person, Plot driven main character guy or not.

>>18364565
>>18364498

The first holy war lasted for five years. Concluding when you were a six year old boy. Your father served in the war for three of those years. He didn't like to talk about it often, and you got the impression that it was one of the bitterest and unpleasant experiences of his life, which is saying something, considering his line of work.

It was a call to arms for all the able-bodied men of the Faith to combat the heathens of the Southern Kingdoms. For five years the Northlanders engaged in brutal combat with the heathen menace. Scores of thousands of lives were lost and very almost no land was claimed by the faithful.

And according to the Princess, there was to be another one. It seemed unbelievable, impossible. Even the power of the Church had its limits, who would agree to such a thing?

"What's your name?" she asked, interrupting your thoughts.

"Pardon?"

"I do not know your name, sir."

You couldn't help but laugh, "You of a second Holy War and revert back to pleasantries? You're very queer, indeed."

"I would have you as my bodyguard. I would like to know your name, headsman."

"That is my name. I am called Franklin Headsman and I'm just that. A headsman, not a bodyguard."

"I am Princess Gwen-"

You interrupt her, "Don't change the subject. I want to know how there can be another Holy War. How do you know this? And how do you intend to stop it?"

>>18364993
Is this bitch just playing with us or is she gonna explain?

>>18364993
Details, give me serious details about this new holy war or I will hold you in your previous silence responsible for my torture, and that will not be fun for either of us, but significantly worse for you.

Once more the Princess looked straight through you, "The Church came into possession of many treasures during the years of the Holy War. They called them holy relics and most of them were mundane enough. But there were a few items possessing... curious attributes. You've no doubt heard of the Golden Sarcophagus?"

"Of course, who hasn't? It is said to hold the body of the Savior himself. It is the holiest artifact in all the world."

"I have seen it myself when I visited the Holy city of Phedra, it is a box with perfectly straight edges, five feet by eight, crafted of the purest gold. It hums ever so slightly when you put your ear against it. The surface of Sarcophagus is completely smooth and featureless, aside from one curious detail that has puzzled scholars for nearly a decade. About halfway up one of its long sides is a tiny hole, as if a key might fit there. You know of course that the Church has been trying in vain to pry it open ever since they acquired it twelve years ago. The Sarcophagus has proven to be quite indestructible.

"Recently an emissary from Liril returning from Southern Kingdoms reported that a key had been unearthed in the Heathen desert. It is said that it may be the key to the Sarcophagus. The Church will stop at nothing to acquire it. The promise to see what's inside the Sarcophagus is enough to instigate a new Holy War."

You thought over what she said. It could very well be an elaborate lie. The hole in the side of the Golden Sarcophagus was famous the world-over, but he had heard nothing about a key. You looked at the tiny girl on her makeshift throne, her expression never betrayed her "Don't you want to know what's inside?"

"The price is too high."

***** What do you do? *****

>>18365194
Firstly I am rather curious about what is in there.

How exactly does this tie to you running away, me saving you, and you sitting quietly while I got my fingers broken and a manuscript burnt into my back. I am rather miffed about being tortured.

I'm guessing you have a half-baked plan to stop this war that involves you, so they don't go out on a new crusade?

>>18365194
Yes, yes. Artifact this, war that, politics all over the place. What i would rather know is what does it have to do with me. And you for that matter.

>>18365325
>>18365243

You don't really have anything to say about all this. She's either lying, or if she actually has any conviction in what she says she's heretical, crazy, or both. She seemed to pick up on this line of reasoning.

"Do you want to know why my father was to have me married off to Lord Geoffroy? Why should, King Cyrus V marry off one of his daughters to an lecherous and insignificant vole of a Lord in a distant Kingdom?"

The thought had crossed your mind.

"It's because, on more than one occasion, I suggested to my father that Gatekeeper Quentin VIII be killed. Before he can start the Holy War anew."

This certainly removed all doubts of whether or not the young royal was insane. Suggesting, nay, endorsing the idea that the the The Gatekeeper to heaven, the Voice of the Divine on Earth, the leader of the Holy Order should be assassinated was madness of the highest degree. This was blasphemy of such magnitude that such words could only be uttered by the completely deranged. Yet there she sat, upon her rock suggesting this very idea.

"My father looked much the same way when I suggested the very same to him. Believe me, it must be done. The coming war will make the first crusade look pale in comparison. Gatekeeper Quentin will stop at nothing to get the key. He must be stopped, at any cost."

There were no words to adequately respond to the torrent of blasphemy that poured from this girls lips.

"Please, Escort me to Liril," she continued, "I will find my way to Phedra from there. I can pay you handsomely. Perhaps give you amnesty from your crimes."

***** What do you do? *****

Demand amnesty, gold, and a castle!

>>18365445
Punch her in the face for being a heretic.

Then, tell her that you'll help her not because of gold but it helps; not because of getting my name cleared although I really want that to happen; but because I want to help you as I can't stand seeing women being mistreated that way.

Then punch her in the face again because of all the shit she dealt to you.

Flip her the bird. obviously this women is mad and will get us in more trouble then we are already in.

>>18365538

You approach the seated princess. Though you weigh three times as much as her and are a foot and a half taller, she shows no sign of intimidation. You remove a gauntlet and slap her across the face with your bare hand.

"I should turn you in for blasphemy!"

The young princess does not reply. You slap her again.

"That's for letting me rot in that dungeon."

Gwendolyn's eyes begin to water and for the slightest moment, it appears as though she might cry. But in an instant, her regal composure erases all traces of distraught, "You are the second person, aside from my father, who knows of my intentions. You must think I'm quite silly, but I must do what has to be done. If you won't help me, I shall find someone who will."

You walk over to your stolen horse and climb on, "I never said I wouldn't take you to Liril. I'm a condemned man, and your promise of amnesty interests me. If you fail to deliver on this, you'll have greater problems to worry about than a new Holy War. I am not a man of chivalry, but I am a man of my word."

Gwendolyn stood up from her stone. "Then you will be my bodyguard?"

"Within reason," you extend a hand, helping her onto the saddle, "There's a great forest about a dozen miles from here. We'll make camp there. Tomorrow we shall ride to Liril."

***** End Part I *****

Thoughts, constructive criticisms, harsh words beyond this point.

>>18365785
A bit slow but not bad. A lot of writing which may put off some, but I like it.
...
...
Are you Writer-Dude is disguise?

>>18365827

I almost expected this thread to 404 with no reponses due to the fuckhuge block of text at the beginning.

Also, not I'm not Writer Dude, but I did GM on a now-defunct quest thread a while back. I had a different name, though.

I kinda wish we went for that castle but this was pretty fun.

+ i'm glad we're playing an axeman instead of a swordsman for once.

When's the next quest?

>>18365931

If I can't do it tomorrow, make it Monday.

looking forward to it, see you tomorrow or Monday then.

>>18365856
You aren't Black knight are you?

interesting