Part MMCCXCIV: Hammer and Anvil
Hammer and Anvil
Tenth Day of the Fifth Month 293 AC
"Were you dropped on your head one too many times as a youth?" you ask, voice dripping with false sympathy. "Or perhaps your tribe needed an anvil on short notice and used your skull as a stopgap measure? If you'll wait until my business is done, I have a good reference to heal the brain addled for you. Run along now, don't want you tripping and then falling into the sea."
Though your words seem to shock the giant into a momentary stupor that any mere merchant would dare address him thus, it does not take long for his anger to overflow. The earth shakes beneath his feet as he charges, the cheers and laughs of his fellows mingling with his roar of sheer rage.
Ser Richard moves in the same breath, Oathkeeper flashing bright, a gift the giant would wish he had never asked for. The knight strikes the giant under his right arm, hoping to push him off balance. Though the blow strikes true, the fiery goliath barely seems to notice, his own enormous weapon flashing with impossible incandescent swiftness, not by careful sorcery but the primal wrath of fire brought to heel. Past wards, shields, spellsteel, and tokens of good fortune, the sword batters the knight with a vicious blow that would have shattered the spine of any lesser warrior.
Ser Richard loses 12 Temporary Hit Points
Ser Richard takes 27 Damage
A brute and a savage this warrior may be, but he is no mere thug, you realize with mounting worry. One more blow like that and you will boil the damn giant alive in his armor, you vow.
The next exchange is almost too quick for even your eyes to follow, lightning-quick strikes that look to almost fail to land as the giant dodges aside with grace and swiftness that would make a mockery of the water dancers of Braavos. Ser Lonmouth is no water dancer, but a knight who has faced horrors beyond count and knowing sword in hand. Just when it seems Oathkeeper's edge would slide harmlessly along his foe's gauntlet, the sword twists down to bite at the wrist.
Blood flows freely upon the stone now, and the other giants are no longer cheering, no longer laughing. If there was any inkling that the warrior might try to withdraw then it is dashed by his furious assault, sweeping one leg from under the knight and forcing him onto one knee, though thankfully that allows his shield to float so as to guard him fully from another pair of crushing overhand strikes.
Ser Richard takes 28 Damage
Paying no mind to his injuries, Ser Richard surges to his feet, leaping off the ground to plunge Oathkeeper into the base of the giant's jaw and into his brain.
Even as you stand shocked and feeling not a little guilty for getting your sworn sword into that brief but vicious fight, Tyene, ever quick on her feet, reaches out and invokes simple healing magic, nothing that would seem out of place in a merchant's assistant in these realms, unlike Ser Richard's skill.
The other giants looks between the knight and the corpse of their fallen companion, perhaps leader judging by his skill, in amazement. "You're a 'ard one," says the female giant who had spoken up for restraint earlier. "You want to get drink later in the Xorn's Purse?"
Ser Richard is fully healed
Is she flirting? The thought is so incongruous it almost startles a laugh out of you.
"No," the knight says flatly, not that Tyene will leave him at that, judging from the smile with which she looks up from her work.
"See you round, then," the giant priestess proclaims with a last lingering glance before marching off. Definitely flirting.
No one makes a move to stop him when Ser Richard slips his fallen foe's corpse and weapon into the enchanted bag slung over his left shoulder.
***
The keep guards do not bar your way when you ask to be let in, though from the curious looks they give the knight at your side they too must have heard something of what had happened by the docks. Finding your way into the queen's presence is somewhat less straightforward, though the gleam of gems presented as 'a token of admiration' is enough to get the bright-scaled herald to open the way down wide but subtly twisting corridors decorated with as many murder-holes as tapestries of forging and of war.
Lost 1000 Gold
Somewhat to your surprise you find the audience chamber empty of any Efreeti or their creatures, only the queen coiled upon her throne, eyes bright as forge-fire coiled upon her throne, and half-a-dozen spear armed guards.
"You may speak, merchant," she hisses, her voice almost rising to a question on the last word.
You make the offer to restore her son to life without artifice.
"And what will it serve me to see him restored for a few brief moments only for the Sultan's armies to crush us all?" Her voice is dangerously low, but it cannot quite mask the hint of hope she must feel in spite of herself.
What do you answer?
[] Write in
OOC: Sorry this took so long. I'm not very used to running martial adepts, so I had to check through rules a lot more than usual during the fight.
Last edited:
] "When the XP-bags march forth, give us a heads up so we get a fair shot at the harvest."