Choose your path.
Who are you?
[] Gilgamesh of Uruk: A king of ages past, humbled by...
Who are you?
[] Gilgamesh of Uruk: A king of ages past, humbled by...
The Maid of the Comet: A Tale from Azeroth
- Thread starter King Tharassian
- Start date
- Fantasy
- Created
- Status
- Ongoing
- Watchers
- 222
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- Threadmarks
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Statistics (47 threadmarks, 63k words)
User Total King Tharassian 47 -
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Character Creation
King Tharassian
Governor-Militant
- Location
- Victory Bay, Kronus
Choose your path.
Who are you?
[] Gilgamesh of Uruk: A king of ages past, humbled by hardship and tempered by time. Two thirds God and one third Man, you are more than ready for what lies ahead.
[] Lucrezia Borgia: A lady of high birth, who walked the gilded halls of holy men and sat beside the thrones of her time. Poison was your tool, for better or worse.
[] Mordred ap Lot: A knight of a time long gone, who fought his King and fell in the telling. A warrior without peer, you lived by the sword, and may do so again.
-[] A Knight
-[] A Traitor
[] Joan of Arc: A girl born on a farm, who clawed her way to the ears of the highest powers. Driven by faith, words were your greatest gift.
-[] A Saint
-[] A Patriot
[] A New Face (Created)
And where?
[] Azeroth:
[] Amalur:
[] Tamriel:
[] The Gatelands (Original): A land where glass falls from the sky, and the peace is broken by constant skirmishing. Where fear of the North led to the building of a great defense, and a prophecy might soon come true.
Welcome one, welcome all, to this humble Quest.
Who are you?
[] Gilgamesh of Uruk: A king of ages past, humbled by hardship and tempered by time. Two thirds God and one third Man, you are more than ready for what lies ahead.
[] Lucrezia Borgia: A lady of high birth, who walked the gilded halls of holy men and sat beside the thrones of her time. Poison was your tool, for better or worse.
-[] A well-meaning assassin
-[] A remorseless murderess
-[] A remorseless murderess
[] Mordred ap Lot: A knight of a time long gone, who fought his King and fell in the telling. A warrior without peer, you lived by the sword, and may do so again.
-[] A Knight
-[] A Traitor
[] Joan of Arc: A girl born on a farm, who clawed her way to the ears of the highest powers. Driven by faith, words were your greatest gift.
-[] A Saint
-[] A Patriot
[] A New Face (Created)
And where?
[] Azeroth:
A world split by twin banners, torn by conflict, beset on all sides by threats and foes. A place where the wills of gods walk the halls beneath the earth, and that has only just begun to recover from a War unlike any other.
[] Amalur:
A world where the days of heroes have only just begun. Where Fate has been shattered and where the path is uncertain. A place that awaits the clash of great powers, and the Reckoning that will surely follow.
[] Tamriel:
A world of strange gods and stranger skies, a Wheel turning upon a bleak and ever-changing axis. A place of grey souls and Scrolls written by the wings of moths.
[] The Gatelands (Original): A land where glass falls from the sky, and the peace is broken by constant skirmishing. Where fear of the North led to the building of a great defense, and a prophecy might soon come true.
Welcome one, welcome all, to this humble Quest.
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Character Sheet
King Tharassian
Governor-Militant
- Location
- Victory Bay, Kronus
Jeanne d'Arc du Lys
Age: 19
Titles: The Maid of Orleans
Class: None
- Templar: Training with Sir Morlune
- Exemplar: Training with Sir Morlune
Alignment: ???
Affiliation:
- France
- The Catholic Church
- God
Center of Operations: None
Current Goals:
- None
Inventory:
Seasteel Arming Sword: +3 to Attack (equipped)
Scarlet Chain: +5 to Defense (Equipped)
Cracked Buckler: +5 to Defense
Common Clothing
Bottled Light: Can use to unleash pure Light into the area when opened. Charges: 4, or 2 Large Charges, or 1 Massive Charge
Battle Standard of France: Your battle standard, used to direct soldiers at the battles you commanded.
The Holy Bible: Domremy's best copy of the Bible Historiale, which you carried as a sort of talisman until your capture by the English.
Traits:
Blessed: You are chosen by the Almighty to fulfil a holy mission. Towards this end, you are advised by Saints Michael, Catherine, and Margaret.
Pious: You have a sure grasp of theology, and can (try to) understand other faiths. (Exceptions: Heretics, Heathens, Protestants...)
Lightbearer: You carry the power of the Light within you, and have the potential to walk one of its many paths. Some say that your particular strength is rivalled by few, and exceeded by even fewer.
Illiterate: You cannot read. At all. No, not even the Bible. You can barely write your own name. (Can be canceled)
Novice Literacy: You have begun learning to properly read, and have some ability to piece together sentences, though it isn't perfect.
Ambidextrous: You can use either hand with some proficiency, though you favor your left.
Abilities:
Smite: The power of the Light, focused into a burst of vengeful force. (1d10 Light Effect)
Titles: The Maid of Orleans
Class: None
- Templar: Training with Sir Morlune
- Exemplar: Training with Sir Morlune
Alignment: ???
Affiliation:
- France
- The Catholic Church
- God
Center of Operations: None
Current Goals:
- None
Inventory:
Seasteel Arming Sword: +3 to Attack (equipped)
Scarlet Chain: +5 to Defense (Equipped)
Common Clothing
Bottled Light: Can use to unleash pure Light into the area when opened. Charges: 4, or 2 Large Charges, or 1 Massive Charge
Battle Standard of France: Your battle standard, used to direct soldiers at the battles you commanded.
The Holy Bible: Domremy's best copy of the Bible Historiale, which you carried as a sort of talisman until your capture by the English.
Traits:
Blessed: You are chosen by the Almighty to fulfil a holy mission. Towards this end, you are advised by Saints Michael, Catherine, and Margaret.
Pious: You have a sure grasp of theology, and can (try to) understand other faiths. (Exceptions: Heretics, Heathens, Protestants...)
Lightbearer: You carry the power of the Light within you, and have the potential to walk one of its many paths. Some say that your particular strength is rivalled by few, and exceeded by even fewer.
Novice Literacy: You have begun learning to properly read, and have some ability to piece together sentences, though it isn't perfect.
Ambidextrous: You can use either hand with some proficiency, though you favor your left.
Abilities:
Smite: The power of the Light, focused into a burst of vengeful force. (1d10 Light Effect)
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Contacts
King Tharassian
Governor-Militant
- Location
- Victory Bay, Kronus
Contacts & Allies
Saint Michael: Catholic Saint and Archangel. Angel on Jeanne's shoulder.
Saint Catherine: Catholic Saint. One of Jeanne's guides.
Saint Margaret: Catholic Saint. One of Jeanne's guides.
First Tirasian Host: A group of rather oddly-located Tirasians in the service of the Crusade for Lordaeron, and the Scarlet Crusade in particular. They arrived after fleeing the defeat of Admiral Proudmoore's invasion of Kalimdor.
Phillipus Hydraxes: A Sea-priest of Kul Tiras, and one of the members of the First Tirasian Host of the Scarlet Crusade.
Archmage Nilas Arcanister: A former ranking member of the Kirin Tor, who accompanied the Tirasians on the journey that brought them to Lordaeron.
Priestess Alizabeth Barton: A local member of the clergy from Alterac who followed a number of her acquaintances and friends into the Crusade.
Saint Michael: Catholic Saint and Archangel. Angel on Jeanne's shoulder.
Saint Catherine: Catholic Saint. One of Jeanne's guides.
Saint Margaret: Catholic Saint. One of Jeanne's guides.
First Tirasian Host: A group of rather oddly-located Tirasians in the service of the Crusade for Lordaeron, and the Scarlet Crusade in particular. They arrived after fleeing the defeat of Admiral Proudmoore's invasion of Kalimdor.
Phillipus Hydraxes: A Sea-priest of Kul Tiras, and one of the members of the First Tirasian Host of the Scarlet Crusade.
Archmage Nilas Arcanister: A former ranking member of the Kirin Tor, who accompanied the Tirasians on the journey that brought them to Lordaeron.
Priestess Alizabeth Barton: A local member of the clergy from Alterac who followed a number of her acquaintances and friends into the Crusade.
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Reputation and Factions
King Tharassian
Governor-Militant
- Location
- Victory Bay, Kronus
Reputation and Factions
?
-?
-?
-?
?
?
-?
-?
-?
?
?
-?
-?
-?
?: Curiosity
The Crusade for Lordaeron
- The Scarlet Crusade: Friendly, Minor Heroine
- The Argent Dawn: Neutral
- ???: Neutral
?
?
?
?: Hostile
?: Curiosity
?: Amusing Curiosity
?: Dangerous Curiosity
?: Opportunity
?
-?
-?
-?
?
?
-?
-?
-?
?
?
-?
-?
-?
?: Curiosity
The Crusade for Lordaeron
- The Scarlet Crusade: Friendly, Minor Heroine
- The Argent Dawn: Neutral
- ???: Neutral
?
?
?
?: Hostile
?: Curiosity
?: Amusing Curiosity
?: Dangerous Curiosity
?: Opportunity
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??????? ?? ??????????
King Tharassian
Governor-Militant
- Location
- Victory Bay, Kronus
Reserved just in case
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Rules
King Tharassian
Governor-Militant
- Location
- Victory Bay, Kronus
Reserved for Rules
Votes and Write-ins:
Where votes are concerned, there are a few general guidelines. Conditional votes are not prohibited, but are not preferred. Anyone who wishes to have a specific contribution to a vote, such as what to say or what to do, may add a write-in with more detail than the base vote has.
Write-in options outside predetermined votes are for use creating new votes, or combining aspects that players prefer from existing votes.
Votes that are In Character will have a chance to be included in successful voting as mini-actions. These will not be as potent as full Actions.
Image Policy:
Character images may be submitted, and will be finalized as official appearances if enough support is gained. I may offer my own suggestions at times, but I will try to leave that to the players. Occasionally votes will be held in which the players may submit images for voting or vote for an existing submission. (Current Undecided: ?)
Thread Input:
Where applicable, the arguments used in-thread may be used in-character to come to a particular decision.
Character Independence:
The main character is still a separate character, and so will sometimes act independently of the players, interacting with some characters and such. Players are, however, encouraged to remember details they feel are relevant themselves for later use as the QM's not going to go easy very much if he can help it.
To be Expanded...
Votes and Write-ins:
Where votes are concerned, there are a few general guidelines. Conditional votes are not prohibited, but are not preferred. Anyone who wishes to have a specific contribution to a vote, such as what to say or what to do, may add a write-in with more detail than the base vote has.
Write-in options outside predetermined votes are for use creating new votes, or combining aspects that players prefer from existing votes.
Votes that are In Character will have a chance to be included in successful voting as mini-actions. These will not be as potent as full Actions.
Image Policy:
Character images may be submitted, and will be finalized as official appearances if enough support is gained. I may offer my own suggestions at times, but I will try to leave that to the players. Occasionally votes will be held in which the players may submit images for voting or vote for an existing submission. (Current Undecided: ?)
Thread Input:
Where applicable, the arguments used in-thread may be used in-character to come to a particular decision.
Character Independence:
The main character is still a separate character, and so will sometimes act independently of the players, interacting with some characters and such. Players are, however, encouraged to remember details they feel are relevant themselves for later use as the QM's not going to go easy very much if he can help it.
To be Expanded...
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Chapter 1.1: When the Comet Fell
King Tharassian
Governor-Militant
- Location
- Victory Bay, Kronus
25 ADP
A comet streaked through the cosmos, a beacon shining brighter than even the myriad stars in the night sky.
On Outland, Coilfang astrologers wrote feverishly, recording every sign and portent, knowing that such an obvious omen would likely not appear again for some time. Hours were spent in debate on which interpretation was true. For days after, Lady Vashj was pestered constantly by some young siren bringing the newest version of the prophecy, only a few bare details different from the last. Eventually, she simply browbeat Kael'thas into contributing, forcing him to browbeat his own astrologers in turn. However, only half of them spoke fluent Nazja, and half of those could read it. When they finally delivered their woefully contradictory and circuitous conclusions, all they could agree on - with an undeserved and inordinate sense of accomplishment - was that it was, indeed, important.
On Azeroth, the night sky did not see the comet, for it fell during the day. Mages in Silvermoon and Dalaran alike attempted to understand its origin, and, after a sudden realization, where it would land.
A murloc saw it pass above as he practiced rituals for the Mistress. His eyes watched, unblinking, as the light fell across the sky. Eventually, he went back into the tunnels. The Mistress would have been displeased if she was not informed immediately, for they alone had any definite idea of what was coming, and had to prepare.
In the North, two presences stirred, one above and one below. Both watched the comet. One saw a foe; the other, opportunity.
A comet streaked through the cosmos, a beacon shining brighter than even the myriad stars in the night sky.
On Outland, Coilfang astrologers wrote feverishly, recording every sign and portent, knowing that such an obvious omen would likely not appear again for some time. Hours were spent in debate on which interpretation was true. For days after, Lady Vashj was pestered constantly by some young siren bringing the newest version of the prophecy, only a few bare details different from the last. Eventually, she simply browbeat Kael'thas into contributing, forcing him to browbeat his own astrologers in turn. However, only half of them spoke fluent Nazja, and half of those could read it. When they finally delivered their woefully contradictory and circuitous conclusions, all they could agree on - with an undeserved and inordinate sense of accomplishment - was that it was, indeed, important.
On Azeroth, the night sky did not see the comet, for it fell during the day. Mages in Silvermoon and Dalaran alike attempted to understand its origin, and, after a sudden realization, where it would land.
A murloc saw it pass above as he practiced rituals for the Mistress. His eyes watched, unblinking, as the light fell across the sky. Eventually, he went back into the tunnels. The Mistress would have been displeased if she was not informed immediately, for they alone had any definite idea of what was coming, and had to prepare.
In the North, two presences stirred, one above and one below. Both watched the comet. One saw a foe; the other, opportunity.
You could feel the flames, climbing from foot to leg, leg to torso, burning away your voice as they grew hotter. There were no screams save your own, impotently silent as the fires rose. There was no rescue by the King or his army. No heavenly host. Not even a single light from above to mark your passing.
And then the fire was gone, and it was replaced by a comforting warmth, and a gentle light that tried to leak through your eyelids. You thought that you could hear a whispering at the edge of your consciousness, trying to pierce the warm cocoon around you.
The wind blew through your hair, and you felt that you could not move due to some strange constraint. Deciding to take the chance, you opened your eyes, and saw the sky falling away from you as you moved faster than should have been possible.
For a moment, you could see the ocean out of the corner of your eye. The sun shining down from a cloudless sky.
Then, you heard a whistling, and a crash, and saw a flash of light.
And you were asleep again.
And then the fire was gone, and it was replaced by a comforting warmth, and a gentle light that tried to leak through your eyelids. You thought that you could hear a whispering at the edge of your consciousness, trying to pierce the warm cocoon around you.
The wind blew through your hair, and you felt that you could not move due to some strange constraint. Deciding to take the chance, you opened your eyes, and saw the sky falling away from you as you moved faster than should have been possible.
For a moment, you could see the ocean out of the corner of your eye. The sun shining down from a cloudless sky.
Then, you heard a whistling, and a crash, and saw a flash of light.
And you were asleep again.
When you awoke, you could hear the sea behind you. Everything else was drowned out by a strong wind. The expanse of blue you had seen before was now grey with an incoming storm. As you came back to your full senses, you realized that every inch of you was sore. You had clothes again, rather than the rags the English had given you.
And someone had started screaming.
Pushing yourself, you got back to your feet, offering a small prayer of thanks before deciding what to do.
Choose One Landing:
[] Looking around, you found yourself on the shore of a tropical sea. You had never been to Provence, but you were fairly sure that this resembled something like it. Strange trees with wide leaves formed a vast wall of foliage, and the sea was a shade of blue so rich that it resembled dyed silk. In the distance, ships circled each other, and the ruins of some ancient civilization lay down the strand the opposite way.
[] Looking around, you saw a grey shore that rose into a dead forest. The trees seemed to rot even as they grew, and the earth was black with blight rather than mulch. You could hear the sounds of battle in the woods, but here were bodies all along the shore.
Choose up to Two:
[] Search the beach
[] Search the debris
[] Approach the Battle
[] Pray
And someone had started screaming.
Pushing yourself, you got back to your feet, offering a small prayer of thanks before deciding what to do.
Choose One Landing:
[] Looking around, you found yourself on the shore of a tropical sea. You had never been to Provence, but you were fairly sure that this resembled something like it. Strange trees with wide leaves formed a vast wall of foliage, and the sea was a shade of blue so rich that it resembled dyed silk. In the distance, ships circled each other, and the ruins of some ancient civilization lay down the strand the opposite way.
[] Looking around, you saw a grey shore that rose into a dead forest. The trees seemed to rot even as they grew, and the earth was black with blight rather than mulch. You could hear the sounds of battle in the woods, but here were bodies all along the shore.
Choose up to Two:
[] Search the beach
[] Search the debris
[] Approach the Battle
[] Pray
First Update!
If anyone thinks there's a better title, say so.
Also, if anyone wants to contribute to a minor decision, there is one to be made.
If anyone thinks there's a better title, say so.
Also, if anyone wants to contribute to a minor decision, there is one to be made.
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Chapter 1.2
King Tharassian
Governor-Militant
- Location
- Victory Bay, Kronus
Brown is likely historical, but I'll leave images mostly to you all.
Anyway, UPDATE!
I͟ ̢S҉̘͔͉͖E͉͎E̲̼̤̖̥͙͠ ͅY͈͈O̜̫U̦͞ ͚̫̦̳̖͎͔͞A҉͙̹͙M̩̠͓͜I͇̟̻̞D̴͉̩̘̲S̗͇̱̲͜T̻̕ ̖T͚̜̠̲̯͕Ḫ͉̠̞͎̣E̳͈̘ ̨̜͍F͕̯̦̻A̶R̢̺͉T̺̠͕H̹̱͜ͅE̡͕S̴̙͕̣T͓̰̟̼ͅ ̤R̗͟E̺̗͠ͅA̢̦̝̱C͘H̡͉̠͎̬͇̮̪E͖̪̙͍̥̘Ş̦͔̩
INVENTORY UPDATE: CRACKED BUCKLER ACQUIRED (+5 to Defense), SEASTEEL ARMING SWORD ACQUIRED (+3? to Attack)
CONTACTS ACQUIRED: SAINTS MICHAEL, MARGARET, and CATHERINE
FACTION MET: ???
FACTION MET: ???
REPUTATION CHANGED TO: Curiosity in ???
And you all got lucky. Feel glad that Voices was the lowest roll you got.
Anyway, UPDATE!
Even as the sound of steel and screaming echoed down from the dense woods, you offered a quiet prayer, though it was somewhat less specific than usual. A prayer in thanks, for your deliverance. A prayer for fortitude in this new place. And finally a prayer that, if your mission was not yet done, the Saints would speak to you again.
Before you even registered having completed your prayers to the Almighty, you had begun climbing the bank into the forest. Even if you did not join the battle yourself, you had to see what was going on, and if you could find some clue as to your new location. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw other footprints in the sandy soil, the shape implying that they had been running into the trees.
You entered the forest, and immediately realized that something was wrong. There was a buzzing at the edge of your mind, and you could taste the stench of decay worsened by damp.
"Jeanne!"
A voice called out from the back of your consciousness, and you strained to listen.
"Jeanne! What happened?" To your surprise and more than a little relief, the voice was familiar.
"Saint Michael?"
"Deus magnus, Jeanne! What happened? You were silent for days!" Saint Michael the Archangel was genuinely concerned? You would have been flattered, but you weren't sure if that was very pious.
"Days? It's been that long?"
"Unfortunately so, Jeanne." Said a softer voice, that of Saint Catherine. "Seven to be perfectly precise. And now we find you awake, and there's another trying to get in." A third voice decided to speak up.
"He's cold and everywhere and he isn't very nice," said Saint Margaret, the youngest of the three by far. "And he keeps reaching out to test the walls we've put up. If I didn't know better, I'd almost think the Devil himself was knocking on your… Does it count as a door if it's not physical?"
"Only if one imagines it to be a door, Margaret," Catherine said accommodatingly, "but even then, it's only useful for metaphor, and not-"
"Excusa, Catherine, but this is not the best time." Michael spoke up again. "Jeanne, if you're going towards a battle, I strongly recommend that you find some form of defense: a sword, a shield, I'm not terribly particular, but putting aside respect for the dead this once is a small price to pay for survival." It made sense, though it was somewhat distasteful.
"If I find one, then I'll put aside that revulsion." But only once, you didn't say.
"We heard that. Such oaths are admirable, but impractical."
Deciding to focus on finding your way, you hunted for the site of the battle. It was still going strong, and only grew more feverish as you came closer.
Then you found it.
In a large clearing, battle-cries rang out amongt the ringing of steel. Around twenty soldiers, clad in some form of greenish metal and white tabards, fought against a line of - were those walking corpses? They certainly appeared to be so. Each and every one was rotted, some bloated, some rail-thin. Water seemed to fall off of them in rivulets, their hair plastered to their heads.
One lay motionless only a few feet away. In its hands were a buckler, and a sword of similar make to the equipment of the soldiers in white tabards.
"The shield is worn, and wouldn't hold out against serious attacks, but it will do for now. The sword, on the other hand; fine craftsmanship, though I do not know the metal. I recommend taking both, though I imagine you would have done so anyway." Michael sounded almoust proud at the last part, though you could not be certain.
As you took the sword and shield, it was surprising how easily the blade fit your hand. The shield was lighter than you were used to, but it would have to do. Looking back to the battle, you saw the corpses breaking ranks, their charge broken as the soldiers launched a counterattack. You readied yourself to -
Before you even registered having completed your prayers to the Almighty, you had begun climbing the bank into the forest. Even if you did not join the battle yourself, you had to see what was going on, and if you could find some clue as to your new location. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw other footprints in the sandy soil, the shape implying that they had been running into the trees.
You entered the forest, and immediately realized that something was wrong. There was a buzzing at the edge of your mind, and you could taste the stench of decay worsened by damp.
"Jeanne!"
A voice called out from the back of your consciousness, and you strained to listen.
"Jeanne! What happened?" To your surprise and more than a little relief, the voice was familiar.
"Saint Michael?"
"Deus magnus, Jeanne! What happened? You were silent for days!" Saint Michael the Archangel was genuinely concerned? You would have been flattered, but you weren't sure if that was very pious.
"Days? It's been that long?"
"Unfortunately so, Jeanne." Said a softer voice, that of Saint Catherine. "Seven to be perfectly precise. And now we find you awake, and there's another trying to get in." A third voice decided to speak up.
"He's cold and everywhere and he isn't very nice," said Saint Margaret, the youngest of the three by far. "And he keeps reaching out to test the walls we've put up. If I didn't know better, I'd almost think the Devil himself was knocking on your… Does it count as a door if it's not physical?"
"Only if one imagines it to be a door, Margaret," Catherine said accommodatingly, "but even then, it's only useful for metaphor, and not-"
"Excusa, Catherine, but this is not the best time." Michael spoke up again. "Jeanne, if you're going towards a battle, I strongly recommend that you find some form of defense: a sword, a shield, I'm not terribly particular, but putting aside respect for the dead this once is a small price to pay for survival." It made sense, though it was somewhat distasteful.
"If I find one, then I'll put aside that revulsion." But only once, you didn't say.
"We heard that. Such oaths are admirable, but impractical."
Deciding to focus on finding your way, you hunted for the site of the battle. It was still going strong, and only grew more feverish as you came closer.
Then you found it.
In a large clearing, battle-cries rang out amongt the ringing of steel. Around twenty soldiers, clad in some form of greenish metal and white tabards, fought against a line of - were those walking corpses? They certainly appeared to be so. Each and every one was rotted, some bloated, some rail-thin. Water seemed to fall off of them in rivulets, their hair plastered to their heads.
One lay motionless only a few feet away. In its hands were a buckler, and a sword of similar make to the equipment of the soldiers in white tabards.
"The shield is worn, and wouldn't hold out against serious attacks, but it will do for now. The sword, on the other hand; fine craftsmanship, though I do not know the metal. I recommend taking both, though I imagine you would have done so anyway." Michael sounded almoust proud at the last part, though you could not be certain.
As you took the sword and shield, it was surprising how easily the blade fit your hand. The shield was lighter than you were used to, but it would have to do. Looking back to the battle, you saw the corpses breaking ranks, their charge broken as the soldiers launched a counterattack. You readied yourself to -
I͟ ̢S҉̘͔͉͖E͉͎E̲̼̤̖̥͙͠ ͅY͈͈O̜̫U̦͞ ͚̫̦̳̖͎͔͞A҉͙̹͙M̩̠͓͜I͇̟̻̞D̴͉̩̘̲S̗͇̱̲͜T̻̕ ̖T͚̜̠̲̯͕Ḫ͉̠̞͎̣E̳͈̘ ̨̜͍F͕̯̦̻A̶R̢̺͉T̺̠͕H̹̱͜ͅE̡͕S̴̙͕̣T͓̰̟̼ͅ ̤R̗͟E̺̗͠ͅA̢̦̝̱C͘H̡͉̠͎̬͇̮̪E͖̪̙͍̥̘Ş̦͔̩
A new voice battered your thoughts, driving everything from your mind but fear and doubt.
̴̼̝̣̺̺̤A͓̲ͅM̯̯͙̙̙̟̩O͎̦̤̹̺̯͎N̹̼̱G ̢A̝͎̦̳̺͖͠L̀L̛̩̯̼̮͈͍ͅ ̡̦̫T͎̺̮̼͚H̢̤̱͚ͅE͚̲̬̜̬͈ ̵͔̣͖̤̱WO̫̭͎̯͝R̢͚͈̲̰͈͍ͅL̖͓͈͚̮D̢̮̻̜,͍̭̀ ̜̰̝́YO̺̱̙̬̝̘̰͞U̪̘ ͉̭̀A̷͕R҉̺̣̙̩̮̼̼E̶̫͙̳̦̞̩ ͕̦A҉̻̞̝̫͇̪ ̯͘M̨̼̬̟͈͙Y̱̼ͅS̻̭T̢̗͓͉̹E͖̠R̭͉̲͚̳̦̬Y ̶̦̱͚̫̙̠I̟̖̫̟͔ ̝̲̲͍͇̹̭S̥Ȩ̦̺Ḙ̮̪͙͓͚͓K͈ ͢Ṭ̹̣̻͕̱̳O̷͉͚ ͔̞̬KN͈̝̦̙̬O͚̻W͙̪̱͇͇ͅ
You could barely hear the others trying to call to you. You could not answer. You could not breathe. You could not move.
B̻̙̞U̶̻̦̺͓ͅṮ͡ ̝̦̤F͎̲O̤̺̮͟R̥̠ ̩̯͉͘Ṇ͍̜O͙̼̯ͅW̡͚̯̭̙̜̗,̬̦̫͕̜͡ͅͅ ͍̫I̗͙̰̳̣͖̼ ͘LȨ͓̖̜̭̤̖A̵̭̤͇V̷̗E͘ ̛̖̤Y̹̥̩̝̳̗͜Ơ̮U̸̠̼ ̖̘̼͍͇͓́T̪O̷̘̣ ̜̗̹̝̤̺̱͘YO̷͓̙U͔͕̩̜̘ͅR̠̠̬̣͢ ̖͖̬̤P͍̼̩̯ͅA̶T͉H̛̝̹̳. ͚͎͕P͖̘̥͉̮̜̖E͔͖̹̕R̸͙̯̭͍̥̼̼H͏̮̘͓A͓͖̜̙̦̻P̜͕͇͢S҉͓̮ ̮͕̯̰͇͙̙Y̧͖͓̦̲̯̳̬O̧̫̠̭͓Ṵ̦̼̮̙ ̻̣̼̪̣S̛̩̠̲̻̻͎H̦̪͍͕A͢L͉̩͉L̶͉̱͎̮̹̩ͅ ̠̦͕̘O͙͍N̟̪͙̪͜E̵̟̲̪͓̜̺̪ ͇͙̜̻͎̮̝D͍̱̗̬A̯̗͚͕̗͢Y̛̯͇̦̖̠ ̨͈̹̜̫S̻͍̠E̝̱ͅE ̠͙̜̞̯͠T̬̠̠͎̹̻͕H͔͎̫͚͉̞̻E̙̰̩͔ͅ ̸G̣͎̱̼L̖̟͍̬O̥R̪Y̥ ̮̲O͝F̦ ͉͙N͔͕̟̲ͅ-̧̪̠
̦̩
And suddenly, it was gone. The world stopped shaking, and color returned to normal. You had fallen to the ground, and saw a rotted foot in front of you. Looking up, you saw on of the drenched dead leaning towards you, its dislocated jaw widening further as it began to breathe in…
But it was silenced by an arrow, flying from behind you into its maw. It was fletched with bristles of some strange plant, and the head, which had gone all the way through the monster's spine, resembled the corals that some nobles had so loved for jewelry. As it fell, you turned to catch a glimpse of your apparent savior, but only saw a pair of yellow eyes flash in the trees before disappearing.
After a moment, you gathered your bearings, and looked back to the battle. Or what had been a battle once. The soldiers were putting down the last remaining stragglers, though most of the corpses had seemingly fled. Seeing the tabards of the warriors more clearly, you saw the sigil of a red flame on each and every one; the dead as well as the living.
"They might be of help to you," you heard Catherine musing, "though you might want to approach standing tall."
As you stood, you heard voices from amongst the soldiers. They sounded vaguely English.
"Albedon!"
"Alive!"
"Havelock!"
"Here!"
"Branding! Branding?"
"Branding's over here, Captain. Not breathing."
One of them, his armor more ornate than the rest, walked to one side of the field.
"Damn. That's six in one day." The leader -for what else could he be? - sounded tired. "Given the numbers we were up against, it's a low price, but still…" You began to walk forward as he sighed. "Not looking forward to the report to Dunhelming. Arcanister will be even worse."
"Captain Thornby!"
You froze as you realized one of the soldiers was looking at you, shield up so that you could see the golden anchor emblazoned on the green metal.
"We have a stranger here!"
The captain, Thornby, turned to face you, his helm hiding all but his eyes.
"What brings you here, stranger? And why to this place, of all the little hells in this forsaken land?"
"Maybe they could be allies? They seem strong…" Margaret's voice didn't have much confidence.
Choose one:
[] Tell the truth. Your name, your position, and… well, your complete lack of knowledge as to your location or means of arrival.
[] A Partial Truth, perhaps. Your name, but some vague reason for your presence, and no mention of where you came from until you understand what is going on.
[] Better safe than sorry. Reveal as little as possible. You do not know these men and women, and they could easily be a threat as much as an ally.
[] Write in (optional)
̴̼̝̣̺̺̤A͓̲ͅM̯̯͙̙̙̟̩O͎̦̤̹̺̯͎N̹̼̱G ̢A̝͎̦̳̺͖͠L̀L̛̩̯̼̮͈͍ͅ ̡̦̫T͎̺̮̼͚H̢̤̱͚ͅE͚̲̬̜̬͈ ̵͔̣͖̤̱WO̫̭͎̯͝R̢͚͈̲̰͈͍ͅL̖͓͈͚̮D̢̮̻̜,͍̭̀ ̜̰̝́YO̺̱̙̬̝̘̰͞U̪̘ ͉̭̀A̷͕R҉̺̣̙̩̮̼̼E̶̫͙̳̦̞̩ ͕̦A҉̻̞̝̫͇̪ ̯͘M̨̼̬̟͈͙Y̱̼ͅS̻̭T̢̗͓͉̹E͖̠R̭͉̲͚̳̦̬Y ̶̦̱͚̫̙̠I̟̖̫̟͔ ̝̲̲͍͇̹̭S̥Ȩ̦̺Ḙ̮̪͙͓͚͓K͈ ͢Ṭ̹̣̻͕̱̳O̷͉͚ ͔̞̬KN͈̝̦̙̬O͚̻W͙̪̱͇͇ͅ
You could barely hear the others trying to call to you. You could not answer. You could not breathe. You could not move.
B̻̙̞U̶̻̦̺͓ͅṮ͡ ̝̦̤F͎̲O̤̺̮͟R̥̠ ̩̯͉͘Ṇ͍̜O͙̼̯ͅW̡͚̯̭̙̜̗,̬̦̫͕̜͡ͅͅ ͍̫I̗͙̰̳̣͖̼ ͘LȨ͓̖̜̭̤̖A̵̭̤͇V̷̗E͘ ̛̖̤Y̹̥̩̝̳̗͜Ơ̮U̸̠̼ ̖̘̼͍͇͓́T̪O̷̘̣ ̜̗̹̝̤̺̱͘YO̷͓̙U͔͕̩̜̘ͅR̠̠̬̣͢ ̖͖̬̤P͍̼̩̯ͅA̶T͉H̛̝̹̳. ͚͎͕P͖̘̥͉̮̜̖E͔͖̹̕R̸͙̯̭͍̥̼̼H͏̮̘͓A͓͖̜̙̦̻P̜͕͇͢S҉͓̮ ̮͕̯̰͇͙̙Y̧͖͓̦̲̯̳̬O̧̫̠̭͓Ṵ̦̼̮̙ ̻̣̼̪̣S̛̩̠̲̻̻͎H̦̪͍͕A͢L͉̩͉L̶͉̱͎̮̹̩ͅ ̠̦͕̘O͙͍N̟̪͙̪͜E̵̟̲̪͓̜̺̪ ͇͙̜̻͎̮̝D͍̱̗̬A̯̗͚͕̗͢Y̛̯͇̦̖̠ ̨͈̹̜̫S̻͍̠E̝̱ͅE ̠͙̜̞̯͠T̬̠̠͎̹̻͕H͔͎̫͚͉̞̻E̙̰̩͔ͅ ̸G̣͎̱̼L̖̟͍̬O̥R̪Y̥ ̮̲O͝F̦ ͉͙N͔͕̟̲ͅ-̧̪̠
̦̩
And suddenly, it was gone. The world stopped shaking, and color returned to normal. You had fallen to the ground, and saw a rotted foot in front of you. Looking up, you saw on of the drenched dead leaning towards you, its dislocated jaw widening further as it began to breathe in…
But it was silenced by an arrow, flying from behind you into its maw. It was fletched with bristles of some strange plant, and the head, which had gone all the way through the monster's spine, resembled the corals that some nobles had so loved for jewelry. As it fell, you turned to catch a glimpse of your apparent savior, but only saw a pair of yellow eyes flash in the trees before disappearing.
After a moment, you gathered your bearings, and looked back to the battle. Or what had been a battle once. The soldiers were putting down the last remaining stragglers, though most of the corpses had seemingly fled. Seeing the tabards of the warriors more clearly, you saw the sigil of a red flame on each and every one; the dead as well as the living.
"They might be of help to you," you heard Catherine musing, "though you might want to approach standing tall."
As you stood, you heard voices from amongst the soldiers. They sounded vaguely English.
"Albedon!"
"Alive!"
"Havelock!"
"Here!"
"Branding! Branding?"
"Branding's over here, Captain. Not breathing."
One of them, his armor more ornate than the rest, walked to one side of the field.
"Damn. That's six in one day." The leader -for what else could he be? - sounded tired. "Given the numbers we were up against, it's a low price, but still…" You began to walk forward as he sighed. "Not looking forward to the report to Dunhelming. Arcanister will be even worse."
"Captain Thornby!"
You froze as you realized one of the soldiers was looking at you, shield up so that you could see the golden anchor emblazoned on the green metal.
"We have a stranger here!"
The captain, Thornby, turned to face you, his helm hiding all but his eyes.
"What brings you here, stranger? And why to this place, of all the little hells in this forsaken land?"
"Maybe they could be allies? They seem strong…" Margaret's voice didn't have much confidence.
Choose one:
[] Tell the truth. Your name, your position, and… well, your complete lack of knowledge as to your location or means of arrival.
[] A Partial Truth, perhaps. Your name, but some vague reason for your presence, and no mention of where you came from until you understand what is going on.
[] Better safe than sorry. Reveal as little as possible. You do not know these men and women, and they could easily be a threat as much as an ally.
[] Write in (optional)
INVENTORY UPDATE: CRACKED BUCKLER ACQUIRED (+5 to Defense), SEASTEEL ARMING SWORD ACQUIRED (+3? to Attack)
CONTACTS ACQUIRED: SAINTS MICHAEL, MARGARET, and CATHERINE
FACTION MET: ???
FACTION MET: ???
REPUTATION CHANGED TO: Curiosity in ???
And you all got lucky. Feel glad that Voices was the lowest roll you got.
Last edited:
Chapter 1.3
King Tharassian
Governor-Militant
- Location
- Victory Bay, Kronus
Update finished! Detail on new discussions below.
If there was one thing you had to say was the most convenient about your condition with regards to the three Saints who apparently had been stationed inside your head by a God you had never seen or heard from personally (not that you felt yourself worthy of such attention, humble servant that you were), it was the fact that your conversations with them could, if so desired, take up the timespan of mere moments in real time.
A fact that you are certain is being taken for granted at this moment.
You are in a mindscape with the three Saints, each one looking like a figure out of a painting or tapestry. There's complete silence as they try to think of a convincing backstory for you, and as you pick apart details on the Captain while he is, by your perception, perfectly still.
The armor was indeed green in color, though it had a washed-out hue most likely caused by exposure to the elements. Some simple gilding, and a helmet with a pair of stylized wings were the only real decoration. The tabard had a flame, but the shield had an anchor. Curious.
"Maybe we say that we're from Normandy?" Margaret chirped, trying to be heard above Michael's planning, which he always did out loud.
"Suboptimal," the archangel replied. "We don't even know if this is Europe, and those corpse-creatures only drive home to me that this is uncharted territory." He continued his - admittedly mental, as he had no physical body with which to do anything - pacing.
"A farmgirl." Catherine sat at a spinning wheel as she spoke. "She should try not to lie. 'Tis better to tell a partial truth than to lie outright."
"And if they ask more questions?" You turn to them, looking away from the real world. "What then? They could be English, by their accents, and I am in no mood to be burned again for something that was necessary." Michael clnched his fists, and Margaret blanched and visibly recoiled, both struck harder by the fact that they had ultimately failed than either would have liked. Catherine, however, simply raised an eyebrow and kept spinning.
"Then hopefully you will have answers." She gave a wan smile. "'Tis not the best solution, but it is the most practical right now." Much as you were apprehensive, she was right. But what if they did ask, and you were not ready to give them an answer?
Ultimately, that was a chance you would have to take. You stepped back through your own eyes, and into the present.
"Jeanne d'Arc. My name is Jeanne d'Arc." A number of the soldiers were whispering among themselves as you spoke. You could hear a few words - "Tirisfal" and "Northern" foremost among them, but they were not as important as gauging the Captain's own reaction.
He seemed unimpressed. His eyes didn't even narrow when you spoke, and he seemed to have a lazy confidence that he had drawn about himself in the scant minutes since the battle. A very good cover, but you'd seen others do the same to hide suspicion or apprehension. He seemed to fit the former.
"A pleasure, Miss d'Arc." He nodded as he spoke, but he had a slight edge to his voice that betrayed a certain wariness. "But I'll ask again: why and how are you here, of all places?"
Another argument ensued.
"I knew honesty was the best policy!" Margaret was clapping excitedly, and seemed distinctly pleased with herself.
"I don't think that's the best response to this situation, Margaret." Was Catherine agitated? That was a rare occurence. "It might be cheering for Jeanne getting caught again."
Margaret deflated immediately, looking somewhat like a deer that had just seen a torch.
"No, she's partially right. We just need to do the same thing as before." Michael had a clever smile as he explained his idea.
Quite frankly, it was simple. Too simple.
But it was what you got on short notice.
After what felt an eternity, you had an answer for more than you did only a moment earlier.
"My transport crashed some ways down the shore. Since the crash was rather sudden, and I don't know where this is when comparing it to anywhere I know, I just followed the best path I could." That seemed to put some others at greater ease. They seemed familiar with the concept of being stranded. At least, you hoped that was what they were agreeing on. The Captain seemed more at ease as well.
"Well, I suppose if that's all you can say, that's all you can say." He turned to one of the soldiers. "Call a sea priest and tend to the wounded. Give the dead a proper burial. I won't leave them where they can't see the ocean." As the force dispersed, he walked over, seemingly to speak with you less publicly. " I realize that i never introduced myself properly. Carvell Thornby, Captain of the"- his eyes indicated a slight grimace as he spoke- "First Tirasian Host of the Scarlet Crusade."
You could have heard a pin drop in the mental landscape where the Saints listened.
"A Crusade?" You hadn't heard another crusade was declared. The last you remembered was aimed at the Hussites, and you somehow doubted that these men and women were fighting traitors to the Catholic Church. The Captain raised an eyebrow.
"Lived under a rock for a while, eh?" At your indignant expression, he gave a short laugh. 'I meant no offense. Living under a rock is safer than living in Tirisfal proper nowadays. Especially with the Forsaken running amok. Though," he nodded to the sword in your hand, "I must wonder then how you know to use a sword. And how you came across one like that specifically. But most of all," his voice lowered and he crossed his arms, "I'm forced to wonder whether you're telling the truth. And if not, whether you did such with intentions to harm my soldiers or our cause." His eyes were narrowed, and the smile that played around them was more than likely a pretense to keep up the charade of a civil conversation. "So I'll have to ask you: what are you doing here, and why did you approach us?"
"I already told you," you hissed back. "I'm lost and don't know where to go. I don't have any ill will towards you or your people." You bit back a sigh. "To be honest, I need some form of assistance. And if you truly must know how I learned to use a weapon, I…"
[] "Learned from my father" An unlikely story where you come from, but there are women in armor among the captain's ranks. Perhaps he'll even believe it.
-[] Write-in (optional)
[] "Joined my town's militia." More likely for you, perhaps, but it might not explain how you know to use a sword specifically; swords are expensive, and spears are far more common among peasant levies, exceeded only by the hand-axe.
-[] Write-in (Optional)
[] "Fought for the local lord." A good explanation for your poise and discipline, but might raise questions about your birthplace. Then again, they seem to have ideas of where they think you're from already, and may simply fill in the blanks.
-[] Write-in (optional)
[] "Had to. There was not much choice but to fight." A risky option. They may wonder what exactly you were fighting for, or why you had to. But they might assume you had a run of bad luck, are an orphan, or made your way as a street rat.
-[] Write-in (optional)
[] "Was called to it." The most truthful option, but also risky. Depending on what these men and women worship, or who they serve, you may offend a few delicate sensibilities. But they are crusaders, are they not? Perhaps you will find kin in them.
-[] Write-in (optional)
[] Write-in
"My transport crashed some ways down the shore. Since the crash was rather sudden, and I don't know where this is when comparing it to anywhere I know, I just followed the best path I could." That seemed to put some others at greater ease. They seemed familiar with the concept of being stranded. At least, you hoped that was what they were agreeing on. The Captain seemed more at ease as well.
"Well, I suppose if that's all you can say, that's all you can say." He turned to one of the soldiers. "Call a sea priest and tend to the wounded. Give the dead a proper burial. I won't leave them where they can't see the ocean." As the force dispersed, he walked over, seemingly to speak with you less publicly. " I realize that i never introduced myself properly. Carvell Thornby, Captain of the"- his eyes indicated a slight grimace as he spoke- "First Tirasian Host of the Scarlet Crusade."
You could have heard a pin drop in the mental landscape where the Saints listened.
"A Crusade?" You hadn't heard another crusade was declared. The last you remembered was aimed at the Hussites, and you somehow doubted that these men and women were fighting traitors to the Catholic Church. The Captain raised an eyebrow.
"Lived under a rock for a while, eh?" At your indignant expression, he gave a short laugh. 'I meant no offense. Living under a rock is safer than living in Tirisfal proper nowadays. Especially with the Forsaken running amok. Though," he nodded to the sword in your hand, "I must wonder then how you know to use a sword. And how you came across one like that specifically. But most of all," his voice lowered and he crossed his arms, "I'm forced to wonder whether you're telling the truth. And if not, whether you did such with intentions to harm my soldiers or our cause." His eyes were narrowed, and the smile that played around them was more than likely a pretense to keep up the charade of a civil conversation. "So I'll have to ask you: what are you doing here, and why did you approach us?"
"I already told you," you hissed back. "I'm lost and don't know where to go. I don't have any ill will towards you or your people." You bit back a sigh. "To be honest, I need some form of assistance. And if you truly must know how I learned to use a weapon, I…"
[] "Learned from my father" An unlikely story where you come from, but there are women in armor among the captain's ranks. Perhaps he'll even believe it.
-[] Write-in (optional)
[] "Joined my town's militia." More likely for you, perhaps, but it might not explain how you know to use a sword specifically; swords are expensive, and spears are far more common among peasant levies, exceeded only by the hand-axe.
-[] Write-in (Optional)
[] "Fought for the local lord." A good explanation for your poise and discipline, but might raise questions about your birthplace. Then again, they seem to have ideas of where they think you're from already, and may simply fill in the blanks.
-[] Write-in (optional)
[] "Had to. There was not much choice but to fight." A risky option. They may wonder what exactly you were fighting for, or why you had to. But they might assume you had a run of bad luck, are an orphan, or made your way as a street rat.
-[] Write-in (optional)
[] "Was called to it." The most truthful option, but also risky. Depending on what these men and women worship, or who they serve, you may offend a few delicate sensibilities. But they are crusaders, are they not? Perhaps you will find kin in them.
-[] Write-in (optional)
[] Write-in
So far, I've been writing Jeanne based on an interpretation of her personality that I created for this version. However, I decided that you all should have more of a say in how she develops.
Moving on, there is another vote to include: images. There have been three posted so far, and some sentiment indicated a vote was preferred. So here you go:
[] 1
[] 2
[] 3
[] New Submission (include pic)
Voting now commences!
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Chapter 1.4
King Tharassian
Governor-Militant
- Location
- Victory Bay, Kronus
"I was called to it."
The moment the words left your lips, Thornby's expression changed under his helmet.
"Called to it? But that would mean -"
"That I am drawn along my path by divine purpose?" You interrupted, seizing the initiative. "Because I am. I have been called to action in defiance of what those around me thought I was destined for. I am unhindered by doubt or hesitation in my mission, for I know that my cause is just, and my path righteous." Every word was a promise, every sentence a statement of holy intent. Thornby seemed shocked; awed, even. He almost physically recoiled from your words, and his eyes are wide.
"You are blessed? But that's…" He seemed less hesitant than disbelieving. "There hasn't been any sign! The priests and paladins received no vision from the Light! If you are truly blessed, then…" He trailed off, staring at you, and then recoiling further as if struck. "The comet. Was the comet the sign?"
The soldiers were all listening now, though the priests had begun rites over the fallen to one side of the grove. Under their helmets, their expressions were unreadable. Nonetheless, they all seemed to feel the same awe that Thornby was displaying.
You were too busy trying to understand just what he said to care. The "Light?" Was that the church in this land? It had to be. And from what Thornby said, it was regarded as near-divine. Perhaps…
"Milady?"
Thornby's voice drew you from your thoughts, and you saw that every soldier in the clearing was staring at your hands, from the warriors in green armor to the "sea-priests" in their bizarre vestments. They all seemed illuminated, as though a light was shining down upon them from somewhere around you, that same light bathing the grey mist that drifted lazily through the forest in such a way as to create clouds of flickering golden light.
You almost didn't look to see what so fascinated them. Almost.
Drawing your hands up far enough to see, you found them washed in a brilliant golden aura that seemed to repel the cold you did not even realize you felt. The same warmth came from the light that had enveloped you in your fall. It felt like what you'd always dreamed: the love of the Almighty coursing through you, directed as through a lens to destroy evil and safeguard the innocent.
If this was their "Light," then you were blessed, indeed.
You did not intend to preach, nor to sermonize. You were His instrument, and you would make known who you were.
"If I am not blessed, may He place me there. If I am, may He so keep me." You could not help but remember the English, questioning whether you had been given the grace of God. You could not help but remember your answer and say it aloud. And though you had only said it now in a whisper, you somehow knew that the men and women around you had heard it. You raised your head again and looked Thornby in the eye.
"Yes. I have been called. I am chosen for a cause greater than myself. And I see around me all the signs that my mission is needed. The dead walk, and the righteous fail. You say that you are on crusade?" Thornby only nodded numbly. "And you have seen this Light before?"
"Only in the hands of paladins, milady." He seemed nearly unable to speak. "Paladins and priests, and," he hesitated, "rarely so potent."
Then there were others, men and women who had been called as you were. The thought was both comforting and terrifying. If such power was necessary, what foes might hinder the path of the faithful, and how terrible could they be that He made his will so clearly known, when in your own home He had rarely intervened at all? But you could learn of this place and the dangers besetting it later. For now, you would do His work, whatever that entailed.
"Then know this: I am here to strike down evil and save the righteous, wherever they may be and by whatever they may be threatened."
Every one of them was raptly listening, and you had the distinct feeling that this moment would have effects beyond these few who witnessed it.
"I am Jeanne the Maid, and I am here to do His work."
The moment the words left your lips, Thornby's expression changed under his helmet.
"Called to it? But that would mean -"
"That I am drawn along my path by divine purpose?" You interrupted, seizing the initiative. "Because I am. I have been called to action in defiance of what those around me thought I was destined for. I am unhindered by doubt or hesitation in my mission, for I know that my cause is just, and my path righteous." Every word was a promise, every sentence a statement of holy intent. Thornby seemed shocked; awed, even. He almost physically recoiled from your words, and his eyes are wide.
"You are blessed? But that's…" He seemed less hesitant than disbelieving. "There hasn't been any sign! The priests and paladins received no vision from the Light! If you are truly blessed, then…" He trailed off, staring at you, and then recoiling further as if struck. "The comet. Was the comet the sign?"
The soldiers were all listening now, though the priests had begun rites over the fallen to one side of the grove. Under their helmets, their expressions were unreadable. Nonetheless, they all seemed to feel the same awe that Thornby was displaying.
You were too busy trying to understand just what he said to care. The "Light?" Was that the church in this land? It had to be. And from what Thornby said, it was regarded as near-divine. Perhaps…
"Milady?"
Thornby's voice drew you from your thoughts, and you saw that every soldier in the clearing was staring at your hands, from the warriors in green armor to the "sea-priests" in their bizarre vestments. They all seemed illuminated, as though a light was shining down upon them from somewhere around you, that same light bathing the grey mist that drifted lazily through the forest in such a way as to create clouds of flickering golden light.
You almost didn't look to see what so fascinated them. Almost.
Drawing your hands up far enough to see, you found them washed in a brilliant golden aura that seemed to repel the cold you did not even realize you felt. The same warmth came from the light that had enveloped you in your fall. It felt like what you'd always dreamed: the love of the Almighty coursing through you, directed as through a lens to destroy evil and safeguard the innocent.
If this was their "Light," then you were blessed, indeed.
You did not intend to preach, nor to sermonize. You were His instrument, and you would make known who you were.
"If I am not blessed, may He place me there. If I am, may He so keep me." You could not help but remember the English, questioning whether you had been given the grace of God. You could not help but remember your answer and say it aloud. And though you had only said it now in a whisper, you somehow knew that the men and women around you had heard it. You raised your head again and looked Thornby in the eye.
"Yes. I have been called. I am chosen for a cause greater than myself. And I see around me all the signs that my mission is needed. The dead walk, and the righteous fail. You say that you are on crusade?" Thornby only nodded numbly. "And you have seen this Light before?"
"Only in the hands of paladins, milady." He seemed nearly unable to speak. "Paladins and priests, and," he hesitated, "rarely so potent."
Then there were others, men and women who had been called as you were. The thought was both comforting and terrifying. If such power was necessary, what foes might hinder the path of the faithful, and how terrible could they be that He made his will so clearly known, when in your own home He had rarely intervened at all? But you could learn of this place and the dangers besetting it later. For now, you would do His work, whatever that entailed.
"Then know this: I am here to strike down evil and save the righteous, wherever they may be and by whatever they may be threatened."
Every one of them was raptly listening, and you had the distinct feeling that this moment would have effects beyond these few who witnessed it.
"I am Jeanne the Maid, and I am here to do His work."
"What was that?" Michael was ranting near-incoherently, as Catherine and Margaret watched.
"What happened?" You hadn't seen Michael like this since Rouen, and that had been an actual disaster.
"Once the light passed, he just started yelling about how it was 'impossible.'" Catherine shrugged, continuing her spinning.
"I still don't understand how he's been yelling for this long without taking a breath." Margaret was staring at him. "He either has very large lungs or -"
"Or maybe we don't need to breathe, Margaret." Catherine said, as though reminding her of an obvious fact.
"Oh! Yes, that's right!"
"How long?" Margaret was absentminded at times, but not absentminded enough to forget that people could do things like hold their breath.
"Uh…" She tapped her chin in thought. "Maybe an hour? Things have been faster in here than out there."
"An hour?"
"We haven't been able to get a word in for almost three-quarters of that." Catherine muttered.
"Michael." He did not hear you. "Michael! What do you mean 'it's impossible?'"
"No time!" Michael was growling. He never did that! "Get out there, girl! Now!" Before you could even ask what was wrong, he pushed, and -
"- ptain! Captain!"
"What is it, Jallund?" Thornby had turned to face another soldier, this one carrying what looked like a handheld cannon.
"Deathguards, sir! They must have come north from Deathknell!" Those names meant absolutely nothing to you, except confusion at why someone would apparently love the word "death" so much to use it in so many names.
"Damn." However, they apparently meant a great deal to Thornby. "They must have been on patrol. All right, Tirasians!" He rallied the others again. "Enough dawdling! We have to be ready for them! Footmen in the front, rifles in the trees! Stay in groups of two or three; we can't afford to be caught by a flanking attack!" The remaining soldiers, about fourteen in total, got into formations faster than you would have expected: eight in a line facing the East, and six "rifles" in the forest around the clearing. There was no sign of the three sea-priests.
"Captain?"
"You'd best get somewhere safe, milady." Thornby kept his eyes Eastward as he spoke. "Holy mission or not, you won't survive a hit from a deathguard with no armor. I'd suggest disappearing into the forest. And don't go South, but if you have to…" He turned to look at you briefly. "Don't listen to the whispers."
You couldn't help but stare as he ran to join the shield wall, even as the first walking corpses could be seen entering the glade.
"Well, hello, crusaders!" The foremost one called out, sounding jovial through his rictus grin. "We didn't expect entertainment out here. What brings you into our path?" He swept his arm at the modest shield wall. "And with such hostility? We're all Lordaeronians here, aren't we?"
"That depends, deathguard!" Thornby called back. "Can Lordaeronian blood flow where there is only dust? And for that matter, can it flow where sea water fills its place?" The soldiers shook their shields and yelled out in response, in some gesture of pride.
"Tirasians, then." The deathguard rubbed his jaw. "Must be from Vandermar. Have to admit I'm curious why you're this far West. and how you got past the Bulwark." He grinned even more widely. "But we only need one of you to tell us that. And you know it. So why don't you stand down? We'll settle this all friendly-like."
"And if we don't?"
"Eh." The deathguard shrugged. "We can always use more newraiseds. And being one of us tends to change your perspective a little, see. Is that your answer then?"
"What do you think?" Thornby growled back.
And you…
[] Listened to Thornby. They were wielding butchers' knives as though they were swords!
[] Ran to join the soldiers. You wouldn't let them die when you could stop it. You didn't leave at Orleans, and you wouldn't now.
[] Circled around, and attacked from behind. You might not survive a straight fight, but maybe the light of God could collapse the skulls of the dead as well as heal wounds.
[] Called the Light. Divine retribution might not solve all problems, but it might help lessen this one.
[]Write-in (May be applied in combination with other strategies)
And there you have it. A nat 20. Feel lucky my QM dice didn't mitigate it too badly.
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