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Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Tristan absentmindedly goes to pick up the axe from where it's planted. It's soaked in blood. It needs to be cleaned, or it will rust. It needs to be whetted, after going through flesh.

Even the strongest weapons need to be maintained past their proving, and it's clear that Robena isn't in the presence of mind for it. That's fine.

He carries it over to Constance and Mort - not as a weapon, but as a burden. He is, for a moment, very disgruntled he's not going to get the help slaying that badger he was promised, but he brushes that aside for now.

"Pendragon is still a necessary quarry?" He asks Constance. She seems like she'd know. She always seems like she'd know. "Am I still called to hunt?"

Fellowship: The Heart

Ominous! And here Lucien is, at the right place with the wrong book, he suspects. He keeps it tucked under one arm, and continues sifting through the pile for anything good. The Heraclitus, for instance. Hides A Victory of Crows in the pile he's making. Plausible deniability that he was trying to hide it, if it comes up.

And- Good heavens, someone put Cioran under "self-help"?! These clowns do have a sense of humour after all. Definitely taking those.

He quite likes Ailee, but he doesn't... Does he trust her? He does, but he feels like he shouldn't right now, and he trusts that feeling more. He definitely doesn't know how he feels about the newcomer, yet.

"Oh, you don't want to do that." Lucien says cheerfully, matter-of-factly. "First you'd hit me, then you'd miss me, so it goes."

And is that- Ailee just suppressed a bitter rant. He saw the Look. Ailee also didn't immediately hassle the professor, upon seeing him next to this miserable pit that puts the lie to everything he believes. Ailee is seeing Pagliacci in what might be his lowest moment, and she instead chooses to rib Lucien about his shirt?

It is decided. Ailee cannot be trusted right now because she has a crush. Does she realize, yet?

Stars above.

Lucien keeps his books tucked under one arm, keeping the spines facing away from the arriving pair. He considers going for a handshake, but decides... no. He snaps his heels together and gives his swoopiest courtier bow, dancing on the razor's edge between sarcastic and sincere - neither one nor the other. He rakes his hair back with his free hand as he straightens - but never too straight, eh?

"Hullo. Lucien Roue, charmed. If you can find anything worth a damn in this paper-puddle, you've a keener eye than I. I'll have the pleasure of adding 'myself included' before the delightful Ms Sundish gets another jab in. Our mutual here," this field intentionally left blank, "the Professor was just... you know, I'm not actually sure?"

Fellowship: The Heart

Lucien considers selling the book. Then he considers keeping it.

In the long run, which he chooses is moot; Both begin with taking the book with him now.

At the very least, this seems like a fantastic way to wreck the day of whatever manages to kill him, down here. That thought warms his heart.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

On the one hand, that was very unchivalrous.

On the other, Robena did nothing less than her duty. Not only was she true to her word, but her words were proved true. He has seen how true for himself, now. For Robena to stay her hand at the critical moment would have been to shirk a grave responsibility.

Tristan does not admire this, but he must respect it.

He scrabbles down from the rooftops as fast as is safe. Delegation of duties again; if Robena has no interest in diplomacy, then she is in immediate need of a diplomat. Best be quick about it.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Tristan is still focusing entirely on Pellinore when the blade goes in her back. He does not even see that it is Robena that has done it, yet.

More than just what he was trying to learn, he feels what Pellinore feels in the moment that the blade goes in. This is new to him. The ritual ends by the loosing of the arrow. He has not felt the target when the shot hits.

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Tristan makes a snap judgement. Stay hidden. The knights will take time to reform, and there are other obstacles. But he might not get another chance to observe Pellinore like this, and that information could be more vital.

And he knows the Lady Constance. He has always been eager to learn from everyone he can - long ago she gifted him with her time, and he's treasured the lessons and the memories always. Idly, he wonders if she remembers him.

She is an ally, and she is better suited to the task of dissuading the knights. Of resolving it peacefully.

"Chase two rabbits, catch none." Isn't that what he was always taught? He focuses on the task he's better suited for, and delegates the other - though he has no good way to tell who he's volunteered.

He draws the bowstring, no arrow in hand. Now he blinds himself to the forest to better see the tree.

His concentration isn't perfect. The lingering doubt this is the wrong decision stays with him. It's irrelevant. The decision was made.

Breathe.

He is standing right next to Pellinore. He is close enough to touch. She is all he sees.

Breathe.

Blind to everything else. Trust the rest is handled. Trust that he's right to trust.

Breathe.

[Weird: 6, 1 +1 = 8]

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Tristan harnesses his bow and makes for high ground. He's done what he can from this vantage point, at this time. None of the King's knights can get to him through this wall of muscle, but neither can he effectively shoot through it.

Not all the buildings are crumbling with the earth. The cracks just make them easier to climb, again something that Tristan has drilled relentlessly, again an edge he has over opponents wearing heavier armor. To get to a rooftop - this time - is trivial. A loose brick slipping in his hands, shaken loose, just reveals a better handhold, and then a stirrup.

Now he has height. Now he has sight.

He draws his bow again, fighting between the need to leap off the building at any moment and the urge to steady his aim. He opts for flight, for now, until he's more sure it can hold his weight, until the ground finally rests. Until he knows who to shoot.

He holds his bow, but he doesn't focus it yet - not like he did with the badger. Now is the time for forests, not trees - he can't allow himself to be distracted by the one that towers over the rest, all must be cut down in their turn. He doesn't focus on the King - that's Sandsfern's fight, right now.

He focuses on her knights that haven't fled, haven't hesitated. The unwaveringly loyal. The unfortunately mortal. He performs the grim calculus of the order in which they must be killed.

These knights are the ones willing to die in service to their lord, and he can't help but admire and respect that. It is unfortunate that good knights must die for bad lords and bad causes. He feels no malice towards them, no hatred or anger. He feels pride in his skills, remorse in their application. His pulse quickens. The calculus continues.

Tristan doesn't quiet his heart. He doesn't push down these feelings, or ignore them. Those feelings matter. They just don't change what needs to be done.

He nocks an arrow.

[4, 4 +2 = 10 on Wary
• How might I best husband, preserve, or defend my strength?
• Which of my enemies is the biggest threat to me?
• Where am I strong, and where am I weak?]

Fellowship: The Heart

"Hrrm." Lucien hrrms, picking up the Heraclytes. He munches his prized fried pickles happily. "I always liked Heraclytes. There's a later collection where I was asked to write a foreword, actually. This one's far too old to have it. A man's character is his fate. That one always stays with me. Or, uh, what was it?" He pretends he's trying to remember the quote that has been burning in his mind the second he saw this book lying open in this puddle of damp paper and crumbling ink. "A man can never step into the same river twice, for it is never the same river, and he is never the same man."

He shakes his head. "I don't think you'll be able to keep the knowledge you want, because the 'you' that comes out will no longer want it. And I know you know this. So why are you really doing this? What are you really doing, here?"

Lucien wades through the pile, trying to find something of real value. Something disguised as fiction, maybe. The most powerful truths always hide behind a mask... and sometimes, greasepaint, he supposes.

[5, 5, +2 = 12 on Sense to look through the books for something particularly valuable.
There isn't a really good like, move for this, but I wanted to reflect just how random the Book Pit had to be]

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

The problem right now is the horses. Actually, there are uncountable problems, but the problem that Tristan has the tool to deal with is the horses.

He lets loose arrows as hard and as fast as he can. The act of drawing the sword from its sheath must be the decisive killing blow. Four arrows fly at full strength, three horses necks are shredded beyond utility - two in Pellinore's, and one each in the immediate flanks of her V. Now they are out of formation, and their charge will not hit as one crashing wave, but in two staggered blows.

The knights at the edges have to steer their horses out of the way of the crashing, foaming heaps of their allies. Pellinore surfs her own mount down to the ground and dismounts it easily. Unharmed, but unable to lead the rest of her knights in their charge against the two living mountains and champion jousters between them and stopping Tristan.

The devestation of the earth itself tearing itself asunder surrounds them.

Tristan wishes he had the satisfaction of being exhausted, after such a sprint, but his arms just feel the swell of blood rush into them, he feels stronger and faster than he started. May Robena and Sandsfern find this sufficient gratitude for gifting him a chance to rest. He nocks another arrow.

"The land is sick!" He speaks like a bard to a deep crowd - not shouting, but projecting his voice from deep in his stomach, steady and unwavering. He never liked how soldiers shouted. Never liked the weak vibrato of startlement and anger. "You can see it. I have ridden with you, and you know me to be good and to be true. Pellinore is cause and symptom! I hope you will join us in its cure, but will accept that you not stand against us! You will run out of throats before I run out of arrows."

[Leap into action: 5, 5 +0 = 10
I inflict harm
I startle or scatter]

Dark Age (playtest): The Lands of Pendragon

Tristan doesn't try to get to his feet, staying crouched to the ground and holding on to it for as much purchase as he can. Surely this can't last more than a few seconds more, and trying to run would be hell on his knees and ankles. It's best to wait it out, and not to injure himself before his promised fight at Robena's back and side.

The land is sick, he realizes, and angry. This is not just an offering gone poorly. For an insult to be met with this... it would be like coming home late, smelling of beer, and your spouse burning down the house for it.

Okay, so maybe Pellinore really does need to die then. It's not the answer he wanted, but it was one he needed.

He keeps one hand on the ground, and one on his bow, ready to draw. Let the other two call the melee. He has no fear of the frontlines, he can just do more damage from here. He now sees this as a job that needs doing, like plucking weeds, let whoever think of him what they may for doing it.

Let the knights who see the Earth rend itself apart before their lord know whose side they are on, by it, as Tristan has.