DoubleChecker

[IH] Great Northern Dungeon Early Floor Arc

“Haha! That is how you do it!” Marcelin said in loud, boisterous confidence. “I’ve just thought of the perfect name for the first act: ‘The Shamblers in the Hallway’! Perhaps embellish it a touch and mention the presence of an undead wyvern, or some ancient vampire!” His free hand rummaged through his leather satchel, producing a parchment from it. He began putting his ideas into the paper, scribbling frantically as splotches of ink spilled onto the floor, spreading into half-formed letters before fading.

“... the undead advance proved futile against the party of heroes; their borrowed might simply paled in comparison to Solvaris Kain’s divine mandate and Samuel Chance’s deck of cards…” He muttered, as both would feel emboldened by the storyteller’s words. [1/2]

Actions:
1/2 - The Tale of Victory - Magic E + Magic Range F + Magic Targets E + Bolster [STR] F + Bolster [INT] E + Bolster [PRE] E + Energized E - Marcelin tells tales of his comrades’ grandeur, inspiring them and shaping their outcomes in battle - Grade E 0 Post Cooldown

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

Milo fumbled for the key so quickly he nearly dropped it twice. Under Marcus’s glare and Elora’s reminder of Big Dom’s preferred method of justice, whatever loyalty coin had bought him began leaking out through his pores.

“I do not know who he is,” Milo stammered, kneeling by Bellaflora’s chain. “I swear. He called himself Bell. Letters. Wax seals. Cash. Always cash. I was supposed to keep her here until tonight, then hand her over near the old loading spur.”

The lock clicked open.

Serafina Bellaflora pulled her ankle free, rose at once, and gave Milo a look that made the clerk shrink without anyone touching him. She dusted off her racing silks with furious dignity, ears pinned back and tail lashing.

“Mr. Bell,” she said sharply, answering Marcus while pointedly refusing to look grateful yet, “was waiting inside the carriage when I was brought in. Pale gloves. Awful hat. Voice like someone trying to sound older than he was. He knew my route, my schedule, my conditioning hours, and exactly which people in the stable could be bribed or fooled.”

Milo flinched.

Serafina noticed and snapped, “Yes, I meant you.”

Piero’s face had gone flat and dangerous. “Why take you?”

“Because if I vanish, Dom panics. If Dom panics, the odds move. If the odds move, someone makes a fortune.” Her eyes narrowed. “And if I miss the Derby, certain sponsors stop losing money on me.”

Gears flexed her gauntlets. “That sounds like a name behind a name.”

Before anyone could press further, a slow clap echoed from the lane outside.

Milo went white.

From the front of the service building came a smooth, muffled voice. “Very good, Miss Bellaflora. I was told you were quick.”

Figures moved beyond the cracked doorway. Four men in dark coats stepped into view, each with the tidy posture of hired muscle and the hard eyes of men paid enough not to ask questions. Two carried short clubs. One held a compact pistol low at his side. The last had a hooked knife and a smile with no humor in it.

Behind them stood Mr. Bell.

Tall. Dark coat. Pale gloves. Hat low. Exactly as described, and yet somehow still too deliberate to feel real.

Piero drew his weapon at last.

Gears’ grin vanished into something better suited for breaking doors.

Serafina’s nostrils flared. “You.”

Mr. Bell tilted his head. “Me.”

The side lane behind him filled with footsteps, more men cutting off the main exit. From the rear, Gears and Elora’s position still held the back door, but now the little service room had become a trap with two jaws.

Mr. Bell raised one pale-gloved hand.

“Kill the clerk if he talks. Take the girl alive. The rest are negotiable.”

Milo made a strangled sound.

Serafina looked at Marcus, Hwicce, Elora, and the others with blazing offense.

“If any of you let that man ruin my race day,” she said, “I will be unbearable.”

DM Notes: Currently, all four of Mr. Bell's goons are within a 30ft distance from the party. Mr. Bell is within a 45ft distance.

[IH] Great Northern Dungeon Early Floor Arc

“Indeed! And that's why all the laurels will fall on you three, the capable members of this group.” Marcelin told Clarisse, walking down the staircase with the same type of levity he had shown when arriving at the entrance of the dungeon. As he stepped down, his eyes darted towards the torches aligned to the walls, catching the enchantment present in them and filing that information for posterity.

And under the torii gate, the bard brought one hand to his forehead, shielding his emerald eyes from an inexistent sun as he gazed yonder. “Hah! The undead, what a classic!” He turned to the others, voice lowering. “Corpses brought back to mindless servitude by foul, sacrilegious, and forbidden necromantic magic!” His eyes glinted with something unknown. “To take on the unnatural forces, ghouls whose bites can render one paralyzed, zombies seeking to tear flesh from bone and satisfy their unending hunger!”

He looked over his shoulder, gaze locked on where they had come from. “And those torches bearing enchantments? Could be a sign of a powerful necromancer. Perhaps even a lich tied to Hazz Al’ Ghul himself, if the gods are generous enough to provide a proper villain.” Marcelin’s lips purse together as his gaze locks ahead, one hand almost unconsciously reaching for and producing his quill. And, from where he stood, he began.

“Gaze and wonder, pale and slight,
At the shambling forces of the night.
They rise by theft, they stand by spite,
Borrowed bones and borrowed might,
Still doomed to fall before the light.!” [1/2]

Marcelin’s voice was booming and lyrical, every sentence interlocking with one another as the magic washed over the skeletons, weakening their might, dulling their minds, and blurring their precision.

Actions 1/2 - Magic E, Affinity Drain [STR] E, Affinity Drain [INT] E, Affinity Drain [PRE] E, Magic Range F, Magic Targets F, Energized E, Focus E - Marcelin hurls wounding insults up to five opponents, possibly making them perform poorly - Grade E 0 Post Cooldown

[IH] Great Northern Dungeon Early Floor Arc

The slap on his back made Marcelin stumble forward, his feathered bonnet slipping askew. “Hahahaha! Your eminence can be sure that your exploits during our incursion will be known in all eight realms on the continent! The story, and I, always survive.”

Straightening his back and fixing his hat, he slipped beside Samuel with liquid grace. “Samuel Chance, the Gambler!” He extended one hand forward, ringed fingers pointing towards the maw of the dungeon. “Fortune, luck, and chance; the excitement and exhilaration of the roll of the die, the flip of the coin, and the draw of the card! Each success seeming to confirm what every gambler must surely suspect: that the universe and fate favor him!”

With a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he took a step back. “A pleasure to meet you. Now I’m more than certain that Delilah, Goddess of Luck, will be watching over every one of our steps.”

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

The door slammed open, the clerk’s whole body jolted as if the hinges themselves had shouted. The words filled the little service room with more confidence than Milo possessed in his entire body. The cudgel came up, then immediately dipped, then came up again as Hwicce stepped in beside Marcus with steel drawn and a promise of broken bones.

Milo’s eyes flicked from the axe, to the sword, to Piero behind them.

“Oh no,” he whispered. “No, no, no. You are not supposed to be here.”

From the rear door came the heavy clack of metal knuckles against wood. Gears’ voice followed, cheerful and terrible.

“Funny. We keep hearing that.”

The back entrance opened just enough to show Gears (and possibly Elora) there as well. Whatever escape Milo had imagined died in his throat.

The chained woman looked from one doorway to the other, then slowly leaned back in her chair.

“Well,” she said, ears twitching sharply. “I see the rescue has arrived with all the grace and subtlety of a dropped piano.”

Piero stared at her, then gave a relieved little bow of his head. “Miss Bellaflora.”

“Do not ‘Miss Bellaflora’ me, Piero. I have been chained in a room that smells like mildew and poor decisions.”

Milo finally dropped the cudgel. It hit the floor with a pathetic clatter.

“I just took the payment,” he blurted. “I was supposed to hold her until Bell came back. I never hurt her. I swear.”

The horse girl’s tail lashed once against the dusty floor.

“He did not hurt me,” she said coldly. “He annoyed me. Repeatedly. Which may prove worse for him.”

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

Titles: Prime, Prime - Mundane - ed1c24

"I will be damned... that blabbing kid was right the first time!" Hwicce's tone dropped barely above a whisper, and his eyes narrowed with what they had found. Not a horse, nothing like the ones he was used to at all, but a woman with horse ears and a tail. "This whole place is stranger than it looks..." Murmuring, he sprang into action along with Marcus.

Following into the room, his longsword pointed towards Milo, while his other hand was hidden behind his back, holding a throwing knife. "Be smart, kid. Anything other than surrendering will earn you, at least, a few broken bones."

[IH] Great Northern Dungeon Early Floor Arc

Having been dropped just a few yards from the entrance by the caravan, Marcelin Brightfeather walked with a spring in his step. His spirit was especially high after successfully bringing the children back to their parents in the previous quest he had embarked on. “The vile forest spirit, nothing but an overgrown thicket, trembled in fear as the roaring flames of the deformed monster turned hero, engulfing its surroundings…" The storyteller dictated aloud, his voice carrying across the yard as the quill scratched against the parchment.

His bright, emerald eyes lifted from the paper, hovering on both the well-off-looking young lady and the golden-scaled man. He smiled, his golden mustache twitching. “Huzzah! What a great gathering of fine individuals!” Approaching with a theatrical glide he put both paper and quill inside the leather satchel slung around his neck.

First, to Clarisse, he removed his feathered bonnet, bowing low. “My lady, what fortune to make your acquaintance! To think someone of your apparent status would care about those not even fit to clean the dirt from your shoes! That speaks volumes of your gilded heart!”

Then, turning to Solvaris, he repeated the bow. “And you, your eminence, to have such a merciful heart and notion of duty that you would leave your godly matters to tend to the mundane and unworthy problems! That speaks volumes of your noble soul!”

Finally, rising to his feet and placing the feathered bonnet back on his head, the storyteller spread his arms wide. “This is turning out to be the beginning of a grand epic! An epic whose sheer scale rivals the ancient tales of woe!” His arms fell to their sides. “I’m Marcelin Brightfeather, nothing but a humble storyteller.”

[IH] Great Northern Dungeon Early Floor Arc

Character Name: Marcelin Bright Feather
Titles: Prime - Mundane, Bard
Goals: Spin tales and influence the world
Points At Start: 105
Points Spent: 210
Points Earned: 105
Points Unspent: 0
Standing Grade: E
Character Grade: E
Strength: F
Precision: F
Intelligence: A (35)
Vitality: F
Speed: A (35)
Skills:
Magic E (7) - Born For This Discount
Magic Range F (7)
Magic Targets F (7)
Affinity Drain [STR] E (14)
Affinity Drain [INT] E (14)
Affinity Drain [PRE] E (14)
Bolster [STR] E (14)
Bolster [INT] E (14)
Energized E (14)
Fast F (7)
Educated [Bard] E (14)
Focus F
Deception F
Persuasion F

Abilities:
Vicious Mockery - Magic E + Magic Range F + Magic Targets F + Affinity Drain [STR] F + Affinity Drain [INT] F - Marcelin hurls wounding insults up to five opponents, possible making them perform poorly - Grade E 1 Post Cooldown
The Tale of Victory - Magic E + Magic Range F + Magic Targets F + Bolster [STR] F + Bolster [INT] F - Marcelin inspire tell tales of grandeur of his comrades, affecting their outcome in battle - Grade E 1 Post Cooldown

Equipment:
Catalyst Quill E (14)
Assets:
Changelog:

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

Gears’ grin widened at Marcus’s suggestion. [“Other side? Sure. I know two ways around this rat hole.” She tipped her hat toward Elora. “Lady wants to come, she comes. Just keep up.”

Piero gave the pair a quick nod. “Do not start anything before we know what we are looking at.”

“Then tell trouble not to start itself,” Gears replied, already slipping away with Elora through a side cut between soot-stained storehouses.

Marcus’s Haunter received its instruction with a solemn nod before drifting toward the shadowed buildings, ready to follow anything that fled. Hwicce’s blade came free with a soft rasp, while Piero drew no weapon at all, though one hand settled beneath his coat as the three advanced beneath the broken red lantern.

The voices sharpened as they neared the narrow lane.

“I told you, I don’t know when he’s coming back,” a thin, strained man said. “I did my part. I got the carriage. I brought you here. I was told to wait.”

“And I was told nothing,” snapped the second voice. A woman’s voice, furious rather than frightened. “I have been locked in this moldy closet for hours, I missed morning conditioning, my hair is a disgrace, and if you think I am missing the Derby because some gloved scarecrow paid you in coin, you have vastly misunderstood the scale of your mistake.”

Marcus, Hwicce, and Piero reached the corner of the side lane. Through the cracked opening of an old service building, the scene finally revealed itself.

Milo Wick matched Havel’s description almost perfectly. Thin, brown-haired, narrow face, left shoulder held a little higher than the right. He stood near the door with a cudgel gripped badly in both hands, sweating through his collar.

Across from him sat the Calabrese “little comet.”

Not a horse.

A young woman in expensive, rumpled racing silks, with chestnut horse ears twitching above disheveled hair and a long matching tail lashing irritably against the dusty floor. One ankle was secured by a short chain to an iron ring bolted into the wall. It had not made her meek. If anything, it seemed to have concentrated her outrage into a sharper form.

She leaned forward in her chair, eyes blazing at Milo.

“Open that door,” she hissed, “or when Big Dom finds me, I will personally make sure he has to identify you by your shoes.”

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

Titles: Prime, Prime - Mundane - ed1c24

"Oh... so you aren't crazy and was just talking to yourself back there?" Hwicce asked Marcus, one eyebrow raising slightly, even as his lips settled in a rare, thin, serious line. "I guess greed ended up biting Milo in the ass afterall." The mercenary murmured, quietly listening to the ongoing discussion at a distance.

"That seems like a good idea. Blocking the exit paths means that whoever tries to bolt can't... or at least not without too much problem." With his palm wrapping around the hilt of his longsword, Hwicce drew the blade with a rasp against the scabbard. "So, is it possible, 'arms'?" He asked Gears with a smirk.