DoubleChecker

[IH] Great Northern Dungeon Early Floor Arc

Marcelin was a tad disappointed with what the group found inside the chamber. Or better said, what they didn't find. "While I'm no decorator, this room is quite big to only house that chest and book." One of his hands came up to his mustache, fingers running and smoothing the bristles. "I wonder..." Searching inside the backpack, the storyteller would produce a torch, lighting it with flint and steel, before walking to one of the corners of the chamber.

Actions
1 - Manipulate -> Produce Torch
2 - Manipulate -> Light it up with flint and steel
3 - Verify one of the corners of the chamber

[IH] Great Northern Dungeon Early Floor Arc

Marcelin lets out a confident laugh as the undead crumble, a wide smile appearing on his lips. “Wonderful! What a fantastic beginning!” The storyteller says, skipping ahead in his usual levity.

As the group descends further and is faced with the decision of which path to take, Marcelin crosses his arms over his chest, making the quill, firmly held in his hand, tickle his own chin. “On one hand, the warnings might be genuine. On the other hand, it might be but a ploy to keep us from something the dastardly necromancer wishes to remain hidden!” He said while snapping one finger.

Slowly, his head turned to Samuel. “But I agree with the coinflip. Shall we thread through the path woven by fate?”

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

The little service room exploded into motion.

Marcus crossed the distance first, axe in both hands, aiming for the thug with the pistol before the man could make good use of it. The blow landed with brutal force, driving the gunman back with a cracked gasp, but the strain was too much for the weapon. The axe head split against the impact, metal and haft giving out in Marcus’s grip.

“Careful with this one!” Piero snapped, drawing a compact hand axe from beneath his coat and tossing it toward Marcus before his old weapon had fully hit the floor.

At the rear, Elora and Gears moved as one. The first clubman saw the frost-red shimmer around Lunaciel and stumbled back just in time, escaping the vortex fully. The second was not so lucky. Gears’ gauntlet crashed into his guard at the same instant Elora’s crimson winter swept through him, ice and vampiric force biting deep enough to leave him barely standing.

Near the front, Hwicce’s advance looked almost lazy until his hidden hand blurred. The dagger flashed past his sword arm and buried itself cleanly into the knife thug before the man had even settled into a stance. The thug stiffened, blinked once, and dropped to the floor in a heap.

Milo screamed and flattened himself against the wall.

Serafina Bellaflora stared at the dead man, then at Hwicce, ears twitching.

“Well. At least one of you is efficient.”

Mr. Bell did not flinch. Beneath the brim of his hat, only his mouth moved.

“Messy,” he said. “Proceed.”

---

Hostile Turn Begins

The wounded pistol thug staggers back, trying to bring his firearm up toward Marcus despite the blood soaking his sleeve. [Incoming 2d5 attack]

The uninjured clubman near the rear circles wide, looking to catch Elora between himself and the wounded clubman. [Incoming 2d5 attack]

The critically wounded clubman grips his weapon with both hands and lunges desperately toward Gears, more panic than discipline. [Incoming 2d5 attack]

Mr. Bell retreats a measured step down the lane, pale-gloved hand slipping into his coat as he calls out, “The girl alive. Everyone else is replaceable.” [Incoming ????]

[Widersia] Big Dom’s Champion

Titles: Prime, Prime - Mundane - ed1c24

Hwicce's eyes were trained on Mr. Bell for a moment, a smirk appearing on his lips. "Well, looks like the man himself came to see us. Good to deal with the head honcho himself." Immediately, the mercenary acted. He dashed towards the thug wielding the knife, one hand holding his sword, lifting it up for an attack. [Action 1]

20ft in, his other hand, still hidden behind his back, moved with a blur of movement. A dagger zipped through the air towards the man. [Action 2]

Actions
1 - Move 20ft towards the knife-wielding thug
2 - Heads-up! - Fighting Style E + Range E + Gear [Throwing Daggers] E + Concealment E - Grade E 1 Post Cooldown - Hwicce throws an unsuspecting dagger, up to 30ft of distance, toward his target

[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."