Roman — Roleplayer Guild

P L A Y E R  E V E N TTHE QUESTING BEAST

The Questing Beast has arrived to challenge Dane Whitman as it has challenged all Black Knights in his family before him, in the first true test of his worthiness to carry the Ebony Blade and his family's legacy. Unable to reject its ultimatum for fear of wreaking terrible havoc on all of New York and beyond, Dane is forced to confront the Beast in Times Square at noon, though he knows not what to expect from the creature, nor how he is intending to battle and ultimately defeat it. 

With only the Ebony Blade by his side, he will need to rely on the guidance and teachings of the forefather spirits held within the sword, as well as timely intervention by any other, more well-seasoned heroes, to survive this trial, and reckon with forces that hunt him down irrespective of his willingness to cede to his late grandfather's will.

Characters Involved: Black Knight, TBC
Desired # of Players: 3-4

The Questing Beast rampages through New York out of Times Square, having issued its challenge to Dane and awaiting his arrival for their fateful clash. However, the risk to New York and its innocent citizens goes beyond what Dane is capable of handling, and he's out of his depth in need of help; luckily, the Questing Beast's threat can't simply be ignored, and more seasoned heroes will come to his aid, and induct him into a world he doesn't necessarily want to be a part of.

I'm opening up the Questing Beast as a player event in New York! If you'd like to get involved just let me know - I'll be welcoming in collabs, solo posts, and any ideas you have for linking your own character's journeys into this challenge!

Location: New YorkIV
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I sit up to the table at which all men are equal, squires and knights and kings alike, and I look around and see my friends. We have assembled this court out of vagabonds and wastrels, royalty and the destitute, and turned each man and woman into noble spirits and countrymen, righteous and valiant, all upholding a singular golden kingdom and spreading goodwill amongst their people. We sit at this table not as knights in service to kings, nor as subjects loyal to their rulers, but as friends, as brothers, and we parley and converse in the way friends and brothers do, with good-natured teasing and amusing boasts shared across cups filled with rich wine and plates laden with meat and cheese and bread. 

"See here," says good Arthur, "how my holy sword doth shine so brightly - its edge ever-sharp, its blade so keen, its guard perfectly balanced. It is Excalibur, and was imparted on me by the fairy queen Nimue; surely, it is the most handsome sword in Camelot."
"Nay!" Shouts Gawain, humbled since his youth by the Green Knight but still able to rise to a challenge. "'Tis surely my own Galatine, the blade of which can ne'er be nicked; it shall never know a single flaw, no matter how many battles it sees. There is no blade more handsome than that which can ne'er be blemished!"
"By my rights, your sword has seen more blemishes than I have hot meals!" Lancelot calls, for Gawain's flock of maidens and his penchant for laying with whores is well-known, and laughter erupts around the table, none louder than good Gawain's himself; we settle, and Lancelot continues, next to brag: "Regardless, you and Arthur are companions in error; 'tis surely Arondight, the Light of the Lake, that is the envy of the kingdom. Her edge can cut through sheer rock, and dragons quake in fear at the shine of its blade."
"Aye, and you quake in fear at the shine of a maiden's ankle!" Comes the taunt from Bedivere, for Lancelot's chastity is as known as Gawain's promiscuous nature, and again we laugh, though Lancelot less so; those who notice him catching the Lady Guinevere's eyes soon forget. 
"This talk of maidens, blemishes and ankles alike, shows my goodly blade Red Hilt is that which you all covet; the leather is stained with the covenant of my wedding night, and thus my sword bears my love - and truly, what is more handsome than love?" Says Geraint, and we all raise our cups to Geraint's love and his lady Enid in a solemn moment, as Arthur reflects on his good love with Guinevere, and we all agree, love is a handsome thing indeed; until Lamorak, fierce and fiery:
"If a red hilt were truly the promise of love and marriage, Geraint, then Gawain should be wed every day for the next ten moons!"
And again we roar with laughter.

"I say, Arthur has the right of it, though he is mistaken that Excalibur should be held aloft." Says Lancelot, quelling the ribald chatter. 
"Aye, that's the truth." Lamorak agrees. "'Tis Caliburn, that fabled sword in the stone, that is the kingdom's pride."
We all murmur agreements over our cups around the table; Caliburn is a fine blade indeed, and steeped in the history of this very court. Arthur accepts the praise with grace, the sword holding a solemn place in his own heart for its significance to his ascent. 
"Two holy blades to make Arthur a godly king twice over; is there better proof of Camelot's blessed nature?" Bedivere asks; again we raise our cups. Though we are equals at this table, Arthur remains our King, and we his Knights. I feel the wine stir within me, and stand; the court looks to me, and the eyes of my brothers settle upon my rosy-cheeked face, some bearing amusement, some quiet respect.
"What say you, Percival?" Asks Tristan, and in response I draw my own sword.

"I swear an oath, my brothers." I announce, and at this every face falls stern; an oath is a solemn thing, to be heard solemnly. "My sword is not befitting of such a glorious kingdom as Camelot."
"Take some pride, man - the blade is well-made." Calls Lancelot. "You have slain enough to make it worthy."
"Aye, Lancelot, well enough; woe betide me to blacken the name of the good smith who worked the metal. But no story, brothers, no holiness attached to this sword, and Camelot is a holy kingdom deserving of good and godly treasures. And so it is my oath to find such a sword to call my own, and return to Camelot with such a story - and then we shall meet 'round this table again, and share such merriment once more. This I swear to you," I said, sheathing my sword and bowing to Arthur, "my noble king."

"I shall hear your oath, Sir Percival of Scandia," King Arthur replied, "and I will await thy return with baited breath."

And so my oath was made.


I stir and roll over and something straight and hard pokes into my thigh; for a moment I wonder if I really did just head home after only a couple last night, but then my mind comes back to me and I open my eyes and it's the sword. The sword is in bed with me. I am very certain I did not make this choice myself. 

I don't grab it, not wanting to fill the first few minutes of my day with the chatter of my forefathers while I'm still half-naked, and instead sit up and scoot down the mattress before pushing my legs over the edge and standing up, stretching as the late-morning sun streams in through my window. It's looking already like the weather will be pleasant; god-rays filter through thinning clouds, and the snatches of blue sky I get glimpses of are a welcome sight after several gray days. A quick shower rejuvenates me further and then I set about making coffee, all the while watching the sword from the corner of my eye to ensure it's not about to insist itself upon me unbidden; it remains laid on my bed, much in the way you might expect an inanimate object to do so. Eventually, air-dried and caffeinated, I dress, and only then do I approach the blade and take it up once more.

"You are wasting time, Dane. The task is almost upon us, and you've not had an inch of practice."
"Good morning, Garrett, how are you today?" I reply, laying the sarcasm on thick.
"You would not be so flippant if you knew what was coming for you, boy." He says. "Were we bedded at Appleby, we'd have risen with the sun and trained every minute since."
"Well we're not at Appleby, are we? And you'd ought to remember exactly why. We're in New York, and as long as we're in New York, we're playing by New York rules, and New York says 'get good sleep and drink good coffee'. And right now it's also saying 'go look for a good bagel'."
I hang the sword on my belt again and grab my keys and wallet off the side, stepping out with purpose and ready to grab a warm breakfast from the first cart I find.

I don't get far; I don't even get out into the stairwell. There is an...animal, waiting, and as soon as I open my door it begins to look at me, and I at it; but the longer I looked, the less I knew what kind of animal it was. It was variegated in every way: it had the head and neck of some great draconic serpent, thickly scaled and possessed of an iridescent turquoise hue and tipped with horns sharp and keen enough to rend any armour. This was attached to the strong, lithe body and legs of a mighty leopard, golden and spotted, but those same legs tapered and concluded in powerful hooves, like the cloven feet of a goat, the fur changing from thigh to hoof in a fine gradient from elegant gold to a tarry-pitched black. On its rear was a powerful and coiled tail, furred still like that of a lion, yet tipped in a catastrophic stinger that twitched and spat. Thus it resembled several animals, yet none, each recognizable segment making the full beast all the more alien when regarded in the whole sum of its parts. It advanced toward me, redoubtable and ferocious, and I retreated back into my apartment, my hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of the sword on my hip; and I swore, upon noticing this motion, the creature smiled.

"Come now, sirrah, what could you hope to accomplish with that twig?" It said, its tongue flicking and twisting around its words, its voice like the sound of a pack of a dogs snarling and barking. It was right; I didn't know how to even hold the sword, let alone swing it, but all the same I pulled it free from the scabbard and grasped it in both hands out in front of me, hovering the blade pointing at the beast. Still it advanced, unperturbed by my meagre threat. 
"You'll hurt yourself before you land a blow upon my back; put that away."
"Hold your guard, Dane. It seeks to test you, and it will find any method."

The creature hissed and snapped at me, nimble and quick in its movements and darting past my slow, clumsy attempts to parry with nary a hint of effort. It chortled, a throaty, repugnant sound, and then taunted me once more.
"Of all the Knights I have vexed, you are surely the most pathetic specimen; look at your ungainly flailing, how the weight of the blade sags your arms! You can barely hold the thing. Is this what has become of your mighty line? Are you truly the heir of the Pendragons?"
"Pay it no mind, lad; we have all bested this beast before, and your trial will be no different. Hold firm."

It snapped again but this time I'd anticipated it, watched the pattern in how it snaked its writhing neck; the sword moved with a strength and quickness I didn't know I possessed, and found itself clanging loudly in the mouth of the beast, the black steel ringing against its yellow-white fangs. It reared back, shaking off the impact, and a guffaw escaped its maw.
"Oh-ho, perhaps there is hope for you yet, squire! Very well - 'tis not sporting to dispatch of you here, not when we can make a spectacle of it."
It circled around me, nudging its way over to the window I'd left open last night, twisting its body to slink out the small gap - smaller than it had any right fitting itself through - and clambering deftly onto the gantry beyond.
"You shall meet me in the Square, young Knight, and there we shall clash proper - you shall be tested, as were your forefathers before you, as is the way of the Ebony Blade."
"What if I decide I'm sick of this blade and my 'forefathers' and dealing with this shit, and I don't, and you fuck off?" I challenge, hiding my terror with angry bluster. The creature falls silent, all hint of amusement dropping away from its movements and tone. In an angry, malevolent voice, it answers:

"Then I shall be cruel. I shall be violent. I shall ravage the region, destroy the wheat. I shall kill men and their horses. I shall tear down houses, and devour children from their cradle. I shall crush good women when I find them alone, and no man, no matter how well they strike, how keen their armour, will resist my destruction. I shall be an abomination upon your land, see your people torn apart by dogs. I'll howl, and roar, and whip animals into savage frenzy, and when I grow hungry, and tired, and bored with havoc, I shall feast on what remains, until all that is left of this kingdom is you and I, and you will be alone with your fright and your failure."

It fell silent again, and I shook with fear. 

"Find me hence, at the noon sun. We shall challenge each other, and you will wield the blade, or perish. Such is the way of Knights and Blades and Beasts."

And then it disappeared, slinking away down the side of my building and off into the city. The sword hung at my side, my arm slack and grip loose.
"All bluster and boast, lad." Said Garrett, trying to reassure me. "We've all faced the Questing Beast, every one of us. You're in good hands."
"Uh-huh." Was all I managed, watching myself move back toward my front door and leave my apartment, seeking out this terrible creature, all the while feeling like a passenger in my own body.

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