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The Swordlands - updated 28th May; The Hanged Man
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<blockquote data-quote="Mathew_Freeman" data-source="post: 4708908" data-attributes="member: 1846"><p><strong>A Gift Well Given</strong></p><p></p><p>After the Orcs had finished screaming in the fire (still in four-part harmony), the iron grill slowly, and with many creaks and clanking noises, winched back into place with a resounding boom.</p><p></p><p>The Sinister Vizier took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of his freshly-roasted brethren, and spoke again.</p><p></p><p>“Next,” he said, “We shall see Rusalka, on behalf of Sigmund the Conqueror.”</p><p></p><p>The horned woman strode forwards, a large barrel under her arm. Showing not the slightest trace of fear, she moved confidently up the steps to the Prince’s throne. When she reached the top, she set the barrel down amidst the feast at his table.</p><p></p><p>“You’ve got to admit she moves well,” noticed Aengus admiringly. “I’ll have to have a chat with her, if I can get her alone…”</p><p></p><p>“I bring a cask of fine brandy,” she announced. “Ten pints of it.” The Vizier leered at her, and Kindrbode seized the barrel and drained it in a single draught, taking huge gulps as he did so.</p><p></p><p>“The Ogres of the Shaven Yak Clan!” cried out the Vizier as she departed down the steps.</p><p></p><p>One of the two Ogres that had been brawling in the middle of the Hall made his way up to the Prince, covered all the way by the Orc Crossbowmen in case of treachery. It had been the leaders of the Shaven Tak Clan, together with those of the Mammoth Tusk Ogres, that had once attempted to otherthrow Prince Kindrbode, and the remains of those leaders were now held in effigy above his throne, plastered across the wall like some obscene hunting prize.</p><p></p><p>The Ogre carefully and slowly laid a sack of prodigious size on the table in front of the Prince, and opened it. As the Vizier looked inside, the Ogre proudly held up ten fingers.</p><p></p><p>“Bath salts!” announced the Vizier to those who couldn’t see. Kindrbode took a long, slow, sniff and then opened his mouth and stuffed the whole ten kilos-worth down his neck in a single bite, chewing happily. “And now,” continued the Sinister Orc, “The Mammoth Tusk Ogres shall present their present!”</p><p></p><p>As the two Ogres crossed on the stairs, Sigurd whispered to Iben. “They’ve all brought things in multiples of ten, not four. How did they know?”</p><p></p><p>Iben replied “I don't know. But the Cake of the Wayweary people is only four tiers high. They could be killed. Let me go warn them.”</p><p></p><p>Karl, who had overheard, interrupted and replied “I’ll do it. They’re less likely to notice I’m gone.” He moved quietly and casually towards the kitchen, catching Snufflegruff’s eye as he did so and giving him a small nod.</p><p></p><p>The Mammoth Tusk Ogre leader, meanwhile, was showing the Prince his fine collection of tusks that he had offered as a gift. Once again, the Prince simply ate the lot, belching contentedly at the end. Taking this as a sign of favour, the Ogre hurried back down the steps on to safer ground. One of the Orc Crossbowmen made a great show of raising his crossbow as if to fire, to the general merriment of the other watching Orcs.</p><p></p><p>With a voice dripping in sarcasm, the Sinister Vizier called out again. “The ‘Free People’ of Mickelgarth – who is their representative this year? Come, step forwards and lay your tribute for the Prince’s birthday.”</p><p></p><p>Dropping the chicken bone he had been gnawing on, Snufflegruff heaved a large bag on his shoulder, grunting slightly with the weight, and made his way up the stairs. At the top he paused for a second before clearing a space and placing his offering on the table.</p><p></p><p>“And what fine treasures have the Mickelgarthers brought their Lord?” enquired the Sinister Vizier.</p><p></p><p>“Shox!” said Snufflegruff.</p><p></p><p>“Shox?” replied the Vizier, baffled.</p><p></p><p>“Shox?” said the Prince, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “Vas ist Shox?” Slowly, his hand reached towards the levers behind him.</p><p></p><p>“Shox!” said Snufflegruff again. “Do none of ye wear shox around here? Shurely ye jesht with me? How do you keep your feet warm?” Shoving his hand into the bag, he pulled out a pair of very large, and very thick, wollen socks, in garish, mismatched colours. The Princes arm froze, then reached back round in front of him, gathering up the bag.</p><p></p><p>“Wait, pleash,” said Snufflegruff “They’re shupposhed to go on your – “ The Prince, ignoring him, licked his lips as the last sock disappeared down his throat. “Ah well,” sighed the Mickelgarther. “At leasht you appreshiated them.” He turned and headed back down the stairs, moving back to the food table and picking up another piece of meat to chew on.</p><p></p><p>“The Prince summonsh, forgive me, <strong>summons</strong> Aldar the Dragonborn to deliver her present,” called out the Vizier. He adjusted his robe fussily and looked about. “Aldar? Obey! You are summoned!”</p><p></p><p>From the entranceway, a six foot tall figure carrying a large box moved forwards and began to cross the room. As he passed Aldis, she averted his eyes from her gaze, dropping her head slightly.</p><p></p><p>Thunder nudged Aldis in the side. “Who is that?” he asked. “I take it you two have some sort of history.”</p><p></p><p>Aldis scowled at the back of the figure now climbing the stairs. “I thought I was the only survivor of the ambush that my old friends walked into. I presumed Aldar was dead like all the rest. But if she survived too… I wonder, was she the traitor that betrayed us? She is certainly toadying up to Kindrbode and the Vizier like a good servant.”</p><p></p><p>Aldar had reached the top of the stairs and opened the box. Glittering light came from within, and Kindrbode reached over immediately and poured the contents into his mouth. Brilliant jewels spilled out as he chewed and swallowed, gorging himself. Aldar, a tension showing in her neck, retreated and made her way back through the crowd. Again, she couldn’t face looking Aldis in the face. She bared her teeth, growling quietly under her breath as Aldar went past.</p><p></p><p>The Vizier, who had quietly placed a gem or two in his own robes, spoke forth again. “The Jesters of Igglingsborg shall entertain us all,” he pronounced. “The Prince requires great entertainment.”</p><p></p><p>The four humans in Jesters outfits nervously began to perform, knowing that with only four of them their time was likely to be limited.</p><p></p><p>“Quick!” hissed Aengus. “There are six of us! If we join them we can spare them! Pull out your best party tricks, everyone!”</p><p></p><p>“My best party trick involves me, a knife, a willing volunteer and normally, a trip to a Temple for healing,” muttered Karl. “But I appreciate what you’re saying, my liege.” He began to caper and dance, leaping into the air and bouncing off the surrounding Orcs and Ogres as he did so.</p><p></p><p>Stony-faced, Sigurd stared at him and Aengus, who was conjuring glittering waves of faerie light, at Aldis as she performed a Dragonborn war dance and at Iben. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she said. “It’s so undignified.”</p><p></p><p>Iben gestured the large figure of Snufflegruff over to him, said something quietly in his ear, and then bent down and lifted him above his head in a single movement. With muscles straining, he began to turn the human around and around over his head, spinning him. Thunder swiftly stepped in and took the weight, stand straight-legged and proud as he hoisted the Mickelgarther even higher.</p><p></p><p>“Fine!” said Sigurd. “If we’re to make fools of ourselves, let’s make fools of them, too.”</p><p></p><p>With a gesture and a wave of her hand, she transformed herself into a likeness of the Sinister Vizier, her skin green and warty, a suspicious look on her face and a sneer on her lips. Lacking the ability to speak Orcish, she instead started to point at various people in the room.</p><p></p><p>“Blah, blah, blah, do what I say,” she uttered in a passable imitation of the Vizier’s voice. “Blah, blah, blah, now we shall have the Angels of Heaven giving us things, blah blah blah, the ground should be grateful I walk on it…blah blah blah…”</p><p></p><p><span style="color: orange">A bumper update today!</span></p><p><span style="color: orange"></span></p><p><span style="color: orange">Michael, who plays Sigurd, took us all slightly off-guard with that moment, but it was very much worth it. We launched in with a barrage of skill checks to see if we could save the Igglingsborgers from death, and just about made it.</span></p><p><span style="color: orange"></span></p><p><span style="color: orange">The tension of this scene was that we all knew that a big fight was coming, just not exactly when it'd be...</span></p><p><span style="color: orange"></span></p><p><span style="color: orange">Next time: Too Much Cake Is Bad For You.</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Mathew_Freeman, post: 4708908, member: 1846"] [b]A Gift Well Given[/b] After the Orcs had finished screaming in the fire (still in four-part harmony), the iron grill slowly, and with many creaks and clanking noises, winched back into place with a resounding boom. The Sinister Vizier took a deep breath, enjoying the smell of his freshly-roasted brethren, and spoke again. “Next,” he said, “We shall see Rusalka, on behalf of Sigmund the Conqueror.” The horned woman strode forwards, a large barrel under her arm. Showing not the slightest trace of fear, she moved confidently up the steps to the Prince’s throne. When she reached the top, she set the barrel down amidst the feast at his table. “You’ve got to admit she moves well,” noticed Aengus admiringly. “I’ll have to have a chat with her, if I can get her alone…” “I bring a cask of fine brandy,” she announced. “Ten pints of it.” The Vizier leered at her, and Kindrbode seized the barrel and drained it in a single draught, taking huge gulps as he did so. “The Ogres of the Shaven Yak Clan!” cried out the Vizier as she departed down the steps. One of the two Ogres that had been brawling in the middle of the Hall made his way up to the Prince, covered all the way by the Orc Crossbowmen in case of treachery. It had been the leaders of the Shaven Tak Clan, together with those of the Mammoth Tusk Ogres, that had once attempted to otherthrow Prince Kindrbode, and the remains of those leaders were now held in effigy above his throne, plastered across the wall like some obscene hunting prize. The Ogre carefully and slowly laid a sack of prodigious size on the table in front of the Prince, and opened it. As the Vizier looked inside, the Ogre proudly held up ten fingers. “Bath salts!” announced the Vizier to those who couldn’t see. Kindrbode took a long, slow, sniff and then opened his mouth and stuffed the whole ten kilos-worth down his neck in a single bite, chewing happily. “And now,” continued the Sinister Orc, “The Mammoth Tusk Ogres shall present their present!” As the two Ogres crossed on the stairs, Sigurd whispered to Iben. “They’ve all brought things in multiples of ten, not four. How did they know?” Iben replied “I don't know. But the Cake of the Wayweary people is only four tiers high. They could be killed. Let me go warn them.” Karl, who had overheard, interrupted and replied “I’ll do it. They’re less likely to notice I’m gone.” He moved quietly and casually towards the kitchen, catching Snufflegruff’s eye as he did so and giving him a small nod. The Mammoth Tusk Ogre leader, meanwhile, was showing the Prince his fine collection of tusks that he had offered as a gift. Once again, the Prince simply ate the lot, belching contentedly at the end. Taking this as a sign of favour, the Ogre hurried back down the steps on to safer ground. One of the Orc Crossbowmen made a great show of raising his crossbow as if to fire, to the general merriment of the other watching Orcs. With a voice dripping in sarcasm, the Sinister Vizier called out again. “The ‘Free People’ of Mickelgarth – who is their representative this year? Come, step forwards and lay your tribute for the Prince’s birthday.” Dropping the chicken bone he had been gnawing on, Snufflegruff heaved a large bag on his shoulder, grunting slightly with the weight, and made his way up the stairs. At the top he paused for a second before clearing a space and placing his offering on the table. “And what fine treasures have the Mickelgarthers brought their Lord?” enquired the Sinister Vizier. “Shox!” said Snufflegruff. “Shox?” replied the Vizier, baffled. “Shox?” said the Prince, his brow wrinkling in confusion. “Vas ist Shox?” Slowly, his hand reached towards the levers behind him. “Shox!” said Snufflegruff again. “Do none of ye wear shox around here? Shurely ye jesht with me? How do you keep your feet warm?” Shoving his hand into the bag, he pulled out a pair of very large, and very thick, wollen socks, in garish, mismatched colours. The Princes arm froze, then reached back round in front of him, gathering up the bag. “Wait, pleash,” said Snufflegruff “They’re shupposhed to go on your – “ The Prince, ignoring him, licked his lips as the last sock disappeared down his throat. “Ah well,” sighed the Mickelgarther. “At leasht you appreshiated them.” He turned and headed back down the stairs, moving back to the food table and picking up another piece of meat to chew on. “The Prince summonsh, forgive me, [b]summons[/b] Aldar the Dragonborn to deliver her present,” called out the Vizier. He adjusted his robe fussily and looked about. “Aldar? Obey! You are summoned!” From the entranceway, a six foot tall figure carrying a large box moved forwards and began to cross the room. As he passed Aldis, she averted his eyes from her gaze, dropping her head slightly. Thunder nudged Aldis in the side. “Who is that?” he asked. “I take it you two have some sort of history.” Aldis scowled at the back of the figure now climbing the stairs. “I thought I was the only survivor of the ambush that my old friends walked into. I presumed Aldar was dead like all the rest. But if she survived too… I wonder, was she the traitor that betrayed us? She is certainly toadying up to Kindrbode and the Vizier like a good servant.” Aldar had reached the top of the stairs and opened the box. Glittering light came from within, and Kindrbode reached over immediately and poured the contents into his mouth. Brilliant jewels spilled out as he chewed and swallowed, gorging himself. Aldar, a tension showing in her neck, retreated and made her way back through the crowd. Again, she couldn’t face looking Aldis in the face. She bared her teeth, growling quietly under her breath as Aldar went past. The Vizier, who had quietly placed a gem or two in his own robes, spoke forth again. “The Jesters of Igglingsborg shall entertain us all,” he pronounced. “The Prince requires great entertainment.” The four humans in Jesters outfits nervously began to perform, knowing that with only four of them their time was likely to be limited. “Quick!” hissed Aengus. “There are six of us! If we join them we can spare them! Pull out your best party tricks, everyone!” “My best party trick involves me, a knife, a willing volunteer and normally, a trip to a Temple for healing,” muttered Karl. “But I appreciate what you’re saying, my liege.” He began to caper and dance, leaping into the air and bouncing off the surrounding Orcs and Ogres as he did so. Stony-faced, Sigurd stared at him and Aengus, who was conjuring glittering waves of faerie light, at Aldis as she performed a Dragonborn war dance and at Iben. “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she said. “It’s so undignified.” Iben gestured the large figure of Snufflegruff over to him, said something quietly in his ear, and then bent down and lifted him above his head in a single movement. With muscles straining, he began to turn the human around and around over his head, spinning him. Thunder swiftly stepped in and took the weight, stand straight-legged and proud as he hoisted the Mickelgarther even higher. “Fine!” said Sigurd. “If we’re to make fools of ourselves, let’s make fools of them, too.” With a gesture and a wave of her hand, she transformed herself into a likeness of the Sinister Vizier, her skin green and warty, a suspicious look on her face and a sneer on her lips. Lacking the ability to speak Orcish, she instead started to point at various people in the room. “Blah, blah, blah, do what I say,” she uttered in a passable imitation of the Vizier’s voice. “Blah, blah, blah, now we shall have the Angels of Heaven giving us things, blah blah blah, the ground should be grateful I walk on it…blah blah blah…” [color=orange]A bumper update today! Michael, who plays Sigurd, took us all slightly off-guard with that moment, but it was very much worth it. We launched in with a barrage of skill checks to see if we could save the Igglingsborgers from death, and just about made it. The tension of this scene was that we all knew that a big fight was coming, just not exactly when it'd be... Next time: Too Much Cake Is Bad For You.[/color] [/QUOTE]
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