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An Adventure in Five Acts (AD&D 2E) (Final Update 25 Feb 2023)
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<blockquote data-quote="ilgatto" data-source="post: 8847800" data-attributes="member: 86051"><p style="text-align: center"><strong><span style="font-size: 22px">An Adventure in Five Acts, Act I – The Fortnight</span></strong></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">In which the DM informs gallant Sir Scaralat and Sir Navarre that their “sweet summer’s night” ended in some consternation when they engaged in a bit of impromptu boat jousting (Ivanhoe with boats) and several damsels had to be rescued from the water. In fact, he says, following this, our noble heroes have been left in the care of Augustus Magister Rex, who has told them that he will keep a sharp eye on them during the celebratory grand finale of the Fortnight.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">As always, this grand finale is in the form of a magnificent banquet at which the first casks of Royal Cider, made from last year’s apple harvest, will be presented to – and consumed by – the noble guests. The festivities take place between the four royal barrows on a lawn measuring some 600 by 150 feet, where numerous splendidly dressed tables have been arranged around a long central trough filled with glowing embers. Numerous oxen and pigs are simmering in the heat above it, as are a selection of game and costly viands. It has been a while since the ceremonial opening of a duo of 500-liter casks of Royal Cider and spirits are high – although not so for our noble heroes. They are seated at a separate table under the watchful eye of the eminent Rector. The conversation is limited and comprises little more than an exchange of some polite pleasantries*.</span></p><p></p><p>It must be about an hour before midnight when a soldier approaches. He whispers something to Augustus, who frowns, excuses himself and leaves for the King’s table. When he returns after some time, Sir Suvali asks him if something is wrong.</p><p>“It’s always the same,” the eminent Rector sighs, shaking his head. “When the cat’s away and all that. As it happens, a military post in Nisibis was attacked by bandits some days ago.”</p><p>“I say, old bean,” Navarre says to Sir Oengus. “Wouldn’t that be your neck of the woods?”</p><p>Sir Oengus jumps to his feet without bothering to reply and hurries to his father’s table. When he gets there, he informs him of the news and suggests they return home immediately. However, a fairly inebriated Duke Nisibis distractedly waves a mug of cider at him.</p><p>“My dear boy!,” he says. “Calm down, will you? Plenty of time for that in the morning!”</p><p>“But father! We have been attacked! At least allow me to travel ahead!”</p><p>“We will get to it tomorrow and there’s an end to it,” Duke Nisibis says. “Now, get back to whatever you were doing and enjoy the evening. There’s a good lad.”</p><p>When Sir Oengus gets back to the table, he finds his noble fellows engaged in some lighthearted banter.</p><p>… a fire, you say?,” the <em>chevalier</em> is heard to ask, stifling a somewhat high-pitched laugh in a handkerchief. <em>“Mon Dieu! </em>What <em>will</em> come of this world? Ah! <em>Mon cher!</em> There you are!”</p><p>With a grand gesture, he invites Sir Oengus to sit down again. “More cider?”</p><p>“A fire?,” Sir Oengus asks, holding up his glass. “What fire?”</p><p>“<em>C’est rien, mon cher!,”</em> the <em>chevalier</em> replies. <em>“Rien du tout! </em>Hand me that quail, will you?”</p><p>“Something’s burning ashore,” Sir Suvali says, pointing into the distance. “Your side.”</p><p>Sir Oengus gives him a startled look: “What?!”</p><p>Before anyone can reply, shouts are heard from the direction of the King’s table. When our noble heroes stretch their necks to find out what’s going on, a horn sounds the “Come to Me.”</p><p>“We are under attack!,” the <em>chevalier</em> cries, quickly refilling his glass. <em>“Aux armes!”</em></p><p>“Sorry, old fruit,” Navarre says, grinning to the eminent Rector and getting up from his seat. “Duty calls.”</p><p>Our noble heroes run in the direction of the signal, other nobles and soldiers joining them on the way. The horn sounds for a second time and then for a third time – only to stop abruptly mid-tone.</p><p>“They killed him!,” the <em>chevalier</em> yells. <em>“Quelle insolence!”</em></p><p>Our noble heroes round the King’s barrow to the meadow beyond, which slopes down to the forest. To their dismay, they see a huge fire roaring on the shore across the water.</p><p>“Isn’t that the Military Academy?,” Sir Suvali asks.</p><p>Navarre cannot believe his eyes. Is that the Military Academy on fire?</p><p>More and more nobles and servants arrive, uttering cries of incredulity and indignation. Navarre, as uncertain of what he is seeing as almost everybody else, turns to address a courtier next to him.</p><p>“It would seem there’s a bit of a fire on the shore over there,” he starts.</p><p>The courtier impatiently waves a hand at him.</p><p>“You think?,” he says with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice.</p><p></p><p>Then, a sharp whistling is heard in the forest at the bottom of the meadow. Moments later, several of the assembled guests say they detect distinct signs of movement and light among the trees.</p><p>“What’s that?,” Sir Oerknal asks, pointing at some trees.</p><p>“Hard to say,” Sir Suvali says. “Soldiers?”</p><p>“Soldiers!,” the <em>chevalier</em> cries. “It’s soldiers!”</p><p>“How many, you think?,” Sir Oerknal asks.</p><p>“<em>Mon Dieu!,”</em> the <em>chevalier</em> exclaims. “There must be at least five hundred of them!”</p><p>Navarre is not convinced. 500 Soldiers? Here? Who could muster 500 men? Who could muster 500 soldiers and get them to the island unnoticed? He vents his doubts but then armed men appear in the forest’s edge. Weapons and armor gleam in the light of lanterns and torches and presently the men start advancing in an orderly fashion.</p><p>“To the King! To the King!,” the <em>chevalier</em> cries, already on his way to where the King and his nobles have gathered.</p><p>Navarre, still having a hard time believing what he sees, tries to identify a banner, a coat of arms, or any other sign that might indicate who these men are. Around him, people seem to start coming to their senses and now orders are issued, servants start screaming and running, and soldiers advance. When he turns around, he sees the <em>chevalier</em> disappear behind the King’s barrow. He has another look down the meadow, where ever more soldiers are coming from the forest. 500 Men? Scaralat may well have been right!</p><p>To his left, Sir Oengus also starts running back to the banquet area. Sir Oerknal and Sir Suvali have not moved. Now, some of the King’s soldiers are charging down the meadow and men start falling on both sides. The advance of the enemy seems purposeful and organized – these are trained men, not your average band of riffraff. Still struggling with what he sees, Navarre finally has to accept that some serious sh*t is happening and that he had better go after the <em>chevalier</em> – to the King and his nobles, if only because that is where he will likely find his father.</p><p></p><p>Meanwhile, the fearless <em>chevalier</em> has rather unceremoniously elbowed his way past the courtiers and he presently falls to one knee before the King, his arms spread wide.</p><p>“<em>Mon Roi!,”</em> he cries. “We are under attack! Five hundred men advance as we speak! My sword is yours! <em>Vive le Forêt!”</em></p><p>The courtiers regard him with a mixture of astonishment, disbelief, and even offense. Then, Navarre arrives.</p><p>“Sir,” he says, addressing his father. “It would seem that a substantial number of soldiers are headed this way. They seem to count in the hundreds and there are no banners on display.”</p><p>Duke Dauberval looks at his son with glazed eyes, a mug of cider in his hand. To his left, the <em>chevalier</em> is continuing to explain what he thinks he saw.</p><p>“I assure you, Sir, that this is true,” Navarre continues. “Allow me to suggest that we start organizing some sort of resistance. Although they fight without a banner, there’s no denying their number.”</p><p>“Five hundred soldiers,” the duke finally says. “That is a serious matter.”</p><p>“It would seem so,” Navarre says. “We should arm ourselves. Get the men together at the jetties and make a stand there. We must arm ourselves.”</p><p>“Indeed,” the duke says. “Go arm yourself and return here. Have a boy bring me my armor and weapons. Tell Madame your Mother to get the women and children to safety.”</p><p>Navarre hasn’t moved ten yards when the King explodes.</p><p></p><p>That is to say… when the King is crushed to <em>pâté</em> by a 10-foot-long hammer in the hands of a humongous, 13-foot-tall, 6-foot-wide giant of a man clad in crude iron plate armor. Not that this isn’t at least as strange, mind you.</p><p>A deathly silence falls – not a single sound is uttered for what seems an eternity. Indeed, when the DM informs our noble heroes that they have the Initiative, all most of them can think of is to stare at the giant in stunned disbelief. Navarre is the first to regain his wits. He grabs his father by the arm, yells at a royal herald to follow him and starts running to the Dauberval camp.</p><p>“To me! To me!,” he shouts. “Gather at the jetties! To me! To me! To the boats!”</p><p>The <em>chevalier</em> is the next to react. He drops his glass of cider and stares at his garments with a look of revulsion on his face – several bloody parts of what was once the King have completely ruined his fashionable attire. He starts to wipe off some of the larger bits when all Hell breaks loose: people start screaming and running, falling over each other, running in and out of barrows, shouting that the “ice giants are here”. Some nobles draw weapons, still looking at the giant figure in disbelief. Most start running. Women, children, and servants flee screaming into the barrows, soldiers climb to the top of the barrows to take up their traditional defensive positions, others start rolling boulders in front of the entrances. Sir Suvali and Sir Oerknal, who arrived just in time to see the King… die, also start moving toward the tents, Sir Suvali shouting at the <em>chevalier</em> to follow them.</p><p>The <em>chevalier</em> regains his composure. He assumes a gallant stance and starts looking for an opportunity to prove his courage and valor – a moment to shine, perhaps. Engage the giant, iron-clad figure? Perhaps not. Charge the advancing horde of soldiers and die a glorious death? Hmm…</p><p>Then, he spots Augustus Magister Rex some distance away, apparently paralyzed with fear while a unit of 30 men purposefully advance toward him, firing arrows. Excellent! The brave <em>chevalier</em> runs toward the eminent Rector, throws him across his shoulder and starts running to the jetties.</p><p>“<em>Pardon, Excellence,”</em> he cries, arrows whistling past him. “Allow me to get you to safety!”</p><p></p><p>Meanwhile, Navarre has reached the tents, where he finds none of his kinsmen – perhaps they are already at the boats? He enters his tent, puts on his armor, grabs his crossbow and bolt case and heads back out to find that the herald and his father are nowhere to be seen. All around him, scenes of horror unfold: nobles, servants, children, and soldiers alike run hither and to, screaming, shot down mercilessly and slaughtered by the advancing soldiers, fires erupt everywhere.</p><p>Sir Suvali and Sir Oerknal are some distance away, staring at the hubward shore. To their dismay, they see that a group of men have blocked access to the jetties – and thus the boats – and that another group of some six-score men are occupying themselves with killing everybody they can get their hands on. Judging by their dark leather armors, none of these men appear to be soldiers. Bandits perhaps? Across the water to their left, our noble duo notice another fire burning on the shore. It would seem that another watchtower is burning.</p><p>Just when Navarre gives up looking for his father, the <em>chevalier</em> approaches at speed, the eminent Rector still slung over his shoulder. Some 30 soldiers are after him, in four groups advancing orderly, archers at the back. Out of breath, the <em>chevalier</em> unceremoniously drops the eminent Rector in front of Navarre.</p><p>“Save the Magister!,” he yells, before disappearing into his tent.</p><p>Since the arrows are whizzing past, Navarre yells to the eminent Rector to get out of the line of fire before taking cover himself. He loads his crossbow and starts firing at the advancing archers, estimating that he has some four shots before the first of the soldiers will reach him. He misses his shot and now Sir Suvali and Sir Oerknal arrive, the latter starting to load his heavy crossbow. Sir Suvali exchanges some words with the eminent Rector, who subsequently mumbles some arcane words. Although several soldiers suddenly top moving altogether <em>(Hold Person),</em> Navarre still manages to miss his next shot.</p><p>Then the <em>chevalier</em> reappears, fully armored. He sees Sir Oengus approaching fast, heading for the jetties and he can only dissuade his noble fellow from this course of action with some effort.</p><p>“Magister!,” he yells after this, taking cover and addressing the eminent Rector. “How do we get off the island? Do we have to swim? Can you do something?”</p><p>“Yes, I can,” the eminent Rector replies. “But I need some time to prepare. There will be no swimming.”</p><p>“Start your preparations,” Sir Suvali says. “I will cast <em>Sleep.”</em></p><p>“Good plan!,” the eminent Rector says, before starting his attempts to concentrate.</p><p>Although Sir Suvali eliminates three more soldiers with his spell, things do not quite go as our noble heroes would have liked: Navarre misses two of his next three shots (inflicting minimal damage with the bolt that hits) and the eminent Rector’s preparations take a lot of time, perhaps mostly because he is hit twice by the enemy archers before Sir Oerknal, Sir Suvali, and the <em>chevalier</em> can move to form a human shield in front of him. As a result, the first of the soldiers are now so close to Navarre and Sir Oerknal that they have to drop their bows, draw their weapons and engage them in melee.</p><p>Navarre finally inflicts some serious damage but the fight has only lasted for a couple of moments when Sir Suvali suddenly grabs his left hand.</p><p>“<em>Dimensional folding!,”</em> the sorcerer yells. “Join hands! Now!”</p><p>Navarre grabs Sir Oerknal’s hand and then swathes of gray mist swirl before his eyes and in his mind and then dizzy and floating and then he is falling and then a loud splash.</p><p></p><p></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">1) As the evening proceeds, some questions posed by the PCs lead to the following information:</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><strong>Absentees</strong>: Both the Duke of Mim and the Duke of Blurh and their entourages have not shown up for the Fortnight. This is not unusual in either case. The Duke of Mim has not made an appearance for the past two years. His duchy, not being located on one of the main rivers, is one of the poorest of The Forest and it is commonly believed that he simply cannot afford to pay for the trip. The Duke of Blurh hasn’t attended the festivities for some three years and he has cited “trouble at the mine” as the reason for his absence this year.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><strong>Attendees</strong>: Although most nobles travel to the Fortnight in grand style, only a few of their extensive entourages are actually invited onto the island proper – barons are allowed three invites, dukes seven. All others remain on the shore, staying in camps, inns, boarding houses, and the barrows of friends and family.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px">There are currently several hundreds of nobles on the island (300-400 in total), about the same number of servants and about the same number of soldiers. The soldiers are stationed along the coast in groups of two, each some 100 yards apart. It seems that this is a standard precaution against small-scale bandit raids, which have occurred in the past.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><strong>King’s Knights:</strong> The King commands two companies of 50 knights who take turns patrolling the realm and act much like a mobile police force. While one is on patrol, the other remains at the Military Academy.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: 12px"><strong>The Eminent Rector</strong>: Augustus Magister Rex does not appear to be quite up to “keeping an eye” on our noble heroes. His actions seem limited to little more than <em>stating</em> that he will and he gives the impression that he wouldn’t put up much of a fight if our noble heroes were to wander off. As such, it is perhaps a sense of shame and maybe a fear of running into the parents of the unfortunate damsels they sent into the water rather than the presence of the eminent Rector that keeps our noble heroes at their table.</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="ilgatto, post: 8847800, member: 86051"] [CENTER][B][SIZE=6]An Adventure in Five Acts, Act I – The Fortnight[/SIZE][/B][/CENTER] [SIZE=3]In which the DM informs gallant Sir Scaralat and Sir Navarre that their “sweet summer’s night” ended in some consternation when they engaged in a bit of impromptu boat jousting (Ivanhoe with boats) and several damsels had to be rescued from the water. In fact, he says, following this, our noble heroes have been left in the care of Augustus Magister Rex, who has told them that he will keep a sharp eye on them during the celebratory grand finale of the Fortnight. As always, this grand finale is in the form of a magnificent banquet at which the first casks of Royal Cider, made from last year’s apple harvest, will be presented to – and consumed by – the noble guests. The festivities take place between the four royal barrows on a lawn measuring some 600 by 150 feet, where numerous splendidly dressed tables have been arranged around a long central trough filled with glowing embers. Numerous oxen and pigs are simmering in the heat above it, as are a selection of game and costly viands. It has been a while since the ceremonial opening of a duo of 500-liter casks of Royal Cider and spirits are high – although not so for our noble heroes. They are seated at a separate table under the watchful eye of the eminent Rector. The conversation is limited and comprises little more than an exchange of some polite pleasantries*.[/SIZE] It must be about an hour before midnight when a soldier approaches. He whispers something to Augustus, who frowns, excuses himself and leaves for the King’s table. When he returns after some time, Sir Suvali asks him if something is wrong. “It’s always the same,” the eminent Rector sighs, shaking his head. “When the cat’s away and all that. As it happens, a military post in Nisibis was attacked by bandits some days ago.” “I say, old bean,” Navarre says to Sir Oengus. “Wouldn’t that be your neck of the woods?” Sir Oengus jumps to his feet without bothering to reply and hurries to his father’s table. When he gets there, he informs him of the news and suggests they return home immediately. However, a fairly inebriated Duke Nisibis distractedly waves a mug of cider at him. “My dear boy!,” he says. “Calm down, will you? Plenty of time for that in the morning!” “But father! We have been attacked! At least allow me to travel ahead!” “We will get to it tomorrow and there’s an end to it,” Duke Nisibis says. “Now, get back to whatever you were doing and enjoy the evening. There’s a good lad.” When Sir Oengus gets back to the table, he finds his noble fellows engaged in some lighthearted banter. … a fire, you say?,” the [I]chevalier[/I] is heard to ask, stifling a somewhat high-pitched laugh in a handkerchief. [I]“Mon Dieu! [/I]What [I]will[/I] come of this world? Ah! [I]Mon cher![/I] There you are!” With a grand gesture, he invites Sir Oengus to sit down again. “More cider?” “A fire?,” Sir Oengus asks, holding up his glass. “What fire?” “[I]C’est rien, mon cher!,”[/I] the [I]chevalier[/I] replies. [I]“Rien du tout! [/I]Hand me that quail, will you?” “Something’s burning ashore,” Sir Suvali says, pointing into the distance. “Your side.” Sir Oengus gives him a startled look: “What?!” Before anyone can reply, shouts are heard from the direction of the King’s table. When our noble heroes stretch their necks to find out what’s going on, a horn sounds the “Come to Me.” “We are under attack!,” the [I]chevalier[/I] cries, quickly refilling his glass. [I]“Aux armes!”[/I] “Sorry, old fruit,” Navarre says, grinning to the eminent Rector and getting up from his seat. “Duty calls.” Our noble heroes run in the direction of the signal, other nobles and soldiers joining them on the way. The horn sounds for a second time and then for a third time – only to stop abruptly mid-tone. “They killed him!,” the [I]chevalier[/I] yells. [I]“Quelle insolence!”[/I] Our noble heroes round the King’s barrow to the meadow beyond, which slopes down to the forest. To their dismay, they see a huge fire roaring on the shore across the water. “Isn’t that the Military Academy?,” Sir Suvali asks. Navarre cannot believe his eyes. Is that the Military Academy on fire? More and more nobles and servants arrive, uttering cries of incredulity and indignation. Navarre, as uncertain of what he is seeing as almost everybody else, turns to address a courtier next to him. “It would seem there’s a bit of a fire on the shore over there,” he starts. The courtier impatiently waves a hand at him. “You think?,” he says with more than a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Then, a sharp whistling is heard in the forest at the bottom of the meadow. Moments later, several of the assembled guests say they detect distinct signs of movement and light among the trees. “What’s that?,” Sir Oerknal asks, pointing at some trees. “Hard to say,” Sir Suvali says. “Soldiers?” “Soldiers!,” the [I]chevalier[/I] cries. “It’s soldiers!” “How many, you think?,” Sir Oerknal asks. “[I]Mon Dieu!,”[/I] the [I]chevalier[/I] exclaims. “There must be at least five hundred of them!” Navarre is not convinced. 500 Soldiers? Here? Who could muster 500 men? Who could muster 500 soldiers and get them to the island unnoticed? He vents his doubts but then armed men appear in the forest’s edge. Weapons and armor gleam in the light of lanterns and torches and presently the men start advancing in an orderly fashion. “To the King! To the King!,” the [I]chevalier[/I] cries, already on his way to where the King and his nobles have gathered. Navarre, still having a hard time believing what he sees, tries to identify a banner, a coat of arms, or any other sign that might indicate who these men are. Around him, people seem to start coming to their senses and now orders are issued, servants start screaming and running, and soldiers advance. When he turns around, he sees the [I]chevalier[/I] disappear behind the King’s barrow. He has another look down the meadow, where ever more soldiers are coming from the forest. 500 Men? Scaralat may well have been right! To his left, Sir Oengus also starts running back to the banquet area. Sir Oerknal and Sir Suvali have not moved. Now, some of the King’s soldiers are charging down the meadow and men start falling on both sides. The advance of the enemy seems purposeful and organized – these are trained men, not your average band of riffraff. Still struggling with what he sees, Navarre finally has to accept that some serious sh*t is happening and that he had better go after the [I]chevalier[/I] – to the King and his nobles, if only because that is where he will likely find his father. Meanwhile, the fearless [I]chevalier[/I] has rather unceremoniously elbowed his way past the courtiers and he presently falls to one knee before the King, his arms spread wide. “[I]Mon Roi!,”[/I] he cries. “We are under attack! Five hundred men advance as we speak! My sword is yours! [I]Vive le Forêt!”[/I] The courtiers regard him with a mixture of astonishment, disbelief, and even offense. Then, Navarre arrives. “Sir,” he says, addressing his father. “It would seem that a substantial number of soldiers are headed this way. They seem to count in the hundreds and there are no banners on display.” Duke Dauberval looks at his son with glazed eyes, a mug of cider in his hand. To his left, the [I]chevalier[/I] is continuing to explain what he thinks he saw. “I assure you, Sir, that this is true,” Navarre continues. “Allow me to suggest that we start organizing some sort of resistance. Although they fight without a banner, there’s no denying their number.” “Five hundred soldiers,” the duke finally says. “That is a serious matter.” “It would seem so,” Navarre says. “We should arm ourselves. Get the men together at the jetties and make a stand there. We must arm ourselves.” “Indeed,” the duke says. “Go arm yourself and return here. Have a boy bring me my armor and weapons. Tell Madame your Mother to get the women and children to safety.” Navarre hasn’t moved ten yards when the King explodes. That is to say… when the King is crushed to [I]pâté[/I] by a 10-foot-long hammer in the hands of a humongous, 13-foot-tall, 6-foot-wide giant of a man clad in crude iron plate armor. Not that this isn’t at least as strange, mind you. A deathly silence falls – not a single sound is uttered for what seems an eternity. Indeed, when the DM informs our noble heroes that they have the Initiative, all most of them can think of is to stare at the giant in stunned disbelief. Navarre is the first to regain his wits. He grabs his father by the arm, yells at a royal herald to follow him and starts running to the Dauberval camp. “To me! To me!,” he shouts. “Gather at the jetties! To me! To me! To the boats!” The [I]chevalier[/I] is the next to react. He drops his glass of cider and stares at his garments with a look of revulsion on his face – several bloody parts of what was once the King have completely ruined his fashionable attire. He starts to wipe off some of the larger bits when all Hell breaks loose: people start screaming and running, falling over each other, running in and out of barrows, shouting that the “ice giants are here”. Some nobles draw weapons, still looking at the giant figure in disbelief. Most start running. Women, children, and servants flee screaming into the barrows, soldiers climb to the top of the barrows to take up their traditional defensive positions, others start rolling boulders in front of the entrances. Sir Suvali and Sir Oerknal, who arrived just in time to see the King… die, also start moving toward the tents, Sir Suvali shouting at the [I]chevalier[/I] to follow them. The [I]chevalier[/I] regains his composure. He assumes a gallant stance and starts looking for an opportunity to prove his courage and valor – a moment to shine, perhaps. Engage the giant, iron-clad figure? Perhaps not. Charge the advancing horde of soldiers and die a glorious death? Hmm… Then, he spots Augustus Magister Rex some distance away, apparently paralyzed with fear while a unit of 30 men purposefully advance toward him, firing arrows. Excellent! The brave [I]chevalier[/I] runs toward the eminent Rector, throws him across his shoulder and starts running to the jetties. “[I]Pardon, Excellence,”[/I] he cries, arrows whistling past him. “Allow me to get you to safety!” Meanwhile, Navarre has reached the tents, where he finds none of his kinsmen – perhaps they are already at the boats? He enters his tent, puts on his armor, grabs his crossbow and bolt case and heads back out to find that the herald and his father are nowhere to be seen. All around him, scenes of horror unfold: nobles, servants, children, and soldiers alike run hither and to, screaming, shot down mercilessly and slaughtered by the advancing soldiers, fires erupt everywhere. Sir Suvali and Sir Oerknal are some distance away, staring at the hubward shore. To their dismay, they see that a group of men have blocked access to the jetties – and thus the boats – and that another group of some six-score men are occupying themselves with killing everybody they can get their hands on. Judging by their dark leather armors, none of these men appear to be soldiers. Bandits perhaps? Across the water to their left, our noble duo notice another fire burning on the shore. It would seem that another watchtower is burning. Just when Navarre gives up looking for his father, the [I]chevalier[/I] approaches at speed, the eminent Rector still slung over his shoulder. Some 30 soldiers are after him, in four groups advancing orderly, archers at the back. Out of breath, the [I]chevalier[/I] unceremoniously drops the eminent Rector in front of Navarre. “Save the Magister!,” he yells, before disappearing into his tent. Since the arrows are whizzing past, Navarre yells to the eminent Rector to get out of the line of fire before taking cover himself. He loads his crossbow and starts firing at the advancing archers, estimating that he has some four shots before the first of the soldiers will reach him. He misses his shot and now Sir Suvali and Sir Oerknal arrive, the latter starting to load his heavy crossbow. Sir Suvali exchanges some words with the eminent Rector, who subsequently mumbles some arcane words. Although several soldiers suddenly top moving altogether [I](Hold Person),[/I] Navarre still manages to miss his next shot. Then the [I]chevalier[/I] reappears, fully armored. He sees Sir Oengus approaching fast, heading for the jetties and he can only dissuade his noble fellow from this course of action with some effort. “Magister!,” he yells after this, taking cover and addressing the eminent Rector. “How do we get off the island? Do we have to swim? Can you do something?” “Yes, I can,” the eminent Rector replies. “But I need some time to prepare. There will be no swimming.” “Start your preparations,” Sir Suvali says. “I will cast [I]Sleep.”[/I] “Good plan!,” the eminent Rector says, before starting his attempts to concentrate. Although Sir Suvali eliminates three more soldiers with his spell, things do not quite go as our noble heroes would have liked: Navarre misses two of his next three shots (inflicting minimal damage with the bolt that hits) and the eminent Rector’s preparations take a lot of time, perhaps mostly because he is hit twice by the enemy archers before Sir Oerknal, Sir Suvali, and the [I]chevalier[/I] can move to form a human shield in front of him. As a result, the first of the soldiers are now so close to Navarre and Sir Oerknal that they have to drop their bows, draw their weapons and engage them in melee. Navarre finally inflicts some serious damage but the fight has only lasted for a couple of moments when Sir Suvali suddenly grabs his left hand. “[I]Dimensional folding!,”[/I] the sorcerer yells. “Join hands! Now!” Navarre grabs Sir Oerknal’s hand and then swathes of gray mist swirl before his eyes and in his mind and then dizzy and floating and then he is falling and then a loud splash. [SIZE=3]1) As the evening proceeds, some questions posed by the PCs lead to the following information: [B]Absentees[/B]: Both the Duke of Mim and the Duke of Blurh and their entourages have not shown up for the Fortnight. This is not unusual in either case. The Duke of Mim has not made an appearance for the past two years. His duchy, not being located on one of the main rivers, is one of the poorest of The Forest and it is commonly believed that he simply cannot afford to pay for the trip. The Duke of Blurh hasn’t attended the festivities for some three years and he has cited “trouble at the mine” as the reason for his absence this year. [B]Attendees[/B]: Although most nobles travel to the Fortnight in grand style, only a few of their extensive entourages are actually invited onto the island proper – barons are allowed three invites, dukes seven. All others remain on the shore, staying in camps, inns, boarding houses, and the barrows of friends and family. There are currently several hundreds of nobles on the island (300-400 in total), about the same number of servants and about the same number of soldiers. The soldiers are stationed along the coast in groups of two, each some 100 yards apart. It seems that this is a standard precaution against small-scale bandit raids, which have occurred in the past. [B]King’s Knights:[/B] The King commands two companies of 50 knights who take turns patrolling the realm and act much like a mobile police force. While one is on patrol, the other remains at the Military Academy. [B]The Eminent Rector[/B]: Augustus Magister Rex does not appear to be quite up to “keeping an eye” on our noble heroes. His actions seem limited to little more than [I]stating[/I] that he will and he gives the impression that he wouldn’t put up much of a fight if our noble heroes were to wander off. As such, it is perhaps a sense of shame and maybe a fear of running into the parents of the unfortunate damsels they sent into the water rather than the presence of the eminent Rector that keeps our noble heroes at their table.[/SIZE] [/QUOTE]
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An Adventure in Five Acts (AD&D 2E) (Final Update 25 Feb 2023)
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