Viking Bastard
Adventurer
An hour or two quickly goes past and the first guests of the ceremony start to arrive. The other seven guildmasters are the first on the scene and they gather around in one group, probably discussing some Guild issues and the running of the Union of Free Cities. As the other guests arrive, guildmembers and ambassadors from neighbouring lands, the guildmasters scatter.
One, the youngest one, the one named Qter, walks over to the players. He is tall but slender, in his late thirties but one might’ve thought he was even younger. He’s sporting shoulder long black hair and a small, very tidy and well groomed beard. He wears a dark blue silk suit and a fine silver-embroidered black cape. He smiles a wide smile and raises his wineglass at the players. “Ah, you are Carp’s boys aren’t you, yes?”
The players can’t do anything but agree.
“The orc... you were the one to jump aboard Grunt’s own ship, am I right?”
“Erm.. yeah.” Kurk looks suspiciously at Qter. “Why?”
“Oh, just curious, I heard about that.”
Kurk smirks slightly. “Yeah, dat was good.”
Qter empties his wineglass into his mouth and then carefully examines it for a moment. He then looks at the players and says: “I’m going to get me some more wine, would you care for some?” The players accept and he goes to find the nearest waiter.
Just about then the priests who will see to the ceremony start to enter the hall. At first some lowly disciplines start carrying in big drums and then following them come some lower priests all clad in rather plain black robes. Last in is the bishop of Serpent City himself clad in the traditional white bishop robes. He’s covered in jewellery and all kinds of holy symbols. Following him are two higher priests, clad in plain black and white robes. They sit down in their designed seats on the stage and seem to be discussing something amongst themselves.
Incognito feels that something is not right about the guildmaster’s curiosity and asks him as he returns with their glasses: “What do you care about some small fish like us?”
“What, I’m not allowed to pay any interest to my subjects?”
“Of course, but it’s a bit... unusual.”
“Hmm.” Qter sips on his drink. “Indeed. You are right of course.” He point in the direction of a couple of the other guildmasters. ”None of them cares about the wellfare of the Union. All they care about is the weight of their money pouch.” He frowns in disgust. “The diplomatic tension between us and the Dracani Dynasty has never been as strong as now. If we don’t do something quick to smoothen things out it might result in war.” Qter seems to have become quite heated while preaching this. “And as you know, the Union has no real army to speak of, if it comes to war we are destined to loose!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As Qter releases the last word, Ztorialim enters the hall. He has a long grey beard running down his chest and thick dark eyebrows. He’s nearly completely bald. He’s wearing a dark red ceremonial robe embroidered with golden and black threads. As he walks through the hall, everybody fall silent and look in the direction of the golden stage, formerly the place of the former king’s throne.
Picture of Ztorialim
Ztorialim slowly walks up the golden steps as the bishop starts mumbling something in ancient Kentaari. The priest disciplines start hitting the drums: BAM-BUM-BAM-BUM-BAM-BUM. As Ztorialim reaches the highest step and halts, the lesser priests start echoing the mumbling of the bishop. Ztorialim goes down on his knees and touches his forehead lightly. Immediately the disciplines stop hitting the drums. The bishop steps forward and Ztorialim looks up at him and says, loud and clearly: “I wish to serve.”
The bishop nods and places his hand on Ztorialim’s bald head: “So you do, but are you ready?”
“I am ready. I stand before God and promise, I am ready. I swear to the old ones, I am ready. I vow to the Guild and their subjects, I am ready.” It’s quite clear from Ztorialim’s voice that the whole scene has been rehearsed countless times.
“So be it.” The bishop nods again turns to one of the disciplines who hands him a bowl of holy water. The bishop dips his hand into the water and again lays his hand on Ztorialim’s head. “Then stand up and declare your vows to the world.”
Slowly, Ztorialim stands up and turns to the crowd behind him: “I vow to you, the people of the Free Cities, I am ready. I am ready to rule wisely, to rule by the wishes of the people, not my own. I am ready to follow the teachings of God and his messengers. I am ready to stand against evil and corruption in all forms they might come, and ready to uphold truth and justice. I vow to serve the people until my days on earth are over. I am ready if you see so fit to honour me.”
The bishop walks to Ztorialim’s right side and asks the audience: “Is there anyone here who objects to his crowning as a Guildmaster? If so, speak now or forever hold their peace.”
The great hall is silent. Someone coughs in the distance. Stickler turns to Incognito and asks: “We might have been wrong.” Incognito nods in agreement. The bishop again starts to speak: “Very well, bring me the crown.” One of the disciplines walks over to the bishop, the small ceremonial silver crown lies on a small pillow in his hands. As the bishop prepares to pick it up, an angry voice calls from the balcony: “ I object! I object to the idea of the holy lands of man being ruled by witches, I object to the corruption that this city is drowning in and I object to that the people of the realm close their eyes and act like they see nothing. It’s time for them to see, to understand!” There on the balcony stands Gerald the Witchhunter in all his glory, clad in tattered leather armour, which is covered in various holy symbols and trinkets, and sporting a large crossbow in his hands and a old rusty longsword strapped to his back.
Picture of Gerald the Witchhunter
The many capes guarding the hall start running to the stairs that lead to the balcony, weapons drawn. Ztorialim just looks at Gerald in a queer way, says: “Sorry about all that, I’ll try to do something about all that once I’ve been sworn into office.”, and signals the bishop to keep going. Gerald goes nuts and screams at Ztorialim: “You frickin’ witch!” He fires a bolt at the Guildmaster-to-be: “Try to do something about that!” The crowd gasps in terror and excitement, everybody except Ztorialim who remains calm. The crossbow bolt, which was heading straight at him, burns up in a white flash just a meter from his chest. Ztorialim just starts laughing: “You fool, didn’t you think a great scary witch like me comes here without any means of magical protection?!”
Gerald lets out a cry of pure fury and hastily tries to reload the crossbow. The first wave of capes come storming over him, two guards, one grabs him from behind while the other grabs his crossbow. Gerald tries to wrestle from the grasp of the guy holding him and kicks the other one in the face, who falls backwards down to the floor. Then, he swings the one trying to hold him over his shoulder and down from the balcony, down to the crowd below. He grabs his old rusty sword and chops the head of the other cape while he’s trying to stand up. The other capes, including the players, are closing on him so he throws away the sword and jumps out a nearby mosaic window, which shatters into thousand bits, and down onto the roof one level down. After a second or two of rest he jumps up on his feet and starts running. The players jump after him out the broken window, onto the roof and start chasing.
One, the youngest one, the one named Qter, walks over to the players. He is tall but slender, in his late thirties but one might’ve thought he was even younger. He’s sporting shoulder long black hair and a small, very tidy and well groomed beard. He wears a dark blue silk suit and a fine silver-embroidered black cape. He smiles a wide smile and raises his wineglass at the players. “Ah, you are Carp’s boys aren’t you, yes?”
The players can’t do anything but agree.
“The orc... you were the one to jump aboard Grunt’s own ship, am I right?”
“Erm.. yeah.” Kurk looks suspiciously at Qter. “Why?”
“Oh, just curious, I heard about that.”
Kurk smirks slightly. “Yeah, dat was good.”
Qter empties his wineglass into his mouth and then carefully examines it for a moment. He then looks at the players and says: “I’m going to get me some more wine, would you care for some?” The players accept and he goes to find the nearest waiter.
Just about then the priests who will see to the ceremony start to enter the hall. At first some lowly disciplines start carrying in big drums and then following them come some lower priests all clad in rather plain black robes. Last in is the bishop of Serpent City himself clad in the traditional white bishop robes. He’s covered in jewellery and all kinds of holy symbols. Following him are two higher priests, clad in plain black and white robes. They sit down in their designed seats on the stage and seem to be discussing something amongst themselves.
Incognito feels that something is not right about the guildmaster’s curiosity and asks him as he returns with their glasses: “What do you care about some small fish like us?”
“What, I’m not allowed to pay any interest to my subjects?”
“Of course, but it’s a bit... unusual.”
“Hmm.” Qter sips on his drink. “Indeed. You are right of course.” He point in the direction of a couple of the other guildmasters. ”None of them cares about the wellfare of the Union. All they care about is the weight of their money pouch.” He frowns in disgust. “The diplomatic tension between us and the Dracani Dynasty has never been as strong as now. If we don’t do something quick to smoothen things out it might result in war.” Qter seems to have become quite heated while preaching this. “And as you know, the Union has no real army to speak of, if it comes to war we are destined to loose!”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
As Qter releases the last word, Ztorialim enters the hall. He has a long grey beard running down his chest and thick dark eyebrows. He’s nearly completely bald. He’s wearing a dark red ceremonial robe embroidered with golden and black threads. As he walks through the hall, everybody fall silent and look in the direction of the golden stage, formerly the place of the former king’s throne.
Picture of Ztorialim
Ztorialim slowly walks up the golden steps as the bishop starts mumbling something in ancient Kentaari. The priest disciplines start hitting the drums: BAM-BUM-BAM-BUM-BAM-BUM. As Ztorialim reaches the highest step and halts, the lesser priests start echoing the mumbling of the bishop. Ztorialim goes down on his knees and touches his forehead lightly. Immediately the disciplines stop hitting the drums. The bishop steps forward and Ztorialim looks up at him and says, loud and clearly: “I wish to serve.”
The bishop nods and places his hand on Ztorialim’s bald head: “So you do, but are you ready?”
“I am ready. I stand before God and promise, I am ready. I swear to the old ones, I am ready. I vow to the Guild and their subjects, I am ready.” It’s quite clear from Ztorialim’s voice that the whole scene has been rehearsed countless times.
“So be it.” The bishop nods again turns to one of the disciplines who hands him a bowl of holy water. The bishop dips his hand into the water and again lays his hand on Ztorialim’s head. “Then stand up and declare your vows to the world.”
Slowly, Ztorialim stands up and turns to the crowd behind him: “I vow to you, the people of the Free Cities, I am ready. I am ready to rule wisely, to rule by the wishes of the people, not my own. I am ready to follow the teachings of God and his messengers. I am ready to stand against evil and corruption in all forms they might come, and ready to uphold truth and justice. I vow to serve the people until my days on earth are over. I am ready if you see so fit to honour me.”
The bishop walks to Ztorialim’s right side and asks the audience: “Is there anyone here who objects to his crowning as a Guildmaster? If so, speak now or forever hold their peace.”
The great hall is silent. Someone coughs in the distance. Stickler turns to Incognito and asks: “We might have been wrong.” Incognito nods in agreement. The bishop again starts to speak: “Very well, bring me the crown.” One of the disciplines walks over to the bishop, the small ceremonial silver crown lies on a small pillow in his hands. As the bishop prepares to pick it up, an angry voice calls from the balcony: “ I object! I object to the idea of the holy lands of man being ruled by witches, I object to the corruption that this city is drowning in and I object to that the people of the realm close their eyes and act like they see nothing. It’s time for them to see, to understand!” There on the balcony stands Gerald the Witchhunter in all his glory, clad in tattered leather armour, which is covered in various holy symbols and trinkets, and sporting a large crossbow in his hands and a old rusty longsword strapped to his back.
Picture of Gerald the Witchhunter
The many capes guarding the hall start running to the stairs that lead to the balcony, weapons drawn. Ztorialim just looks at Gerald in a queer way, says: “Sorry about all that, I’ll try to do something about all that once I’ve been sworn into office.”, and signals the bishop to keep going. Gerald goes nuts and screams at Ztorialim: “You frickin’ witch!” He fires a bolt at the Guildmaster-to-be: “Try to do something about that!” The crowd gasps in terror and excitement, everybody except Ztorialim who remains calm. The crossbow bolt, which was heading straight at him, burns up in a white flash just a meter from his chest. Ztorialim just starts laughing: “You fool, didn’t you think a great scary witch like me comes here without any means of magical protection?!”
Gerald lets out a cry of pure fury and hastily tries to reload the crossbow. The first wave of capes come storming over him, two guards, one grabs him from behind while the other grabs his crossbow. Gerald tries to wrestle from the grasp of the guy holding him and kicks the other one in the face, who falls backwards down to the floor. Then, he swings the one trying to hold him over his shoulder and down from the balcony, down to the crowd below. He grabs his old rusty sword and chops the head of the other cape while he’s trying to stand up. The other capes, including the players, are closing on him so he throws away the sword and jumps out a nearby mosaic window, which shatters into thousand bits, and down onto the roof one level down. After a second or two of rest he jumps up on his feet and starts running. The players jump after him out the broken window, onto the roof and start chasing.
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