Kid Charlemagne
I am the Very Model of a Modern Moderator
Duke Alfric’s Castle, Kingdom of Caer Sidi, June 25th, AE 420
Corwin is stunned. He expected to catch them in the act, and Kentfield is acting like nothing is going on. Aris looks around suspiciously.
“Where’s Quinn?” the Bladesinger asks.
Kentfield shrugs. “It’s not my job to keep tabs on him. He’s probably hanging around someplace.”
Outside the tower, Jovah recovers from his ring of the ram induced tailspin, and starts checking out the tower. He soon sees Quinn, crawling down the outside of the tower! And at a good rate of speed, too. He zooms over, and tries to grapple him, but his strength advantage is countered by Quinn’s size advantage. Quinn casts a spell of some sort, and Jovah feels a tingly feeling in his spine, but with no effect. The gnomish cleric tries to knock the alienist off the wall again, but the spider climbing wizard stays stuck. Quinn tries a spell again, the same one, and this time Jovah fails to resist.
Jovah is turned into a carp.
Inside, Aris has gone to find a guard to report Kentfield’s shady dealings. He finds one just as he sees Jovah get polymorphed, and slaps his forehead in frustration. Moments later, he sees the still-flying carp zoom across the inner walls and flop into the moat, swimming with the over-sized goldfish. He informs the guard of what’s going on in Kentfield’s chambers. The guard laughs at the mention of the summoning spell.
“That’s not likely to work,” he says. “The castle is protected from such things.” He follows Aris back to the room.
In Kentfields room, Reana steps forward to the carpet, and Kentfield casually steps on the rug so she can’t pull it away.
“So is this a social call?” he asks. “I’m sure that it must be, because otherwise you would be violating the Duke’s laws, and I’m sure you wouldn’t do that.” He turns towards Jalea, who is poking about the room.
“Hello, Jalea. You’re looking nice and… limber…”
Jalea scowls back at the man who once tried to sacrifice him to Pazuzu, and more recently had him turned to stone. He’s already spotted what he was looking for; a slightly visible edge of the circle, just poking past the edge of the rug. He keeps looking around, hoping to spot where Kentfield has hidden the tuning forks that will allow him to plane shift home.
Brennen, Gavin, and Soldago have arrived by this point. Brennen advances towards Kentfield, and draws his sword.
He sticks the sword into the rug, and with a flick of his wrist, turns it back so that about half of the summoning circle is clear to all.
“We’ll see what the Duke thinks of that,” the Sword of Kelanen says.
“Oh my,” Kentfield says with mock horror. “I wonder how that got there.”
“Oh well, no sense in hiding anything,” he continues, and pulls the rug all the way back, revealing the full circle.
“While we’re waiting, would anyone like something to drink?” he asks, walking over to a side table for a pitcher of water. He grabs the pitcher and tosses it onto the circle, shattering it and smudging the circle.
“Oh dear, I’m so clumsy. Let me clean that up.”
He begins smearing and smudging the circle with his boots to the extent that by the time the guard and Aris get back, it’s precise nature is unidentifiable.
Outside, Whistlethorne is following Quinn. The alienist crawls all the way down to the market area, and casts an illusion that makes him look just like an elf. He strolls through the market, eventually stopping at a large wagon. He knocks twice on the door, and it is answered by a gnome; the one who was working on the clockwork nightengales in the Great Hall. Quinn goes inside, and the door closes.
Back in Kentfield’s room, the atmosphere is tense. The bemused guard listens to the two sides argue back and forth, with the party claiming that Kentfield was about to summon some demon to assault the castle.
“I was doing no such thing,” Kentfield says. “I was performing a summoning spell, true, but it was to call a friendly spirit, for purely informational purposes. I had no intentions of using it to harm anyone, and I will submit to any divinations or magicks that you see fit to prove such a thing.”
Brennen and Reana scoff at the thought of Kentfield summoning any “friendly” spirit, and insist to the guard that they were in the right. Finally the guards holds up his hand.
“Enough. I cannot judge in this matter. I’m afraid I will have to call the Duke in to deal with this.”
He sends another guard to go get the Duke, and while they wait, Aris uses his link to Whistlethorne to watch the wagon where Quinn is meeting with the gnome.
After fifteen ro so minutes, Duke Alfric arrives, with honor guard; two large elves bearing gold-plated scythes and wearing full plate armor, plated with gold and brass.
Brennen and Reana go over the accusations again, and Kentfield reiterates his version of the story. Duke Alfric listens with an amused smile on his face.
“So, Kentfield,” Brennen asks. “Where is Quinn?”
Kentfields begins to answer but is interrupted.
“I’m right here,” says Quinn, walking into the room with a bag full of pastries from the marketplace, and nibbling on a chicken wing. Reana practically groans at the image. This is not how this was supposed to go, she thinks to herself. We were supposed to find them summoning demons, whack them, and get congratulated…
“He turned Jovah in to a fish!” Aris exclaims, pointing at Quinn.
“N…n…nonsense,” the alienist says, blinking rapidly. “And if I did, I’m sure it was self-defense!”
Kentfield tries to shush the clearly less diplomatic wizard, and Quinn goes silent, muttering to himself as he naws on his chicken wing. Then something occurs to the alienist, and he whispers something into Kentfield’s ear. Kentfield smiles, and addresses the Duke.
“I have a suggestion, your majesty,” he says. “Clearly, you are in a position where you cannot adjudicate in this dispute for lack of clear evidence. I have an idea that will allow us to solve this, and remain within the laws of Caer Sidi.”
“Something my friends here seem unclear on,” he adds, glaring at Aris.
“What do you propose?” Duke Alfric asks.
“A trial, your majesty.”
“A trial?” Brennen exclaims. “What kind of a trial?”
“Well,” Kentfield answers. “By combat, of course.”
Corwin is stunned. He expected to catch them in the act, and Kentfield is acting like nothing is going on. Aris looks around suspiciously.
“Where’s Quinn?” the Bladesinger asks.
Kentfield shrugs. “It’s not my job to keep tabs on him. He’s probably hanging around someplace.”
Outside the tower, Jovah recovers from his ring of the ram induced tailspin, and starts checking out the tower. He soon sees Quinn, crawling down the outside of the tower! And at a good rate of speed, too. He zooms over, and tries to grapple him, but his strength advantage is countered by Quinn’s size advantage. Quinn casts a spell of some sort, and Jovah feels a tingly feeling in his spine, but with no effect. The gnomish cleric tries to knock the alienist off the wall again, but the spider climbing wizard stays stuck. Quinn tries a spell again, the same one, and this time Jovah fails to resist.
Jovah is turned into a carp.
Inside, Aris has gone to find a guard to report Kentfield’s shady dealings. He finds one just as he sees Jovah get polymorphed, and slaps his forehead in frustration. Moments later, he sees the still-flying carp zoom across the inner walls and flop into the moat, swimming with the over-sized goldfish. He informs the guard of what’s going on in Kentfield’s chambers. The guard laughs at the mention of the summoning spell.
“That’s not likely to work,” he says. “The castle is protected from such things.” He follows Aris back to the room.
In Kentfields room, Reana steps forward to the carpet, and Kentfield casually steps on the rug so she can’t pull it away.
“So is this a social call?” he asks. “I’m sure that it must be, because otherwise you would be violating the Duke’s laws, and I’m sure you wouldn’t do that.” He turns towards Jalea, who is poking about the room.
“Hello, Jalea. You’re looking nice and… limber…”
Jalea scowls back at the man who once tried to sacrifice him to Pazuzu, and more recently had him turned to stone. He’s already spotted what he was looking for; a slightly visible edge of the circle, just poking past the edge of the rug. He keeps looking around, hoping to spot where Kentfield has hidden the tuning forks that will allow him to plane shift home.
Brennen, Gavin, and Soldago have arrived by this point. Brennen advances towards Kentfield, and draws his sword.
He sticks the sword into the rug, and with a flick of his wrist, turns it back so that about half of the summoning circle is clear to all.
“We’ll see what the Duke thinks of that,” the Sword of Kelanen says.
“Oh my,” Kentfield says with mock horror. “I wonder how that got there.”
“Oh well, no sense in hiding anything,” he continues, and pulls the rug all the way back, revealing the full circle.
“While we’re waiting, would anyone like something to drink?” he asks, walking over to a side table for a pitcher of water. He grabs the pitcher and tosses it onto the circle, shattering it and smudging the circle.
“Oh dear, I’m so clumsy. Let me clean that up.”
He begins smearing and smudging the circle with his boots to the extent that by the time the guard and Aris get back, it’s precise nature is unidentifiable.
Outside, Whistlethorne is following Quinn. The alienist crawls all the way down to the market area, and casts an illusion that makes him look just like an elf. He strolls through the market, eventually stopping at a large wagon. He knocks twice on the door, and it is answered by a gnome; the one who was working on the clockwork nightengales in the Great Hall. Quinn goes inside, and the door closes.
Back in Kentfield’s room, the atmosphere is tense. The bemused guard listens to the two sides argue back and forth, with the party claiming that Kentfield was about to summon some demon to assault the castle.
“I was doing no such thing,” Kentfield says. “I was performing a summoning spell, true, but it was to call a friendly spirit, for purely informational purposes. I had no intentions of using it to harm anyone, and I will submit to any divinations or magicks that you see fit to prove such a thing.”
Brennen and Reana scoff at the thought of Kentfield summoning any “friendly” spirit, and insist to the guard that they were in the right. Finally the guards holds up his hand.
“Enough. I cannot judge in this matter. I’m afraid I will have to call the Duke in to deal with this.”
He sends another guard to go get the Duke, and while they wait, Aris uses his link to Whistlethorne to watch the wagon where Quinn is meeting with the gnome.
After fifteen ro so minutes, Duke Alfric arrives, with honor guard; two large elves bearing gold-plated scythes and wearing full plate armor, plated with gold and brass.
Brennen and Reana go over the accusations again, and Kentfield reiterates his version of the story. Duke Alfric listens with an amused smile on his face.
“So, Kentfield,” Brennen asks. “Where is Quinn?”
Kentfields begins to answer but is interrupted.
“I’m right here,” says Quinn, walking into the room with a bag full of pastries from the marketplace, and nibbling on a chicken wing. Reana practically groans at the image. This is not how this was supposed to go, she thinks to herself. We were supposed to find them summoning demons, whack them, and get congratulated…
“He turned Jovah in to a fish!” Aris exclaims, pointing at Quinn.
“N…n…nonsense,” the alienist says, blinking rapidly. “And if I did, I’m sure it was self-defense!”
Kentfield tries to shush the clearly less diplomatic wizard, and Quinn goes silent, muttering to himself as he naws on his chicken wing. Then something occurs to the alienist, and he whispers something into Kentfield’s ear. Kentfield smiles, and addresses the Duke.
“I have a suggestion, your majesty,” he says. “Clearly, you are in a position where you cannot adjudicate in this dispute for lack of clear evidence. I have an idea that will allow us to solve this, and remain within the laws of Caer Sidi.”
“Something my friends here seem unclear on,” he adds, glaring at Aris.
“What do you propose?” Duke Alfric asks.
“A trial, your majesty.”
“A trial?” Brennen exclaims. “What kind of a trial?”
“Well,” Kentfield answers. “By combat, of course.”
