EVENT: The Fall Festival

[Marullus]

Everyone joining the pilgrimage to the Festival from Gaul takes notice of the new Garrett's Abbey and Stone Bridge in Frogmorton. Many take the opportunity to overnight there before joining the guarded caravan eastward to the White Tower.

Feel free to post in Garrett's Abbeyon your way; you can roleplay there before encountering the Knights of Baudhil. The Abbey is the easternmost outpost of the Church of Gaul, currently.

[Zhym]

"Well, that was a bust," grouses Lug, fresh in town for the festival. "No pixies or centaurs! Hmph. At least I got to find some nifty new wood to improve my boring ordin—er." Lug stops when he realizes that his "boring, ordinary bow" is now actually quite a bit nicer than Smurfgrill ever was. But it doesn't have quite the same sentimental value.

He claps his hands and rubs them together eagerly. "Awright! When's the fightin' start?"

[Dram]

Baxtaw -sees Lug admiring his bow. That is a fine bow you there Lug. Are you entering the archery competition? The prizes are worth the entry.

[Stirling]

Tocen: sergeant-at-arms to Foxy gathers folk around the evening campfires.

So, you be wanting stories? Here be one, true and grim,
the sad fate of Galavan's rider, a knight so bold, so proud and yet so vain. But hush first and harken yee, to the childrens laughter, song and glee. For underneath their merry tune let the twilght wind bring whispers of impending doom.

This knight strode the prairie hither, seeking fame and fortune
and yes, a maiden to warm his bed. Tearing them from maternal arms into his, claiming '1st rights' as a peer of the realm. Allowing the gypsies who sojourn this road, passage only if they paid the toll. No fight could they offer, those weak and destitute, against the injustice of this 'noble' brute? How many bastard babes were born from the loins of this boar?

Who hears one calling in the wilderness? Who listens to the lament of the hopeless? Till one misty morn, a crippled hag, herself a changeling crone approached the gypsy chapperrel.

"I will pay the toll", she said. "Though in return I seek a night of my own, yes and one such night for my own vanities and pleasure on each annual festival solstice".

A bargain was struck though the gypsies knew not the heavy toll, for this crone sought not just a knight of pleasure but a dark night for the soul.

A comely wench was she, skipping with rose red cheeks and a feigned blush, eyes of crystal blue like the lagoon, lips of cherry wine and hips that swayed. Her tongue spoke honeyed words and offered the taste of seduction. This bold knight who secured the road watched with lust as she danced afore the caravan train.

"Thou shall not pass until the toll be paid, I seeketh payment not in gold. Save your merchant gilders for the tax and the church. This gemstone rare I shall wear, uncut and unblemished I will craft her in shiny facets so the light within my be displayed".

With such words the knight claimed the girl and swooping, carried her away as his prize. Little did he know, so blinded by desire and wrong that with each thrust of his manhood his strength was drained until reaching his crescendo the knight faltered. The hazy air, the scent of grass dew, the hint of wine, all sought to cloud his passions and mind. Shaking his groggy head he looked down upon his conquest and to his horror saw the maiden change. Laughter heckled from the hags mouth as orcish teeth protruded where once was a willing tongue. Claws that strangled, stronger than any noose and not a kiss upon his nape but a savage rip that tore throat and vein. It was her passion now that spewed forth as filth to stain the prairie red. Within heartbeats the knight breathed his last and was dead.

The gypsies' vengance had been fulfilled but the recompense to pay the hag lingers on. Tonight is the day of remembrance and the hag stalks still, seeking one to love and pleasure her. One eager to seed a maidens belly this night, might also feast a crone".

[Marullus]

An eclectic group of Baudhil Knights and Gaul pilgrims listens to the tale. The Baudhil Knights respond early, several elbowing each other and making ribald jests as the "toll" of the story's Knight is described. These knights have provided protection on many a road here and in the south. Some claim to have "known that guy."

As the tale turns to the crone, the whole audience grows quiet as they listen, however. None jape or cheer; the crone and her orcish teeth and cannibalistic justice are clearly a work of both chaos and evil. She is beyond the righteousness of Baudh and the grace of Eruanna both.

The horror of the tale leaves some fearful and some titillated... as more tales are told, the memory of this one will gel, the initial discomfort faded when daybreak comes.

I will leave the CHA roll and long term judging of the storytelling contest to Rusty for arbitration.

[Rusty Tincanne]

from the Golden Scales Tavern

Fall Festival
...All three throw names into the ring to join various events.

Amistad melee, Akaara archery, Godric shares a story.

[Spearmint]

Godric, lumberjack foreman and yard administrator regales the camp followers with his short scary tale of:

"Tis true, many wonders walk these lands. The Yoldessi plain holds many mysteries. The tombs of knights, priests and kings. And of course, the Barrow of the Yoldessi Queen.

Riga, stout of heart and fearless. Reckless too, but then all halflings have a mind to wander and a craving for solving enigmas. She was a rogue, a collector, a purveyor of antiquities, of spolis and trove. We of Baudh say graverobber.

Her desire for riches and fortunes pushed her to scout into the deepest niches. Hidden in these barrows, in the deep earth lay a wondrous sarcophagus of kings. She scoured the land, mapping, surveying, tracing archives, until finding a sigil rune pointing to the tomb, dug beneath the rolled stone dias, hidden under the roots of a great tree.

Descending a stairwell she cautiously crept, sword out alert for threats. The webbed corridor remained silent, eerie. Winding down spiralling tunnels Riga stepped, her lantern flickering a faint light. Each footstep sounded hollow on the flagstones and echoed behind. Halting at a banded door she picked a secure lock and avoiding traps opened a breach into a chamber. In the middle of the room lay a marble plinth, ivory white in colour and carved with noble themes. Loosening a capstone, Riga lifted the lid and beheld the skeleton resting eternally in regal rags. A coronet of gold upon his wearied brow. Nervously she took it and in triumph placed it upon her own head. "I am the Queen!" she cried and paraded in step around the tomb. Laughter and joy filled the place until she heard a groaning, whispering, clicking and scratching. In fear she tried to flee but the earthen walls collapsed and dark beetles emerged. The scarabs tasted the air with long feelers and chittered between them, rubbing claws together in rythmic friction to communicate unearthly tones. They scuttled towards her, as menacing and sharp as her keen blade was, the roaches bit, drooling froth and nipping with sharp fangs. Riga fought bravely, swotting even with her crown but it was a forlorn hope of rescue as fierce welts blistered her bruised body and lacerations drained blood like rivulets of rain. Bresthless and weak, she finally succumbed.

She woke later, how much later she knew not. Her clothes had been removed yet her skin was warmed by sheets of soft silk, wrapped around her like swaddlIng clothes. The aura of luminescence glowed from the cave mosses and fungi. It pierced through the silk strands like sun rays through the cloud. Her memory came back quickly, the nips, stings, bites. Had she succumbed to poison? She forced her way out of the silken binds, pulling and stretching them apart until she pushed first a head, then arm and shoulder to wriggle free. She landed upon a soft cushion of straw and alarmingly at the feet of the giant bugs. They chitted in her presence, touching feeling with antenna, caressing her hair and smothering her skin with a creamy loam. Drones appeared from a side tunnel, spitting out a mash of regurgitated vegetables. Touchy feely antenna encouraged her forward to eat. She tried to refuse but the drones manipulated her arms and once held, made her gorge on the porridge until she almost choked. She crawled away to rest from the bugs who watched her attentively on beady stalks. Eventually exhausted she slept and as she did new thin strands of silk were woven over her. The scene was repeated day after day, she could not escape though she tried many times over, always the bugs blocked exits with their carapace bodies like a shield wall. Many times she was beaten back, though not harshly, to the straw matted resting place. Regular spittle food was given and more bathing in the mud loam.

Until one day she cut loose from her cocoon and crawling on hands and knees began to retch and cry. An urge to push from her stomach as if sick with poison, gagging, screaming in agony as her abdomen broiled. Her innards lurched and rippled, itchy and scratchy as somethng sinister moved under her skin. Her cry of pain caused the drone bugs to reappear and attending her need, they began to sooth her head with more caresses and strokes on her belly. Loam was applied to the stretched skin and after positioning her in a squatting position she uttered a mournful agonising scream, all the pain and dread realisation mixed in one emotion as an urge to bear down overcame her bodily control. From between her legs a fat maggot wriggled free, shiny and wet with amniotic fluids. The drones chittered excitingly, picking the larvae and carrying it away to an incubation chamber.

In horror she screamed and crawled away to cover herself within the straw. But that horror was only a mild thought and a distant dream when the urge came ... to push once more.

[Rusty Tincanne]

The gathered crowd judged Tocen's tale well. A fair-few Knights of Baudh stopped their commentary and, even if only for a few moments, and had the decency to look somewhat ashamed. And, perhaps, frightened. Perhaps a few of the female pilgrims would return to Gaul, still chaste.

__________________________________

Seeing the success of Tocen's macabre story, Godric, the foreman of Amistad's logging operation, begins his horrific story. The group of listeners grows, each intrigued by the charismatic, fool-of-a-halfling heroine. Oohs, aahs, and gasps punctuate the tale in all the right places as the couples of newly minted romances hold one another's hands, anticipating the halfling maiden's inevitable success. Knuckles turn white as the heroine struggles vainly to find freedom. And, as the story climaxes, hands fall away from one another because everyone within earshot turns green as they imagine giving birth to maggots. In the end, the story was not as laudable as Tocen's, but it was repeated regularly through the entire festival.

The atmosphere is festive, and the citizens of the White Tower and its Bastion are happy to give every storyteller the benefit of the doubt. As such, the Storytellers will be judged with a 3d6 roll, adjusted for the length of their story. (350 base words, with a +/-1 for every 50 words below/above that amount, up to a maximum of 3. That result will be compared to the Storyteller's CHA, and the person with the largest margin of difference (below their CHA) will win.

I will keep track of the scores in my first post in this thread, in case more stories are entered.

Tocen [4d6-3] = 10-3 = 7
Tocen's CHA is 10, so he succeed by 3.

Godric [4d6-3] = 14-3 = 11
Godric's CHA is 15, so he succeeds by 4. Currently ahead.

____________________________________________

It is soon noticed that no tournaments contain any Knights of Baudhil. To quell the rumors, Lord Commander Bremen's own Vassals enter the lists. Sir Dirk Branson, Marshall of the White Tower, enters the Melee, while Sir Killian Haverford of the Vales enters the Joust. Father Clauson enters the Clerical Melee to honor Baudh offering 100gp to the collective pot, and he approaches Piers Garret, encouraging him to follow suit.

Lug and Dirk have been added to the Melee. Father Clauson to the Clerical Melee (along with his prize money). Killian Haverford has been added to the Joust.

[Rusty Tincanne]

10:00 AM - The Archery Competition!


Bells chime and horns blare, announcing the first of the competitions. Soldiers, knights, woodsmen and farmers all make their way to the archery butts within the bastion's walls, bowls of eggs or tarts in hand, and bacon grease on the chins of children. Some of the crowd have clearly not slept yet, and are enjoying their meads and ales already.


An imposing, stern looking cleric stands on the dais to address the throng. A preacher to warriors, Father Clauson's voice can easily be heard over the din.


Competitions testing martial skills have been part of High Holy days since the beginning of the Baudhic calendar, allowing participants to prove their might in His eyes. The Knights of Baudhil welcome each of you to this Feast of Harvestide. We shall start with the Archery Competition, judged by Sir Bremen, Lord Commander of the Knights of Baudhil and Protector of the Yoldessi Plains, Sovereign of the North, and Sir Branson, Marshall of the Knights of Baudhil. We shall see who Baudh's light will shine on this day.


He turns to Lord Commander Bremen, who rises, twists his mustache, and addresses the competitors.


Bremenbegins by reminding the crowd of the generous prizes offered by himself and Baxtaw, satisfied with the looks of greed in the eyes of the crowd. The rules are simple enough. First and foremost, no witchcraft or divine interventions. Either borrow a weapon from the White Tower, or submit your own to the clerics for inspection. There are three rounds, with the butts moving farther afield for each round. 1st round at 50' (short range for a short bow), 2nd round at 100' (medium range for a short bow), 3rd round (if needed) at 150' (long range for short bow). If needed, I'll come up with more rounds that will involve killing a boar from a distance, or something.

For each round, each Archer shall fire three volleys. One point for the target (AC 7), two for the outer ring (AC 4), four points for the bullseye! (AC 2) Half of those with the most points after three volleys shall move to the second round. Same rules for the following rounds until only three contestants move advance. If there are more rounds are needed, we'll add more challenges. He smiles mischievously, then allows his Marshall announce the contestants.

The handsome, bearded Dirk Branson scans the crowd and smirks at the Flame of the North before announcing each contestant, his men escorting people forward in an orderly manner to keep the contest from growing stale.

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CONTEST INFORMATION

For the sake of speed, each participant should roll three [1d20] rolls and post them. Role play through your actions before and between each volley. Once I have posts from all participants, we'll move to the second round.
For Round one, at 50':
Short Range (+1 to hit): short bows, long bows and crossbows
Medium Range (+0 to hit): slings have no modifiers
Long Range (-1 to hit): spears and javelins

Contestants:
Lug
Baxtaw
Akaara (Amistad's vassal)
Stantz (Bremen's vassal)

The Nature of this Contest allows for more participants. Just post some rolls.

[Zhym]

Just to clarify - are we using our own bows, even if magical, or are we all assumed to be using standard non-magical bows?

[Jernau35]

Piers arrives late to the festival, having been caught up in the construction of Garret Abbey. Meeting his friend Father Clauson, he accepts his invitation to join the clerical melee tournament and offers 200gp towards the prize fund.

[Rusty Tincanne]

Just to clarify - are we using our own bows, even if magical, or are we all assumed to be using standard non-magical bows?

All contests are with mundane weapons. Only stat and level bonuses are applicable. As an example, Stantz (+1 to hit with bows) is a Level 6 Fighter (Thac0 15), firing a long bow at close range (+1). Per pg 60 bof the rules, he needs a 10 to hit AC7 (1 point), 13 to hit AC4 (2 points), 15 to hit AC2 (4 points).



Sir Stantz of the Knights of Baudhil is called to the butts. His bow is inspected by the clerics and is deemed free of all magics. He takes careful aim and launches his first shot, squarely hitting the bullseye, the faintest smile at the corner of his lips. FOUR POINTS! calls Marshall Branson.

With the cheering still going strong, he knocks another arrow and lets it fly, scoring another bullseye. ANOTHER FOUR!! the Branson shouts.

Stantz looks to the dais and looks to Bremen. For your honor, and the glory of the Knights of Baudhil, m'lord. He takes launches his third volley and, once again, hits the bullseye. A PERFECT VOLLEY!!! TWELVE POINTS! Branson shouts again. The roar of the crowd for the former Gaulish militia man-turned-Knight-of-Baudhil.

Round 1, Long Bow (THAC0 15) - [1d20+2] = 16+2 = 18, [1d20+2] = 13+2 = 15, [1d20+2] = 13+2 = 15

I hope that makes sense to everyone. If not, just post your rolls (with updated THACO, add in range modifier and DEX modifier. I'll let you know how you do.

[Rusty Tincanne]

Billy, a boy from Gaul who appeared one day with several beasts of burden, boldly steps forward when he is called, hoping to change his lot in life. He passes by the bows, not yet having the strength to draw one back yet. Instead, he presents his sling to the clerics, who deem it acceptable.

Billy is a level 0 human with a DEX 15, offering +1 to hit with ranged weapons. His sling is at medium range. That's a total of +1 to hit, and he needs ha 13 to hit AC7 (1 point), 16 to hit AC4 (2 points), 18 to hit AC2 (4 points).

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Billy loads a stone amid the jeering of the crowd and jokes from Dirk Branson. Defiant to the end, he launches his first stone and no one can deny that it nails the bullseye. The crowd drops silent for a moment, whispering approval, but also guessing that it is merely beginners luck. But the last two shots both hit the target as well, though only scoring 1 point each. But the boy has made his mark on the crowd. 6 POINTS KID. NOT BAD. shouts Marshall Branson. He wordlessly instructs one of his stewards to discuss a fair price for the child with the boy's parents.

Round 1, sling (THAC0 20) - [1d20+1] = 17+1 = 18, [1d20+1] = 14+1 = 15, [1d20+1] = 14+1 = 15
He did better than I thought he would...

[Zhym]

All contests are with mundane weapons. Only stat and level bonuses are applicable. As an example, Stantz (+1 to hit with bows) is a Level 6 Fighter (Thac0 15), firing a long bow at close range (+1). Per pg 60 bof the rules, he needs a 10 to hit AC7 (1 point), 13 to hit AC4 (2 points), 15 to hit AC2 (4 points).

Okay, that makes sense. But why the option to use short bows vs. long bows vs. crossbows? The 150' range is long range for a short bow but medium range for a crossbow, so it seems like a crossbow user would be at an advantage.

[Rusty Tincanne]

Name of boy changed, and picture added above. Piers has been added to the lists, and his prize noted.

As for the options: Mostly for role playing flavor. But Clerics cannot use bows/crossbows/spears. And I don't know about other characters, but Bremen has a permanent injury (nerve damage from cention venom) and has a penalty for using bows, but not crossbows. Maybe others have an issue with crossbows? I just used short bow distances to increase weapon options.

[Zhym]

Well, crossbows were historically for people who couldn't master the skill needed for a regular bow, right? I mean, you don't see crossbows in the Olympics. So it seems odd to allow bows and crossbows in the same skill competition.

I mean, if you want Bremen to compete, we could just make it a crossbow competition.

[Rusty Tincanne]

Might could, but:
1. Bremen isn't competing. He's hosting. But he did use his crossbow in the Greenleaf Festival. (He would have used it in the Suncrest Fest competition if he hadn't been in prison. )
2. We only have three PCs entered in the competition as it is. I don't want to dilute the waters any.
3. I was hoping a few dwarf emissaries would show up with crossbows.
4. I am interested in seeing how folks role play this.
5. Most importantly, another competition would make the Harvestide Festival take even more time in RL. Remember that this is me dipping my toes into the water of GM'ing.

[Spearmint]

Resplendent in dragonscale, the metallic green cuirass reflecting from her emerald eyes, Akaara, former Morlock warden and Gaul guard, steps to the line and draws her orc longbow. She flexs the bowstring before notching an orc fletched arrow. Letting fly, the result is ... uninspiring.

Cursing in Morlock and Common, "Used to bringing down fleeing foes not standing scarecrows." She gives a little stretch and fixes a flinty stare at the more distant targets.

Akaara with orc longbow. [1d20+3] = 2+3 = 5 [1d20+2] = 19+2 = 21 [1d20+1] = 19+1 = 20

Pleased with two bullseyes, shed gives a little bow.

(Not sure of her Thaco, Akaara is 3rd level rogue? Godric has charisma 15)

[Rusty Tincanne]

Dirk Branson calls out the scores again, with Akaara managing two bullseyes, the two arrows within a fraction of an inch of one another, both nestled at the very center of the target. 8 POINTS!

Scores noted in the second post: Godric is currently winning the storytelling. Akaara might still make it to round 2 of the archery competition.

[Zhym]

Lug lumbers up to the weapons master of the White Tower. He considers asking for a crossbow for a moment, figuring that the extra range might do him some good in the competition. Then he figures, nah, that ain't sporting. If he won, he'd be that guy who won using a crossbow. The weight of an asterisk would be too much to bear.

"Hiya," he says, "I need to borrow"—he laughs and shakes his head—"well, a boring ordinary bow, please. Make it a strong one. I'm used to pulling the string on Logic, here."

Once outfitted, Lug steps up to take his turn in the competition. But he's used to a bow that was made for his strength. His first shot hits the outer ring; the next two barely hit the target.

Lug, borrowed bow: [1d20+2] = 9+2 = 11 [1d20+2] = 6+2 = 8 [1d20+2] = 6+2 = 8 (THAC0 15)

"Huh," he says, and hands the bow back to the weapons master. "Looks like I won't be needing this any more."