Troll Hunt

[Horseman]

Games at the Hippodrome This Yule one of the games brought to you is, The Troll Hunt A regenerating troll stalks the arena. The gladiators must discover the fire in the arena and use flaming weapons or traps scattered throughout the field to finish the job. Our Gladiators are played by Gibbon, Eudorus and Horseman Master of Ceremonies is Corwin   Other players in RH are welcome to place bets and make comments, cheer or jeer any side they want. Please do so in a Spoiler box like this. Thanks

[Corwin]

Heads up, Horseman, Eudorus, and Gibbon! You're up as soon as you pick a prize.

Troll Hunt Rowdies and cutthroats gathered around The Entertainers' Gate, reading the list of challenges. Novices egged each other on to go first, journeymen gladiators waited for dependable companions to roll in from the taverns, scarred professionals hung back, waiting to see what the competition was like. A ragged cheer went up as a hulking southerner bearing a greataxe approached the booth. "I'm Mago. How's about the troll." The assembled gladiators hushed and waited for someone else to volunteer; trolls were fast, vicious, and tougher than coffin nails. The booth clerk looked the giant up and down, one eye glinting from under a broad-brimmed hat. "Troll? Yer funeral, pal. Y'need two more though, not fair to the crowd lesswise." Two coppers clinked on the street as a second warrior left a game of dice. "Cumdyn Henesroft. I'm in." The clerk barely glanced. "Right, that's two. How d'you spell that?" A third sloped up to the booth and the clerk rang a bell. "Kári Gunnarsson." "Denisot, three for the troll! Show these gents in and get 'em set up." The barred gate opened to admit the three gladiators and slammed shut again with a clang. A lad with a slight clubfoot led them below the stands of the Hippodrome into a long, broad, and low space that followed a quarter of the curve of the arena above. On the street side was a series of barred arches that let in a little gray winter daylight and too much winter wind. The lad limped ahead. "'m Denisot, begging your pardons, sirs. Your first time, sirs? Mind your heads, sirs." The arena side was dark, fully walled except for three barred gates. Everything between was a staggered grid of thick stone columns and arched vaults carrying the weight of the Colosseum above. Each stone cross bore torches in sconces on all four sides, smoke rolling off the brands this way and that as the breeze off the river changed. Blades clattering on shields echoed through the artificial cavern, punctuated by twanging bowstrings and the thumps of arrows hitting targets. Mago, Cumdyn, and Kári passed a few professional gladiators sparring with wooden swords. Their eyes began sting from smoke as they neared a corner barred off from the rest. Denisot waved at the bars. "'Ere, sirs. By the grace an' kindness of good King Hoarkl, yer to choose some convict to fight fer. They go free if yer win an' die if yer don't." It was an odd lot in the cage, none of them looking like hardened criminals. A sturdy peasant couple, two of the lower sort of farmers, a laborer, a scholarly sort, and a lady who looked a bit holy and a bit elvish. "Tell 'em what yer in fer." Convicts and gladiators stared at each other through the iron bars. The scholar was the first to speak up. "Well, I think it's no crime to cure poisons." The lady spoke next. "Nor to heal the hurt, but they call my work witchcraft." "I don't even know what I did!" said one of the farmers. The laborer mumbled "No wrong in speaking to spirits if they speak to you first, Jacques." "Aye, well I say ye can't steal yer own cattle!" said the other farmer. The peasants were the last to call out. "Roight? But Heragon's lads'll steal yer last sheep off yer own yard an' charge ye fer it! Ain't no crime to take a rake to 'em." "Nor a scythe neither. Might of done it, but we had the right. Besides I hear the feller might live."

[Gibbon]

Kári Gunnarsson Kári squints at the cages. Not so long ago he was in one of those himself. He's still not quite sure how it is that he finds himself here in a gladiator ring. From a farm in Iceland, to a longship raiding the shores of Albion, to a trading ship on the whale road, to that unfortunate encounter on the shores of the Lowlands, and now this. The gods are laughing at him, as usual. "Fight for a convict?" he says to his two companions. "Which one?" This King Hoarkl has a strange sense of justice, if this is how the law works in his city. But this city is strange. So big. So many people! Kári has heard they call Hoarkl the dragon-king. He even heard the king actually was a dragon. Obviously that can't be true. This city is chaotic, confusing. A far cry from the farm he grew up on back in Laugarnes. But far more interesting too. If he never sees Laugarnes again, it will be no loss. Here, he might have a chance at glory. Unless he dies in the ring today, of course. "I say we pick..." he has no idea really "...this one?" He gestures vaguely at the woman. "Are you a völva? What do you call it...prophetess. Seeress?" If she is, then it would be a good idea to have her favour, he thinks.

[Corwin]

Troll Hunt "Hardly a seeress, sir, though if I were there'd be no shame in it, so my mother would have said. My name is Seraphin VanDurand." The lady steps to the front of the cell. By the flickering torchlight, Kári can't quite make out her age; she could be a bit worn for her twenties, or decades older and aging very gracefully. She wears an undyed woolen cotehardie over a white kirtle, not enough to keep her from shivering in the wintry chill below the stands. A few locks of pale hair escape from under a matching linen coif. Kári can't help but notice a touch of álfur about the shape of her ears. "Just an herbalist, I learned my craft serving in abbey gardens. I might have taken holy orders myself had the cardinals not taken to scrapping like cats and dogs. They reserve all wisdoms to themselves and frown even on simple healers such as I unless we're under their thumbs. I took up my work here, but now Lord Heragon favors my craft no more than the church lords do and seeks to bring all practitioners under his law or try us as witches." She sniffs. "Though no doubt his guards have their wounds seen to as well as any cardinal." The other prisoners mutter in agreement. She leans closer. "I've no confidence in Pont du Falx's mercy, sir. Even should you take up my cause and win the day, I shall have to flee and begin anew else I'll find myself back in gaol in a week or dead in an alley. Such is Lord Heragon's justice. Take the last of my stores, you shall need them more than I." She whispers to Kári, telling him where her shop was located at the west end of the Merchant District, and where she hid a cache of healing potions under the hearthstones.

[Horseman]

Mago the Carthaginian Mago remembered the stories he learned as a child growing up in the Atlas Mountains of the old Carthaginian Empire, how it had been corrupted by blood sacrifice and he silently wondered if that was what was happening here. It troubled him, and it shown on his face. Mago had not even looked in the cages, he'd always considered prisoners weak and deserving of their imprisonment, but he knew this was wrong. Healers should not be enslaved with a death sentence. In the Atlas Mountains so many things could kill you, lions, leopards, or the legendary Chimera that were known to make the mountain range their home. It was not just attacks from animals, monsters or men that could kill you, be something as simple as a broken leg from a fall, or stumbling into a scorpion thorn bush would kill just as quickly, and healers were far to in number or close. In his land they were sacred. I shall fight for the Healer.

[Eudorus]

Cumdyn Cumdyn quietly followed the other two gladiators and their talkative guide through the inner workings of the Hippodrome. It was a simple whim that had pulled him from his dice game to join in the fight against the Troll. He had traveled far to come to Falcon's Point and fight in the famed Hippodrome but he never really envisioned fighting against a creature like a troll. But the size of Mago intrigued him and he wanted to see the big man fight up-close. And what better way than to fight alongside him as opposed to him. As he walked along and looked at the group of prisoners Cumdyn felt little desire to fight for any of them. He fought because he wanted to, not because of any sense of 'justice' for these people. He knuckled his brow as he looked them over and then with a shrug echoed the words of the others, I'll fight for the healer as well. With that out of the way he turned away from the prisoners and looked at the other warriors with him. Any of you ever fought against one of these beasts before?

[Gibbon]

Kári Gunnarsson "The healer it is" says Kári. He looks over his two companions. Both of them look like they know how to handle their weapons. Seems they've both been in these gladiator rings for a while. One of them is huge, a southerner by the looks of him. He can't place the other one. He shrugs as the second man speaks. "I've seen trolls. But never fought one myself. They're not smart. Easily distracted, I think. And they don't like fire, I know that much." Of course, the same could be said for any species. Who likes getting burned? But Skuli told him that trolls are especially susceptible to fire. Burn 'em, lad, he'd said. That's how you take them down. "I've heard it said that they heal unnaturally quickly, that you cut them with an axe and the wounds close up before your eyes. I don't know if that's true. If so, maybe that's why they're more wary of fire?" Kári wishes he'd asked Skuli more about them. Too late now. The old Viking didn't get his mail shirt off in time when the ship went down. Skuli went down right along with it. He's drinking with Njörðr in Nóatún now. Probably settling down with an ale to watch Kári and these two mix it up with this troll. Kári doesn't plan to join Skuli down there. Even if the troll gets him, it'll be Valhöll for him. Not some mouldy drinking hall under the sea, drinking watery ale and surrounded by a bunch of fish. He hefts his battleaxe and heads into the arena.

[Corwin]

Troll Hunt "Blessings of the true saints be on you." The herbalist bows and withdraws to sit on a stone bench in the cell, a few of her cellmates whispering encouragement to her. Denisot waves the contestants toward the far end of the sparring ground. "This way, sirs." Gladiators pause their sparring as the three pass, saluting with wooden swords before resuming their practice. Denisot mumbles "The keepers do 'erd 'im about with torches, sirs. So I've 'eard. Torches on long poles." They walk the inner curve of the arena to a corner at the east end. "Luck to ye, sirs." The lad hobbles off. Around the corner is a wide passage with three knights in bucket helms and full plate standing along either side, ending in a barred gate to the arena floor. "Wait ready at the gate. You're on at the third bell." A hubbub of voices grows louder as the warriors approach the gate. The ring is a long walled oval surrounded by rising ranks of benches, with raised boxed seats at the center line on the north and south sides and another barred gate at the far end, twin to the east gate. Some spectators have already taken seats, others are milling around, more than a few lean over the wall to peer at Mago, Cumdyn, and Kári, then jog off to place bets. Out on the floor are eight rough stone columns and a scatter of large wooden casks standing on end. Lads run back and forth, mounting a few torches to wires that are reeled in from above the wall until the torches hang above the floor, just out of a tall man's reach. Another pair of lads drag a long plank between them in a slow spiral from center to the edges, smoothing the layer of sand that covers the stone floor. A bell rings and the benches begin to fill up. The gladiators smell cooking meat, ale, smoke, and carrion on the breeze. The bell rings a second time and all the lads scurry off the floor through small gates that slam shut after them. Spectators run for their seats. Torches flicker in the darkness past the far west gate, looking no bigger than sparks to the warriors. A man in luxurious fur robes emerges from below the northside boxes and bellows across the ring, his voice somehow heard everywhere over the crowd and the wind. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, BY GRACE OF KING HOARKL AND LORD HERAGON, OUR FIRST MATCH OF THE DAY, A TROLL HUNT! AT THE EAST GATE, IN THEIR FIRST APPEARANCE, OUR CHALLENGERS. FIGHTING FOR THEIR LIVES, FOR GOLD, GLORY, AND THE LIBERTY OF THE WEST MARKET WITCH..." A mix of boos and cheers goes up all around. "...FROM THE BURNING DESERTS OF THE FAR SOUTH, MAGO CARRRRRRRTHAGO!" A cluster of foreign merchants in the southwest benches waves brightly colored silken scarves and cheers. "FROM LANDS UNKNOWN, CUMDYN HEEEEEEEENSROFT!" The crowd seems to weigh the unfamiliar name. A few Saxons in the west end decide to boo, causing some Englalanders and Welsh to cheer in turn which causes even more Saxons to boo, until a lot of noise is made for the newcomer. "FROM THE FROZEN NORTH, KARRRI GUUUUUUUUUUNNARSSON!" The northeast quarter of the stands is packed with Norse who burst into a long roar for a countryman, then settle into debates as to whether or not they might be related to the contender. "AT THE WEST GATE, IN HIS FIFTH APPEARANCE, WITH TWELVE KILLS TO HIS NAME, OUR CHAMPION, GRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRODAHK!" Falcon's Pointers rise to their feet all through the west end and begin a rising chant. "Grodahk! Grodahk! Grodahk! Grodahk!" The bell rings again and the gates rise.

OODM Roll initiative! Go ahead and post your first moves before initiative is worked out, as you're about 180 feet apart on the first round. Also, roll Perception along with your move. You have full movement in any direction, no 5/10 rule for diagonals. On the map, gray rectangles are stone columns 15' tall, yellow "T"s are torches hanging about 17 feet above the floor, and black "B"s are 5' barrels standing on end. You're starting in column AM in rows 8 to 11, where ever you like there. Grodahk is is starting in column A between 8 and 11. If you have questions, just ask

[Horseman]

Mago Cathargo Mago had debts to pay, if he was to buy his way out of slavery. His freedom was at stake, what was life without freedom, it was nothing. Mago was the largest of the Trolls foes, hopefully the Troll would see Mago as his biggest threat. Mago sought to hunt this troll as hyenas hunt the lyoness. Lead her into a fight with the largest hyena, while the others attack the flanks and keep her off balance, wear her down and eventually eat the carcass. Northman................. Kári is it ? You seem to know this foe's weakness. Can you get the Fire ? I will try to keep him busy. I only ask that you don't whittle the hour. Grodahk has a dozen skulls on his mantel, and I should not like to make it a bakers dozen. Then Mago prepared himself for battle, prepared for the gates to open. His nostrils flared as he took deep breaths, closing his eyes momentarily, then opening them with a snap as the gates opened. Mago surged forward like a bull unchained, his massive legs pounding the blood-streaked sands of the arena. The crowd’s roar battered his ears, but his focus was unyielding, his gaze fixed on the hulking shadow of Grodahk ahead. Each stride brought him closer, muscles rippling beneath his bronze skin, his breath a guttural growl of effort. The suspended torches cast flickering light across his towering frame, making him appear a living colossus. Mago’s sharp eyes swept the battlefield as he ran, drinking in every detail: the looming columns, their shadows offering cover; the scattered barrels, perhaps filled with tools of survival or death; the uneven ground where footing might falter. His mind raced even as his body surged forward, calculating, planning—but never hesitating. He wouldn’t reach the Troll in this first charge, but that didn’t matter. The Carthaginian warrior moved with a predator’s precision, each step a promise of the savagery to come. OOC-Mago Mago is at AM - 8. Mago is going sprint(Dash movement is 60 ft), screaming, straight toward the Troll. My goal is to draw the Trolls attention and end up near column Y - 7 Originally Posted by Horseman Dice * Mago initiative: Dice * Mago Perception:

[Eudorus]

Cumdyn The sandy floor of the arena, pockmarked with past battles, glinted faintly under the midday sun. Dust swirled in the dry air, and the scent of sweat, blood, and tension filled the coliseum. Cumdyn, a large and muscled figure in his own right, stepped through the gate following the bellow and charge of Mago. His steel-shod boots thudded against the ground with each purposeful stride. His broad frame was a wall of muscle, the faint gleam of his armor catching the sunlight as he raised his shield, its surface scratched and dented from countless battles. In his other hand, he gripped two sturdy javelins, their tips polished to a wicked gleam. Across his back, a formidable battle-axe rested, its haft worn smooth by years of use. Kari, check the barrel there. Cumdyn said to his companion as he pointed to the north-east of their position. Cumdyn hoped that the barrels would contain something useful for them to fight the troll, if not, they could at least be stacked to allow them access to the hanging torches. He then takes off at sprint to the south-west to investigate the barrel there.

OOC: Cumdyn will head to AG14 at a Run to try and reach it in one turn.

Cumdyn Dice Rolls Dice Initiative: 1d20+2 (20)+2 Total = 22 Dice Perception: 1d20+2 (8)+2 Total = 10

[Gibbon]

Kári Kári nods to Mago. "I can try. But I'll need your help". He listens to Cumdyn and nods again. "I'll be with you shortly. Let's try this first." He lays out his idea for his companions. "See how it goes. If it doesn't work, I'll meet you at the barrel." Kári waits a few seconds as Mago runs across the arena, his battleaxe in hand. His two handaxes are thrust through his belt. He watches the giant southerner and as he approaches the first torch, Kári yells out to his companion "There! That one!" and sprints after him at full speed. OOC OOC: Idea we discussed in DMs is that Maga will run to AB10, stop there briefly, squat down and cup his hands, then launch the oncoming Kári up in the air so he can try to grab the torch. Dice Initiative: 1d20+2 (15)+2 Total = 17 Dice Perception: 1d20+2 (16)+2 Total = 18

[Horseman]

Mago Cathargo Mago heard the signal and stopped under the torch, grasping his great axe with two hands widely spaced, holding the weapon horizontally. Mago thought to create a makeshift stepping platform out of the handle of his Great Axe, waiting for Kári. OOC Corwin, let me know if you are not good with this or need a roll from me

[Corwin]

OODM I'm good with it Horseman, make a DC 12 Athletics(STR) check to hoist Kári high enough. Gibbon, make a DC 14 Acrobatics(DEX) check to grab the torch on the run.

[Horseman]

Originally Posted by Corwin

https://www.rpgcrossing.com/showthre...73#post9947473 Athletics Check N20+7=27

[Gibbon]

Kári ( Gah, so close. I thought this might be an Athletics check in which case he would have made it, but Acrobatics does make more sense. Sadly Kári doesn't have proficiency in that ) Dice Acrobatics(DEX): 1d20+4 (8)+4 Total = 12