[AP] Iron Gods by GM Rutseg

Game Master Balacertar

"How you issue the challenge, and in what terms, it is up to you. If not singular combat, he will get some of his closest allies with him, sure. And about that... well, not all Kellids take technology with good eyes, though here we are used to see the Technic League use those things..." Kul-Inkit answers Khalia.

She addresses Kul-Inkit "You mentioned Ghartone here in the Palace. Where will we find him and any directly reporting to him? And maybe more importantly, if we act against him here in the Palace, what should be expect as a response from the local guards. Are they more loyal to the League, will they look to maintain order, or are they more likely to approve?"

"Garthone chambers are in the north-eastern tower in the second floor"she answers as well "And about the guards. That is the reason you should win over the command of the guards. No reason to have a bloodshed against our own people while trying to seize control of the Palace"

To Zzvkgrogk, she just nods slightly, it is clear she does not believe the man can be healed after so much years.

Ruha nods appreciatively to Kul-Inkit. "Then Yambul, it'll be your show first, after which we're on to deal with Ghartone before he and his cronies can slip away. Don't tire yourself our tooo much in your duel."

"Maybe you should challenge him to some sort of cooking competition. We could invite everyone to watch. We'll call it The Great Kellish Bake Off," Rhoreen riffs, thinking of a good way throw down the gauntlet.

Khalia has no objections to either Zzvkgrogk's desire to see Kevoth Kul healed or Yambul's intention of leaving Kevoth Kul alive after the battle, but she does have a question for Kul-Inkit.

"If Kevoth Kul falls to Yambul in single combat, what does primitive Kellid tradition demand of the loser? Exile? Subjugation? Does the fallen leader take it upon themselves to commit suicide? Best we know what outcomes are possible, so we aren't caught off-guard."

"I do think Numeria as a whole is overdue for a good cooking competition. Someone needs to concoct some delicious beverages that aren't based on runoff from ancient starships." Ruha winks.

More seriously, she listens intently to hear the response to Khalia's apt question.

"I'll challenge him to exile, if we cannot heal him. If he can't be healed now, and won't listen to reason, being out of the region should keep him from his drugs. Maybe check in on him and try to do what we can."

"I suppose I'll use my falchion to gather as many to our banner as we can. Disappointing though. Oh, and I don't think a cook off will work. I'd have a grossly unfair advantage." he grins, laughing.

He's ready to go, but will confront the king when the time is right.

Kul-Inkit inclines her head slightly, considering Khalia's words "Tradition demands the defeated yield. In the old ways, that meant exile, submission, or death by their own hand. Some sovereigns accepted chains of service, others vanished into the wilds. Pride often decides which path is taken" her gaze flicks towards Yambul "If you name exile, and he accepts, then so it will be. But if he refuses? Then only steel will settle it"

She lets the axe rest against her shoulder, voice hardening "The League will not sit idle once they notice something is going on. Garthone will try to slink away the moment the balance tips. Strike him down quickly, and his gearsmen with him, or they will regroup. Once the Palace is ours, I will take you through the hidden way into the League's compound"

Her eyes linger on each of you, then back to Yambul "Decide how you and your friends wish to resolve this, but be fast, the League has probably already noted a well armed group has been invited to my private quarters"

"Well, YamKing, if that's how you want to settle things, let's do that. This is the first big decision, and I'll support you no matter what," Rhoreen cheers Yambul on.

"This is all a warm up for Ozmyn anyway, but we should still try to do it right." Rhoreen gets ready, thinking how she can properly support Yambul. Extended Heroism is ready to go. But also if we're going to have a full slate of combats, might be better to figure out a time to rest at some point.

”Are we ready? Yes? I say we give the King an ultimatum. We give him this extract –," he holds up a remove disease, "forcing it upon him if necessary – and see how he feels. Then we say to him – ‘Now, knock off the Numerian Fluids because they are making you dumb, orange, and incoherent, and we will not have dumb, orange and incoherent Kings! It makes us all look bad. What say you? Will you agree to cut drug ties with the League? Agree, or you will have to face the Prince’-- and I’ll point to his ‘son’ – you Yamkabul.”

He turns to Kul-Inkit and asks, ”Will you come and witness this?”

We had only one combat before this today, so shouldn't we mostly be at full steam?

Ruha nods "Right, we'll have to act fast after Yambul wins. And lets hope that win is popular. Other that giving the Sovereign an Ultimatum, it might ease things if his challenger is officially his 'son', whether or not it gets proven. I can see Kevoth-Kul being unwilling to lower his blade if he believe a total stranger is taking the throne, but his own progeny? Maybe that might work better for him? It's more dramatic besides."

I think I'm ready to go. We'll see how the initial challenge goes.

Rhoreen nods at Zzvkgrogk's plan, hating the idea of orange kings. "Yeah, that's a good plan."

The consort just nods, then you all get out of her room. Her personal bodyguards follow but they will sit and wait a bit before you reach your destination.

The march through the palace's winding corridors ends at a pair of massive bronze doors. With a push from the guards, they swing inward, revealing the cavernous expanse of the Sovereign's Throne Hall.

Sovereign's Throne Hall
This vast hall rests directly beneath the palace's central dome. Its curved walls arch upward to a height of eighty feet above the center of the chamber. Great smoking torches sputter on the walls amid hundreds of hanging skulls, furs, weapons, and other trophies harvested from humans, monsters, and robots alike. Over a dozen wooden feasting tables fill the hall. Looming above it all from an upraised stage is the Sovereign's throne—a vast chair of black-pitted metal surrounded by even more trophies and mounds of tribute.

At his feet, the aurumvorax pets prowl lazily among the scraps, while the steel silhouettes of gearsmen flank the stage, still and watching. Tek Makul is easy to spot nearby, his gaze restless, and the lieutenants of the palace guards hover close, ensuring order.

When Kul-Inkit enters, she draws more than a few startled looks. The murmurs ripple like a stone in still water, but she simply inclines her head and takes a modest seat at one of the lower tables. Whispers stir, but the attention of most quickly drifts back to drink and dice.

The rest of you are left standing at the great doors. The guards hold their spears crossed, clearly not extending the same courtesy they gave the consort.

The roar of the feast falters as eyes turn toward the newcomers. Tankards pause midair, dice lie forgotten in calloused hands, and the hall grows still, until the scrape of an aurumvorax's claws is the loudest sound.

From the throne, Kevoth-Kul lurches forward, a massive goblet sloshing red wine over his hand. His eyes are bloodshot, and though his body sways with the weight of drink, his voice booms strong, heavy with irritation and hunger for distraction "Strangers. Bold enough to intrude upon my feast. Step forward, and tell me, why do you think yourselves so important to disturb my hall?"

A few nearby sycophants titter nervously, eager to mirror his mood, while the rest of the chamber holds its breath, waiting to see what amusement or violence will follow.

Please include Bluff, Diplomacy, Intimidate and similar checks if you attempt to give an answer

Rhoreen ponders stepping up to speak, but realizes that it might not be for the best to honor this Jerknic-loving, drugged sycophant the benefit of her wisdom and words. She'll let others open the discussions so that things might go as planned.

She pauses briefly.

”I am your son - the boy you knew as Yamkul! We, the Zzvkith, would speak with you privately a moment. To show our sincerity and good faith, we have brought gifts for your aurumvorax - made by my own hand!”

He produces the aurumvorax ‘chew toys’, made of intertwined gold and copper (1,000gp each!) and holds them up high to be seen by the crowd as he presents them.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 19 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 19 + 2 = 35 (heroism)

Yambul shouts across the cavernous hall, so all can hear him - especially any ‘leaguers. He wishes the group had sorted out what he was going to say before this moment, as he’s not confident he captured the nuance of what they’re trying to do.

But it’s a start.

A hush sweeps the hall at Yambul's words, heavy enough that even the torches seem to sputter quieter. Dozens of gazes turn from goblets and dice to the man standing at the doors. You can read the disbelief and confusion rippling through the crowd.

Whispers stir "Yamkul?" "Did he say... son?" there are different tones, skeptical, curious, mocking, hopeful.

The three aurumvoraxes, however, prove far less reserved. The golden beasts stalk forward with eager interest as Yambul raises the glittering chew-toys. One growls low and possessive, another butts against its flank, and soon the trio are snarling at each other over the gleam of copper and gold.

On the dais, Kevoth-Kul stiffens. His wine sloshes again, dripping red down his arm, but this time he does not drink. His bleary eyes narrow, fixing on Yambul. For a heartbeat, the drunken fog seems to lift, recognition struggling against disbelief.

"...Yamkul?" his voice cracks into a laugh "What nonsense have they put in your head, boy?" he gives a quick gaze to Kul-Inkit who does not budge "No. No, that boy was buried in the dust years ago. Some bold fool dares to wear his name? Thinks he can sway me with baubles and pretty words?"

He leans forward on the arms of his iron throne, and the hall quivers with tension as everyone waits to see the Black Sovereign burst into rage.

But instead, Kevoth-Kul throws back his head and laughs, a booming, broken sound "Fine then! If you are my son, show me! Step forth, speak your piece, entertain me!" he makes a sign for the group next to the throne to stand up so your party can come and take the place by him.

The crowd erupts in jeers, cheers, and roars, hungry for spectacle. Tek Makul's jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing on Yambul like a hawk watching a hare. He quickly approaches and takes the cook by the arm "I remember you. What are you trying to achieve here? You do not know what you are playing at. Once he is entertained by your nonsense, he will entertain himself butchering you. I recommend you to convince him, it was all a bad joke"

The guards shift uncertainly, spears angled, waiting for the signal that will decide whether this bold intruder is welcomed or butchered.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 13 + 2 ⇒ (14) + 13 + 2 = 29 (heroism) vs DC 30

lol. of course. :)

The cook ignores Tek Makul for the moment, letting him grip Yambul’s arm - for he is not afraid. He eyes his father, for father he may be…

Yambul continues to shout, so that the king can hear, but also everyone else. For Yambul knows he’s playing to the crowd. ”I am not here to entertain you, dad. I, and all the Zzvkith, are here to help you get clean of the swill you’re addicted to. If you refuse our help, you are clearly unfit to rule as a sovereign should. A leader should not be a drunken lout, unfit for decision making!” He shakes his head sadly and says more softly - but still loud enough to be clearly heard by those nearby, ”You should know better. You once were better!”

Hmm, I forgot we were going to coordinate with the Baron as well. Oops.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 22 + 2 ⇒ (5) + 22 + 2 = 29 RIP!

Ruha stays to the back, not wanting to distract from Yambul... "Yamkul"'s grand entrance. She watches the crowd, trying to spot anything that might indicate a Technic League agents in disguise. When Yambul switches from more hospitable offers to antagonizing the Black Sovereign, she winces. It's bold, but seems equally likely to get laughter as it is to get the group thrown out or worse. She mentally braces herself.

Rhoreen steps back unconsciously at Yambul forceful words, nodding in appreciation, but also worrying about reception.

1d20 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (8) + 1 + 2 = 11 Sense Motive

Rhoreen tenses, and lets the words fall where they may.

Ruha's sharp eyes catch the Baron seated at a shadowed table, watching the exchange with quiet interest.

Kevoth-Kul's grin falters as Yambul's words echo through the hall. For the first time in years, someone has dared to call him drunkard and unfit to his face before the Black Sovereign's own court. The crowd gasps, some stifling laughter, others clutching weapons as though bracing for a slaughter.

The Sovereign grips his wine-cup so tightly that the metal bends in his fist. Red wine spills down his arm, dripping onto the steps of the dais like blood. For a heartbeat, his eyes blaze with anger, the kind that is used to end men's lives in an instant.

But then... he laughs again. Not the booming, boastful sound from before, but a hoarse, broken cackle that makes the hairs rise on the back of the neck. He gulps the last of the wine, then hurls the twisted cup aside with a clang.

"Better? Better? You think me weak, boy?" his voice cracks with fury, yet there is no denial "You come before me, before my people, and call me unfit? Bold words from a bastard with no throne to sit on"

He pushes himself up from the iron seat, weaving slightly, his sweat-slick chest heaving. You feel that now that the drugs have not poisoned him for days, the alcohol burns hotter in his blood. The crowd stirs uneasily, sensing the Sovereign's mood wavering between rage and grim amusement.

"Fine!" Kevoth-Kul bellows, pointing an accusatory finger at Yambul "If you would make yourself known as my son, then prove you are not all bark and no steel. Speak then, or challenge me before all of Numeria! Entertain me, and perhaps... perhaps you live long enough to see me sober"

The chamber explodes with wild jeers and cheers. Some roar for blood, others clap for spectacle, and more than a few lean forward with hungry eyes, eager to see what the would-be "son of the Sovereign" dares next. Tek Makul's jaw tightens, muttering under his breath, but he does not intervene, yet.

All eyes are now on Yambul.

Khalia takes in the tension of the Throne Hall, very aware that the Zzvkith is outnumbered, and likely to be outright slaughtered should the Sovereign give the order. Why he hasn't yet confuses the android, and still she feels words burbling up between her audio canals. She begins to speak them, joining her words with Yambul's.

"You endangered your own son by contracting a xill to kill for you. I can understand if you inspire your fellow kellids to fight with you, and for you. I don't understand why you would promise an Outsider your bloodline, in order to gain power in Numeria. Zaagmander. It is dead by your own son's hands. Do not think him weak. Do not underestimate Yambul. Your own son will prove to be the better man."

Diplomacy: 1d20 ⇒ 6

"I remember you. What are you trying to achieve here?”

Zzvkgrogk side-eyes the cousin to the cousin to the Black Sovereign himself taken a-back by the sudden interest.

Did we make some deal with him?

”I recommend you to convince him, it was all a bad joke"

The only bad joke here is you, my friend. Zzvkgrogk snorts derisively.

...

Right! Good strategy! When everything is going very poorly, go ahead and say something to make everything much worse.

Sill hopeful, Zzvkgrogk calls out, ”But he IS your son, and he’s standing up to you – for himself – for everyone. Think on if you were in his position – wouldn’t you do the same?”

He pauses.

”And think now for yourself – what is it that you really want? Think deep down – you know what it is.”

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 2 = 20

He side-eyes Tek Makul warily waiting to see if he will show his true interest with action.

Ruha sees a duel on the horizon, just as Kul-Inkit suggested. There doesn't seem to be any possibility of talking Kevoth Kul out of his stupor. But maybe Yambul'll be able to punch him out of it... hopefully. Now she's more worried about interference. Especially by those that like the current status quo. She surveys the audience if and when Yambul speaks next, to see if any seem to be preparing something that might interfere magically or otherwise.

Perception or Sense Motive: 1d20 + 22 ⇒ (4) + 22 = 26

Rhoreen keeps her eyes on Tek Makul, thinking that Yamking can handle the fight, but does not trust others to keep it fair.

1d20 + 19 + 2 ⇒ (12) + 19 + 2 = 33 Perception

The shouting hurts my eyes, but Yambul is still doing what he can to project his voice.

”My companions are correct! The Technique League has been poisoning you for years. We managed to intercept your dose recently and doctored it to remove the poisoning drug. Wine aside, have you not been feeling more lucid the last few days? More like yourself? We would try and complete the task of healing you, if we can. Is that not worthwhile?”

”The ‘League has run roughshod over this land, Sovereign. And the people are suffering. Your people. I stand here for them! Join us, do not turn back to your poison!! Be strong.”

”This is your last chance.” he adds more quietly and with a severe look on his brow.

In case you want another roll for the Black Sovereign, or the crowd.
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 19 + 2 ⇒ (16) + 19 + 2 = 37

”My companions are correct! The Technique League has been poisoning you for years. We managed to intercept your dose recently and doctored it to remove the poisoning drug. Wine aside, have you not been feeling more lucid the last few days? More like yourself? We would try and complete the task of healing you, if we can. Is that not worthwhile?”

Rhoreen nods, thinking that that was a good point, and well stated by Yamking.

1d20 + 1 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 1 + 2 = 6 Diplo to aid

Rūha scans the chamber, and the tension is palpable. Dozens of Kellids sit frozen in their seats, mugs clutched half-way to their lips. More telling are the guards, spears angled, boots braced, eyes darting between the Black Sovereign and Tek Makul. One word, one gesture, and they'll surge forward. Tek Makul himself is nearly quivering with rage.

Kevoth-Kul sways, then steadies, his glare fixed on Yambul. He spits a wine-stained laugh "Poison? Ha! It is I who demand those fluids, boy. Do you think ruling Numeria is done with clear eyes and clean veins? These lands grind even the strong to dust. My people suffer because they have always suffered, Kellids are born to the lash of wind and the bite of hunger, no matter who wears the crown!"

He throws out his arms, swaying before the hall "And I do not owe explanations to the first lunatic who blunders into my hall, babbling about fathers and sons!"

The Black Sovereign slams a meaty fist against his throne, grinning a jagged grin "Conversation bores me! Let us have sport instead. A hundred gold coins..." he shakes a heavy purse, the jingle carrying across the hall, "...to whomever puts my 'sonny-boy' flat on his arse!"

The hall erupts in a roar of laughter, jeers, and the scraping of benches as four different men rise, eager for coin and spectacle.

Round 1: Rūha, Zzvkgrogk, Khalia, Yambul, Rhoreen, Kellids

New throne map is now available!
Note, I have only put some of the relevant tokens, there is many more people enjoying the entertaining lunch with the sovereign.
The four tokens with colored border are the four Kellid that stood up.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 13 + 2 ⇒ (3) + 13 + 2 = 18 vs DC 20

"Shame father. Shame. Perhaps we simply need someone stronger."

"We'll best your lackeys. Just give us a moment."

He delays until after Rhoreen, but before the Kellids.

Can't fail the sense motive. BTW is the map 5ft squares or 10ft squares?

Ruha mutters "Looks like there's no way to convince him except force of arms. Yambul, I guess treat this as limbering up." She offers Advice to the party (+3/+3 to hit/dmg), but doesn't move in. Yambul has to prove to be the star this time around.

(Will also spend 1 ki to give Yambul +4 dodge bonus to AC for 1 rd)

Rhoreen senses that something is expected of her, and quickly jumps to do it. She flies up 15' and closer to Yamking.

Haste 1/12: You realize that you might be the unknowing recipient of some unkind thoughts from someone very much like Rhoreen if you don’t get your ass in gear and kill the people who are annoying Rhor. You get +1 to your attacks, a bit more speed, and an extra angry attack if you do such things. You know the deal: don’t disappoint Rhor.

The above is for Ruha, Rhor, and the Princeling.

This is not yet my battle to fight.

Zzvkgrogk moves 10 feet to get a clearer view of Kevoth-Kul in the hopes of gleaning what ails him, as well as the rest of the room. He focuses on the Black Sovereign and quaffs an extract. Arcane Sight

Ghartone is a mutant. Wish it were here.

Yambul swiftly studies yellow, before drawing his falchion as he moves slicing the poor boy (standard).

Falchion: 1d20 + 19 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 19 + 9 = 37 (heroism, advice, studied, haste)
damage S: 2d4 + 21 + 6 ⇒ (2, 4) + 21 + 6 = 33 (advice, studied)

AC 33 currently - thanks Rüha!

Kevoth-Kul cheers high when Yambul slashes through the first man causing a large wound "Guess what, the sonny-boy knows how to swing a blade! Let's if he also knows how to put a fight"

With reckless abandon the man responds entering into a furious rage and trying to smack his spear on Yambul.
Shortspear: 1d20 + 14 - 3 ⇒ (6) + 14 - 3 = 171d6 + 6 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 + 6 = 18
Shortspear: 1d20 + 9 - 3 ⇒ (8) + 9 - 3 = 141d6 + 6 + 6 ⇒ (2) + 6 + 6 = 14
But he easily parries and dodges the attack.

The other three men come and pile on him.
Shortspear vital strike: 1d20 + 14 - 3 ⇒ (11) + 14 - 3 = 222d6 + 6 + 6 ⇒ (2, 2) + 6 + 6 = 16
Shortspear vital strike: 1d20 + 14 - 3 ⇒ (6) + 14 - 3 = 172d6 + 6 + 6 ⇒ (1, 1) + 6 + 6 = 14
Shortspear vital strike+flank: 1d20 + 14 - 3 + 2 ⇒ (18) + 14 - 3 + 2 = 312d6 + 6 + 6 ⇒ (2, 1) + 6 + 6 = 15
With unnatural speed and mystic energy, all the attacks are well deflected by him.

The public roars as they see blood, clearly entertained by the show the Black Sovereign is providing them.

Zzvkgrogk eyes start to shine blue.

Yellow: 33 damage
Party buffs: haste, advise (+3)
Round 2: Rūha, Zzvkgrogk, Khalia, Yambul, Rhoreen, Kellids

The map is indeed 10'.
You have a public, if you try to provide them entertainment or put them to your side, just feel free to add some checks!

Just checking, but does the Black Sovereign have any spell effects going on? I.e is he cursed or charmed?

Ruha maintains her Advice and gives Yambul more encouragement to stay quick on his feet (Another +4 dodge AC). She wants to make sure he's the one putting on a good show, but that doesn't mean she can't offer a little distraction. She draws yellow's attention.

Aid Yambul's AC: 1d20 + 16 ⇒ (5) + 16 = 21

Current AC 33, again. Careful Rüha, I could get used to this! Hehehe. Thanks!

”I’m sorry gents, but you brought this upon yourselves…” Yambul says more quietly to his opponents before swiftly studying red. He starts with the wounded yellow, and switches to red if he drops. If both drop, he’ll attack green (-3att/dam as he’s not studied).

Falchion: 1d20 + 19 + 9 ⇒ (20) + 19 + 9 = 48 (heroism, advice, studied, haste)
damage S: 2d4 + 21 + 6 ⇒ (2, 4) + 21 + 6 = 33 (advice, studied)
critthreat Falchion: 1d20 + 19 + 9 ⇒ (14) + 19 + 9 = 42 (heroism, advice, studied, haste)
damage S: 2d4 + 21 + 6 ⇒ (2, 1) + 21 + 6 = 30 (advice, studied)

Falchion: 1d20 + 10 + 9 ⇒ (19) + 10 + 9 = 38 (heroism, advice, studied, haste)
damage S: 2d4 + 21 + 6 ⇒ (2, 1) + 21 + 6 = 30 (advice, studied)
critthreat Falchion: 1d20 + 10 + 9 ⇒ (15) + 10 + 9 = 34 (heroism, advice, studied, haste)
damage S: 2d4 + 21 + 6 ⇒ (2, 2) + 21 + 6 = 31 (advice, studied)

Falchion: 1d20 + 5 + 9 ⇒ (20) + 5 + 9 = 34 (heroism, advice, studied, haste)
damage S: 2d4 + 21 + 6 ⇒ (2, 4) + 21 + 6 = 33 (advice, studied)
critthreat Falchion: 1d20 + 5 + 9 ⇒ (16) + 5 + 9 = 30 (heroism, advice, studied, haste)
damage S: 2d4 + 21 + 6 ⇒ (3, 4) + 21 + 6 = 34 (advice, studied)

hasted Falchion: 1d20 + 19 + 9 ⇒ (13) + 19 + 9 = 41 (heroism, advice, studied, haste)
damage S: 2d4 + 21 + 6 ⇒ (4, 2) + 21 + 6 = 33 (advice, studied)

When his blade is spent, he 5’ steps out of flank.

”There’s no need for this bloodshed Sovereign! Stop sending fine people to their deaths, it ill serves a leader! I wait for you to come out behind your suck-ups. This city deserves proper leadership, and I’m starting to think the nay-sayers are right - you are unfit to rule!” He has a sorrowful countenance, not because the party's actions might depose a tyrant, but because their actions might push him onto the throne! A throne he does not know how to manage.

He slashes the air to rid his blade of the blood he just spilt, splattering the floor in front of him. Not sure if you want a roll…
Diplomacy: 1d20 + 19 + 2 ⇒ (10) + 19 + 2 = 31 (heroism) (if intimidate, -1)

Rhoreen, confused about how much to participate in things, casts True Seeing and looks around the room to see if anything presents itself.

1d20 + 19 + 2 ⇒ (11) + 19 + 2 = 32 Perception

1d100 ⇒ 82

The clash of steel and the wet thud of Yambul's blade silences the hall for a heartbeat as he takes the head of the first man, then cuts half the second one. As the two kellids collapse under the sheer ferocity, the roar of the crowd redoubles.

Everyone around seems intimidated and the two other men freeze, suddenly far less eager for the Sovereign's purse.

The public eats it up, cheering, stomping, and slamming mugs on tables. A few cry Yambul's name, others mock him as 'sonny-boy', but all are entertained.

Kevoth-Kul leans forward, gripping the edge of his throne, his eyes blazing with a mixture of fury and exhilaration. His laughter crashes through the hall, ragged and loud "Ha! He fights like a true Kellid! You hear this, Numeria? You hear this? The 'sonny-boy' thinks he can teach me leadership with a blade!"

He waves a drunken hand dismissively at the wounded Kellids "Bah! Stand or crawl, I care not. You have had your chance at coin"

His gaze fixes hard on Yambul, his grin turning sharp and dangerous "You speak of stopping bloodshed, boy? Then prove it on me. Enough toys. Enough lackeys. If you want the throne, if you want to name yourself my blood, you will face the Black Sovereign himself!"

The hall explodes with savage excitement, some pounding tables for blood, others shouting for the duel. Tek Makul's jaw is set tight, his knuckles white on the hilt of his blade, but he still holds, waiting "This madness is unnecessary, relent back boy, it was fun, it is time to call it over"

The Sovereign throws his head back, draining a fresh goblet of wine in one swig, red spilling down his chest. Then he slams the empty cup against his throne, denting the metal "Come then, sonny-boy. Show me if you're worthy of the crown, or worthy of the grave!"

The Sovereign joins the fight: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (17) + 9 = 26

Kevoth-Kul surges from his throne with surprising speed, seizing a massive adamantine greatsword that hums with killing weight; his thick, corded muscles bulge unnaturally, warped by years of vile Numerian fluids, as he crashes down from the dais to meet the fight head-on.

Party buffs: haste, advise (+3)
Round 2: Kevoth-Kul, Rūha, Zzvkgrogk, Khalia, Yambul, Rhoreen

Yambul, if you want, I can teleport you directly in so you can open with a full attack on him!

Yambul, uncertain what the rules are now, is eager to jump forward and engage. If it's OK, he'll take Rüha's teleportation. Otherwise, he'll hoof it on his own two feet if he must.

GM Rutseg, not sure what the rules of engagement are for the duel. Yambul will accept no aid if that's the general way of things... Otherwise he'll start with a full attack. Just let us know what we know. :)

GM Rutseg, not sure what the rules of engagement are for the duel. Yambul will accept no aid if that's the general way of things... Otherwise he'll start with a full attack. Just let us know what we know. :)

+1 not sure what the rules are either, so Rhor is delaying until she sees what happens next.

Zzvkgrogk is also waiting to see who will stand or crawl.

Round 1

Not wanting to be overtly hostile amongst the kellids swarming the chamber, the android weaves energy to enhance her agility, for both defensive and offensive capability increases. Cast Cat's Grace

She remains mostly still, allowing all eyes to seek out Yambul, and his ascension.

Round 2

This time, Khalia moves a little closer to the central activity, and generates a field which enhances the entire Zzvkith, so they may be more effective opponents of every human in the room.

2 rounds of Favored Enemy Bonus(+1 vs Humans) Gain a +1 bonus on Bluff, Knowledge, Perception, Sense Motive, and Survival checks against creatures of selected type. Likewise, get a +1 bonus on weapon attack and damage rolls against them.

As the Sovereign jumps in, no one seems to join him. His hounds though are not far away, though they are still entertained playing with Yambul's crafted toy.

Yambul looks, briefly, uneasily at the musculature of Kevoth-Kul. Damn! Good drugs… He then studies the Numinerian drug addict before going to work with his adamantine falchion.

”Bring it on junkie!” shouts the insolent youth.

Falchion: 1d20 + 19 + 10 ⇒ (8) + 19 + 10 = 37 (heroism, advice, studied, haste, favored)
damage S: 2d4 + 21 + 7 ⇒ (2, 3) + 21 + 7 = 33 (advice, studied, favored)

He closes and swings once - well aware he’s about to get pounded…

"You've fought bigger and slobbery-er before Yambul, and you'll do it again. Remember your training!" Ruha calls out, restricting herself to verbal advice rather than supernatural aid.

Since it isn't anything overtly magical, Ruha will instead provide the bonus +4 dodge to AC. Hopefully it'll shield against the crack-back!

Zzvkgrogk keeps side eyeing Tek Makul and his crew, quietly drawing his dragon pistol should he need to help keep the cousin to the cousin to the Black Sovereign in check.

Rhoreen continues to keep an eye on others, keeping space for Yambul to fight his fight without interference.

Yambul's blade bites deep, the falchion carving through hardened flesh with a spray of blood. The crowd erupts at the sight, half-shocked, half-thrilled that anyone would dare draw first blood from the Black Sovereign.

Kevoth-Kul staggers a half step, then throws back his head and howls with laughter, a sound equal parts madness and pain. He spits a gob of red on the stones at Yambul's feet "Not bad... for an initiate! But let's see how you dance against a real blade!"

With a drunken lurch that turns into terrifying speed, the Sovereign swings his adamantine greatsword in a powerful blow.
Furious Greatsword-PA: 1d20 + 24 - 4 ⇒ (13) + 24 - 4 = 33
Slashing/Adamantine damage+PA+powerful blow: 2d6 + 12 + 12 + 4 ⇒ (1, 2) + 12 + 12 + 4 = 31

Furious Greatsword-PA: 1d20 + 19 - 4 ⇒ (10) + 19 - 4 = 25
Slashing/Adamantine damage+PA+powerful blow: 2d6 + 12 + 12 + 4 ⇒ (2, 2) + 12 + 12 + 4 = 32

Furious Greatsword-PA: 1d20 + 14 - 4 ⇒ (2) + 14 - 4 = 12
Slashing/Adamantine damage+PA+powerful blow: 2d6 + 12 + 12 + 4 ⇒ (3, 5) + 12 + 12 + 4 = 36

The first blow slams into Yambul with the weight of a thunderclap, shaking the very floor beneath them. The court roars approval, some stomping in rhythm with the Sovereign's laughter, others crying out Yambul's name to see if he can endure.

Not many people though notices how the would be heir dodges the next incoming attacks. Kevoth-Kul growls not liking it.

Kevoth-Kul: 29 damage, slightly wounded
Yambul: 31 damage
Round 3: Kevoth-Kul, Rūha, Zzvkgrogk, Khalia, Yambul, Rhoreen

Yambul puts a hand to the wound as if it alone would stop the bleeding, ”Nice strike - we’re one for one!” He mutters a quiet prayer that the sovereign keeps missing. Yambul twists as he swings, trying to hit the same spot again and widen the wound! Just color commentary.

Falchion: 1d20 + 19 + 6 ⇒ (5) + 19 + 6 = 30 (heroism, studied, haste)
damage S: 2d4 + 21 + 3 ⇒ (1, 1) + 21 + 3 = 26 (studied)

Falchion: 1d20 + 10 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 10 + 6 = 28 (heroism, studied, haste)
damage S: 2d4 + 21 + 3 ⇒ (2, 1) + 21 + 3 = 27 (studied)

Falchion: 1d20 + 5 + 6 ⇒ (4) + 5 + 6 = 15 (heroism, studied, haste)
damage S: 2d4 + 21 + 3 ⇒ (3, 1) + 21 + 3 = 28 (studied)

hasted Falchion: 1d20 + 15 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 15 + 6 = 39 (heroism, studied, haste)
damage S: 2d4 + 21 + 3 ⇒ (1, 1) + 21 + 3 = 26 (studied)
critthreat hasted Falchion: 1d20 + 15 + 6 ⇒ (12) + 15 + 6 = 33 (heroism, studied, haste)
damage S: 2d4 + 21 + 3 ⇒ (1, 2) + 21 + 3 = 27 (studied)

He bellows after his last swing, feeling the crunch of bone as he makes a deep, heavy cut. "Bleed the poison from your veins!"

Zzvkgrogk continues to delay keeping an eye on Tek Makul. He does however start inching towards the nearest bottle of wine.