Antonio Albrecht Armiger's page

Antonio has a magic belt that would probably interest the debt holder, but he is not part of the discussion, and he might not choose to part with the belt even if he were.

Perhaps a third party could do something with this information if it were shared with him.

Is the party wealthy enough to pay off Helgi's debts?

Hi. Who else is still here?

Antonio makes a mental note to strangle Valkin with his own intestines.

"I don't mind sending Helgi to the next world. The way I hear it, I'd be doing him a favor. This could be his last chance of feasting with the gods."

"You and I agreed to fight to the death, Valkin, but you aren't the man I'll be fighting. I don't think that's legal. Helgi has to agree to the terms. I need to hear it from him. Is this what you want Helgi?"

Antonio is disappointed and losing interest. He responds to Valkin, "You offered me a fight to the death, and fearing no man, I accepted. Since Helgi is to be your champion, the terms were never yours to offer. They are for me and Helgi to discuss. What do you say, old man? Shall we fight until first blood, unconsciousness, or submission, whichever comes first?"

Under his breath, he says to the elves, "I don't trust these snakes. Do you see any poison on the blades?"

Where did the dueling weapons come from? If they came from Valkin's people, I want them checked for poison.

Perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 1 = 13 (look for poison)

Antonio declines a shield. He frowns as he examines the puny weapons on offer. "You don't have anything larger, like a greatsword or a falchion or a greataxe?" If he must choose between the two, then he will select a longsword and wield it with two hands.

"I don't plan on dying, but if I do, you can have my stuff."

Would the northmen frown on the use of magic during such a duel?

"Brother, I'm up for anything. Someone bring us a horn of mead. Let's toast the gods and pray they find us a worthy sacrifice. We may see each other again in the afterlife."

"I'm a pit fighter of great renown, a real fan favorite. I've won one hundred forty-three duels - twenty-six of these to the death - against warriors from every corner of the map. I've fought in seventeen mock battles inside the arena, and numerous battles in the field fighting alongside my mercenary brothers and sisters. I'm a mighty orc-slayer, as Jarl Borg can attest. I once slew a minotaur. You don't look nearly as tough as him."

"Um, maybe. We'll know for sure if the jarl calls a halt before one of us lies dead in the field. I suppose we could ask, but where's the fun in that?"

The pit fighter responds to the victorious archer, "Yes. It's a manly duel to the death. Try not to swoon, darling. Oh, and congratulations on the armband."

Antonio's gaze shifts between Valkin and Old Garram. This is what he has been waiting for. He looks over each member of the Snowfox Clan and considers who among them is a mightier warrior than himself? Who among them is a more worthy champion? "No one."

The heavily armored southerner steps forward. "I will fight for the Snow Fox clan. I will fight for Old Garram. I, Antonio Albrecht Armiger, will fight you, Valkin. May the best man win."

"That's me. The best man is me."

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (10) + 1 = 11

It's an isolated cabin in the woods. What can possibly go wrong? The stories of werewolves haunting the forest are just that - stories. He'll be fine.

Antonio rejoins the party and relates how, according to members of the Snow Fox clan, the Gustavssons are thieves around whom one should guard one's possessions, the continued presence of the Snow Fox clan is dependent on the whims of their shaman, Old Garram, the shaman wants something from the jarl, and the warrior Valkin is here to settle a blood debt with Old Garram. "I'm going to fight Valkin. Win or lose, that should buy us the clan's good will. Then we can see about setting things right between Old Garram and the jarl."

Antonio enjoys tasting the northern brews. He shares some of his rum with his new friends and asks them what they think of it.

Antonio finds all of the information that he has gleaned from his power lunch with the Snow Fox clan incredibly interesting. He will be mindful of his possessions near the thieving Gustavssons. Most of all, he makes a note to speak with Old Garram and see what the elderly shaman wants from the jarl.

Antonio goes and sits with Johko the Strong, whom he seeks to befriend.

I hope the cancer is contained to a small area and that your lady friend makes a full recovery, Cerian.

Antonio nods to the winner, then rejoins Anchard and the others.

Antonio strains and struggles and resorts to singing a work song to enhance his performance, "...Heave away, haul away!..."

Antonio exclaims, "Hoo doggy, this is thirsty work!" He is disappointed with his performance thus far: The Snow Fox clansman is way ahead of him.

Antonio cheers on his comrades, then consoles them when they lose. "One of us will win the next one."

Antonio congratulates Tigin the woodchopper. "Nice throwing, brother. You beat me fair and square."

Antonio is competing for Jarl Worrik Ulfensson.

Nevermind the fisticuffs. Power attack won't apply to Antonio's unarmed strikes. Are we allowed to use magic and magic items for these challenges?

"There is so much to choose from! I think I might try my luck with feats of strength, drinking, fisticuffs, axe throwing, and maybe even a duel or two. I will compete in the jarl's name, if the price is right."

We should speak with Aerdy Conrad ASAP.

"Hey, brother, I'm just the hired help. If you would rather continue with your quest, then lead on. Any word on this man we were sent to find?"

"I'm sorry Jarl Borg is leaving us, but these funeral games sound like fun. I want to drink and fight and show these north-men what I'm made of!"

I will be on vacation next week. I should still be able to post if all goes as planned.

"It sounds like there's a lot of killing to do. Where do we start?"

Antonio follows the jarl to his armory eager to share stories of heroic deeds.

Antonio takes a moment to gather his wits, the responds, "Lord, I hit my foes with a mighty hammer, or else I hurl myself straight at them and break their bones. I trained in the fighting pits to the south. You should have seen me in my prime: I was magnificent! When I retired from the arena, I joined a mercenary company, the Savage Bastages. My brothers and I have fought in several wars, mostly around the edges of The Great Kingdom."

Antonio gorges himself on meat and potatoes and swills mead as if he were a ravenous reveler partying with the gods in Valhalla.

Antonio sits casually in his seat and listens to what the jarl has to say, then he looks to Tanariel, expecting her to speak for the party.

Perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (11) + 1 = 12

"My place at the table?" muses Antonio. "What is that? I am the strongest, but this is not my quest."

He bows awkwardly to the jarl and his lady. "My name is Antonio Albrecht Armiger. May your, uh, strength never fail you, Jarl Ulfensson."

He finds himself a seat furthest from the jarl on the men's side of the table.

Antonio shrugs and begins to disarm. He hands over a well-crafted earth breaker, then a handaxe. He keeps his dagger, but hands over ten chakrams, a crowbar, a folding chair, and a masterwork set of armor-smithing tools. He considers the rest of his inventory to be somewhat benign. "That's all of it, apart from myself and a dagger."

"Oh yeah! I hope this is interesting." Antonio walks with Kithariel toward the mob.

Antonio whistles a tune as he and Kithariel stroll to Mountain Hearth.

"Let's go to the Mountain Hearth and all walk back together."

After both parties have left the building, Antonio says, "Yeah, you'd better run!" Having taken an interest in the blood feud, he waves the waitress over, hands her two more silver pieces, and says to her, "Send a runner to Jarl Borg's camp and let me know the next time Ostr and Valkin are about to come to blows." He holds up a gold piece. "Do as I say, and this will be yours."

"Well, Kithariel, have you had enough excitement for one afternoon? Should we head back and meet up with the others before dinner?"

Sensing Kithariel's unease, Antonio says, "Go on, little lady. Get yourself some cover."

He rises purposefully from his table and approaches the potential combatants. He keeps his weapons sheathed as a sign of his peaceful intent. "Listen up! My name's Antonio. I'm new here, but the way I understand things, you're not supposed to be here. Tonight is Bearclaw night. Leave peacefully, and I will buy you a round of drinks tomorrow night."

"They'll be back," says Antonio just loud enough for the she-elf to hear. "With friends. Then there'll be trouble. How do you want to play this? We can order another round of drinks, run and tell the great jarl, or pick a side and join in the fight. If we pick sides, I'm partial to the Bearclaws."

"Our leader is no lord. She is a lady, and her name is Tanariel. She is another elf. Is your lord a good man? Does he treat you well?"

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 1 = 13

"My money's good, sister. And here's a little something for your trouble."

Antonio gives the serving girl one gold piece, plus a two silver piece gratuity, then slaps her on her backside. He drinks some mead while Kithariel speaks with the strangers. He is half interested, so he listens to them talk.

"We are newcomers," says Antonio. "From the warm lands to the south. Do you have any interesting tales to tell? What has been happening here?"

Antonio sets some gold on the table and says, "Hello, darling. My name's Antonio. I'll have a mug of mead for myself, and one for every warrior in the hall. Who's thirsty?"

Antonio goes with Kithariel to The Claw Gully Tavern. Cerian will either come with us, or go with Anchard to the Mountain Hearth Inn.

"The Claw Gully Tavern sounds interesting," says Antonio, "but I'll drink anywhere. Where to, sister?"

"Let's go see some more of this town." suggests Antonio.