Harold's Discount Heraldry's page

A thoroughly flustered man rushes out of a discrete door to the left of the rostrum. His face betrays a well-worn web of smile lines, but his friend Morkeleb's disregard for pomp and ceremony have him scrambling.

Before he skids to a stop, he has his ceremonial robe straightened. He fixes his eyes on a point in the rear of the throne room and takes a massive breath of air...

"Greetings and a Warm Welcome to The Royal Presence! You are before His Majesty the King, The Great Lord Vindicator Odric the Stout of the Upturned Cup - Scion of the First Cousin of House Endrin, Defender...".

A glance at the King (who is gesturing impatiently) stops the man... and based on the sheer volume of air he releases upon his King's nonverbal command, the guests correctly assume they were spared quite a litany.

The King is clearly near to bursting with excitement as he hears the tale. Harold introduces each of the supplicants rapidly, sighs and shakes his head slightly as the rich network of smile lines around his face activate.

Harold steps back and signals to a grizzled and ancient dwarf in the back of the throne room.

The dwarf nods curtly and hurries out of The Presence.

Time stops.

Fade to black.

In the distance, we hear rapid drumming. The drumming intensifies, as we pan right to see Vojtek on his back in a cleared circle of dirt, wearing nothing but a loincloth. A middle-aged Kappi stands over him with a stick in one hand, dressed in robes and a pair of worn sandals.

Fire light plays over the scene, bathing the two men in reddish light.

As the music picks up, we see a series of attempts at a kip-up, but with each failure, Vojtek invites another blow from Middle Aged Sensei Kappi's stick.

In his frustration, Vojtek seems about to give up.

Cut to Kappi standing over Vojtek, who is mostly submerged in pounding surf, as he struggles to keep his head above water. The music swells and becomes synchronized with a series of brief scenes of Vojtek suffering through intense training:

Vojtek in a thunderstorm carrying a sack of rocks, water streaming over his face as he screams silently with exertion

Middle Aged Sensei Kappi sitting cross-legged drinking a cup of tea... zoom out to show he is sitting on Vojtek's back while the barbarian does push ups.

As the inspiring music builds toward a crescendo, we see Middle Aged Sensei Kappi nodding with increasing satisfaction, as Vojtek improves at his sisyphean tasks.

Finally, with a flashing of light, we see Sensei Kappi knock Vojtek prone again and again, but each time, Vojtek executes a perfect kip-up, each time from a different angle.

The music stops, a final drum beat reverberates through the silence.

With a backlit explosion of sand, water, and light, Vojtek does a slow motion kip-up and lands in a spectacular fighting stance as the music fades. Behind him, Middle Aged Sensei Kappi smiles triumphantly.

Cut to the cold stone floor of the Giant's lair, blood and sweat cover Vojtek's gaunt frame. With the only sound being the steady beating of his outsized draconic heart and his labored breathing...

Botting at S's Request... Apparently RLCF(tm)

The fire burned bright behind Harold's stocky frame. The storyteller relished the way his eclectic audience ignored their drinks and leaned in, intent on his every word. As a courtesy to the bar wench, he asked the assembled adventurers, merchants, laborers, and ne'er-do-wells to raise a glass to the Speaker of the Ancients, as he translated the runes young Kappi pointed out.

With a darkened visage, abetted by the firelight behind him, Harold assumed his 'Davosh' voice, to the delight of the crowd.

"These Runes my boy, these runes are a basic version of the Iobarian that I know you've been neglecting in your studies!"

In a flash, Harold's face assumed the guileless innocence of young Kappi, and the gifted storyteller aped a look to Vojtek which spoke volumes of confusion and bewilderment on behalf of the lad, who as far as he knew had never been told to learn 'Yo Bardic' runes...

With his shadowed visage assumed once more, Harold skillfully turned his face a bit, to allow one of his eyes to catch the light... "Let me use The Eye here, to decipher these runes that any schoolboy should be able to read..."

With a mumbling and an exaggerated mimicry of Davosh's peculiarities, to the crowd's immense delight, Harold pronounced in the Voice of the Ancients, "These runes say...."

The crowd smiled and raised glasses once again to the Speaker of the Ancients, and as a few drained their beverages and raised them to the bar wench to be re-charged, she smiled a crooked smile to King Odric's Herald in thanks.

Linguistics: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (17) + 13 = 30

”Lords, Ladies, Great Houses of Korvosa, Men of Import, Men of Infamy, Nobles, Scholars, Bankers, Arch Mages, Guildmasters, and assembled esteemed guests, it is my distinct honor to introduce the Upturned Cup!”

A flourish of drums, trumpets, and a solemn chanting from the officers and men of The Stout Legion filled the silence as Harold introduced the members of the party of heroes.

”Inquisitor of Abadar, Savior of Korvosa, and the Hammer of Justice, Far-Slayer of Foes, and Wielder of the mightiest bow in the city, Betrothed of Djinn, and the Conscience of the Upturned Cup, He of the inimitable and implacable meter of the Will – Inquisitor Ferox Kerr!”

With a refreshed flourish, the accompanying instruments and the throbbing chant was a compliment to the applause and cheering that greeted Ferox as he made his way through the antechamber door and into the magically brightened throne room.

Ferox bowed with a stoicism and humility that marked him as a true disciple of Abadar. He began formulating an apropos anecdote involving a family of Aristocrats auditioning for a talent show, but the applause was too great, and by the time he finds space to tell it, Harold had moved on, smoothly cutting off the Inquisitor before he could begin.

”With great pleasure, I introduce the Savored Sting of Calistra, Savior of Korvosa, the Dancing Shadow of the Horizontal Tango, Wielder of the Whip Flagg, The original Double Back, and the Visitor in the Night, the one and only,” Harold risked a wink at this last, knowing as he did about Gaius’ duplicates, ”Master Gaius Lirsiiv!”

With a resounding crack of the whip, Gaius strolled cooly out of the antechamber into the light and noise of the room, and grimaced with distaste at the proceedings, for he knew where this was headed. Gaius slipped into the shadows and disappeared, much to the delight of the assembled crowd, who assumed it was showmanship and mystery, rather than an exfiltration of silent protest.

Harold continued, booming his stentorian tenor over the wild cheers, ”A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma – The magical mastermind and a penumbra formed by emanations from the mysterious forces of magic… The great Wizard and Savior of Korvosa, betrothed of Djinn, and honored by all, he who has literally escaped the jaws of death on two occasions, Morkeleb the Mighty!”

Morkeleb stepped into the light, and with a wry grin summoned a bit of his trademark green mist to accompany his entry. He nodded sagely to the men and women gathered, and made a small secret sign of respectful recognition to the august trio of archmages in attendance from the Academae, one of whom was the reclusive headmaster, Toff Ornelos himself.

Harold continued, ”And the master of the forge, the scarred, mute, fire-born and steel-spined, Master Smith, sage advisor, Reborn of Fire and Flame in the Desert Feeding Grounds of the Quah-Kael, Savior of Korvosa, and the father of the Mighty Kegerator, The dwarven brother and wise counselor of the Upturned Cup, Master Sandor Strongbellows!”

Sandor appeared with a frothy mug in hand somehow, and upon entering the room, raised it in toast to Korvosa first, the assembled ladies second, the assembled lords a begrudging third, and finally with a shout to the heavens, to the brothers he had fought beside, the Upturned Cup.

”The beastmaster, beloved and honored of Sarenae, who fell in battle and was raised in triumph, the man with two lives - who has dedicated his second incarnation to…”[b] Harold paused and looked around the room conspiratorially, as an aside he stage whispered, [b]”Who might say, if he can’t give the secret himself?“

The herald continued in a lusty voice, ”Savior of Korvosa, the silent but deadly ranger who stalks the streets or the city seeking only to right wrongs and avenge evil; Slayer of Sharks and blessed son of Korvosa’s urban wilderness… The honored bearer of the mighty blade Serethiel… Lord Ranger Thorgrym the Tracker - slayer of the foul usurper and sunderer of the Crown of Fangs!” Harold paused for effect, and stood slightly aside to avoid being bowled over, ”and his faithful hound, Bucho!”

The gasps of wonder tempered by fear as Bucho galloped through the door followed closely by Grym were comical to those men of the Upturned Cup. Thorgrym nodded and, though his fated muteness prevented his responding, his nature would have had him as taciturn regardless.

The crowd loved Grym, and was clearly terrified of Bucho. A mixed bag of cheers and frightened gasps underscored the point.

Harold held up his hand to request silence. He was after all in the employ of Odric, and his master had made clear his intent for this moment.

Upon seeing his hand, the officers and men of The Stout Legion lined the sides of the entryway and raised their blades to form an archway.

Harold the Herald, with impeccable timing, began his practiced recitation of Odric the Stout’s titular lines, ”Lord Vindicator Odric the Stout of the Upturned Cup - Scion of the First Cousin of House Endrin, Defender, shieldmate, and Brother to his fellows, Son, Servant, and Savior of Korvosa and Commander of the Korvosan Guard, Bloodsworn protector of lambs, The Lion of the Midlands - expert exsanguinator - the indefatigable colossus - known throughout the land as the Relentless Butcher, Master swordsman and Author of doom to his foes…”

Harold paused for breath and continued with a renewed vigor as his word flowed with near-magical power, ”He of the crippling cuts, who's might unmans the manly, who's strength saps the strong, who's nerve enervates the brave - he has the power to sicken with a blow, to deafen, blind, demoralize, defeat, and destroy. Bearer of The Strongbellows Masterwork the Kegerator,” a nod to Master Sandor here, ”a magnificent blade forged of steel, sweat, and Dwarven precision, esorcelled by

Morkeleb the Mighty with dweomers and mystical incantations,” and a nod to Morkeleb the Mighty here, ”…imbued with the power of the Netherworld with an unslakable thirst for the corrupted energy of the undead, and tempered by battle-spilled blood - quenched in the guts of the forces of evil.”

Harold took another breath, and continued to recite his master’s sobriquets, ”Blessed of the Netherworld, Bane of the Undead, and Necromancer's End, Purifier of the Red Veil and the Vampire's Death Knell, Slayer of Tyrants, having brought about the bloody death of the False Emperor Piltz, Killer of Giants, Twice-duped of Elfaba” Harold winked through the gateway to a startled Odric at this pronouncement.

”Delver of the Acropolis of the Thrall-Keepers; Tshamek-no-longer; Godswallowed and Reborn - as a brother to Master Sandor - of Fire and Bile from the cleansing gut of Cindermaw the Clan-Eater, the Mountain-that-Crawls and the Fire-that-Roars, Denizen of the Feeding Grounds of the Quah-Kael; Cleanser and Plunderer of Scarwall; Thrice Dragonfoe: first bloodletter and the Blood-Burned Slayer of Bellasham, the Terror of Scarwall, Heroic Bane of Zamgarof the Black, and One of the Upturned Cup who Stymied the mighty Kazavon’s designs upon this World; Master of flight and of self-transmogrification; Wind-walker who faced the Usurper and triumphed, who faced down Kazavon, and who smashed the Sunken Queen.”

Harold paused for effect for the space of three heartbeats, ”Liege of the Stout Legion” Another pause here while the Stout Legion smashed their weapons against shields of the thudded them against the stone floor as appropriate.

”Lord of Stout Manor” A third pause while the household staff with Grough Rumblestone at their head gave a bass exclamation of acknowledgement.

”He of the Legendary Bowels of Truculent Vigor,” Again a wink to Odric, earning a rolling of the eyes and a twirling finger to indicate that it was time to move on.

”The Armored Juggernaut, Three-Time Champion of Eldred's Hot Wings Challenge; Drainer, Become Filler-and-Drainer of Oaken Kegs; Inquisitor-Branded Brewmeister, Architect and Proprietor of the Keg & Eagle, Purveyor of Spirits and Brewer of Fine Beers… It gives me great pleasure to introduce, Lord Odric The Stout!!!”

The cheers were deafening after such a buildup, the assembled nobles were primed for Odric’s announcement.

With a silver tongue, and perhaps a bit of bardic magic woven into his oration, Odric staked his claim to the Throne of Korvosa with his speech. Not all in the assembled crowd agreed with his claim – indeed, not even all within the Upturned Cup supported it – but the momentum of the announcement and the zeitgeist surrounding the Upturned Cup meant that Odric’s coronation was very nearly a sure thing.

Though he spoke of events he had neither experienced nor witnessed, Harold was completely immersed in the tale. Perched precariously on the mantle over The Keg & Eagle's hearth to mimic Thorgrym's flight, the fabled herald continued his enthusiastic retelling of the epic battle in the Sunken Queen five years ago to the day.

With his usually animated face doing a surprisingly convincing stoic grimace so characteristic of Grym, Harold pantomimed a spectacular slash and stab, followed by a quick feint and another set of heroic attacks with the incredible blade Serethial and the Ranger's storied dagger, Sharkslayer.

As the other heroes of the Upturned Cup supported his attacks with steel and spells, Sir Grym pressed his attack! Blood sprayed from the usurper's wounds and her scowl arced through with very real pain, as her evil soul itself was cut by Sir Grym's blessed blade.

As an aside, as though imparting a secret to the rapt young mage at his left knee, These wounds would not heal as her others had!

The herald described Grym's swordplay in detail based on the descriptions he had heard from his Leige Lord Odric dozens of times across many score of ales. He told of Bucho's mad charge toward the simulacrum on the ground, to support his Master's airborne attack.

The common room was noisy this night, as it was most nights, but even the regulars who had heard this tale many times, listened with pleasure at Harold's retelling this night. Beer and spirits flowed freely, and as was usually the case, the ladies in attendance found themselves quite... stimulated... by these tales of heroism and sacrifice. Suffice it to say, Serethial and Sharkslayer were not alone in their wetness.

Grym Full Attack on Flying Usurper, Bucho double move toward the one on the ground

Serethial: 1d20 + 33 ⇒ (18) + 33 = 51 for 1d8 + 17 + 4d6 ⇒ (3) + 17 + (2, 1, 3, 3) = 29 damage.
Sharkslayer: 1d20 + 30 ⇒ (9) + 30 = 39 for 1d4 + 24 ⇒ (2) + 24 = 26 damage.

Haste: Serethial: 1d20 + 33 ⇒ (13) + 33 = 46 for 1d8 + 17 + 4d6 ⇒ (8) + 17 + (1, 1, 6, 1) = 34 damage.
Sharkslayer: 1d20 + 30 ⇒ (6) + 30 = 36 for 1d4 + 24 ⇒ (4) + 24 = 28 damage.

Serethial threat Confirmation: 1d20 + 33 ⇒ (19) + 33 = 52 for 1d8 + 17 + 4d6 ⇒ (6) + 17 + (6, 5, 3, 5) = 42 extra damage.

Rend: 1d10 + 7 ⇒ (8) + 7 = 15

Harold says in an aside to Grym, "Interesting that he suggests revitalizing the Sable Company Marines and the Guard... If I'm not mistaken, his ancestor Waydon Endrin was an easy-going middle-aged marine sergeant-at-arms. Under his guidance, Fort Korvosa's marines became the elite Sable Company and Korvosa’s regulars formed the Korvosan Guard. Universally loved by both the marines who served under him and the pioneers who trusted him for their safety, Endrin remains one of the most popular figures of Korvosan history.
Including the island and military academy that bear his name, memorials to the popular sergeant-cum-commander are scattered throughout town. A statue of the fort commander stands in New Dock, members of the Sable Company and Korvosan Guard still occasionally name their sons Waydon, and a popular nursery rhyme sung to children all across Korvosa speaks to his bravery."

The jovial herald takes a moment and looks at Odric a bit cock-eyed. "Sir?"

Odric insists, so he answers, "You're the scion of the first cousin to House Endrin. Did you get whacked on your head? Your dad is the 1st cousin 10 times removed from Ponchus, Your branch moved to Korvosa during your great-grandfather's time. Sure, we're not high on the rolls, but your name is an old one sir. Did you forget all this in the castle? Did something happen to your memory?"

For Joe:

While relaxing before the fire in the Keg & Eagle, Harold the Herald recounted the oft-repeated talr of Sandor Strongbellows' round two attack. Patrons leaned in sipping on Odric's newly crafted Heroic Brew ^(tm), as the warm light of the fire danced within Harold's twinkling eye. In his deep and sonorous voice, the raconteur continued...

"Sandor shuffled forward with a rocking shift of his hips, designed to disguise his advance until the last moment. His shoulders followed soon after and his feet scraped across the floor with a metallic screech as the hobnails ground into the stone mercilessly.

With a huffing breath that exploded out of his hairy left nostril and his burned-smooth right nostril, Sandor's weapon began a relentless series of hacking attacks. Sandor eschewed technique for violence of action as the blade of the axe crashed down with crushing force."

5' east then Full attack.

Attack 1: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (20) + 10 = 30 for 1d10 + 10 ⇒ (3) + 10 = 13 damage

Attack 2: 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13 for 1d10 + 10 ⇒ (9) + 10 = 19 damage

Harold built the excitement within the tavern, and noted with satisfaction that several patrons were leaning over the balcony on the upper level, listening with rapt attention.

"Sandor knew his hacking attack was going to be potent, but just HOW potent, he had no way to tell, until he..."

Harold always paused for effect here,

The audience having heard the epic tale of Sandor's round two action many times throughout the years all shouted in unison, with a hearty sloshing of ale in raised mugs and drinking horns,

"CONFIRMED... HIS... CRIT!!!"

1d20 + 10 ⇒ (1) + 10 = 11 for 1d10 + 10 ⇒ (5) + 10 = 15 extra damage.

With a collective groan the patrons all smiled ruefully and Sandor's poor luck, but waited with palpable anticipation to hear what happened next.

And thus Harold spake of the brave deeds of Kappi, for Sir Phillip was unable to post:

With an irreverent gesture at the lady, the normally unsure lad stepped aside of an errant bird. He reached into his belt pouch and withdrew a flask of alchemical fire and slung it forcibly high above at the swirling avian mass. With the flask arcing gracefully upwards, he used the toe of his boot to flick a loose stone up to his waiting hand. The flask began to descend, but the boy waited, judging the timing with a critical eye. At just the right time, the stone flew out of Kappi's hand and streaked towards the flask. The flock of angry birds, the flask and the stone intersected perfectly, and the stone shattered the glass with a sharp crack. With a whoosh, the chemicals ignited, and liquid fire seared the feathers and flesh from many of the winged menaces!

1d20 ⇒ 20 for 1d6 + 1 ⇒ (2) + 1 = 3
Not sure if a crit is possible with alchemical fire. maybe for the sweet description it does double damage ;-)

In a booming voice that startles several birds nesting in the shrubberies, a cheerful-looking man bearing the scars of the blood plague but otherwise seemingly in good health announces the departure of the party, Thus The Heroic Odric the Stout, Savior of Korvosa and Initiate of the Korvosan Guard sets out on his Stygian journey into the Labyrinth in the bowels of Old Korvosa! Godspeed sir!

With a clicking of heels and a fluttering snap! Harlod salutes by raising the gold-fringed standard to attention. With a gleam in his eye, he nods almost imperceptibly at Odric and the others in the party.

The herald stands stock still, the only movement, the languid motion of the standard as it hangs in the humid air of the chamber.