Julie the Manservant's page

Julies lute screeched to a halt as the orc fell. His face paled, and he fought his desire to run away. As Isabella darted into the melee, Julie crept up behind Idreas's body. Reaching out a tentative hand, he stuttered out his spell, infusing the orc with healing power.

Cure Light Wounds: 1d8 + 1 ⇒ (6) + 1 = 7

Frustration overwhelmed him and he scowled at the women who had caused this mess. "You ninnies! Hiding behind your skirts even though you are the ones who involved us with your petty squabbles! Idreas is thrice the warrior you shall ever be!" tears stung his eyes and he blinked them back furiously. He turned back to the orc, carefully cradling his head in his arms. The violence frightened him, it was the first time he had seen such brutality. "Just hang on. Bartholomew will save you!" He encouraged Idreas. His words falling on unhearing ears.

Not wanting to see his allies get hurt, He turned to Barthlomew, "Excuse me your Highness, but Idreas over there looks like he could, uh, use our assistance." Bartholomew looked reluctant and made a scowl at him. Nonetheless, Julie put on his best grin and walked up until he was 25ft from the gangster to Idreas' right and pointed at him, Number 4 in line. "Excuse me, Yes you there." He strummed his lute, "Umm I don't think it is wise for you to attack us. I mean, Idreas there just punched your companion's face in." A thought struck him, " I know, join us, it would be best for your well being, wouldn't you agree?" He finished with a s%!% eating grin and a wink.

Julie slumped visibly at the rejection, and fearful of his masters retaliation. Dejected, he made his way back to Bartholomew. "My Liege, the wench proves to be more difficult then we had anticipated."

Finally gaining Ameikos attention, Julie smiled broadly at her. "My fair lady, do you see that man over there? He is my master, Bartholomew Cornelius Valiant the Third. And you are lucky enough to have caught his eye. His eyes took on a roguish tint, and he winked at her. "If you think you can handle a man of that caliber, then meet him in his room late tonight." Julie waited with anticipation of his masters glorious success.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (14) + 7 = 21

As Julie stood to follow his master, He flourished his cape dramatically. "Pray tell, M'lord. Shall I speak to the barkeep before we leave or...?" He left he question unfinished as Bartholomew cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Your wish is my desire."

Dutifully he approached Ameiko, as his master ordered. It was difficult to catch her attention, as the barkeeper was in high demand. "Ma'am? Excuse me, My Lady!" A crude and ugly man farted loudly beside him, effectively drawing attention away from Julie.

With an exasperated sigh Julie readied his lute. He strummed loudly the notes high over the dark voices of the bar patrons.

"O, young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword, he weapons had none,
He rode all unarm'd, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

preform: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (9) + 9 = 18

His voice was bright and clear, and hopefully it shone over the loud rabble.

"It would seem that you are quite right, M'lord." The half elf drew himself up to his full 5'9". "Sir." He addressed the Sheriff coldly. "Is it in the habit of the law to attack men that you are asking for aid? It seems to me that a man should be allowed to woo a woman in the way he desires. And it would also appear that this woman can defend herself." Julie gestured to the warrior woman to emphasis his point.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26

"Your kindness overwhelms me." Julie bowed so low, his scarf brushed the dirt. "If it pleases you, direct all debts towards my Lord." As Julie followed the group into the Rusty Dragon, he wiped sweat off his brow. If this is what quests are like, I'm not sure I care for them. Quickly dismissing the thought from his mind, he prepared himself mentally for the next mess his master would fall into.

Sense motive: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (12) + 1 = 13 to see if the orc is speaking the truth

Julie plucked the fascinating tune, keeping the Sheriff entranced. "As we left the grand city Magnimar, we were set upon by vicious goblins! My lord was gracious enough to realize their hunger and gallantly allowed our horses to be stolen. Kind Lord Bartholomew!

Julie bowed graciously, and with a twirl of his cape began reciting, his fingers dancing over his lute in an oddly mesmerizing way. "You took a bubble bath, ate some toast, had a sleep for one hour, and commissioned a naked statue of your fine self."

Julie drew a deep breath. It seemed his master was about to get himself into a world of pain. "Ah, um excuse me... If I may interject..." Julie spoke hesitantly. "Sorry... It seems that there is a bit of a conflict here. Perhaps if we all go speak to the mayor, we could clear this up in a more... peaceful manner?" He strove to keep his voice even, but fear choked the words in his throat.

diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (6) + 7 = 13

On the contrary, my Liege! That Sheriff looks as brutish as the Orc. Perhaps if we just stay behind him the orc won't know we are here. Julie hoped desperately this was true. Hanging back from the quarreling warriors Julie ignored the situation studiously.

Stealth: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (13) + 6 = 19

"Dear me... A goblin invasion?" Julie's knees shook slightly. "Dreadful creatures. What where they invading?"

With a flourish of his colorful cape, Julie bowed elegantly. "My dear Sheriff, May I have the pleasure of introducing my master, Bartholomew Cornelius Valiant III. We hail from the great city of Magnimar." Julie rose from his bow and strummed lightly upon his lute. "How may we be of service to you, Sheriff?"

diplomacy: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19

He strummed his lute idly. "Quite right, Your Grace! Your victories shall be renown through out all the lands, and I shall teach babes to sing praises of your fine self." There was a light skip in his step as he eagerly searched the streets for someone to share a tale of his masters greatness. His eyes set upon a tavern and his expression brightened. "Look, my Lord! It appears we can have a pint and speak with some miscreants about finding a job!" Turning to Bartholomew, his fingers plucked a merry tune, pleased at his own discovery.

Perception: 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (13) + 1 = 14