With a sense of urgency, Julien retreats back into his room and quickly shuts the door behind him. Leaning against the door, he listens for any sign of the masked intruder’s approach.
His eyes scan the room, searching for any potential weapons or objects that could aid in his defense. Julien’s eyes fall on a heavy wooden chair in the corner of the room, and he quickly moves to grab it.
Having had to step away from the door to the chair, Julien turns back. As he turns to face the door, a loud thud reverberates as something heavy strikes the wood. The intruder is trying to break down the door.
The door shudders and bursts with another thud. As the intruder forcefully breaks through the door, the room is filled with a burst of splintering wood and a gust of cool night air. The masked figure steps inside, their eyes gleaming with malice beneath the shadow of the mask. It becomes apparent that this is not a mere opportunist thief but a skilled assailant, their movements fluid and confident.
The room is modestly sized, with a bed against one wall, a small writing desk by the window, and a narrow wardrobe opposite the door. The flickering light of the lamp casts dancing shadows, creating an atmosphere of uncertainty and tension.
The masked intruder draws a wicked-looking dagger, its blade glinting ominously. They hold their weapon with a practiced grip, ready to strike.
Training and instincts kick in as Julien grips his own sword tightly. He gauges the distance between himself and the intruder, searching for any advantage to exploit.
The room provides limited maneuvering space, with furniture potentially hindering movements. The bed offers some cover to take shelter from incoming attacks, while the narrow wardrobe might allow for a surprise ambush or an attempt at subduing the foe.
The initiative score of the intruder is 18.
Julien initiative was 24 (rolled on char sheet)
Realizing the chair would be useless to block the door now, Julien flings it at the attacker as a Feint.
Deception 1d20+5
The chair sails at the assailant who raises his arm to deflect it, thus exposing a line for Julien’s rapier:
((Success: Assailant flat-footed -2 circ to AC))
((Julien now attacking with Panache activated))
Rapier Strike with Confident Finisher: 1d20+7
((Critical Success against temp AC of 15))
Rapier Strike: 2d6+2
Deadly: 1d8
Precision Strike damage: 2d6
Julien’s blade slips past the opening and plunges into the attackers flank. He withdraws the blade, seeing the critical wound he has made. He recovers to en garde ((Dueling Parry +2 circ bonus to Julien’s AC))
Despite the gaping wound, the assailant is undeterred - likely spurred by the promise of a bounty or perhaps fear of failure.
Dagger strike: 1d20+8 → possible base damage: 1d4+4
Julien parries the attack with ease.
The assailant is desperate and moves to take some cover behind some furniture before his next attack.
((+2 circ bonus to AC - but still flat footed - so AC is just normal))
Again, Julien feints, but this time with his blade, menacing the bleeding wound from his last attack:
Deception: 1d20+5
Whether because he is steeled, or because he is already drained from his wound, the masked attacker does not react as much to this feint as Julien would like.
((AC now +2 - > flat footed off))
As such, Julien now presses the point and lunges:
1d20+7
Now the assassin reacts, moving to parry Juliens rapier, but too late. The blade once again pierces him:
Damage: 1d6+1
The blade sinks deep, creating a new wound. Silent until this moment, the dark attacker lets out a groan as he expires.
((The Encounter rewritten by ChatGPT))
As the chaotic dance of blades commenced, Julien swiftly realized the futility of using the chair as a barricade against the intruder’s advance. With a flicker of determination in his eyes, he seized the chair and propelled it forward, a masterful feint to deceive his foe. The wooden missile hurtled through the air, drawing the assailant’s attention and causing him to instinctively raise his arm to deflect the oncoming threat.
In that fleeting moment of vulnerability, Julien’s rapier swiftly found its mark. With an artful maneuver, his blade slipped through the exposed opening, finding its path into the assailant’s flank. The steel bit deep into flesh, drawing forth a gush of crimson as the rapier claimed its prize. A critical wound, a testament to Julien’s skill and precision.
As the blade withdrew, Julien’s discerning gaze fell upon the grievous injury he had inflicted. Yet, there was no respite, no time to dwell on the gravity of the situation. In a display of unwavering resolve, Julien returned to a defensive stance, en garde, ready to face the consequences of his actions.
Despite the assailant’s grievous wound, the hunger for success or the fear of failure drove him forward. Undeterred by the crimson stain that marked his side, he launched a desperate attack towards Julien, driven by a singular purpose. But Julien, honed by his training and blessed with quick reflexes, parried the assault with effortless grace, turning aside the threat with little effort.
Driven to the precipice of desperation, the masked assailant sought refuge behind nearby furniture, a temporary sanctuary before launching his next offensive. Sensing his enemy’s intentions, Julien devised another feint, this time wielding his rapier with deceptive intent. He menaced the bleeding wound, hoping to provoke a reaction, but the masked assailant, whether fortified by sheer determination or depleted by his injuries, remained stoic, offering little response to Julien’s artifice.
Seizing the opportunity, Julien pressed forward with unwavering determination. His rapier lunged forth, aimed with unyielding focus. The assassin, finally awakened to the immediate danger, attempted to parry Julien’s blade, but his response was too slow, too feeble. The rapier punctured his defenses, piercing his body once more. The blade sank deep, carving a new wound, and a guttural groan escaped the assailant’s lips, his final protest as the veil of darkness enveloped him.
Silence fell upon the room, broken only by the labored breaths of Julien. His victory, hard-earned and costly, now stood before him in the form of the fallen foe. The encounter, fraught with peril and bloodshed, had come to a close, leaving Julien to reflect upon the somber realities of his chosen path.
Julien peers into the hallway. There do not appear to be any further assailants coming for him. However, he hears official sounding voices downstairs.
((MUNE Oracle asked if there were other assailants received “no, but…” reponse))
Someone is referenced as Gendarme. It must be the police! Julien fears being locked up, possibly with others who wish him dead. Best to flee and sort things later. Perhaps they would assume he had just fled from the attackers. He goes back to the window and throws it open. He grabs his belongings and slips out the window. He attempts to climb down based upon what foot and hand holds he can find.
Climb check 1d20+4
Loses his footing and slips from the ledge. As he falls he attempts to grab the edge (as reaction)
Reflex save: 1d20+9
Falling, Julien manages to catch the edge of a lower overhang above a side door of the tavern.
He takes 3 damage, but is able to lower himself from there to the ground.
((ChatGPT scene transition))
In the wake of his harrowing escape, Julien assessed the damage inflicted upon his body, a testament to the perils that had beset him. Three wounds adorned his being, souvenirs of his precarious descent. Yet, the pain served as a reminder of his resilience, a badge of survival. Casting a final glance towards the tavern that had harbored both danger and intrigue, Julien embarked upon his uncertain path, his steps cloaked in purpose, his resolve unyielding.
The night concealed him as he melted into its folds, a figure of shadows etching his destiny in the face of adversity.
Julien, a formidable adversary in his own right, had forged a reputation for tenacity that echoed through the veins of Port Royal. His pursuer, Captain Redhand, remained a mysterious specter whose motives eluded him. Yet, in the face of imminent danger, such inquiries became inconsequential, relegated to the realm of idle musings. For now, assassins shadowed his every step, their lethal intent hanging like a dark cloud over his existence. And with the constabulary poised to unleash their hounds of inquiry regarding the lifeless body left in his wake, Julien found himself at a precipice, desperately in need of an ally or an escape from the clutches of Port Royal’s treacherous grip.
Amidst the bustling streets, where the air pulsed with the scent of salt and adventure, Julien’s gaze darted from tavern to tavern, his footsteps tracing the well-worn path along the docks. His singular purpose was to seek out Marcus, the swordsman he could call friend amidst the chaos that engulfed his world. With the weight of urgency urging him forward, Julien cast his eyes upon the seedy establishments and weathered vessels that lined the waterfront, hoping to catch a glimpse of his elusive ally.
Days drifted past, like shadows dancing upon the waves, before fortune finally smiled upon Julien. The sun had barely kissed the horizon when he spotted Marcus, locked in a tumultuous struggle with the unforgiving dock lines of a ship approaching the port. The ropes twisted and gnarled, threatening to unleash havoc upon the vessel and all who dared stand in its way. In the midst of this orchestrated chaos, Julien discerned an opportune moment. He reasoned that amidst the tumult and clamor, a helping hand would seamlessly blend into the symphony of efforts, unnoticed and unquestioned.
With a flash of determination, Julien threw himself into the fray, his sinews straining as he grappled with the stubborn lines alongside Marcus. The duo’s concerted efforts merged into a synchronized dance, their actions harmonizing to preserve order and avert catastrophe. The commotion acted as a cloak, veiling Julien’s identity from prying eyes.
Though fatigue gnawed at his bones, Julien pushed forward, each sinewy exertion propelling him closer to the salvation he sought. The strain upon his body was an insignificant price to pay for the freedom that beckoned beyond Port Royal’s treacherous shores. With each knot unraveled and every line secured, the weight upon their shoulders lightened, if only momentarily.
Through the chaos, Julien stole a glance at Marcus, his eyes filled with gratitude and an unspoken understanding. As the last echoes of struggle faded into the background, Julien felt a flicker of hope reignite within him, fueled by the knowledge that he was not alone in this treacherous dance of survival.
With a renewed sense of purpose and a flicker of hope dancing in his eyes, Julien confided in Marcus, recounting the harrowing encounter with Captain Redhand’s hired mercenaries. The words spilled forth, carrying the weight of desperation and the need for assistance. Seeking solace in Marcus’ friendship and the wisdom he possessed, Julien implored for his aid.
As the tale unfolded, Marcus’ countenance mirrored a mixture of concern and intrigue. The weight of the situation settled upon his shoulders, and he nodded solemnly, acknowledging the gravity of the predicament. The mention of Captain Blood, Marcus’ esteemed mentor, prompted a flicker of recognition in his eyes. A fleeting glimpse of understanding danced within their depths.
Julien’s request hung in the air, laden with vulnerability and a yearning for liberation. The desire to escape the clutches of Captain Redhand and the treacherous embrace of Port Royal permeated his every word. With a measured breath, Julien dared to voice the audacious question, asking if he could find refuge and respite aboard one of Captain Blood’s storied vessels.
Marcus fell silent for a moment, his gaze drifting towards the distant horizon where the sea met the sky. Thoughts swirled within his mind, weighed down by the gravity of the decision at hand. The camaraderie they shared, forged through the crucible of their past encounters, ignited a spark of loyalty within Marcus’ heart.
Finally, turning his gaze back to Julien, Marcus spoke with a quiet determination. He pledged his unwavering support and vowed to facilitate the meeting with Captain Blood. In that moment, the seeds of hope sprouted anew, and the prospect of embarking upon the open seas as a member of Captain Blood’s crew offered a tantalizing glimpse of freedom from the clutches of Captain Redhand.
Marcus leads Julien through the labyrinthine alleys of Port Royal, their steps guided by whispered rumors and clandestine contacts. The scent of salt and adventure hung in the air as they neared their destination - the renowned haven of sailors and misfits, the raucous tavern known as “The Salty Dog.”
The sound of raucous laughter and shanties spilled forth from the tavern’s open doors, drawing passersby like a siren’s call. Julien and Marcus stepped into the dimly lit interior, their eyes adjusting to the smoky haze that filled the room. The atmosphere was charged with anticipation, conversations murmuring beneath the clinking of tankards and the shuffle of cards.
Amidst the chaotic tapestry of seafarers, Julien’s gaze fell upon a figure seated at a corner table, his commanding presence accentuated by the scars etched across his weathered face. Captain Blood, the legendary buccaneer, held court with an air of authority that demanded respect.
Marcus guided Julien through the maze of tables and patrons, their path parting like waves before the prow of a ship. Eyes darted towards the newcomers, curiosity mingling with caution, but none dared to interfere with the fateful encounter unfolding before them.
Approaching Captain Blood’s table, Marcus cleared his throat, drawing the captain’s attention. The veteran pirate’s piercing gaze locked onto Julien, measuring him with an astuteness honed by years of navigating treacherous waters. The room seemed to hush, as if the very air held its breath, awaiting the captain’s verdict.
With a nod of recognition, Captain Blood acknowledged Marcus, a silent understanding passing between them. Marcus introduced Julien, recounting the tale of his plight, the pursuit of Captain Redhand, and the desperate yearning for sanctuary upon the captain’s formidable ships.
Captain Blood listened intently, his eyes flickering with a mix of curiosity and calculation. The weight of his decision hung heavy in the air, an unspoken test of Julien’s resolve and the veracity of his story. Moments stretched into eternity before Captain Blood finally spoke, his voice resonating with the authority of a seasoned seafarer.
“Ye seek refuge from the clutches of Redhand, and ye crave the freedom of the open sea,” he uttered, his words laced with a subtle hint of admiration. “I’ve heard tales of yer mettle, young Julien, and if ye be willing to face the perils that lie ahead, I may have a place for ye among my crew.”