(Strength Check: Challenge Dice = 1d10+4, Skill Dice = 1d6+5. The challenge dice's 8 is countered as Regg rolls a 10, passing the check.)
Regg caught Elyra's knife with his hand, tossing it away. Throwing his fist at her, he slammed her shoulder and grappled onto her, pulling himself up and shoving her away. Her lifemark's colour changed four times until it ended up a blueish purple.
He charged at her as she got up, but the Reon healer still looked determined. She's hiding something, Regg realized, but what?
(Eyesight Check: Challenge Dice = 1d10, Skill Dice = 3d4. Regg passes with 7 to 1.)
Regg noticed a flicker in Elyra's left hand, which she wielded her dagger with. He stopped himself just in time to avoid the scalpel's cool edge, bouncing back to recuperate. His opponent was tough, he could tell, and determined. She had just gone straight after him and Ington almost as soon as she discovered that he was a Lost-mind. It seemed almost...reckless, like she had attacked without a second thought. Who was the Man in Velvet? How horrific was his doing for this to be the first thought to come to Elyra's mind when she heard Regg was even slightly similar to him?
Elyra lunged, scalpel in hand, towards Regg, and he did the same. He had no weapon, he knew, but he wouldn't let himself die here. He had to know more about this Man in Velvet. He had to know more about himself.
(Duel: When two people attack each other at the same time, they each make a General 1d10 check, without any stat bonuses. Whoever has the highest roll deals damage, and both sustain wounds if they draw.
Regg rolls a 3. Elyra rolls a 7.)
Elyra slashed Regg across the chest before he could move a step closer. Blood leaked onto the road. After the initial shock, a burning sensation echoed in a straight line across Regg's torso, from his right shoulder to the middle of his ribs.
(Regg sustains 4 points of damage. 6/10ths of his health remain.)
Elyra struck again (Dexterity Check: Passed 6 to 5). This time, the scalpel slashed down his hip. He could only look in horror as his lifemark skewered down into a vile crimson color (His HP lowers to 2/10ths).
Regg had to act fast. One more strike and he knew he would be no more. He couldn't just punch harder to escape this. No. He would save his life with his wits alone.
(ABILITY: Final Resolve: When near death (Below 20% HP), if the ability user rolls a d10 and ends up with a higher number than their current HP, they can automatically pass 1 check per HP to use at any point before they regain their health.)
(Regg casts Final Resolve; he rolls a 3.)
(Dexterity Check: Passed!)
(Strength Check: Passed!)
Something snapped inside Regg's brain at that moment, and every inch of his character became fuel for the fire within his soul. Regg pushed upon his chest wound, drawing out blood into his hand until a murky puddle of it was formed. Before his assailant could strike again, he hurled it at her face, splashing her eyes with it. Elyra shrieked, dropping her scalpel and beginning to try to wipe the blood out. While her defenses were down, Regg made one final strike: a kick to the diaphragm, knocking her back.
As the healer tried to get back up, Regg could see a thousand emotions on her face: Pain, rage, exhaustion, grief. She was covered in blood and tears and dirt, her marks a purely purple color. Regg couldn't help but feel bad for what he had done. The pain she must have suffered to do something so violent, with such little reason, in the name of revenge; deep down, though he hated to admit it, Regg could almost envision himself doing the same.
(Regg is decidedly the winner of this fight, and gains 10 EXP. His current EXP: 11/100.)
The healer retreated, blinded and bruised, and soon Regg's mind darted back to the severity of what had just happened.
Ington had died, and he was to blame.
He rushed back up the hill, his blood forming a trail of its own on the path, and his breath heavy, until he was finally back home.
Regg
LVL. 1
HP: 2/10
EXP: 11/100
STR +5
DEX +0
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CON +2
INT +4
WIS +0
CHA+2
--
Four Skills:
Literacy 4 (+4d4)
Healing 2 (+2d4)
Eyesight 3 (+3d4)
???
Abilities: Final Resolve
Quirk: He is made uncomfortable by people being physically close to him.
Current Location: Hemmit
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Dal was mortified when he spotted Regg dashing about in the pasture while covered in blood.
"Regg! Oi!" He cried.
Dal mounted his horse, Dom Gray, and trotted towards Regg. Upon noticing him, Regg began calling out at Dal.
"Dal! Dal! Over here!"
Dom Gray skidded to a halt about two metres away from Regg. "Regg!" Dal called. "What happened? Regg?"
"I-it's...It's Mr. Ington, Dal," Regg said, a quiver in his voice, "Dal...He's gone."
"I-Uncle's...He's...?"
Regg gulped. "Can you give me some space?" He asked calmly.
Dal backed away on the donkey. "What happened, Regg? How did it happen?"
Finally, Regg broke down, tears streaming down his face. "It's my fault, Dal. The healer - there was something about the healer, I said I was a Lost-mind, she lost it, she said there were more like her or-or-"
Regg's voice grew quieter. "She got away, Dal."
"What?"
"You have to leave, Dal. She got away. Dal, there are plenty more like her-Reons of the Valley, she called them, there's some reason that they -"
"They have a vendetta against Lost-minds, Demen told me. You told her you were a lost mind?"
"I didn't know, Dal! I thought that could help! Just...They're going to come for me soon, I know it. You have to go."
Regg's shirt was covered in blood, a wound gushing more on his chest. Dal couldn't stand to see it anymore.
"Go inside, Regg. Bandage yourself up. I'll meet you out back in fifteen minutes."
"You don't have fifteen minutes! You have to go now!"
"I'll give myself five more. Regg, I'm not leaving you behind. You're coming with me."
"Why? Ington's dead because of me-"
"Shut up about Ington, Regg," Dal snapped, "I don't care if you killed him or caused him to die or whatever! Just... do what I say for a moment!"
Regg stumbled away back into the house, and Dal rode Dom Gray into the pastures. First, he went to the barn. He grabbed a hatchet lying against the barn wall, finnicking with the door until it finally opened.
Where is it, he thought, where is it?
He made his way towards an old, locked crate at the back of the barn, the cluck, cluck, clucking of the hens ringing in his ear. Without the key, he would have to bash it open with the hatchet.
(Strength Check: Challenge Dice = 1d10, Skill Dice = 1d6+3. The challenge number finalizes as 6, with Dal barely passing the check at a 7.)
Crunch! The wood shattered as the hatchet struck the crate, leaving its contents open for Dal's taking. Deep at the bottom was the glossy wooden horn left to Dal by Demen. The horn left to him by his late father.
Dal picked up this horn. It had power, Demen had told him, power over the beasts of the world. If the herd was his bow and arrow, this would be Dal's quiver.
He charged out into the field, horn in hand, up to the cattle. Now he would have to wait for the deathly parade of angered souls.
Ten minutes passed. Finally, Dal heard the cries from far away.
Still, he would wait.
They climbed up the hill, torches ablaze. Several dozen of them.
Still, he would wait.
Finally several more came into view, a full mob of about twenty people. Surely, if they took more time to organize, their numbers would be greater, but this was a mob, not a militia, and to them all that mattered was that blood would be spilled.
Dal blew the horn.
(Husbandry Check: Challenge Dice = 1d10, Skill Dice = 4d4+1 (Item Ability). The Challenge Number: 7. The Skill Number: 12. Dal passes the check.)
The herd grew frenzied, and one by one dashed off until a stampede was formed. Dal chased them atop his steed, blowing the horn over and over as he lead them towards the small band.
"Duck!" One of the rioters cried.
(Duel: Dal rolls a 10, the mob rolls a 3. Dal wins the Duel.)
(Dal is decidedly the winner of this fight, and gains 10 EXP. His current EXP: 11/100.)
The stampede battered several of the assailants as it dashed off. Dal turned around, trotting to the back of the house to meet Regg.
"Dal!" Regg called at him. He was bandaged, wearing a patchy plaid shirt over his damaged skin.
"Get on the horse!"
Regg pulled himself up, and Dal sent Dom Gray back into a trot.
"I fended them off, but we can't come back here. You're right."
The two, atop the iron-colored steed, dashed into the woods.
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Two days had passed, and the undersupplied duo had little left to their name. The hatchet had snapped at the hilt a while ago, and the little food they had was gone. All Regg and Dal had to their names were the horse and the clothes on their back.
They milled about by the fire as the first storm of the year, earlier than any before, brewed above their heads.
Regg was exhausted, but he could not sleep. His brush with death had chilled him to his bones, and he could not take his mind off of Ington's death, no matter how hard he tried. Because of him, Dal had lost everything. His home, his family, Regg had ensured little in the world remained for him. How could Regg rest easy knowing this was the fate he bestowed upon the boy? That wasn't even to mention that he still knew nothing about his past. All of these troubles, however, converged into one single thought.
"Dal," he mumbled, "What do we do next?"
"Well, we came from the east, so northwest I'd presume would be Burgran Town. We might be able to make it there-"
"No, not where we're going next, Dal, what we're doing next."
Dal paused for a moment, as if thinking of what to say. "Regg," he finally said, "I know this is out of the blue, and I'd understand if you don't want to follow through with this with me, but...I have a plan for what I'm going to do."
"And that is?"
The younger boy sighed, as if bracing himself for what he was going to say. "I'm going to join the Adventurer's Guild."
Dal
LVL. 1
HP: 10/10
EXP: 11/100
STR+2
DEX+2
CON+0
INT+1
WIS+3
CHA+0
Four Skills:
Husbandry 4 (4d4)
?
?
?
Ability: Demen's Horn
Quirk: ?
Current Location: Hemm Forest