Rolled 17, 3, 9, 16 = 45 (4d20)
>>5578805>>5578813>20It takes time—an impressive amount of time, really—but the man breaks. His enchanted (?) ancestral armour, with its sacrilegious scrawlings of your fallen ancestors cracks and buckles, caving in upon its occupant. Blood begins to seep from the spaces between his plates, alluding to unseen injuries within. He shudders, trashes weakly, and goes limp.
(The ever-so-slight anxiety which still remained from your earlier instant of panic finally settles.)
You slowly lower your fist, and the stone vise which you have constructed lowers the helpless human and his hanging head to where you can better reach it. With a casual motion, you draw your elven longsword and flip it in your hand, so you are holding it by the blade, clutched in your gauntlet. As the Green Knight is brought to rest before you, you give his emerald helm a prod with the haft of your weapon. When no response comes, you lift it high, and swing it down hard, rattling the helm.
It does not cave in, so you suppose it MUST be enchanted.
Still, he cannot be in very good shape, even if he is alive at all. You are tempted to swing, and swing, and swing again until his helmet shatters and spills forth his brains… But no. His neck was surely broken by that mighty blow, right? And under that helm, he has your mother’s treasure: the diadem which can grant your big brother back home the gift of clarity, restoring his addled and underdeveloped intelligence to his rightful draconic glory!
You reach out, a seize the plume upon this knight’s helm. With a well-placed tug, you unmask your beaten adversary. He has the pale, pinkish skin of the northmen, with brownish integument and an aquiline, hawkish nose larger than the local average, and slightly hooked. His solid features and sharp jaw are striking, though you are a poor judge of humanoid beauty standards-you suspect he must be quite handsome, or rather ugly, but you don’t know which. His symmetry of features and clear skin attest to noble breeding, and good nutrition—as does his size and build, you suppose, which you would estimate as being comparable to that of Olu the Archer.
The last of the Yosef, brought low… And upon his brow, the golden circlet which is your birthright and trophy. You pluck it from his scalp and regard it. It is a strange feeling—this was your mother’s worn when she died. Now, it is yours. You have avenged her, and with hardly even any difficulty. It was almost…
><DANGER SENSE: ACTIVE>…Too easy. You are moving before you know why, your divination-amplified senses taken autonomic control of your reflexes, hurtling you backwards from an unknown threat. Did he bring reinforcements? Is it Henzler, coming to his rescue in spite of her apparent indifference earlier?!
[Athleticism, DC 18 normally,but 15 due to your aforementioned divination spell]
