Rolled 13, 13, 18, 8, 13 = 65 (5d20)
>>5610612“You should have SSAID something!” you chastise before his subjects, “how wass I, a mere EASSSTERN SHAMAN, to know that you ere casting a HEALING sspell? I hardly know the particularss of your foreign magic.”
You stab your blunted sword into the turf, the force of your strike making up for the lack of impaling point. It wobbles, but stands under its own power as you release it.
“Take your time, by all meansss—heal up! I would not wish to have an UNFAIR advantage.”
The Prince narrows his eyes. You, of course, attacked and injured him, and quite deliberately so… But can he be sure of it? Certainly, nobody else present can, and you see a small nod of approval and (is it?) even a brief smile from the Princess. Oh, it may well be because she’s hoping her eldest brother will trounce you, but you THINK you’re making some gains there—which is good, since you are going to be breeding the female soon enough. To your great amusement, and Prince Alexos’ further irritation, the gesture seems to be taken at face value by much of the audience, too, who politely applaud.
“I’d offer you a point back,” you explain, “but I wouldn’t wish to INSSSULT your pride by implying the Paladin Princcce requiress a handicap to win. Let usss keep our contesst… Honesst, yess?”
The Prince’s expression is grim as he presses his hand to his knee and suffuses it with the invisible flow of his own—and some external—energy. Squinting more closely, you can indeed make out that there is an aura of rejuvenation about him... But your command of arcane theory is not so practiced as to be able to readily determine the school from which he was casting before; a mistrustful part of you still suspects he was playing at something else before, and you keep your guard up. It’s why you didn’t offer the point back—you have a commanding lead, and would rather not give it up and risk exile, however soundly you’re trouncing this mammal.
“Your charity knows no bounds,” the Prince says, dry and ironic as he adjusts his stance to something more aggressive. “I will be sure to offer you provisions for your journey FAR AWAY from this place, when we are done here.”
You smile, saying nothing as you recover your blade from the turf and take up your own stance. You adjust your footing and—
CLANG!
Your heart hammers. Only <Danger Sense> allowed you to bring up your blade fast enough to deflect the incoming blow. The middle-aged human heir is FAST—faster than he was before by a considerable margin. Was his knee really holding him back so badly?! Or… is something else at play, after all?
He’s stronger, too. You are blade-locked, being pushed back by the force of the blow. You struggle to hold him at bay. Your eyes meet his fierce blue-green ones, which bore into you like a ray of scorching fire—like divine judgement.
DC 17/19/20 