Rolled 7, 3, 19, 20, 12, 17, 19 = 97 (7d20)
>>5724035As you and your adversary stalk each other—circling, feinting, probing for weakness with gaze and with blade—you swallow your bloodlust. You may be three-quarters Reptilian, but that doesn’t mean you need to exhibit a savage bloodthirstiness. These instincts, these urges… they are not of the Master Race, but of Hellish origin. They are not your draconic heritage made manifest, but a bequeathment of your demoniac ‘aunt’, Irrinile, wherever that duty-deserting succubus might now be. You embraced such pleasureful carnage once.. But that was before Eka. Things have changed. YOU have changed.
You will not be a slave to darkness, but its master!
“Lissten,” you tell Sir Ewald, “to be honesst, killing you would be the mossst direct way to end thiss ssilly plotting.”
“Try if you dare!” he barks back.
You bite back a scathing retort, and restrain your twitching sword-arm.
“I could,” you say, matter-of-factly. “I could kill you, sslay King Rufos, and place Princcesss Ekaterine upon the throne. Hawkssong would probably even be better off for it, when you think about it.”
“You lose one puppet, and substitute another, and you call it a favour?” the Old Paladin asks, incredulous.
“She isss no puppet of mine,” you say truthfully. “I am not her masster, I am her husssband. She isss her own person, sstill sstriving ass she alwaysss hass: to make thiss world a better place for all people!”
“LIES!”
Predictably, the Old Paladin lunges with the dagger. You hiss in annoyance, and shift back a step, adjusting your grip on the khopesh to trip, disarm, or to maim—not to behead or bisect. Here you go again…
[DC 15 Sword Mastery (thanks to having scored a hit and your Hexbalde talent); 2d20 for enemy; diplomacy upcoming, depends on how you do with establsihing dominance.]
