Rolled 5, 11, 18, 1 = 35 (4d20)
>>5724085>20Sir Ewald’s eyes widen, as with a twitch of your muscles and a pulse of your mana, you invigorate the anti-magic enchantments of your Serpent Khopesh. A flash of strange anti-light, of manifest darkness, flickers across the blade’s surface an, with a flick, you shatter the <Holy Avenger> outright.
“Aaugh?!”
The Paladin’s cry is one of grief and disbelief at once, more even than pain—but there IS pain, for he refuses to release the hilt, and you hear his old wrist snap. As the sword breaks, his enchantments leave him as well, the sky-light of his so-called ‘gods’ forsaking him and the lightning-force leaving his body. Shards of his sword fly in each direction, bounding harmlessly off of your armour but catching his face and even scoring one eye, which he clutches as he stumbles back.
>Sir Ewald has 1/4 HP leftBlood pours from between his fingers as, with his one good eye, he stares at you in horror—not fear for himself and his life, you recognize, but fear for the implications.
“N-no,” he breathes. “this cannot… It shouldn’t BE. The Gods of Light.. Moroth and Marese… They wouldn’t… You COULDN’T be…”
He can’t bring himself to say it. ‘Stronger’. ‘Better’. ‘Worthy’. He stands ready to resist you, even now, unwilling to forsake his gods—ready, in fact, to die for them, and for his principles and his people.
You can respect that.
[Diplomacy, DC 13/15/17/20]
