Alright guys, pass over your sheets for point review and describe your characters. We'll be starting with you. Make with the character. Well, I'm a devout of Selamy, a body young goat named William who is both strong of heart and true of faith. He's barely a boy but headstrong and ready to take on the world. Oops, go to the new blue wolves. Cool, cool, next please. I'm a Fulani White Shield from a long and proud line of Adivist Warriors. Call me Bark, the Red. Last of the blood for circus. Alright Big Guy, how about you? I'm the bad. Okay, you're a bad, what's your character? I am a bandit. Messer still. The tear that flips in the night. I am the bad. Alright, seriously, not in the mood, what's your character's name? I am Vince. I am the bad. I am the bad. Well, is this a contest or something? This is a serious campaign and if your characters are built, wait a minute. Billy the Kid? F*** you! Score, I win suckers. The Coursers pulling the Duchess's carriage, Titter and look about nervous sleep. It's clear that they can sense something terrible. The driver is trying to calm them, but they can sense his uneasiness. There's a strange sound from somewhere in the forest. With a rustling of leaves and a surprise screech from the Coursers, the bush is parked to reveal a hulking frame crawl from your nightmares. It stands 20 hands tall and half is wide across the shoulders. Its head looks like a raven, but with the body of a giant wolf. A terrible mantle of feathers adorns its crown, back and shoulders. I'm here! Holy crap, that's a marina. This has to be the work of a dark sorcerer, and what I'm willing to bet is in the employ of Count Fontaroi, a dollar's fourth in Woodsonshire. I knew he was eyeing the dude slant jealous sleep, this will mean war. I exhaust fleshboard on bark. I'll protect the Duchess. Bark, give him help. Bat, you are. Keep doing your thing. I have justice. I exhaust frenzy, inner mind and battering charge. Blood, death and vengeance! Oh, okay, that finishes the battle. Does everyone understand their results? I understand that I died, and that's bullsh**. You died choking the life at a Fontaroi's dark wizard and top general simultaneously. That's not bullsh**. That's the beginning of a legend. Besides, you're getting knighted posthumously. A promotion that should be unattainable for a pagan and a foreigner. It's still bullsh**. Alright, the surviving members of the party are taken to the Duke's palace where your doctored washed and groomed. As you arrive in the throne room, the palace erupts in great pomp and celebration. The cries of the Duke's serfs rise to almost deafening joy. It takes 20 minutes before the master of ceremonies can calm the throne of elated nobles and you're announced. Their bones and ointments are not enough to drown out the smell of a Jacobian banquet that waits beyond the ceremonies. The Duke enters and walks proudly towards the throne. His finery is immaculate, bejeweled and gleaming. The herald announces as coming with a high and exultant voice. Hail Duke Seth Moore, son of Seth Med, ward of the Cantor Learning Preventuals. Champion of Salome and Protector of the Faithful, Lord of Walprung. Damn it. I'm taking a break. I'm done. You didn't want to play Iron Cloth today, did you? I wanted to play yours and then we did.