Three Way Fight

**Three Way Fight** is a random encounter in *Tales from the Tiers*.

## Transcript

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As you pick your way through craggy, blasted hills peppered with the charred remnants of trees, the weak breeze carries to your ears distance-muted shouts from somewhere to the east.

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Approach openly.

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Approach quietly.

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Ignore them and continue.

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Rather than allow the chaos that has gripped the Tiers to distract you from your goal, you continue on through the Contested Lands and towards your destination.

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You crest a rise and see below you three groups locked in argument, heated words errupting on all sides.

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Listen to the argument.

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Join the argument.

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Attack everyone.

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Sneak away.

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You hang back and try to pick out strands of meaning from the chaotic shouts. It quickly becomes clear that the fight is mostly between the Chorus gangleader and her counterpart among the Disfavored: the two are fighting over who gets to take the three Sages custody. The lead Sage, however, interjects half-heartedly to object, claiming that her people won't be taken alive.
You notice the Sages' bags bulge with parchment. Given your proximity to the ruins of the Burning Library, there's every possibility these Sages carry arcane writings rescued from the Sages' former stronghold.

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Save the Sages.

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You charge down the hill towards the commotion, your boots pounding the stone, your weapons lowered against warriors sporting scarlet and violet alike. With practiced efficiency, the Disfavoredraise blades, javelins and shields to meet your charge. The Archon of Secrets' gang leader shouts a command and the Chorusmen draw bronze and wood. "Traitor!" she screams, spittle raining from her lips.
The Sages step back, fingers twisting protective sigils before them.

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The conversation gutters as you approach the armed men and women. "What the fuck do you want?" the Chorus gang leader growls.
"Fool!" the Disfavored sergeant barks. "This is the [Player Title| of the Mountain Spire." He turns to you, his gauntlet rapping against his breastplate in salute. "Will you settle this, sworn vassal of the Adjudicator?"

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You charge down the hill towards the commotion, your boots pounding the stone, set on taking no prisoners...

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Noting that the group hasn't noticed you yet, you decide not to involve yourself. You turn your back on the argument and press on through the Contested Lands and towards your destination.

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Weapons have been drawn, and the members of each group gesture wildly. They have not yet spotted you, distracted as they are with their own argument.

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Attack the Disfavored.

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Attack the Chorus gang.

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You charge down the hill towards the commotion, your boots pounding the stone, your weapons lowered against the legionnaires of Graven Ashe. With practiced efficiency, they raise blades, javelins, and shields to meet your charge.

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You charge down the hill towards the commotion, your boots pounding the stone, your weapons lowered against the ragtag sycophants of the Archon of Secrets. Their leader shouts a command and the Chorusmen begin drawing bronze and wood.

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"The Fatebinder?" the Disfavored lieutenant asks, blinking. His features fill with rage. "An ambush! Gut the cowards!" Iron flashes as the ironclads advance on you.

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"The fuck is this?" the Chorus gang leader asks, eyes flitting between you and the Disfavored. "Is this your vaunted honor, ironclad? A damned ambush?" She spits on the blasted earth before shouting, "Kill them all!" Bronze weapons ready as the Chorusmen advance on you.

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"The Fatebinder?" the Disfavored lieutenant asks. He looks to the Chorus gang leader. "This law dog with you?" She shakes her head.
"Ain't got use for traitors!" she shouts back.
"Well then," he levels his blade towards you. "Seems we've got common cause after all."
The scarlet-draped woman smirks, drawing bronze. "Tunon's Court of Fatebinders, always bringing people together."
Their cry comes in unison: "Charge!"

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You crest a rise, keeping low to the blackened soil, and see below you three groups locked in argument, heated words errupting on all sides.

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Terratus seems to lurch below you as the dry soil falls away, sending you crashing to the ground, sprawled out before the quieted adversaries. For a moment, all is silence as the warriors stare down at you.

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Bright red paint slathered over shoddy leathers identify a small gang of Chorusmen, violet capes cling to ironclad members of a Disfavored squad, and quills and scrolls hang from the dusty clothing of a trio of Sages.

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Bright red paint slathered over shoddy leathers identify a small gang of Chorusmen, violet capes cling to ironclad members of a Disfavored squad, and quills and scrolls hang from the dusty clothing of a trio of Sages.

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Weapons have been drawn, and the members of each group gesture wildly. They have not yet spotted you, distracted as they are with their own argument.

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Continue...

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Continue...

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Continue...

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Continue...

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Continue...

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