Shadow War campaign In-Game: Chapter 8- Bullseye Barrage (ranged)

[Navarre]

The Shadow War

Chapter 8
Bullseye Barrage (ranged)

"All challengers for the Bullseye Barrage, Ranged Event, please make your way to the arena floor!"

You hear Elder Brother Montford's voice boom above the amphitheater. Looking out, you notice that while you were speaking among yourselves the crowd had slowly filtered back to their seat.

Liv is here to wish you luck but has chosen not to compete in this event. The other challengers are, for the most part, staying behind as well.

You see Robert Umbridge sling his bow over his back. He picks up a pack that contains three hand axes and straps it on as well.

He struts by the blonde woman in the black leather skirt and red blouse. She eyes him with an expression you can't quite name.

"Watch me nail the target, honey. Maybe later, you can be next," he draws slowly, trying to be seductive. She presents a look of genuine disgust and she raises a hand behind him as he passes by.

Faerun recognizes the beginning of an arcane gesture but she doesn't complete it. It appeared to be of the enchantment school, however.

Umbridge walks on past her, unaware, slapping the handsome dark-haired man on the shoulder.

"C'mon, pretty boy. Let's see if you've got the stuff," Umbridge taunts.

The black-haired man has been loading daggers onto himself for at least the last two minutes. He is wearing a crossed double-bandolier with three daggers on each of the large straps.

He has four daggers at his waist, two on each side. A dagger is sheathed on each of his black leather boots and another secured high on either upper arm. The hilt of the arm daggers faces down, held with a leather snap, so as to make a quick cross-draw easy.

He says nothing to Umbridge or gives him any acknowledgement at all. As he turns to enter the arena, you see the bandoliers are also holding a dagger ready to be drawn over either should blade.

Vinnrog looks at you all with an unassuming demeanor.

"If you mistake Umbridge for target out there, me okay with that."

[Navarre]

You file out into the arena. The sun is lower now to the west, casting long rays across the amphitheater.

To your right, in the direction below the director's box, you see targets have been placed. A line is drawn north to south across the arena.

Each target is a midnight blue disk with a silver full moon surrounded by the corona of a golden sun. It is a symbol of some sort but not Illumian's.

Each target is made of a shiny tarp-like fabric that shimmers in the sun. It is circular, one foot in diameter and about six inches thick.

You do notice that the targets are to the east, meaning you won't have to stare into the setting sun when firing. Someone thought ahead for the benefit of the challengers.

[Navarre]

Elder Brother Montford stands and begins to speak, clearly audible over everyone as they quiet. down.

"I present before you the Tier Two Bullseye Barrage! This is the Under 60' event."

"This is single-elimination and all weapons have been inspected and the rules explained. Those who hit their own target each round may advance."

"Competitors for the Under 60', take your place on the line as I call your name."

As you wait for the announcement, you notice there are six targets but only five people on the field.

"Introducing first: You just witnessed his amazing dsiplay of skill and valor in the Battle of the Blades. From the Pass in Kallum's Hold, a first round winner in the melee competition, I give you: Bedlor Enghart!"

The crowd immediately comes back to their feet, cheering their new favorite.

"Bedlor!...Bedlor!...Bed - "

"BEDDDD-LAAAAAMMM!!", comes a roar that thunders like the battle cry of a drunk moose in heat. Everyone stops for just a second and stares at the southern staging area.

You see Vinnrog, his meaty hands cupped around his mouth as he yells T'Ning's suggested cry. The crowd seems confused as Montford tries to dismiss it with a dry cough.

"Ahem-yes. ..."

"Our next challenger is last year's winner of the Targeting event and a first round winner of this year's Battle of the Blades. Hailing from Umbridge Ranch in Morganshire, put your hands together for: Robert Umbridge!"

The crowd applauds loudly though you hear one or two boos interspersed. But they quickly silence as Tribunal member Travis Umbridge casts an scowl toward the crowd.

The crowd resumes only loud and politely powerful applause as Umbridge steps up to the line next to Bedlor. He looks down at Bedlor and sniffs, as if smelling a bad odor.

Suddenly, from somewhere no one can see, comes the highest pitched cry that any human could possibly make.

"You Suck, Umbridge!"

The crowd laughs despite themselves, even though the phrase is foreign to them...but they figure it out. The City Guard in attendance look around for the source of their omni-present nuisance but spot no one. Master Landru seems to have suddenly taken a sneezing fit, as he has his face covered with both hands.

As Umbridge tries to control his rage, the priest continues.

"Our next competitor is a newcomer to both the Festival and the Tournament. He hails from the mountains of Dyre." {Some boos of disapproval from the crowd erupt.}

"He is a martial priest from the Temple of the Lone Pine." {The boos immediately stop and many now sit up and forward in their seats.}

"Please welcome: T'Ning!"

The crowd leans toward the barricade, waiting to see one of the magnificent martial artists from the east about whom they have heard so much. Several seem confused, as only a bald gnome is stepping forward.

They look uncertainly toward each other. Never hearing of any gnomes native to Dyre, much less a monk, they have no idea what to expect.

But, that sheer lack of certainty creates an energy in the crowd. They start to cheer and applaud as you approach the line.

"NING!!" comes a deafening cheer from the staging area.

"Our fourth challenger in this competition is a registered citizen of our own fair city. Gone for some time, he returns to our capital to make his mark in the Tournament of Champions."

"He is the son of our very own writ master, Bartomus, who we all wish a speedy recovery." {Many sounds of agreement from the crowd and mumbles of concern.}

"Welcome then: Donovan Jett!"

The crowd applauds strongly, but seemingly more by way of respect to the ill and absent Bartomus Jett than for the handsome black-haired man striding to the line. He moves quietly to the line and merely stands, hands folding before him. He neither looks to the crowd nor those against whom he competes.

"Contestant number five also hails from foreign lands. This time, it is all the way to the far north in the Grey Mountains. A citizen of White Grove, he has traveled long and far to display his skills for us. Please put your hands together for: Faerun Herllun!"

The audience applauds for you as you step forward. They have heard that the Small-Folke are naturally dexterous with thrown weapons. They anticipate a great event.

From near the head of the line, you hear Robert Umbridge snort, "By the God, it's a midget-festival!"

As you all take your place on the line, you notice there is one spot left at the end. Elder Brother Montford consults the Lists and calls out.

"Coby Wayne? If a Coby Wayne is competing today, come..."

At that moment the southern door to the amphitheater flies open. You see the curly-haired halfling in the bright orange and yellow vest running onto the arena floor. He is trying to run and tie the front of his dark orange trousers at the same time.

"I'm here! Don't start without me!"

He trips over his own feet once as he stumbles forward. The crowd laughs at his antics as he finally cinches the laces of his trousers with one low knot and runs up to the line.

He extends his hand toward you, Faerun, as he fumbles for his sling with the other.

"Hi there. Coby Wayne, performer. How ya doin'?"

Elder Brother Montford states, "Each contestant, to ensure maximum opportunity to focus, shall be allowed to fire in order of the line. All other contestants shall hold their shot until the contestant before you has gone."

"If you succeed, hold the line. If you miss, please return to the staging area at the end of the round while we move the targets to their next farthest position and retrieve ammunition."

"First up in the event: Bedlor Enghart!" The capacity crowd rumbles in anticipation, hoping you provide as much entertainment in this event as you did in the melee.

The other competitors wait quietly while you sight your target. It is only 10 feet away and should be a ridiculously easy shot.

{Roll a ranged attack versus AC 10. Damage rolls are not necessary.}

[Gaumer]

{d20+2+4=13}

[Navarre]

You heft your new throwing axe in your hand, feeling its weight. It is new to you but there have been more than one throw needed from across a dark mine to kill the large spiders that lurk there.

You take your spot and hold. You know it wouldn't do to miss such an easy shot in the first round.

You let the axe fly from your hand, watching the spin of the head as you timed it to the near target.

*Thunk!*

Your aim is sure and, from here, strong. The bit of the axe sinks deep into the target, just a tad off-center.

"Must have seemed like a mile, short as your arms are," Umbridge snickers at you from your right as the crowd applauds.

[Gaumer]

You heft your new throwing axe in your hand, feeling its weight. It is new to you but there have been more than one throw needed from across a dark mine to kill the large spiders that lurk there.

You take your spot and hold. You know it wouldn't do to miss such an easy shot in the first round.

You let the axe fly from your hand, watching the spin of the head as you timed it to the near target.

*Thunk!*

Your aim is sure and, from here, strong. The bit of the axe sinks deep into the target, just a tad off-center.

"Must have seemed like a mile, short as your arms are," Umbridge snickers at you from your right as the crowd applauds.

Bedlor cracks-wise as so the whole crowd can here"From what I be hearin' from some o' the ladies in town, it wouldn't be the length o' me arm I'd be worryin' 'bout if I were ye, Umbridge."

{Burn!!}

[Navarre]

Umbridge turns redder than the urchin's hair, his cheeks puffing out in fury.

"Why you little midget...I....(splutter)..."

The crowd has started to grow accustomed to your honor but not your sense of humor. They guffaw with laughter at Umbridge, despite his father's look of indignation from above.

Elder Brother Montford tries to quickly restore order.

"Success! Bedlor Enghart advances."

"Next up, Robert Umbridge."

Umbridge cracks his neck as he snaps one of his own throwing axes from his belt holster.

"Watch this, you filthy dwarf."

[Gaumer]

Bedlor waves his arm to quiet the crowd "Let 'im 'ave 'is turn in peace. I not be wantin' ta hear an excuse one from 'im."

[Navarre]

{d20+2+3=13}

Umbridge takes one big step into his throw. He powers into it, even though there is no reason to do so save to intimidate you.

The axe spins quickly and accurately to its target. It embeds itself with a *Thunk!* of its own.

"Pheh," he spits near you. "Amateur."

The crowd applauds politely. Not a single cheer is raised.

Montford calls again.

"Success! Robert Umbridge advances."

"Next at their mark: T'Ning!"

Umbridge turns to look at you, T'Ning, sizing you up.

He appears quite unimpressed with what he sees so far.

{You're up, T'Ning.}

[sab39]

{Shuriken at the target; shuriken at Umbridge (1d20+1=12, 1d20+1=17)}

I take a couple of shuriken in my hand. As I fire one towards the target, the second "accidentally" slips out of my hand towards Umbridge.

"Whoops! Sorry!"

I make a big, obviously fake and exaggerated show of apology.

[sab39]

"Perhaps I'd better use the sling from here on out."

[Navarre]

In a blindingly fast display of dexterity, two metallic stars fly simultaneously from your hand.

The first strikes the round target you were instructed to aim for. It hits just near the edge with a quiet sound, like bread slicing.

At the exact same moment, a second star "accidentally" releases as well. Umbridge, staring at the target, doesn't see the shuriken.

But he feels it when it pierces the fat cheeks of his buttocks. It penetrates his right cheek and firmly pins itself into his backside.

"YEE-OWWW!! Mo--Ther of A Whore!!"

Umbridge leaps far higher than you would think his bulging mid-section would allow, yelping and feeling behind him to see what sort of terrible beast has stung him.

The crowd is in hysterics with laughter. Some have literally fallen out of their chair with laughter.

Applause resounds from the crowd and, far from where the first heckle against Umbridge came only minutes before, resounds another. The high-pitched, manic voice of the urchin can be heard.

"Better not be a snake, fat ass! Nobody's gonna suck the poison out of that!"

[Navarre]

Umbridge advances on you, furious. In the director's box, Travis Umbridge has come to his feet and has grabbed the Elder Brother by the shoulder as he raises his voice to him.

Robert grabs you by the collar.

"You making a fool of me, you little puke?! I'll break you in half right here and leave you in the dirt!"

The City Guard are stepping forward, looking toward the Tribunal who are in disarray.

[Web.Metz]

"Calm down Robert. Would it be right for a member of the Citizen's League to attack someone in front of most of the citizens of the town?"

[Navarre]

{Umbridge is furious. This is one of those cool times when I'll take that Diplomacy roll. Go for it!}