#support ✩ inserviceto.

[pheraed]

[ Water ]

While it might not have shown much in his expression or body language, Harken did enjoy these sorts of events. The music, the dancing -- the delicate balance of politics and frivolity. He had attended many in his time as a knight. Often to the side, sometimes in the mix, always at attention and on duty in service to his lord.

Which is why it didn't go unnoticed when a suspicious character approaches his Lord Eliwood.

The exchange is short and seems pleasant, but Harken notes that not one but two drinks are foisted upon the young man before brooch decorations are exchanged and the two drift apart into the crowd.

With a narrowed gaze taking in blond hair and a ridiculous shirt, Harken makes a note to himself to find the man later in the night before maneuvering his way through the press of ball-goers to Eliwood's side. Another glass is offered, brilliant crystal clear with cool water, as the knight makes his presence known.

"Are you...Are you enjoying yourself, my lord Eliwood? It will be a long night, please, take care."

Oh, yes. There is definitely a need for water. Eliwood is not thinking about that, however; usually a responsible (enough) young man he does not drink too much. With the addition of outside forces and a kind man named Sir Naesala (who just wants him to have a good time! he's sure of that) he is not as hydrated as he should be.

Harken is a welcome presence by Eliwood's side, and though Eliwood cannot be sure that this knight is enjoying himself, he knows that he is -- and wants to reassure him.

He takes the water and sips it. "Thank you, Sir Harken," he takes another sip. "I had been forgetting to drink water, admittedly. With all of this dancing and meeting new people, I've been a touch distracted. Have you seen some of the marvelous outfits? That's not to mention the food -- have you tried the pomegranates?"

( he will later realize that he rambles a touch when he's tipsy )

"I met up with Hector a little while past. He was disappointed that he was unable to bring his axe."

[pheraed]

Eliwood felt, in that moment, objectively terrible. Not only did he allow Harken to fall to the ground, but the knight was looking terribly distraught. The young lord's hands reached out as if to help him, but he didn't want to disturb the situation any more than he had already.

When Harken did finally speak, it made Eliwood take a step back. Why would he ever punish Harken? For doing as he must, as both someone assigned to this sword project and as a knight of Pherae? He looked at the man in front of him, and watched as he bowed and submitted himself for punishment.

It was often and with a melancholic nostalgia that Eliwood thought of his father. He thought of all that had happened, how he might have been able to save him -- where he had gone wrong and what needed to change. The tears he shed in the presence of those he loved had dried, but the memory remained.

"Sir Harken..."

Any words of comfort he might give him were lost. There was little that others might have said to him, back when the wounds were still fresh, that would stop the pain of watching his father's life fade from his eyes. Everyone grieves differently, and Eliwood would not begrudge Harken his way of handling his own emotions.

"Rise," he said, soft as anything. Gently, he reached out and clasped the knight's hand in his own, his expression grave and serious. "You are a knight of my house. You are loyal, and caring, and good. My father loved you."

He paused only to squeeze his hand. "Pherae loves you. I love you. If you feel you must atone, I will give you that. But not until we've made it out of this forest."

He let go of Harken, and motioned for him to follow.

Let Me Get That Trap For You, M'lord

[folternis]

again they stand on a field—well, honestly very different from the last. better, probably. where in the last round there was a focus on the scenery around them ( to the point where it was often as much a danger than the enemies themselves ) this time there is an almost deliberate barrenness. the scenery is unremarkable entirely.

that does not mean this place is dull, however. no, only that niles knows with a concerning certainty that it will not be the terrain that hurts them.

before them is a single enemy, a being with a craftsman's hands. niles eyes it warily, looking it up and down. oh, but it does not stay the lone figure on the field. before any of them can move, it swiftly summons two more beings.

Pygmalion 25/25HP* summons Image of Honour 10/10HP and Image of Beauty 10/10HP

they are radiant, he has to admit. niles is not a man easily swayed by appearances, but there is something about these things that draws the eye, so to speak. imagery associated with virtues, though only a foolish man puts any stock in that old, ugly belief that virtue can be seen on one's face, that something beautiful cannot also be something cruel or harmful or wrong.

Image of Beauty 10/10HP uses Body in Flight.Niles [Roll: 19 - 6 = 13, hit. -3.5HP] Niles 6.5/10HP.

as if in response to that thought, the summoned creature attacks—all of them. he grimaces and tries to dodge, then when that seems futile, to brace himself, but it's to no avail. it stings. he's had worse, though.

"well, i suppose that's one way to welcome us..."

Renewal activates! Niles 6.5/10HP recovers 2HP. Niles 8.5/10HP.

he'd crumpled a little, using the staff he was carrying to support himself as he staggers back to his feet. healing magic, the residual sort rather than the more deliberate sort he'd been employing in the last round, courses through him.

he'd done too much last time. he didn't want people getting the wrong idea, that maybe he was helpful, that maybe he had a heart. so no more of that, at least for now. he carried with him a proper weapon this time, even if it was only a tome and not something more familiar like a bow, and he was determined to make use of it.

Niles 8.5/10HP critically hits Image of Beauty 10/10 with Valaura [Roll: 19 + 4 = 23; -3, Image of Beauty 7/10HP] Image of Beauty 7/10 has been afflicted with Toxic Poison.

their enemy has bunkered down, and he suspects that attacking it will do little to nothing. instead, he targets one of those constructs. the pretty one. niles has never liked seeing pretty things flitting about without someone to put them in their place. his eye narrows and he takes aim.

maybe it's his agitation, maybe it's just dumb luck, but his spell hits its mark, sending the image staggering back and infecting it with the bitter poison this spell is known for.

"that one's been weakened! i think, if we try we can finish it quickly, before it can strike at us all again."

MINE TO MAKE AND DISMANTLE activates! Pygmalion hits Niles 8.5/10HP with REVISIONIST HISTORY [Roll: 17 - 8 = 9, hit; -3HP, Niles 5.5/10HP].

he takes a moment to catch his breath when the thing doesn't retaliate but—oh, the master seems displeased that niles was hitting its pretty creations. it hits back for the thing, and hard.

team roll call: @papulaan, @inserviceto, @lionscion, @partnerindestiny !

o grace that shouldst endure - team 11 ; silver round

[adalrikr]

"You'll come too... right?" Erk asks quietly as he kneels to be able to clamber through the hole. After all that he has done here today, Erk would not want to leave Harken behind. It would weigh too heavy on his conscience, to leave him there to face the shambling golem - or whatever it was - all by himself, and while injured at that, "Don't answer that. You're injured and require medical attention. Do not argue, just come with..."

He does his best to sound somewhat commanding, but really only sounds like a child begging for Harken to accompany him, even to his own ear. A worried, and caring, albeit harsh in tone, child, but a child nevertheless.

He starts to climb through the hole, casting his gaze back at the older man one more time before scrambling all the way through.

"Don't make a martyr out of yourself... please Sir Harken..." He mutters, mostly to himself as he lands on the other side, the hint of a breeze growing stronger as he stumbles to his feet, "... it seems safe over here!"

Blood From Stone

It was just a stupid game. That was all this was supposed to be. A cheesy school superstition, meant to spook new students as some twisted rite of passage. You only needed to sneak into a secret crypt beneath the Monastery and spend the night to secure the bragging rights – the hardest part should have been getting past the guards! But no… The real problem, you now realize, is the monster of this so-called “myth” – what it called a ‘golem’, beckoned from the inky depths of the crypt by the sound of your footsteps. It wears the helm of a man, but the rest of its gigantic body is anything but human. With snake-like arms that can twist in any direction, thickly woven sinews of steel cable barely hidden behind a massive, lion-faced chestplate, and a lance that can carve very REAL craters out of stone with a flick – logic says this thing shouldn’t be moving. But it is, and its hollow ‘gaze’ is now squarely on you. When magic bounces off of it like rain, and even the sturdiest sword barely leaves a scratch, your only remaining hopes of survival are to pray you find the exit in this darkness, or pry open its vulnerable innards. [Grants Axe +1]

[duskofendflame]

"Thank you for your help by the way. Please... allow me to help you back to the monastery in turn. You look weak." He offers a hand to help his companion stand up, along with a soft smile. Hopefully the other man will be alright.

"It's a shame that the poor man who became this beast had to die... but such is the way of life... isn't it? A cycle that we live in..." A cycle that had to continue no matter what, including them.

"At least... he will not have to suffer anymore. Such a life is worse than death."

[end?]

Despair Lays Claim

[swordsmanoftranquility]

"Sir?" Zihark raises an eyebrow, trying not to scoff at the overly formal address, "You don't have to call me sir. You've been here longer than I have; haven't you? I'm just a mecenary masquerading as a knight anyway, I don't need any of that formality; alright?"

It didn't really suit him, and it had never suited him. He could only think of two people who had called him sir in the past, Ilyana and... Meg. Ugh. Okay, yeah, definitely not sir. Just thinking about her brought a strange churning to Zihark's stomach. Nope. Nope, not thinking about it.

"It certainly does sound ridiculous," the mercenary laughs out. But a rat orchestra was not the craziest thing that he had ever heard or seen in his life. It couldn't be outside of the realm of possibility, given some of the things he had seen, "But if we can follow this c-sharp, then we might have a chance of finding the missing students."

Zihark had never been a musician, not properly. He had taken piano lessons as a child, and violin briefly, but like most of the lessons forced onto him, he had found himself running away from them more often than not. At least he did know what a c-sharp sounded like. If he needed to, he could probably identify it as a single randomly played note.

"Checking into stolen instruments is a good idea. There's not many other leads, but that's a place to start. Is there a list that's been complied of those with missing instruments? Or something like that. We can always just ask around, if we have to."

A Fódlan Tail

[valflaame]

Arvis does like a man who does what he needs to for his home. He liked to think that he was the same and spoke with the same warmth that Harken did with Elibe, when he himself speaks of Grannvale. Of Velthomer.

He did have questions about Elibe; he wondered about the culture, the people, and how far it is from here. He considered how all of these people had managed to come to Garreg Mach together, how this strange place brought back faces of those he had thought were long gone.

"I wonder if Elibe and Grannvale are anything alike," he mused, turning over the words that Harken spoke. "In terms of perfection and our way of looking at the world. Many in Grannvale are... fine with the way things are, they do not see the possibility and the promise of change."

He played with a little with one of the strings on the charm, flipped it over and began to mess with the threadwork. "The inspiration I draw from is hope," he said, and did not want to sound foolish. He sighed, tugged that loose string until it unraveled. "The world could be shrouded in darkness. People may be subjugated and kept within the confines of their class and status. How is that fair? To be born into a system that curses you from the start?"

He thought of his own blood, and how people would destroy him should they have found out his Loptyrian heritage. He is more than that, and his blood should not dictate what air he is and isn't allowed to breathe -- what life he is and is not allowed to live.

"If someone gave you the power to do whatever you could to perfect your world," he asked, soft. "Tell me, Harken, are you the type of man that would take that power and use it to better the lives of your people? Even if it cost you your own soul to do so?"

Arts & Crafts, What Could Go Wrong?

[carmennivis]

Nils wasn’t sure whether to cry, scream, get mad or in general just chew the man out… so like any reasonable person, he did none of these things and forced it all down, keeping up a smile. “It’s.. alright.” He said, sounding strained. “The card, it’s uh… pretty rare. The shop in town does sell them, but they’re random card packs. You could get it in one go or have to spend for 100 packs and still not get it so.. you shouldn’t spend your money on something like that. And buying them from a collector is even more expensive.”

“Oh but, don’t worry about it, really! I’m sure I’ll get a new one eventually.” He quickly added, waving his hands. He really didn’t want to cause a scene or stir up trouble, especially since Harken looked so genuinely apologetic. And had a certain expression that reminded him of a kitten in a thunderstorm….

He grabbed the rest of his cards and put them back in the card box. He also took back the damaged card from Harken’s hands and couldn’t help but sigh as he saw the damage. The card was covered in creases and was torn up a little, the maiden’s beautiful expression now looking distorted and strange with the way the card was damaged. He quickly put it with the rest and closed the lid, as looking at it any longer would only make him more depressed.

Celtic Guardian In Defense Mode

[pheraed]

There were many experiences to be had at this monastery. Many very normal experiences that a normal student would have. Eliwood thought, at least, that anything that came of a sword seminar would be amongst the aforementioned ‘normal experiences’ that a twenty year old Marquess would be able to have in a new environment.

Eliwood was not gifted with future sight. Perhaps if he were, he would not have been running through the woods, avoiding lecturers and professors with an aim to teach him… something. He was still not entirely sure.

It reminded him a little of the dread isles, and he tensed as he passed gnarled branches that looked almost-human ( the image, of course, of Leila in his mind, of Matthew’s torment, of Ostia's grief ). But this was a farce, something he could easily overcome, a trial for him to work through and come out the other side braver for it.

Eliwood had never thought he lacked bravery, but perhaps he could use a little more. He had been paired with another student who was jumping over traps and dodging nets better than he himself had thought possible. The young marquess did not pause, though, and because he was paying more attention to that which was in front of him he had lost sight of that which ran alongside him.

He grimaced. He heard a sound behind him and knew that the lecturer was close, which made Eliwood spring forward and narrowly avoid a trap set for an unsuspecting student —

— and instead heard the cry of someone else.

Eliwood would not leave anyone behind. Even if this was against the spirit of the exercise. So it was with no forethought at all — with no hesitation in his body — that he turned around and saw his father’s knight.

Hanging upside down.

“Harken?” he asked, and abandoned his own goal of hopping over fallen trunks and conspicuous piles of leaves. Instead, he approached the knight and laughed.

It was not a cruel sound. His laughs could not be that. It was a happy thing, laced with joy and relief. He could admit it to himself now: bravery be damned, he did not want to travel these woods alone.

“Harken! Let me help you down!” he said, and could not help but think that the knight he so respected looked a bit silly. He was sure that would not be appropriate to say, however, and he came over to begin loosening his binds. “On the count of three, it will snap. If you can prepare yourself… one, two…”

Snap. Eliwood’s eyes widened and he raised his hands. “Sorry! Ah, apologies, Sir Harken!”

Let Me Get That Trap For You, M'lord

[adalrikr]

"I'm fine," Erk says, stumbling slightly as Harken pushes him forward. A little dazed from all of the running since his sudden awakening. But otherwise, physically fine. If they manage to make it back outside, then he could reassess and maybe even have a proper night's sleep for once - because all of this running and stress was exhausting, and he had already been tired anyway.

The breath of air from outside grows stronger the further down the corridor that Erk strides. A small sliver of light shines in the young mage's eyes. He continues to scramble forward, finding where the light was coming from. A small gap between two bricks that would be large enough for even a man of Harken's size to fit through, were one of them to be moved. Erk kicks at one of the bricks, even though he knows that he's not strong enough to even try moving them.

"Sir Harken!" He calls back to his companion, "Sir Harken, I think we can get out through here...! Can you... move this...?"

Blood From Stone

It was just a stupid game. That was all this was supposed to be. A cheesy school superstition, meant to spook new students as some twisted rite of passage. You only needed to sneak into a secret crypt beneath the Monastery and spend the night to secure the bragging rights – the hardest part should have been getting past the guards! But no… The real problem, you now realize, is the monster of this so-called “myth” – what it called a ‘golem’, beckoned from the inky depths of the crypt by the sound of your footsteps. It wears the helm of a man, but the rest of its gigantic body is anything but human. With snake-like arms that can twist in any direction, thickly woven sinews of steel cable barely hidden behind a massive, lion-faced chestplate, and a lance that can carve very REAL craters out of stone with a flick – logic says this thing shouldn’t be moving. But it is, and its hollow ‘gaze’ is now squarely on you. When magic bounces off of it like rain, and even the sturdiest sword barely leaves a scratch, your only remaining hopes of survival are to pray you find the exit in this darkness, or pry open its vulnerable innards. [Grants Axe +1]

[adalrikr]

Erk can feel the wind from outside as Harken says, and the telltale whisper of the spirits. Erk opens his mouth to say something, but before he can react, Harken has pushed him aside before getting flung across the corridor.

The small boy scrambles to his feet, running after the older man and positioning himself beside him as fast as he could. His talent with healing magic leaves something to be desired, but even he of all people would be unable to leave someone injured right in front of him if there was something he could do about.

He doesn't at all feel confident if he doesn't have a staff, not yet, but it's the best he can offer right now. Once they're out of this mess, perhaps Harken will be able get proper healing. (Not from Erk though. He wasn't sure he was capable of that.) But for now, he lets a small wash of warmth flow over the other man, without even a soft prayer to accompany it.

"Do you... do you think we would be able to escape it if we were to run towards the probability of a way out...?" He glances towards the direction the breeze comes from, hoping more than anything that he wasn't going to die down here and that there truly was a way out.

Blood From Stone

It was just a stupid game. That was all this was supposed to be. A cheesy school superstition, meant to spook new students as some twisted rite of passage. You only needed to sneak into a secret crypt beneath the Monastery and spend the night to secure the bragging rights – the hardest part should have been getting past the guards! But no… The real problem, you now realize, is the monster of this so-called “myth” – what it called a ‘golem’, beckoned from the inky depths of the crypt by the sound of your footsteps. It wears the helm of a man, but the rest of its gigantic body is anything but human. With snake-like arms that can twist in any direction, thickly woven sinews of steel cable barely hidden behind a massive, lion-faced chestplate, and a lance that can carve very REAL craters out of stone with a flick – logic says this thing shouldn’t be moving. But it is, and its hollow ‘gaze’ is now squarely on you. When magic bounces off of it like rain, and even the sturdiest sword barely leaves a scratch, your only remaining hopes of survival are to pray you find the exit in this darkness, or pry open its vulnerable innards. [Grants Axe +1]

[adalrikr]

"I can keep a small fire like this going for quite some time before I am drained of energy," Lord Pent probably would have advised against it, especially without someone who would be able to provide him with magic should he deplete his stores. But he does not have much of a choice here does he? He wants to be able to make it out of this alive, and Lord Pent does not ever have to know, "but I won't be able to fight if we need to continue finding our way. I trust that you would be able to, should the need arise."

He takes a few careful steps forward, holding out the light gently to guide the way. He doesn't know where they are going, the path unclear, but he would rather head towards uncertainty than turn back towards the danger of whatever that monster had been.

"... It's dark..." He remarks quietly, his voice definitely not trembling out of any sort of fear. He has the light; does he not? There is no reason for him to be scared of the dark, "very well then... there does not seem to be any other way... I... I just hope there's a way out that way..."

Blood From Stone

It was just a stupid game. That was all this was supposed to be. A cheesy school superstition, meant to spook new students as some twisted rite of passage. You only needed to sneak into a secret crypt beneath the Monastery and spend the night to secure the bragging rights – the hardest part should have been getting past the guards! But no… The real problem, you now realize, is the monster of this so-called “myth” – what it called a ‘golem’, beckoned from the inky depths of the crypt by the sound of your footsteps. It wears the helm of a man, but the rest of its gigantic body is anything but human. With snake-like arms that can twist in any direction, thickly woven sinews of steel cable barely hidden behind a massive, lion-faced chestplate, and a lance that can carve very REAL craters out of stone with a flick – logic says this thing shouldn’t be moving. But it is, and its hollow ‘gaze’ is now squarely on you. When magic bounces off of it like rain, and even the sturdiest sword barely leaves a scratch, your only remaining hopes of survival are to pray you find the exit in this darkness, or pry open its vulnerable innards. [Grants Axe +1]

[adalrikr]

Erk never should have come down here. He was really regretting letting his curiosity get the better of him now. And if Sir Harken had not also happened to be down here to find him, well... Erk would certainly not be seeing Lord Pent again any time soon.

"... Is there no way I can convince you to stop referring to me as nobility...?" He asks quietly as they creep through the smaller passageway. If he is going to die here, he doesn't want to be remembered as a noble. It didn't matter what the papers from the academy or anyone else said, he was just some common kid that Lord Pent picked up from the snow on a cold night in Etruria, nothing more.

"Ugh. Nevermind, probably not," He lets out a long sigh, holstering his tome for the time being since it didn't seem like whatever that thing was would be able to follow them down this tiny corridor, "I don't suppose you have a plan, Sir Harken?"

Erk certainly didn't see a way out of this. Unless this corridor somehow led to an alternate entrance, they seemed to only be heading deeper into the recesses of the basement. Ugh. Erk just wanted to go back to his room and read for the rest of day. Why did he have to get the bright idea to investigate whatever was down here anyway? The pursuit of magic meant nothing if he was dead!

Blood From Stone

It was just a stupid game. That was all this was supposed to be. A cheesy school superstition, meant to spook new students as some twisted rite of passage. You only needed to sneak into a secret crypt beneath the Monastery and spend the night to secure the bragging rights – the hardest part should have been getting past the guards! But no… The real problem, you now realize, is the monster of this so-called “myth” – what it called a ‘golem’, beckoned from the inky depths of the crypt by the sound of your footsteps. It wears the helm of a man, but the rest of its gigantic body is anything but human. With snake-like arms that can twist in any direction, thickly woven sinews of steel cable barely hidden behind a massive, lion-faced chestplate, and a lance that can carve very REAL craters out of stone with a flick – logic says this thing shouldn’t be moving. But it is, and its hollow ‘gaze’ is now squarely on you. When magic bounces off of it like rain, and even the sturdiest sword barely leaves a scratch, your only remaining hopes of survival are to pray you find the exit in this darkness, or pry open its vulnerable innards. [Grants Axe +1]

[adalrikr]

"Don't reprimand me for my language, Sir Harken...!" Erk keeps his tome open as they run, just in case the monster gets close enough again to attack them, "Not right now...!"

Not that he didn't trust Sir Harken, but he runs ahead of him - though that may have been simply because he was younger and more fit for moving so quickly with the amount of energy that he still had in his body - almost as if he did not want to rely on him protecting him should something come at them from the other side.

Erk pauses out of exhaustion for a moment, Harken catching up to him in the time that Erk stood there, quietly holding back how heavily he was breathing.

"... N-no... I'm not... familiar..." He really wishes he was, especially when they were being chased by whatever that thing was. But it's a bit too late for those regrets.

He throws another pillar of flame behind them, to keep whatever it was at bay for a little longer, grabbing Harken's hand and continuing forwards trying his best to put more distance between them and the monster.

"No time...! We just have to run, Sir Harken...!"

Blood From Stone

It was just a stupid game. That was all this was supposed to be. A cheesy school superstition, meant to spook new students as some twisted rite of passage. You only needed to sneak into a secret crypt beneath the Monastery and spend the night to secure the bragging rights – the hardest part should have been getting past the guards! But no… The real problem, you now realize, is the monster of this so-called “myth” – what it called a ‘golem’, beckoned from the inky depths of the crypt by the sound of your footsteps. It wears the helm of a man, but the rest of its gigantic body is anything but human. With snake-like arms that can twist in any direction, thickly woven sinews of steel cable barely hidden behind a massive, lion-faced chestplate, and a lance that can carve very REAL craters out of stone with a flick – logic says this thing shouldn’t be moving. But it is, and its hollow ‘gaze’ is now squarely on you. When magic bounces off of it like rain, and even the sturdiest sword barely leaves a scratch, your only remaining hopes of survival are to pray you find the exit in this darkness, or pry open its vulnerable innards. [Grants Axe +1]

[duskofendflame]

"No. You should rest Sir Harken." He would not have a man who was so seriously injured try to kill these this beast just for him. Corrin could take care of himself, he was grown. He had been raised a prince of Nohr, taught to have no remorse for dying creatures such as this. (Though he feels pity for the knight it once was, that person is no more. There is no way to save them, he can see that. Therefore... Corrin should just put it out of its misery.)

"Do you think forcing yourself to still fight will keep my hands clean...? Worry not, I am not as pure as I look." There was blood on his hands, people that had died because of him, both directly and from his actions. He was not perfect, no one was.

He strides over to the monster, staring down at the beast. There did not seem to be a shred of humanity in it anymore, and he does not feel a thing as he drives the Yato down into its chest, piercing the heart that now no longer beat inside of it.

"Sir Harken... we should... return to the academy, and get you medical attention. I'm sorry... I did not expect you would get so horribly injured. I am able to carry you back, should you not have the energy."

Despair Lays Claim

[adalrikr]

Erk stays silent, because it is not worth the energy to argue with the knight about what his proper title was. It is not worth the mental exhaustion that comes with explaining that he was not worthy of being Lord Pent's son, that he was not fit for the society of nobility and all of their extravagence.

He turns on his heel for a moment as Harken tries to make conversation, prepared to tell him that he would rather just explore, that he wasn't really in the mood for anymore talking.

But the thumping puts him on guard before he can say anything, and what he sees over the knight's shoulder makes a swear - completely uncharacristically - slip from his mouth.

"Oh shit."

He trips over his own feet as he takes off into a job, anything to get away from that thing. Erk is reacting before he thinks, fear overwhelming him. His tome is snapped open as quick as he can manage it, a pillar of flame cast from it to block the way between them and that... thing for as long as he can manage to hold it.

"Come on come on, let's go Sir Harken! Now!!!"

Blood From Stone

It was just a stupid game. That was all this was supposed to be. A cheesy school superstition, meant to spook new students as some twisted rite of passage. You only needed to sneak into a secret crypt beneath the Monastery and spend the night to secure the bragging rights – the hardest part should have been getting past the guards! But no… The real problem, you now realize, is the monster of this so-called “myth” – what it called a ‘golem’, beckoned from the inky depths of the crypt by the sound of your footsteps. It wears the helm of a man, but the rest of its gigantic body is anything but human. With snake-like arms that can twist in any direction, thickly woven sinews of steel cable barely hidden behind a massive, lion-faced chestplate, and a lance that can carve very REAL craters out of stone with a flick – logic says this thing shouldn’t be moving. But it is, and its hollow ‘gaze’ is now squarely on you. When magic bounces off of it like rain, and even the sturdiest sword barely leaves a scratch, your only remaining hopes of survival are to pray you find the exit in this darkness, or pry open its vulnerable innards. [Grants Axe +1]