Drogo looks uncertain.  "Hmm... That place intrigues me, no doubt.  And I would like to explore it...  But what to do with a baby goblin while we explore a possibly-trapped tomb?  Leave her in town?  Definitely not.  Take her with us?  Where would she go that was safe while we explored?  I don't want to leave you in the lurch, but I've just taken responsibility for this one."  Drogo looks about, sees the door is still shut tight, and cracks the opening on the barrel.  A little whimper comes from inside.  Drogo holds a piece of meat in his hands near the opening, and with a few coaxing noises, a little green hand reaches out and grabs it.  Sounds of chewing are heard from within, and then a delicate belch.  Very slowly, a comically oversized head with big floppy ears, long dark hair, and an enormous mouth full of teeth peer with piggy little eyes over the rim of the barrel.  Fleabite looks about at the party, shaking visibly, eyes wide.  Then Drogo gives her another piece of meat, and she ducks back in the barrel to eat in hiding.

"I can't just leave her in a barrel all day," he says.  "I may just need to go to my cousin as soon as possible..."

The door to the room opens on the heel of a knock, and Alerik Feykin walks in on the end of Drogo's statement.  He carries a fresh pitcher of ale and a warm loaf of bread, which he places on the table.

"I am not meaning to be overhearing, but it seems you have family business that needs to take you away?" he says with deference.

Drogo nods warily, and slowly nudges the barrel containing Fleabite back behind his chair.

"I did not say this before, as your arrival had no need to say, but I have a niece of a sort, who should be here any day now.  My brother is a full elf, and so is his wife, and their daughter, who is even older than I! has heard of the troubles of Boltharrow and was coming to our aid.  She is a clever-handed adventurer, new in her profession, but well-trained, skilled with devices and fiendish machines.  If you have found aught in the ruins that needs a clever eye to cast over it, and your own must tend to family matters, perhaps you could consider Lantamori.  I would have warned her away from going up against the goblins on her own, or even to dare the secrets of the ruins with no aid, but with skilled comrades, I believe she could do well," Alerik says, cocking his head to invite the group's reply.

Drogo's eyebrows go up and he looks at the others with pleased surprise.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:10, Wed 28 Jan 2015.

Dellas listened and thought about it for a moment. "Well, I would like to go over the talisman or amulet of the shaman at least. I prepared a spell that could help to discover it's secrets if you don't mind." He mostly looks at his sister but talks to everyone "Well we could talk to this Elven friend of yours, I guess that we really need someone who can take a look at traps"

Farian took a seat opposite Volsh and quietly said a blessing to Pelor before beginning his meal. The warrior ate his meal like a wild animal, tearing flesh with his teeth between gulps of ale. In contrast Farian ensured each morsel was neatly sliced before placing it in his mouth, washing it down with watered wine. His hunger sated he pushed his plate away and sat back, listening to his companions.
"Everything said thus far has merit; if Drogo is willing to accept the responsibility of this child then may Pelor guide your path. You will be missed my friend, mayhap we will see you in the future" he smiled warmly, happy that the fate of the goblin had been taken out of his hands.
"We should divide whatever treasure we have now, taking only what would be of use to us and a modest amount of wealth for our hardship. The rest should be given to the townsfolk. A day of rest and recuperation, Dellas can try and decipher the mystery of this amulut he so coverts, and we can be back on the road by the morrow to investigate these secret rooms. With luck Alerik's cousin can be convinced to aid us"

Dellas looks from Farian to the others and nods. "I'll take it then, if you don't mind, I'll need a bit space and I will do it around the other stuff, maybe there is a hidden magical item in a pocket or something" Dellas adds the last part with a wry smile.
After getting a bit space, he calls upon the magical flow in and surrounding him. Trying to focus it towards the amulet or talisman and after determine if it's magical he turns his gaze to other items in the "treasure hord". Only after he tries to control the magic he notices how exhausted he actually is, how his mind is slipping and sleep seems like the greatest reward of all.


(ooc: I'm not sure what is still left and where it is etc. I'll assume that everything is piled up inside the building)

Cast: Detect Magic

16:06, Today: Dellas Nump rolled 16 using 1d20+7. Spell Identification.

16:01, Today: Dellas Nump rolled 11 using 1d20+6. determine school of magic.

The group can pile all the treasure they brought (that wasn't too bulky to bring inside, and didn't belong to the townsfolk) on the table for a good, old-fashioned loot-dividing, as is a tradition in the Adventurer's Guild.

From the temple, you had found: couple of metal vials full of some liquid, the bottles delicately etched with flowers, assorted coin (roughly four hundred and fifty gold in assorted coin, scattered across many belt pouches and what not), the shaman's crystal sword (a longsword of exceptional craftsmanship), a vial of alchemist's fire, two tanglefoot bags, a bundle of a dozen torches, three sets of flint and steel, and finely-carved set of oars.

There were also two slim vials tucked away in the shaman's hat.  They glow slightly blue through their thin glass walls.

From outside the temple, in the camp, you found the following:

388 pieces of gold, tucked into odd corners, in pieces of looted furniture, in boots, belt pouches, lightly buried under bundles of cloth that serve as beds, etc.

A fox fur talisman set with hematite beads (found in the shaman's house) - the workmanship is exquisite. 

A breastplate for a human-sized person, plain and of decent workmanship, that was serving one goblin as a rain shelter.

A magnifying glass, that one goblin had strapped to his head as a monocle. 

A very well-made bastard sword for a human-sized creature, the hilt wrapped in red-dyed leather, that was acting as a flag pole.

A very fine light steel shield embossed with a green dove, that was serving as a frying pan. 

A bench, the sort one might see on a town street, solidly made, set on end to serve as a lookout post.

Nine bolts of fine linen in differing colors, all piled together to make the shaman's bed. 

A portable cabinet about three feet high, two feet wide, and one foot deep, carved with leaves and vines.

The entire contents of someone's wig shop, twenty-seven of them all together, ranging from small men's wigs to longer women's wigs, in several colors.  They are of serviceable quality, the kind bought by commoners to cover a balding pate or by actors for a role.  One goblin had the collection stacked up in his bolt hole. 

Twenty-four lengths of rope, fifty feet each, that one goblin had arranged in a little fort-like formation for himself. 

A velvet and silk noble's outfit in blue and deep green, meant to be worn by a man, that had been being used as wall art by one goblin. 

Six pairs of oars, set up as a crude fence. 

A weapon rack, being used to hold a collection of sticks. 

---

And either outside or still at the goblin camp:


A winter sled, used for transporting goods in ice and snow, meant to be pulled by one horse.  How it got here, you're not entirely sure. 

Two plain farm carts that one horse would pull, being used as shelters for higher-ranking goblins. 

A carriage, tilted over on its side behind the temple and buried beneath a pile of brush.  It was serving as the shaman's private quarters, and it's still in decent shape.  It's plain, but serviceable, and would seat four, plus a driver and footman, and would need two horses to pull it. 

---

Dellas casts his eyes over the goods on the table as he forms his spells, particularly looking at the talisman with fox fur and hematite beads.  He discovers, to his annoyance, the talisman is not magical, though it is very finely made and would fetch a good price.  He does discover, however, that the two vials that were in the shaman's hat, as well as the two found in the temple, are magical.  Also magical is the crystal longsword.

Dellas sits down with a heavy sigh. "I don't know about you but I'm ready for bed." He lifts his head towards Haazheel "The sword and these potions are all magical, I'm not sure what enchantments were worked on these but maybe you can determine it, or does anyone in the area know something about magic?" Looking at the others he adds "Does anyone know where we can sell these things?" he turns his head towards his sister "Where do you normally make this into money"

(OOC: Thanks for the list)
This message was last edited by the player at 14:12, Wed 28 Jan 2015.

"I have no interest in the arms or armor. Things made of metal are anathema to me. Any who can make use of them should do so, however. The potions should be identified and divided. After everyone is done trading up, the old gear and the unwanted booty needs to be liquidated. I doubt Boltharrow has a merchant who can provide fair value for such disparate goods. Perhaps we can trade some of the items for a pair of draft horses and use the carriage as a portable treasury until we can get to a larger city. In fact, that may come in handy when investigating the mysterious tunnels beneath the goblin's encampment."

HA! Post 1000!

"Well it seems to me that the easiest way to decipher how a potion works is to drink one. Otherwise I can attempt to decipher the magical aura of them and the sword, I am no master in this field however"
Farian pulls out his simple holy symbol and kisses it reverently, murmuring a prayer to Pelor as he waves it towards the potions and sword. They glow a soft blue light as the cleric studies them, brow furrowed in concentration for many minutes.
"If no wishes to claim it I would like the breastplate, it would provide better protection than my current armour."

Farian casts Detect Magi
rolled 21 using 1d20+5. Discern magical aura of sword.
rolled 9 using 1d20+5. Identify Potion.

Haazheel felt pretty tired by the battle and the day of exploration. When their host mentioned that some hot bath were ready. He immediately took the opportunity to spend some time in a relaxing bath. Mystique left to go hunting in the woods while its Master was slowly cooking in the hot water.
Relaxed, he stepped back into the main hall to sit with the others and enjoy the food which was served. At the sound of Drogo's plans to leave and take care of the remaining goblin, following Farian farewell greetings he said: "I wish you luck also in your task my friend, this is a very generous mission you are assigning to yourself and I admire you for that. I hope to meet you again in the future."
After the others started to discuss what to do with the current treasure and Farian casted his spell, Haazheel said: "I'm not an alchemist I could prepare a detect magic spell for tomorrow but perhaps someone in this town might help us to identify these vials, perhaps Master Feykin might know who we may ask? I have no particular claims on the different objects found except the potions which magic intrigues me and the talisman as a curiosity. Like others said, let's sell all this and share the money. I would love to use it to prepare new scrolls."
15:55, Today: Haazheel Thorn rolled 5 using 1d20+4. History check on the talisman. Trying to find out more information relevant to it but might not obtain much...

Farian concentrates his magical sight upon the sword, and considers its aura.  It seems to be a minor transmutation effect, which is typical of swords reinforced with magic to be able to penetrate the hides of those creatures whose flesh was resistant to ordinary steel and wood.

The breastplate, once cleaned of debris and goblin stench, proves to be a superior example of its kind, a masterwork of an armorer's art.  It is plain, but very finely crafted, and, upon holding it up to himself, would seem to fit Farian fairly well.

Upon taking a small drop of the potion to try to identify its properties, Farian doesn't immediately recognize the odd taste of blueberries and wind.

Haazheel considers the amulet, turning it over in his hands and flogging his memory.  The beading is small and elegant, showing the shape of a small flying bird soaring amongst clouds, the effect done by having differently faceted beads laid at different angles.  The fox fur around the edges seems to make the bird fly through the soft orange light of a setting sun.  While a gorgeous object, it doesn't bring any immediate historical connections to mind.  But it likely is worth quite a great deal, and if one had the skill, would be able to be enchanted.

Sir Aberlayne takes a look over the rest of the items, turning over some of the armor and weapons.

"This small shield with the falcon on it, it is also of finest quality.  This bastard sword with the red leather grip as well.  They'd fetch a good price, if no one else wants to wield them.  And I would guess the alchemist's fire, tanglefoot bags, torches, and flint and steel we're all going to keep, along with the gold?  There's eight hundred thirty eight gold pieces all together."

"As for the potions, I remember them saying that Brother Darius, their local priest of Pelor, was their healer.  Maybe he can identify these potions for us.

"Remember, we have eight quivers of masterwork arrows coming as our payment from the town too," Sir Aberlayne says.

Drogo casts an eye over the rest of the things, puts up his hand in a signal to wait, goes outside, and comes back in again.  "All right.  I know a thing or three about the value of things, and I think, all together, not counting weapons or that amulet or the potions, we could wrangle about two hundred and ten gold pieces for the rest of it.  Even if we take a few rolls of rope for ourselves.  Most of the rest of this is simple furniture, and I would bet it could be sold easily enough in a town.  Or... hmm... we could trade one of the carts for a loan of a draft horse to pull the carriage loaded with the rest of it into town, because I doubt Sir Aberlayne is going to want to have Valiant pulling a cart."

"Quite," Sir Aberlayne murmurs.


OOC: Sword is a +1 longsword.  Breastplate is masterwork.  Bastard sword and light steel shield are masterwork.  The arrows equal 1,120gp for 160 masterwork arrows.
This message was last edited by the GM at 11:36, Mon 02 Feb 2015.

"Come to think of it, I could make use of 1 or 2 of those quivers full of fancy arrows. Other than that, I don't have any pressing needs." The matters of the booty decided, or mostly so, Narthian moves to the public part of the Pickled Pig to enjoy the festivities--in his own way. He acquires a tankard of ale and a plate of meat & sweetmeats then watches the crowd from a table near a back wall. Some of the townsfolk give Thunder odd looks, but none dare to ask Narthian to remove him. As they sit, Narthian feeds Thunder from his plate of the items most likely to please his canine companion. Thunder eats happily, though he would prefer the meat far less cooked.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:51, Mon 02 Feb 2015.

Dellas jumps up from his chair and talks to everyone in a rather sleepy voice "If I understand this right then we have 838 gold pieces plus the probably 210 from selling the rest... each of us should get around 116 gold pieces. I believe Master Haazheel and I will be busy resting and creating a scroll or two. Someone else should sell the goods and early tomorrow morning we should go back as soon as possible. I guess that we'll keep the sword and if someone needs then they could keep the breastplate and shield"

His face managed to form a grin before talking to whoever will sell the goods "If you find a nice light crossbow and some bolts, I would be grateful if you could tell me about it... Back in the temple, I noticed that without my magic I'm not good for much else." He knew that he would probably not need it in the temple, if something "lives" there it must have lost most of its meat already. But bandits and goblins are another question. "A light crossbow should be around 25gp if my memory serve me right."


If there is nothing else to say, Dellas will take his part of the loot, look after Honeybee and purchase enough material to make 3x burning hands scrolls and 1x disrupt undead. 4xp/50gp
After that, he will see his big sister "Thanks for everything, will you stay a bit longer in our little group? And maybe you can help your local community by helping your local wizard?" He added with a big grin petting Vish who made himself comfortable around Della's neck.



(OOC: I totally forgot that I still have Honeybee... and yes he forgot about the arrows, and I should probably change my speech color... sorry)
This message was last edited by the player at 03:11, Tue 03 Feb 2015.

In the private dining room of the Pickled Pig

Drogo will stroke his chin before turning to Alerik Feykin.  "Well, good sir, I don't suppose you would know if anyone in town had use for these goods?  And perhaps, if Brother Darius is about, if he could figure out what these potions do?"

Alerik smiles a bit.  "You ask in good time.  The town is boisterous, and in a mood to be generous.  I shall speak with those who could make use of your goods, and to Brother Darius as well."

Alerik leaves for a short while, returns with a couple very slightly tipsy younger men, an older man with a potbelly and pale yellow robes, and a small chest.  The young men bundle off the rest of the disposable goods with some mumblings of thanks, and the chest Alerik opens briefly to show the gleam of gold coin.

"We do not have any wizards here to make magical scrolls, though I'm certain Redhaven's Adventurer's Guild would have such things," Alerik says, and waves to the man in the yellow robes.  "Brother Darius."

The brother has a slightly untidy beard and moustache, a holy symbol made of pale wood, and a broad smile on his face.  "Our thanks to you for freeing us from the goblin menace.  I think after much longer, we would have lost more than just Farmer Brey.  Elena and her child are doing as well as they can.  They weren't badly injured, but..." he sighs, "Scared.  Very, very scared.  Here, let me see if I can figure out what these potions you found are good for."

He studies them carefully, tastes them, lights a drop in a candle in the table to look at the smoke and flame, and finally nods.  "The two glowing ones here, they will heal injury in an instant.  They are not terribly powerful, but very useful.  These two here in the metal containers, they are potions of barkskin.  They'll give one the tough hide like a tree for a short while, and make swords blunt against your skin."  He hands them back to the group and pushes himself away from the table.  "Best of luck to you, Guildsfolk.  Blessings upon you, and sun's rays favor you."  Brother Darius raises his hand in a benediction and leaves, along with Alerik.

"And with that," Drogo says, tucking up Fleabite's barrel under his arm.  "I'm going to slip out under the cover of celebration, so no one sees this little one.  My thanks to you for this adventure, and who knows?  You might meet me and my little protégé again someday!"  Drogo grins, sweeps his portion of coin into his pack, along with some food, and slips out after Alerik.

--

In the common room of the Pickled Pig



The common room of the Pickled Pig is a little quieter than what is evidently going on outside, as it seems a local fiddler has started a set out there, and the villagers are dancing out there.  Those drifting inside to get more food or drink grin and raise their tankards to Narthian and Thunder, though people seem understanding enough to not press themselves upon them.

Narthian does notice Varrik Forrester talking about the group, praising their cleverness and thoroughness in a somewhat drunken manner, exaggerating their exploits a bit as he gestures extravagantly.  Considering how little he actually saw of their exploits, he's mostly making things up, but the villagers, having been deprived of the group explaining their story, will listen to anyone who wants to tell them one apparently!

In the midst of the revelry, he notices someone who stands out like a lily amongst the reeds.  A young elf woman enters the Pickled Pig, and in a town of nearly all humans, that is an unusual sight indeed.  She wears old and well-worn leather armor, a shortbow, pack, quiver, and a few daggers, one of which she nimbly plays through her fingers.

When she notices Alerik Feykin coming out of the private dining room (after the exit of a few young men with their arms full of the group's spoils and a man in Pelorian robes, so apparently Drogo was able to make the sale of goods immediately), she crosses the tavern to meet me.

Alerik pauses, a pitcher of ale in his hand, his eyes going wide.

"Lantamori!  Ehlonna bless, I didn't expect you this soon!"  He draws her into a brief embrace and kisses her lightly on the cheeks.

Having been made aware of the impending arrival of Alerik's kin, Narthian has been on the lookout. Seeing the well armed young woman approach him, Narthian stood and moved to the couple to introduce himself. "You must be the brave Lantamori, your uncle has been singing your praises! I am Narthian Goldleaf, at your service. "

Lantamori rapidly returned the unique dagger to it's sheath and embraces her half uncle with a huge smile on her face. She had only met him once before and he had snuck her so much candy that he received a stern talking to from her father. She replies to him: "It is good to see you as well. The weather was clear the entire way and that allowed me to make pretty good time. My father sends his best wishes." This was all she got out before Narthian approached them.She repsoned politely to his greeting. "Well met Narthian. I am sure that my uncle has exaggerated me in every way possible, so please reserve your judgment until you have gotten to know me a bit better." she pauses and then an idea pops into her head. "Were you one of the heroes that helped free the town from the goblins?" she asks.

Narthian grins sheepishly, "While I consider myself a decent person, it is the citizenry of Boltharrow who have affixes the label 'hero'. My compatriots and I saw an injustice and we worked to rectify it, for which we were compensated. We possess some skills that others do not have and we use them. Is a baker a hero for providing bread?" Narthian indicates Alerik's, "A hostelier a hero for providing comfort?"

"Well spoken. That mentality is exactly like what my parents had when they were adventurers, and one that I also subscribe to as well. I do believe congratulations are in order. Judging by the town's reception, the goblins must have been quite a hassle on them. You and your friends should be proud at the least." She pauses briefly, considering something then continuing.
"I do not know exactly what you have been told about me from my uncle here, so I suppose I should explain why I am here. That will require drinks, and I if I know my uncle he will have something very sweet for me." she says as she looks at Alerik hopefully.
This message was lightly edited by the player at 19:53, Tue 03 Feb 2015.

"Thank you Brother Darius, we shall put them to good use. Before you go, please take this for your flock and ensure the family of Farmer Brey are looked after" Farian takes a small purse of coinage and presses it into the priests hands.
Looking over the busy taproom he sees Narthian talking to a beautiful elf maid, nudging his companions he gestures towards the pair.
"It seem our druid has struck lucky...that or our new sneak has arrived. It seems we can be back on the road again on the morrow"

OOC
Farian donates 1/4 of his treasure to Brother Darius

In reply to Lantamori (msg # 174):

Narthian's grin turns into a full-fledged smile. "I do not consider myself to be a foolish man, and one would HAVE to be a fool to pass up on drinking with such a lovely lady. Let us tell tales and consume copious quantities of your uncle's best! And sweets for the sweet, of course." Narthian chuckles.

In the Pickled Pig



Brother Darius smiles at Farian and raises his hand in a benediction.  "Thank you, my son.  Your gift will be put to good use, for we have had many suffer in the wake of the goblin attacks."  With a smile and a hand raised with fingers outstretched in a Pelorian blessing, Brother Darius makes his way out of the inn.



"Of course, my dear.  Raspberry cordial, which I remember being your favorite.  Come, sit, and talk with Narthian and the others.  Though they've dispatched the goblins, I gather there still may be more to do," Alerik says.  He smiles fondly and goes to get a bottle of something red and fragrant of summer afternoons, pouring Lantamori a glass before having to bustle away to tend to his other customers.

Sir Aberlayne drifts over when Farian points out it seems their new sneak has arrived.  A Halfling woman with obvious strength in her arms, she wears a simple tunic, but a few scars can be seen on her arms as she heaves herself up on a bench, her tankard preceding her.

"Lantamori?  Aberlayne Nump, paladin of Yondalla.  My brother Dellas is the fire-happy wizard of this little group.  He's around somewhere, probably at the bonfire outside watching things burn.  Tell me, do you know much about room traps?  Because we found a thing at the ruins which may have been deviously protected."

A large smile crosses her face as the Raspberry flavored drink is procured for her. She was very eager to drink it, but does so quite slowly, savoring every bit of the flavor. "Delicious as always. Thank you, Uncle." she says to Alerik. Turning to the Narthian she says "Oh now you are just trying too hard. Enjoy the night, for it is quite young." She is about to continue when approached by one of the little folk. After the introduction, she responds with "Well met. I am skilled with getting into places that people do not necessarily want others getting into. My specialty is locks, but many more devious devices and traps use similar mechanisms. I am capable of dealing with most of those as well as the simple magical variety."

The party at the Pickled Pig eventually winds down.  A few last-minute purchases are made, most notably Dellas parting with a goodly bit of gold to find a crossbow suited to his stature.  It's actually a child's weapon, made for Varrick Forrester's boy once upon a time, and the old hunter hadn't believed that just because it was small that it had to be weak.  He'll also sell Dellas two quivers of bolts to round out the package.

"Just use it well.  M'boy's long gone and on his own, and things be meant to be used," he tells Dellas.

The group can retire to plain but reasonably comfortable beds at a late hour, and rise to find a breakfast of fresh bread, butter, honey, and sausage laid out for them.

Alerik takes Lantamori aside as the others start to gear up.  "Be safe, niece.  Be steady.  The goblins are gone, but what they found under the ruins could be even worse.  See clearly, Ehlonna bless you."  He presses a small quartz crystal into her palm, the stone woven into thin black leather plaits to hold it in a necklace.  "For luck."  He kisses her on the head and steps back as the rest of the group is ready.

Outside the Pickled Pig, Sir Aberlayne swings up on Valiant, her rugged warpony, and the group is off, back to the ruins, back to whatever lies beneath...

OOC: Please go to the Ruins thread.

In late afternoon the group can return from the tomb.  This time the gates are flung open for them, and the Mayor waiting.

"Our thanks to you, brave ones, for taking on a danger none of us had foreseen.  We have little else to reward you but our hospitality, and our wives have laid out a young feast for you.  Come, unburden yourselves and rest for the night," he says, and waves them into the market square.  Instead of the Pickled Pig hosting the dinner, this time it seems the village wives had contributed their favorite dishes to a large, communal dinner of woodland favorites.  Game birds and woodland salads and fish baked with herbs, berry tarts and pies, cheeses and fresh bread, with sweet spring water, cordials, and ale to wash it all down.

Alerik Feykin is more eager to see his young niece than anything, and rushes to Lantamori's side.  Farian had made her comfortable, but he hadn't seen any improvement in her condition.  It had only been less than a half-day though, and such things could take time to heal naturally, or just the right spell to cure.  Brother Darius said he'd put her in the back of his shop, which doubled as the village temple, so she could rest quietly under his care.

The rest of the group is plied for their story, food and drink shoved into their hands, the people of Boltharrow hungry to hear about the danger that had slept so close to their doorstep, unknown, for time out of mind...

Bruenor sits at the table revelling in the attention and the fine food and drink.  Before setting off on this adventure, he might have found himself sitting here at the table directing snide comments at others, perhaps drawing a laugh or two at others’ expense.  However, as he puts down one tankard of ale after another, he becomes a bit more gregarious and easily suppresses the ingrained behaviour…finally dropping (at least temporarily) what’s left of his snarky façade.  He can’t recall being this relaxed…even content?...in some time.

As the companions recount the tale of reclaiming the tomb, he leaps (almost literally) at the opportunity to stand on his bench, drawing the prince’s longsword with a flourish, and giving an overly dramatic account of his duel with the prince.