Re: [D4, EN] A royal arrival makes sparks fly...

[Galladon of Claw Isle]

Galladon lay in a dreamless sleep, as he tended to,  his mind undisturbed by reflections on the past, or hopes for the future, in his plain soldiers tent in the camp of the Coldbrook house. His sleeping frame stirred at the sound of cartwheels, before jolting, harshly awake at the shout of Daveth. In a moment, Galladon went from a silent sleep to clambering out of his tent, only for his attempt to rise to do as commanded to be met by a sight of incomprehensible horror. It had been his own brand of perverse poor luck that he should rise at the precise moment of impact, emerging from his tent to the cacophony of flame, and the screeching blast of scattered stones like rain on wood, earth and man. For a moment, as his ears rang with a bellowing silence, he could think only of dragonfire, but the startling sight of that ravening beast wildfire, leaping from rafter to rafter, put that notion out of him.

Courage: 3d6 9

He did not need to hear the words of Daveth to force him to action, only the screams and cries emerging like the scattered sighs of a dying man from the inn rallied him, and drove him forward towards the flame. All the weariness of sleep died off in a few forward steps, Galladon's pupils growing wide, like black pools in the gaping surprise of his eyes. The screams thudded in through his ears, and years of memories bubbled up at their touch. His stomach churned in disgust, and his mind seemed to twist and contort our of the self revulsion of feeling so at home in the sight of a burning building. A scant few years ago, he could have done a thing such as this, it made his blood turn to venom in his veins. As the second level of the inn shuddered and fell, a splinter of wood careered out towards Galladon, breaking his reverie as it slammed into the ground behind him, whistling past his neck.

As if lit by the shard, his blood flared in his veins, fury filling his muscles and purging doubt and fear from them, sending him running, almost carelessly into the inn, without a thought for the smoke or the flame, instinct carrying him to the sounds of screaming. He would make his way through burned out rooms, his eyes barely perceiving the flames, his ears blotting out the crackle of flame. Afterward, he would not remember if he had saved a soul, or if he had he would not know who, his almost charred, exhausted frame emerging only to collapse into the dirt, uninjured, by some miracle.


Endurance: 3d6 10

Endurance: 3d6 12

Awareness (Notice): 3d6 9

[Valar Dohaeris]

[OOC: Ser Galladon does indeed save a life, though as this is back-fill the fates of the named NCs are fixed.
perhaps you saved a barmaid, or one of the numerous attendants to the notables staying at the inn. Even if he cannot remember who he saved, he did in fact save someone.

Ser Galladon earns 1 Glory for his heroic deed.