EHHH.... Not as good as I'd like, but I was rushed. Should work. Zizi and Cake will join later. The party as of now is Fail, Delpenis, and Hammy.

The last few months have certainly been interesting.
First there was that global quake that shook the world, and not much else. That was certainly an odd enough occurrence in and of itself, and apparently some of those heathen Druids felt it was a sign of something wrong, or soon to be wrong, in Nature. But only a few Druid villages seemed to get really worried or upset.
Then came the news that Therion, the Doom of Heroes, King of silly goose, Worldsmasher, and so on, had been demanding greater and more frequent tributes of treasure and women from his conquered territories, that his armies had been on the move, his production of undead increased, and that the Doom of Heroes himself had been spotted outside of his lair on at least two separate occasions.
Oh dear.
Then Brookhaven, some city out West. What the fuck was that all about? Reports were strangely vague about that. All you knew - if even that little - was
that Therion did something to the town and everyone died and apparently it's so fucked that no one can even live there anymore. How lovely.
And then came Doré. The shining bastion of civilization and justice in the West was destroyed by the Worldsmasher. Its princesses taken, its cities smashed, the country was in ruins and the survivors few.
How lovely.
And then, shortly after, a raid on Champignon followed by Therion himself smashing one of the nation's cities.
Clearly Therion was off on one of his frequent "FUCK THE WORLD I AM AWESOME!" trips.

And you. You have been chosen. You are men and women with a purpose. St. Cuthbert of the Cudgel has set you apart, made you special. You are the tools of His judgment. Without malice and without mercy.

His will be done.

***

You have all come from different walks within the church. Your paths may have been different but St. Cuthbert has brought you all together for a purpose and a reason.

You have been sent to one of the few remaining bastions of civilization in Doré, the Durham Monastery. While much of the rest of the once holy place has fallen to the ravenous hordes of Gnolls and Therion's vile minions, the monastery has endured.

Making your way through the barracks you are taken to the field office of your current commander; Grand Crusader Helena Amalric. For better or for worse, her reputation more than precedes her.

The blonde general was quite gorgeous, almost disarmingly so, and despite her efforts, the dark surcoat only did so much to hide her beauty. Fortunately for her, and unfortunately for hedonistic fornicators, the way she carried herself, her expression, her movements, everything, did wonders in that regard. She'd have been amazingly sexy had she not been so intimidating.

She heard and saw you all enter, but didn't even bother to look up from her paperwork. Minutes went by as she finished filling out some papers and sorting others, before she finally rose and, approaching the front of her desk, began to adress you while looking you all over.

"You're the ones Girart sent me?" The disappointment was clear in her voice. She sighed. "I've done more with less, I suppose. You'll do."

"I am Grand Crusader Helena Amalric and your lives are now mine. The Saint has delivered you unto me so that I may make you into the men you are meant to be. If you die, it is because that is what He has planned for you. If you live, than that, too, is His plan."

"I don't care what happens to you. At all. All that matters to me is that His will is done."

"Any questions?"

"I believe all we need are instructions Ma'am." Alberto said in a calm, old voice.

He is pretty old, wrinkled an grey. Even has a walking stick, whether he actually needs it or he just has it to make him self appear more friendly I don't know.

Helena didn't even turn to face the Wizard when she responded. "That is not a question. If you have nothing helpful to add to the dialogue, then don't speak. You should rather I think you a worthless idiot than speak out and confirm my suspicions."

"Now then. Are there any questions."

Vivien tried to swallow, but his mouth had gone quite dry. It was such an honor to look upon such a famous, noble woman, that he could scarcely believe it was happening. He give was hyper aware of the movements of his body, fearing he might make himself look ridiculous somehow, or offend the Grand Crusader.

His mind was too rattled to come up with a reasonable question, so Vivien just lowered his eyes submissively.

"Good. You're either well informed or smart enough to not reveal your ignorance. I don't care which."

She began to pace. "Therion's forces linger here, and the Snarlmane Gnolls and their Worg allies the Gorefang have become more brazen in their raids. Everywhere there is suffering and there is chaos. We and our Heironean allies are all that stand against them."

"We have been holding the lines well enough. We have even established a bastion within the ruins of Doré herself. But I am not here to educate you on recent history. If you care enough to learn the situation and are unfamiliar, go bother one of the scribes or priests. I have neither the time nor the will to combat your ignorance."

"North of the ravaged town of Aylesbury there is the old Garivale Farmstead. Intelligence suggests that the Gnoll Grub-Eye has made his lair in this place. He is one of the lesser leaders of the Snarlmane."

"You are to go to this place and bring me back Grub-Eye's head. This should be simple enough for even you lot."

"Understood? Any questions? Because once you leave this room I better not see you again unless you are carrying the wretched thing's severed head."

"Understood, no questions from me ma'am." He said keeping his annoyance to himself. Making him look bad...cow.
The only question this old man could think of would probably loose him his head.

The middle-aged, balding assassin smiled.
"Of course, milady, the head is yours. Is there any particular type of platter you'd like it served on?"

Helena approached the Assassin, the same look of angry disappointment on her beautiful face.

"I don't like your theatrics and I don't like you. If you want to try to impress me go bring me the Gnoll's head. Standing here and wasting the time St. Cuthbert has given you with worthless chatter does not impress me. It does, however, somehow manage to make me think less of you than I already did, which I must confess I find rather shocking."

She turned away. "You're all dismissed. Go. His will be done."

The old Man followed that order without hesitation.

His eyes skywards, Ramirez followed the wizened wizard, adjusting his waistcoat and inserting his monocle. Jolly rotten sense of humor, that Helena.

It wasn't until there was a sufficient amount of distance between himself and Amalric when Vivien Bellerose managed to speak. Blue eyes wide with awe, he clasped his hands together in front of his chest and cried, "Praise the Saint! I can scarcely believe we were honored with the presence of such a glorious tool of His will! I must confess, my vanity makes me pray for the success of this mission, so that I can make the Grand Crusader pleased with me."

Sighing, he continued, "Alas, I still have a long way to go. I must take pleasure only in serving Saint Cuthbert, not soothing my own pride. Saint forgive me. I must look to Grand Crusader Almaric as an example."

Vivien looked between his two companions. "Before we leave, would you like to pray with me?"

"The best prayer to Cuthbert is doing His will, my dear fellow. I see no reason to offer prayers in excess, old chap, save to satisfy one's own insecurities and vanities. One must do what one is told by one's superiors to the best of one's ability, and likewise one must always be pleasant to his inferiors, with such manners as I show to you now."

Ramirez smiled enigmatically.

"I see no need to pray to Cuthbert when He will doubtless appreciate my serving His will."

Vivien blushed, but nodded enthusiastically. "You are absolutely right. The best way to honor the Saint is through actions, not prayers."

The trip to the Garivale Farmstead was boring, for better or for worse. The corrupted animals seemed to know enough to avoid you, and you had little trouble avoiding or dispatching the roving groups of Undead, Gnolls, or Worgs which you encountered.

And then you were there.


The structure to the left is a barn. The smaller structure is a farmhouse. The G's are Gnolls, the Gr's are Gnoll Graverobbers. They look a bit tougher, but obviously I won't tell you the particulars.

Grub-Eye is presumably in the house. You can recognize him, presumably, by the fact that, in true Gnoll fashion, he will be larger and more pimped out than other Gnolls around.

This should not be difficult, at all. These guys are low level and this is just basically a "test out your characters and also Helena thinks you suck" mission.

Lastly, I don't have everyone's sheets, but this is a surprise round. So basically the initiative for you guys will be the order in which you chucklefucks post.

Sorry for the spartan map, but I was rushed and lack skill.

First Ramirez was standing with the rest of the party. Then he wasn't, and the slightly-flattened grass was the only clue he was still there. He activated his Ring of Invisibility.

Ramirez crept towards the small house, attempting to make as little noise as possible, and hoping none of the Gnolls would notice the faint physical traces of his presence.



He's moved 2 squares down and 1 square left, assuming the squares are 5 feet.