<div style="text-indent:1em;"></div>"Hands up Ferelden dog!" The Orlesian Chevalier sneered as he pointed his sword at Cyrus.<br/><div style="text-indent:1em;"></div>"My wife! You Orlesian scum, you killed my wife!" Tears streamed down Cyrus's face as he pointed his hunting knife at the Chevalier and his men. Cyrus had been married to his dear Luna for less than a month. She was an elf, and it was highly unusual for a human to marry an elf. It was frowned on by both of their families, but you can't stop true love... at least, that's what Cyrus thought. But the sight of his beloved's bloody, broken body on the floor proved otherwise. "I'll kill you!" Cyrus screamed at the top of his lungs, charging the Chevalier with nothing but a knife in his hand.<br/><br/>Cyrus: Attack Roll<br/><div>Theorist rolled 3d6+2 and got a total of <b>18</b>:<br/><b><span title="4 on a d6">4</span>, <span title="6 on a d6">6</span>, <span title="6 on a d6">6</span></b></div><br/><br/>The Chevalier laughed as the knife glanced harmlessly off his armor. He then spun around and with a mighty war cry and swung his sword at Cyrus.<br/><br/>Gaston de'Monteford: Attack Roll<br/><div>Theorist rolled 3d6+9 and got a total of <b>23</b>:<br/><b><span title="4 on a d6">4</span>, <span title="4 on a d6">4</span>, <span title="6 on a d6">6</span></b></div><br/><br/>Gaston de'Monteford: Damage Roll<br/><div>Theorist rolled 3d6+9 and got a total of <b>20</b>:<br/><b><span title="2 on a d6">2</span>, <span title="4 on a d6">4</span>, <span title="5 on a d6">5</span></b></div><br/><br/>Cyrus let out a feeble cry as the Chevalier Gaston cut him deeply on the side, following up with a swift kick to the stomach that sent Cyrus sprawling to the floor. He laid there, his blood seeping out onto the floor and mingling with his wife's. He lost consciousness.<br/><br/>----------------------------------------<br/><br/>Throughout the small farming community of Goldfield, Gaston and his men were pillaging, murdering, and raping at will, all to requisition supplies from the farmers and other townsfolk who lived there. What makes this worse, they possessed a writ legally allowing them to do this, signed by the Arl himself. Cyrus regained consciousness in the town hall that the village Mayor turned into a makeshift hospital. His side ached and his stomach was black and blue under the bandages, but he was otherwise alright. The passing looks of sympathy from the other townsfolk told him what he already knew; his wife didn't survive. He bowed his head, mumbling a prayer to the Maker for Him to accept Luna's soul. "I'll see you again soon, my love." He whispered, swinging his legs off to the side and getting off of his cot. Looking around the hospital, it appeared he didn't get the worst of it. People who lost loved ones were crying, many were squirming on the cots, moaning in pain, some missing limbs, and off in the corner, there were some cots with people on them, but they were covered by white sheets; the bodies of the dead. His wife was surely among them.<br/><br/>This is where you are. You awaken on a clean, but not very comfortable cot, aching from whatever the Orlesians did to you. Just then, you hear the familiar voice of the village mayor, Henry. It sounded like it was coming from outside.<br/><br/>"Peace! Peace, good people!"<br/><br/>Cyrus turned his head, walking outside to see the mayor addressing those townsfolk who were off hunting or foraging and thus were fortunate enough to avoid the Orlesians who just left.<br/><br/>"The Orlesians sure showed us peace!" One man shouted.<br/><br/>"Mind telling us why the Orlesians were pillaging us under authority from our own Arl?" Another chimed in.<br/><br/>"My good people, I understand your anger. I lost my son to those sharks, but I don't know what you think we can do!"<br/><br/>"We can kill them all!" Cyrus shouted from behind the mayor. The crowd went silent. Kill them? Most of the villagers never lifted a sword in their lives. How were they supposed to kill a seasoned Orlesian Chevalier and his troops?