d20 Dark Quest The Weapon Rack Parry and Riposte.pdf

� Contents �

Introduction

Synchronized Strike [General]

Take The Offensive [General]

Chapter 1: About the Blade

Virius Style [General]

History of the Rapier

Weapon Dexterity [General]

Rapiers in a Fantasy Setting

Rapier Fighting Styles

Mundane Equipment

Weapons

Other Equipment

Chapter 3: Prestige Classes

Fantasy Race Versions

Disciple of the Wasp

Elves

Master Fencer

Dwarves

Mystic Bladefighter

Gnomes

Half lings

Chapter 4: Utilizing the Weapon

Humans

Using the Weapon in Battle

Orcs

Structure of the Rapier

Structure of the Hilt

Chapter 2: About the Duelist

Fighting With a Rapier

Class Views of the Rapier

Footwork

Barbarians

Wards

Bards

Attacks

Clerics

Other Maneuvers

Druids

Rapier Fighting in a Fantasy World

Fighters

Fighting Armored Opponents

Monks

Fighting Monsters

Paladins

Spellcasters

Rangers

Fantasy Maneuvers

Rogues

Sorcerers

Chapter 5: Tools of the Trade

Wizards

Masterwork Rapiers

Feats

Master Craftsmen

Against The Odds [General]

Ammak Scull

Deft Parry [General]

Devith Waats

Dual Strike [General]

Jarium Firedance

Fighting Cloak Proficiency [General]

Lav Uldroon

Greater Disarm [General]

Meeria Gar

Greater Feint [General]

Shiran Truthrend

Greater Mobility [General]

Vebdor Ralco

Greater Two-Weapon Defense

Magic Items

Impale [General]

New Weapon Descriptors

Improved Mobility [General]

Specific Magic Weapons

Masterful Dodge [General]

Specific Magic Armor

Off-Hand Parry [General]

Minor Artifact

Puncture Armor [General]

Other Magic Items

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Reactive Grab [General]

� �ntro�uction �

�e �ale o� �orso �eir

“I’ ll be telling ye a tale here boy, the best ye can do is

listen!” he old man’s voice cut the air like a knife, it

reverberated around the dingy old cabin for a few times

and the listener swore that he could hear it well ater the

Sea Salt had stopped talking.

“Sorry, I thought I saw something out of the win-

dow … a lash of red on the edge of the dock … ”

he lad was around sixteen and had a mop of unruly

blonde hair, a resh face and a cheery kind of expression.

But the merriment didn’t quite reach his eyes, they

seemed hollow somehow, and distant, as if he’ d sufered

some harrowing event that still haunted him to this day.

“here’s always red around here boy, that’s the color of

the King’s Guard but don’t ye be minding them, listen

to old homas a while longer.” he gap-toothed man

grinned a wide cat-like grin and tapped his earthen-

ware mug with a long ingernail. “Now where was I, ah

yes … Corso Meir … the most dangerous man to sail the

waters around here, or any port.”

Outside the air was resh and tinted with the tang

of salt and the smell of ish. Young Parson could almost

feel the atmosphere through the window; something was

afoot, but as he’ d promised the old man he’ d sit and

listen to one of his ‘stories’ and rather than hotfooting it

around the port, here he was.

“Now most folk’d be telling ye that old Corso was a

Pirate and not to be trusted, but each person’s got their

own yak about things laddie, each person’s got their own

spin o’th’top fer sure.” he man took another deep swig of

his drink and coughed a few times. “God’s damned teeth

and beggar it, that’s some mighty foul grog there; remind

me to order another three barrels,” he exclaimed ater a

few more coughing its.

“hree barrels,” Parson said, listening half-heartedly.

he man eyed him and narrowed his gaze for a few

moments, tapping the side of his mug again … this was

an afectation of the old Salt’s and when the young dock-

hand was paying attention, it irritated him.

Several bells rang on the edge of the pier and a scurry

of igures moved towards one of the nearby ships. She was

a ine vessel, sleek and supple in all the right places, her

mast towering above the deck, long necked and proud.

“But to me he was a ine Captain and a good riend,”

the older man continued on regardless of the boy’s atten-

tion, or lack thereof. “I served on his ship the Whitehawk

for a number of years and he was always good to

me — had a love of a particular sword if I remembers

correctly — aye … the rapier, sharp and deadly if ’n ye

knew how to use one.”

“A knitting needle!” Jack Parson burst out laughing

and he ixed his attention on the disgruntled looking old

man. “Sorry, but come on, there’s no way that a thin

wavy sword like that could hope to hold its own against

one of those longswords or even a two-hander!” He con-

tinued to laugh a while longer, until he saw the black

look that the storyteller gave him.

“You can babble all ye like about the efectiveness

o’th’ blade, but until ye’ve seen a true master of it, ye’re

a simpleton barking like a dog.” here was a real edge of

venom to these words and the rugged talespinner even

seemed to take this slight personally. “Now if ’n ye don’t

mind, why don’t ye shut ye craw and let me get on about

inishing up me story, eh?”

“Go on then.” Jack yawned and shook his head. “I’m

just bored, sorry, stories are all well and good — but I

want to be out there, sailing the seas and be a daring

do-gooder with a brace of pistols and a good dependable

sword at my side — not some springing bit of steel.”

It was the old man’s turn to shake his head and, reach-

ing for his drink again, he thought silently that this boy

could not only test the patience of a Saint but he could

also make a very good case for the man to turn rom

his religion and open up something like a brothel — as

thoughts go this was not the oddest that the Salt had ever

had.

“Corso was a master of the rapier and there was not

a man alive nor a thing undead that could bring

him down; he fought monsters and demons

a-plenty with that enchanted bit-o-steel, I

did tell ye it was enchanted?” here was

�

a twinkle in the storyteller’s eye now and he cupped his

hands around his precious Grog mug.

“No?” he last word got Jack’s attention and he forgot

the excitement upon the docks. “Go on, where did he get

it?”

“Ah, now I mentions a bit of glowing stuf — ye get yer

interest back, bah, magic’s for young uns … I’d always said

that y’know.” Again the old man grinned and nodded

his head, as if he were answering an invisible questioner.

“Corso got his blade rom an Island known as the Island

of Lost Souls, it’s a godsforgotten place at the edge of the

Grey Sea … folk don’t go there unless they’ve got a death-

wish or like Corso — adventure’s in their blood.”

“Is he still alive then?” he young man found himself

drawn to the tale now; he loved magic and anything in-

volving the use of it. “Or did the King’s Guard get him?”

“Oh no … no … told ye, not a man alive nor a thing un-

dead could ever lay old Corso low, but a woman … now

that was a diferent matter, she stole his heart, then sold

his soul to Oblivion — all because she was jealous of the

boon he carried, aye, that sword’s a curse and a blessing

they say.” At this point the old man stood up and walked

around the inside of the cabin for a few moments, stretch-

ing his legs.

“Sold his … a woman … who?” Jack began to focus now

upon who it might be, a daring rogue or something else.

“Was she … you know, beautiful?”

It was the Salt’s turn to burst out laughing and the

raucous sound became a low throb of a chuckle. “Ye don’t

miss a trick do ye, I mention a lass and ye head turns like

old Corso — well, that’s gonna be th’case tho isn’t it — ye

see Jack, ye’re actually quite a famous young lad — glad I

found ye to be honest.”

“What?”

“Ye father was the very man in me tale laddie, wasn’t

going to tell ye until ye were much older, but it’s a long

story.”

“My father is … was … Corso Meir … I don’t see how it

can … he was my … ” Jack’s voice was a babble now and he

stood up, only to hit his head on a thick wooden beam.

“Ow.”

“Aye, beanpole, just like him,” the man said, and then

sat back down to watch the young lad’s reaction to this

news.

“If Corso Meir is my father … and I have no reason to

think you’d lie Mr Morrison, then who was my mother?

I remember very little.” Before Morrison could stop him

Jack had taken the old man’s mug and downed half

the Grog, he made a wicked face and spat.

“Gods — this stuf ’s foul!”

he old Pirate began to laugh once more

and grinned his gap-toothed smile. “Aye,

rots ye teeth too — prevents Scurvy though,

if it doesn’t kill you irst that is.”

“hanks.”

“Ye be welcome, now as to the question about ye

mother — she’d be the same one as I be telling ye about

in th’tale, th’only woman to lay him low.” A sombre tone

entered the old man’s voice and he removed his big black

hat. “Genevieve Cautier aka Scarlet … a minx and a real

hellcat if ’n ye ask me.”

Jack paced now, back and forth as if he were some

caged animal, battered on both sides by this news. He

blinked rapidly as his mind tried to assimilate all that

he’d been told.

“What happened to her?”

“Ah … well … she vanished without a trace, but some

say that she was captured by ye father’s greatest enemy

and sold into slavery, if ’n ye believe such things.” From a

metal jug the old man reilled his Grog mug and kept a

close eye on it this time.

“Who?”

“Count Ruven … believe me when I say this Jack, that

man’s the scum of the waters and should never be trusted.”

he Salt hissed sotly and a small growl snuck into his

tones.

“How long ago was this Morrison?” he young man

was looking out of the window now onto the sea, where

that ine ship was just sitting there, the name looked

familiar.

“Five years ago, ye know what ye have to do right?”

“I do, but I don’t have a ship … ”

“here’s one out there.”

“I don’t have a crew.”

“hey’re on the ship.”

“I don’t have a sword.”

“here’s one’o’those aboard as well.”

“You’ve thought of everything?”

“I try.” he old man grinned widely again and looked to

the window. “Ye’ll ind she’s a fast ship Jack’O’Lad … fast

enough fer th’likes o’ye, belonged to ye father … can do ive

knots faster than any out there.”

“I don’t know what to say?” Jack was halfway out of the

door and he skidded to a halt. “Morrison?”

“Just say hello to ye mother if ’n ye get her back and tell

her, tell her that I love her. Now GO!”

he young man’s boot-heels clattered on the wooden

pier as he shot out of the cabin, across the planks — he

was halfway to the vessel when he stopped suddenly

and turned around, but he could ind no trace of the

cabin — but on the dock, as proud as she ever was, the

Whitehawk sat in the water — his destiny lay on board.

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