Attack! (On Godfall)
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From: Duelling the Masked Corsair
If she wants a rematch, you can give her one.
Locked with 
Associating with a Youthful Naturalist 272
Challenge information
- 96 - very chancy (41%)
- 119 - chancy (51%)
- 143 - modest (61%)
- 166 - very modest (71%)
- 189 - low-risk (81%)
- 213 - straightforward (91%)
- 234 - straightforward (100%)
Success
No hesitation
Description summary:
The first paragraph of the description is shared between the successes and failures of both available branches. 
Evolution Content Toggle also alters some of its parts. The second is unique to the particular option's success and failure. The description's end is also shared. All vary with your level of 
Associating with a Youthful Naturalist.
| Associating | The first part of the description |
|---|---|
| 271 - No Toggle | Screams carry down the corridors. Monks roasting in the wax. But even as the storm roars, waves crashing, rocks toppling, the Shattered Citadel itself shivering, your focus is narrowed to concentrate on a single woman. |
| 271 - Toggle | Screams carry down the corridors. Wax bubbles through the walls. But even as the storm roars, waves crashing, rocks toppling, the Shattered Citadel itself shivering, your focus is narrowed to concentrate on a single woman. |
| 272 - No Toggle | All around the Masked Corsair, slaughtered monks and privateers are dissolving into the wax that bubbles through Godfall. Her own skin is roasting, blisters rising and instantly popping, but she doesn't seem to care. She advances without mercy. |
| 272 - Toggle | All around the Masked Corsair, slaughtered monks and privateers are dissolving into the wax that bubbles through Godfall. Her own skin is not unscathed by the heat, but she doesn't seem to care. She advances without mercy. |
| Associating | The second part of the description |
|---|---|
| 271 | She isn't prepared for your attack. How could she be? Nobody can match you when you're in such fine form! But she doesn't fall. On the contrary, she redoubles her efforts, meeting you blow-for-blow with her blade. |
| 272 | And so do you. If mercy is something you know, you've forgotten it for this moment, at least. But you remember skill and strategy. You remember speed. And you remember how to exploit an opening. |
| Associating | The third part of the description |
|---|---|
| 271 | "The heretic's fate is […] sealed," says the […] Corsair. "You're not the Wax-Wind's quarry. Sacrifice him and spare yourself, or the storm will fill these tunnels to the brim. Godfall will become a candle, and the Prester's Hand will light the wick." |
| 272 | The Abbot-Commander is behind her. She doesn't see his six arms spread, unfurling like a giant squid. But you see them, and she sees your expression change. By then, of course, it's far too late for her. |
[Find the rest of the story at https://www.fallenlondon.com]
Dangerous is increasing…
Blood and tallow trickle down the walls. OR Would anyone care to wrestle? (Raises Associating with a Youthful Naturalist by 1)
Failure
Too close
Description summary:
The first paragraph of the description is shared between the successes and failures of both available branches. Evolution Content Toggle also alters some of its parts. The second is unique to the particular option's success and failure. The description's end is also shared. All vary with your level of Associating with a Youthful Naturalist.
| Associating | The first part of the description |
|---|---|
| 271 - No Toggle | Screams carry down the corridors. Monks roasting in the wax. But even as the storm roars, waves crashing, rocks toppling, the Shattered Citadel itself shivering, your focus is narrowed to concentrate on a single woman. |
| 271 - Toggle | Screams carry down the corridors. Wax bubbles through the walls. But even as the storm roars, waves crashing, rocks toppling, the Shattered Citadel itself shivering, your focus is narrowed to concentrate on a single woman. |
| 272 - No Toggle | All around the Masked Corsair, slaughtered monks and privateers are dissolving into the wax that bubbles through Godfall. Her own skin is roasting, blisters rising and instantly popping, but she doesn't seem to care. She advances without mercy. |
| 272 - Toggle | All around the Masked Corsair, slaughtered monks and privateers are dissolving into the wax that bubbles through Godfall. Her own skin is not unscathed by the heat, but she doesn't seem to care. She advances without mercy. |
| Associating | The second part of the description |
|---|---|
| 271 | And it takes all your concentration to fight back. Her sword plunges through every opening. She finds your weakest points and pierces them. Slicing and stabbing and dicing. How many weak points do you have? |
| 272 | Chefs, indeed, show more mercy to fish that they fillet. How did you think you could fight her? You've lost too much blood. At this rate, you might faint— |
| Associating | The third part of the description |
|---|---|
| 271 | "The heretic's fate is […] sealed," says the […] Corsair. "You're not the Wax-Wind's quarry. Sacrifice him and spare yourself, or the storm will fill these tunnels to the brim. Godfall will become a candle, and the Prester's Hand will light the wick." |
| 272 | The Abbot-Commander is behind her. She doesn't see his six arms spread, unfurling like a giant squid. But you see them, and she sees your expression change. By then, of course, it's far too late for her. |
[Find the rest of the story at https://www.fallenlondon.com]
- Dangerous is increasing…
- Blood and tallow trickle down the walls. OR Would anyone care to wrestle? (Raises Associating with a Youthful Naturalist by 1)
Wounds is increasing… (+2 CP)
