Practise some evasive manoeuvres (On Godfall)
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| A player-created Guide is available for this content: Evolution (Guide) |
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From: Duelling the Masked Corsair
Hasn't anyone told her to be careful where she swings her sword?
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
Too slippery to hit
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 | Her sword is nearly at your throat before you parry it. Then you're dodging, ducking, sliding across hardened wax on the floor. You glide beyond her reach like a skater on ice. |
| 272 | Her sword seeks you. Oh, how it seeks you. It would bury itself in your heart if you made one misstep. But you're not the one to put a foot wrong. |
| 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]
Shadowy is increasing…
Blood and tallow trickle down the walls. OR Would anyone care to wrestle? (Increases Associating with a Youthful Naturalist by 1)
Failure
Uncoordinated
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 | Until you slip on the floor: hardened wax. Suddenly you're scrambling, but she isn't. She drives her blade home again and again, as though she were testing a pincushion. |
| 272 | You aren't nimble enough. Wherever you dodge, she is already there. Hacking through your defences. Impaling the flank that you've failed to protect. This can't last much longer, and it won't. |
| 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]
- Shadowy is increasing…
- Blood and tallow trickle down the walls. OR Would anyone care to wrestle? (Increases Associating with a Youthful Naturalist by 1)
Wounds is increasing… (+2 CP)
