Sarastal's page

"Oh. It's good to know that you're going to live." Sarastal sounds disappointed as she turns away and starts reloading her crossbow.

Sarastal saunters up to Thelix with great interest. "So...um...what does it feel like to almost die? I've always wondered, but I've never tried it myself."

Maybe once we wash the stink out of our clothes...

So, how's it hangin'?

Sarastal tries to skewer the raging porker again with another crossbow bolt, but her hand trembles from the excitement of the melee.

1d20+3=8 1d8=4

Sarastal's attack gets an additional +1 to hit, for what it's worth.

hit points: 1d4=2

Sarastal reloads, eyes fixated on Thelix's near-dead expression, then fires another crossbow bolt at the pig.

1d20+2=15 1d8=5

"Pigs!?" Sarastal hisses incredulously. "No one told me we would be fighting pigs! Can we push them out the door, somehow?"

She fires a crossbow bolt at one of the swine (preferably from behind cover).

1d20+2=18
1d8=6

Sarastal stays well back while the armoured folks do their thing...

"I have no love for these men, but they're worth more alive than dead." Sarastal looks around for something to tie them up with.

Her Use Rope modifier is +2; if someone else can use the Aid Another action, that's another +2.

Sarastal creeps into the room and looks at the dead man thoughtfully. After a few seconds, she says: "Hurry, make sure those sleeping men are carefully bound and gagged; they'll wake up from the charm sooner than you think."

Sarastal waits with breathless anticipation...

"Can't you finish that guard off?" Sarastal pipes up in a loud whisper. "These two won't stay asleep forever, you know."

Sarastal waits until the last attacker has fallen; her last spell would not be suitable for firing into a chaotic mob of attackers.

Sarastal bites her lip nervously. Somehow she thought being an adventurer would be more romantic and less like hogs getting butchered in a slaughterhouse.

She reloads her crossbow and tries to squeeze in a shot between the meleeing figures, but the shot bounces harmlessly off of the wall.

1d20+2=9

Sarastal begins another sleeping dweomer, slightly uneasy at her comrades' inability to deal with the guards.

Sarastal stares at Thelix; he looks so manly and dashing with his grave wounds, life oozing from his body, death's claws clutching at his throat.

She dismisses the thought and brings her attention back to the matter at hand and fires her crossbow at the attackers, saving her magery in case there are reinforcements coming.

1d20+2=12

Init: 1d20+2=5

Sarastal kneels next to the door jamb (further soiling the knees of her shoddy gown) and peeks around the corner. If she sees more than three swordsmen, she begins a droning incantation of sleep. Otherwise she puts an incantation of light on a copper piece and prepares to throw it into the room.

Sarastal hisses, "Yselle, are you all right? What's in there?"

Sarastal keeps her mouth shut and her crossbow pointedly away from Yselle as she follows in the back.

Sarastal meekly whispers: "I'll keep my mouth shut, just don't make me go in first, please..."

Sarastal coughs quietly and mutters, "Humans...always trying to light up perfectly good shadows."

She draws her crossbow and holds it awkwardly, as if she were unsure which direction to point it in.

"My name is Sarastal. A woman named Zellara asked us to settle a score with Lamm, but it looks like you beat us to it. Now Marshal Kroft sent us to back you up with the deserters."

She bows sardonically. "I may not be much with a sword, but I know a magical trick or two."

Sarastal cautiously creeps up to the party at the back door. They don't look like deserters to me...

"Hey!" she hisses, "are you the people who gave Gerdrenn Lamm his just deserts?" She ducks behind a tree and gets ready to run in case they're just run-of-the-mill looters.

Sarastal looks relieved. "Thank you! You will have your deserters back in a trice. Come one, let's hurry and see if we can catch up to the others."

She hoists her skirts and trots as fast as her slender legs can carry her.

Sarastal stands awkwardly in front of the marshal in her soiled and tattered evening gown, the hem encrusted with mud and filth and her pale face a mask of worry.

"I don't suppose you could give us some of the gold up front, could you?" she asks, flustered by the need to groval. "We might need some supplies or something." She waves her hand vaguely.

Deserted...more likely forced out, she thinks to herself, but if anyone is going to get that reward, it's going to be me. Living on gruel in a squalid rooming house hasn't been good for her mood or delicate constitution.

Here's hoping...

I think I'm done my sheet. Can't wait to start posting!

Here's what I have so far for Sarastal's character sheet.

I wish I had a couple of million bucks lying around. Early retirement sounds pretty good right about now.