Andrazi rolls his eyes and gestures for his muscle to back down. "Get out of my sight."
Kalam nods his head in thanks and ushers his two companions away from the alley's mouth. As they pass the first building he glances back to see if the Sczarni have continued on down the alley?
Abramov realises they're in big trouble, but at the same time their assailants aren't aware they're not simple beggars. He waits a split second to see if either Daeron or Kalam open their mouths. If not, he'll get his scalpel out and go to work.
Seeing that the alley mouth is clear Kalam halts his companions, "That was rather closer than I'd have liked. Still it looks like they've taken the bait. We'd best get back before the others think we've abandoned them."
Kalam halts at P4 and peers around the corner.
Provided there is still time, Kalam touches the flask at his belt and says a few words of prayer.
The trio advances further down the alley. The Sczarni in charge nods and one of his thugs raps sharply on the door.
That certainly could have been bad. Thank the gods it wasn't.
Daeron looks toward Kalam, nodding as if to say, "on your move."
The doctor downs a tiny flask. It happens to contain an extract of Shield. Secure in the fact that he's protected as well as he could be, Abramov follows Kalam's lead.
Kalam holds his breath for the door to open before moving.
She is always wayward.
You hear a muffled click and there is Morris opening the door.
As Sczarni are confronted with the Lady's "Porter", Kalam draws his rapier and gives the others a lopsided grin, "Alright boys, now for the tricky part!
He moves out from the corner and advances down the alley, his two companions following close on his heels.
Reaching for a dagger before spinning it in his fingers into a position ready to throw, Daeron grins and nods to Kalam, advancing as well.
Yolanda will open up by draining the life from these peasants.
DC 14
Andrazi sneers in surprise when the door opens and the pale Yolanda is revealed. He thugs take up defensive positions when the rest of the party approaches from up the alleyway.
”You again! I don’t know what you’re trying to pull but you’re gunna regret tangling with the Sczarni. Get ‘em boys!”
Abramov rushes down the alley and attempts to stab one of the thugs before he has the chance to react.
and assuming he is flat-footed, + 5 = 10.
Abramov’s quick reflexes let him get the jump on the nearest of the thugs. He drives his dagger deep between the varisian’s ribs. The thickly muscled goon gasps in pain and staggers but stays on his feet.
Halsanna springs the trap but the wind picks up and her arrow veers off course.
The thugs pull clubs from their hips and try to bludgeon the charging doctor.
The leader pulls an elaborate mechanical crossbow that was hidden within his sash. He levels it at the archer above and squeezes the trigger.
The bolt flies true, sinking solidly into the merc's shoulder. A soft haze drift across her vision...
Daeron picks up speed heading down the alley, flicking a dagger at the thug on his left.
Kalam hurries down the alley to back up the now bloodied Abramov.
Daeron's dagger sails over his target's shoulder and Halsanna's arrow is barely dodged.
The surprise factor was gone so it all came down to skill. He trusted in his abilities with the knife and with razor-sharp feints he tried to find an opening.
Yolanda channeled energy, excluding her near by allies. (as noted above)
Morris, ever attentive to his mistress' needs, will claw at the lead scallywag.
Abramov's dagger moves with lightning quickness, burying itself in the thug's ribs on the other side of his chest. He falls to the ground with a bloody gurgle.
Morris shuffles forward and claws at Adrazi, revealing the porter's 'condition' and tearing a ragged gash across the cap's face. The two survivors gasp as Yolanda's dark power washes over them but they resist the worst of it.
Recognizing the man as dangerous, the muscle swats at Abramov again.
Andazi drops his crossbow and pulls his own club. He shoot a hateful glare at Yolanda briefly before swinging at her life-challenged porter.
Morris claws some more.
Yolanda releases more of her goddess' gift on to these peasants.
[DC 14]
Kalam calls to Andazi, "You may as well just pack it in, save us all a lot of pain!"
He deftly lunges with his rapier at the remaining thug, "Especially you..."
"No, No, No. Continue to resist. I want to taste your last breath. I haven't had anything decent to savor all day."
"Now, now my lady, we want Andazi here alive after all."
A ringing blow to the side of his head sends the doctor tumbling down.
Moving forward, Daeron draws another dagger and looks for a place to strike.
All three sczarni resist Yolanda’s dark power this time but there’s no resisting Morris’s bony claws. The capp goes down with a blood-curdling scream as the skeleton’s attack opens a hole in his belly.
The surviving thug grunts in pain after Kalam’s rapier draws a bloody gash across his side. Seeing his boss down and his partner dead, he drops his club and throws his heads in the air. ”Mercy!”
Kalam grins and gestures at the thug's feet with his rapier, "Not as dumb as you look, if you'd like to remain among the living I'd lay facedown on the ground."
Provided the thug complies, Kalam beseeches Yolanda, "Would you be a dear and see that our friend Andazi remains among the living? Now don't give me that look, I'm sure you'll find it much more entertaining if he's around to answer the doc's questions."
He seems to start for a moment and looks down at Abramov's unconcious form, "Speaking of which..."
He kneels down and says a few words over his flask before pouring a small measure of mead into the doctor's mouth.
"Morris, darling, your skin condition is showing. Have some self respect and cover up."
Frowning, she goes to examine the lead thug. "Peasants are such filthy things. I hope it doesn't have lice."
A pallid glow surrounds her hand as she Stablizes the thief.
After stabilizing the thief, she will tend to Morris
The thug sends an angry glare Kalam's way but complies, first getting on his knees and then laying down in the alley.
Kalam frowns as Abramov remains unconcious. He gestures to the thug laying in the alley, "Looks like this one gave the doc a harder thump than I thought. Don't suppose you could put those magic fingers of yours to the task, mt lady?"
He grins at the thug, "Best hope he's in a forgiving mood when he rouses my friend..."
"Perhaps, darling, perhaps . . . but what will I get for working up such a . . . lather?" The noblewoman asks in her sultry voice.
Daeron joins the group, nodding to Yolanda.
"You and that bodyguard of yours are quite impressive, m'lady."
Daeron studies the group's foes, trying to catch a glimpse of recognition.
"I know. I'm quite amazing. Some have even said spectacular."
"Of that I have no doubt. Fear not my lady, I'm sure we can find some way to compensate you properly for your efforts. Who knows, perhaps the good doctor himself will be...eternally grateful?"
Based on the color patterns of their sashes and tattoo patterns, Daeron confirms these men are members of the Gallowed.
The glamorous, but not exactly kind, woman kneels down next to the alchemist. "Words can be wind, darling. Swear it on your god and his love of the finer things that you will make work to make sure I'm particularly rewarded for all the (she spits this word) . . . labors I've been forced to do today. It's not the healing you understand its all the other things I've had to put up with today. No proper dessert. No dipping my fingers in that peasant's heart's blood. It's simply all beyond the pale."
Kalam laughs heartily, "Sometimes we all must put our shoulder to the wheel, such is the price of Aspis patronage. Cayden himself manages a certain professionalism when required. Thus I'll swear on my great love the the finer things that I will see you properly compensated."
He looks at the dead thug, "I suppose we'll have to do something about this one. Perhaps Halsanna can find a barrel for the time being?"
He calls up to the roof, "Dear lady, might you favor us with your presence? There's work to be done down here."
A drawn out groan escapes the doctor as the light goes back on. He pushes himself up onto an elbow, fiddles about with his pockets until he finds the tiny vial he was looking for and then uncorks it with his teeth and swallows its contents - an extract of cure light wounds.
The pounding headache fades as the magical concoction does its job, but the blow to his pride still echoes through. He picks up the oversized scalpel and momentarily wrestles with the urge to stab the man who hit him, repeatedly. Instead he looks up at his companions and nods his thanks before getting up and padding the dirt off his clothes - a rather silly thing to do, since he's wearing an outfit consisting of nothing more than glorified rags.