Rubbing his head with his hand, clearly not going for his crossbow, Norvallen walks up beside both Sorry and the brutish man.
"Really? Those are the first words you say to someone as pretty as her? Ye Gods, that is rather a grotesque flagrancy of any manner of decorum."
Shaking his head at the man, Norvallen's long white hair suddenly resounds with a whip-like crack during one of the motions of his head, aiming at the thuggish man.
Jonathan turns to the others, noticing their remarks. "You think? I did not notice, but I fear it has been long since I traveled such a distance, and my old bones are not so accustomed to it." Taking the others at their word, he raises an eyebrow and looks around, trying to find the person in charge of the outfit. Assuming he gets a relative idea, he starts to size them up, expecting trouble.
As Norvallen moves to attack the man, Jonathan grins beneath his mask. Fey, contracts... now this, this I understand. He turns to the others as his hand falls to his blade. "Let's give them Hell, shall we?"
Even recalling Norvallen's actions in the Randy Sasquatch, and knowing his feelings on the matter, D'ahia was still surprised to see the sudden lash of the strange human's hair.
Defending the honor of a girl who clearly doesn't have the sense to keep her own mouth closed. She shakes her head as she begins sweeping away from the group. Such are my new traveling companions. Drawing her pistol as she moves, she eyes the bandits warily, before downing a small flask pulled from her person. At least they're (mostly) competent.
Though subtle, the effects from this last concoction are visible. D'ahia's already long limbs seem to reach a bit further, and her toned muscles stand out taut on her lithe frame. Her pale grey complexion darkens to a deep blue as the outer layers of her skin thicken.
Some of the awareness leaves her eyes and her focus narrows onto the bandits before her, a tight, poorly contained smile pulling on her lips.
initiatives
Atamar - 15
Casandra - 15
D'ahia - 8
Iacamo -
Jonathan - 16
Norvallen - 11
Sorry -
Brigands -
Brigand Leader -
Brigand Lieutenants -
So with Norvallen's surprise attack, Iacamo and the bandit leader react first.
Then Jonathan, Atamar, and Cassandra.
Then the rest of the brigands.
Then Norvallen, D'ahia.
Then we'll see . . .
The pig of a bandit watches as Norvalllen moves around him, satisfied, but wary, seeing that the long-haired man approached unarmed. Perhaps that is why his head snaps back with an audible crunch as the edge of Norvallen's locks hit like a bag of bricks across his face. He stumbles back then looks forward with fury in his eyes and blood streaming from a broken nose, cheekbone and eye-socket.
"Get these bastards! More loot for the Stag-lord!" He takes a step back and his bow rises with a pair of arrows almost miraculously appearing in his hand. In a smooth cycle, the first, then the second leap at Norvallen.
Iacamo watches the attack and takes his hammer in hand. and stares intently at the bow-wielding bandit. A chill blows in with the wind and
Something was out of place. The man was too bold and even after Norvallen attack. The ’leader’ should have died. Sorry watches as the man attacks with his bow. She may be unharmed, but she was not out of options.
Tapping into the dark void inside her, Sorry distorts the time reality itself, making what was one sure strike, maybe into something else.
Moreover, what was once a sure hit, missing badly the white haired man.
Sorry Sorry, you act in this group now, with Jon, et al.
Round 1
Cassandra wasn't positive as to what was going on here but she trusted Norvallen saw something she didn't about the situation. Whole bunch of armed men loading a cart with...oh. First the horse, now this.
Wasting no more time, the hunter draws her bow and fires at the one who made the order. Drop the leader and the others might surrender. Against these odds, that seemed the best option.
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Time rewinds, and the world is set on a new path, a path where Norvallen doesn't have an arrow sticking out of his chest. Some consider this an improvement, and some do not.
Taking a step back, out of the fire, into the frying pan, muttering chain words, a vivid cone of clashing colors springs forth from the woman hand, her target the bandit leader and some other minion.
"The rent? You may pay with your life." she says coldly.
One of the bandits is overcome, spinning exactly 345 degrees, then falling to the ground burbling to himself. The injured uses his pain to push past the lovely sparkly lights.
Atamar seeing Sorry and Norvallen engaging, springs into action. Seeing a nearby bandit unprepared, he steps up to the man and draws his Starknives while pronouncing judgement on the thieves .
Lashing out, he stabs at the man's chest with a starknife .
Atamar, the bandits are wary and ready for combat. They were not caught flat-footed.
Emphasis is mine.
I give you that usually, but these guys were 'in combat' effectively already, you just joined in.
After taking the step back and casting the spell, sorry goes about and draw her morning star.
Jonathan moves forward and draws his rapier from his belt, coming in for a swing at the man who Norvallen had already struck. "You're a menace," he spits, thrusting his blade towards the man who seemed to be the leader of the outfit. "I will watch your blood stain the ground, you filthy bastard."
Jonathan’s strike puts a nasty tear in the bandit’s cloak. His tailor will no doubt have very stern words for him.
A fairly literal horde of men and women descend of the white-haired target, drawing their longswords as they close.
The first sneaks a blow through the thirsty, whirling blades, while the other is so impressed by his friend’s aim, his fails and he must wait to spill Norvallen’s blood until next round.
The bandits waiting outside the wall close on the rest of the party.
A spot of red blossoms across the yellow vest with pink shirt worn by the dandiest of the bandits, painted by the brush of Atamar’s starknife. Furious his outfit clashes even more than before, he strikes back with an overhead chop.
Catching him in the shoulder with a deep cut, cleaving through the clavicle and scraping bone before pulling free.
Joining his well-dressed fellow, another brigand lashes out at the young Iacamo, blade dancing in an elaborate and impressive pattern.
Which was definitely more show than substance, missing him completely.
The third on the other side leaps to strike out at D’ahia. He uses an obscure and ragged technique designed to rend the meaty flesh of the thighs.
Which might have landed if D’ahia didn’t move with unearthly speed to catch the tip of the blade on the skirt of her chain shirt.
Swearing he saw his life flash before his eyes after his admittedly foolish move and could have sworn that the bandit just plugged his chest with an arrow, he grunts as he misses a blow from another bandit striking him with his longsword. Quickly dodging another strike, he'll recollect on what just happened after he is reasonably safe again ... if there is a moment of time left, considering how pain of the wound he has.
Planes of barely visible force fades into existence around Norvallen, shimmering ever so slightly as the result of his words.
Glancing around, Norvallen steps closer towards the platform to his side, in the attempts to prevent from being attack from too many directions at the same time.
Seeing that the bandits had already hemmed them in, D'ahia closes ranks, stepping up just behind Jonathan.
With another glance to the bandit at her side, she quickly compiles the ingredients necessary for a bomb and lobs it over Jonathan's head at the small group clustered in front of him.
She grunts in pain as the bandit behind her takes advantage of her inattention to open a vicious gash in her side, but her face is set in a grim smile as the alchemical bomb explodes over the lead bandit, splashing the two nearest him in flames.
Ranged Touch Attack: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19 Damage: 1d6 + 6 ⇒ (6) + 6 = 12
D’ahia drops a bomb on the bandit dropped by Sorry’s spell. Good ol’ Target Ted has bad luck again. He would be screaming in agony if he wasn’t unconscious.
Thankfully his compatriot makes up for the silence with doubled screams of his own.
The bandits’ leader observes the bloom of fire with experienced eyes, steps back to give himself room and turns his bow to the firebomb’s originator.
Both arrows fly wide, and a scowl makes his face even uglier, if that were possible.
Iacamo swings his great hammer,
Failing to connect with his foe as well.
Jon, Atamar, Cassandra, and Sorry: It’s your turn! (finally)
Round 2
There were many targets around but on in particular stood out. The one with the bow. The one that was proficient enough to fire multiple shots and quite accurately. Well, relatively. He missed but firing that fast was difficult.
Dodging and weaving with his current bandit, Atamar decides some protection might be a good idea, calling upon Desna to protect from harm.
Seeing Norvallen hurt, Atamar attempts to move towards the white haired man.
Moving into position, Atamar begins muttering a quick incantation, trying to avoid eating any unnecessary steel to the ribs.
"Desna, lend me your touch."
Unprotected and unprepared, for now, the best Sorry could do was to not get in the other’s ways.
She had no armor or weapons and staying in frontline was asking for death.
However, before moving back, she extends her hands once more, covering the area in front of her with several bright lights. , and them she steps back, almost safe behind Cassandra.
Seeing Norvallen hurt, Atamar attempts to move towards the white haired man.
dice=acrobatics=11
The brigand's see through your tricksy ways, and aim to cut you down before you reach your companion.
Both found you much tricksier than they anticipate and blades cut cleanly where you were just moments before.
green/blue
green/blue
Two more bandits begin to burble then fall incoherent in the dust.
Norvallen startles for a moment from the touch, before relaxing and breathing easier. Nodding his head with a grin in thanks, he turns towards ... the suddenly sleeping foes on the ground in front of him and hears the patter of feet moving away to hopeful safety.
"Okay, that was effective."
Moving again towards the bandit wielding a bow, Jonathan comes in with another thrust towards the man's midsection. Attempting to back the man up against the building, he harries the bandit leader with a series of quick strikes.
The bandit leader stumbles back and watches as two more of his men fall to a combination of colored lights and fire. [b]”Hit the witch! Step back and pincushion their front line. We’re working with professionals here. Each kill earns two extra shares!
The bandits within the compound step behind a wagon for cover, then rain a sheet of arrows down on Norvallen and D’ahia.
D’ahia takes the brunt of the volley with three arrows finding purchase, two in the chest and one in the upper thigh.
Before the arrows fall, the last bandit threatening Norvallen takes a last swing before stepping out of reach and the way of his compatriot’s aim.
The three brigands outside the walls position themselves carefully to strike at the witch who took out their fellows.
One managing a deep cut on one arm, and another stabbing strait into the girl's abdomen.
Norvallen and D'ahia you're up!
Correction: It appears Sorry does not have her Mage Armor up. Her corrected AC is 12 and that means Red/Yellow also hit. Rolled in discussion for 6 hp damage
Botting Sorry. Seeing three blades swing in, Sorry desperately flings bad luck to one of her attackers.
Random blow 1=Green/Red, 2=Red/Yellow, 3=Yellow/Pink
And its a miss! Sorry is disabled and staggered at exactly 0 hp..
Hearing the leader barking orders back into the old fortress, D'ahia turns her attention to the newly formed firing line just in time to see a volley of arrows headed her way.
Grabbing her belt with both hands, D'ahia throws herself sideways, rotating as she falls.
Two arrows whistle past as she drops toward the ground, with a third planting itself squarely in her shoulder.
"Наистина лоши кълне," she growls from the ground, breaking the shaft off the arrow in her shoulder.
Glancing about, Norvallen attempts to see if other bandits may be hiding, but the screams from Sorry and the cursing from D'ahia distracts him too much. That, and he is starting to see red from that one bandit's words.
Deciding to shut-up this loud-mouthed cretin putting money on their heads, Norvallen quickly steps over the unconscious body at his feet and glides his way behind the bandit giving orders. The white fibers of his hair wrap around his foot, as he hops the last few feet towards the assumed leader he attempts to drop the heel of his covered foot to the bandit's head as the hair pulls the limb down faster.
As the foot connects, the white hair explodes into frenzy, attempts to wrap around the bandit to ensnare him.
The bandit just has long enough to raise a sickening grin watching D'ahia fall prone and Sorry driven to her knees before the expression freezes in place. Only his eyes follow as the white-haired apparition glides behind him delivering a second solid blow to the head. Norvallen's hair wraps tightly around the now unconscious bandit who stays on his feet only at the witch's whim.
White strands hang in the air, holding the unconscious bandit's like a macabre puppet. Turning he looks over at the archers, giving the archers by the cart a slowly growing grin as the ivory fibers raise the body's arm and points it towards the archers. An ominous gesture in his mind.
"You all may have better chances running," was all he says before the white hair releases the hold and lets the figure fall forward on its broken face with a sickening thud.
Standing, D'ahia smoothly draws her pistol as she takes to her feet, her own attention also focused on the bandit leader.
She pauses, seeing Norvallen's strangely effective final blow, and turns back toward the brigands hiding behind the wagon. Setting her jaw, blunt tusks bared in a gruesome half-smile, half-grimace, D'ahia combines and throws another bomb at the standing bowmen, taking the smallest measure of care to avoid most of the loaded wagon.
"That's right!" She roars over the tumult of battle. "Amateur Hour is over! Put down your weapons!"
3 damage
6 damage
Iacamo's eyes cloud, the pupils white as snow. He glares at with a truly ferocious scowl.
The brigand's face drains of blood and he shakes with fear.
----
A voice rings out over the battle, answering Norvallen and D'ahia. "Yes, I do think this has gone far enough!" Behind the line of archers (some now burning) steps a woman you haven't seen before, escorting the fearful civilian who dashed for cover when the battle began. A spear is held in the new player's hand against the other's throat. "Nobody's died yet, except maybe for Mr. Idiot there." She indicates the heap just dropped by Norvallen. "You weren't meant to get caught in this. Hey, mistakes were made. Step aside and we will be on our way. If not, I don't know who will win the day, but I guarantee some will die on both sides. Starting with this one." A trickle of blood flows dramatically down the trapped woman's neck.
"This can end now. Your choice. We'll even leave the wagon. . . as a courtesy." She nods her head slowly. "What do you say. You're still the heroes, and nobody needs to die here.
Per request:
Atamar looks at the woman smiling, laying his weapons to his side for the moment.
"Alright, "friend", you've made your point. There's no need for incessant death, take your men and get out; you trouble these people again and there will be more than pride to pay."
Seeing the hostage being taken, Jonathan frowns beneath his mask as the woman drags her hostage out into the square. While Norvallen drops the man from his hair's grip, he looks to the other man, as well as Atamar. "Keep her talking. I will... deal with her, given time to get into position." Without waiting for an answer, he takes the moment of confusion to slip behind one of the houses unseen.
"This feels... too familiar. Things never change, do they?"
Cassandra aims at the woman out of instinct but lowers the bow a little as the situation becomes apparent.
Cassandra says nothing but is relieved this hadn't escalated further. They were wiling to leave peacefully, sort of. With the wounds the others had she had seriously considered...changing, and hopefully bluffing her way out. She couldn't maintain control for long. So this was a good opportunity.
"That suggestion does sound reasonable," Norvallen states turning towards the woman and her hostage. "And one that I am willing to accept."
Sometimes, the choices made come crawling back to bite you in your weakest. At the time, the choice seemed appropriate. Young, nameless, unimportant. So utterly restraining. In addition, there was something more.
She looks down; her mind sees the blows, the dagger and sword. She raised an arm in a vain attempt to defend, the sword bite deep. Dark red blood freely pouring out of the injury. In the confusion that followed, two more attacks, aimed at her neck and abdomen. In a slightly moment of panic, she taps into the darkness inside, changing for the second time what would have been a fatal blow to her, only she didn’t see the sword that stabbed straight into her abdomen.
Pain laces through her body as her hands dart about trying to hold inside things that wanted to find its way out. Surrounded, in pain and dying.
She does nothing, but to wait things settle on their own.