Surprise round:
Drawing his sword and readying his buckler, Ianez moves up and prepares to assist Sandru with the werewolf (if he needs it).
Caromarc ponders for a second what he recalls of lycanthropes and draconis minoris.
Elspeth - remembering Caromarc's continual confusion between draconis minoris and draconis linormis braces herself for the near-inevitable mistake.
Realising that this example of draconis minoris only possesses one head, but certainly possesses a savage 'breath weapon' Caromarc casts and extended mirror image spell on himself, then blinks out and reappears at H9.
Ignoring the strain he is applying to his bearings with his repeated acts of forcing his engine to exceed its design parameters, the Mechanical Manservant injects his port with an alchemical accelerant and advances
Elspeth throws herself at the remaining werewolf
Lycanthropes...hapless victims and madmen who tamper with curses beyond their control. Whatever the reason for transformation, these beings have enhanced senses and vitality, and an affinity with wolves. But they're vulnerable to weapons made of silver. The thing to fear is the bite. This can spread the curse. Those afflicted can "turn" and lose all control.
Life with Caromarc can be confusing. You hope that he gets it right this time.
Phoebe gazes from beneath her brow at the drake. She raises her hand. There's a spark, and a gout of flame jumps from her palm. It hisses, burning oxygen in the night. The winds beat against it. Phoebe concentrates...it redoubles and burns brighter. The dragon exhales. A halo of ice crystallizes around the edge of the flames. The fire shrinks back into Phoebe's hand, and extinguishes. She wriggles her fingers, considering what occurred.
"That thing doesn't like me," she remarks.
She summons the flame again. Once more, it wavers with cold. "I don't like it either."
She casts magic weapon. A small, silver star leaps from her fingers, arcs in a trail of stardust, and lands on Blackacre's sword. The blade flashes with light and makes a tiny chime.
Round 1:
Elspeth will make a good distraction, so I tumble away from the wolf-man... circling to attack opposite Caromarc's familiar.
Copper! Make it RAIN!
Elspeth channels off some of the werewolf's preternatural vigor. During this distraction, Sandru takes the opening; he successfully rolls past the werewolf, avoiding its notice. He wheels his scimitar around, and lands a terrible gash on the beast!
Quinn takes a five foot step towards the second werewolf and shots his typical barrage of arrows.
This time Quinn's arrows spin off in the wind shear, or are slowed and bounce off the werewolf's fur.
La Siréene moves over to and mockingly pats the werewolf on its head, temporarily shutting down some rather important brain functions.
La Siréene's tap travels along the werewolf's neurons towards the cerebrum. The effect is the monster sees a blinding flash. Rays of light pinwheel in its vision, and squeeze its temples. There's a slowing sound, like a bow being drawn across violin strings. The werewolf falls slack, lolls its head to one side, and begins to drool.
The frost drake shakes its head, recovering from the inquisitor's spell. It unrolls its tongue, and spits a ball of cold water that bursts in a cloud of freezing mist.
Paf!
The mist spreads out and cakes the lower step of La Siréene's stairs, and a large section of the runway approach with a sheet of slippery ice. The matrix hardens into streaks of white crystals, that mutely scream like a bed of frozen ghosts beneath your feet.
With a stylish swirl of his glamered coat, the archaeologist drops below the level of the mist as it spreads.
The lanky Galtish inquisitor likewise ducks the drake's damage. He draws his pistol and gingerly steps forward , stuffs a paper cartridge into one of the barrels , asks Ragathiel to help him take down this frosty vermin takes careful aim, and fires !
Ianez dances gracefully through the mist. Blackacre cannily avoids the frost as well.
Poor Quinn and Phoebe, neither dressed exceedingly warm, take the full brunt of the icy blast!
BLAM! The cartridge leaves an entry mark of black powder on the drake's soft underbelly.
The werewolf sways and continues to drool.
La Siréene reacts swiftly, and raises her shield, averting the worst of the Drake’s blast.
Irritating. I'll have to do something about that Frost Drake...
The wizard dodges some of the freezing mist, and the metal-man sees it coming at him and braces against the onslaught. Icy crystals swirl towards them, reflected in the Manservant's shiny casing.
Elspeth, much closer to the drake, feels the chill splash across her body!
Ianez draws his light mace and calls on his luck before closing with the werewolf. The uncertain footing robs his stroke of accuracy, though, and he fails to connect.
Caromarc, reluctant to move, starts ripping open the barrier between worlds, summoning something.
Mechanical Manservant advances . Injecting himself with even more accelerant.
Hissing, Elspeth realises none of her allies are flying. She bolts across the distance to the dragon
The drake is dumbfounded, not knowing what to make of the tiny creature attacking it.
"Enough is enough!" Phoebe shouts. Her eyes go ablaze. She balls her hands into fists, channeling her anger. From her back emerges wings made of fire!
She flies into the wind, staying low to the ground. Her wings cast a glow on the ice, like a lantern moving hauntingly just below dark waters. She flaps her wings and flies among her allies . She puts her heels down and skids to a stop.
Phoebe casts blessing of fervor. With a hiss, circlets of burning embers appear above the heads of Mechanical Manservant, Elspeth, Blackacre, La Siréene, Ianez, and Sandru.
Round 2:
The Oracle's magic. I try not to lose myself in it... I am still Sandru. I almost feel sorry for the glamered wolf-man, almost... but not enough.
54 total Damage, this attack.
The werewolf glares at Sandru with yellow eyes, biding its time to spread the lycanthropic curse. Under the moon. In the night. Oh, the irony! Time is the one thing it doesn't have.
It doesn't realize that the noble savage, Sandru, is death in the night, striking out of the shadows. Sandru attacks again and AGAIN and AGAIN! Each swipe cutting through bone and sinew, smashing the cursed monster to pieces!
It disappears in a storm of blades, a burst of red.
Pfffft! Loose fur settles like feathers down to the ground.
COPPER! End this thing!!!
The zen archer monk stands his ground, concentrates on the center of the large drake and release another flurry of arrows.
"Hah! Hahaha!" La Siréene laughs happily as she recieves her gloria of embers. She feels the spell run like flame through her veins, as she focuses it towards improving her already impressive reflexes.
Then, she walks with calm and confidence across the frozen ground and atop the staircase, until she is in front of the Drake and underneath Elsepeth and once again reaches out to shut down the brain of her enemy.
Two of the monk's arrows hit the frost drake on the still exposed underbelly! It screams with echoing reverberation. EEEERRRAAWWHHHH!!!
The dragon sees the woman stride confidently across the ice and ascend the stone staircase. A lone, sacrificial maiden offering herself up to be eaten? It leans in towards her, anticipating the morsel. But then, she reaches out. At the druid's touch, the dragon sees a blinding flash...rays of light... What is this? Glare off the ice? It squints, but cannot focus enough to take action.
The monk screams out, "Finish it off Gaston!"
Warmth fills the inquisitor as the oracle's blessing sweeps over him . He calmly steps forward, just behind La Sireene , loading both barrels with paper cartridges. He grumbles, 'Tis time to face your sentence for consorting with Hareton. , takes aim, and fires one barrel at the drake...