Isaias aims at the nearest reefclaw and reloads:
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Isaias moves to the side, through the water, to get a better shot at the reefclaw (and to avoid) hitting Sen. He continues to give directions to the rescuers and survivors that don't have darkvision so they can avoid debris and reefclaws in the water.
Since that attack roll threatened a crit:
Isaias does the following: 1. With deathwatch on, identifies the bodies in the water within 30 feet that are still alive - "fragile (alive and wounded, with 3 or fewer hit points left) or "fighting off death (alive with 4 or more hit points)." He shouts at to get people going into the water to rescue the living, and directs them away from already deceased sailors. (free action) 2. Shoots at the nearest reefclaw that is heading toward survivors within 60 feet (darkvision 60). (standard action)
3. Reload crossbow. (move action)
"Reefclaws!" Isaias shouts. He wades into the ocean, up to his thighs. "I'm not much of a swimmer - I'm afraid I'd do more harm than good - but I can see in this darkness. You there! There's a sailor clinging to the underside of those planks. He's barely conscious!"
At hearing the news, Isaias begins to mutter a few silent mantras as his eyes roll back in his head.
A couple seconds later, Isaias snaps back and sprints for the door. "Are you well-armed travelers coming? Last one to rescue a drowning sailor's a rotten oni!"
Isaias slipped through the cramped tavern to the table where the generous stranger was seated. Glancing behind him to make sure that none of the wait staff were within earshot, he leaned in to whisper conspiratorially to the rest of the group. "Thanks for the drink, friend. I should warn you that throwing money around is a sure way to put a target on your back. Although," he crept in closer, "that might be preferable to drinking the sake in this place. Calling it swill is an insult to swill everywhere," he concluded with a wink.
"No, you're right, you can't find a good cup of butter tea anywhere in the whole city. Why, I bet that..." Whispering to himself in the back of the tavern, the stranger looked up from his deep, although apparently one-sided conversation. Clothed in a hodge-podge of fabrics, styles, and colors, Isaias Yonatan was the known world in microcosm. A threadbare black tunic, cut in the style of the Dhartakli merchant class to his frame, while sickly, brown-yellow trousers, woven from silk from the Draconic Empire flowed into lacquered-red leather boots. Tucked into a wide belt were a rapier and a dagger, and the tip of a crossbow poked out from behind his left shoulder. While his horns were mostly covered by his wide-brimmed straw hat, the white tusks protruding from his lower jaw were much harder to ignore. Isaias's dark, dark crimson skin crinkled on his forehead as he furrowed his brow. He continued to speak to an empty chair, across the table. "We've talked about this. The Bone Gardens mess with my gifts too much. It's so hard to concentrate, and you don't want me getting involved with slavers anymore than I do. So we're staying here. I've made some contacts. Besides, my mother's people are from Kayusong." "What's the worst that could happen?"
Isaias Yonatan, tiefling spiritualist present and accounted for.
This is Glen! |