As the agent tries to stand up from the pool of grease, Phil swings his guisarme in an upwards motion through the Aspis's torso, opening a wide bleeding gash. He then turns back to the dazed agent, trying to seize his chance and knock that man down too.
Phil clenches his fists when he sees Green attack Emilia. He moves forward, at the same time turning on his heels so that he is in front of the Aspis agent yet still facing him. He crouches and swings his guisarme, hoping to bring the man down.
Phil raises an eyebrow to Ny'a's proposal, and lifts his left arm in a dismissive motion.
"Naw, don' bother yerself. I think ya should jus' leave. I'm sure the Kortos Consortium can make more lucrative deals with less shady folk; the Aspis aren't worth dealin' with, especially since they're prone ta stabbin' ya in tha back 'n running with tha money."
Sorry, I've been sick lately and thus unable to devote enough time and energy to thinking of multiple actions and strategy. I apologize if I'm slowing the game too much. I think allowing the others to make suggestions for Phil to take is a good idea; despite having above-average (13) intelligence, Phil would rather play the obedient muscle for personal reasons.
Phil wanders over to the southwestern entrance to the warehouse. He takes a look at the crates, opening the doors and checking how one would enter through there.
"Zordlon's right. We shou'd try ta limit 'em from tha moment they come in."
"Any otha day I'd say ta leave this t'tha authorities, but after seein' what this fiend's done ta his helpless victims, I say we hand him some good ol' fashioned Pathfinder justice."
"You... sure 'bout that, Zordlon? I know how much ya people down 'n tha Archives like yer research, but ya see just how bad this thing gets. Carryin' it 'round with us could just be our doom."
"This seems like a mad alchemist's den alright. Could be kept in better shape."
Phil takes a few steps forward, his weapon drawn and ready, inspecting the addicts with a frown. After a few moments he sighs and sheathes the guisarme.
"Lookit the poor things. Can barely move. Unless we want the 'ntire Inner Sea region like that, we need ta stop this shipment."
"Scipio has given some convincin' reasons ta go after tha documents, but I understand Ny'a's aversion ta that mission. If ya think we can handle the alchemist without resorting ta needless violence, I vote ta go after 'im."
Sorry for disappearing, I've just moved back to my boarding school and couldn't find the time to make a substantial post while not wanting to simply roll without fluff.
"There's sense in what ya say. We sure don' wanna let 'em expose our contact, and stealin' tha documents 's bound ta stop tha shipment fer a while. Tha third task, what Delroya writes, 't sounds like we gonna have ta fight that alchemist felllow. Now, despite ma looks, I ain't enjoy killing that much."
I'm going to assume he used Google Translate, because that's more of a word-to-word translation to Yiddish than an actual one (מנוחה is rest in the 'not doing activity' sense of the word, not 'else'.)
"אני, מצד שני, יכול לכתוב בכתב הזה כשמתחשק לי מפני שיש לי מקלדת עברית."
Gnomish:
I, on the other hand, can use this script whenever I want to because I have a Hebrew keyboard.
Phil grins at Scipio, relaxing his grip on the scythe. He sends a hand into one of his pockets, but takes it out again without retrieving anything.
"Nah, I ain't no grim reaper, though life sure'd be easy if I were. I'm just a farm hand-turned-fighter fleein' from the terrors of Galt, and I sadly ain't got nothin' to bet on. Ya seem to have a lucky streak, though. Ya spend a lot of time gamblin'? Make good money?"
A muscular, roughly shaven man stands watching the gamblers. He is clad in a dirty suit of metal armour, covering a set of comfortable cotton clothes. With one of his leather-gloved hands he leans on a long curved scythe, his eyes rapidly moving from dice to gambler.
"Quite a sum he raisin' there, mate. One good roll and yer triplin' yer cache."
