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  1. - Top - End - #31
    Orc in the Playground
     
    PaladinGuy

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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    The Dirty Melee, Round One:

    Leaning against the post in the south corner, greatsword leaning next to him, waiting for the match to begin, Ryn eyes the competition.

    The half-elf was the weakest looking; the dwarf alone probably had him beat by a good five stone, height be damned. Then again, he'd long since stopped assuming that just because someone looked a bit weaker he couldn't take care of himself. Briefly, he rubbed the scar on his cheek, before dropping his hand and turning his attention to the dwarf across the way.

    The barrels didn't help his view of the short one, but he wasn't surprised at all by what he saw. Steel on steel, topped off by a beard; standard for a dwarf. He made a mental note of the halberd, a fairly wicked weapon to meet in melee.

    As for the other human... he wasn't as heavily armored as the dwarf, but Ryn wasn't going to enjoy coming within reach of that pig-sticker of his. His light, sure grip on it as he readied himself told Ryn everything he needed to know about how well he could use it too.

    "Ah well," muttered Ryn as he watched the captain stride into the center of the ring, "easy's only fun when it comes to wine, women, and gold."

    In truth, as Ryn heaved himself upright, reaching for his greatsword, his thoughts were quite cheerful. His earlier match had gotten his blood pumping; a fight like this was going to be the best workout in weeks, win or lose.

    He readies himself, sword held in a low guard, waiting for the call to begin. As soon as the captain leaves the ring, he moves.

    A quick pivot to the right, and straight at the elf he charges, sword already positioning for a strike. As his feet eat up the distance in a bare few strides, he considers the gamble he's running. All out assaults like this can be risky, but he figures the odds favor him. The barrels will block any charge from the other human, and he's wagering the dwarf will refrain from attacking engaged opponents, out of a sense of honor.

    Either way, he'll know soon enough...

    OOC
    Spoiler
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    Making a Charge, using Power Attack +4.


    Rolls
    Spoiler
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    Rolling for Attack, Dirty Melee Round One: (1d20+7)[9]

    Rolling for Damage, Dirty Melee Round One: (2d6+14)[21]
    Last edited by Keylac; 2012-07-11 at 10:51 PM.

  2. - Top - End - #32
    Halfling in the Playground
     
    PirateGuy

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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    The Dirty Melee, Round One, Post Two:

    The half-elf steps deftly aside to avoid your blow, and follows expertly through with an opportunistic double slash at your exposed back...

    OOC:
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    5-ft. step to get beside you, and full attack (Two-Wep.-Fight.)

    "Fuad the Scar" Half-Elf ranger attacks for round one:
    (1d20+6)[15]
    (1d20+5)[24]

    (1d8+3)[8]
    (1d6+3)[4]
    So that's two hits! Take full damage, but remember that you have been healed since the Mounted Swordplay event.


    The dwarf makes a move for the barrels in the center, and attempts to climb up on top of them.

    OOC:
    Spoiler
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    Dwarf's climb to barrels:
    (1d20+1)[15]
    He makes it but is now flat-footed on top of the barrels.

    Doroga be up! (Sorry for the wait...)

  3. - Top - End - #33
    Halfling in the Playground
     
    PirateGuy

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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    Keylac:

    The Uthgardt takes your next blow on the opposite side of the torso, and this time can't help but cry an obscene oath as his head jerks back in reflexive pain... The enraged barbarian has seen better days, but his vengeance seems to blur the effect of the undeniable pain...

    He strikes again, but the rage throws off his aim, as does the burning wounds in his torso. The sword falls short of you.

    OOC:
    Spoiler
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    Uthgardt Attack:
    (1d20+7)[12]

    Uthgardt Damage:
    (1d8+4)[7]
    Which means a miss on his part!

  4. - Top - End - #34
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    TheDivineWind's Avatar

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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    Doroga watches the first few seconds with interest. The other human and the elf seem to be going at it with ferocity while the dwarf seems to be going for... well, for eye-level.

    "Well, looks like I get the ankle-biter.", he mutters to himself.

    "C'mon Knubbs! I'll shave you as bare as the day you were born! You can pretend to be a mole-rat!"

    He grins and moves towards the dwarf swiftly, stopping 10 feet away and taking a swipe at the elevated dwarf's stubby little legs.

    Spoiler
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    Trip action!
    My touch attack roll: (1d20+9)[17]
    Opposing Str Check (+4 feat added in): (1d20+7)[11]

    Assuming I succeed, the attack!
    Attack roll: (1d20+9)[15]
    Damage roll: (2d4+4)[9]

    Assuming I crit, the crit!
    Confirmation: (1d20+9)[13]
    Damage roll: (2d4)[2]

    That, is some poor rolling. Average of the 4 d20s is 7. XD

    TSM: Just in case you haven't tripped in awhile and to simplify what you have to go looking for. Dwarves don't get their stability bonus because the barrel wouldn't constitute stable ground. We're both medium, so no other modifiers!

    Aaaand if the dwarf does get tripped, when/if he tries to get up... My attack of Opportunity!
    Spoiler
    Show

    AoO when the dwarf gets up (if necessary):
    ANOTHER TRIP!
    Touch Attack: (1d20+9)[25]
    Opposing Str Check: (1d20+7)[12]

    Attack: (1d20+9)[27]
    Damage: (2d4+4)[9]

    Last edited by TheDivineWind; 2012-07-12 at 02:15 PM.

  5. - Top - End - #35
    Pixie in the Playground
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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    Preoccupied as he was with his musings about the Dark Elves, Roen was not terribly surprised to end up running into someone, though not particularly pleased with himself either; even here, in apparent safety, it was wise to be cautious. He made a little half-bow and a quick apology, but was met with what was clearly a curse for his trouble. The young man simply shrugged; some people were like that, and this one was obviously harried. But as the stranger's cloak fell away, revealing his many tattoos, Roen's mind whirled. Had he seen their like before somewhere? Perhaps among the other slaves... or the slavers.

    He was tempted, for a moment, to follow the man, but he didn't want to get himself into any further trouble with the town guard, and if he was seen tailing someone it wouldn't look good. He doubted he would be; he was quite good at being stealthy, having practiced all his life with much more dire consequences for failure. Still, it hardly seemed worthwhile to risk it for a half-formed hunch, especially when success might only prove a waste of time. Better to inquire with the Riders; if there was something useful to be done for this town, they'd be likely to know it, and the Drow were a known threat.

    Smiling calmly as the Rider made his jests (he still wasn't quite sure how serious the man was), Roen stepped through the gate as it opened. It was a matter of courtesy in Dambrath to allow one's host to receive guests behind closed doors, as this both indicated a degree of trust in the host and allowed him or her to ensure that no unwanted visitors, or the spells and arrows of an assassin, entered at the same time. Roen wondered that it was so obvious that he came from the South; after all, he had not had to make the journey overland, and still found it difficult to orient himself on a map.

    "Good rider, you mentioned that courage or stupidity might be useful to this town's people, so here I am to demonstrate one or both once again," he said, leaning on the gate and letting out a little chuckle. "I have no love for Dark Elves, and I know how they fight. I've heard that they've gone to ground of late, but that just means they're planning something, in my experience." It was true enough. The only quiet days in Dambrath's capital city of Cathyr, apart from the Days of Agonized Silence set down by the Loviataran clergy on which the tongue of anyone (noble or slave) who made a sound was ripped out, were the days when the Crinti were hiring assassins and spies rather than mercenary militias.

    "If there is any way I can assist you against these Drow while I'm in town, I'd be glad to help."

  6. - Top - End - #36
    Orc in the Playground
     
    PaladinGuy

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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    As he ducks under his opponents swing, Ryn contemplates how much fight the other rider has left in him.

    Not a lot, I think, but enough. Let's try to get this over with before he corrects his aim then, shall we?

    As he straightens up, Ryn touches his heels to Banner, moving him half a step forward, and drives a thrust forward.

    OOC
    Spoiler
    Show
    Regular hit, no Power Attack.


    Rolls
    Spoiler
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    Rolling for Attack, Round 5: (1d20+9)[29]

    Rolling for Damage, Round 5: (1d8+4)[10]
    Rolling to Confirm Critical: (1d20+9)[23]

    Rolling for remaining Critical Damage: (1d8+4)[7]
    On a side note, Yay me! On a downside note, why couldn't I have gotten that 20 in the Dirty Melee? We'd be picking elf parts up off the ground for hours...
    Last edited by Keylac; 2012-07-12 at 01:30 PM.

  7. - Top - End - #37
    Pixie in the Playground
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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    Hearing the vile syllables of their language spill out of those Thayan worms, Neth finds her stew now revolting. Detesting the lot of them as a menace to her people, but mostly for ruining her appetite, Neth entertains several courses of vengeance. The younger had made it clear the Thayans were hiding something. Whatever they were up to, the last thing they seemed to want was to draw any attention. For all they knew, that cautious Rider had taken up watch just outside.

    With the thrill of an opportunity to either ruin their day or get herself killed, Neth takes a final sip of wine, and says quietly to Daurily, "Yes, that language neighbours mine. But they've butchered it, along with my people. I expect you'll find nothing similar in our morals."

    She turns to glance up at Gyl. "Kst! ...maoun!" she hisses. The owl adopts a heavy-eyed, lazy expression, and swoops casually into the middle of the three Thayans and perches upon the mantle with a careless bit of cooing.

    Neth tries to look annoyed and beckons him. "Venna...! venna...!" The owl remains. Sliding off her stool and drifting over to the fireplace, Neth greets the strangers.

    "Your pardon, nokahi. He never listens," she says with a grin, taking Gyl onto her arm, and scratching his neck gratefully for his performance. "Perhaps he heard you and felt homesick. He has not flown an east wind for many seasons. Have you also been long away?"

    With a thousand curses burning on her tongue, Neth waits for their reaction with the most pleasant demeanor a Rashemi has ever attempted.

    Spoiler
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    (I've been instructed to do a bluff check...)

    (1d20+1)[20] ...
    Last edited by Neth; 2012-07-12 at 02:57 PM.

  8. - Top - End - #38
    Halfling in the Playground
     
    PirateGuy

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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    Ryn: As the Uthgardt's defenses drop, you are able to take full advantage of the situation. Your horse-propelled forward thrust finds the barbarian's skin without issue. The bloodied man grunts and spits, cursing as he does so. This next strike may very well be his last of the match, and so he pours most of what strength he has left into it.

    OOC:
    Spoiler
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    Uthgardt Power Attack:
    (1d20+4)[12]
    (1d8+7)[10]
    Miss! Again, feel free to describe however you like.


    Neth: Daurily has no time to preach caution before you stride over to where the three Thayans are seated at the crux of the L-shaped common room. Gyl watches as the elder of the three turns to address you after your "friendly" introduction.

    "You noticed we were easterners, eh?" (In Rashemi) "Jansc nohaki strelged? You have friends in these parts, ethran? We certainly do..." And with that the man nods and turns back to his companions. The woman among them continues to eye you darkly for another few seconds, even after the elder man has returned to his wine. It seems the elder and the woman are sure of themselves, though the younger man who just arrived is especially nervous, and obviously so (especially from so close).

    Roen: "The drow, eh? So you know a thing or two about fighting those slimy dastards y'think? Well, far be it from old Captain Thraeg to shoot down a young street-performer's aspirations to usefulness..." The Rider pauses for a moment, chewing his carrot and scratching his chin. "Well, I suppose I could think about letting you into the field with my men, but first I'd-"

    The captain is interrupted as another Rider trots up the street from the north, dismounts, and double-times it toward Thraeg and yourself. "Sir," he pants, leaning on the post, "Drow. Come east from down Battledale way... One of ours is dead. Ferndan the Ranger from Dorthorpe. He caught a quarrel right in the heart... it had a note to it." the Rider hands captain Thraeg a bloody piece of parchment. The Captain reads it, curses, and seems to consider you a moment.

    "Tell me," Thraeg asks you, "What do you know about old man Herlam? i trust that daughter of his gave you one of those requests for help too, eh? Well? Do you intend to help him? Seems the drow gave me my very own request for heroic deeds." he pauses a moment, as if deciding whether or not he should divulge the note's contents to you. The side of him that likes and wants to trust you gives in. "Seems we're to deliver Herlam Corkwill to the drow, or Ashabenford get's raided. We have until tomorrow evening, and then we can expect a full assault if they don't have that old man, along with some book or other he's got on him." he turns to messenger, slapping the note with one hand, "Do you believe this Gnoll spit?" And turning back to Roen, "Eh? What do you think, then, sneaky one? Hand over a poor old man to the demon-worshiping cave elves, or allow the biggest city in the Dalelands to be pillaged in the night? You wanted a chance to prove your worth. Why don't you start by going to see what this old man has to say for himself?"

    OOC:
    More later folks. It's a wee bit late.

  9. - Top - End - #39
    Halfling in the Playground
     
    PirateGuy

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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    The Dirty Melee, Round Two:

    Doroga manages to sweep the stubby dwarf's legs directly out from under him, causing him to fall comically with his arse breaking through the lid of one of the barrels, trapping him there for the time being. He grunts and struggles, but getting out of such a tight spot is no easy feat for a dwarf in plate armour (especially one wrestling to keep hold of a weapon considerably taller than he is).

    OOC:
    Spoiler
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    Ryn: You're still up in your struggle against the half-elf!
    Doroga: You get an AoO and then your normal round, as the Dwarf is not going anywhere this round...

    Dwarf's Opposed STR check v/grapple:
    (1d20+2)[4]
    (Just realized the dwarf is actually weaker than the half-elf... lol.
    Last edited by The Smoking Man; 2012-07-13 at 11:44 AM.

  10. - Top - End - #40
    Barbarian in the Playground
     
    TheDivineWind's Avatar

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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    Well, that went better than expected...

    "Come now Dwarf, lets not make this an unfair fight!"

    Doroga shifts to the side a few feet to get a better angle under the thick armored plates on the dwarf and proceeds to stick him with his weapon twice.

    Spoiler
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    AoO:

    Attack roll: (1d20+9)[24]
    Damage roll: (2d4+4)[6]

    Next round action, ATTACK!:
    Attack roll: (1d20+9)[11]
    Damage: (2d4+4)[9]

    OOC question: Did the dwarf manage to right himself? I acted assuming he wasn't able to.
    Last edited by TheDivineWind; 2012-07-13 at 02:10 PM.

  11. - Top - End - #41
    Orc in the Playground
     
    PaladinGuy

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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    For the first time, steel rings out as Ryn parries the Uthgardt's strike, directing the blow harmlessly to the side. Ryn shakes his head in appreciation of his opponents sheer toughness; a lesser man would have been dead in the dust by now. It's obvious he's on his last legs, but he still grimly holds to his saddle, striking back.

    With a sigh, Ryn once again discards tactics. The barbarian's already losing, and he already made him mad enough; he doesn't need to shame him further. His saber flashes around in another slash at his wounded opponent.

    OOC
    Spoiler
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    Standard attack, no Power Attack.


    Rolls
    Spoiler
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    Rolling for Attack, Round 6: (1d20+9)[16]

    Rolling for Damage, Round 6: (1d8+4)[6]
    Not my best damage, but eh.
    Last edited by Keylac; 2012-07-13 at 02:01 PM.

  12. - Top - End - #42
    Orc in the Playground
     
    PaladinGuy

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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    The Dirty Melee, Round Two:

    Ryn grimaces as he feels the half-elf's blades slice into him. The smaller one got caught up in his armor; he can feel some blood from the wound, but it wasn't bad. The other one though, that one hurt a bit. The worst part was the knowledge he'd left himself open for it, following a reckless charge with such an off center swing.

    His grimace turns into a grin and he contemplates his earlier thoughts on the odds. Apparently, they weren't as good as he'd thought, but there was nothing for it now but to keep on.

    Strangely cheerful from that thought, he spins to his left, coming low and aiming another bone-breaking strike at the half-elf, calling out a cheerful greeting.

    "Uluvathae to you too, you long-eared dandelion eater!"

    OOC
    Spoiler
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    Straight attack, with Power Attack +4.


    Rolls
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    Rolling for Attack, Dirty Melee Round Two: (1d20+5)[24]

    Rolling for Damage, Dirty Melee Round Two: (2d6+14)[19]
    Rolling to Confirm Critical: (1d20+5)[17]

    Rolling for Additional Critical Damage: (2d6+14)[21]
    Total Damage on Critical: 40.

    Come on having 17 or less AC!
    Last edited by Keylac; 2012-07-13 at 02:35 PM.

  13. - Top - End - #43
    Pixie in the Playground
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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    Chuckling at the line about street performers aspiring to greatness - though for a far different reason than the joke was made - Roen nodded along with the offer of field work. He would have his chance to prove his worth soon enough; juggling was only one of his talents, and however little he liked killing he had been forced to admit over time that he was good at it. To fight for a good cause was nothing new, but a good cause with even a chance of victory, that would be a nice change of pace. And then the messenger arrived, and Roen cursed his perfect timing, bowing his head respectfully at the mention of the dead man.

    "Aye, the lady gave me one of her papers, and I was planning to hear her out, at least. As for the Drow ultimatum, it could go one of two ways. It could be that they're afraid to attack the town, and hope that we're afraid enough of that possibility that they won't have to. But Dark Elves are sneaky and cunning; they don't give away their intentions unless they're supremely confident of their victory, which probably means they'll attack the town no matter what we do." In Roen's experience, it was true enough. A race that fought by poison and ambush (and tended to wear light armor) gave up a major advantage when they surrendered the element of surprise.

    "You weren't really thinking of handing the old man over, were you? Gods only know what they'd gain with this book of his, and as I said, they'd probably attack just for the slaves and plunder if they're willing to be this bold." Roen doubted that the rider was thinking any such thoughts; after all, it was his duty to protect the town and its citizens. Still, a little reinforcement of that path likely wouldn't hurt. "I'll speak with him, if you think it'll help. Should I go now, do you think, or wait and meet with the parchment-giving lass about it? In the meantime, perhaps we should send word to the outlying farms that there are Drow skulking about, get them into town before night falls."
    Last edited by Dragonsong; 2012-07-13 at 03:02 PM.

  14. - Top - End - #44
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    RaggedAngel's Avatar

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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    Perelia accepts the tea graciously, and both she and her familiar listen with respect, her long ears tilting forward slightly during the elder wizard's explanation and exposition. After he finishes she takes a moment to compose and order her thoughts before replying, her voice polite and calm. "I enjoy hearing the thought processes of one so logical, Master Noristuor; it has been to long since I have held the company of another practitioner of the Art. This Thayan sow, however," her eyes narrow, "has already found my distaste, and I've not yet met the man. I entirely understand why you should not rush out into action, sir; to abandon your town would be rash, especially when you may be potentially outnumbered. I have no doubt to your power, but an elder's life should never be gambled with when young hands are at a plenty."

    She thumbs her elven bowstaff, the elegant and elongated piece of wood humming as she brushes its string. "I am no stranger to violence, though it is not my specialty. I accept your task, and I will take it upon myself to find this man and determine his plans to the best of my ability. I believe I will see if I can find some aid in the matter; with this many people in town, there will surely be a few willing to act towards the well-being of the people in this area. I will go into town now and begin my work." She nods politely and gracefully to the old mage, standing to leave.

    "Oh," she pauses for a moment, clearly troubled, before continuing. "I do not wish to be rude, sir, but after I return from this task, could I possibly copy a few spells for my, admittedly, small collection? I would not take long, and the degree of spell that I can currently cast is quite limited, so you need not worry about unsafe power falling into my hands. I request no other compensation, and if you refuse I will complete this task all the same. That said, sir, it will cost you nothing, and it would mean a very great deal to me." Her toad chirrups in agreement, and the sound is somehow earnest, despite its source.
    Red Hand of Doom in Eberron IC | OOC | Rolls

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  15. - Top - End - #45
    Pixie in the Playground
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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    "You have friends in these parts, ethran? We certainly do..."

    Neth takes a moment, and then replies in the same language. "An honest traveller can find friends in every land," says the druid calmly. "Unless it is a wicked land," she adds with a pointed look.

    Neth realizes they must really want to avoid attention. Or they’d never dismiss me with such civility, especially if they thought I was an ethran.

    What exactly they were trying to hide, she couldn’t fathom. But I’ll swallow several daggers if they’re up to some kind of good.

    Determined to expose their vile shenanigans, and confident now that she could likely aggravate them quite a bit before they’d resort to any measure that would reveal themselves, Neth proceeds to provoke them, in an attempt to learn anything that might betray their secret.

    "Friend!" she exclaims, pretending to suddenly notice the trembling one, who had lately arrived. "What news? You are stricken with terror." The druid tenses up and acts like she is prepared to alert everyone in the vicinity.

    "There was a Rider here, just stepped out. I shall call him in for you--"

  16. - Top - End - #46
    Halfling in the Playground
     
    PirateGuy

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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    The Dirty Melee, Round Two:

    With the power of Ryn's momentous backlash, the half-elf, though full of finesse and alacrity, cannot withstand the force of the larger man's considerably larger weapon. Before Ryn can resume a ready stance, the cleric of Helm and his squire are rushing onto the battlefield to tend to the fallen contestant, leaving Ryn to turn his attention to the remaining two opponents...

    OOC:
    Spoiler
    Show
    You squashed the half-elf like it wern't no thang. It's the ICU for that pseudo-elven schmuck.


    Meanwhile, in the center of the ring, the dwarf remains comically trapped with his feet sticking over one edge of the barrel and his head over the other, struggling with his halberd to regain some semblance of footing.

    Doroga makes a deft opportunistic attack, and follows it with another direct strike. The first nicks the dwarf's arm badly through a joint in his mail, while the second clangs off the heavy breastplate...

    OOC:
    Spoiler
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    The dwarf failed miserably his Escape Artist check to /stuck himself. Proceed with your attempted butchery of the metal-encased dwarf.


    The crowds are having an uproariously good time, by the way...

  17. - Top - End - #47
    Halfling in the Playground
     
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    Default Re: The Journal of Herlam Corkwill - IC

    Neth: "No! You mustn't!" cries the youngest of the three Thayans, still aquiver from whatever person, place or thing sent him running into the inn to join his comrades. The elder of the three shoots the young one a sharp look that promises future recrimination. He stands and gives you a false smile, clearly wise to the game you are playing, but attempting to keep his cool.

    "We must thank you so very much for your concern, fellow traveler. My friend here is merely suffering from a wretched combination of heatstroke and road-nerves. We have come far on our way to Sembia, and are not as close to our destination as we would like to be. If you would kindly leave my addled friend here in peace, I would have no cause for anger." The last word is said with barely-restrained emotion. It is clear they will tolerate little more of this...

    Daurily has assumed a position facing Neth and the three Thayans. She seems calm and alert. The group of merchants in the corner seem strangely detached from your interactions.

    Perelia: "It is reassuring to hear a mageling such as yourself express an interest in more than just the accumulation of power. Would that all such aspirants display that level of... courage, I suppose." Noristuor stands slowly and walks over to a bookshelf closer to the fireplace. He scans several volumes as he speaks. "And yes, it would be my pleasure to share with you some of the tricks and incantations I used when I was still a younger mage." he laughs his gravelly laugh, then says "I remember how every new scroll and each chance to study a new volume was like a gift from Azuth himself, accompanied by the ecstasy of communing with fair Mystra's Weave." He steals himself from his reverie as Shlep enters the room.

    "Master," the portly young man says, "I have scryed somewhat successfully the location of the man who fled the event. It seems he has run to the Ashabenford Arms. It is strange, though... some magic I cannot decipher blocks my vision further. We will not be able to see into the Inn itself."

    "In that case, Perelia, I suggest caution as you move forward. Before you leave, I'd better help to ensure your safety. Nothing too noticeable, but something nonetheless..."

    Noristuor then chants several words in the Draconic tongue - words that seem to come as easily to him as Elven does to you - makes a quick gesture through the air before you, and you feel his defensive magic like a bulwark invisible over your skin. "That should do." he says. "Doesn't mean you shouldn't still be careful, though. Now then, if you don't mind, my apprentice will see you out and give you directions to the Inn if you don't already know where it is. He'll help you go anywhere else you need as well. I'll expect to see you soon with news."

    OOC:
    Spoiler
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    Noristuor has cast Mage Armour on Perelia. The apprentice stands by to answer any questions as Noristuor climbs the stairs leading to the upper floors of the tower.


    Roen: "Aye," says the Rider captain, "Their motives are damned vague. Makes one wonder how they knew Herlam was here in the first place." He throws up his hands. "Lieutenant, send riders to the outlying villages, and round up as many of our scouts and rangers you can. I want our meager forces ready for whatever comes. I'm not in the habit of negotiating with drow, at least not without a damn good explanation as to why. Southerner, you'd better go to the Inn now, or at least soon. If you've got a meeting in a couple of hours with the old man, that'll do I suppose. I'll be coordinating things from here if you need me."

    And with that the captain jogs back to the barracks, yelling orders as he goes...

    Ryn: With your final blow, the Uthgardt makes a last attempt to raise his sword, but his muscles falter. His eyes flutter, and he droans a slow gurgle/curse that dribbles out of his mouth as he slumps to the earth in a bloody, dusty heap. The cleric of Helm and his squire rush in, and are already upon the man, chanting and signing their curative magic, before you even know the battle is finished.

    After the match, the Master of Lists approaches Ryn with a purse of coins. "Good showmanship, all around. A bit of comedy here, a few deft swings there, some good riding. Most fun I've had watching a mounted combat in a good long while. Oh, here's the winnings."

    And next up, the Dirty Melee... (OOC: Will now be incorporated into the main posts).

    OOC:
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    The purse contains 150 GP.

  18. - Top - End - #48
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    PaladinGuy

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    Blast From the Past!

    As the cleric rushes over to the Uthgardt, Ryn shakes his head, bemused by how hard the tribesman had tried to keep going. Reaching over, he pulls a cloth out of Banner's saddlebag, using it to clean the saber before sliding it back into it's sheathe. Then, careful of his wounded leg, he dismounts.

    After taking a moment to clean the barbarians longsword, he walks over until he's leaning over the priest, and waits for them to bring the barbarian back to consciousness, if not health. With a jerk of his head, he grabs the barbarians attention, before giving a short bow of respect.

    If you're feeling up to it later, come down to the Ashbenaford Arms.” he says, breaking into a grin. “I'll be there after the melee, and the first rounds on me. “

    With that, he turns around, leaving the priest to his work. On the way past, he murmurs “If you've got any healing left after seeing to him, Father, I'll be waiting over there.”

    As he leads Banner out of the ring, the Master of the List approaches him with the winners purse. Thanking the Master of the List for his comments as much as the gold, he searches for a relaxing spot to wait until the melee. Presently, he finds himself leaning against a tree, leg stretched out before him, the wound bound up and awaiting healing. Still feeling worked up by that match, he begins to contemplate what tactics he could use in the fast approaching melee...

    Dirty Melee, Round Three (Now part of the main timeline)

    Ryn winces as he see's the half-elf crumple to the ground; he hadn't intended to hit him quite that hard. Then again, he hadn't expected the half-elf to completely miss his block either.

    With a shrug, he dismisses his prior opponent from his thoughts, concentrating on the rest of the fight. He can see that the dwarf is still caught in the barrel, a poor situation to be in, and probably humiliating for the a proud warrior – and what dwarf isn't proud? The other human was making the most of it though, not that Ryn could blame him. Still...

    An idea suddenly blossoms in his mind. A bark of laughter and a fierce grin are the only signs of his decision, as he charges forward, calling forth his battle fury as he goes.

    OOC
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    I just raged (adjustments applied to my sheet) and I'm trying something that may not work. I'm charging straight at the barrel the dwarf is trapped in, and I intend to try and shoulder check it, sending it flying at Doroga, hopefully freeing the dwarf at the same time. So, for that, I'm going to roll a Bull Rush.


    Rolls
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    Rolling for Bull Rush against the Barrel/Dwarf: (1d20+8)[22]
    I'm not certain that was the right thing to roll for this btw, but since it's just a strength check with the additional +2 from charging, I figured it would suffice even if a Bull Rush wasn't quite right.
    Last edited by Keylac; 2012-07-14 at 04:11 AM.

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    For TSM so that it doesn't slow down the action~ Let me know if you'd prefer to roll these yourself TSM, or if I (we?) should try to do it preemptively).

    Reflex save to dodge out of the way of the barrel in time, should it be necessary.
    Reflex save: (1d20+4)[19]
    Last edited by TheDivineWind; 2012-07-14 at 01:34 PM.

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    Roen nodded, pleased that the rider had no intention of negotiating with such vile and cunning tricksters as the Drow, and allowed the man to turn away and give his orders without further comment. So, he would be back in battle when night fell. A shiver of anticipation ran down his spine even as worry sat heavy in his stomach. For himself he was not afraid; his life was in the hands of his goddess, and he had been delivered many times before from what seemed to be certain doom. But an attack on this barely-defensible village would cause deaths and woundings amongst those who little deserved such things.

    He would do everything in his power to protect them, but battle was ugly. Good people would fall.

    Turning away from the barracks, Roen moved back through the crowd towards the inn he had noticed earlier, the same one Daurily's note had told him to meet her at. The tension before a battle, that thrill-dread that sharpened his perceptions and set his mind racing, had wormed its way all through his body, and he doubted he would sleep that night. But he could at least find out what it was like to lie down in a bed, if not to sleep in one, and he could do with some food and drink. Whistling merrily to keep his nerves down, he strode through the inn's main door.
    Last edited by Dragonsong; 2012-07-24 at 06:47 PM.

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    Just as a note, Perelia speaks Draconic, as well as Elven, Sylvan, Gnome, and Goblin. I assume that he's said nothing but the words to the spell, but you may also find that information useful.


    Perelia nods gratefully as the wizard ascends his tower, her full lips curving into a smile. It would be interesting to see when the magical armor faded; such a thing was a stark demonstration of a mage's power, and it was always good to collect knowledge on potential allies; or potential enemies. She made a polite farewell to the apprentice, who himself seemed to have power at least the equal of Perelia's own; and quite probably more, since scrying was still beyond her capabilities. She would need to make sure to stay in their good graces.

    Perelia left the tower quiet and thoughtful, and once outside she coerced her familiar back into the relative safety of her pack. She set out for the town proper, specifically towards Ashabenford Arms. As she did she took out the two scrolls she had been gifted after her performance, frowning slightly in concentration as she attempted to discern the spells that they contained.

    Spoiler
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    She's going to assume these are 1st or 0th level spells, so she'll take 10 on her Spellcraft check for a 21 to decipher them.
    Last edited by RaggedAngel; 2012-07-14 at 06:38 PM.
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    Despite the sparking tension, Neth can not contain a look of slight amusement. Why indeed would a young man simply suffering from the heat of a long journey be so horrified at the idea of confronting a guard?

    Her veins crawl with hostility, and with a frustrating internal conflict that many travellers fight. She was not likely their intended victim, but she could not warn whomever was. Nor could she block this path of destruction. Like a canary watching an avalanche.

    Before she had decided what to say (or spit) at the shady hoods, a light-hearted whistling from outside suddenly diffuses the atmosphere as though someone had told an unexpected jest. Feeling better, the druid dips her head with a slight bow and leaves the Thayans by the barren hearth. She didn't know who was approaching, but she clung like an infant to the hope that it was some formidable monster of a hero who hates Thayans and would stroll through the door and crush them with his fist. In which case, she'd want to be elsewhere, considering how all easterners look the same to a foreign eye. Neth assumes so anyway, as she has issues distinguishing southerners.

    The druid takes up her seat again and requests another wine, murmuring to Daurily, "Had I been born a half-orc, I would've shoved those sickly tindertwigs up the chimney and lit a fire."

  23. - Top - End - #53
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    PirateGuy

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    Neth: The elder of the three Thayans seems to assume that his intimidation worked on Neth, and sits back down, positively reeking of barely controlled rage.

    Daurily laughs wryly at Neth's description of what she would do to the Thayans. The three are more edgy than ever, and Daurily nods her approval. "The more I think on it, the more I realize it can't be a coincidence... their being here while my father and I keep a room. I appreciate your interest, but perhaps now is the time for observation. We, after all, stand between them and the only route up the stairs to my father. Let us wait and see what game it is they intend to play." and with that, offers to buy Neth another round of whatever she was drinking.

    OOC:
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    The elder Thayan continues to admonish the younger one, while the woman's sharp eyes dart from the door to the bar, taking note of everyone who enters and exits...


    Perelia: As Perelia makes her way steadily west to the trade district, she manages to identify the spells contained in the gift-scrolls as "Dawnburst"(CoM) and "Karmic Aura"(CoM) on the first, and "Torrent of Tears"(CoM) and "Know Protections"(PGF) on the second. Truly a boon, as these spells were completely unknown to you before today...

    OOC:
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    If you need any additional info on the spells from the scrolls, just lemme know!


    Perelia and Roen: Perelia almost runs into the gate of the Ashabenford Arms with her elven nose in a scroll before Roen on his way inside absently opens the gate for her as he strolls up the short walkway to the door.

    Inside the common room of the arms, it is not quite as packed as it could be. Three hooded travelers having a heated conversation sit closest to the door on the right hand side by an unlit fireplace. They speak a language neither Roen nor Perelia are familiar with. One is a young man (back to you), another a man in his middle years (facing you but not paying you any notice) and the third is a perceptive-looking woman who took notice the moment you entered the building, though she is making a point to show as little emotion as possible. Roen recognizes the cloak of the younger one as the man who ran into him in the middle of the road earlier, and Perelia knows him as the one who (rather comically) retreated expeditiously at the image of Elminster.

    A group of four foreign merchants sit at a large table on a slightly raised platform (sometimes used as a stage), smoking and chatting among themselves, calling for new drinks only rarely. At the bar at the far end of the room, Daurily - the woman who gave you the note earlier today - sits with a rather barbaric looking lass possessed of an owl. The two chat quietly. The middle aged barman is tall and skinny, with straight-cut white hair and a polite, hard-to-read face. He nods at every customer as they enter his establishment.

    Dirty Melee Update: Ryn comes flying out of right field, grunting the whole way, and slams into the flimsy barrel. The wrought-iron dwarf comes flying out at Doroga, who steps deftly aside in order to avoid having his toes crushed.... but that doesn't prepare any of the three remaining combatants for what happens next...

    Liquid fire bursts from the shattered barrel. The crowd of watching mercenaries explodes with knowing laughter, while the rest of the audience gasps with delight. Alchemist Fire. Lots of it. All over the place. Especially the dwarf.

    Seems the "prize" in the bottom of that particular barrel was several flasks of the stuff, flasks that broke when Ryn decided to turn himself into a human battering ram. For his part, the dwarf proceeds to roll as far as he can to the north, cursing and grunting in dwarven as his plate armor becomes a fiery furnace of death (a state of affairs the dwarf handles much more admirably than many others might... must be all that smithing and mining).

    OOC:
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    You each take 3 points of fire damage (one for each flask, as per the PHB). You also each get an AoO on the rolling molten dwarf statue. There is now an area of flaming barrel-bits and two intact (but flaming) barrels between you. This gentlemen, would be the time for a dramatic circling each other around the fire scene. No melodrama points will be lost for the rolling, cursing fire-dwarf in the background, as his presence cannot be helped...

    It is now Doroga's turn!


    Ryn (Chronicles of the Shadows of the Last Five Minutes Sub-Plot): The Uthgardt, holding a cloth covered in horrid-smelling healing salve up to his chest in a funny sort of perpetual oath-sign, regards you with seriousness as you approach the cots where the cleric tends to the wounded. He attempts to rise, but has yet to recover all of his strength, and sits back down, shooting you a look to see if you had noticed (he's certainly prideful, even for an Uthgardt).

    He seems surprised by your invitation. He chuckles. "It would be better, I think, to fight on your side than to fight against you, yes? I will join you at fest-hall when I have been healed by the armoured shaman. I would like to hear about where you learned your sword and horse. True skill, Dalelander. True skill. For now I recover and watch the dirty big-fight. I am wondering, though, what makes such a thing dirty? The dirt? No more dirty than the horse and sword event, and yet, no dirty. Why? Ah! Word-foolishness of southern folk. No matter. I ramble. It is the salve..." he pulls a bottle of thick, brown something out from behind the cot "or perhaps it is this. Either way..." he takes a good long drink and passes the bottle to you "I should less talk and more drink, ah? Oh yes. My name Groban Hillspek of the Screaming Wasp."

  24. - Top - End - #54
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    Doroga's eyebrows climb his forehead as he realizes what just happened. Well, they would have if they still existed. A few pink spots and the beginnings of a couple blisters showed on the exposed flesh of his right side. The poor dwarf looked like he might never be taking that armor off again because it seems to have slagged itself to his body.

    He whips the hook of his weapon around the rolling dwarf's foot in an attempt to send him sprawling instead of a controlled motion.

    Spoiler
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    Trip on the steel dwarven bowling ball:
    Touch: (1d20+9)[16]
    Opposed Str: (1d20+7)[14]

    Attack if success: (1d20+9)[23]
    Damage: (2d4+4)[8]


    As he completed the motion, Doroga takes a quick assessment of his situation. He was (mostly) untouched and could start to feel the stinging pain of a light burn, the fellow who tackled the barrel seemed to have miraculously come out of that as untouched as he was. Slowly, the sound of the cheering crowds comes back as his senses extend beyond the melee.

    Abruptly, Doroga snaps back his attention to the melee as the other primary competitor stands nearby. As they both are recovering from the explosion, Doroga scoots to within 10 feet from the man and whips his guisarme to sweep at the human's legs.

    Spoiler
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    Trip attempt:

    Touch: (1d20+9)[26]
    Opposed Str Check: (1d20+7)[13]

    If successful, the attack:
    Attack roll: (1d20+9)[22]
    Damage: (2d4+4)[7]

    Man, terrible luck with the opposing rolls!

  25. - Top - End - #55
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    Oblivious to the tension building between the Rashemi and the Thayans, and the nationalities of either party for that matter, Roen found himself much more interested in the surface Elf who, without his help, would likely have earned a pair of bruised knees courtesy of the oaken gate. He'd had the misfortune to see a number of Drow in his time, but he'd never met one of their reportedly more benevolent cousins. He wondered at her purpose there, and supposed he would never know; a mage such as she - for that was all she could be, reading such mumbo-jumbo scrolls - could have many reasons to pass through town.

    Still whistling even as he shot a disapproving glance at the back of the rude young man's head, Roen made his way up to the bar. It occurred to him as he leaned up against the wood and surveyed the patrons that he had never tasted alcohol either. He'd heard that the stuff made one sloppy, and had never dared steal any; sloppiness could be ill-afforded when the consequence for failure was torture and death. But he was hungry first and foremost, and hoped that good food could push the anxiety from his gut. "Goodsir, he said to the innkeeper with a wide smile, I'll have some food, please. And a room. With a bed, if it's not too much trouble."

    Out of the corner of his eye he watched Daurily, wondering what he should say about her family's role in the coming attack...

  26. - Top - End - #56
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    PaladinGuy

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    "Hells Bells!"

    With a shout, Ryn almost leaps backwards in shock as the barrel explodes. That had not been what he had expected to happen when he slammed into it!

    The surprise was enough to break through, for but a breathe, the battle fury he'd summoned. As he stared at the flames, trained instinct guided his hand and he lashed out at the dwarf rolling past, without even looking. The shock running up his arms and the the clang of the blow hitting armor brought him back to himself.

    Heedless of the flames roaring around him, or his singed clothing or burnt skin, Ryn throws his head back with a bark of laughter.

    Truly, there was no greater reminder that battle is a fickle thing, he thinks to himself as he returns to a combat stance.

    Apparently, fate agreed that battle is fickle. Barely had he set his feet again then the other human attempted to trip Ryn, hooking his leg and attempting to pull him down.

    Humor and irony ran as fury once more took center stage; with a snap, his battle fury came back into focus. With a shout of "Badaulder!" Ryn whipped his leg back, resisting the other mans attempt to pull him down and attempting to rip his weapon from his hands in turn.

    Ryn watched as the other man kept his feet, but he was forced to unhook Ryn's leg to do so. Full of fury, Ryn displays a grin more feral then humorous. The other man was weaker then him; that much he was sure of, but when trying to trip him, he had made up for it with skill.

    Ryn resolved to try and prevent him from getting another chance.

    Still wearing that same grin, fury calling out to smash his opponent, Ryn takes a stride forward and brings his blade down.

    OOC
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    I'm gonna go with a +4 Power Attack hit here.


    Rolls
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    AoO vs Dwarf: (1d20+11)[22]

    Damage vs Dwarf:(2d6+9)[19]
    Here's the attack and dmg vs the dwarf, for the AoO. I tried to keep it ambiguous if I hit him or not (I could have gone through the armor, or just bounced off).

    Strength check to avoid Trip: (1d20+6)[14]

    Strength check to try and trip Doroga: (1d20+6)[7]
    Here's my resisting his trip, and then trying to trip him in turn (or more correctly, trying to make him drop his weapon). It failed, so I went ahead and wrote that straight in, rather then keep it ambiguous.

    Rolling Attack to hit Doroga, Dirty Melee Round 4: (1d20+7)[24]

    Rolling Damage vs Doroga, Dirty Melee Round 4: (2d6+17)[20]
    And here's my attempt to pound him into the dust, on my initiative.
    Last edited by Keylac; 2012-07-16 at 07:46 PM.

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    The Dirty Melee:

    Between the persistent liquid death encapsulating the already encapsulated dwarf, the taunts of the apparently heartless crowd, and the opportunistic attacks of Doroga and Ryn, the dwarf is essentially a write-off. He sputters a few last curses before lying stationary and waving for the priest of Helm, who jogs over to the fallen combatant (a grin cracking his hard face, for even he cannot deny the humour of the dwarf's plight) and begins to set out the last of the remaining cinders and prepare his curative spells.

    Meanwhile, closer to the center of the ring, the two humans face each other down. Doroga opens with another trip maneuver, only just avoided by the canny Ryn, who attempts to knock the pole-arm out of his opponents hands. The maneuver is avoided, and Ryn follows through with a devastating blow from his greatsword, causing a gruesome red smile to purse its lips across the collarbone of the taxidermist's son.

    It is Doroga's initiative.

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    Perelia takes a long moment to take stock of the room, including any potential sources of violence or places of egress. She decides that her first course of action should be to approach someone that will have a better idea of what they are doing; and in this room, it seems fairly obvious who that will be. She barely noticed a slim young human, who gave her a look or two before moving up to the bar. She dismissed the glance as mere interest; there were few elves around these parts, even less than in Halruaa; and in her homeland only one out of every hundred beings was an elf, and even fewer were of her subrace, which was generally even more refined and intellectual than the average elf, though she was an unusual example of physical strength among her kind, which was not saying much.

    Perelia ghosts over to the area where Daurily is sitting, careful to not jostle anyone or draw unneeded attention to herself, without going to far as to actually draw up her hood. When she comes within a few feet of the adventurer and her companion she stops short, waiting patiently to be acknowledge by the younger, though more experienced, woman. When she catches her eye she smiles, and speaks calmly and politely. "Milady Daurily; it is good to see you again. I was wondering if you and your companion could spare a moment of your time to give me some small advice; it potentially concerns the well-being of this town, as determined by Wizard Noristuor."
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    Doroga cries out sharply in agony as his flesh is sliced open along the neckline of his chain shirt. The blow had been brutal, fueled by the rage that was clear in his opponent's eyes. It was only his training that had allowed him to survive it, moving with the momentum instead of fighting it, and sending him into a spin that carries him 5 feet backward with a spray of blood and bits of his collarbone into the air, taking nearly all of the fight out of him along with it.

    He nearly lost his weapon in the motion that followed.

    Doroga torques his wrist sharply and grasps his guisarme with his better arm, completing the rotational motion, ducking low, and sweeping again at the man's feet. All the while blood continually flowing from his wound. At the last second, he whips his weapon and limbs back in to his body, and uses the additional momentum to hop up slam his hooked polearm into the crook of his opponent's armored knee, sending him into a sprawling twist.

    As the man goes down, Doroga twists his weapon and loosens it from his opponent and uses his upward momentum to bring his guisarme back out and angle it towards his target. Then, as gravity beings to reassert itself Doroga's body, he brings his blade down between the man's armor.

    Spoiler
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    5 foot tactical move back, theeeen.

    Trip Attempt
    Touch: (1d20+9)[14]
    Opposing Str check: (1d20+7)[24]

    If available, the free attack: (1d20+9)[21]
    Aaand damage: (2d4+4)[9]

  30. - Top - End - #60
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    This time, Ryn's strength wasn't enough. He scrambles for balance as the other man pulls his leg out from under him, but fails to find it. Landing flat on his back, his opponent takes the opening to land a solid hit.

    On the ground was not where Ryn wanted to be in this fight; he wasn't looking forward to attempting to stand up with that man waiting to pull him back down. Working on instinct, he switched his blade to his left hand, pulling his dagger from his belt and throwing it at the other man.

    OOC
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    Throwing my dagger. Hopefully this would/will work.


    Rolls
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    Rolling Attack for Dagger throw: (1d20+6)[7]

    Rolling Damage for Dagger throw: (1d4+6)[8]
    Bloedy hell, that did not work out very well.
    Last edited by Keylac; 2012-07-17 at 02:53 PM.

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