Dorgan pulls his pack off his shoulders and kneels in order to fumble through it in the pitch darkness, groping for a flask of oil by feel. He gets a mitt on it, and pulls it free as the singular moan breaks out into a frightening susurrus of whispers, hisses, and groans that seem to originate--generally--from one side of them. There's definitely at a gang of them, and they're close and closing!
An ordinary man would rightly wet himself about now, but Dorgan is no man, and Dieter ain't afraid of a few whispers in the dark.
Dorgan lets oil glug freely from his overturned flask as he digs briskly for his tinderbox and, finding the damn thing amid the now imminently near and hostile hisses, he has to gather a tiny thatch of tinder and attempt to strike a spark off a rough slate edge of the tinderbox with a piece of steel. What with an unknowable enemy descending, the timing could hardly be better!
| The referee decides to use the spell interruption mechanic to determine whether Dorgan will get his tinder lit, or be attacked before doing so. Essentially it comes down to an initiative roll, so 1d6; Dorgan=3, Enemy=5. That ain't so good.
Now ref dice to determine how many enemy will engage/attack this turn; 1d6=4. Dice to determine who they attack; odds for Dieter, evens for Dorgan; 4d6=3,4,4,3, so two each.
2d20 vs Dieter (AC3/5)=9,19 (+2 unseen, -4 parrying) 1 hit; 1d4=1 -1 str (16 str left).
2d20 vs Dorgan (AC4/6)=17,11 (+2 unseen) 1 hit; 1d4=3 -3 str (11 str left). |
...but it's too late! Something chilling and foul is at them in the dark! Dorgan's attempt to ignite the oil is spoiled, and both he and Dieter feel their vital warmth leeched out of them by dozens of reaching, icy, claws that seem to be everywhere around them!
| This is what's sometimes called "a tight spot"...
What do you intend for the next minute of action gentlemen? |
the Elf Medium (MV 12", AC 9, HD 1, hp 1/1, AL N) great cloak, lantern
; spells: color spray; scrolls: sleep, sleep, charm person
Hirelings: Georges; torch