Post
by waysoftheearth » Sat Jun 05, 2010 8:06 am
waysoftheearth wrote:
Atop the Battlements
Ulric raises his hands before him as he calls up his memory of The Baleful Somnolence and once again begins incanting the incomprehensible Draconic verses, his eyes alight with unnatural fire.
Meanwhile, Olaf dashes down the narrow tower stair as quickly as he dares while Anwyn hums a jaunty melody to herself as she (wisdom 6) draws back another arrow to her cheek and lets it fly into the melee (1d20=7, odd roll means a random target, Anwyn's 7 misses a sleeping Hobgoblin's AC). Her arrow streaks down and shudders as it pounds into the cobbles mere inches from one of the encorcelled Hobgoblins. "What a sorry shot," Anwyn chides herself as she draws another missile from her quiver...
In the Courtyard
The mayhem continues! (Initiative is rolled; Caine 1d6=3(+1) Mads 1d6=2(+1) Ulric 1d6=4(-1) Foe 1d6=2)
Caine springs up cat-like and dashes into the fray, slashing high and low with his gleaming blades (1d20=6) but his numerous blows only clang off the raised shield of his enemy. Mads attempts to reach a rousing Hobgoblin before he can recover his wits (1d20=2) but his first stroke is wayward, and the sly foe seems near impossible to pin down once he has his feet.
As all this clamour takes place Taines (1d6=5) is awoken by the din, finding himself lying on cold, wet cobbles.
Meanwhile Krystin kicks Victor in the ribs and yells in his ear to wake him just as Ulric reaches the penultimate phrase of his enchantment (spell roll 1d20=18) and then verbally hurls his magic down upon the courtyard once more (2d6=3,4 -- saving throws 1d20; Mads=17,Caine=12, Victor=13, Krystine=3, Dieter=11). The three Hobgoblins who were upon their feet, Caine, Krystin and Dieter all fall into a magical slumber once more. Victor, who had only just lifted his head and muttered "Wha..?", also slumps to the cobble-stones once again!
The courtyard is suddenly deathly quiet -- only Mads remains stalwartly upon his feet, and quickly moves to take full advantage of the bizarrely altered circumstance. He heaves his heavy axe directly into the breast of an awkwardly somnolent Hobgoblin fighter, splitting his shirt of rings and cracking both skin and bone with an awfully grim and bloody crunch. The slain fighter gives a sorcerously silent choke, and is then asurely slain.
On the Hillside
Flewellen is some distance down the hill side, being dragged toward the blockade where several dozen carpenters and lumberjacks appear to be constructing a heavy gate barricading the road, and some additional infrastructre.
"By the Blasted Hole itself, you'll rue this day," the enraged Captain hisses at Flewellen despite the feirce pace. "Those were some trusty lads there, an' your flesh'll be feeding the brats ov any who don't return!"
[f=32]
Golgildir 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[/f]