This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
Gregor's ColorSpray washes over Hrabbaz in a shower of prismatic glory. The half-orc retainer appears amused.
"Take your party tricks elsewhere, little fellow," he says, "We are not entertaining today. Leave your card; perhaps House Gralhund might hire you for the children's next birthday party."
Turning to the guard at his side he says,
"Go back to Lady Yalah, and help the others clean up the mess back there. I can handle our erstwhile guest myself."
He then takes a sudden long stride forward, and brings his morningstar down toward Urstul Floxin's head:
Floxin dodges the full weight of the morningstar, but takes a solid blow on his shoulder, and hisses hoarsely.
"Damn your eyes and blast your eyeteeth, you hideous smooth-tongued bastard!" he rages, stumbling back, recovering his footing, and coiling to strike in his turn. While he looks for an opening, he continues to berate his opponent. "This whole accursed setup was your precious Lady Yalah's idea, and now suddenly she's too good for us? What's her precious little mind plotting now? Why'd she send that dancing puppet to blast me in the street, eh? And where's the peg-legged construct taken the Stone? Who'd you send it off to this time? Xanathar? Jarlaxle? The Cassalanters? You can't do business with any of them! Not like you can do with the Zhentarim! You and your mistress have made your last damned mistake!"
The half-orc merely shrugs, and winds up for another strike.
"Amusing," he says. "It seems that you imagine one, that you can get me to talk, and two, that you are going to walk away from this alive. Neither, I fear, looks probable."
The burned man's blade slashes up and then flickers to one side, making a shallow cut across the half-orc's belly and then catching him in his hand - the hand wielding the morningstar. Hrabbaz cries out as his arm is flung to one side by the force of the blow, and his weapon is loosed from his grasp. The Gralhund retainer retreats a step and thrusts his uninjured hand into the breast of his robe, preparing to withdraw something concealed within.
Falshen will refrain from acting for the moment, staying the bathroom (out of sight of Hrabbaz), and continue to listen.
Akai will do likewise - Floxin may be their important contact, but striking a guard of the house would ruin their "civic-minded assistants" image.
Akai quickly whispers an idea to Ian. "Sss, man with scars may be best lead on Golorr stone. Small aid now might give great gains later. What say you?"
”And what of our position with the Gralhunds? If we cross the line with them we’ll be hunted men by the Watch. This is their house with their dead men.”
”And what of our position with the Gralhunds? If we cross the line with them we’ll be hunted men by the Watch. This is their house with their dead men.”
"Sss! No crossing lines! We just good intercessors stopping violence! Man with scars is clear trespasser!" Akai hisses, then lets a crafty gleam into his eyes. "But he has words with big one who should have stopped him. If we good intercessors stopping intruders, only natural to 'catch' traitor-servants as well, yes? And if scar-man escapes, we have cause to hunt him later - on our terms." Akai pauses at Hrabbaz's cry of pain, then shrugs. "Then again, he may need no aid."
Gregor is clearly frustrated, both with the lack of effect his spell had, and the situation, "We'd best hope so." On seeing the half-orc reaching into his robe, "It may be a good idea to seek shelter, and hope he took my little light show as a bit of mis-aimed foolishness."
The first two cuts score against Urstul's face, one slashing a shallow gash under his chin, one puncturing the burned flesh on one side, which spurts pus and and a foul smell. Floxin weaves and backpedals under the assault, giving no more than a phlegmy grunt as he is wounded.
Irma may act, if he so chooses.
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Initiative, everybody.
Falshen: 19
Initiative: 14
Irma initiative: 11
Akai's initiative: 20
Initiative -
Hrabbaz: 12
Urstul: 8
Falshen will refrain from acting for the moment, staying the bathroom (out of sight of Hrabbaz), and continue to listen.
Akai will do likewise - Floxin may be their important contact, but striking a guard of the house would ruin their "civic-minded assistants" image.
Gregor's Color Spray washes over Hrabbaz in a shower of prismatic glory. The half-orc retainer appears amused.
"Take your party tricks elsewhere, little fellow," he says, "We are not entertaining today. Leave your card; perhaps House Gralhund might hire you for the children's next birthday party."
Turning to the guard at his side he says,
"Go back to Lady Yalah, and help the others clean up the mess back there. I can handle our erstwhile guest myself."
He then takes a sudden long stride forward, and brings his morningstar down toward Urstul Floxin's head:
Attack: 23 Damage: Unable to parse dice roll.
Damage: 7 and 2
Floxin dodges the full weight of the morningstar, but takes a solid blow on his shoulder, and hisses hoarsely.
"Damn your eyes and blast your eyeteeth, you hideous smooth-tongued bastard!" he rages, stumbling back, recovering his footing, and coiling to strike in his turn. While he looks for an opening, he continues to berate his opponent. "This whole accursed setup was your precious Lady Yalah's idea, and now suddenly she's too good for us? What's her precious little mind plotting now? Why'd she send that dancing puppet to blast me in the street, eh? And where's the peg-legged construct taken the Stone? Who'd you send it off to this time? Xanathar? Jarlaxle? The Cassalanters? You can't do business with any of them! Not like you can do with the Zhentarim! You and your mistress have made your last damned mistake!"
The half-orc merely shrugs, and winds up for another strike.
"Amusing," he says. "It seems that you imagine one, that you can get me to talk, and two, that you are going to walk away from this alive. Neither, I fear, looks probable."
It is now Irma's turn, should he wish to act.
Floxin springs toward his enemy, shortsword flashing:
Attack: 15 Damage: 4
Attack: 25 Damage: 6
The burned man's blade slashes up and then flickers to one side, making a shallow cut across the half-orc's belly and then catching him in his hand - the hand wielding the morningstar. Hrabbaz cries out as his arm is flung to one side by the force of the blow, and his weapon is loosed from his grasp. The Gralhund retainer retreats a step and thrusts his uninjured hand into the breast of his robe, preparing to withdraw something concealed within.
Gregor, Akai, Falshen, or Ian may act.
Akai quickly whispers an idea to Ian. "Sss, man with scars may be best lead on Golorr stone. Small aid now might give great gains later. What say you?"
Ian replies,
”And what of our position with the Gralhunds? If we cross the line with them we’ll be hunted men by the Watch. This is their house with their dead men.”
"Sss! No crossing lines! We just good intercessors stopping violence! Man with scars is clear trespasser!" Akai hisses, then lets a crafty gleam into his eyes. "But he has words with big one who should have stopped him. If we good intercessors stopping intruders, only natural to 'catch' traitor-servants as well, yes? And if scar-man escapes, we have cause to hunt him later - on our terms." Akai pauses at Hrabbaz's cry of pain, then shrugs. "Then again, he may need no aid."
Gregor is clearly frustrated, both with the lack of effect his spell had, and the situation, "We'd best hope so." On seeing the half-orc reaching into his robe, "It may be a good idea to seek shelter, and hope he took my little light show as a bit of mis-aimed foolishness."
With that, he'll slip back into the bathroom.
Falshen, looking as if he has an idea, waits patiently.
Plucking his hand from his robe, Hrabbaz brandishes a gilded dagger, with which he renews his attack on the Zhentarim assassin, lashing out thrice:
Attack: 18 Damage: 8
Attack: 17 Damage: 7
Attack: 11 Damage: 6
The first two cuts score against Urstul's face, one slashing a shallow gash under his chin, one puncturing the burned flesh on one side, which spurts pus and and a foul smell. Floxin weaves and backpedals under the assault, giving no more than a phlegmy grunt as he is wounded.
Irma may act, if he so chooses.