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Post by sojourn on May 14, 2019 23:46:59 GMT
Spring 1490 DR Mistshore | Early Evening T he sun had set and had it been a cloudless evening, the pleasant colors of dusk would have been crisp in the winter air. Instead, everything was simply a dull wash of grey from the choppy sea to the icy, wet streets and to the starless blanket of overcast, cloudy sky. It made the shadows longer, darker, and deeper. It made faces harder to recognize in a crowd. It made the flickering glow of torch and lantern and candlelight that much brighter through the windows and on the streets, reflecting off salty, worn wood. The dilapidated corpses of ships and buildings and tents that had been built around them in Mistshore weren't an unfamiliar sight to Kieran, the half-drow having many a contact within the ranks of admittedly questionable residents. Tonight wasn't a social visit, but he wasn't chasing a bounty either. Tonight was personal. Kieran had followed rumors. He'd collected snippets of conversation. He’d hung out in a few shadows. He’d done a few favors. He’d spent a few coins. He’d maybe broken someone’s finger. Or two. Hopefully, it was worth all of the trouble. All the half-drow really wanted was a name. He padded quietly through the make-shift streets—sand and mud and refuse, loose stones and old wood familiar enough—seeking out the red tent of the Dusk and Dawn Tavern. Violet gaze caught the bright, roaring flames of the Hearthfire down one main thoroughfare, the cooking pit and gathering place already full of a hodgepodge of residents. Wary looks and a few unsavory sideways glances were cast his way as he passed, though Kieran was hardly ruffled, tucked beneath his hood and one hand shifting to the short, curved blade against his back. He kept walking, the scents of fresh food and the shouts of vendors selling their wares tempting but not enough to stray him from his course. The large red patchwork structure of the tavern was eventually in sight, the lithe creature weaving through the crowd that had begun to gather as evening perched so eagerly on the cusp of night. One impressively large goliath bouncer stood at the entrance to the Dusk and Dawn, and the glossy emerald of his eyes met Kieran’s violet hues, square jaw nodding to allow him in, “Thank ‘e much.” The half-drow bobbed his head and calloused fingers reached up to lower his hood, running a palm over the stray wisps of his hair to smooth them back into place before he kept with the slow trickle of bodies, flowing inward while taking in the faces in the spacious tent lit by lanterns and candles, a roaring circular hearth in the middle and a long, curved bar on the far end. Now, he just needed to find his contact, so long as they hadn’t stood him up. Again. Sidling his way up to the countertop, his narrow, dark frame jostling between strangers with a grin, Kieran found a spot to nestle his elbow on the sticky, well-worn wood that conveniently broke down every dawn for the tavern to move to a new place before the next dusk. No familiar face had passed through his field of vision yet, so he might as well order a drink. He had the coins to spare. “What’cha havin’?”“An ale ‘ll do.” “Good choice.” Smirked the swarthy barkeep, perhaps not witty enough to come up with snide comments about how his selection was pretty limited anyway. No one needed to know that. Right?So long as they were paying, anyway. A meaty hand sloshed a pint in a cracked mug right in front of Kieran with a loud, wet thunk, “Tab, then?”“Sure. I’ll be here a while anyway by th’ looks ‘f things.” The half-drow sniggered, reaching for the drink to take a swig, glaring at the entrance to the tent impatiently from over the rim. At least he was on time. Damn it. It was most unfortunate he didn’t feel the eyes that were on him instead, too focused on his own agenda. |
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Post by moralhazard on May 15, 2019 0:50:46 GMT
The Mistshore. A dilapidated hellhole of outcasts living on the carcasses of wrecked ships. The water reeked of garbage and human waste, and the scent wafted into the crisp evening air. There was no law here; the rest of Waterdeep left this place alone, and even the Watch refused to patrol there. The streets weren’t cobblestone or even packed dirt; instead they were half-shifting masses of mud and sand. The boards scattered across the ground were almost a coin flip; some would take you over a sink hole, and others would split beneath your feet and send you plunging into the muck below.
Perhaps with the exception of the Field Ward, there was no place in Waterdeep so worn down and miserable.
Miri had missed it.
Miri breathed in deep the thick, miserable stench, and it was all she could do not to whistle as she strolled nimbly down the quiet streets. She wore short swords crossed across her back tonight, with a few daggers tucked here and there beneath her clothes – leather pants so tight they looked as if they had been painted on, and what looked very much like a leather corset on top, with tight lacing down the front.
The Dusk and Dawn tavern. Miri hadn’t been to Waterdeep in years, but it was still the work of a few moments and a quick palmed coin to find the way, with a few more moments spend sliding down narrow, winding streets to lose the two men who’d thought they could follow her, short swords and all. The more fools they.
Miri winked at the goliath at the entrance. He frowned, as if trying to place her, but moved aside. Miri sauntered into the tent, breathing in deep the roaring warmth of the fire. It was cold in Waterdeep, colder than the ship where she’d spent the last few months, and much colder than the southern coast where she’d been before that, and Miri’s bare arms and shoulders offered – well – rather scant protection.
Miri reached down to grasp a hand questing for her purse, turning it aside with a grin and raised eyebrow, and edged her way across the crowded space to the bar, never minding the heavy press of bodies in the room. She leaned forward against the bar – there was a wolf whistle from somewhere across the room – and nodded at the bartender.
“Dark eye,” Miri slid a coin forward across the bar.
“Nothin’ to drink?” The bartender asked.
“Business before pleasure,” Miri said, cheerfully.
The bartender nodded at the back corner. “S’there.”
After a quiet, hushed conversation, Miri accepted a small purse and made her way back to the bar; it was out of sight by the time she had crossed the room. The spot she’d taken before was gone; this time she wriggled in next to a half-drow, just barely brushing against him.
“You’ll have tha’ drink now?” The bartender asked.
Miri winked at him. “Ale, please. No tab,” Miri didn’t mean to pay for more than one drink herself, not if she could help it. She slid another coin forward, and received a surprisingly clean mug, with only one small crack down the side. Miri lifted the mug, tilted her head back, and took a long drink, letting out a deep sigh of contentment. A careful eye would notice that her seemingly relaxed posture was – well – anything but, but she certainly was trying to present a certain image.
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Post by orby on May 15, 2019 3:41:11 GMT
Word spread fast in Waterdeep, particularly when it was word of things strange and/or useful. An odd tiefling healer who offered up his magic to anyone who needed it free of charge definitely fit both of those categories.
(In hindsight, yeah, Meredith was right. Subtlety was not his specialty.)
Judging by the strangers that showed up at the Sailor's Corner occasionally these days with a broken arm or a gash in their side, word had indeed gotten around. Not that he minded, the thing with Meredith aside.
"In here," muttered one of today's strangers, giving the goliath bouncer a curt nod before leading the way into the red tent of the Dusk and Dawn. Following closely behind, Caim peered about curiously.
"This is a tavern?" They'd said they were going to a tavern. The other man bringing up the rear snorted as they pressed into a thick crowd heavy with the smell of unwashed bodies.
"Yer better off not actin' like such a tourist. Folk around here can't resist an easy mark."
Caim frowned, halfway to asking what that was supposed to mean when he was jostled by someone pushing past towards the bar. His fingers curled around the strap of his bag as he abruptly remembered his first day in the city. His coinpurse was buried at the bottom of it, at least. Not nearly so easily snatched this time.
"Oi," the first man grunted, and Caim faced forward again as they reached a corner near the end of the bar. Splayed on a stool was a man every bit as scruffy as the two that had come to fetch Caim from his inn, a very bloody rag pressed tight to his thigh. A sturdy-looking woman hovered beside him with crossed arms. She was preoccupied glaring at the crowd as if daring anyone to try taking advantage of the injured man. Both of them looked up at the curt greeting, eyes narrowing in unison at the tiefling sandwiched between their companions.
"Oh," Caim breathed, and pushed forward without waiting for an introduction. The woman tensed and shifted at the sudden approach but Caim only dropped into a crouch beside the man's stool, flashing a tentative smile. "I suppose it would have been harder for you to come to me. May I see?"
There was a pause, quiet falling among the small group while the noise of the raucous crowd filled the silence, before the injured man slowly peeled away the blood-soaked wad of fabric. Underneath was an even more bloodied pantleg, a neat tear framing an equally neat slice in the meatiest part of his leg. It was a clean cut, just looking at it. But definitely deep. Walking on it would doubtlessly have been agony. What bit of sensible wariness the setting had kindled in Caim was quickly snuffed out again by that thought.
He peeled back the edges of the fabric with delicate use of his claws, smile fading a bit as he examined the gash closer. "How did this happen?" he asked, sympathetic. Fingertips laid gently over the torn flesh glowed faintly with warm light as divine magic was directed into it.
The man didn't seem nearly so interested in conversation. "Fishin' accident," he answered dryly. Still, the tension seemed to be easing out of him bit by bit as the open wound was carefully closed. His companions relaxed marginally as well but held their positions, a wall to keep the taverns other patrons back. A good thing, probably. Crouching in a crowd like this was practically asking to get stepped on.
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Post by sojourn on May 15, 2019 14:51:37 GMT
T ardiness was either a sign of betrayal or trouble as far as Kieran was concerned, aware that the process of reaching out to this particular contact always required scratching too many backs, perhaps one too many this time since he hadn't even been looking for work. Not paying work, at least. It could also have meant that he was looking for the wrong face or had arrived at the wrong time, but that was unlikely. There were some things he was pretty damn sure of. By Selûne, every patron in this place could seriously end up next on his godsbedamned bounty list, to be fair, and the half-drow wouldn't have thought twice— Oh. Shit.There went his evening. —near the end of the sticky curve of wood that made up the bar was a small gathering of rather distressed-looking individuals, at least one of which Kieran vaguely recognized. He met the gaze of a broad-shouldered, impatient-looking woman. Her body language suggested combat prowess, but it wasn't just the bruising and blood on her person that suggested a recent scuffle, no, it was the sweating, grimacing man seated near her who gave everything away. He was injured and doing his level best to make it look otherwise, to not attract the attention of every hungry beast drinking in the Dawn and Dusk tonight. The half-drow noticed. The fact that he'd seen them before sent the chilled claws of fear raking up his spine: Had his contact done the stabbing? Had his contact been stabbed? Had this all been a bit of a set up?Kieran looked away casually from the suspicious scene, feigning disinterest with the most lopsided of smirks, movement out of the corner of his eye bringing his attention to his immediate personal space, violet hues washing over the approach of someone new to his perch at the bar. Tall, dark, and well-armed (just the way Kieran liked 'em, to be fair), the young woman didn't make any real attempt at carving out more space for herself than necessary, the brush of winter-chilled skin against the hearth-warmed charcoal of his own mostly bare arms not rude so much as simply unavoidable in a place like this one. It was Mistshore, after all. Nowhere fancy. Nowhere that etiquette of any kind was actually required. The lithe creature shifted, noting her weapons, using the motion of giving her another centimeter or two to take another swig of watered-down, lukewarm ale and allow her exchange with the barkeep. As she settled next to him, her nervous energy hidden behind a smile and the rim of her mug, he looked away slowly, aware that his singular lack of ability with one-liners and acceptable greetings limited his options when it came to making nice with strangers, pretty or not. He watched another couple of thugs wander past the goliath bouncer, the coppery tiefling between them so out of place he might as well have been holding out his coins to the unsavory crowd and inviting them to take them. They moved right to the end of the bar, as expected, and Kieran's lip curled in displeasure, tongue against the metal ring that decorated the lower half, "Well, this should be interesting." He grunted to the young woman next to him as if they knew each other, aware that the action required their shoulders to brush when he tilted his chin in the direction of the injured man and the tiefling. Taking a long swig, the dark-skinned creature hissed and set his mug on the bartop, elbows sticking to the wood for a moment. This time, when he made eye contact with the broad-shouldered woman who was clearly the wounded thug's companion, she sneered at him and Kieran made all the connections. He fished for coins and set them down, setting down more than needed to pay for just himself, "If I don't make my way back here, the next one's on me." He wasn't smooth enough to wink, but his grin bordered on the roguish before he stepped away, moving through the bodies pressed near the bar with practiced ease toward the group gathered around one bloodied asshole he was certain he'd have to be asking questions of now. |
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Post by moralhazard on May 15, 2019 16:07:38 GMT
The half-drow Miri had brushed against taking her place at the bar was short, with a few scant inches less height than she had. Visibly muscular arms put to rest any thought of his being weak, and Miri certainly noticed the way he shifted to give her space – not too far, but enough that she wasn’t constantly in contact with him. She also noticed the brief lingering of his eyes before he looked away again.
It wasn’t enough to attract more than a fraction of her attention. The crowd in the “tavern” had only grown during Miri’s brief meeting. Practiced eyes flicked over the room, scanning without hovering long enough to draw attention. The two gnomes she’d noticed earlier were still discussing something in a low, tense voice at the other end of the bar. A heavyset human was still sitting just inside the door, grunting into his ale as if deep in thought. A male dwarf slammed down a coin and roared, setting his elbow on a barrel as the deceptively slender looking man next to him accepted his arm-wrestling challenge. Dark eye was gone already, the bastard; probably didn’t want to stick around in this place any longer than need be. Funny enough, as he’d been the one to pick it.
And, new to the bar since she’d left, was a bleeding man with a well-muscled woman standing guard over him. Miri examined him out of the corner of her eye as she focused her gaze on the sturdy-looking woman, appreciating the hard lines of muscle nearly as much as she might have the softer lines of curves. She wasn’t necessarily Miri’s style, but Miri let herself enjoy a brief moment of considering whether she might be able to soften the tough frown on the woman’s face.
The flap to the tent opened, a cool rush of smelly night air seeping inside, and a wide-eyed tiefling who looked like the easier mark in the world entered. Miri’s fingers twitched a little, reflexively, and she masked her grin with another drink of her ale.
The half-drow next to her spoke to her, his bare shoulder brushing hers. Miri shifted just enough to turn her body towards him, not enough to take her gaze off of the room, but enough to make it clear he had a little more of her attention now. “Oh, I hope so,” she said, cheerfully, her eyes tracking the tiefling across the room. Now he was an interesting color, wasn’t he? Miri hadn’t known many tieflings, and he seemed a bit on the scrawny side, but there was something about that orange-golden sheen that reminded her of leaves changing color in the fall.
Miri winked at the half-drow. "I'll hold you to that," she said, watching him go with no lack of appreciation for his assets. She rested back against the bar, content to watch and listen – for now. She had her own obligations to worry about, after all.
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Post by orby on May 15, 2019 20:35:37 GMT
No longer in danger of bleeding out, the previously-injured man exhaled a breath between pursed lips, perhaps relief if he was more inclined to over displays of it. The woman beside him was similarly restrained in her emoting, only a sideways glance and a slight furrowing of her brows suggesting some kind of worry behind the tough exterior. At a second look, she shared the man's square jaw and flinty blue eyes; siblings, maybe.
Seeing the wound stitch itself up without issue, Caim breathed his own little sigh of relief before smiling, tapping lightly at the repaired flesh. "Better?"
The man glanced down to examine his own leg, the grimace on his sweaty face giving way to something that might have been slightly better humored in the right light. Some movement from behind Caim seemed to catch his attention, though, and he straightened up with any trace of an opening in his face shuttering closed again. His maybe-sister's lip curled, pressing forward to step in front of him in a way that forced Caim to hurriedly shuffle sideways out of her way. The tiefling blinked, leaning back and glancing behind him to see a dark-skinned elvish-looking man approaching the group.
The pair that had come to fetch Caim abruptly close ranks, sidestepping closer together to form a solid wall of muscle and glares blocking the half-drow's path.
"Need somethin'?" the taller one grunted, leaning against the bar on one outstretched arm to further block that path. The shorter one simply dropped a hand, casual as can be, onto the hilt of the shortsword at his waist. Behind the barrier of their bodies, the woman reached down without looking and abruptly tugged Caim to his feet by the scruff of his cloak. He yelped softly at the sudden manhandling but managed to get his feet beneath him, glancing between the stony faces of the group closed in around him and the half-drow beyond them.
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Post by sojourn on May 16, 2019 2:40:08 GMT
"Y ou can hold whatever you like if this goes well." Came the response from over one dark-clad shoulder, Kieran not daring to actually look back toward the bar with such bold words, far too awkward to make eye contact with the young woman after such a mischievous comment. Instead, he slipped his way between a couple of loudly chatting half-orcs at the bar, their guttural conversation not one he'd want to linger to hear the rest of. Violet gaze wandered over the tiefling—some kind of physician or cleric judging by how willing the unfortunate sod was to examine some criminal bastard's bleeding leg. Oh. And fix it. For fuck's sake— "Yes, I do. I need one 'f you t' tell me who did that t' his leg."The half-drow's eyes narrowed and his body shifted significantly taller thugs who'd escorted their copper-skinned but obviously clueless companion here to the tavern stepped between himself and his intended targets. A hand slid slowly, reaching for the hilt of the curved short sword tucked against his back. Tilting his head to peer between the impressively large biceps of the pair, he sneered at the man who'd been injured, "C'mon, Ceres, did y' get stabbed on th' way here?""Oh, ye know I did, ye lil' bastard." Chuckled Ceres, leaning forward in his chair and placing his big, meaty hands on his knees as if he had every intention of standing up, "But, ye know what? Ye should see th' other guy.""Dammit." Kieran understood the soft layer of threat that ran in the gravely undertones of the human's words, not ignorant of the rivalry between the glorified bandits Ceres represented and Guaril, the man he'd hoped to have been meeting tonight, "He's late 'cause 'f you.""He's dead 'cause of me." Grinned the woman next to Caim, her sound of amusement more like the hiss of steam when forged metal hit water, "Hope you weren't expectin' anythin' important.""Actually—"The half-drow realized he was now sizing up his opposition, the two thugs in front of him bristling with barely restrained threat and feeling a rather sharp, needful burden to avenge a friend and informant's murder by returning the favor. His charcoal-carved jaw clenched and he knew just how outnumbered and outclassed he was as just one man. Thank Eilistraee and her kind freedom that most of the Dusk and Dawn was literally brimming with ne'er do wells and violent assholes just like a pint overflowing with another lukewarm ale's foam. "—I was." Kieran frowned, fingers curling tighter around the hilt of his weapon and body shifting into a much more open, ready stance. The two thugs in front of him noticed and the talkative one smirked, tilting his chin in challenge, "Gonna do somethin' about it, are you?"Continuing to ignore the two large men in front of him as if they didn't even exist, the half-drow cast a quick violet glance in Caim's direction as if judging his position on the matter that was unraveling while the dark creature spoke. His gaze flicked to the broad-shouldered woman and then to the man in the chair, "Where's Guaril's body? I'll leave your other leg alone so y' won't need another bit 'f charity there if you tell me where y' left it." The lithe creature was postured in a way that revealed he wasn't going to back down without an answer, and it appeared as though a few nearby patrons had begun to take notice. The half-orcs at the bar had stopped their chattering. A few miscreants playing cards at a table were staring. A server carefully scooted by, tray laden with various drinks, watching the group warily. The man stood with a grunt and reached into his bloodied outer layer—perhaps it was a coat, but it was so threadbare it probably offered no warmth against the cold—waving a book at Kieran from behind the safety wall of tough bodies, "So y' can have this? He went for a swim. Y' wanna join him?"Someone catcalled from near the bar. Coins were exchanged somewhere. "No. I really don't. How 'bout y'self?" |
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Post by moralhazard on May 16, 2019 12:54:50 GMT
Miri chuckled to herself at the half-drow’s response, watching him weave easily through the crowd. She listened with half an ear to the half-orcs; it was always interesting to learn how different species did things, even if a few of those lessons she doubted she could physically apply. Still, it could be interesting to try...
Miri took her ale with her, and slid down the bar a little - one of the half orcs was in the midst of a particularly creative description, and Miri winked at him as he passed, abruptly flustering him.
Miri settled in as nonchalantly as she’d left, very nearly doing an impression of someone sipping her ale and surveying the room without a care in that world. Her new position put her between an elderly looking man with a dark scowl on his face, who turned it on her at the intrusion into his space, and a younger woman who smiled at Miri and went right back to chatting up her customer. Miri smiled nonchalantly at the elderly man, and took another drink of her ale.
Miri was in time to hear the half-drow’s conversation with the humans pick up; the tiefling healer was on his feet now, looking confusedly at the muscular humans around him.
Miri was close enough to them now that if she looked too attentive they might think her part of it, so she was very careful to keep her gaze away from them. All the same, she listened with one ear. The slender looking human had beaten the dwarf and was collecting coins from onlookers as the dwarf simmered. Promising. Someone jostled against the man at the door, and he scowled, half-turning as if to hit him. Promising.
The humans were offering to throw the half-drow into the harbor and he was clearly inclined to return the favor. Very promising.
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Post by orby on May 16, 2019 22:44:07 GMT
Tension was quickly building among the little knot of thugs gathered in the corner, and Caim was uncomfortably trapped between them all. The bar blocked his way on one side, Ceres in his seat on another, the woman and the other pair walling off the path to the main tavern floor. He was left pressed awkwardly back against the length of the bar, glancing back and forth as they exchanged words and threats with the half-drow.
This was all...very much not his business. The casual murder confession lanced a spear of unease though him, and he was beginning to think these were maybe not people he should be hanging out with. Caim grimaced, and trying to be as subtle as a very out-of-place tiefling could be, he attempted to sidle past the brawny woman out of the middle of this mess. It wasn't as subtle as he'd hoped for, apparently, as he jostled her slightly and received in turn received a grunt and a rough shoulder check that shoved him back up against the bar.
"How 'bout this," Ceres was saying, cocky with so many allied between him and the man threatening him. He tucked the book safely back in his thin coat and leaned an elbow against the bar. "Ye back off now, and we'll let ye get away with most 'a yer fingers still attached. Thom?"
The shorter man's flinty gaze didn't waver as he drew his blade, the scrape of metal somehow loud even over the din of the tavern. Caim's brows shot up, solid gold eyes wide.
"Wait--" he started, reaching to catch at the man's arm like he could maybe prevent whatever brawl was threatening to break out here.
It didn't matter. Smooth as clockwork, like it was a tried and two strategy for the two of them, the taller man waited for the half-elf's attention to shift even just briefly to his companion's drawn blade before very abruptly swinging a fist at Kieran's gut.
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Post by orby on May 16, 2019 23:17:45 GMT
((Initiative!))
EaJe3H731d20+11d20+1
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Post by moralhazard on May 16, 2019 23:19:48 GMT
Miri's initiative: PVSV6fXF1d20+61d20+6
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Post by sojourn on May 16, 2019 23:47:40 GMT
((Will roll for the bad guys’ initiative separately. Here is Kieran’s.))
J4L7wnz91d20+3
1d20+3
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Post by sojourn on May 17, 2019 0:27:04 GMT
((Rolling init for bad dudes.))
Ceres (Thug 1)
guPkwE7p1d20
Talia (Thug 2)
1d20
Bodyguard 1 (Bandit 1)
1d20+1
Bodyguard 2 (Bandit 2)
1d20+1
1d20·1d20·1d20+1·1d20+1
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Post by moralhazard on May 17, 2019 0:31:29 GMT
Sleight of hand: LjSfRBOi1d20+5Short sword attack against bodyguard 2, to hit: 1d20+5If successful, damage: 1d6+3If successful, sneak attack damage: 1d6
Miri fixed her gaze on the four humans, the tiefling and the half-drow. There was palpable tension between them now; it even redirected onto the tiefling, as the woman body checked him into the bar. No more time for subtlety; Miri took a last drink of her ale, finishing the last drops of it, and set the mug down on the counter, fixing her attention visibly on the fight that was clearly about to start. The only problem, Miri thought, was that four against one might end a bit quickly, at least for her plans. That was all right; Miri was fairly sure she could fix that. One hand reached into her pocket, palming the small purse Dark Eye had given her earlier; her other hand reached for one of the shortswords on her back, gently drawing it and letting it hang against her leg, pointing towards the floor. Just a few moments more… The shorter man started to draw his sword; the moment the drow looked over, there was a fist heading for Kieran’s gut. “FIGHT!” Miri yelled at full volume, pitching her voice to carry across the room, angling her body away from the fight and out at the "tavern." The room erupted into chaos. The dwarf who’d been beaten in arm-wrestling roared in fury, heaving the barrel over and bursting it open, ale swishing over the muddy floor, and charged the human who’d beaten him, head and shoulders tucked down like a battering ram. The two gnomes sent up a flurry of frantic magic. The human at the other end of the bar smashed his glass against the floor, shards flying everywhere. In the ensuing commotion, Miri’s hand slipped gently against the old man’s waist, exchanging his coin purse for the one she held. Her hand slid back into her pocket as she slid off her stool, and threw herself cheerfully into the fray in front of her, for all the world as if she’d never thought of anything else. She landed on the ground next to the half-drow, winked at him, and slashed out at the blade-holding bodyguard, angling for an extra solid hit with his attention focused on the half-drow.
Just as quickly, Miri disengaged, taking a quick two steps back; if anyone wanted to come after her, they'd need to follow her back away from the main fight.
((To be clear: Action: Miri attacks bodyguard 2 with her shortsword Bonus action: Disengage Movement: From her spot at the bar to next to Kieran, then back ~10 feet))
1d20+5·1d20+5·1d6+3·1d6 |
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Post by sojourn on May 17, 2019 18:36:50 GMT
((Pre-rolling so I know what to write.))
Potential Dodging of out-of-initiative Bodyguard 1 punch (Acrobatics vs DC10):
fDwaKTWd1d20+5
Kieran's slash to Bodyguard 2 (AC12, HP11-8=3 left):
1d20+5
Kieran's slash damage if it hits:
1d6+3
Kieran's Bonus Action kick (Martial Arts) to Bodyguard 1 (AC12, HP11):
1d20+5
Kieran's BA damage if it hits:
1d4+31d20+5·1d20+5·1d6+3·1d20+5·1d4+3
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