Arioch
Approved
Level 6 — Barbarian
Posts: 333
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Post by Arioch on Mar 17, 2019 16:29:28 GMT
[Last attack was with advantage as well but for some reason it's not letting me add it on] nG0tHi9G1d20+11d20+1
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 17, 2019 16:50:04 GMT
Arioch’s blade would finally overwhelm the swordsman; he would drop to the ground with a soft sort of gasping noise, and die. “PETRUS!” The crossbowman yelled, as loudly as he could – but before he could fire his crossbow or grab his mace, Arioch was on him, slicing through him with his sword and dropping him as well with a last wet-sounding gurgle. Ivor and Marguerite both turned to Orin, as did the thug. The thug largely looked confused, Ivor looked furious, and Marguerite looked… more flustered than anything, eyes wide. “How dare you – “ Ivor spat, not remotely convinced by Orin’s speech. He turned, eyes focusing on the open cage, lips parting. At that same moment, they would hear a yell of Petrus’s name, and what sounded like even-closer-sword activity, followed by a faint wet-sounding gurgle. “Not the gem, no. But – would you take the aarakocra and leave?” Marguerite offered. “She is unconscious but alive – she will recover fully.” “Marguerite – “ Ivor hissed. Marguerite glanced at him, then back to Orin, lifting her chin and looking squarely at the eladrin as she made her offer.
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Post by Ossular on Mar 17, 2019 17:31:36 GMT
"Ooof. Poor Petrus," Orin would remark dully. She hadn't been phased at Ivor's reaction, or the yelling outside coming to a sudden halt, the battle going silent. She would assume that it was because of the fact that Arioch had taken down everyone outside, and would be working his way inside here in a moment. Still, though, the eladrin had the stage, and she would turn to Marguerite, who had proposed the deal of taking the aarakocra- Citrine- and just leaving. She was alive.
Orin pressed her lips together, taking a breath through her nose, her ears flattening and relaxing. "You see under normal circumstances? I would. I honestly would." Citrine, of course, had been the person that Orin had come here for. She didn't care for the satyr, the cockatrice, the basilisk. Hell, she didn't even care about Arioch. "But I gave someone my word," she would continue, drawing her rapier from her belt, letting the blade aim toward the ground, "and I have to keep that word." That word was that everyone would be free tonight- Hopebringer included. "Granted, I had hoped to do that with a little less violence and bloodshed, but I think that time is slowly passing."
"Last chance, Ivor, Marguerite-" her gaze would turn cold, the pleasant demeanor melting from her face like a mask she had put on. The rapier would rise into her grip. The rapier would widen and elogate, turning itself into a longsword in her hand, the blade turning an icy ocean frost blue. "Cut your losses and start over, set everyone and everything free and leave." She wasn't bargaining this time, she was telling them, readying herself. At this point? She was sure words weren't going to work, so she slowly prepared for what was coming next.
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Arioch
Approved
Level 6 — Barbarian
Posts: 333
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Post by Arioch on Mar 17, 2019 17:47:37 GMT
Arioch let out a loud growl when the last man was killed and he looked at the tent ahead. The bloodlust was fueling him, his teeth firmly pressed against each other. Almost like a wild beast possessed by the very same spirit that it could be argued he channeled to his rage he reached back into the first body he had felled. It was as if his wounds were not so grievous then, as if some measure of them were being brushed aside. That same kind of feeling he'd had before and after his most challenging kills in the arena, that ominous sense that someone was watching. A silent encouragement. The distinctly dark pride that was fanned within him.
And with one fell swoop of his sword he cut his head off. And then, the next, and so on. It was a clean cut, not something hard to do against a still target. He brought them to the entrance of the tent as Orin's voice was faintly coming from within. And he tossed the first head in, a strong toss that would send it rolling and bouncing forward until stopping, blood spluttering on the ground for what little remained in it, the thumbing sound echoing the horror to come.
And then, the next one. And the next one. And the next one. And Petrus' head. Each one of them with the expressions they had when they had perished merely moments ago. It was something straight out of a horror story.
He then yelled loudly with thunder in his voice.
"IVOR"
And went back to wield the greatsword with both hands, walking inside the tent, his figure completely covered in the blood of those slain.
[Arioch will use Aasimar's trait "Healing Hands" to restore 5 hp to himself]
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 17, 2019 17:52:08 GMT
((Intimidation check with advantage for Arioch, please))
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Arioch
Approved
Level 6 — Barbarian
Posts: 333
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Post by Arioch on Mar 17, 2019 17:52:44 GMT
Intimidation with advantage
jaun3lM81d20+3 1d20+31d20+3·1d20+3
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 17, 2019 18:11:55 GMT
The first head bounced slowly down the path between the bleachers, rolling to a stop next to the stage. Marguerite, Ivor and the guard all turned to look at it, their attention drawn away from Orin’s dramatic sword transformation. “What – “ Marguerite gasped. The second head joined in, slowly, bouncing along the path and coming to a stop facedown. Ivor was shaking, gritting his teeth, hand so tight on the whip that it seemed the skin over his knuckles might split apart. The third head. The thug on the stomach was slowly turning green; he clapped a hand over his mouth, then stumbled forward and threw up off the stage. Finally: Petrus’s head. “Petrus!” Marguerite gripped her arms with her hands, shaking in her armor. Arioch came striding in, armor drenched in blood, greatsword clenched in both hands; had it been possible, something like ‘Ride of the Valkyries’ would have been playing in the background. Ivor looked from him to the armor-clad elf on his stage. He was shaking now, gripping his whip. The thug threw up again, gripping his stomach, and slowly edged off into the corner, hiding behind the bleachers. “Ivor, please,” Marguerite whispered. “Ivor – “ “No,” Ivor was shaking his head. “No – no! I would rather die,” his face was a snarling mask of fury, his hand shaking violently on the whip. “Abandon me, Marguerite, if you must – but I would rather die than yield.” Marguerite closed her eyes, slowly, and drew her sword as well, rising from the bleachers.
Okay! Roll initiative! Ivor: V30OatCd1d20+1Marguerite: 1d20+1
Mystery initiative: 1d20+1
1d20+1·1d20+1·1d20+1
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Post by Ossular on Mar 17, 2019 18:13:43 GMT
Orin's intiative: SOUg0fOA1d20+21d20+2
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Arioch
Approved
Level 6 — Barbarian
Posts: 333
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Post by Arioch on Mar 17, 2019 18:23:42 GMT
Initiative ri2JlE4q1d20+1 (It's actually +2, not +1, my bad)1d20+1
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 17, 2019 18:32:17 GMT
Ivor would slap one hand against his chest, chanting through gritted teeth. Veins were bulging against the skin of his face. His skin would shift in front of their eyes, taking on a rough, bark-like appearance.
His eyes would lock onto the far cage, the open one. In a swirl of wings, a cockatrice would emerge from it. It was ugly thing, with the face and legs of a chicken, with lizard like-skin and a long red crest running down its back. It had beady little red eyes, and a long, sharp-looking beak. It crowed its displeasure.
As the cockatrice emerged, Ivor would dart backwards, moving thirty feet towards the north side of the tent.
((Arioch next, then Orin! The cockatrice and Marguerite will go last))
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Arioch
Approved
Level 6 — Barbarian
Posts: 333
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Post by Arioch on Mar 17, 2019 18:53:46 GMT
The dramatic entrance had just about the effect he imagined it would have. Frightened opponents were much more reluctant to fight and those that did usually did so rather poorly, if there was to be a fight it had to be as decisive as it would be swift as he had no intention of also killing through a horde of randomly assorted monsters. While he saw Orin standing there, doing sweet nothing in his opinion, which also contributed to filling him with rage, the man that could only be assumed to be Ivor ran back as a cockatrice came out of a cage.
He paid no attention to the beast and went straight for the man as he was casting some kind of spell, letting his rage run through his body again.
"Don't kill him"
Arioch yelled his voice hoarse and gritty from the wounds, echoing through the circus
"I'm going to have a vord with him"
And he advanced into a full sprint ending just in front of the man.
"Face me you covard!"
[Arioch will use his movement, and then his action to dash forward. With his bonus action, he would like to rage.]
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Post by Ossular on Mar 17, 2019 18:56:42 GMT
"Arioch-" Orin would call to him, and they would probably agree on the first thing together since they met up at the gate leaving Waterdeep.
"Don't kill him. I'm going to have a vord with him."
"Noted-" Orin would purr- "Get him!" She'd point her longsword toward the druid with the control gem, even as he gripped his whip and activated what was sure to be the gem against his chest. Even as the cockatrice rumbled forth from the open cage (which she had been wrong about the contents of the cage), and even as Arioch moved toward the same target, Orin would firmly focus her attention on Ivor. The woman only joined when he wouldn't quit. She was the smart one.
"You will fall here this day, Ivor, and you will fall to my blade. Whatever you have inflicted on those in bondage, to you shall be repaid!" Orin would snarl, and her eyes would turn stark white. Ivor would feel a pulse run through him, like a winter's touch, before Orin moved straight across the stage. Ignoring Marguerite, ignoring the cockatrice, and ignoring the guard, she came from the stage and lunged straight at Ivor with her longsword, landing between him and the edge of the tent.
Orin's attack roll vs. Ivor: |VKQYujH1d20+5 ; 1d8+5 magical slashing damage.1d20+5·1d8+5
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Post by moralhazard on Mar 17, 2019 19:12:03 GMT
The cockatrice would let out a loud squawk of rage, winging as quickly as possible across the circus towards Arioch, beady eyes glinting with rage. It would not quite be able to reach him, hovering just at the edge of the stage. Perhaps Marguerite did hesitate – but it wasn’t for long. She gripped her longsword in both hands, running along the edge of the bleachers up to Arioch. “You’ll have to go through me,” Marguerite promised him. Her hands tensed – had she hesitated one last time? – then swung at him once, twice, with long slashing strokes. Longsword attack 1: 3xifkE2H1d20+5If successful, damage: 1d8+3Longsword attack 2: 1d20+5If successful, damage: 1d8+3Ivor was panting, face visibly red beneath the bark-like roughness of his skin. He flinched when Orin swung at him, but turned his focus back towards Arioch, slashing out at him with his wicked three-pronged whip, the sharp edges glinting as they did their best to rip into him. Whip attack: 1d20+5If successful, damage: 3d4+2
1d20+5·1d8+3·1d20+5·1d8+3·1d20+5·3d4+2
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Arioch
Approved
Level 6 — Barbarian
Posts: 333
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Post by Arioch on Mar 17, 2019 19:24:06 GMT
The vicious whip of the man known as Ivor slid off against the wrong parts of Arioch's armor leaving him completely unharmed and unfazed, though the same could not be said by the woman now on his side who used the opportunity to try and land an attack of her own on him, which managed to do just about enough damage for him to consider her now an enemy as well. It had not been his goal to kill her too but if she threw herself onto his blade little would he be able to do about that. It was her life choices. However, Ivor would not get off that easily. Arioch swung his blade wildly, except that when he targeted Ivor he did not do so with the edge of his blade but with the blunt side. Would this be harmless? Not at all, greatswords weren't made to be used like that, they were still sharp on the edges... And it was still a huge chunk of steel against his face.
But it would certainly prolongue his life expectancy more than getting sliced in two would, if only a for a few moments. He would turn his attention towards the woman sometime later, if she still insisted to die by his hand he would oblige; the moment she had attacked him with a sword on his side she became an enemy, and would be treated as such.
Reckless attack on Ivor #1 Power Attack (-5/+10) W5wTJZOW1d20+1 1d20+1
Damage (Nonlethal) 2d6+15 1d6+3
Reckless Attack on Ivor #2 Power attack (-5/+10) 1d20+1 1d20+1
Damage (Nonlethal) 2d6+15 1d6+31d20+1·1d20+1·2d6+15·1d6+3·1d20+1·1d20+1·2d6+15·1d6+3
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Post by Ossular on Mar 17, 2019 22:47:59 GMT
Orin would watch, as she put pressure on Ivor, Arioch had come in, laying the blunt flat of the greatsword into the druid's chest after running across the room at him. She would see the way that he stumbled as Marguerite took advantage, slashing into the young barbarian's side, and she would see the cockatrice running across the stage toward the group.
Not interested in dealing with anything even relating to petrification, the warlock would dance around Ivor, coming to his back, next to druid with the woman in the splint mail still in view. "Is this really your best option?!" Orin would ask loudly to not be ignored over the combat that had broken out. "Is dying for Ivor really how you want to die?!" She would duck the wild lash of Ivor's whip from his attack on the greatsword wielding Arioch. "Do yourself a favor and stand-down. He's not worth it!"
On that note, the eladrin would take her attack, swinging with the longsword toward Ivor's back. Hit or miss, she would spin in place, using the momentum to drive the shield into his side. If that would hit, she would aim to shove the druid into the steps to trip him up and make him an easier target for the barbarian.
wZoycleH1d20+5 ; 1d8+5 from the longsword. 1d20+5 ; 0 damage, but Ivor is shoved 5 feet into the bleachers in an attempt to knock him prone.
1d20+5·1d8+5·1d20+5
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