March 4: Gangs of Vornheim

[Mister-Kent]

Initiative: [1d6] = 2

Sable stays close to you, coughing into her sleeve as she fans the smoke back with her dagger-bearing arm.

Then you see it. Moving through the room is a lumbering black shape, shrouded in the opiate smoke. It shuffles from the deathbed to the back of the room, and pulls something from the wall, where the crest of the Night Clan hangs, bearing the shield and crossed short-swords of many generations of Greathouse. There is the scraping of metal against the stone floor, and the figure's shoadowed head turns your way, it's beady yellow eyes glowing through the mist.

Sable squints into the darkness, unable to recognize the figure's face...perhaps, somewhere in the back of her mind, refusing to recognize the face. For the reality of the apparition's identity would prove all too terrible to comprehend...

[Inferno]

Zaent Darkhand, elven criminal:

Zaent pivoted and fired the arrow he had intended for Dr. Schnabel at the dark figure in Godric's room.

Bow: to hit: [1d20+3] = 14+3 = 17, damage: [1d8] = 3 Is the Vespertine bow in day or night form?

Then he yelled down the stairs: "Night Clan! Get up here! We've got an intruder!"

[Mister-Kent]

It is in its daylight form. I'll have a Fuller combat post this afternoon!

[Mister-Kent]

Round One, vs the Mist-ery Attacker

The arrow strikes the shadowed form, trailing mist along as it flies. The figure grunts as it enters his shoulder, then raises his sword arm. The Greathouse Family's heirloom longsword catches the light through the open window.

Sable slashes wildly through the vapor, striking only smoke. "No--!" she shouts.

With a long groan, the figure brings his blade down, narrowly missing Sable's leg as she jukes backwards. The figure seems transfixed on young Miss Greathouse, shuffling in her direction...

Mist-erious Attacker, sword: [1d20] = 5[1d8] = 7

Once more, actions and initiative please!

[Inferno]

Zaent Darkhand, elven criminal:

"Night Clan!" Zaent barked again as he sent another arrow into the Vapor, this time a solid hit.

"Sable, get out of there. Get behind me," Zaent couldn't believe himself saying.


Initiative: [1d6] = 5
Bow: to hit: [1d20+3] = 14+3 = 17, damage: [1d8] = 7

[Mister-Kent]

ROUND 2

Initiative: [1d6] = 3
Mist-erious Attacker, sword: [1d20] = 17[1d8] = 4

The figure bears down on you with his sword, closing the gap. At first his swaying gait makes it seems as if he'll miss you, but the tear of his longsword into the flesh of your bow-arm proves otherwise (-4HP). As he lurches forth, Sable dashes back behind you and to the top of the stairs.

Partially masked in gauzy mist, the unmistakable visage of Godric Greathouse is before you, your teacher and father, his dead eyes glowing and staring through the both of you, his children, with burning hatred.

You hear the press of reinforcements from the bottom of the stairs. They shall arrive shortly…

Zaent: -4 HP
Godric -10 HP

Actions and Initiative for Round 3 please!

[Inferno]

Zaent Darkhand, elven criminal:

Sable would be useless in this fight. Worse, a liability.

"Get out of here, Sable!" Zaent snarled. "Have your men find Dr. Schnabel! He's heading east toward the 15th ward! We need him alive! Go! NOW!" he barked, hoping to snap her out of it. "I'll handle this."

The unsentimental elf dropped the bow and drew the sword. He set to work putting his mentor back to rest.
"Godric, if there's anything left of you in there, stop what your doing. It's me Zaent," he said warmly as he mercilessly slashed for the dead thing's heart.

Sword: to hit: [1d20+2] = 17+2 = 19, damage: [1d8+2] = 7+2 = 9

[Mister-Kent]

ROUND 3

Godric swings at you rigidly, striking the door frame near you. He is unresponsive to your pleas, lurching forward as if to press out you into the hall and possibly down the stairway.

You cleave your sword into his chest, slashing his shirt open with a gout of blood. The torn shirt reveals a glint of something metallic beneath his clothes--a medallion freshly sewn into flesh...

Initiative: [1d6] = 5
Mist-erious Attacker, sword: [1d20] = 8[1d8] = 7

Zaent: 32 HP
Godric: -19 HP

[Inferno]

Hi,

I'm back!
Nice art, as usual!

Zaent wants to use his sword to carve the medallion from Godric's chest! What do I need to do/roll, please?

Thanks,
Inferno

[Mister-Kent]

An attack plus a d20 Dexterity check please!

[Inferno]

Zaent Darkhand, elven criminal:

Zaent's cold eyes appraised the handiwork of "Dr. Schnabel."
Then, with his cruel, artful sword, he tried to undo that handiwork; grimly, dispassionately carving the sorcerous glyph from the chest of Godric's animated corpse.

Fortunately, Zaent had no sentimental feelings to get in the way of this grisly task. At least, that's what he told himself.

Initiative: [1d6+2] = 6+2 = 8
Sword: to hit: [1d20+2] = 16+2 = 18, damage: [1d8+2] = 7+2 = 9
Dex save: [1d20] = 7

Geez. Zaent's on fire lately.

Did Sable leave last round, as Zaent asked? Are the men of the Night Clan heading out of the building in search of Schnabel?
Thanks.

[Mister-Kent]

Yes, she and the Clan are just now scouring streets for Schnabel.

Your swift strike severs the sutures that bind the medallion to undead Godric's chest. With a small splash of blood, the seal dashes into clay shards on the floor.

Like a lifting fog, Godric blinks at you as he staggers backwards.

"Zaent! Son! I didn't mean to.." The waking revenant's voice trails off as he reaches out his hand. His outstretched fingers barely graze your swordhand before Godric's fingertips flake away like dust.

Soon his arm follows, his corpse transforming into a collapsing pile of ash. He begins to mouth words before the bottom of his face tumbles to the floor.

[Inferno]

Zaent Darkhand, elven criminal:

"Zaent! Son! I didn't mean to.." The waking revenant's voice trails off as he reaches out his hand.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Godric. It's not your fault," Zaent heard himself saying, trying to ease Godric's passing and his pain.
"Rest now, old friend. It's over."

He begins to mouth words before the bottom of his face tumbles to the floor.

Ignoring the horror of the ash, Zaent silently draws near to listen to any words spoken before the end.

[Mister-Kent]

"May stars watch o'er you," Godric gasps.

His face is the last to disintegrate, dropping as sand through your fingertips.

[Inferno]

Zaent Darkhand, elven criminal:

"And you, old friend." Zaent heard himself saying. "Rest in peace. You've earned it."

Zaent stared dumbly at the ashen remains of Godric Greathouse. His mind turned to the "constellation" map in his pocket, but only for a moment.

He grabbed the seal shards and left the room, locking it behind him, and raced to join the others in snaring "Dr. Schnabel."

As he flew down the stairs, all thoughts of forging a truce with the Vapors against the Scarlet Regent left him.
Zaent was a shrewd, cold fixer, never one to let passion interfere with business. But this was personal.

[Mister-Kent]

You reach the bottom of the tower, exit the doors after Sable and the Clan, and find the streets smothered in fog.

As you press into the streets, the fog seems to rush forward to meet you as you move, pressing around you. The sound of the burbling River of Despair and the barge-men's low-toned rowing song echo throughout the ward, but the ambient noise is suddenly cut by another sound--the clashing of steel on steel and the shouting of men in distress.

The fog bank conceals the street ahead, but you've walked these streets many times. Surely you know the way...

[Inferno]

Zaent Darkhand, elven criminal:

Cursing the fog vapor, and its creators, Zaent runs through the mist shrouded alleys of the ward, sharp elf ears following the sound of the sword fight.

Part of him enviously admired the cold precision of the Vapors' assault plan, timed perfectly for the Night Clan's moment of greatest weakness, Godric's death and the confused succession to follow.

Perhaps their error was that such an attack would force he and Sable together, uniting against a common enemy that the Vapors were kind enough to provide.

...Perhaps.

[Mister-Kent]

Through the dense mist, you come upon a ghastly sight. Lying in a pool of fresh blood is a man you recognize as one of the Night Clan. He's been run through, his life's blood oozing from a massive wound in his side. He looks at you, reaching out his hand pleadingly, his other hand still tightly gripping his short sword. He coughs a final burst of blood into his graying beard before dropping to the paved street limply.

There is a sound of metal scraping on the paved stone street and the tiniest glint of something metallic. As you turn, a greatsword cuts through the enchanted fog, narrowly missing your face.

"Death to the Heirs of Greathouse!" a voice booms. The silhouette of your attacker begins to circle you, dragging its massive blade behind it.

[Inferno]

Is the fog thick enough that Zaent could use it to make his escape from this swordsman?
What are the rules for withdrawal in this situation, please?
Thanks!

[Mister-Kent]

Roll 1d6, and I shall roll for the swordsman as well--highest can act, fight or flee.