[hr][center][@Zverda] [color=thistle]Anala Attor[/color][/center][hr]Anala let out a muffled noise, wrinkling her nose as the troll roared at them and causing the putrid smell of death and decay wash over those who stood near it. The undead had no finesse to them, they were disgusting and stank far worse than any chamber pot the noble woman had ever come across. Taking advantage of the roar, she sent a bolt of fire down it's throat, ceasing the action almost immediately. At first, the Troll staggered, looking as if it may fall as the fire took it's toll on the insides, but it seemed that the moisture of such a disgusting thing stopped the fire from taking alight and burning the thing from the inside out. Instead, an attack that was meant to kill the beast, was barely beaten by the creatures fortitude alone. What a sad thing indeed when it should have perished where it should, alas, those who have mastered the Arcane do not always win the victory of the last blow at every turn. >Anala casts firebolt for 8 dmg, Troll barely passes its save with a 14 (DC 13) leaving him standing with 1 health. [hr][center][@Lady Selune] [color=darkmagenta]Mhyrienne – The Mildly Suspicious[/color][/center][hr]She lashed out with her scourge, the blades themselves singing as they swung through the air. The blades dug deep into the troll's chest, and she laughed in satisfaction as she ripped it out. There was a spray of foul black blood, and the troll stumbled a little... But there was no rush. No return of her vitality, and she could feel her curse still focusing the individual down. It hadn't... It hadn't died? [color=darkmagenta]"WHAT?"[/color] She looked at the creature, furious. Cracking her weapon, the blood spattering down onto the sleet-covered stones, she began spinning it idly around. They had to finish this creature before it overwhelmed them. >Mhyrienne barely scratches the troll, and once again it passes the save and fails to go down for good. [hr][center][color=maroon]Zaerith Dustborn[/color][/center][hr]Thunder thrice asunder belted and swept over the rogue, gurgling time as the afternoon beamed and the sleet burned. The usual tragedy of a restless slumber, without rotten lily nor pushing daisy, in the resilient mold of those that were never satiated, prompted a sneer across Zaerith's cheeks. He too was hazily familiar with the enterprise of an undead fortitude all too well, never encountering a graceful planar stairwell into the afterlife. Oh! To adjourn from the mortal cares of one’s existence, to be ruled by grace and justice in the next. No... His lips were soon adorned with a lurid blue, as the curdling ocean of color washed from his smile, throned on the overthrown setting of Mhyrienne's laughter. His remnant exhalations were mild cemeteries, full of bones which jostled when the tomb of his face, resurrected a wind, every now and again, that howled in and out, between the teeth of his living corpse. The foul fragrance of death which filled his final inhalation coerced hungry feet to become limp, as the rapier pierced the penetrating white dampness. The commerce of constitution amongst the zombies retaliated as the absence of their ids briskly fought off sleep, imparting a neglected tranquility of souls obscene. >Zaerith casts Sleep. Zombies 1, 2 and 3 have the lowest HP in the 20 foot zone and altogether are cumulatively exactly 30. Zombie 1 - 16 HP. Troll - 1 HP. Zombie 3 - 13. However, Zaerith was not aware the Undead are in fact immune to Sleep. Since Orhvin has 17 HP and Zaerith is of elvish heritage, the monk becomes a little too tipsy. [hr][center][@Hekazu] [color=tan]The Unnamable[/color][/center][hr]Something right peculiar took place just now. Despite the heavy beating aimed towards the giant among the enemy, it refused to go down. And the last of it all, as another spell was launched, it only managed to fell an ally... or perhaps the drunkard was simply too drunk to stay on his feet even at a time as stressful as this. Indeed, seeing hunters drunk on gin falling asleep mid trigger pull had been the source of great amusement for the puppet wielding man once upon a time, but right now? Things were a fair bit too rotten to draw fun out of such matter. No, it would be better to simply see this to an end. With all the battering the largest opponent had already taken, it was only a matter of time before it would truly succumb. And where there was a will, there was a way. [color=tan]"You are right George, as always. It must be done",[/color] the man mumbled as the purple eyes flared ever brighter. But there was nothing to be seen flying. Only once the creature's head burst open and a few stray globules of their brain burst out of the shell was any actual effect seen. But alas, no such luck as to succeed. [color=tan]"It will be broken next time George, it will...",[/color] the puppeteer nearly drew blood as their sparse teeth dug into their lip. It was only a matter of time. It could not endure an endless onslaught. >The Unnamable uses three (3) psi on the Psionic Assault discipline once more, now invoking forth the Psionic Blast. It hits automatically for 15 damage, but regrettably the target saves exactly against the damage with their Undead Fortitude. His Bonus Action is expended on Mystical Recovery once again, recovering him to full HP. [hr][center][@BCTheEntity] [color=deepskyblue]Talran Galelove – Medium Friendly Paladin[/color][/center][hr]Blow after blow the troll was struck by, be it physical or no; and yet, the damnable thing simply wouldn't perish! Yet a glance told him Sebastian was moving quickly enough that he and Lucian would escape the acidic downpour, just before the boy fell afoul of it, with time enough for Talran to head to them and secure their safety after the fact. Which left the imperishable undead to the tender mercies of the group... He knew what he had to do. [color=deepskyblue]'My god is not merciful to your kind, fiends!'[/color] he cried, feeling his strength welling within him, a power he'd known lurked ever since he could remember, just waiting to come forth. [color=deepskyblue]'I bring Helm's word with me - and that word is "Begone"!'[/color] And with that, Talran's angelic heritage burst forth, light pouring from his eyes as two wings flared out of his shoulderblades, propelling him about the troll's mass to match the threat - specifically, that which concerned the downed drunkard's safety, for Egil now proved himself more than fit to protect himself. And that familiar voice, normally only heard in his dreams, spoke: Bring low that which ought to die yet. >Divine power wells forth within Talran, and he has used his action to activate his Radiant Soul racial ability. For the next minute (ten turns), he has a flying speed of thirty feet, and can deal extra Radiant damage equal to his level once per turn when dealing damage. He has also flown around the troll to just below the zombie targeting Orhvin, an effort to safeguard him from both the regular zombies and the troll, and will use his reaction to inflict Disadvantage on the next attack targeting Orhvin. [hr][center][color=navajowhite]Egil[/color][/center][hr]The sudden luminance of an angel blinded the champion, erring a misplaced strike. Such a radiance belonged to Talran, the Aasimar knight of Helm, revealing its brilliant radiance as he beckoned his deity's promise. To rid of the profane facsimiles of life and virtue. Then, the paladin ascended impressively. Only to land near the napping roof lounger. The glowing wings guaranteed protection and fury against any that would lay a wicked hand upon the now powdered monk, the acid settling now on his breezy skin. The caustic snow threatened to increase its increment, whilst the boy and his chaperone bolted to the owner of the moans. [color=navajowhite]“My Geeeeeeertrude! Whyyyyyy? Ohhhhhhhhh.”[/color] The enunciation of the dwelled consonance chilled the child’s spine, as the pony and its saddled duo hurdled beneath the frosty awning. >Egil misses. Sebastian and Lucian arrive at their destination. The lessers of the trio swiped against the paladin and the trickster to no avail. The sleet did not deter the famished threesome, however, as the largest amongst them tore into the thorny vine of Vaasa, felling the fighter onto stones cobbled with snowy silt. Just as in the expired Vistani, the troll followed in kind and mounted a licked bite upon Egil, hoping to garner two meals in this stormy battle. >The Troll saves against the Acid Sleet and is again at 1 HP. The other zombies take their damage, but miss their targets. The Troll then downs another NPC. As a consequence, Egil has 2 failed Death Saves. [Hider Round 2 - All moves from Anala until Zombies] [img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/442949249068433409/470991826502025227/unknown.png[/img] Round 3 - Initiative Troll (Zombie 2): Dead Anala: 22 Mhyrienne: 19 Zaerith: 17 Unnamable: 16 Talran: 9 Orhvin: 5 (Awake/Prone after the sleet) Egil: 5 (Unconscious, Prone and Dying) Acid Sleet: 0 Zombies 1 & 3: -1 [/Hider]