[GM Post]

A crisp crack could be heard a split second after the concussive blast of the explosion rocked the room, momentarily obscuring Asevor from sight. The force knocked the baron off his chair, the rotund man tumbled to the floor right on the path of the two juggernauts that took to the shockwave in the same manner a boulder took a gust of wind. He sputtered awake and stared wide-eyed at the unstoppable force coming his way... and somehow the two managed to step around and past the oversized roadblock right he wasn't there at all.

It would'be be quite comical, should there be any unrelated onlooker left in the room.

[i]"Wha- What's going on here?!" [/i]Then the gravity of the situation hits him. [i]"MY HALL! BY THE OLD GODS, MY HALL!"[/i]

[b][color=#778da9]"Return upstairs if you value your life, would you kindly?"[/color][/b]

As the dust settled emerged Asevor, not a hair out of place nor a speck of dust on his attire. A flickering layer of bluish white light covered his entire being, for what wizard would leave their tower without an emergency measure or three? He looked more annoyed than anything, glancing down to the cracking and crumbling gemstone on one of his rings. That wasn't cheap, but oh well. Money and material can be earned back. Life, not so much.

The aged wizard surveyed the room again. Magic source... several. The bear was there, doing some druidic mischief by the window. The fox, still where he last left him but the illusion wasn't going away yet. And finally, the summoner- no, necromancer. His eyes narrowed at the rising dead. Even he could be overwhelmed with sheer number, sooner or later. But as the skeletons approached, Asevor allowed himself a slight smile.

He would not be outnumbered just yet.

With a valiant shout the mercenaries finally arrived, a motley crew of men from north to south spilling into the room like a tide of steel. They took one glance at Ragnar's duel before shrugging and forming rank, shieldbearers forward while spearmen and arbalesters filled the back rank. The second the last man stepped off, Baron Otto and the remaining servants immediately took flight and disappeared into the stairs.

[b][color=#778da9]"You lot, keep them occupied."[/color][/b]

His book flipping to a different page, Asevor began tracing yet another tesseract as the crossbowmen opened fire.

Meanwhile, two coincidences cancelled each other out to create a favorable outcome. On one hand, the prediction that Ragnar felt no pain could not be any further from the truth. The northlander was perfectly aware of every injury, yet he relished in the sensation as if he's only truly alive when riddled with wounds. On the other hand, he was protective of his eyes. His instinctual reaction to the sudden, all-encompassing piercing sensation was to close the ocular organs, but that momentary blindness bought enough time for the axe to bite deep. Through the already broken shin it went, hewing through the leg bone before exiting to the other side. 

Barely a strip of skin and flesh were left connecting the limb, yet it wasn't a time to rejoice. Striking so low with a two-handed grip left Bartholomew open for the vengeance act, Ragnar latching onto the armored undead in a tight grapple where the axe had no room to swing. The burly man flexed, metal groaned as he slowly [i]crumpled [/i]the Tempest like a can made out of tin.

Back to the other end of the room, the explosion had woken up not only the baron but also Chounan and Reinhold. The former immediately prove his worth as he stood and deflected all the projectiles coming his general direction, while the latter... was doing his best. Not far away was Veronica and Matilda, the vampire covering for the orc as she also intercepted the incoming bolts without even looking directly at them.