[h2][color=lightblue]Rolan[/color][/h2]

[hr]

[color=lightblue]"Either or. Fortune willing sufficiently flammable to not appreciate what it is about to start being forced to catch."[/color]

Rolan was tempted to take some pride in landing the shot on Rozenalt, given the distance and relatively small target he was aiming for. Even better, though better was tainted with the fact that whatever was [i]inside[/i] the armor was confirmed, beyond a doubt, to be utterly inhuman, the bolt was broken off inside the armor rather than than removed completely. That meant the poisoned bodkin tip was still inside, though given how the bolt was broken off, well, he wasn't exactly going to hold his breath it would work as he hoped. It did seem to create an opening for Dame Tyaethe to continue focusing her unrelenting assault on the Bloody Lord. Unfortunately, that was all thanks to the split attention sending...vein like tendrils hurtling up towards them, and as he had just finished spanning his crossbow, he reached for the bag full of his steadily dwindling alchemical creations. 

[color=lightblue]"Well he didn't take kindly to the interruption, maybe this will dissuade him from interfering in return..."[/color]

Uncorking the vial and flicking his arm in a single motion, Rolan sent a spray of clinging, sticky alchemical fire directly in the path of the oncoming tendrils. He had to trust that Gertrude would handle evasive action, given his lack of agency in maneuvering themselves around above the battlefield. He didn't have time to analyze how the others were doing either, given the onset of two things. One, the source of the black arrows made themselves known, and he would have been wrong had he muttered a name as to who was interceding. Nithyr, maybe not on their side exactly but most certainly opposed to Rozenalt. A hand raised to return the greeting from the one shouting, all he could spare given the rumbling revealed itself from the north at last, continuing to mutter to himself as he readied himself for what was coming.

[color=lightblue]"...We got the numbers, they got the size...."[/color]

A massive, winged, worm like creature with a toothless maw that could probably swallow an entire mounted charge in one fell movement. Rolan wouldn't lie, he missed his time spent bounty hunting every time some new, fresh abomination came lurching into his life and, by extension, awareness. Loading a bolt and locking his legs together tighter to brace for having to no doubt evade again, Rolan fetched a bottle, one that had been taking up a significant amount of space in his satchel. Too large to fit to a bolt (unless he were to wield a siege weapon like a personal one, but that was beyond him anyways), and too unwieldy to do more than throw a short distance. He had been keeping it to top off new vials but had another plan now, seeing the large maw bearing down on them. Hurling it with all the strength he could muster, before shouldering the crossbow and pausing for just long enough for the tumbling bottle to be squarely in the toothless void of a maw before loosing his bolt. The bolt would break the bottle and send the flames hurtling into the abomination, that had so kindly set up a relatively easy shot, and fortune willing would not take kindly to having a maw and inside that was now not only on fire, but stubbornly so.