An Ill Chill Wind, part 2
Log Info
- Title: An Ill Chill Wind, part 2
- Emitter: Cryosanthia
- Characters: Cryosanthia, Braelnoir, MAC-B1G
- Place: A06: Lower Alexandrian Gardens District
- Time: Sunday, November 08, 2020, 4:55 PM
- Summary: Braelnoir remains in the Gardens while the whitescale seeks assistance, either adventuring or guard. She succeeds in both, sending MAC-B1G and two patrollers to help out the silver-haired merc. Brae's hunch is correct, as she hears the hated caw of her nemesis, the Witchcrow. He summons in another, larger, rotting crow which dives to attack. Braelnoir orders the guards to attack with ranged, and get the soccer team out of there. These directions are somewhat successful. The female guard fails her intimidate by falling face first into a substance. People really should clean up after their pets. As the battle continues, the participants get angrier, and reckless, and start attacking each other. The Witchcrow is nearly netted, but vanishes, and the Rotting Crow moves in to fully attack Braelnoir. Before it can however, she bisects it to pieces. The battle is not over however, as the rotting corpse explodes into a swarm of small, undead crows.
-=--=--=--=--=--<* A06: Lower Alexandrian Gardens District *>=--=--=--=--=--=-
The city is divided, unofficially, into Upper Alexandria and Lower Alexandria. The Upper resides further up on the slope of the mountain, and rests to the east of the great river. The Lower resides to the west of it, and if the Lower could be said to have a heart, this verdant park might be its center.
Amid all the bustle of the Lower City, its Gardens District provides a peaceful respite. The warmth of Althea holds sway here, and though Daeus receives the occasional nod, this is clearly Her domain. She shares it with Dana, in the verdant green of this area. Vines and trees, remain green no matter the season and numerous flowers bloom along the park's walkways. Faerie-light lanterns hang from branches and along hedgerows.
A number of shops may be found here, most notably the city hospital, for which the park was originally built. Though now open to the public, the gardens by and large, remain underneath the hospital's care. However, in the Althean tradition, much of the work is provided by volunteers.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Cryo is backing towards the trees. Trees which seem ominous even as they look normal.
Braelnoir lowers her eyes a bit, "A dry sword." she says softly, an odd tone in her voice, "It was forged... probably end of the Millenium Empire, near the foundin' of Alexandria. made fer some officer." She glances to the family at play, affording another look about, and she narrows her eyes a little as her hackles rise, but isn't sure why, "Cryo."
"What?" The whitescale looks at Braelnoir. Her tone switches immediately. "Lily, come here."
She moves and picks up the kobold, the ball goes in the haversack and the pinkscale into her saddle. She's hissing in draconic, a long stream, which Cryo cuts short with a quick 'hssst'.
"You see something?" She's moved closer to Braelnoir, her buckler is out. She's attaching it to her arm. The grey icicle is in her other hand.
Braelnoir frowns a bit and her spiked hand is closed into a fist, "Somethin' bout them trees." she replies, making a more concerted lookover of the flora, fauna, and folk about.
It all seems bucolic, a brisk wind blowing leaves from the trees, children playing. Flower that were chosen to be cold tolerant and a little more appropriate for the season and the magical warmth. Except there aren't as many couples. There doesn't seem to be any families.
In fact, Cryo is the only one with a young child in sight.
The soccer match continues, but the loud voices have gone from cheering to anger. A fist fight has broken out. No one has fled, the decisions to leave were made casually in ones and twos, but the Gardens have cleared out. There's a sensation, heavy air, as if it's about to rain.
Or something else is about to happen.
"Let's... go."
Braelnoir, convinced that the Enemy is about to make a move, casts a quick glance to her sister and her foundling, "Get'r scarce, luv. Think it's 'bout ta get lively 'round here and won't be nothin ya want her a part of." That said, she reaches behind her back with her less armored hand and the baldric vanishes, leaving the Scythe free to swing forward in her grip as she starts to approach the unsettling foliage.
MAC-B1G enters the section of cultivated flora from the trades district to the west. Its steps are heavy, thus it remains on the indicated preferred thoroughfares, lest it mire in the not-yet frozen ground or destroy the apparently valuable foliage.
The whitescale nods, heeding the advice, "Hold tight to Ssasaa Lily, we're moving. I'll send some adventurers, or guards."
She turns tail and runs. As she passes the remaining couples and nears the kids playing soccer she shouts, "Park is closing! Something dangerous is coming. You should leave!"
This does not have the full desired effect. The couples on dates do look to disperse, but there just has to be one partner that refuses to retreat and insists on showing off.
The kids playing soccer, likewise, have things to say.
"You're not my mom!"
"Who do you think you are?"
"Stupid Sith. Who put you in charge?"
They return to their all-important game, at least, the fist-fight that has interrupted the game.
Cryo doesn't stay to argue. She lopes out of the park, giving warnings and looking for someone to help. "Mac Bee One, catch up with Braelnoir please, she needs assistance." And then she's gone.
Braelnoir is giving the trees a paranoid lookover, satisfied that Cryo and Lily have gotten clear. She's still vaguely aware of others off in the distance, but she imagines they'll clue in once the ugly starts or.... this was all in her head.
MAC-B1G's faceplate pans to the one addressing it. "Command confirmed." The rotation continues as it seeks to locate the indicated unit, Designate Braelnoir. Once it does so, the length and frequency of its strides increace to approach. "Unit designate Braelnoir, clarification requested. How may this unit assist?"
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d4+2: (3)+2: 5 <OOC> Braelnoir says, "murderchickens EVYWEAH!"
There's nothing to see but that sensation grows, the feeling that something is wrong. Something in the trees. They're evergreen, branches swaying in the chill wind. Brown leaves blow off and blow in from the nearby deciduous. It almost seems normal.
Until there's a voice.
"Braelnoir!"
High pitched and squawking, it can only be one thing. The murder chicken! It's in the evergreen! Six of them! Moving in unison, they circle and land again.
Just as more footsteps are heard behind Braelnoir and MAC-B1G. Cryo found two patrollers to send, and they just ran up.
GAME: Braelnoir rolls knowledge/military theory: (17)+10: 27
That circling in the sky before, that's the crows preparing to apporate. It usually takes more crows, so, something will be teleporting in. The soccer team isn't a threat but might be a nuisance and would count as a small swarm. The two guards are weaker than the merc, she could probably take both of them on her own even though they have some experience.
A practiced military eye picks out details and distances. The soccer team is one hundred and fifty feet away. The guards have grouped up behind MAC-B1G and Braelnoir. The Witchcrows are in the air, thirty feet away. The memorial gardens are almost the perfect place to fight in, with mown lawns and gravel paths. There is undergrowth, the flowers, if one wants to stomp through the beds, and trees that could be used as cover, as well as flat open spaces. The only concern is the lawns might be soggy, either slippery or enough to sink under the feet of heavier individuals.
"Hey! Talking birds!" The kids approach.
"What's all this then?" One of the Patrollers asks Braelnoir. Incidentally, he has very new and shiny boots.
Braelnoir cants her head a bit as she hears MAC thud on up to her, and she turns to verify what she's hearing, "Hey MAC!" she calls over her shoulder, returning attention to the birds. "The crows're agents of a witch. They're probably gonna teleport somethin' in on us. Some're probably illusions." She switches to a proper killing grip on her scythe, "Need ta neutralize the primary. Dead is good, captured is better!" She sees the aproaching guard, trying to guage their intent, but doesn't dare sacrifice her focus on the emeny to give them much scrutiny to that end. "Missed you too, bird. Lazy bitch still makin you do all the work?"
Braelnoir asides to the guard, "Probly want them kids gone, trouble with a WitchCrow, an ol' enemy o'mine. Can put hexes on folk." Probably her. A lot will probably be for her.
MAC-B1G's facelate elevates towards the indicated avian agents. "This unit may discern which threats are corporeal and which are illusionary." The exact means are not specified. The cylinder on its scapular plate articulates over the shoulder and telescopes to full length, which is then caught in one primary manipulator.
<OOC> Cryosanthia: Guard's sense motive GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+2: (3)+2: 5 <OOC> Cryosanthia: Guard's Intimidate GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+11: (1)+11: 12 (EPIC FAIL)
And right off the bat, it's off on the wrong foot with the guards. They both stare suspiciously at Braelnoir. Shiny boots says, "So this is all your fault then?"
"I'll get the kids out of here. You stay put." The second one says, turning and marching to the approaching squad, "Park's closed. Get out unless you want to get arrested."
She's very intimidating, right up until she slips on the grass and faceplants straight into some dog poop. The soccer hooligans find this incredibly amusing. She succesfully stops them advancing. They have doubled over with laughter, hideous laughter at her expense and are taunting copiously.
"Braaaaaaaelnoir!" The Witchcrows taunt, staring at her. Each tilts his head precisely, green eyes glittering. That bird is a bad omen, and the way all of them are staring, the merc senses a chill down her spine. Things aren't going to go well.
And that's before a giant crow just explodes into the air. A crow that is four feet tall, with tattered feathers that are blood-soaked and matted against its rotting form. The air is full of the stench of decaying stench. This second crow, it has no eyes. It has empty sockets full of maggots. It swoops down to attack.
<OOC> Ill Omen: Worst of two rolls GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon1: (2)+14: 16 GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon1: (3)+14: 17 <GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+7: (11)+7: 18
The rotting wings wash its stench over Braelnoir as the mouldering crow dives in for a bite. It has a nine foot wingspan, and each flap casts off a few feathers... and maggots. The rotting beak snaps at the merc, and misses.
"She started it!" Brae snaps, very mature, if accurate, though, she gives a quick, "Shit!" and sidesteps the rush of the huge ripe bird, and she trades a swipe with the scythe for a snap of Fester's beak.
Witchcrows, thirty feet up in the air on the tree, six of them. The Mouldy Crow, forty feet behind and in the air, about ten feet off the ground.
GAME: Braelnoir rolls ranged-4: (7)+11+-4: 14
Since things are off to such a good start, Brae decides to test a theory. She swipes an apuole from her bandolier and with a quick 'hmph!' and a sidearm throw, the mercenary hucks what turns out to be alchemists fire at the cluster of little birds, though the tree takes the majority of it. The swarm unabated, she clucks her tongue, then, "Ranged if ya got'm, take them out individually!"
That all six crows appear to be on fire is a minor comfort.
GAME: MAC-B1G refreshes special ability pools. GAME: MAC-B1G spends TWO uses of CHARGE POOL. GAME: MAC-B1G activates its Titan Armor, gaining: +4 Dex GAME: MAC-B1G rolls ranged: (12)+10: 22 GAME: MAC-B1G rolls ranged-5: (8)+10+-5: 13 <OOC> Cryosanthia nods, "Ah. okay. Roll 1d6 for the first attack. 1 is the real crow GAME: MAC-B1G rolls 1d6: (2): 2 <OOC> Cryosanthia: Down to 4 crows now.
"Initiating countermeasures," MAC advises as it tunes the nethercite intermix ratio to maximum. The tip of its weapon glows cyan, darkening near magenta, before loosing two bolts at two different avians that dissipate the targets upon contact.
"What was that! Shit!" The guard standing behind the pair of adventurers, shiny boots, shouts.
"Stop making fun of me!" The girl calls, struggling to get to her feet as the giant crow flies over. It takes the opportunity to rake claws along her back.
Shiny Boots has some hand axes in his belt, he throws them at the crows in the trees, as ordered.
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+7: (9)+7: 16 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+7: (13)+7: 20 <OOC> Cryosanthia says, "hits, 1 is Witchcrow" GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d4: (2): 2
The axe sails through the Witchcrow and thunks into the burning branches. At least there's one less illusion now.
One of the soccer hooligans kicks the ball into the girl guard's stomach. It's insult to self-injury really, bouncing off her armour. "You're under arrest."
"Oh yeah? Catch me Poo Face!"
That feeling, that tension in the forehead, the pressure, a burgeoning migraine. The sensation that the korrite sensed before, an unsettling but eerily attractive one, is growing. Like a spring, wound tighter and tighter, until it >>SNAPS<<
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "Will Saves everyone" <OOC> Cryosanthia says, "will save for Shiny Boots" GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+2: (18)+2: 20 GAME: Braelnoir rolls will: (19)+2: 21 GAME: MAC-B1G rolls will: (2)+4: 6
"I am so fucking pissed off! So goddamn irritated this shit always goes down on my watch. Mother fucking bullshit cock!" Shiny boots yells, gripping his axe, his eyes blazing. The desire to hit something, anything, is strong. Very strong.
Strong in Braelnoir too, like a rage welling up all on it's own. She's got it under control, barely.
So does the guard, for now.
"I'll rip your guts out," The female guard snarls, advancing on the soccer players.
Nearby, the giant crow screaches angrily.
<OOC> Cryosanthia pages: Witchcrow will GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+4: (12)+4: 16
MAC-B1G's receptors shift from cyan to crimson. "Threat indeces updated. Taskforce designations expired. Non-combatant statuses suspended."
"Braelnoir! Braelnoir!" The Witchcrow caws, a different pitch to it's voice. It dives to attack the merc. At the same time, the giant crow does an aerobatic maneuver, flipping over its wing and returning for another flyby rake.
GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon1: (2)+14: 16 <OOC> Cryosanthia says, "hits, roll 1d3, 1 is real" GAME: Braelnoir rolls 1d3: (3): 3 <OOC> Cryosanthia says, "WC on B, GC on B, WC on GC AOO, GC on WC AOO" GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+7: (10)+7: 17 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+7: (11)+7: 18 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+7: (9)+7: 16 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+7: (7)+7: 14
Braelnoir feels the burn, it's that boil, so much like the first time she lost it with the Orcupines, and her teeth are gnashed in barely checked anger as everyone around her is suddenly PISSED OFF. She is only slightly surprised by the withcCrow swarm closing in in time with the big boy, but she chances a swipe with her scythe and manages to disperse another copy.
Angry and on fire, which is the best way to be, the Witchcrow dives out of the burning evergreen and screaches towards Braelnoir, talons reaching for her eyes.
At the same time, the mouldering crow comes up behind her, preceeded by the reek of its breath as it opens its beak to bite.
They miss, and there is a flurry of feathers as the two avians swipe at each other en passent.
Whatever is causing the growing anger in the area, it's affecting them too.
And now, there's only one Witch Crow. The last illusion stripped away.
GAME: Braelnoir rolls ranged-4: (1)+11+-4: 8 (EPIC FAIL)
Braelnoir is really tired of dealing with these damned birds. She's gonna need a way to carry her weapons more convieniently. Since she doesn't have her scrossbow with her, she draws her dagger. Alas, with her anger, her hand comes up with the dagger, but it slips from her fingers and flip-flip-flips to pong off the guar behind her's forehead.
"I really... don't need... you doing that..." Shiny boots says, grinding his teeth.
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "okay, Another Will DC20" GAME: MAC-B1G rolls will+4: (16)+4+4: 24 GAME: MAC-B1G rolls ranged: (15)+10: 25 GAME: MAC-B1G rolls 5d6+2: (16)+2: 18
MAC-B1G's receptors flicker. One of its (revised) primary directives is to obey the strictures of the biological units while present in their inhabited locale. The re-evaluation of threat seems to conflict, thus the directive takes precedence. After blinking, they turn cyan. As does the thip its its weapon as it tracks the large avian and discharges a bolt of electricity at it. It is possible that unit designate Braelnoir prefers her murder chicken fried.
"I'm running out of fucking axes," shiny boots says, flinging his second one at the Witchcrow. It's a long-shot, and axes aren't very aerodynamic.
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+1: (7)+1: 8
It's not too surprising that he misses.
"This is the gorram problem? Fine. Eat net you pile of crap." Face, to be kinder she should be called Face until she introduces herself properly, unspools the net at her belt and flings it at the approaching Witchcrow.
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+5: (8)+5: 13
And the bird drops and just squeaks by. Avoiding the entanglement.
The kids meanwhile, have moved up and surround Face.
As if things weren't bad enough, there's another turn of the screw, another tightening, and then a >>PULSE<< of anger that washes through the near area.
There is still something in the trees.
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "DC20 Will saves again, I'm rolling Boots, Face, Kids" GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+2: (12)+2: 14 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+1: (18)+1: 19 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20: (20): 20 <OOC> Cryosanthia says, "HA. Oddly, the kids are all right." GAME: Braelnoir rolls will: (5)+2: 7 GAME: MAC-B1G rolls will+4: (7)+4+4: 15
And that meanness takes hold, the grim expressions of the two guards turning darker. Everyone is against them, as usual. Goddamn civilians.
Oddly, the kids are all right. The Witchcrow angles upwards, away from the net, away from the kids. Somewhere fifteen feet off the ground, it simply vanishes as if it was one of its illusions. A cawing voice calling.
"Braelnoir!"
And the rotting Crow has its orders. It flips mid-air and strafes her for a peck again.
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+7: (16)+7: 23 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d6+1: (3)+1: 4 GAME: Murder Crow damaged Braelnoir for 4 points. 78 HP remaining. GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon1: (8)+14: 22 GAME: Braelnoir rolls 2d4+9: (4)+9: 13
A peck that lands, drawing blood and leaving maggots as the giant corpse flies along. it angles upwards.
Braelnoir gets a piece of the rotter as it chomps down on her, and now, she's really damned MAD!
GAME: Braelnoir rolls will: (3)+2: 5
"GHISHAAAAA! MISERABLE BITCH!" Braelnoir roars, gold threads flickering within her amber irises, pupils quivering between circulr and ovoid, "SHOULDA PISSED ON YER FUCKING CORPSE AN FED YA TA SOME GODS DAMNED HOGS! COWARD! GUTLESS PUKE!"
<OOC> MAC-B1G will attempt to correct priorities again. GAME: MAC-B1G spends ONE use of CHARGE POOL. GAME: MAC-B1G rolls will+4: (17)+4+4: 25 GAME: MAC-B1G rolls ranged: (17)+10: 27 GAME: MAC-B1G rolls 5d6+2: (21)+2: 23 <OOC> MAC-B1G has DR 3/Adamantine, Fast Healing 4 and 25% Critical negation.
MAC-B1G's weapon lowers as its receptors once more cycle through colors and flash. It's core priorities are once mor reorganized, and it is delayed as it must re-sort them once again. Only then does the weapon lift anew to track and fire upon the airborne avian of angst.
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "Ah, Shiny Boots swings at you then." GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+7: (1)+7: 8 (EPIC FAIL)
"Don't shoot that beside my ear!" Shiny boots shouts, swiping at MAC-B1G with his axe. Which hits the golem at a bad angle, and twists out of his hands and slides along the grass.
GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon1: (16)+14: 30 GAME: Braelnoir rolls 2d4+9: (7)+9: 16 GAME: Braelnoir damaged MAC-B1G for 13 points. 77 HP remaining.
Braelnoir, looking a mite crazed, sees the arcane artillery jutting suddenly nearby in her peripheral vision, and, with a snarl, she turns and rakes her companion with her scythe!
"Razzlafrazza." Shiny Boots is muttering incomprehensibly, and goes to retrieve his lost axe. Which puts him just out of easy striking range. Perhaps that's a good thing.
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "Intelligence check to see if the kids wise up" GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20: (7): 7
Face yanks the control string on her net, hauling it back. The rotting crow is too high. The encroaching kids, not irritating enough, although they surround her. One of them flings the soccer ball at the giant crow. It goes wild, but gets its attention.
The anger floods the area, like a slow heartbeat, stirring every negative emotion to the surface.
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20: (6): 6 (Will save, Kids)
Every one of the soccer players gets ... meaner.
A loud cawing in the air suggests that the Witchcrow hasn't left the area. The rotting crow answers. There seems to be some sort of argument, but it flies in.
This time, it lands with Braelnoir between it and MAC-B1G. She's flanked. It pecks.
GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d20+9: (18)+9: 27 GAME: Cryosanthia rolls 1d6+1: (5)+1: 6 GAME: Murder Crow damaged Braelnoir for 6 points. 72 HP remaining.
And takes another chunk out of her.
GAME: Braelnoir RAGES!, gaining +2 to melee attack/damage/Will saves and 16 temporary HP GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon1-3: (6)+16+-3: 19 GAME: Braelnoir rolls 2d4+18: (4)+18: 22 GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon1-8: (19)+16+-8: 27 GAME: Braelnoir rolls 2d4+18: (2)+18: 20
As the rotting bird lands and takes another chunk out of her, Brae's eyes clench shut for an instant, only to reopen in gold, pupils drawn to slits. With a feral, inhuman roar, she whirls with her scythe and clashes through the rotting bird, soaks the momentum with her leading foot, then comes back around to tie into it again, leaving it in festering quarters.
The rotting hunk of a crow corpse is slashed by the scythe, slashed again, falling into pieces. Up close it's even more unsettling, it's the size of a regular person. It might even have been an Egalrin. Once...
The foul magics that brought it here would damn one's soul. It's clearly necromantic as well as necrotic, and as the chunks fall to the ground there is an eerie glow.
It was a sacrifice play.
It explodes!
Into a rotting swarm of smaller crows that screech and rip at the eyes.
GAME: MAC-B1G spends ONE use of CHARGE POOL. GAME: MAC-B1G rolls ranged: (5)+10: 15 GAME: MAC-B1G rolls 5d6+2: (16)+2: 18 <OOC> Cryosanthia says, "gets about 2/3s, but it's still all over. Brae roll the AOO?" GAME: Braelnoir rolls weapon1-3: (1)+16+-3: 14 (EPIC FAIL) GAME: MAC-B1G damaged MAC-B1G for -4 points. 81 HP remaining.
MAC-B1G did not expect the one to become many. Not while also remaining animate. It defaults to the weapon in hand (and on shoulder) as it releases more magicite-nethercite particules which mutually annihilate and release copious amounts of energy.
Braelnoir brings her scythe around with a yowl of outrage, catching the tip between cobblestones and ends up tripping to the ground over it.
Shiny Boots has retrieved his axe. He turns in time to see the crow explode... into more crows. He stays put and complains, "I'm too old for this shit!"
Meanwhile, the post-game riot has commenced, with Face right in the middle of it.
And everyone gets angrier...
To be continued!
Combatty Stuff
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "Soooooooo... Can Golems be emotionally compelled? Basically, you're really angry, and everything is irritating, and anyone, friend or foe that does something that might AOO, you AOO them."
<OOC> MAC-B1G says, "War golems gain a +4 racial bonus on all saving throws against: mind-affecting effects, fear, paralysis, poison, stun effects, and fatigue or exhaustion."
<OOC> MAC-B1G says, "For purposes of effects targetting by type, Ware golems count as both humanoids and constructs."
<OOC> Cryosanthia nods, "Okay, well, perhaps your IFF just went 'everyone is a threat'
<OOC> MAC-B1G was about to suggest something to that effect.
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "It is a specific effect: A creature affected by the anger --- compel emotion ability is compelled to take attacks of opportunity against its allies whenever those allies take actions that would provoke an attack of opportunity from a creature."
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "get mad at things around you and hit them, that's the effect."
<OOC> Cryosanthia says, "it uses up your AOOs on allies that are too close, essentially. You can pose reacting, I'm adding a little bit."
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| Name | CHP (T) | HP |
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| Braelnoir.....| 72 +16 | 82 |
| MAC-B1G.......| 81 | 98 |
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===================== Current Initiative Order - Round 4 =====================
---Init--Name------------AOO-Notes--------------------------------------------
29 The Crows 1
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23 Braelnoir 1 Raging (2 rnd active)
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18 MAC-B1G 1 Titan Armor (5 rnds active)
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12 The Guards And 1
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>> 0 The Anger 1 <<
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| Name | Race | Class | CHP | HP | AC/FF/T |CMD |For |Ref |Wil |
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|Braelnoir |HUMAN |Brg/Ftr | 82 | 82 |22/19/15 | 26 | 11 | 5 | 2 |
|MAC-B1G |WAR_GOLEM |Art | 90 | 98 |23/21/14 | 25 | 10 | 8 | 4 |
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