AnemoneEnemy

Thomas of Nowhere | AC: 18 | HP: 30/30 | Per: +5 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +7 | FP: 2 Æthelflæd | AC: 19 | Per: +4 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +6 "Perhaps 'twould be of aid tae ken," Thomas says, a little sheepishly, "Æthelflæd can swim sure an' swift as th'fish ye caught, Mam, if need be." He surfaces from the melancholy which had enveloped him and kept him quiet and gloomy on the way like a diver rising for air. "I'll have th'crabbit blighter drag a rope across, like." Æthelflæd glances at the river, and their perpetual solemn frown only deepens; the tip of their nose and the lapels of their suit quiver in distaste. OOC/mechanics

Thomas of Nowhere | AC: 18 | HP: 30/30 | Per: +5 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +7 | FP: 2 Æthelflæd | AC: 19 |  Per: +4 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +6 "Och, aye. Be pleased as punch tae make sure ye get yer vengeance," Thomas says. Rather than flinching back, he looks at the ferryman with a mixture of pleased shrewdness and respect. He does nudge Sija, though, murmuring quietly to her. "Nae sure his son's comin' back, like, Mam. Fella's sense o'time cain't be tae guid." He raises his voice again. "Which way'd yer lad get off tae, Master Nettle? Might be we'll go fer a stroll an' stumble across'im, like."   OOC/mechanics        

I thought that we had the option to take the trail to the front gates (seems bad) or take a path up the hill in cover, so we're unlikely to be spotted. The idea is to go up the hill to the side (?) of the fort and figure out the best way in from there.

  Sithi Silvercloak | AC: 17 | HP: 28/28 | Spot/Listen: +12 | Fort: +2 | Ref: +3 | Will: +6 | Effects & Conditions: Mage Armor "I don't think they signed up for that, and I doubt they can move quietly enough," Sithi demurs. "Let's get a peek at how they're set up in there first. Then we can make concrete plans." O   OC/Mechanics    

Thomas of Nowhere | AC: 18 | HP: 30/30 | Per: +5 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +7 | FP: 2 Æthelflæd | AC: 19 |  Per: +4 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +6 "Ye're welcome, suren ye are," Thomas crows at his discovery of the mine. "I've made ye rich; I expect that tae be contribution enough fer the time bein'." He gives Antonia a wry twist of the mouth. "There is, an' I'm right sorry tae say it. Yer instincts guide ye well, an' I'll squirm out from beneath 'er gaze soon as I can. There's but one lady o' the Fair Folk I care tae set eyes on now." There's a broken longing in his voice for a moment, sharp and ragged, and then his melacholy takes him and he speaks no more, not until the dead man lays a hand on Sija. Thomas promptly turns, and bows, and counts out five coppers he holds out. He doesn't seem like a rule-following sort of man, but there are rules, and then there are rules. "Pleased tae make yuir acquaintance. If yuir son's indisposed, might be we can try an' help ye restore service. But how were it set up in th'first place, like?"   OOC/mechanics        

Yup - I thought we would move ahead to up the hill at this point. This may not make it. :'(

  Sithi Silvercloak | AC: 17 | HP: 28/28 | Spot/Listen: +12 | Fort: +2 | Ref: +3 | Will: +6 | Effects & Conditions: Mage Armor "Yes--of course," Sithi says, absently. She's looking at the keep with eyes that aren't seeing it as it currently is. "I can cloak myself in an invisibility spell, see how many of them there are and where they are. The hill it is." O   OC/Mechanics    

Thomas of Nowhere | AC: 18 | HP: 30/30 | Per: +5 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +7 | FP: 2 Æthelflæd | AC: 19 |  Per: +4 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +6 "Aw coins be three-sided, Mam," Thomas says, voice gloomy. "Ay, an mony sharp-edged, too." He does doff an invisible cap and take a courtly bow, though without his usual sparkle, going through the motions. "Am no' so young as aw that, Mam, dinnae let the pretty face trick ye. Served at th'fairest court, I 'ave, an' treated wi' critters strange an' wondrous. I have been an eagle, a stag in a wood, a sword i'the grasp of a hand; I have been a harp and harper both. I--" He speaks faster and faster, as though the words are tearing themselves out of him; his voice turns hollow, unearthly--distant but not sepulchral. He cuts off, throat working as though it's an effort to keep the rest of a riddle down, and turns away. Æthelflæd, sympathetic for once, lays a long-fingered hand on his back. Thomas brays a bitter laugh, kicking at a rock and sending it skittering away. "Fergive me. A sage! Let that stick in Æthelflæd's craw." , OOC/mechanics        

Thomas of Nowhere | AC: 18 | HP: 30/30 | Per: +5 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +7 | FP: 2 Æthelflæd | AC: 19 |  Per: +4 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +6 Thomas snorts. "Opportunity, 'e says. Rope tae hang themselves wi', like. Nary a courtroom fer ye here, Judge; nay, nor circuit tae ride, neither. Ye cannae have prisoners 'til ye've built a goal, an' taken taxes tae spend on it. When I were a wee bairn, me bonnie land was a slice o'border, nae held by one side nor the other. The noose an' the blade pecked at us, but nivver cuild they rule us. Th'law was a changin' thing, whitever it needed tae be fer folks tae have scran an' safety, an' keep from havin' a square go at each other. Ye need peacetime an' plenty fer laws." He and Æthelflæd have been having one of their quiet but heated arguments, the fae alternately snippy and imploring, and Thomas' mood has gone sour again. Æthelflæd tugs Thomas' sleeve and clears their throat; Thomas glances back at them, scowls, and spits over his other shoulder, then makes a gesture like tossing a handful of something over it. "Ay, dinnae luik sae sour, ye clinkit priss. I'll nae haud me wheesht." He scratches at his jawline, scowling. Just a roguish hint of stubble, for all that no one's seen him shave. Then he clears his throat, and Æthelflæd raps their staff of office against the ground like a herald. Thomas raises his voice, smothering the brogue a little, smoothing the burr out of it. "Stag Lord aside, this land has a lady already, and a law: the First Law o' the First World. A fey queen, or some such, with wanderin' attention an' whims. They've wandered tae me, I regret tae say. It's a sair fecht, bein' sae pleasin' tae look upon. She showed me Erastil's temple, like, all twined in the Thornwood's vines, the god's statue outside, west o'here, an' bid me seek it. Summat there may help us against the Stag Lord. She has plans fer me, she says." Æthelflæd looks on, solemly. Thomas' face screws up like he's tasted ashes, eyes as distant and mournful as the others have seen to date. "Well, an' tis richt ye ken it. But her plans are nae me own, an' e'en if she be a faerie queen she be nae me own lady. Nay, nor even a faint shadow of her. Whit can she do tae me worse'n what I endure? I'll spit i' her eye an' work against her whims, dinnae worry. I'll go wi' ye whichever road ye take." , OOC/mechanics        

  Sithi Silvercloak | AC: 17 | HP: 28/28 | Spot/Listen: +12 | Fort: +2 | Ref: +3 | Will: +6 | Effects & Conditions: Mage Armor Sithi nods. "So long as the horses can manage it, let's stay out of the open. We should wait for dark, or at least for nightfall. Maybe find a good hiding spot with a good view of the trail, to keep track of those coming and going. --How many soldiers, would you guess?" She asks the trackers, hoping to get a sense of just how suicidal this mission might be. O   OC/Mechanics    

Sounds good to me. Let's git'r'done.

If we dash on by, all we're skipping is whatever loot it might have, right? I'll leave it to those at most bodily risk how much they want that. I'd say get it on the way back if it's important, I'd rather not show up at the keep down a bunch of spell slots.

Going into the swamp isn't even a good idea in real life, much less in D&D.

      Sithi Silvercloak | AC: 17 | HP: 28/28 | Spot/Listen: +12 | Fort: +2 | Ref: +3 | Will: +6 | Effects & Conditions: None Sithi's ghost sound keeps moving across the water. "I'll defer to those at most risk of being bitten. It might feed on some of the incoming horde--or get pushed out towards the roads to feast on fleeing travelers. Give the word and I'll try to blind it before you charge in." O   OC/Mechanics    

I'm alive! Been dead for a little bit that kept getting prolonged by spouse medical stuff and work stuff. I'll start the super fun work of moving my character thread and post template and stuff.

Thomas of Nowhere | AC: 18 | HP: 30/30 | Per: +5 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +7 | FP: 2 Æthelflæd | AC: 19 |  Per: +4 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +6 Thomas attends to Sija, helping as needed--holding things, mostly--with sympathetic winces. "All peelie-wallie a'the thought o'recitin' his crimes, he is. I'll nae give my word, like, nor sussie meself wi' preservin' his life. A tauchie fleece tae scoor, gettin' this weapon must be, or they'd hae it in hand awready." But he nudges Æthelflæd, and with a sigh, the fey steps forward, drawing themself up. "Very well. Speak truth, and I give you my word: so long as it is in my power, I will not let you come to harm." Thomas groans and fusses and makes sounds of protest, acting for all the world like Æthelflæd is the lord and he--a humble servant with no power to sway them. It's no promise at all, of course: bound to Thomas' bidding, the fey can simply be dismissed. ,   OOC/mechanics        

Thomas of Nowhere | AC: 18 | HP: 30/30 | Per: +5 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +7 | FP: 2 Æthelflæd | AC: 19 |  Per: +4 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +6 Thomas attends to Sija, helping as needed--holding things, mostly--with sympathetic winces. "Luiked awfy rough up there, Mam. Be sure tae mind me manners 'round ye, I will." Æthelflæd lets out a soft sound of unutterable yearning at the mention of parapets and castles. Thomas, too, perks his ears up a bit. "An' where's he get men an' gold fer an army an' parapets, then? Sae mony rich folk dwellin' out here that ye can plunder them again and again?"   OOC/mechanics        

Thomas of Nowhere | AC: 18 | HP: 30/30 | Per: +5 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +7 | FP: 2 Æthelflæd | AC: 19 |  Per: +4 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +6 Thomas permits the 'ghost' to fade. "Ye cannae have their souls, Happs! We have other uses for them," he intones ominously. He takes long strides, heading towards the tower Sija climbed. Æthelflæd follows behind, bloodied staff of office jabbing at the surrounded brigand. As the others engage the brigands on the ground, Thomas gazes up at Sija struggling with her enemy, and gives a sympathetic wince.   OOC/mechanics Act Together: 1+1 -Thomas: stride forward -Eidolon: stride forward 2: Thomas -stride 3: Eidolon - strike! 20 vs flatfooted, for... 3 bludgeoning damage.      

   NAME: Xíe, Who Walks Again LEVEL: 1 AGENDAS: Create Opportunities To Do Good The world is filled with people who need the help of the fellowship. Give them people to save. Give them a broken world, and see how they fix it. Play To Find Out What Happens The world is constantly changing and you can never truly know what happens next. Roll with it. Let the game evolve naturally, with everyone's input. Don't plan anything outside of what the Overlord is doing. The World Is Mine Portray a world on the edge of defeat. Extra Cut: Expand the Overlord's Grasp. Show them just how far your power stretches. Tell them of another conquered land, another lost battalion, another defeated ally. Your reach always presses onward. AGENDAS: Be Brave, Take Risks Tell Us of Your People Unfettered Ambitions Seize fame and fortune whenever you can STATS: Blood +2 Courage +0 Grace +1 Sense -1 Wisdom +2 WHAT IS A DRAGON? A Champion, Chosen You were not related to the Dragons, until they chose you as their champion. Though you have changed, you still remember who you were. Take a Core Move from any other basic playbook. That playbook's Core and Custom Moves count as Dragon Custom Moves for you, and you may take Moves from that playbook that cannot be Shared Playbook: the Exile Core Move: Who You Were Take one Core Move and one Custom Move from any basic playbook. You can take Moves that cannot be Shared. Both of these Moves must come from the same playbook. That playbook is Who You Were. You cannot Command Lore about its people, only about the crimes you have committed and other exiles like you.This Move cannot be Shared. Who You Were: ??? (Outlander - Fool Me Once and I Need to Know? Heir - Yes My Liege and How Dare You? Redeemed - Tenacity Incarnate and Dark Power?) DRAGON'S CORE CHAMPION OF FIRE You do not have your own People. You once did, but no longer. Instead, you can Command Lore about the glory of the dragons, their place in the world, and the magnificent feats they have performed throughout history. This Move cannot be Shared. DRAGON MAGIC When you draw upon the draconic power that only a fool would not call magic, choose a spell from below, then mark it. You cannot use a spell while it is marked. When you Fill Your Belly, remove a mark from one spell. When you Recover, remove all marks on your spells. O Blessing of Strength: Destroy a wall or door in your way. O Blessing of Speed: Instantly appear somewhere close by that you can see. No one else will see you move there. O Blessing of Glory: Force someone to listen to you when you Talk Sense to them. When you Share this Move with another, they choose a single spell from the list. That spell is the only one they can use. You can Share this Move with someone multiple times. Each time you do, they learn another spell. THROUGH THE FIRE AND THE FLAMES You are Dragon-Made, and the elements cannot harm or change you. This Move cannot be Shared.   DRAGON'S CUSTOM   LISTEN HERE, YOU LITTLE PUNK When you Talk Sense by telling them what will happen to them if they do not do as you ask, Talk Sense with +Blood. On a 7-9, they cannot ask their favor of you until they have done what you asked of them. STRENGTH OF A HUNDRED You can pick up anything and anyone you can firmly grasp with at leastone hand. Objects and enemies you hold have the tags Ranged and Thrown.   OVERLORD BONDS You start with 4 Bonds with other members of the fellowship.         Record your other bonds here:   DRAGON'S GEAR   You have extra spicy fruits (Dragon-Made, Food, 3 Uses): [ ] [ ] [ ] Your armament also protects you (Armor, Dragon-Made, 1 Use): [ ] Choose your armaments; all are Melee and Dragon-Made: Your supernatural strength and speed. Choose your PresenceReplacing Fire with Ice from the custom "Fire and Ice". Your Ice slows those it hits, giving Hope to Finish Them, Keep Them Busy, or Get Away from them. It is also (Ranged, Reload). (Ranged, Reload): Your presence unfurls around you Choose your follower: Your minion. Choose another player, and add your Armaments to their Gear: (Melee, Dragon-Made) and Armor (Dragon-Made, 1 Use) Choose your treasure: Yourself, and your overwhelming power (2 uses): [ ] [ ] When you use your Dragon Magic, you may spend 1 use of your Power instead of marking a Dragon Magic spell. Dragon-Made: Dragon-Made items cannot be destroyed, damaged, or altered by the elements or magical attacks. Fire, ice, lightning, acid, arcane energy, dark all-consuming voids--none of them have any effect on Dragon-Made weapons or armor.

[center][i]"Know, oh prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars..."[/i] [indent]--CONAN THE BARBARIAN, Robert E. Howard[/indent] [b]All that you held most dear you shall set by And leave behind you; and this is the arrow The longbow of your exile first lets fly.[/b] [indent]--THE PARADISIO, Dante[/indent] [b][color="Black"][font="Palatino Linotype"][size=""]Xíe, Who Walks Again[/size][/font][/color][/b] [b][color="Black"][font="Palatino Linotype"][size="5"]THE DRAGON[/size][/font][/color][/b] [IMG2=325]https://i.pinimg.com/originals/6c/fa/ee/6cfaee8293fc26b1c643f1880656f354.jpg[/IMG2] [/center] "Know, oh prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the years of the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars..." --CONAN THE BARBARIAN, Robert E. Howard All that you held most dear you shall set by And leave behind you; and this is the arrow The longbow of your exile first lets fly. --THE PARADISIO, Dante Xíe, Who Walks Again THE DRAGON   A woman, with a regal face, intense eyes, a tall body, and wearing ancient ur-silks An aeon and half an aeon has passed since Xíe, Who Was Undefeated, was laid down to sleep the Great Sleep upon the shield of a conquered foe. Mourned and celebrated by her people, in sorrow and glory she was put to rest! She slept in glory, content, without awareness of time passing, as all the great heroes of her people did. She is done resting: her tomb disturbed by robbers, her people's works and very nearly the memory of their works crumbled to dust, she wrapped herself in her burial shroud, the ur-silk reverting back into the clothes it had been when she lived. She rose from her stone bed and slew the men who desecrated her resting place, and tasted their blood, and found it warm and full of life. Xíe, Who Stands Astride the World, has slain men and beasts, taken and spent coin, and made proud men and women bow before her. She has tasted the flesh of animals that were not yet formed in her day, and she has learned that though the measure of the men of today is less than it once was, their nature is no different. She has learned the languages and ways of the barbaric time she has awoken in; she is weak, dreadfully weak from her long slumber--but make no mistake: as she recovers her full strength, she will tame it, and place her foot on its throat, and she will found once again the great Shining Kingdom and restore the world to glory. She will gather to her the great, the wise, the righteous: those who understand, at least a little, what the world could be. The great, not only the good. One does not build a kingdom with goodness alone. All Great Works are built with blood. Has this been forgotten? She is very greatly diminished--her strength sapped, her wyrd reduced to near-nothing, her presence no longer a physical force that can break blades and turn arrows. She can't crack flagstones with her gaze or pin a hundred men to the ground with the force of her displeasure. But she was always more subtle than she seemed, and wild as the world's edge, and though she can no longer match muscled giants blow for blow or run on air, though she can not balance on a tree branch or strike hard enough to shatter stone, she is still a terrible enemy to make. She is Xíe, Who Walks Again and the world will know it. Xíe, Who Walks Again, is silk over steel: in her is something of the stalking panther, the towering thunderhead, the blade clearing its sheath. The intensity of her dark eyes is like a physical weight, and she goes from stillness to motion without the twitch of muscle or shift of gaze as warning. Her features are regal and resemble no people known under the sun: taller than the men of these diminished days, strong-shouldered, with lean whipcord muscle over bone, dusky skin, and long, graceful limbs. She has high cheekbones, a cruel mouth, a surprisingly delicate chin, and tightly-woven night-dark curls that seem as difficult to restrain as she herself is. She is striking by any measure, but very few would describe her as beautiful. If they did, they would not mean the prettiness of a woman to be wooed, but the killing beauty of the sea at storm and sunset, or the tundra under the stars Xíe, Who Walks Again, is a study in contrasts. She is decisive and unflinching once she is in action, but indolent and hedonistic when taking her rest. With her enemies, she is relentless, even cruel, but with those who please her she is generous and kind-hearted. Like all the great heroes of her long-ago time, she has gigantic melancholy and gigantic mirth, enormous appetites for glory and power and pleasure and conquest, a disdain for the craven and an even greater disdain for those who prey on the weak and helpless. She laments how far the world has fallen, the crude and corrupt state of it--weak kings, selfish magistrates, petty lordlings, people whose talents and ambitions and lives seem diminished compared to the great Shining Kingdom her people once built. At the same time, she takes joy when she sees the seeds of greatness among them: bold heroes, great inventors, far-traveling explorers, studied wizards. She takes the state of the world as a personal affront, and has determined to stem the tide of time and build anew that which has been lost. It is no small task, but those who meet her begin to think that she may be equal to it. Whatever her mood, whatever she is doing, she is larger than life, fiercely present, her attention a bright focus that often overwhelms its recipients.    

Thomas of Nowhere | AC: 18 | HP: 30/30 | Per: +5 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +7 | FP: 2 Æthelflæd | AC: 19 |  Per: +4 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +6 Happs' body waver around the arrow, leaving a grisly hole that guts start to slither out of like groping tentacles, then reform and continue moving. Happs' attention turns, menacingly, and he glares at the archer; starts to drift, slowly and menacingly, in that direction. "Now ye've done it!" Thomas' voice has an ugly laugh in it. He moves forward, and Æthelflæd steps forward as well, clutching the staff of office. "You are a terrible host. And you will pay the price for such poor hospitality," they intone in their high, disdainful voice. Then, with Kressle's attention split between her left and her right, they come in and those startlingly long limbs send their staff of office whipping diagonally down, the heavy orb at the end coming down with a vicious thud.   OOC/mechanics Act Together: 1+1 -Thomas: stride forward -Eidolon: step forwward 2: Eidolon - Demoralize 3: Eidolon - strike! 28 vs flatfooted, which I assume is a crit, for the maximum 18 points of damage. Actually, I just saw that I've had the primary attack at 1d8, when it should be 1d6 deadly d8 to be Finesse, which worked out to a mere 11 points when I rolled it out. I'll update the weapon.      

Thomas of Nowhere | AC: 18 | HP: 30/30 | Per: +5 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +7 | FP: 2 Æthelflæd | AC: 19 |  Per: +4 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +6 Thomas grits his teeth at the way action interrupts appreciation of his high-quality insult, and focuses on his scheme. The ethereal sounds turn into a hollow moaning. He, in his best necromancer impression, raises his hands wide and brings forth a fog lit up from within by an eldritch green light, boiling up from the ground and out of the trees in Kressle's peripheral vision. "Happs! Yuir former boss wishes tae see ye, like. Did ye nae say ye were hungry?" His bright voice rings hollow and sinister with menace. The ghost sound, dutifully tended by Æthelflæd, does its best impression of a haunting. Shapes can be seen in the fog, and then one of them resolves: Happs' face,pale and bloated in death, throat slashed by some weapon much like the ones Sija wields. He's clearly ethereal, the light passing through him, the fog swirling around him, as he slowly and menacingly drifts closer to Kressle. His jaw, partially attached, works, and a too-long, bloated tongue quests around for sustenance. "Ye may feed on her soul, but we will have use for the body," Thomas instructs. Too much? No, just the right sort of sinister. Let's see the woman focus on the fight with that creeping at her side. Perhaps some of her henchmen will decide it's not worth it? Æthelflæd, staff of office in hand, strides forward, expression pinched in sour distaste, gesturing as if to command Happs' hungry ghost. OOC/mechanics Act Together: 2+1 -Eidolon: sustain Ghost Sound (meant to be cast by them; no real action difference) -Thomas: cast lllusory Object, since I've committed to this ruse. 3: Eidolon - Stride forward      

Thomas of Nowhere | AC: 18 | HP: 30/30 | Per: +5 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +7 | FP: 2 Æthelflæd | AC: 19 |  Per: +4 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +6 "In yuir place, I'd nae lead wi 'leathery old pussy'. Th'comparison presents itself, like." Thomas steps forward, the rune over his heart blazing green through his tunic, its match visible through Æthelflæd's suit. His voice is bright and mocking, jovially unafraid. "Ye were the Stag Lord's finest killer, Kressle. Yuir opinion's nae mair shared than yuir loyalty. He has new allies now. Happs is in nae condition tae help ye--though would ye like to meet him again?" Thomas has his servant's posture on, and glances at Æthelflæd as though looking for permission. They give him, on some cue, a haughty nod. Thomas' arms rise dramatically, with the dramatic flourishes of a magician at work, and a low, ethereal moaning sound fills the air as he sets the stage.   OOC/mechanics Ghost sound, approaching.      

Thomas of Nowhere | AC: 18 | HP: 30/30 | Per: +5 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +7 | FP: 2 Æthelflæd | AC: 19 |  Per: +4 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +6 "Sometimes a body's better a body, like. Less reckonin', Lerris, an' mair of a reckonin'." Thomas' anger has settled into a sullen dourness on his features. He scoops up his things, but his eyes go to the distance between them and the walls. "Ye may wish tae stick tar cover, though, mam. Ye cannae do much reckonin' as a pincushion, like." OOC/mechanics        

Thomas of Nowhere | AC: 18 | HP: 30/30 | Per: +5 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +7 | FP: 2 Æthelflæd | AC: 19 |  Per: +4 | Fort: +7 | Ref: +8 | Will: +6 "Hope th'hell y'end up in is keepin' a poker warm fer ye, gobshite." Thomas rises with anger twisting his boyishly handsome face for the first time the others have seen so far, his wyrd rippling around Aethelflaed, who comes in around the same time Antonia does from the other side. The clinking of coin dies away, leaving Æthelflæd's face pinched in distaste and Æthelflæd's long limbs lashing out with their staff of office. OOC/mechanics 1: Act Together (Thomas - Boost Companion, Eidolon - Stride into a flanking position) 2+3: Strike, Strike