Yahs Anirys Plasmoid Monk (Way of Mercy) 4 CG
AC: 16 | HP: 32/32 | HD: 3/3 | PP: 13 | Inspiration: No | Speed: 40 ft | GP: 60
Str 11 (0) Dex 18 (4) Con 12 (1) Wis 16 (3) Int 11 (0) Cha 9 (-1)
Attacks: Spear (P)1d20+6;1d6+4 | Unarmed(B) 1d20+6;1d4+4 | Sling(B)1d20+6;1d4+4 | Quarterstaff-Mop(B) 1d20+6;1d6+4
Magic: Sacred Flame (DEX vs DC13; 1d8) | Shield of Faith(Bonus; +2AC) | Ki Pool: 1/4
The elf prince's orders were nothing more than a buzzing mosquito within the plasmoid's consciousness as she pummeled the gith. Certainly for a fleeting moment she considered sparing the villainous assassin of traitorous cadets. Sure she calculated the potential intelligence value that could be gained from interrogating one of the invaders. She even weighed the balance of her soul. Would killing without necessity eventually send her into the pits of hell? Perhaps. But something whispered that that is where she was actually supposed to be. Unfinished business. Something left behind. Utter rubbish. Yet, she couldn't just brush these uneasy thoughts aside. Instead, they just fuel her anger. An anger made to burn even brighter by the utter mess these attackers had created. And she absolutely knew who the inept Academy leadership was going to assign to clean the place up.
And so with one final bone snapping punch infused with the very essence of death itself, Yahs put an end to the gith warrior. But watching the enemy drop to the floor with a thud didn't quite put an end to her frenzied state. No. It wasn't until she beheaded the creature with its own sword and hung the gruesome trophy from her own belt, uniform regulations be damned. The act is completed with a disconcerting amount of practiced ease. This was most certainly not the first time Yahs had done such a thing. Its completion did however, seemed to return the plasmoid to some state of calm.
With a feral light still flickering in her eyes she turns to face Celsior. "This one isn't going to teleport away. Find a priest who can speak with the dead and you'll still get your interrogation." She says quietly. Her eyes blink once, twice. She looks down at the headless corpse and suddenly remembers. Stretching a long arm down to grab Miken's head, she looks at it for a minute and then tosses it to Lazuli. "You called dibs."
"Anyboby got a smoke?"
Odd = Death