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Dark Days in Sion - Act 3: Scene 2
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<blockquote data-quote="Hillsy7" data-source="post: 7277299" data-attributes="member: 6689191"><p><strong>Burrai Steelborn</strong></p><p></p><p>The Night sat heavy in the streets of Cabarda; the clouds that brought the rain gave the air almost palpable weight, making Burrai sweat a little beneath his armour despite the temperature. The quiet susurration of raindrops on roofs and cobbles, the dull clatter on his armour, added a blanket of noise pressing in as he tried to listen through it. Not that he heard much over the scrape and rattle of his armour as he followed Ersun at pace.</p><p></p><p>They hadn’t gone far, the underfolk a lightened smudge against the darkvision greyscale of the street, rain flickering through it so the air looked filled with tiny fireflies. He turned to see Jabbar following, though he wasn’t sure how either would fare in a fight – Jabbar at least it seemed was accustomed to danger, as was his trade. The Underfolk however – he’d seen boys carry swords as large and die as boys, chopped down by old hands with axes like so many saplings.</p><p></p><p>As Ersun’s back loomed out of the dark, he watched him shoulder his sword and produce a wand. Burrai’s eyebrows shot up; he wasn’t expecting that from a swordsman. He pulled his axe from his belt and slipped his shield onto his arm with practised fluidity. Four forms loomed out of the murk – The Drow elf in her Urchin disguise was there, as he suspected, hands raised in defense before the points of two small Rhat’s wielding daggers. Behind them hulked something monstrous and familiar, its strange piping voice a whisper, meaning squashed beneath the blanket of background noise. Even if they hadn’t just been talking about wrerats, he could’ve made a reasonable guess as to what it was.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #008080"><strong>“Strong against little boys ehh?!” </strong></span>Ersun snapped and Burrai watched the ripple of magic, a rare flash of deep purple across his colourless vision, spit towards the wererat. It seemed everything was already in motion – it was now time to wrest control. Simple soldiering was rarely about picking times and places, preparation and plans – that was for assassins and one of the reasons he became a commander where all his studies of history bore fruit. Soldiering though taught you to turn and deal with whatever fight was nearest, and Burrai had spent plenty of time as a Soldier.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #8B4513">“Push them back.” </span>He barked at Ersun as he thundered past. <span style="color: #8B4513">“Don’t let them flank me.”</span> Burrai was at full speed a moment later – his powerful legs might not have been great for traversing fields and plains, forests or valleys, but in the tighter confines of a town or Dwarven Stronghold violent bursts of movement were the difference between life and death.</p><p></p><p><span style="color: #8B4513">“I said!”</span> He roared, tucking his head behind his shield at the last moment. <span style="color: #8B4513">“Move back!”</span> And he cannoned into the Rhat, the great face of his shield sweeping in a wide arc trying to clear Aletia space to retreat and interpose himself. Few, if any, could pass straight through Burrai Steelborn when he was set…..</p><p></p><p>[sblock=Bull-Rush]Attempting a bullrush to push them away from Aletia - that's an opposed STR check, right? so 1d20 +3</p><p></p><p>....<strong>11 </strong>(ugh)</p><p></p><p>add 4 if a Rhat is counted as Small.....?[/sblock]</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Hillsy7, post: 7277299, member: 6689191"] [b]Burrai Steelborn[/b] The Night sat heavy in the streets of Cabarda; the clouds that brought the rain gave the air almost palpable weight, making Burrai sweat a little beneath his armour despite the temperature. The quiet susurration of raindrops on roofs and cobbles, the dull clatter on his armour, added a blanket of noise pressing in as he tried to listen through it. Not that he heard much over the scrape and rattle of his armour as he followed Ersun at pace. They hadn’t gone far, the underfolk a lightened smudge against the darkvision greyscale of the street, rain flickering through it so the air looked filled with tiny fireflies. He turned to see Jabbar following, though he wasn’t sure how either would fare in a fight – Jabbar at least it seemed was accustomed to danger, as was his trade. The Underfolk however – he’d seen boys carry swords as large and die as boys, chopped down by old hands with axes like so many saplings. As Ersun’s back loomed out of the dark, he watched him shoulder his sword and produce a wand. Burrai’s eyebrows shot up; he wasn’t expecting that from a swordsman. He pulled his axe from his belt and slipped his shield onto his arm with practised fluidity. Four forms loomed out of the murk – The Drow elf in her Urchin disguise was there, as he suspected, hands raised in defense before the points of two small Rhat’s wielding daggers. Behind them hulked something monstrous and familiar, its strange piping voice a whisper, meaning squashed beneath the blanket of background noise. Even if they hadn’t just been talking about wrerats, he could’ve made a reasonable guess as to what it was. [COLOR=#008080][B]“Strong against little boys ehh?!” [/B][/COLOR]Ersun snapped and Burrai watched the ripple of magic, a rare flash of deep purple across his colourless vision, spit towards the wererat. It seemed everything was already in motion – it was now time to wrest control. Simple soldiering was rarely about picking times and places, preparation and plans – that was for assassins and one of the reasons he became a commander where all his studies of history bore fruit. Soldiering though taught you to turn and deal with whatever fight was nearest, and Burrai had spent plenty of time as a Soldier. [COLOR=#8B4513]“Push them back.” [/COLOR]He barked at Ersun as he thundered past. [COLOR=#8B4513]“Don’t let them flank me.”[/COLOR] Burrai was at full speed a moment later – his powerful legs might not have been great for traversing fields and plains, forests or valleys, but in the tighter confines of a town or Dwarven Stronghold violent bursts of movement were the difference between life and death. [COLOR=#8B4513]“I said!”[/COLOR] He roared, tucking his head behind his shield at the last moment. [COLOR=#8B4513]“Move back!”[/COLOR] And he cannoned into the Rhat, the great face of his shield sweeping in a wide arc trying to clear Aletia space to retreat and interpose himself. Few, if any, could pass straight through Burrai Steelborn when he was set….. [sblock=Bull-Rush]Attempting a bullrush to push them away from Aletia - that's an opposed STR check, right? so 1d20 +3 ....[B]11 [/B](ugh) add 4 if a Rhat is counted as Small.....?[/sblock] [/QUOTE]
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