Rethlin charges forward, bearing the light of the Flame into battle.
Behind him, the watch wavers, torn between following the priest, pulling their shot comrade to safety, and not getting the security guard's throat slit if something goes wrong.
Finally they choose discretion over valour: one of them ducks behind the barricade with James while two others drag their shot comrade behind the guard shack.
Manticore smiles, his confidence returning. One man lumbering towards him through an open field in heavy armor.
How hard can it be to make this zero-deflection, no-cover shot?
"Sweet Sovereign Host!" James whispers, horrified. "That idiot's going to get himself killed!"
Manticore's crossbow snaps twice, with dreadful finality.
Manticore shoots (1d20 8=19, 1d10 2=3, 1d20 8=16, 1d10 2=9)
Rethlin continues on, untouched.
The watchman at the barricade converts to the Silver Flame on the spot.
Sedar is up, unless he's still struggling with some ropes.