Rolled 11, 1, 3 = 15 (3d20)
>>5797825>>5797424>>5797261>>5797222>>5797216>>5797205>>5797172>>5797170>>5797162>>5797157You forced yourself to focus on anything other than the dead goblin in front of you, and found your mind shifting to a more tactical mindset instead—what else was there to think about? Seven goblins—eight soon—versus five of you… Not the best odds, but goblins were weak and prone to break ranks and flee with sufficient intimidation. At least… That’s what you’d always been told. If you could even the odds, and put up a half-decent fight, surely they’d surrender or scatter? Your only other options were flight or surrender, and you had trouble imagining much quarter or mercy would be afforded to you and your friends in either scenario. Given a choice between slavers’ chains or an arrow in the back, you would die on your feet instead!
(Gods, you’d hoped and prayed that you weren’t about to die…)
Desperate to win—to live—you’d set about doing the only thing you could to make yourself useful in this battle: summon a better combatant. A you began the incantation and the careful motions to open a portal between this plane and another, it was the Ashurati who again came to mind—those who had gotten you into this situation, and abandoned you to it. Damn them! If only you could <summon>n Nemenmo back… But you could not summon even a Greater Fire Elemental, let alone a corporeal, intelligent fey creature—and an ‘elemental fey’ and a ‘summoned elemental’ were very different indeed, as the summoner’s arts reckoned.
(…Huh. Why WAS that, anyway?)
There was no time to contemplate the metaphysics of the arcane now, though! However, something else that could cast light—and project fierce flames—would be VERY much welcome in this situation. As such, it was the elemental plane of fire you reached into to draw your power and form your temporary acolyte and ally. As the orange red lights whirled and coalesced beneath your dancing fingers, the goblins took notice but—true to their reputation—they were held at bay by moral terror of bloody-muzzled Muffins.
“Good boy,” you whispered. “Just a little longer…”
[1d20 for your elemental, 2d20 for Muffins, 2d20 for Pearce, 3d20 for your father (higher DC for concussion and disarmament), 2d20 for your enemies (lower DC; they're more seasoned than most of you, outnumber you, and have home-field advantage, and are no longer disoriented or surprised), 1d20 for environmental variables.]
