>>5284121Rolled 14 (1d20)
You take a deep breath, aim down your sights, and pull the rifle’s trigger. A crack of fire angles up and out from your rifle, an arc of light that streaks through the air and toward the wolf.. and it misses, just barely, past the wolf’s neck. You avoid any friendly fire, but your shot crackles far away into the flowers.
With that, the wolf raises his blade and, with a swift chop, hacks at the dhampir’s shoulder. Ava collapses like a sack of flour into the pale glow of beneath her–her rapiers tumble from the air alongside her. Emilia takes advantage of the swing to run the wolf through with your greatsword, but like a beast, he rips himself off the steel and bounds back.
Morne exchanges a quick glance between his opponents–his sister, who lies before him, the berserker with your bloodied greatsword, yourself down in the flowers.. and upon the doll and huntress who lie prone in the flowers. He does not hesitate. With the sword in hand, he leaps forth and sprints toward the two. Emilia moves to intercept him, but Morne’s speed is still that of a wolf.
You move up out of instinct, a hand for your rifle.. and find the numbness in your chest and clumsiness of your nerves now dissipated. While your coat remains sticky and your torso still prickles, you feel an odd warmth about you, hardly the cold grip of death you’d imagined.
>Pluck a sword from the ground to try and meet Morne.>Fire off another shot with your rifle.>Write-In. 