>>5210664>Rolled 18 (1d20)“You’ll both assault the wolfman.” You reiterate, exasperation having crept into your tone. “You needn’t worry about coordination. We’ll handle this in short.”
“..Fine.” The dhampir huffs. While you figure that both may be a bit too prideful to bend the knee so easily at your command, they accept your word without protest. The matter of a wolfman bounding over the arch overhead may be a bit too pressing for any smart remarks.
As they both lift their blades, you raise your rifle and track the mark shape coursing over the tilting length of the arch. It's difficult to get a firm hold on, given the length of cloak and fur that trails behind it. But you’re not unfamiliar with the quick, distant sort–years of youthful hunts out for birds are plenty experience for a matter like this. You trail ahead of the wolf’s path, take a quiet breath, and pull the trigger.
A shot of light cracks out from the barrel’s end, cracking out across the air and terminating into the wolf’s back. With a great howl, the half-beast falls from the archway overhead and careens down on toward you–you take several steps back as he twists into a rough roll forward. It grinds to a halt as dust billows up in its path.
“Impressive shot.” Morne gnarls. A hand gingerly touches his chest. “Silver rounds? More competent than I thought.”
Both the berserker and the dhampir, wordless, haft their steel and charge the wolf–the following maelstrom of swinging blades and rapiers is near impossible to make out, but the wolf meets them both with ready competence, his own blade twirling along like a ribbon in spite of its size and deflecting near all of their blows.
Unfortunately, it's rather difficult to make out much in the mess. The mass of black steel, fur, and cloth is like a whirlwind. And the both of them seem somewhat reluctant to press any more, lest they injure the one at their side.
>Attempt to land a critical shot with your rifle.>Ask the doll to go in with her scalpel.>Wait for a more critical moment.>Write-In. 