Rolled 17, 16, 14 = 47 (3d20)
>>5440736>14You are practiced with a blade now, so that even the unfamiliar and oblong shoggoth-sword is not so awkward as it might have bee. Besides, you’ve tested it out on many of the lesser ghouls and skeleton sentries! This master-of-puppets is no martial match for your precision and prowess…
>18But perhaps it does not NEED to be. The Ghoul Supreme makes no effort to dodge, or to counter-attack—he simply raises his hand and, splaying his clawed fingers… Stops the swing. You lean into it, gripping the sword’s hilt with both hands and roaring with exertion… But the blade hovers inches from the dogman’s grinning face.
“Is nice loot,” the Ghoul Supreme notes of the sword… And then, with a casual swat of his free hand, he sends you hurtling backwards into the mass of advancing skeletons. You lose your grip on the sword and it remains where you left it: hovering, still-living aberration-eyes darting about in confusion and alarm as it hovers towards the waiting, grubby paws of the Ghoul Supreme.
You struggle to stand, disoriented by the unseen force which batted aside your four hundred-odd pounds of <Dragonshaped> muscle so easily. The effort is complicated by clawing, grabbing hands of bone, which pull you back and down. Swords slash and stab at your wing membranes; you hiss involuntarily in pain as they find purchase, even if these non-magical weapons can only do so much. You lash your tail, beat your wings, and scatter them… But they return.
Perhaps worse, you hear the cries of your allies as Junior and the Drow are similarly assaulted on all sides. These armour-clad skeletons are heavier and stronger than the long-dead, dust-dry ones which you smashed apart on the way here, and their weapons are mightier. Squinting, you try to make out the root mechanism by which they are animated with your second-sight…
[Spellcraft, DC 14]
