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Your feet win the dilemma - you spring upright, and without delay, speed down the hillside, your golden hair breaking loose of its restraints, whipped about your face, and into your mouth. Deimos’ talons slash at your legs, and her teeth graze upon your neck - you run faster than you can believe, long legs propelling you haphazardly downhill. In the moments after the battle, the majority of the spearman had collected the wounded, and had begun a slow and orderly trek down the hillside under Arthur’s supervision - now, they flee like terrified children, all pretense of discipline forgotten. Zeus, father of Olympus, loud-thunderer, is now speaking in the oldest and most important tongue known to men. Behind you, the insane shouting of Labostas continues, and daring a glance at it, you see that it has risen to its hooves, facing Mt. Olympus, making crude gestures.
A stray thought passes through your empty mind, <span class="mu-i">It is already dead.</span>
Your sandaled feet dance across stones, earth and grass - but your strides are true. The commoner troops before you sprint wildly, some tumbling and tripping, others leaping over their fallen brothers - the wounded diving for cover behind boulders and into the folds of Gaia’s embrace, covering their eyes and ears. Your own hands are clamped tightly upon your ears, your blood pounding, and you are only just able to keep your balance as you stagger forwards.
In mid-stride, your world turns white.
>Deianira rolled a 15, ~4 degrees of success
>Deianira takes some tissue damage -2 from the concussive wave, and another -1 from tumbling over the rocky ground, but otherwise no permanent harm. ‘Nira avoids the concussion I planned to give her :)
>She is now at 5/8 wounds (although will be fully healed in short order given FOB)
>no additional troops are killed, although about 30 dudes take some minor/cosmetic damage, and some dead bodies are destroyed.
You are being hauled to your feet - coughing, you expel pebbles and dirt from your mouth. Your body aches - dull pain radiating up your arms and legs, your joints swollen and tender. Your shoulders and thighs are battered - even your chest feels bruised beneath your leather tunic. The two spearmen pulling you to your feet are dusty and dirty themselves, covered in small abrasions and scratches. You are disoriented, still reeling - even with your hands having tightly covered your ears, your sense of hearing is a bit muffled from Zeus’ retribution. The spearmen are saying something to you indistinctly, but you can’t quite make it out.
>more coming and vote post later tonight, thought I'd post what I have
>I got distracted by making a spreadsheet and then simulating multiple combat encounters between various people (pro-tip: do NOT ever fight Achilles).
