<div class="floatleft">(https://i.imgur.com/2vtQHDS.png)</div><strong>Name:</strong><strong>"Arty" Fellbrook</strong>(https://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=311048.msg15089568#msg15089568)<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Caravan, On Horseback<br/><strong>HP:</strong>42 / 42<br/><strong>AC:</strong>22<strong>Touch:</strong>15<strong>Flat Footed:</strong>17<strong>CMD:</strong>19<br/><strong>Resist:</strong>Electricity 5, Cold 5, Acid 5<br/><strong>Fort:</strong>+4<strong>Reflex:</strong>+3<strong>Will:</strong>+6<br/><strong>Perception:</strong>+10 [Darkvision 60ft]<strong>Initiative:</strong>+2 [Current: 22 (https://elliquiy.com/forums/dicebot.php?r=140047)]<br/><strong>Spells Remaining:</strong><em>1st Level:</em>7 / 8<em>2nd Level:</em>5 / 5<br/><br/><hr/><br/>Dinner was miserable, of course; after such an argument with his travelling companions, none of them particularly wanted to speak with him, and he couldn't rightly blame 'em. He was obviously in a foul mood, and he doubted that anybody wanted to risk him lashing out at them or their unwanted comfort. So, he largely kept to himself on the edge of the group, watching the rest of the mercenaries going about their business, quietly nibbling on his meat and vegetables before he ended up turning in for the night. He admittedly went to sleep a little earlier than normal, but when he was in a mood as foul as this one, he tended to find that the earlier he went to bed, the less bad decisions he made. He'd hoped to do some singing and dancing and maybe drag somebody off to his tent for some fun, but with the mood he was in...it was just not a good idea. He loved fucking out his feelings, sure, but he still wasn't certain he could trust the ruffians in the camp and if they did end up being cutthroats and traitors, he knew for a fact that the worst position to be in was in bed with one of them. If they ended up being trustworthy, then maybe he'd take out some of his frustrations with them. But until then...a sealed tent flap and a warm bedroll was the only comfort he was getting.<br/><br/>Alas, he didn't get nearly as much sleep as he had been hoping for. No sooner had he managed to settle his tumultuous mind and drift off into a troubled sleep - though he was always troubled these days, some nights were better than others - than he heard the telltale sounds of alarm and movement within the camp. He frowned deeply. Had the mercenaries turned on them so soon? He'd have thought that they'd wait for a little longer before launching a mutiny, but....no. No, the alarm was<em>coming</em>from the mercenaries nearby, and if they were the ones launching the attack, they wouldn't be declaring their presence. So it was a separate, unknown enemy that had set upon the mercenaries, too. Goblins? Wolves? Or worse? He had no idea, but he didn't want to wait in his tent to find out. He was in a bad mood and they'd just made it worse, whoever they were, and he was in a vengeful frame of mind. He grit his teeth and growled, rousing himself to proper wakefulness. He scrambled to his feet, gripping his blade - which he'd kept close by just in case - as he did so, unsheathing the blade and moving out of the tent into the darkness, the armour he'd fallen asleep wearing clanking with his motion.<br/><br/>His cloak flared out around him as he moved up beside Patches, who was standing obediently next to his tent exactly where he'd left him. The zombie horse was dull, but dangerous; he'd set him on the nearest opponent as soon as it was within range of the campfire and therefore normal vision. The last thing he needed was his horse losing itself in the wilderness. He patted Patches neck idly as he scanned the camp, eyes roving over every detail to try and work out what the terrain was like. They then fixed on the approaching humanoid figures, trying to discern their shape and size, trying to work out exactly what they were dealing with. They were humanoid, at least, so...bandits? Goblins? Worse? He had no idea, but there was still time. If you didn't know who was attacking you, you wouldn't know how best to defend yourself, after all. As he did so, he cast a quick Shield of Faith spell to bolster his defences, hefting his shield in his arm and preparing his next move. Well. On the bright side, at least, it looked like he might get some fresh corpses after all. And if Ian had a problem with that, well...tough. But right now, he had some anger to vent...and somebody or something out there had just deigned to give him the opportunity. Best see that he didn't waste it, neh?<br/><br/><hr/><hr/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button">Mechanics</div><div class="spoiler_body"><br/>In the first (non surprise) round of combat, Arty:<br/><br/><strong>1)</strong> Grips his sword and leaves his tent to stand next to Patches, which is standing obediently where Arty left him.<br/><br/><strong>2)</strong> Casts Shield of Faith for +2 Deflection AC<br/><br/><strong>3)</strong> If applicable, rolls perception to try and figure out what they're being attacked by. Arty Rolls Perception: 1d20a10 Result: 25 (https://elliquiy.com/forums/dicebot.php?r=140088) </div></div>