QUAN!!!!!

To take us all back to that fateful round...

 

 ... An attack was launched on the party while they were searching an Earth Temple priest's quarters.  A wave of swordsmen, lead by a cleric had burst in on them.  Lysander had instantly dropped the glass of brandy he was drinking (quite a nice drop), and whirled his trident up to face the attackers.  The rest of the party formed up, and the attackers were soon repelled and fled.  Several of our heroes, including Lysander pursued, hoping try and stop the cleric leader. 

 

Charging headlong after anybody really isn't Lysander's style, and he didn't feel right about it now.  But, they had easily countered the cleric and bested the swordsmen, so he supressed the pang of doubt and tried to press the advantage. 

 

However it appears they may have been lead into a trap.  Before long another wave of swordsmen had fell upon the group, and a disorganised melee had erupted.  The party held their own long enough for the trailing members to catch up and join the fray, and things seemed to be going well, considering.

 

Specifically, Lysander had managed to inflict a vicious puncture to the abdomen of the swordsman he faced, and had turned to face a second.  He struck down this new opponent and then, clutching his side, the first had also fallen - his wound overcoming him.

 

And that's when it happened. Things were happening too fast, and something didn't feel right.  Suddenly time felt as viscous as molasses and Lysander felt his eyes begin to move to the right.  His head gradually began to turn as well and somewhere in amongst the clamour of battle a soft, out-of-place crackling could be heard.  Finally his body began to turn to the right as well, and his sight panned over the chaos of the skirmish: Dwervyn charging down the hallway toward the melee; Kazandra desperately blocking a slash with her shield, the Guru smashing his weapon into the groin of an off balance swordsman. A bright flash in his periphery, his head still turning, painstakingly slowly. 

 

And even as it comes into view, it doesn't register as danger right away.  It takes a moment, even within full, fearful effect in view now - speeding toward him, before Lysasnder thinks to move out of the way. 

 

He lunges left, or at least tries to.  He can have only moved mere inches before the stroke of lightening rips through him.  Out before he hits the floor, his body crumples, seemingly lifeless...

Comments

[Kaz]

Alas, we hardly knew him.

[Lysander]

Truly, a valiant and noble friend has fallen here today. *pours out some brandy on the ground*

[TheDM]

Gnoll number 2.
Poor little guy.

[TheDM]

The vicissitudes of modern melee life, and death.
The chaos that unfolds in a good ol' free-for-all is hard to follow at the best of times.
Just as you count your lucky stars that you weren't standing at that exact spot two seconds ago where the arrow flew by, you see a comrade felled because his breastplate hinge broke one second before the swordsmans wayward blow found a fortunate mark.
Alas, this is war.
The electricity that Lysander felt was real - his neurons firing in synchronous reaction to what would have been a deadly blow.
His lunge was little more than a symbol of an instinctive reaction, not the usually surefooted and deliberate dodge. Not knowing which was left, right, up or down, Lysander's move was equally a product of stumbling over the firmly positioned foot of a fellow-at-arms.
It was this friend whom of it can truly be said that he didn't know what hit him. It was this hapless individual that was in the wrong place, at the wrong time.
And that poor, suffering soul, was...