Basic Fantasy RPG Forums

Nekron, I think you have forgotten who's running this game. The GM judges results, not the players.

Timorel braced himself against the door, and Brother Arven rushed to his side to help. At Timorel's urging, Shybolt moved forward to bar the door... but even as he did so, the monster crashed into the door with tremendous force, knocking Timorel down and causing the friar to stumble backward.

As the door began to swing open, Grumm leaped to hold it, and with Shybolt's aid he managed to keep the door from opening further. Unfortunately, they couldn't quite force the door closed again, as the undead thing had reached one filthy claw around it. Grumm recoiled a bit in horror as he saw that it was reaching fumblingly for his face.

Third round, everyone is faster than the monster. Let's keep it to declarations of intent only this time.

OOC: My bad! I figured your silence was consent.
Am I close enough to hit it's arm or are Grumm and Shybolt in the way?

Nekron99 wrote:OOC: My bad! I figured your silence was consent.

No, my silence indicates that I'm up to my butt in work.

Nekron99 wrote:Am I close enough to hit it's arm or are Grumm and Shybolt in the way?

It looks a bit chancy, but you probably won't accidentally hit Grumm while swinging at the monster.

Grumm will continue to push against the door - he'll also yell, "I should still have a flask or two of oil on my belt, in case anyone want to apply fire to this problem."

Shybolt will grab a flask of oil, try to pour it on the grasping claw and as much of the arm as possible, then touch the oil with my torch.

OOC: Sorry about that, I missed the part about declarations of intent only.

As Brother Arven steps back he thinks -thoughts- to himself.
With the oil being utilized, Brother Arven will hold on the arm attack for the moment to see the results.

Timorel picks himself up, readies his sword, and will also wait to see what happens when Shybolt tries to light the thing up.

Shybolt grabbed a flask of oil from Grumm's belt, nearly pulling his pants down in the process, and began splashing the oil on the monster's flailing claw. Then he touched it with his torch, and it caught fire. The undead thing let out a blood-curdling howl and withdrew into the room.

With this reprieve, Grumm and Timorel were able to get the door shut and the bar back into place.

"Well," Timorel says, resting a moment against the door, "that worked out well."