Ecalsneerg

Arrowhawk slowed her pace, torn between the car screeching into the distance and the woman clearly at great risk of being assaulted. She stopped, bloody knife in one hand, longbow in the other. Her armour was in tatters, blood oozing out of it, what little of her face was visible smeared in blood and grime. They probably wouldn't kill that woman, just steal her belongings... but that kind of cold maths was beyond her. She paused for breath in front of the woman, fixing her eyes on the two street toughs. "Try... it..." she forced out, voice coming out ragged and pained.

Notice check to find these goddamn guys: 1d20+9 14 The dice hate me.

Arrowhawk bent low, snatching up the man's vicious knife in one hand. She didn't know where her axe was. Somewhere behind her, she guessed. It didn't matter now. She had to keep moving. There were too many time limits in play, how long before they found and killed that poor woman, how long before the police got here and complicated things, how long before she passed out from blood loss. She forced herself into a run, sprinting in the rough direction she thought the hunters had gone. Everything hurt, so she tried to block it out, forcing herself to look into the night, to hear the sounds of the city, desperate for something, anything...

Arrowhawk rolled her eyes, one hand clutching at her stomach. She was in so much pain. "Follow through with your threats or not at all. I would be delighted to see how you leverage politicians and judges against an illegal vigilante, how you leverage accountants against a woman who is legally a dead child. How you leverage the mafia against the Arrowhawk." She crossed the space between them in a blur, moving like smoky lightning through the night air, despite her labored breathing and visible injuries. "It hardly seems a threat at-" Osla pinched at the brow of her nose and let out a weary sigh. "Oh, there is just too much pain to banter tonight." She pivoted smartly on one heel and whipped him around the head with Orheidr again.

Move Action: Cross the distance Standard Action: Smack him with the bow again: 1d20+10 24 That's unmodified, so it's just DC23 Toughness.

Arrowhawk staggered back, her armour in ribbons, her torso in even worse shape underneath it. Even through the bravado and the battlelust, she desperately wanted to go home. She wished her father was here. He'd be able to stop this guy, surely. Then they could get pizza, perhaps see that movie with the American fleeing the German prison camp on a motorcycle. She'd liked that one. She shook her head, and forced out a laugh, the action sending shooting pain through her ribs. "Two bullets. An axe. Three knife wounds. And I am not dead." She locked eyes on Metal Head, aware she just looked pale and queasy, her chin wet with what she hoped was blood. Saliva was less dignified. She spat on the ground. Yep. Definitely blood. "I thought you were going to kill me?" Summoning the last of her strength, Osla lunged forward, leaping into the air. She twisted as she did so, her bow held like a baseball bat, before bringing it around with a resounding clang against Metal Head's metal mask.

DC19 Toughness save: 1d20+3 15 She's up to 6 injuries, but our girl's still going. She's going to just straight-up Charge this dude and All-Out Attack for 2, and Power Attack for 2. That's a net -4 Defence, +2 Attack, and +2 DC when she uses the Strike on Orheidr. That's Defence 18, Attack +12, DC25. I choose to invoke the holy Sara Lance for this roll: 1d20+12 24 Suck on that, buddy.

Arrowhawk managed to block several of the unexpected blows, fists and blades clanging off her forearms and gauntlets. Eventually, she felt her guard get slipped past and... she staggered, one hand onto the masonry, letting forth a primal bellow of pain. The serrated edge of the knife drove into the small of her back, and it was all she could do to keep standing at this point, knuckles turning white as she clung desperately to her bow. "If they kill that girl..." she forced out through gritted teeth. Osla could taste blood. She'd bitten down on the tip of her tongue. "I will hunt you to the end of the Earth."

How many knife holes does one woman need?: 1d20+4 8 ... oh come on. SERIOUSLY DICE: 1d20+4 6 + 10 = 16 Osla is now bruised x5, injured x5, and dazed.

Restrain him!: 1d20+17 20

The axe slammed into Arrowhawk's shoulder, cutting deeply. She glanced at it and casually pulled it out, dropping it to the ground as she continued her advance. "And if you said the sky was green, you could mean what you said, but also be utterly, utterly wrong. Where are your women mercenaries? Judges and bankers have daughters too." She walked into striking range of Metal Head and contemptuous. She lashed out with her knee, aiming not to injure but to force the man off-balance, knocking him back a little before driving her bow into his clavicle with one hand. "Perhaps the woman you call a parasite, perhaps she was beaten. Or burned." Arrowhawk leaned in, directing the strength of the jormungandr to drive the man to the floor. "That is why I do not need to know you. You think other's hardships make them lesser but make you something more. And even when it is pointed out you call people foolish for merely seeing what a fool cannot see for himself." Her teeth were gritted, spit forming at the corners of her mouth, eyes open in an unstaring rictus as she added her own strength to the already overpowering force pushing down on the villain's neck.

Who needs an axe: 1d20+5 11. Who needs a second Hero Point? Reroll! Resist axe: 1d20+5 23 Other than being up to 4 bruises and injuries, we good, we good. She finishes her move action up to him, and moves to grapple. She'll all-out attack for 2 to make sure it hits, which it does, Grab him!: 1d20+12 27 and Shove him to the floor: 1d20+17 35 Stitch that, mate.

Arrowhawk laughed, a hearty peal of genuine mirth. "Oh. Oh, how very droll. You see, I grew up among men like you. Men who thought their prowess made them somehow better. Somehow more valuable. That they somehow mattered more, simply by tearing down others of other circumstance." She reached to her belt, hefting her bow in her right hand, and took one deliberate step forwards, moving slowly and with a surety of purpose. "Peddle your flimsy rationale to your clientele. I can spot a cur motivated by greed and egotism anywhere. Don't mistake that for contribution." She let out another laugh, this one more bitter, more dripping with acid.

Arrowhawk tried to keep a hold of the axe, but her grip faltered, the haft slipping between her fingers as she ducked backwards to evade any retaliatory strike. A flicker of annoyance crossed her features and she circled around to the left, bringing her fists up into a boxing stance. She weaved forward, striking towards the man's shoulder, but her punch was blocked on the haft of her own axe. Osla bobbed backwards, hoping she wouldn't have cause to break her own weapon. It was hard sourcing axes these days. "You seem like a competent warrior," Arrowhawk said with begrudging respect. "You could bring honour to yourself were these much less vile circumstances."

Resist disarm: 1d20+6 22 Oh well, she drops it. Standard Action: Punch him in the face because seriously who cares about the axe. Accurate Attack for 2. Punch to the face: 1d20+12 15 NOOOOPE. She doesn't use her move because if she stays in melee she is harder to shoot with bullets.

He moved alarmingly quickly, managing to lunge in just as Osla brought the axe down, letting out a yell of pain as the knife drove into the existing wound in her side, spiking in through the hole in her armour. Spurred on, she slammed the haft of the axe down with immense force onto his shoulder, letting the impact reverberate through the man's body before spinning away, rotating the axe in a circle. "Finally, one of you with any backbone," Arrowhawk snarled, keeping close, knowing if she moved out of melee range then the man's supporters would be very able to shoot her up. As it was, he'd make a convenient shield against anything they'd try.

DC 21 Toughness save: 1d20+6 14 Ouch, so she's Bruised x3, Injured x3, and Dazed. She blows a HP to clear the Daze, bringing her down to 2 HP, and hits the guy with an axe: AXE ATTACK: 1d20+10 23 That is a DC23 Toughness save Her move action, she tries to Intimidate (demoralise) him as a move action, probably ineffectively, but eh. Raaar: 1d20+5 6

Initiative roll: 1d20+8 17

Osla Readies an Attack action in response to Metal Head attacking her with the knife.

Arrowhawk kept her mouth shut. This man could see her, somehow. She didn't know how, and didn't know why. Maybe he had the same technology on that metal head that the mercenary had in his eyes. Maybe it was something else. Practically speaking, it didn't matter. But only he seemed to be able to, and she could use that. Shaking her head and letting a warrior's grin cross her face, she slid the axe down her hand, gripping it tightly near the base of the haft so she could achieve more momentum on the downswing. She slowly brought it up, raising it into the air just above her right shoulder, making no effort to conceal the motion.

Snekky snek: 1d20+15 23 Sense Motive: 1d20+5 17

Arrowhawk immediately slipped back into the shadows, cloaking herself from sight and smell. Especially smell. The mercenary hadn't been lying. There was something unnatural there. Metahumanity being hired out for bloodsports? Was there nothing the wealthy Midgarders couldn't pervert? But they were going to soon discover they weren't able to get far. She kept crouched and quiet, holding her axe still and ready, trying to ignore the pain in her side and shoulder. There were a lot of men here. She wasn't sure a frontal attack would work.

Arrowhawk slid out of the truck, a hand sliding behind her back and under her cape. It came out holding a wooden-hafted axe, gripping it in the middle of the haft. Slowly, making sure she was unnoticed, she hacked it into the rear tyre of the truck, and then moving forward, into one of the front ones. She kept low, moving slowly and silently, ducking in and out of shadows, to give the same treatment to the other trucks. She was grossly outnumbered, and didn't know if the man in the metal mask was a mere mortal or not. She suspected this may not be the case. Normal people didn't have heads like that. Or if it wasn't his head, normal people didn't wear masks like that. Keeping one eye watching him warily, she cut into another tyre, and moved on to the next.

Stealth. Stealth. More stealth.: 1d20+15 29

Arrowhawk seized the opportunity. She waited until the men had got into their vehicle before sliding into the back of the pick-up, gingerly avoiding sitting on the sniper she'd previously knocked out. One hand clutched her bow closely to her, wanting to avoid it clacking off the metal of the truck. Even invisible, she wasn't inaudible. The other gripped on tightly, knowing she wouldn't get an opportunity like this, to perhaps see where the base of operations was. Assuming, of course, the base was where they took their injured. She sat tight, watching and listening keenly, almost motionless. She had all night to wait this out.