Stool
Myconid Druid
AC: 13 (bucket armor) HP: 28/28
PP: 15 PIv: 9 PIs: 13 San: 12
Conditions: -
Concentration: -

Stool is almost kicked out of his bucket 'armor' from the force of both the haymaker and the psychic thrust. STOOOOP! Please don't hurt anyone. he shouts mentally clinging to the chest of the huge orc extruding another cloud of spores, this time a dark grey one.

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Pacifying Spores: DC 13 Con Save or stunned for a minute. Save each turn.


Nilvae
Half-Elf Warlock
AC: 13 HP: 23/23
PP: 12 PIv: 11 PIs: 12 San: 7 (-1)
Conditions: -
Concentration: -

And they call me mad. Nilvae comments, this time vocally. Just stop, all of you. This is what they want. We fight each other, they want us divided, not united. I know I am here the shortest, and I do not know how bad it can be in here, but we cannot punch each other, with mind or fist.

She turns to Faedryl, with her bread roll in hand. Take my share. You need it more than I do. And develop some sense of community, all of you. We need each other. she messages Faedryl. She then turns to the orc, with a bit of safety distance*. You are confused, drugged and beaten. But I feel your pride has taken the worst brunt of damage. Hurting feeble women is not helping your reputation nor your situation. Stop it.

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*distance in such a sense that I prepare the dodge action.