Knights of Tezoth

Well, probably yes. They aren't positioned a meter apart from each other...

Well, the rule with hydras is somewhat different. Better to clarify. Revan?

The hydra doesn't fly... Well, let Revan decide...

So. Was it the same in my duel with her? 🤔

So it doesn't have enough range, it seems.

Stephania, for all her merits, cannot be 12 tiles away from every character within her attack radius. Because during a shot and outside her turn, she cannot move, and to move along the axis, she needs to actually move. I could still accept it if a one-tile difference is taken as a -1 penalty for the attacker, but not this. Because the same position cannot be 12 tiles away from two different positions. Conditionally, one is 6 tiles away from her, the other is 11. If she is 12 tiles away from both, that means she moves along the axis up and down to land her attack or escape the zone of effect. And this contradicts the mechanic that forbids archers from moving while attacking.

Yes. While you were hitting the pegasus, there was no retaliation. But you never managed to hit her...

Thanks, Wyrm

Revan said that if a character is on a mount, they can shoot or cast spells and move at the same time thanks to the animal. But a foot archer can only shoot while standing still...

And what about me? A lone melee fighter, while there are flying rats with bows all around that no one can reach except a couple of people, and one-death rats...

What a damn mess and headache these flying mounts turn out to be.

His dawn-steel eyes narrowed as Alsira fell, his teeth grinding—he was not the only one employing his strategy.
"Finish him, my lady, I beg of you"—a grim satisfaction warmed his soul at the sight of the Knight of Joy's strike.
Lying behind a pile of sand he had himself heaped up in a couple of seconds, from behind which his head barely peeked out, he continued assessing the situation. The participants were thinning out, but it was too early to speak of any final picture. To the right—the golden one struggles with the hooded figure; behind—a one-eyed colleague draws closer to the grim one; somewhere in the distance, my lady tries to punish a scoundrel with her axe; the rest maneuver.
His gaze shifted south—it seemed the northerners were somewhat battered. The Crusher attempts to join the fray, the commander has stepped back and is barking at her colleagues. Is she limping? Indeed, she had taken a serious blow earlier.
His hand darts toward the dagger but stops halfway.
"Would that be gallant? Hardly"—his brain tries to make sense of the impulse that ran through it. Hand and head drop into the sand. "That is not quite in line with my code."

"Now or never."
After lying there for a few seconds and running through the possible options in his head, Vargas finally draws Goldcutter, rises to half his height, and dashes with the speed of lightning—poisoned and bereft of spirit, but lightning nonetheless. In his case, rather a ball lightning, hiding the blade behind his back so that a stray glint would not cut the observers' eyes and give away his maneuver.
Coming face to face with the last remaining commander, he gives her a nod and a second to process it, then makes a couple of thrusts alternating with a swing. To his credit, even in an unexpected situation and despite her wound, she dances like a sylph. However, the final thrust—by his own standards somewhat dirty, which cut at his heart, but battle is battle—was anticipated by a feint: with his free hand he made a gesture as if he meant to grab her, thereby directing her reflexive dodge into the convenient direction his weapon so craved.
The dagger sinks into the lightly armored flesh like a knife into warm butter.

"We are even, Lady Crimson Blade. Lester always pays his debts,"—the phrase from the fiction he had recalled earlier came back to mind and tongue. "You are magnificent, and your will is worthy of praise as well. May a higher power judge us from here on,"—his hand at that moment reflexively touched the cross on his neck.
Picking up the fallen hat so it would not drop into the sand, he returns it to its owner's hands.
Leaving a bow, he sweeps his cloak, briefly blocking the view—and in the very next moment, as it clears, he is already gone.

The fact that you have a bow like Lorican's is not Wyvern's fault...

That's it, I don't want to be part of this anymore. From now on, the Northerners can do whatever they want. They can go kneel before the great Pegasus god. Or commit seppuku in the name of Sordgard. I don't care.

Well... Both archers with range 12 are dead, so... Either she has to concede the victory, or Nebok helps Ferlyuts... Or she, out of the goodness of her heart, descends to sinful earth...

well why not. maybe she'll run out of spirit, like in a duel..