# I'm All Out of Bears, I'm So Lost Without You . . . (An Aelar, Ailurus and Willow moment)



## Sialia (May 21, 2018)

Once upon a time, there were two winter wolves and a passel of Orcs who made the poor life choice to attack our party of 3 wood elves: Aelar (a ranger), Ailurus (his little sister, a druid), and Willow (a friend who's a heckuva rogue).

And this is how it happened from my point of view. I'm the little sister Ailurus, who likes turning into a bear when she can, but couldn't today because reasons. Mostly involving too many combats without a rest in between. So there will be no bears this time around. Or allosauruses. I did get to Giant Spider, but since we're skipping to the good bit at the end, you miss that part. It wasn't my best Giant Spidering anyway, 'cause I missed with the web attack, and the wolves bit harder than I did, even with the poison, and the tree wasn't tall enough to get me out of wolf leaping range. Stupid tree.

Anyway, it was messy and painful all around. I’ll spare you the blow by blow. Melee occurred, you know how it goes. Spells were cast, saving throws were made or missed, people got hit with sharp things, I booped snoots with my shillelegh, etc. etc.

Towards the end there was a bit of groping around with unfamiliar spells looking for alternative ways to solve the combat—I’m still really rusty after a decade long hiatus, and I’m still trying to figure out the new edition. My usual spells don’t seem to be working very well--the real puzzle being that the wolves do more damage than I do, and each time we exchange blows, I lose more hit points than they do. I'm trying to figure out how to stay alive long enough to hit them with anything that would matter.

“I don’t get it,” I ask the GM: “what’s this ‘Healing Word’ do? I mean—why would I want to use Healing Word instead of Cure Wounds if it does less healing?”

“Range,” he replies.

Oh, right. Well what use is that right now?—it’s _me_ that needs healing, and I’m within range touch of myself, so who cares? Why am I even carrying this useless spell today?

Turning into a spider does buy me some extra hit points for a bit, but they get used up surprisingly quickly. The orcs eventually are all dead, but the wolves are left, everybody is bloodied, my spell list is almost empty, AND I'm all out of bears. I mean shape shifts.

At last, I'm standing with barely enough hit points to survive another attack, our mighty sword-wielding ranger is lying dead, and our rogue is in hiding.

On the plus side, the wolves don’t look much better. 

Well, strike that. They look happier. Knowing how much less damage we do per round--especially with the ranger out of commission-- they are liking their odds.

“This is your last chance,” I boldly bluster to the lead wolf. “Flee if you wish to live.”

The wolf practically laughs at me. “Winter wolves never flee,” the wolf replies, circling in for a last assault.

I continue posturing and taunting shamelessly, knowing that Willow, our rogue, is very good at striking from hiding, and that her best chance is if I keep the wolves distracted and convince them to waste their attacks on me. Willow does way more damage than I do and is the only one with a prayer of doing enough damage quickly enough to matter. I’ve got to buy her a couple of attacks if I can.

Willow strikes, viciously, doing ridiculous amounts of damage. Like she does.

I coup de grace the wolf she softened up, and he dies. 

My brother elf the ranger, is slowly bleeding out into the snow, failing death saves, and I can’t get to him because there is still one tremendous, snarling wolf remaining between me and the body, and if I stop fighting long enough to heal anyone other than myself, I will surely die. I probably couldn’t even heal myself enough to survive the next attack.

“Yield!” I cry, “Your companions are all dead. Surrender and swear fealty to us,” I add with all the bravado I can muster, knowing it sounds ridiculous. “Serve us, or die.”

“Winter wolves will never be slaves,” the remaining wolf snarls.

“Heal, boy,” I cry, pointing not at him, but past him, suddenly remembering what I can do from range. As intended, the wolf misunderstands what I just said, and enraged at the mortal insult to canine kind, he closes in to kill me. 

Whereupon, my brother rises from the snow, covered in gore--with just enough hit points to move-- and from behind -- cleaves the wolf through the spine decisively.


Apart from the agony, it was a thing of beauty.[/FONT]

































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