Kill-stealing the Mage's Glory

Having our party almost split in two at the start of the encounter gives the tieflings an early advantage, but the narrow and linear corridor offers little tactical opportunities and we are soon back on equal footing. We still need to manoeuvre somewhat so that our squishier characters aren't so unprotected. Afutavere's keen elvish senses spot a weakness, and he moves to prevent it being exploited. 'Skelra! That tiefling has a clear line-of-sight; I shall step in front of you to block him!'

'Well, thanks, but he's in melee and I was actually lining him up for a clear shot with my crossbow.'

'You're welcome, human.' Despite this, the tieflings are pushed back.

We should press forwards and charge them, keeping our advantage, but our paladin isn't too keen. 'What, charge the blind, injured tiefling? That doesn't seem chivalrous.'

'Have you so soon forgotten how to play your character?'

'Oh, right. Charge!' And so with the crippled tiefling out of the way, the leader disappeared around a corner, there is only one more tiefling left in our sights. The mage's sights, in fact, as he brings his ceremonial crossbow to bear on the retreating enemy.

It's a hit! A solid hit, too. The tiefling wobbles and staggers and... Afutavere's elven senses tingle again, causing him to rush around the corner, pull up his bow and loose an arrow nary a second after Skelra's hit. The tiefling collapses to the ground, dead, and even though it looked to the untrained eye that Afutavere's arrow whistled harmlessly past the tiefling's ear, our elf knows differently. 'My kill!', he gleefully shouts.

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