45
Your Arrow strikes his chest at an acute angle and glances off to splinter harmlessly against the parapet of the roof. He utters a mocking laugh, his cat-like eyes glinting through the slits in his visor, and hurriedly he drops the Lorestones into a small velvet sack which hangs from his sword belt. Angered by his laugh, and your failure, you shoulder your Bow and draw a hand weapon as you rush forward, determined to prevent his escape.
