With the elemental having taken out the third archer, it just leaves Arakan with the last one at this hilltop. He loads and fires without even looking to see if he succeeded or not, before riding off towards the other two nearby archers. If he can just scatter the archers then the others can focus on the heavy hitters inside the campsite.
Arakan's shot is wide, but his point is made. The lone sniper makes to join up with some companions, and the others that Arakan is heading for, make some evasive manoeuvres before opening fire.
The skirmishers gang up on Calla.
The riders move over to where the fight is still going on. "Give it up!" yells one, brandishing his spear. The other circles round to cut off any escape.
death save
Urgh....
Were we overmatched? Or did we do something wrong? Is it... is it time to surrender? Not yet ready to give in to defeat, Calla spares a quick, nervous, look at Irivis. Waiting for some sort of guidance from the older more experienced woman, Calla keeps her shield high and concentrates on defense.
Looking across at Calla, Irivis considers the options. They seem rather few.
She glares at the skirmishers.
"Let me through to help our wounded. You've nothing to lose. You outnumber us."
She waits for the response, fingers ready to curse and burn if necessary.
"Surrender first!"
Arakan seeing that, despite his scatterring of the archers, the tables have turned for those inside the compound. He has a moment of indecision, ride inside and fight to the last, or run with the aid of his newly acquired mount. The attackers will either kill them or make them slaves, not much better. He makes up his mind and acts. He turns the inix back towards the hill he just came from, a wild plan again in his mind. He spurred the inix as fast as he could to race its hardest away from the camp, laying low to its back to take advantage of the cover of darkness.
"Surrender first!"
Irivis just sees Arakan vanishing into the dark and looks at Calla.
"It's your family and your caravan, Calla," she murmurs. "I can't make that decision for you. But I'll abide by whatever you say."
And I will flay Arakan to atoms if he ever shows his hide near me again.
It's probably just as well nobody can see her face.
Following Calla's lead, Irivis unclenches her hands.
"Now you will let us tend our wounded," she says icily. She moves to Calla and puts a hand on the distraught girl's shoulder. "You could do nothing else. Don't torment yourself."
The mul, seemingly in command, looks around. He wears good armour made from chitin, an battleaxe casually shoved in his belt and a spear in his hand. His face is hangdog and sleepy-eyed. He walks his mount over to where Calla tends to her father, the front of his robe soaked in blood, and looks on impassively for a few moments. He then shrugs disinterestedly and, hefting his spear, plunges it into Calla's father's chest.
"Kill the wounded, round up the rest for the march," he grunts to his men.
"No!" replies the elf, his voice high and fluting. "We need as many alive as possible. That was our arrangement. The place is not far - the able-bodied can carry the weak. You can do what you will after we have finished" The elf is wrapped in silks. Unlike with most elves who are dark and swarthy, a pale hand brushes back a strand of blond hair under his veil.
The mul stares at him, and the elf stares back, unintimidated. The mul looks away and shrugs again. "Whatever - you heard him. Tend to your sick, and get ready to walk." He wheels his crodlu and stalks away.
On the ground by the wall, Calla's father coughs blood once and then lies still. The elf looks down for a moment at the corpse, and then follows after the mul.
The mul seems to be in charge. There is a commotion as the mul appears to kill one of the prisoners, and then a brief exchange between the elf and the mul that Arakan has difficulty making out at this distance. The prisoners are then left to tend their wounded under the eyes of the guards.
Irivis keeps close to Calla and only just restrains herself from bringing a curse down on the Mul's head by remembering that this would only get more people killed.
She seethes inwardly, unable to really blame Arakan for his betrayal, but unable to forgive him either.
Captured
percp
nature
Elf: One of them escaped, Tek. They took an inix, heading west.
Tek: An inix? They're slow. Send a couple of the boys, see if you can bring him back.
Elf: Alight, Tek.
Calla's eyes are dimmed with grief and failure. Irivis' kind words do not pierce, they do not make sense. It was hers to watch the camp, hers to guard the camp, and through her weakness they are all betrayed to slavery and death. Only one thing truly penetrates and makes its mark. The expression of the mul as it kills her father. Boredom.
The mind of a trained psion, even one trained largely for battle, contains layers, precise as clockwork. Somewhere beneath the overwhelming shock and despair, a small part of Calla's mind is still aware enough to hear the elf, and wonder - What does it want with our wounded?
She allows herself to be led, keeping close to Irivis and Gorad, unwilling to look among the captured and wounded to see the condemnation in the eyes of her remaining family.
Jareen wakes slowly, taking a minute before he notices *anything*.
Arakan slowly tries to skirt the embankment towards the north, hoping that he can get some distance between himself and the oncoming elves.
Arakan circles round. He keeps his distance, although it means he can't hear what is going on inside the camp. The elves trot off into the desert on a futile quest after the inix.
After a few minutes, the raiders round up the captured traders into a line and march them off to the north-east. The caravaneers move slowly, carrying their wounded. Dawn is in perhaps an hour. It is cold now, but the temperature will be rocketing soon after the sun rises.
Arakan has almost used up his luck with the escape. He needs to find a way to follow them.... or a disguise. He looks to the elves going after the inix, letting them get ahead of him a little before following them. He loads and fires, hoping to incapacitate one of them before bringing the fight to them. The shot looks like it strikes true, but Arakan doesn't want to face them directly. He drops to the ground, hoping to remain unoticed.
Irivis limps with utter conviction. The recent battle gives her good excuse.
Arakan fires his dart. So close to the elves his attempt to hide fails, but as one charges forward the poison on his crossbow bolt causes it to fall in agony. The other looses an arrow but it sails over Arakan as he throws himself down, and it begins backing away.
Irivis keeps her head down and conserves her energy as best she can. In the meantime, she tries to work out the route of the journey.
As far as Irivis can tell, the route is heading towards the shores of the Estuary of the Forked Tongue.