The elf is caught between the need to be ready with his bow and the need to address the threat of the ice memphet. Tassidar felt like this was a trap somehow. Ultimately Thyrmyr would be spotted continuing on his corse of action. The little imp-like being might believe that he was hidden.
[i]"If this is a trap, perhaps it is best sprung early before we are committed much further. I can at least determine if this being is friend or foe."
Tassidar turns to face an address the child sized creature.
"I see you have an interest in these humans and the goings on to come. Do you care to treat with us? I have been watching you as you have us. I would enjoy hearing your thoughts and purpose."
"Your nature is not so unlike my own."
To emphasize this, the wizard reaches within himself to draw forth a bit of the origin of his power.
With a strange sounding word, Tassidar surrounds himself with haunting and slightly disturbing illusions. His cheeks pull in and his already large eyes swell while his other features shrink or become understated. Wisps whirl about him and a glowing nimbus surrounds him making the elf look and sound like a bizarre, and otherworldly fey creature of the first world.
Eysteinn had awoken stiff. Stiff and sore. No one in Hofn was stranger to waking with the pains of hard work or hard struggle, but Eysteinn couldn’t remember a day quite so full of either in recent memory. But the nightmare of he days before, and the promise of more to come … had all become nightmares where the children of Hofn, faces he knew, screamed and pleaded for him to save them from the monstrous orks that stole them into an ominous, unknown, black blizzard.
So Eysteinn had risen, clothed, and set about the hundred tasks he knew Thorgal and his men would need done before they set feet to path this morning. Weapons, armor, supplies … the fighting men would need provisioning, and it had fallen to Eysteinn more and more of late to see it done. It also gave him the chance to mix some brews discretely.
At least the work has burned off much of the stiffness, Eysteinn thinks to himself as he relives himself of the final pack. Then he turns his mind and hands to re-checking his own gear as Thorgal gives his stunted brief. Brief and blunt as ever, eh, Father? he thinks as he slings his new hand-and-a-half sword over his shoulder.
When Thorgal looks over, Eysteinn gives his father a meaningful shrug and regretful shake of his head. The implication is clear, No help on Hrolf’s problem. But he doesn’t go to speak to the older man.
Blowing warmth into his hands, he spies Halla’s distinctive black hair from across the gathering war party, and trudges nearer her. He nods to her and the sun-haired outlander in greeting, waiting for the first chance to speak without interrupting.
”You look well this early morning,” he says to Halla, then gives her heavy furs a look, ”Warm.” He gives the outlander a guarded look before finishing. ”I did not speak to Thorgal or Hrolf. Didn’t see to be much use. Doesn’t change where we march.”
His brown eyes shift to the outlander, and he extends a hand in the Hofn way, ”I heard you fought with us when the orks came. That’s quite a thing, as our children aren’t yours. Quite a thing. I'm Eysteinn.” He seems how to finish the awkward introduction. ”I’m glad your …. pig? … is hale.”
Rikka takes the offered hand. Ah, the fish that swims against the stream...
She replies amiably, "I'm Rikka. My boar doesn't like orks any more than Hofn-folk do. So I helped out as best I could."
"I'm Rikka... and in your debt."
Halla clasps the offered hand, a little awkwardly. "I am Halla." She seems to be collecting an odd assortment of debts.
She turns, a little self-consciously, as Eysteinn approaches, surreptitiously looking around to see if Njall the blacksmith is in attendance -- or if anyone else is giving them a look that betrays that his tongue has been wagging.
”I did not speak to Thorgal or Hrolf. Didn’t see to be much use. Doesn’t change where we march.”
"And if we meet Dalrin?" she asks guardedly. "Can you explain quickly enough?"
Knute watches Thrymr make his way out into the field, waiting for some sort of movement to be needed.
Tassidar's sudden speech and seiðr shock him. Knute jumps backwards and yelps, "Gods preserve us!" He looks around wildly for the thing to which Tassidar is speaking, but keeps an eye on the elf as well. Or is he still an elf? Knute thinks, eyeing the strange appearance Tassidar now puts on, and edging back a few paces.
Out in the woods...
Thrymr trudges forward another few paces, Gifr right at his heels--
--and this time, there is indeed reaction. The figure jerks into motion, one hand moving as if to shade its eyes and stare out at Thrymr. In the next second, it slips a bow off its shoulder, and looses a shaft at Thrymr without so much as a word of challenge.
The arrow pffs into the snow twenty feet short of Thrymr. Gifr barks sharply, and on the hillside, the figure lets out a sharp noise of its own-- perhaps yelling an alarm-- in a familiar, guttural tongue.
Back in the trees, the ice creature hisses its startlement at being addressed by Tassidar... and Knute freaks out a little, both at Tassidar's unearthly transformation, and the fact that he can't see who Tassidar is speaking with. Before the ice creature can make any sort of response to Tassidar, whether for ill or for good, a bow-shot is loosed, and guttural ork speech is heard over the meadow.
Knute focuses his attention on the meadow as he hears the ork call out. Still unsure of what exactly is going on in the forest, Knute takes last glance at the elf before shifting to the edge of the woods and loosing a shot at the figure who shot Thrymr.
&
Knute steps out from behind the trees, takes aim, and fires-- but the distance is great enough that his shot plinks harmlessly off the rocks.
Thrymr's first instinct was to react in kind with how he appeared, to fall away as a lone wanderer and hope to draw the orc inquisitive and alone to seek his blood... but the arc of Knute's bow put paid to any question of flight. The bastard orc would now see not one many but many, with bows, and certainly tend to withdraw. It took the Ulfen blood within the man's veins but moments to sort through the feelings welling within him... memories of bloodied snow, fallen men and children within sacks.
Keeping enough of his mind to not bellow with all the prodigious voice that his barrel chest could muster Thrymr settles for a loudly barked "Hakkaa päälle!" that carries across the snow to Knute and Tassidar... as he sets his thick legs of coiled muscle to use... eating up the distance between him and the stones leading up to the orcs perch.
Beside him Gifr initially shies away from the arrow, but hearing his companion's cry reacts instinctively to match pace. A growl is not far from his muzzle, but for now the bearish hund lopes easily along.
Tassidar holds his eyes of the ice creature awaiting an answer, but he momentarily breaks contact to loose an arrow at the hunter on the hill.
"Swift death to our enemies."
Tassidar returns his attention to the ice creature.
"I know you can speak. Please answer the question. I have been aware of you, but have not done you harm."
She replies amiably, "I'm Rikka. My boar doesn't like orks any more than Hofn-folk do. So I helped out as best I could."
”Then you and your boar are well-met, indeed.” Eysteinn looks around the dark gathering, then back at the small outsider with curiosity, ”A little early to be shivering out-of-doors. Are you coming with the warring party? Killing orks when they crash your celebration is one thing … looking for trouble is another altogether.” He shrugs, adding a belated, ”Not that I’d complain.”
"And if we meet Dalrin?" she asks guardedly. "Can you explain quickly enough?"
Eysteinn turns back to Halla, obviously not feeling sure of his decision. ”I’ve no idea how telling the Half-hand would help. But maybe you're right ... if our suspicions are true, Thorgal and the Half-Hand should know to be wary." He shrugs, "I don't know how to tell it, but that doesn't change what needs telling."
With one last look at the two women, he trudges over to Thorgal, waiting for a moment where his father wasn't addressing an immediate concern. "May we speak alone? About my errand?"
Eysteinn tries for the most direct approach. "Grinmer couldn't aid us in what I went out for, but she helped uncover information that you and the goði must know. Whatever this is … the taking of our children … it is based on a deal between one named Dalrin and another Neregh. One is the name of an elf borne of the union of Hofn-folk, and the other sounds ork.” He shrugs, ”It is all I know, though it’s not much.” It is obvious that Eysteinn doesn’t want to speak much more of it, but he stands waiting for Thorgal’s response or dismissal.
Out in the woods
The stillness of the morning is broken, first by the ork's shout, and then the twang of bowstrings... and Thrymr's harsh yell.
Knute's arrow clatters off amid the rocks, but Tassidar's flies true... even if it only nicks the sentry's brawny thigh. Embracing the mindset of a sarkr, Thrymr bulls across the snowy field, shouting a war challenge.
Tassidar's negotiation with the creature results in a hiss as it pulls back further behind the tree trunk it is currently using as cover. In halting Skald, with a voice that sounds like snapping icicles, the creature says, "Tsss! You not ork-friends? Then orks kill you! Better to hide! Hide like Tökkö!"
The ork, meanwhile, snarls at seeing the charging human, and sights on Thrymr with his bow.
At the closer range, the ork seems a better shot: the arrow punches into his shoulder, thankfully too high to hit important organs. The ork keeps shouting a warning.
Heroes, you're up!
Back in Hofn
Thorgal's gaze rakes the group of those assembled, before Eysteinn comes up to him and begs a moment's privacy. With furrowed brow, Thorgal assents to the request, and the two move a small distance away.
There is no surprise on Thorgal's face when Eysteinn relates his information, only a long stare from under furrowed brows. Eysteinn can see Yngvi a short distance away, watching the exchange between father and (disowned) son.
"So the witch's tale is that one of the children of our oldest allies is responsible for this, eh?" Thorgal growls after a silence. "We shall see whether there's any truth to witch's wisdom."
With a grunt, the weathered warrior turns on his heel, dismissing Eysteinn with the gesture, and waving his hand in a circle for 'we head out.'
With no fanfare and only a few lined on the streets to watch them go, the band sets out, passing through the wrecked gate of the village and following in the footsteps of the scouts. The sun is a thin, watery thing in a gray sky.
Thorgal takes the lead, swathed in heavy furs, with Yngvi by his side. Everyone else trails after in a ragged line, many of the small group chewing on their break-fasts as they go. There is little talking, little merriment, little boasting of the sort that is normally common on an Ulfen raid. This is different.
Eysteinn gladly watches his father walk away without further questions. And as the group sets out—the somber tone oddly comforting to Eysteinn’s most un-Ulfen, quiet nature—he finds himself drifting back towards where Halla and Rikka walk ... if for no other reason than to avoid getting pulled into busy work by the warriors.
Tassidar is glad he hadn't fired upon the ice creature. While it couldn't be counted as an ally yet, it seemed it was not an ally of the orcs.
Assuming the lone sentry meant they had located the main host or something worth guarding, Tassidar drew forth and cast Mage Armor from one of his scrolls.
With a few words in Draconic a nimbus of blue light coalesces around his body to form a suit of fine chainmail before turning invisible. The fine piece of vellum is consumed in the process.
He speaks once more to the Creature.
”If you are not an ally of the orcs, why do you shadow us? What is your intent here?”
Knute glances at the ice creature Tassidar points out, but makes no comment. Well, at least that explains his odd discussion and change in appearance, sort of, Knute thinks. He barely sees the thing off in the woods, and instead focuses on taking down the ork, and whatever it is calling to.
Moving forward to cover Thrymr better, and provide a third target, if need be, Knute hurries through the snow, then looses an arrow at the ork.
The arrow causes Thrymr's body to twist and he hisses through clenched teeth... but his momentum is unchecked. Legs rhythmically churning through the snow he puts his breath to lungs to force himself to close the distance as quickly as he is able...
Beside him Gifr is overcome by the hunt and lengthens his stride to surge ahead. Picking his footing at speed the hund attempts to speed up the slope...
Acrobatics:
Tassidar watched Knute advance into the open. The Ulfens carried their fight to the enemy with little regard for their own lives. It was inspiring, but at the same time troublesome to the elf.
"We cannot allow ourselves to be killed easily when the children are depending on us. To be so exposed . . . I don't have spells that reach that far . . . I have thrown my lot in with them, I must do what I can."
Tassidar calls to Knute in Skald.
"Should he fall come back to the trees. Concealment will let us sell ourselves more dearly. We can pick them off and attempt a rescue."
"What is your game ice creature? Come and speak to your intentions."
Rikka's body plods slowly along the snow-thick trail with the rest of the warriors while her mind roams far afield. She considers the last battle and the tactics used by the orks. They weren't unbeatable... but the spell-slinger that led them was a deadly strength that needed to be dealt with early and quickly in any future engagement.
Out in the woods
Gifr is barking a warning in between his growls of attack...
Knute's arrow catches the ork on his left arm, a solid hit, the shaft burying itself deeply.
Tassidar summons protections over himself, and continues his questioning of the little ice beast. The creature flits through the trees on its crystalline wings, getting closer, not to Tassidar, but to the edge of the trees. It perches between two branches, squinting out at the meadow and the unfolding battle.
"Tsss, Tökkö not know if you ork-friends! Orks break Tökkö's home! You kill orks?"
The ork looks startled at how quickly hund and Ulfen have scrambled over the rocks. Despite the two arrows jutting out his long arms, the ork stays on his feet, and sends another arrow at Thrymr. This close, it seems, he cannot miss...
The ork then drops his bow and draws one of the heavy, curved blades his kind favor, spitting a challenge onto the icy gravel between him and Thrymr. He snarls more words in the ork tongue, calling his kind to him.
Heroes, you're up!
Knute hesitates as he moves through the snow, hearing the wisdom in Tassidar's voice. I really want to kill the ork, and we're committed now that Thrymr is so close anyways, but... Knute yells at Thrymr, "After we finish this one Thrymr, if it's safe, come back to the trees so we can plan what to do next." He realizes this contradicts his own previous haste, but the thrill of battle seems less exciting with the two arrows jutting out of his fellow Ulfen, and the prospect of more orks surrounding him.
Knute moves forward again, trying to cover the other Ulfen as best he can, and returns one of his orkish arrows to its owner.
Ha, Knute thinks with satisfaction as the arrow slams home, Skaði is with me. We'll have this ork taken care of soon.
Meanwhile, back at the ranch on the road...
The war-band, or what passes for it, is able to make better time than the scouts did the day before on this road, as they do not need to track, only to proceed to the destination given them.
Yngvi starts to sing, a little-- a variant of one of the rowing songs, meant to keep up spirits and tempo... but his voice soon fades away to nothing in the chill air, as he is unable to keep up much spirit for it. The group trudges in quiet after that, and those who do speak keep their voices low.
For several hours, little of note happens. The clouds are thick and gray; a fine, sleeting rain begins to fall two hours out of Hofn, making the trudging along the snowy road more miserable as it turns to slush underfoot. The world fades behind a gray curtain. The Ulfen warriors, and those who must take the place of warriors today, do not complain: they simply pull hoods up further, or caps down snugger; lower their heads; and trudge forward with the grim stoicism of the northern-born.
The rain becomes light snow, which is somewhat to be preferred: less wet, less worming and trickling inside any crack of one's clothing. The snow falls in gentle spirals, dulling any sounds of the world and further lowering visibility. It is fortunate that the group has the road to follow.
After what seems a minor eternity of endless trudging, Thorgal holds up a hand to signal a temporary stop. It is not yet noon, but the sun has risen higher-- not that it can be currently seen, only guessed at, as a faint nimbus of brighter clouds in the foreboding sky.
"We will leave the road here," he says, gesturing off into the woods. "The guidance of our scouts says to do so. Catch your breaths, drink something, eat something."
The acting-chief suits deed to word, leaning his back against the bole of a tree but otherwise remaining standing as he takes a swig from his traveling-skin.
The elf watches the ice creature move to a better place to observe the battle. Knute's arrow hits hard dropping the orc decisively. Tassidar lowers his bow.
"Well placed Knute."
He resumes conversing with the creature.
"As you can see, yes we most assuredly are not friends with and will kill the orcs. They broke into the humans homes and stole their young. The orcs have carried them in this direction. Is your home in this direction? Do you know where the orcs are? Or where the human's young ones are?"
"The ones that attacked wore symbols that looked like this one."
Tassidar holds up the talisman given him by the humans.
"Does this look familiar?Perhaps we can be of assistance to one another since we share a common enemy."
The little ice creature darts confused glances between the just-fallen ork and Tassidar's many, quick words. Glistening eyes squinch up in concentration as the creatures tries to follow things.
"No," it says at last with a little flutter of crystalline wings. "Home back! Away! Orks walk past, stop, break my ROOF to drink!" The small voice is high with anger.
The next question earns Tassidar a jerky shrug. "Orks there. In rocks. Your friend finds them quick, bad for him!"
Halla wordlessly shares the sweet flatbread she got from Hilde with Rikka and Eysteinn as they trudge away from Hofn at the rear of the warband: better it's eaten when warm than hoarded to get stale and flavorless.
When the sleet comes, it barely bothers Halla under Signy's cloak, and the fur-lined boots keep her feet warm and dry.
Taking a second arrow to the breast, Thrymr hacks a cough that mists crimson into the air. The orc falling doesn't stop him taking another few steps and burying his mattock into the fallen beast...
Mattock vs Prone: for
...heavy blade of the farming implement biting into the orc's ribcage and opening lung and gut to the snow.
Gifr keeps low to the ground and pads up beside his master, sniffing the air as he comes...
Rikka breaks the flatbread and silently chews on a piece. She considers the hunk in her hand and recalls the pastry she enjoyed the other day; the bit she broke off and gave to the crippled little boy. He fed the piece to Sausage - outdoing the other children - and for a moment he was happy, no longer weighed down by his mangled limb. Now the boy, Gunnar son of Birgir, was among the taken - trading a long life of difficulty for a likely far shorter one marked by fear and a worse fate. The seiðr remembers the boy's soft grey eyes, not unlike her own... and resolves to do her best to see them without the flat sheen of death glazing them.
Rikka eats her fill of the flatbread then carefully wraps and puts away the remaining quarter.
"That one there especially dislikes the orcs."
Tassidar comments to Tokko after Thrmyr makes sure the orc is in fact dead dead, not just merely dead.
"How many orcs are in this group?"
Eysteinn trudges along in the wake of the two women, towering over them but for the most part lost in his own thoughts … a common thing for the uncommon Ulfen. He thoughtlessly accepts Halla’s flatbread, the taste of the warm meal not even really registering as he continues to work at the puzzle of the orks and their mysterious raid.
He remains in this state until the halt is called, at which point he shakes off his reverie and looks around, then up at the muted skies.
”At least the weather’s nice.” Though only an Ulfen could consider this “nice” traveling weather.
Out in the woods
Thrymr drives his mattock into the ork's body, making extra-sure it's dead-- blood spatters out from the caved-in ribcage over Thrymr and the icy gravel.
Gifr is still growling a warning, his hackles raised, facing... the rocky face of the hill, apparently?
Over the pounding of his own blood in his ears, Eysteinn hears the sounds of multiple booted feet running on stone. He thinks he has but a handful of seconds-- say, six?-- before those sounds will be right on top of him and Gifr.
A hundred and some feet away, the ice creature turns to squint again at Tassidar. Its little face has the crude features a child might give to a snow-man, save made of ice. Small shoulders lift in a jerky shrug, and then the creature looks at its hands, sticking out fingers to count.
"More than you? This many."
Tassidar can see the little ice creature is holding up ten fingers that resemble icicles.
As Knute sees Thrymr drive his mattock into the ork, he breathes a sigh of relief. Then he calls just loud enough for Thrymr to hear, "Are there more coming? Do you want to stand there or fall back?" The Ulfen lowers his bow slightly, but is still tense. Those two arrows that hit Thrymr have him worried. "At least take cover or something, so the beasts can't shoot you from in the rocks!"
Knute raises his bow again, hoping to deter any orks that appear.
Tassidar prepares his bow.
"Knute, please move back to the trees. We can keep moving and shooting. We can conceal our true numbers and use the cover to our advantage. There are at least 10 in the camp. From here we can break contact and circle around again."
Taking stock of the situation Thrymr holds up a hand to where Knute is with fist closed. The other lifts his mattock head to nestle Gifr under the muzzle and pulls the hund into eye contact. The raised fist is then held with single digit extended to his mouth to imply quiescence before Thrymr crouches and motions Gifr to tight heel by holding his arm down by his side. Over the pain of the twin arrow wounds that wave aches into his form, the ulfen forces his breath to quell and flow like the tide... in and out smoothly and without a breaking wave.
Belying his size, the man's movements slide over themselves like oiled hide as he stalks to the cover leeward of where he suspects the approaching orcs are coming from. Gifr joins his companion in cover, lip bared in a nascent snarl but padding on clawed feet in silence.
Thrymr snaps his head left to right, trying ascertain where the enemy is coming from-- to him, it looks like Gifr is growling at rocks-- and only when he stares there fixedly does he realize that there's a... line? in the dark edges of the rocks, an odd regularity--?
With the footsteps getting louder, Thrymr suddenly realizes he is but scant feet away from a disguised entrance into the side of the ridge itself. Teeth bared much like his hund's, the thrall quickly scrambles away, taking advantage of the rocky terrain to pull himself and Gifr into a hollow in the jagged hillside.
Thrymr's able to get about 20 feet away from the secret door, with Gifr; the two of them hunker down and hide.
It isn't a moment too soon. He and his hund are barely into position when a section of the rocky hillside shifts, and several orks pour out onto the ledge, weapons drawn, tusks bared in snarls.
Knute and Tassidar's drawn, readied arrows are loosed...
Both shots miss, clattering off against the rocks, but the shots get the orks' attention-- the brutes' heads snap in the direction of the archers, specifically Knute standing in the snowy meadow, easy to see, dark against white snow.
Two of the orks who have just appeared are the same general size as the one that lies dead on the ledge; the third stands taller, and wears the same tasseled fur cloak that the child-stealing orks in the cloud of darkness had boasted. A big, wicked-looking axe is gripped in both his hands. The smaller orks have the heavy curved ork-swords. All three orks have javelins slung in quivers at their backs. None of them appear to notice Thrymr and his hund in their hollow.
The two smaller orks scream in their guttural tongue, pointing towards Knute and starting to scramble down the snowy rocks towards him.
One ork makes it all the way down to the snow; the other is having a more difficult time of it, and is still on the hill itself.
The larger ork looks ready to follow, but stops-- looking down at the slaughtered sentry with his mauled-open chest. The big ork crouches, touching at the two arrows lodged in the body, as well as the distinctly non-arrow wound in the sentry's chest. He turns his head back to the black gap of the hole in the ridge's face, and shouts more words in Ork, though he is too far away for Tassidar to be able to hear what is being said.
The ice creature perches in the tree it has chosen to watch the fight from. "Tokko told you," he says with a fatalistic shrug of icy wings.
Round 5: Heroes, you're up!
Well, at least they aren't all after Thrymr, Knute thinks glumly as two of the orks hasten down the slope towards him.
Noting how far away they are, Knute takes the time to send two arrows at the nearest ork. He then takes a quick step back in the snow, hoping to forestall the use of those javelins as long as possible.
One solid hit and one less so. Knute steadies himself for the orks' charges, hoping Tassidar and he can take down at least one before they reach him. Skaði send it so...
Tassidar targets the wounded orc first if he doesn't fall from Knutes two shots.
"Swift death to our enemies."
"Loose and move, loose and move! Draw them into to the trees!"
Tassidar moves 15-30 feet over to make his next shot come from a different location.
"Watch the flanks."
"Jorg, send the signal!"
Putting a steadying and restraining hand upon Gifr to keep his hund quiet Thyrmr measures the situation. The fact the larger orc was grunting towards the passageway was ominous... and the other orcs had not yet gone far enough to be rendered a non-factor. Thyrmr waited... seeking the presentation of opportunity.
Knute looses two arrows, but only one finds its mark; it's followed a second later by one of Tassidar's. The elf keeps moving, shouting as if to imply their numbers are greater than they are, and that a host of arrows come from the woods.
The lead ork takes two shafts to the chest but only howls and keeps running forward, though he seems slower than before and manages only a few feet forward.
The other ork, a female, scrambles down the last section of rock ( ) inexpertly, but reaches the snow and sprints to get behind one of the stumps, not wishing to have two arrows in her hide.
The big ork shades his eyes with one large hand and stares out over the meadow and the woods, and around on the ledge where he is at, sniffing the air.
He shows no sign of having detected Thrymr. Instead, he shouts an order in Ork, this time loud enough for Tassidar to hear:
The ice creature climbs a little higher in its chosen tree, just to be safe from the oncoming orks, wings clicking together with noises like tiny hailstones.
Round 6: Heroes, you're up! The ork marked with a blue outline on the map is the one that is injured so far.
Knute smiles at Tassidar's calls. Ah, I'm with you now, he thinks.
Knute looks over his shoulder at the forest. He talks to himself, though pitches it loud enough for the orks to overhear. "You boys better be ready to spear them when I draw them back..." He steps lightly backwards towards the trees then, trying to get back to the trees and get a better angle on the covered ork.
Then, seeing the first ork stagger, Knute fires another two arrows, this time at the female ork.
Knute's prayer of thanks is audible this time as both arrows streak towards their targets.
"You came a little too close orc---time for the razzle dazzle."
"Templa Pilia!"
Tassidar intones magical words written on parchment casting magic missile from a scroll which crumbles away as the energy manifests. A glowing bolt of force streaks across the open field and unerringly strikes it's target.
As more of Knute's arrows fly across the ground to slam into the orcs descending, Thrymr takes stock of the situation as his blood surges within. The balance of the battle had begun to slide and skew... a further push and it might topple entirely. To that end he gave Gifr a grunt and pointed towards the greater orc... and made to lend his thews to the effort.
Thrymr Climb:
Gifr Acrobatics:
The rocky ground proves no barrier to the ulfen's intent. Letting his hund lead Thrymr stalks with purposeful and steady steps, mattock held red handed in the near guard trailing to one side.
Gifr sprints past the orc with loping strides before twisting and turning to attempt to close his jaw upon the bastard's hamstring...
Gifr Bite: for
...not up to the task, but at least serving a purpose for what was to follow.
Thrymr pulls in just as the orc is distracted by his companion... and with a bestial growl and vicious twist of his trunk, brings his mattock up in a diagonal strike from the low guard...
Thrymr Mattock (with Outflank): for
Before the she-ork can answer the growled orders of the bigger one, Knute sends two beautifully-aimed arrows into her, so well-sighted and loosed that even the shelter of the tree trunk can't keep her safe. Thwip-! Thwip! and the ork slumps into the snow, one arrow having caught her in the throat. Such shooting would have won Knute the archery contest easily-- but better to be able to make the shot when the prize is the lives of you and your fellows, rather than merely a bow.
Tassidar makes a strike of his own, though with his magics rather than his bow-- a bolt of colored light streaks from his fingertips, and sears the orc in the center of the clearing. He staggers back a step, and seems on the very verge of death, but is, at least for one more second, still standing... He runs another thirty feet forward in the snow towards Knute, howling, but it seems that he wasn't aware of how truly injured he was, because he collapses face-down in the snow long before he reaches Knute, and doesn't move further.
Thrymr decides that is his moment to strike. He urges Gifr out of their hiding hole, and the two of them surge across the rocks towards the big ork. Gifr's bite fails to hit, but he serves as a distraction for the punishing attack that follows from Thyrmr's farm implement.
To Thrymr's dismay, the ork takes the powerful blow, but does not fall...
Instead, the brute roars a wordless challenge, yellow eyes flashing with fury in a face the color of the sea. Flecks of hot spittle fly from the tusked maw, as veins at the ork's temple throb.
He swings his axe in a backhanded, brutal slash at the faithful hund.
If Thrymr's strike was powerful, the blow of the ork seems almost guaranteed to slay-- the icy gravel is spattered liberally with Gifr's hot, red blood, as the axe severs through flesh and bone alike.
The ork bares savage tusks at Thrymr in what might be a smile, seeming not to care about his own injury. He shouts into the open doorway in the harsh Ork tongue.
Up in the tree, Tokko whistles in a pleased fashion at seeing two more orks fall. "You have nice flying sticks."
Round 7: Heroes, you're up!
How do I determine hit points for my animal companion?
Animal companions receive average hit points per hit die. For d8, the average is 4.5. Multiply 4.5 times the number of hit dice your animal companion has and round down. Recalculate hit points for your companion each time it gains additional hit dice. After its hit points are calculated, add in appropriate bonuses from its Constitution modifier, feats, and so on.
The green skinned bastard puts his axe through Gifr, near severing the bearish-hund's back in a single blow. The hund falls with a feeble whimper... managing only to feebly paw at the snow before being rendered unable to move...
...the only cold comfort in the exchange being that the dog's breathing levels out without becoming ragged or fading further.
The ulfen upon the stone does not see this... as the solid brick like wave of grief that flows across him banishes his conscious mind from action and instinct takes over. His fists go white-knuckled and the solid wooden handle of his mattock creaks with the strain of it. A growling intake of breath is reversed as the farmer lives up to his namesake. A bestially roared fills the clearing and echoes off the rocks.
Lunging forward with his head, Thrymr tries to force the orc to take a backward step and give him space to free his arms. The feinted headbutt is followed by a sequence of wild crossbatted swipes with his mattock, full body, soul and fury put into the blows in an attempt to punish the orc for it's transgression...