The Kingdom of Vyren has enjoyed fifty years of relative peace under High King Thadeus Adreat's rule. From his seat in Thaleniel, the beloved king decrees all to be welcome in his lands, so long as laws and peace are kept. Nearly all maintain happy livelihoods, resting easily each night knowing their king is strong and will protect them with all his might. In this age of peace and prosperity, the sun shines brightly on the peasant and noble alike, and most agree that the rule of High King Thadeus Andreat the Benevolent is blessed by gods, men, and nature herself.
Test.
test
The Kingdom of Vyren has enjoyed fifty years of relative peace under High King Thadeus Adreat’s rule. From his seat in Thaleniel, the beloved king decrees all to be welcome in his lands, so long as laws and peace are kept. Nearly all maintain happy livelihoods, resting easily each night knowing their king is strong and will protect them with all his might. In this age of peace and prosperity, the sun shines brightly on the peasant and noble alike, and most agree that the rule of High King Thadeus Andreat the Benevolent is blessed by gods, men, and nature herself.
At least, that was all true on the last winter’s moon. Folk used to rest easily each night. The sun used to shine brightly on low and highborn alike. And now, proclamations of thrice blessings on the king are met with a doubtful hesitation in agreement. The castle courtyard is quiet as each guard stands at attention, internally bracing for dismal news, and yearning for hope. The religious monasteries within Thaleniel see more vigils now than ever, each of the faithful stopping to murmur a prayer for a miracle.
The king is sick, and now, slowly dying. The illness took him in the winter of last year, and his condition slowly confined him to his bed. Holy men and apothecaries from the Thaleniel city visited the castle, and when their attempts failed, powerful priests and knowledgeable physicians were summoned from the other corners of the kingdom. Even a handful of shaman from Brakton applied their naturalistic arts to the noble king, but to no avail. When his sickness persisted for ten months, strange foreigners from across the Saukith Sea arrived, old allies to the Kingdom of Vyren. Even their bizarre mastery of incantations and herbs did not lift this accursed disease. Hope dwindles among the people. Rumors are whispered between men in their cups, that young Prince Titus is on the verge of grief-induced madness, and that Court Wizard Mortimer Dacius is at his wit’s end. Some grumbled that Prince Titus should take the crown and let the old king die, while other shushed the grumblers and beseeched their god to heal King Thadeus. The royal crier is silent, no news from the royal family.
One morning, Prince Titus Andreat, Knight Commander of the Order of the Dawnflower, galloped out of the capital city with his Knight Majors and Captains. No proclamation was issued from the castle Thaleniel, but rumors spread that the score of knights embarked on a desperate quest to find a cure for their dying king. Word spread of seeing them at Brenan’s Crossing, then at Axton, and then no word at all.
One month passed, and still, no knights returned. Then, the royal crier broke his silence. A tournament was to be held on the day after tomorrow, a test of valor, strength, skill, and wit. The winners were to be rewarded 500 gold pieces each, a sizable fortune to the common man, and will be commissioned by Mortimer Dacius to aid the king. Over one hundred men and women entered the competition, lured by the gold, fame, or the chance to help cure the king. Each contestant was paired with another, and nearly all of them failed at one test or another, as the tournament continued for five days. On the sixth and final day, the court wizard declared the eight final competitors, four of which will be champions at day’s end. Splitting them into two groups, their final test was to commence at noon. Either through skill in combat, quick thinking, divine providence, or sheer luck, the following contestants endured the tournament to stand together: a loud and proud Urlghain berserker, a half-elf Knight Apprentice from the Order of the Dawnflower, a local young scallywag despised and loved for his mischief, and a half-elf druid and her grey tiger companion.
In the late morning, the four are escorted to the castle proper within the fortress walls. The courtyard they cross appears to be barricaded into a makeshift corral, or arena. Armored pikemen stand at attention at the iron-banded door ahead, and crossbowmen watch from atop the walls. The guards open the tall double oak doors to the castle, to a large antechamber. Blue and gold tapestries drape over the high stone walls inside. As the guards close the door behind them, the four contestants another set of large double doors ahead of them, and two smaller single doors in the corners. One guard is posted at each door, and two flank each set of double doors. A narrow table along the wall to the left appears to have a few pitchers and pewter cups for refreshment, and a sitting bench rest along the right wall. Slightly movement draws the eyes of the four to spot a sharply dressed elderly man with a long grey beard and ponytail. While his face and hands look gnarled and haggard from age and stress, his deep green eyes bespoke great understanding and knowledge. This could be none other than Court Wizard Mortimer Dacius.
“Welcome, contestants,” he waves a hand at the table, “Refreshments are here if you wish. I am Court Wizard Mortimer Dacius. We will begin the final test in a few minutes, but while the courtyard is readied, I wanted to congratulate each of you for making it this far. While your abilities are known to all within Thaleniel, very few know your names.”
The unspoken question hangs in the air as his studious eyes shift from one of you to the next.
Nme'an, dressed in his full armor, steps forward before the others. He presses his hands together, a fist in a palm held chest high, and performs a small, respectful bow before saying, I am Nme'an from the town of Brakton, a member of The Order of the Dawnflower. I am here for my brethren and my king. I hope to bring further honor to both in this final challenge.
The massive barbarian, grinning from ear to ear, shows dirty and misshapen teeth through his wide smile. Though if his expression is anything to go by, the towering man doesn't care about such trivial matters as oral hygiene. Sauntering forward to the decked out table he lifts a hairy bare leg and rests it on the low bench before leaning over for one of the pewter pitchers.
The heavy mat of hair covering his face moves and splits as the be-kilted berserker speaks, his voice thick with a charming, if heavy, brogue. "Aye, t'ough ah'd imagine mah exploits are knoon a might further than mere Thaleniel!" He sets the throwing spear he'd been carrying on the bench next to him, as both calloused hands grasp at the pitcher lid. "Aht least by the lassies." He adds as his smile grows. The hulk of a man turns to wink at every woman in the room, including the fire-haired half-elf.
"Mah name t'ough." He gestures grandly, each arm thicker than a tree trunk. "Mah name is the soond of the wind, the might of the storm! Mah name is the whisper of a woman, the final cry of an enemy!" Straightening to his full six foot eleven inches he strikes his chest with a loud 'thump.' "MAH NAME IS MOT CASNS!" He roars to the rafters. "The smell of the rain! The feel of the moss! The call of the highlands!" He turns his beaming smile back on the old wizard as the lid easily pops into his hand. "And ah'm guessing ye might nae want to ferget it, Graybeard." Upending the container he drinks deeply straight from the carafe, completely forgoing the glasses set about the table.
This has been a most bizarre week, starting with that business in the pub, the six days of tourney, and now this…
After waiting an extra moment to be sure that the barbarian is quite finished, the red druid draws a slow breath and steps forward, standing tall and proud in her leathers. Bobbing a slight curtsey, she speaks gently but directly, “Good morning, your excellency. I am Beorae Sevenstone from the town of Deeproot, and this,” extending her leash hand and scratching the tiger between his ears, “is my companion, Shark. We are honored to be here today.”
As she steps back in rank with the other contestants, she takes a moment to glance around the antechamber and assess the situation, taking special note of the guards at the doors to see if their demeanor might betray anything about this “final test.”
The hell am I doing here? Don't they know my history? Heck, Red here damn well remembers my story and I'm pretty sure Nemo over there was sniffing around that night too... Themp eyes the refreshments with a slight grin while the others take turns presenting themselves. Well, at least I can get something out of this before I get thrown out of here.
"Hmm, I sincerely hope the Palace has not heard of me yet, so I'll introduce myself as if you hadn't. I go by Themp, Themp Namor, and you can find good references of me from every housewife down there." Just don't ask about me to their husbands...
As he matter-of-factually approaches the table and fills a large and heavy enough to use in case the guards get jumpy cup, he continues. "I hope my performance at the tournament did not illude you, High... uhm... Wizard, but all I was going for was the excitement and the gold. What do you honestly expect of me?"
The guards do not seem nervous. Some are stoically standing at attention, but a glance from a few, the shifted weight or fidget of others, betray that their hopes in you are high, and they are eager for good news in these troubling times. Most of the guards probably do not even know what test you are facing, but to be victorious this far has won their respect.
Among you stands a knight, a berserker, and a druid of some sort, with her tiger. The wizard has served the king for as long as you can remember. Nothing about the guardsmen stand out.
The wizard nods respectfully at the half-elves, and regards the bragging men with slight amusement. With the air of a lecturer, he opens his mouth to answer Themp, but promptly holds his tongue and continues addressing the group. “No matter your intentions, each of you were victorious in the trials of these past five days, testing your individual skills. Now, this final test will show how well you fare as a group. I shall watch from the balcony above the gate, and direct the challenges as I see fit. Do you have any questions? Or are you ready to begin?”
In one quick motion Mot kicks back the bench, scarfs a morsel from the table, and snatches his spear from where it lay. Speaking out around a mouthful of food he says. "Och! Ah'm ever at the reedy! Let oos begin now!"
Themp slightly shifts his balance, elbow of the arm holding the cup a few fractions of inch higher. For some reason, the image a cornered wild animal comes up to your mind.
"Ready? Challenges? Group? Is any of you following?"
"What is there tae follow?" The the eyes of the enormous man narrow in suspicion. "He's nae trying to lead us to water! Ha! Just some moar tests!" A massive hand moves to grasp at the equally massive handle of the greatsword strapped to his back. "Me favorite kind of tests. Sword tests." His eyes shine at the prospect of a proper fight and take on the far-away aspect of one lost in the thoughts of battle.
Nme'an remains still as a statue as the other three introduce themselves.
"I..."
In the short space of a moment his eyes coldly regard the long winded barbarian and then the still wildly exaggerative thief. These two must have shown a fair amount of quality during the trials, he thinks to himself, because they are showing none here.
"...I am ready," he answers the Court Wizard evenly.
Beorae isn't terribly surprised by the change into group work, given the circumstances. She cocks an eyebrow when the big one responds to Themp's question; Deeproot has its fair share of Urlghain travelers, so she was not entirely unfamiliar with the accent. Still though, she doubted that this one had been burdened with an overabundance of schooling and considered the fact that any coordinated group strategy might get… lost in translation.
She thought about the Rogue for a moment, knowing that there was much more to him than currently on display—perhaps he's just being clever and giving the Barbarian some space. I wouldn't blame him.
She finally glances over at the other half-elf and meets his eyes, seeing that the two seem to be of one mind about their companions. Nodding in affirmation of his readiness, she follows his answer with, “…as am I, after a quick refreshment.”
As she moves toward the table, she makes sure to pass behind the Paladin and whispers under her breath, “Hii inapaswa kuwa ya kuvutia.” Reaching the table, she fills a cup with clear water, takes a sip for herself, then lowers the vessel to the floor for Shark to have a drink. Standing up, she reaches over and grabs the cup from a bewildered looking Themp, setting it back on the table. “Come on, handsome, let's do this,” and gives him a friendly wink.
The smallest hint of a smile crosses Nme'an's face as he hears and understands the whispered words. He is glad to have found what seems to be a clear thinking ally in the druid from Deeproot, but training and protocol prevent him from replying to her while in the presence of someone of high import as the Court Wizard.
Perhaps there will be time for real introductions later.
As Beorae removes the cup from his hand, Themp grunts an overly indignant objection and relaxes, gallant smile suddenly wiping his face clean of worry.
"Well, if you insist, Red. Just make sure to stay between me and Nemo there..." After a slight pause, he hastily adds "Nme'an! Sorry, old habits die hard." *wink*
Turning back to the Court Wizard, he continues. "Now, High Wizard, what will you have us do?"
Mortimer ponderously nods again, his hands clasped together at his waist. “Very good. When the guards open the doors to the courtyard again, you must exit the castle. Once you do, I will describe the challenge to you from the balcony and sound off its beginning.”
He leans around the group to speak to the guards standing at attention near the iron-banded double doors. “Do not open the doors until you hear the sounding of a trumpet,” he orders. Armor clanks as the soldiers snap sharp salutes, but they say nothing.
He looks again to the tournament contestants with a small smile. “It may be a few minutes until the courtyard is ready. Good luck to all of you.”
The wizard turns to leave, but due to his great age and old joints, it takes a few more moments to leave the room through the smaller left door in the corner.
Themp glances at the other quickly and decides to take his chances.
"High Wizard, I'm sorry, but I didn't survive this long in the stree... errr... I don't believe in being completely... let's say... oblivious to my odds. Is there any chance you might tell us what to expect?"
Glancing back at the other three, he adds with a wink and grin "After all, we don't want Red there getting unnecessarily hurt now, do we?"
Sir, if I may, I must... partially... agree with this... rogue, Nme'an says, truly speaking up for the first time. Why all of this? The king is struck ill, the prince and many of my brethren have left armed for battle and have not returned, and now... you are holding games of skill and chance? The Order of the Dawnflower taught me in the ways of arms and armor, and they taught me of patience and redemption, but they also taught me that only a fools accepts what is without question. And thus, sir, I respectfully pose the question: Why all of this?
With his question in the open Nme'an seems to hold his breath. Despite his pronouncement about asking questions, one might get the sense that he is not at all comfortable in doing so, or at least he rarely questions those of such high rank.
The rogue's comment elicits a brief eye-roll from "Red," but Nme'an's question immediately draws the room's focus. Indeed…
Awaiting the old man's response, Beorae stands next to Mot, regarding the bear-like man with optimistic caution. She isn't used to anyone towering over her quite so dramatically and is glad to be on his team rather than fighting against him today—or hopefully any day. He'll be more than capable in combat, for sure, but not every question can be answered with steel. Hopefully his bloodlust does not get us into trouble….
Shifting his weight from one foot to the next, Mot rests the oaken spear haft across his more than broad shoulders. He doesn't understand what all the fuss and questions are about. Seems obvious to him that they're all here for gold and glory.
Turning his clear blue gaze on the Paladin he smiles his wide smile and says; "Ah dinnae know what the problem is? T'ere is gold and what glory come wit it, ya need moar reason then that?"
"Kijinga binadamu!" Nme'an replies sharply in elven before he can catch himself. He closes his eyes, quickly takes in and releases a deep breath to calm himself, then speaks as if in full control.
"My apologies," he says, first looking to the Court Wizard, then to Beorae Sevenstone, and even over to Themp Namor ever so briefly before turning back to the large man standing to his right. "What good would a lake full of gold coins be to you, any of you, if the king dies, if our defenses fail, and if our lands are overrun by foul forces of orcs, kobolds, and… goblins." There is a slight hitch in his voice at the mention of goblins, something more personal there, but Nme’an quickly collects himself and continues. "They will not act civilly, will not let you keep your winnings. They will take what is yours and leave your corpse to rot in what was once a street of this city."
Nme’an pauses once again while he considers his next words. He then turns back to Mortimer Dacius and says, "I did not come here for the reward of gold, I came for the promised opportunity to aid my king. If these six days have been merely for the reward I would ask that I be allowed to take my leave so that someone else may be chosen in my place, but if I truly am given the opportunity to aid the king I will gladly complete any test, face ANY challenge."
The unkempt head of hair tilts back and releases a thunderous guffaw. "HA! So 'e doos hev a spine! And here Ah t'ought you were a nancy, wot with yoor fancy shiny metal everywhere!" The highlander pivots and claps the knight across the back with a heavy hand. Looking down he meets the half-elfs gaze, smile ever widening.
"T'ough take care wee laddie, a troo man only casts insults that anyone can unnerstand." The glint of danger rests in the clear blue stare. Turning back to the group in general he waves a meaty palm dismissively. "As fer the king? Aye, 'e may be a good man, but it soonds like ya've never heard the Lay O' Stewart McCal?" Mot bobs his head down to rest at the level of the stalwart Paladin. "Soometime Ah'll have ta uducate ya."
Winking he straightens up before loudly proclaiming. "But wha' is well knoon is the fact that the 'Ighlands stood troo loong before t'ere was ever a king. An they'll stand fer a loong time after a king." Something like a cross between a chuckle and a growl rumbles deep in his barrel chest. "An' Ah'd like to see the wee bitty goblin wot thinks he can challenge Mea!"
Again the big man spins on his heels, sketching a mocking curtsy to Nme'an. "But far be it for Mea to deny ye yoor comfort!" He turns to the exiting wizard. "Please Greybeard! Ass-sewage the Pretty Pally's fears!"
The druid can't help but crack a smile at the barbarian's jest. The morning had certainly gotten off to a rocky start and nobody would argue that the four of them made an interesting combination, but just then, deep down, she realized that she had a good feeling about this group and suspected that today was only the beginning of a much longer story together.
Themps laughs out loud at the exchange. So the knight in shiny armor does have a temper. And big boy over there can put on quite a show too. Heh, at least now I'm sure I'll have some fun before it ends.
Stopping at the door, Wizard Mortimer looks over his stooped shoulder and listens to the knight. He looks about to speak when the highlander’s voice fills the high-ceilinged room.
With a grunting in effort, he slowly turns to face the four with a smile. “It is part of the test, that you find a solution as soon as the challenge presents itself. As we speak, the other group prepares for their unknown challenge. Don’t worry -we are not so barbaric to pit you against them. But I cannot show leniency towards one group over the other.”
He meets Nme’an’s eye. “As for why, other than the glory and gold mentioned by Mot, I will commission the victorious on a task that has a chance of restoring the king’s health. If it is your own life you fear in this challenge, I shall have healers at the ready should the test go terribly awry. Gah! I’ve said too much already. Compete as though a life depends on it.”
His deep green eyes glint knowingly as he speaks, and then he nods a bow in respect. “May the gods bless your mind and strength.” And the wizard turns to leave once more.
As the wizard exits the room, the druid turns to the other three, “Well, it sounds like combat after all. We'll need a basic strategy to work together, but the tricky part is not knowing how many foes we'll be facing.”
“Mot and Nme'an, I assume you two are more than comfortable with hand-to-hand combat? Shark here will be effective in assisting you, but he and I are still working on directed attacks so he may be difficult to control once his blood is up, but I will do my best. At the very least, he does know how to stand down and get out of your way should that be necessary.”
Turning to the rogue, she continues, “Themp, I take it you will keep to the perimeter and make use of your crossbow? As for myself, I plan to avoid direct hand-to-hand combat and will support the three of you by guiding Shark and providing distraction and additional attacks where I can. Should it be necessary, I prepared a healing spell during this morning's meditation, but know that I'll need to be in physical contact with you to make it work.”
“Am I missing anything?”
"Dinnae fear lit'le lassie. Mea and mea blushing bride," A calloused hand pats the leather-bound grip of his greatsword. "will take care of any nasties wot be there."
Where did that come from, Red?
After a slight hesitation, Themp answers. "Well, I guess I'll join in on this little game, after all, you guys. Should be exciting enough. Might even have a chance to loot something up." And turning to Beorae, he adds "And I sure hope you know what you're doing, Red. I could use a big guy like that downtown. Would hate to see him go to waste."
“Nope, just making it up as I go,” throwing the rogue an uncertain smile as she readies her equipment. “Have been all week.”
Mimi si hivyo uhakika hii itakuwa moja kwa moja hadi kupambana, mchawi gani baada ya yote kutaja wote nguvu na akili, Nme'an says to the druid as he casts a subtle glance at the hard to understand barbarian.
Regardless, you are correct, Ms. Sevenstone. I believe the best place for myself in a skirmish would be at the front where I can protect you and the others from harm, he continues in common, now solely focused providing assistance to the ENTIRE group, and if our task does turn out to be one of intelligence... we will cross that bridge when we come to it. At the least we will have you to help us think on our feet.
The four contenders hear a muffled trumpet call outside the castle, and the still soldiers pivot in their armored boots and begin pulling back the heavy double doors. As the great oak doors stop against the wall with a boom the four see other guards in the antechamber start to herd them out of the castle until they are standing on the beaten dirt path from the keep to the fortress gate.
The gate is left open, and the four can see throngs of people pressed up against the lowered portcullis, eager to watch the deeds of champions. Their cheers raise as Nme’an, Mot, Themp, Beorae, and Shark step out of the castle. Off the path to their right, a single goat is tied to a stake. Mortimer’s booming voice from the balcony overhead steals away their attention.
“PEOPLE OF THALENIEL! NOW BEGINS THE FINAL TRIAL OF THIS TOURNAMENT! THESE FOUR, SOME OF OUR BRIGHT CITY’S FINEST, SHALL ENDEAVOR TO LEAD THIS GOAT TO THE SAFETY OF HER CAGE, WHILE DEFENDING AGAINST A PACK OF WOLVES!”
The crowd surges with excitement, and almost as if on cue, a chorus of chilling howls echo from around the left corner of the castle. The goat before the group bleats, adding to the cacophony of vocal cords. In the chaotic noise, the four scarcely notice the iron-banded doors behind them thud closed, followed by a clack of turning locks.
“COMPETITORS! YOU WILL FIND THE GOAT’S CAGE AROUND THE CORNER! LET THE CHALLENGE BEGIN!” The trumpet sounds once more!
The goat stamps its hooves uncertainly, catching a whiff of the hungry canines nearby, and takes a few steps around the stake. It shakes its horns and wags its beard. By the look of it, this small farm animal is likely domesticated and will be easier to guide. However, it will likely get spooked and bolt (and rarely in the right direction) if it gets too close to violence. The rope used to tie it to the stake could be used as a leash.
I did not see this coming…
The druid is already focused on the task and sets her mind to the four wolves to determine what she can.
Wolves tend to hunt in packs, and employ the tactic of quickly and silently surrounding prey before closing in, hamstringing and dragging big game to the ground. Still, the pack has an hierarchy, and looks to the alpha male for leadership. The alpha male is typically the oldest and the fiercest one of the pack. When one hears a chorus of howls, it is the alpha’s howl that lingers last as the rest trail off. Wolves’ nimble feet and thick fur make them dodgy combatants, but it does not take much to seriously injure them. Their keen sense of smell make them excellent trackers.
Wolves eh? I LOVE wolves! Mot thinks as he trots out into the courtyard. Loosening the straps holding his greatsword to his back he lightly tosses his spear up and down, finding the balance. The Battle Glint again showing in his eyes he calls out into the make-shift arena. "Alright ya wee beasties, yoor doom has arived, and 'is name is CASNS!" he shouts the name as he sprints into the field, eyes peeled for any advantage.
Unclasping Shark's leash, Beorae quickly makes for the goat, calling back to her teammates while she's on the move, “The wolves will try to surround and trip us, so don't get too spread-out! And we need to find the Alpha wolf, taking him out will break their ranks. Mot, you got that?”
The goat is certainly spooked, and upon reaching him and looking over her shoulder, it's clear why. She can now see the four ferocious wolves around the corner and she immediately looks for the Alpha…
…which is plainly obvious, and points it out to the group.
Her hands begin to deftly untie the goat, grasping the rope tightly. “I'm going to move the goat into the corner and tie him to the portcullis so they can't surround him as much. Themp, can you watch my back?”
Noticing Shark's uncertainty, she directs him in the direction of the charging highlander.
___________________
Shark starts to follow Beorae, but stops short when he catches the scent of the wolves. At her direction, he chases after Mot, staying close to his heels.
Whelp, wolves. It had to be wolves... If only they were human beings. At least those I can trick...
Wait, what was it that Red said? 'Healing spells'? I guess I already know who to stay close to!
Themp speeds up after Beorae, staying between her and the wolves.
"Don't worry, Freckles, I'll be right here for you", he says while cocking his crossbow.
Nme'an readies his sword and heavy shield, then double times it in a mostly successful effort to both keep up with the big man and place himself between the wolves and as many "allies" as he can. Upon hearing Beorae's shout he too attempts to determine while wolf is the pack leader.
"Aye lass, I knoo me wolves!" The swift giant calls over his shoulder. Seeing the vicious creatures ahead, the broad smile widens and grows hard. His hackles rise as he senses something approach behind him, quickly spinning in place he sees that it is merely womans tiger. Grinning down at it he whispers. "Och, li'tle kitty! Weh'll have a great bloody time! Woont we?"
Read the Beorae spoiler above for WOLF FACTS. Goats are raised primarily for their wool and milk, so this small creature can hardly defend itself. Its nimble hooves will sooner run from danger, and only will use its short horns if cornered with no option to escape. A well-placed wolf bite could outright kill this docile creature.
The goat tries to nibble on Beorae’s leathers as she approaches. The wolves raise their hackles at the sight of the men and half-elves, and low growls can be heard as some of them focus on the grey tiger. The alpha male, grey of fur and a slightly bulkier than the others, keeps wary eyes on the loud highlander.
"So it's yoo then is it?" Mot says, half to himself half to the alpha wolf. Rolling the spear haft around in his palm, he measures the distance, and backs up a step. With a hop and a skip and a growl, the massive warrior hurls the spear! Muscles clench and release as his powerful arms send the weapon flying far further than it was ever meant to be thrown.
His smile turns manic as the bloodlust starts to take hold. "COOM NOW! BRING YOOR PRETTY FACE TO MAH BLADE!" He roars at the pack.
The spear pierces the flank of the alpha wolf as it sidesteps a moment too slowly! The old wolf kicks the weapon away and crimson blotches on grey fur. The crowd cheers and a deep growl is heard from the alpha, and the pack begins a loping trot around the highlander and the large cat beside him. The bleeding wolf circles around as the rest draw closer. He snarls and two of the pack rush in to drag Mot onto his back!
The highlander quick-steps away from one bite, and the jaws of the other dig into meaty Urlghain ankle, but the wolf is not strong enough to pull the sturdy leg out from under all that hairy mass of muscle. The other wolf that did not move in, seems to watch Shark intently, but waits for a signal from the alpha wolf.
Laughing in the throws of battle the Casns Berserker shrugs, sending his greatsword up into his waiting hands. With a furious snarl he brings the massive blade down upon the wolf that drew blood.
The massive blade of the berserker cleaves the blood-toothed wolf in two!
Good throw big man! I'll see if I can't finish it off for you! Nme'an shouts before charging straight in the injured wolf's direction. As he reaches it he takes a mighty swing with his longsword!
While Beorae and Shark have had outings together, going up against four wolves is certainly a new experience for the cat, and she knows she needs to push him into the attack.
…but the cat is overwhelmed by the impending danger and won't budge.
Mot is making quicker work of the wolves than she thought, so the druid second-guesses the portcullis maneuver and slowly starts moving the goat out toward its cage.
Oh, my! I need a guy like that helping me out one of these days! thinks Themp while Mot cleaves the wolf in half.
The paladin over there seems to be able to handle a few bites, so let's make sure the other wolf doesn't flank the big guy.
Themp carefully aims and fires at the third, still out of combat wolf.