"Make your choice. Either we stop the ritual together, or I will enjoy watching you die alongside us."
Diplomacy is not always about nice words.
"Make your choice. Either we stop the ritual together, or I will enjoy watching you die alongside us."
Diplomacy is not always about nice words.
The elf leader listens thoughtfully. The other newcomer mutters in Elvish -
- but is cut off with a curt gesture. The leader looks troubled, but nods to the other elven guards who put the brush back in place. The sand crunches as the elves walk away.
"Did they believe us or not?"
A tense few moments pass, the prisoners inside the tower wondering what impact, if any, they had on their captors. Nothing much seems to change for several minutes.
Then there is a shout - two voices raised in anger, yelling in Common and Elvish. The guards at the entrance stir uneasily, looking curiously towards the main camp and looking ever more concerned. The voices get louder, and then there is a sudden cry of pain and the sound of weapons clashing. One of the guards outside snarls something in Elvish -
- and all five suddenly grab their arms dash towards the commotion, leaving the entrance unguarded. More voices are now raised generally - cries to arms in several languages - as the camp outside suddenly dissolves into anarchy.
Arakan is quiet a bit after the conversation, and when Irivis asks him he smiles thinly and nods his head to the affirmative while speaking to her pleasantly in giant. The language he has learned they share and can often use to converse more secretively.
He is startled to hear the commotion outside, and his grin grows sizably. Cautiously, he advises the others "Now, I wouldn't just rush out of here yet. We should let them get a little more embroiled with one another, and try to look like we are just taking advantage of a development. If we hurry too much they may see our influence for its intended purpose." He turns to the thorny bush in the doorway, and slide it aside enough to glimpse the battle unfold.
Looking outside, but still addressing the prisoners inside, he lays out the escape strategy as he sees it. "I'm just going to nudge my head out a bit and see how things are faring, I will give the signal when we move. We will go double file, and I will direct you toward which gap we head towards. It will be a small group of the hale first. I would say Calla and Irivis lead looking for a safe route and to pick off any interceptors, the rest of the mostly non-combatants, within which Jareen will be concealed in case anyone strikes at the middle. Lastly, the other half of the defenders with Gorad and myself. We both have experience with wounds and can handle any stragglers. Everyone got it?" His orders come out quick and clear, showing that it seems Arakan works better on his toes than when he has too much time to plan.
Jareen nods at Arakan. "That sounds good enough to me."
Arakan pulls the brush aside. He peers out, to find some of the elves lying dying in the dust, some in the process of being cut down, and the rest put to flight and being pursued by riders. As he assesses the scene, one of the silk-wrapped defilers notices him and points Arakan out to the mul leader. The mul turns, takes in the escapee, and sends some men running to take care of the tower.
Meanwhile, inside, Calla's grandmaother seizes her hand and presses the leather package into it. "You must deliver this safely!"
Looking at Arakan in surprise and a gruding respect... "It was a good plan, too bad it was so quickly interrupted... Do you see any useful weapons lying around thos downed elves?"
Gorad scans the ground for something to fight with...
init
percep in case you need.
"Good work, Arakan." Irivis's smile is nearly as wolfish as his. "At least you've thinned the numbers."
Arakan's eyes go wide with worry. It was supposed to take longer, be more effective, but it is a rout. The only real option is a mad rush of chaos.
He turns to the others and let's them know how he sees it. "We have elves running to the southwest, and humans going for their mounts to the northeast. I say we just run for all we're worth the same direction of the elves. There's less of the enemy in our path, and if they are running that way, they must know there is a way out that direction." Looking to Gorad from his question, he adds "I think we get 'grabbing weapons and holding our ground' out of our heads. Their numbers are staggering, and we may be better off trying to channel them into small passages where they can't use their mounts."
"@**$:$@*"
Irivis swears horribly as she takes in the numbers.
She looks quickly at Arakan and smiles briefly, her eyes meeting his with some amusement.
"Let's just do what we do best. Run away."
Calla takes the package from Gramma and secures it under her robes. She takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, then exhales. "Let's do this. Try and stick together."
Quick as thought itself, Calla ducks out from the ruined tower and sets out at a jagged run over the burning sands. Her form seems to blur in the haze as she crosses the intervening space in the blink of an eye.
After initially setting out towards the north, Calla sees the massed riders in that direction and quickly changes direction. She flees south-east at a flat run, caring nothing for stealth.
Irivis hobbles after Calla as fast as she can. Coming to a brief halt, she invokes her despised power against the nearest rider. Just in case.
Other members of the caravan also take to their heels. Three of the silk-wrapped arcanists head towards a group of them running east. They chant briefly, and the merchants flop unconscious to the desert floor.
Jareen keeps with the group, moving off to one side, to keep others between himself and the riders, but preparing to use magic if they get closer.
Gorad follows Calla the best he can.
As Gorad catches up to Calla, Sandswimmer bursts out of the ground at the feet of the nearest rider.
The most of the bandits run for their mounts. A few run towards the fleeing slaves, including the mul leader.
Other members of the caravan also take to their heels. Three of the silk-wrapped arcanists head towards a group of them running east. They chant briefly, and the merchants flop unconscious to the desert floor.
Calla stumbles and drops to one knee. Her headlong flight is temporarily undone as she sees friends, relatives, rivals - people she has known for years - fall behind her slumped in the sand.
must go back can't go back must go back can't go back
Arakan watches to see where all the moving pieces are going, and where they all should end up. Putting on his best face, he feigns fear, and runs around the wall of the tower as he moves south and east. Once he gets far enough past the side he adopts a more subtle posture, huddling against the wall as he moves to the edge to see who all is on this side before moving any further.
Calla regains her feet, and rasps out, "We have to keep moving and stay together - can't go back for the others - just can't..." her voice trails off. Then she visibly shakes herself, looks round at her three companions, and sets off once more to the south-east.
Irivis looks briefly back at Arakan and then follows Calla.
"Quite right. Keep moving. Stay in sight of each other."
More of the caravan fall to the spells of the pale-skinned defilers, paralysed, rendered unconscious or gripped in sticky webs.
Sniper 3: 1d20+8-2 to hit v AC, damage 5
Sniper 4: 1d20+8-2 to hit v AC, damage 5
Two arrows thud into Jareen, making him stumble, but he keeps up his run with the others.
As Gorad continues to follow Calla Sandswimmer fades back into the sands.
The riders begin to get close to Arakan's position where he hides at the base of the tower, but so far they don't spot him. He sees Calla's grandmother charge at the mul and stab at him with one of the improvised thorn-daggers, but in return she is swiftly cut down.
Calla sees Gramma bravely fighting the mul, giving her a little more time to escape. She knows that the image will haunt her forever. I'll make it worthwhile Gramma. I promise.
She tries to focus on the twisting route of the canyons ahead of her.
She keeps as close to Calla as she can and trying to stop herself thinking of this flight as yet another cowardly run.