|
Noticing one of the Ulfen raiders try to flee, Saki attempts to conk him over the head with the butt of her glaive, but misjudges his trajectory entirely.
Luckily, she looks up just in time to see Olaf raise his axe... in an instant she can see its trajectory, knows where it is going to land... sees it in almost slow motion. At the last moment Saki hefts her glaive up, deflecting the almost fatal axe wound with a screech of metal upon metal, before leaping backwards and pushing Olaf away in the same moment. She slashes her polearm upwards, cutting a line along the warrior's chest.
Olaf snarls, spittle flying from his lips, as Saki deftly dodges back and his axe swings along her armor instead. The answering cut from the glaive only fuels the battle-rage in his eyes.
The raider who fled from Kardal's mouthful of half-orc teeth (or maybe just from the smell of his camel) has skidded to a halt in the sand, spinning around wild-eyed. Both other warriors are now downed. Olaf himself remains standing, several cuts on his body but showing no signs of giving up anytime soon.
From the boat comes the following:
"Michellia! Get UP! You need to talk to Olaf... and probably then Mother, because otherwise I am so dead--"
"=hack cough= ...Eleanir? Eleanir... you... ...you little bitc--"
Kardak has a good view of the ensuing struggle, at least.
Alan's blow skids off the hide armor that Olaf is wearing, the force of the kick blunted to nothing.
There's a shriek from the boat, and those who glance over can see Michellia (in her undergarments) surging up out of the rumpled sailcloth and going for Eleanir with kicking, biting, and slapping.
Ah, sisterly affection.
|
With quick and precise movements, Maps yanks back the doghead on his firearm, slams the side with his palm, and clears the pan with a sharp breath of air. An alchemical round is in his hand before the ash clears, and a moment later the weapon is ready again. He does not however, aim for Olaf just yet.
With a flick of his other arm a wand springs to hand. Crouching over Filios, he touches him with it and heals some of the rogue's wounds.
"Get up. Fight's not done."
The Ulfen's fear and nausea have run their course; he turns around and runs screaming back over the sand, charging at the nearest foe to him. The axe swings at Maps.
Kardak deftly brings Amsi around and delivers another would-be bruising swing to the maddened north-man; Olaf dodges beneath and the glaive slices only air.
Amsi's aim, however, is dead on. HOOORK! PTOOIEEE!
Olaf screams in rage at the gummy, noxious, truly vile substance on his face.
He looks around to realize he is surrounded. He shrieks like a banshee and takes a step forward, axe lifted again.
His injuries are, perhaps, catching up with him-- the swing is wide, and misses Kardak by a mile.
|
With surprising quickness, Krunch steps up behind the raging northman and slips his arms around Olaf's trapping him in a full-nelson.
"You're making Krunch be very bad", the tielfing growls in his ear.
|
|
"Please, put down your weapon!" Saki isn't sure if Olaf is able to understand her, considering the gibberish he's been spouting the last minute or so, so she tries to mime putting a weapon on the ground. With that not working, she attempts to whack Olaf over the side of the head with the flat of her blade.
Saki's glaive cracks against Olaf's head. Between Kardak and Saki, that's a real migraive he's going to have in the morning, if he lives. Get it? Migraive? ....sigh.
Krunch locks down yet another foe, burly arms grabbing the man's own and gripping them with inarguable strength. If Olaf understands either Saki or Kardak, he shows no sign of it.
In the boat, Michellia and Eleanir have surged to their feet. Michellia is pulling at Eleanir's hair. Eleanir is swearing a blue streak and biting at one of Michellia's arms. It's one big happy family. Oh, that poor wedding dress.
Alan's fist lands in a smooth uppercut, as the Ulfen left his flank undefended. CRACK!
Sadly, the Ulfen is not stunned. But he is very hurt!
|
|
The Ulfen's blow tears through Map's defenses. Though he dodges with inhuman speed, the weapon catches him, tearing through the magic shield spell and his fine Osirion robe, sending him reeling backwards. But with his alchemy-enhanced prowess he recovers instantly, his feet spraying sand as he spins with the blow and steps back. Glaring at his torn robe, he pulls it away to reveal the bandoleer of knives beneath, and his last defense - the mithril shirt that prevented the attack from drawing blood.
"Ruined my robe." He mutters, then grins at his attacker. "Thanks."
He raises his gun and fires.
The bullet drops the Ulfen, who falls to the wet sand like a sack of pudding, his eyes rolling back in his head as his injuries finally overwhelm the fanatic's rage he had been in. Blood oozes from his wounds and turns the frothing surf pink.
Kardak holds defensively, deciding how best to contribute to the fight with Olaf grappled.
Olaf himself howls like a wounded wolf as he struggles against Krunch's immovable grip. Unable to effectively wield his massive axe with his arms locked up, it drops from his hands to the sand below. He strains to get one arm to reach to the other, and just manages to snatch a knife from one of his gauntlets. He recklessly drives the dagger at Krunch's bigger forearm.
Even when any rational man would clearly realize he is bested, Olaf continues to struggle, raging against Krunch's arms. The Ulfen is very strong-- stronger even than Krunch!-- but pure strength avails you little when your arms cannot exert their full might due to mechanical constraints.
He does not respond to any attempt at negotiating his surrender, continuing to scream what is only gibberish, as far as the Pathfinders are concerned. If the Pathfinders with to knock him unconscious, this is easily enough accomplished.
Olaf himself, and two of the raiders, may have their injuries staunched if there are those in the party who wish to do so. The third is supah-dead.
|
|
Krunch keeps his hold as long as Olaf resists, eventually taking him to the ground until the big ulfen is completely still. Cautiously, the pitborn Pathfinder releases his grip and climbs to his feet. He looks down at the unconscious Olaf and shakes his head.
"He was very bad."
Pinchy descends from his perching spot on Krunch's furs and climbs aboard the unconscious ulfen's chest. The tiny crab throws off his hat and strikes a pose not unlike a victory flex.
|
|
Staunching injuries? Saki's definitely down with that.
Without any supplies to speak of, Saki has a bit of trouble stabilizing the men, essentially having to resort to tearing off bits of their own clothes to cover wounds and occasionally channelling just the slightest bit of her own holy power into them to help the task along. She seems quite distressed that one of the Ulfen men has died in their foolish attack, and kneels down beside him, closing his eyelids and saying a quick prayer that his soul would find its way to the next life in peace.
And then, of course, there's the Blakros sisters...
"Can someone please make sure they haven't killed each other?" the paladin says with a sigh. "I'm not sure if I can handle seeing the state of the wedding dress right now..."
Saki, you have no problems in staunching their injuries. Except the one man, the Ulfens will all survive. Olaf may not be happy about that when he wakes up, but that is his problem.
....as for Michellia and Eleanir.... yeah. You're right. You really, really don't want to look at the wedding dress.
Especially since at some point they tumbled out of the boat and proceeded to cat-fight in the surf.
Avert your eyes, Saki. Countless hours of tailoring, ruined!
Who's up to go pry two savagely fighting sisters off each other, then?
|
|
No. Saki must face her fears. She must face the wedding dress! This is clearly another challenge set by the benevolent Shelyn herself!
That said, turning around to see it all ripped, wet, muddy, and bloody causes that migraine earlier to flare back up in all its fury. For those looking closely, there is a brief moment of utmost despair before Saki stridently shakes it away and approaches the surf.
"Eleanir! Michellia! Please stop that! You are adults now, not children! Let's try and sort this out diplomatically!"
Saki isn't very convincing. It's probably the migraine. Sigh.
"Krunch? How about you try and peel them off each other?"
|
|
Maps observes the twins fight out of the corner of his eye, though he pretends to have more interest in cleaning and reloading his firearm. They ain't going anywhere. Should probably let 'em work it out until Lady Blakros arrives. And the dress was just starting to develop holes in interesting areas.
|
|
Krunch is snapped from his reverie by Saki's pained call.
The big tiefling nods and moves towards the surf.
"Pretty Blakros girls - no more fighting. Krunch is hurt but still strong enough to take care of you both. Krunch is very gentle."
Krunch quickly sheds his fine furs and begins to undo the ties on his noticeably tighter leggings...
Sadly, they don't seem to hear Saki.
Michellia is shoving her sister's face into the wet sand. "--selfish, unbelievable little rotten brat--"
Eleanir elbows her sister in the gut and temporarily robs the wind from her. "I'M the brat? I've slept on dirt and scavenged food from corpses while you sat here perfumed, pampered, spoilt--"
Michellia wheezes, flopping to her side in the surf. Her shift has gotten hiked up; her lacy wedding-night underthings are showing-- this is not a very dignified position for anyone, let alone a Blakros heir.
"Nobody-- koff-- nobody MADE you go tromping off into the-- koff-- ends of the earth, you self-centered little--"
Eleanir shuts her up by forcing her face underwater.
When Krunch strides over and interjects his booming voice into the conversation, Eleanir looks up, blinking. She's developing a really nice shiner to go with her earlier bruises.
Michellia surfaces, gasping, a second later. She also looks up at Krunch, gives one last look at her sister-- then slaps her hard across the face.
"Gahh!!" Eleanir cries.
"You started this by knocking me OUT. Now we're even," Michellia snarls, and gets to her feet with as much dignity as she can muster.
|
|
Krunch wraps a burly arm around each Blakros's waist and guides them out of the water.
"You're sisters. You're supposed to love each other, not fight and bring angry men with knifes that stab Krunch when he's wrestling. Now give each other a hug and give Krunch a kiss."
Pinchy, having regained his normal position on the tiefling's shoulder, waves a claw approvingly.
Michellia grimaces at the tiefling-blood that is oozing from Krunch's arm onto her back, but then, it's not like she's not already a mess.
She merely gives him a Look when he says his bit, standing straighter and looking around at the Pathfinders. She strides to Olaf's unconscious body, divests him of his wolf-skin cloak in a pragmatic fashion, and drapes it around herself for modesty's sake.
Eleanir is not so scornful. She gives Krunch a crooked, roguish smile and goes up on tiptoes to kiss his chin. "Only hugging that's happening between me and her is if I choke her out."
"In your dreams," Michellia answers coldly. "By all the gods, Eleanir! Seriously, what sort of plan was this? You were going to try to impersonate me? How long do you think that would have worked?"
"Oh please," Eleanir hisses, rolling her eyes. "Don't take that patronizing tone with me. It worked well enough when we were teenagers, or don't you remember the days before you were content to be the Perfect one?"
Michellia glares. "And what do you think Damian would have done when he found out you were fooling him? He's not a man you want to cross, you little fool. He--" Michellia cuts herself off, shaking her head and swallowing.
"Perhaps I should let you be his wife," she says the next second, lips pressed together in a thin line. "Maybe then you'd realize the 'pampered' life is not all you think it is!"
|
|
"Okay, ladies, please calm down," Saki attempts to sound soothing, but she's almost given up on the attempt--there's little love lost between these two siblings, much to her chagrin. But the proselytizing would have to come later, after sorting out just what had occurred this day.
"What is going on here? Why were you trying to impersonate her? And is there something wrong with Damien Kastner?"
She gives a long, hard, and stern look at both Blakros siblings.
"This is going to look badly for both of you, and on us as Pathfinders, let alone your... friend here." She nods at the unconscious form of Olaf. "So no more sniping at each other. Just for now. I want to get this story straightened out before we return. Or do you want to get your mother and all the guests at the party involved in this?"
|
|
A wide grin spreads across Krunch's bestial features. One kiss was better than no kisses... The big tiefling nods at Saki's words and stands up straight reaching his full towering height. He gives the two beautiful women a hard expression.
"Pretty Blakros girls have to stop fighting. Michellia, Eleanir, you need each other to because crazy men like him are out there", Krunch says while jabbing a finger at the unconscious ulfen. "In the end, all you has is each other."
"Some people have nobody", Krunch adds with a bit of sad introspection.
"Eleanir, help your sister clean up so she can go back to her wedding and come back with her to help party. Isn't that what sisters do?"
"If you be good, you can even dance with Krunch", he finishes with another tusky grin.
Eleanir sighs and sits down in the sand (further dirtying the dress, but at this point, does it really matter?) and runs a hand through her totally disheveled hair. Michellia remains standing, crossing her arms and glaring down at her sister.
"Olaf Kvaran is not my friend," Michellia says when Eleanir doesn't volunteer anything at first. "He was a suitor of mine, at the Grand Convocation where I met Damian. Totally mad-- he kept saying if he didn't wed me that some dragon would destroy the world. Obviously, not exactly a top prospect for a husband."
Eleanir grimaces and nods. "I met Olaf a few weeks ago, as I cut through Ulfen lands. Had enough of demons and the Worldwound to last me a lifetime. He-- well, he assumed I was her, at first, but he did some spell to realize I wasn't."
Eleanir rubs at a bruise on her arm and continues. "He told me some news I'd failed to hear when off in the blighted lands surrounding the Wound: that my beloved sister was getting married. And, yes, he ragged about it being the end-of-days, because he was supposed to marry her, blah blah.
"I saw... an opportunity. The crazy man could get what he wanted, and... me? I could step into the life I haven't had in years. Could get a taste of what it feels like for Mother to approve of me, for once," she says, bitterly.
"Yes, your plan was so well thought-out," Michellia scoffs, kicking a little sand onto Olaf's drooling face. "Send me off to be the hostage bride of a crazed would-be prophet, really, Eleanir, brilliant."
At the mention of what may or may not be wrong with Kastner, Michellia's shoulders hunch a little tighter. She looks out to sea, saying nothing.
Eleanir shoots Krunch another crooked smile. "You're cute. We needed someone like you up in the Wound, big boy."
She only grimaces at the thought of helping Michellia clean up, though.
|
|
Alan stretches out in a rather meticulous manner. I have never meet the two of you and I wasn't fooled. It was only a matter of time before Damian figured it out. Be glad it was a Pathfinder who saw through the deception and not a Hellknight.
He walks up past Filios to tell him, That was quite a good impression of an opossum.
Filios is still super-wounded, yes. Hopefully someone in this group of prepared Pathfinders will be able to do something about that.
If anybody is poking around the bodies of the Ulfens rather than talking to the sisters, they will find:
Olaf himself was wearing masterwork hide as well, and had his dagger, a carved wooden symbol on a chain around his neck, and, three potions and his giant axe.
If Maps attempts to use his knowledge of alchemy to identify the potions:
This is a potion of Fly.
This is a potion of Cure Moderate Wounds.
This is a potion of Protection from Arrows
***
Eleanir at least has the decency to look abashed at Filios's words, staring down at the sand and biting her lip. "Nobody was supposed to get hurt," she sighs. "I've seen enough of blood and pain the last few years. Nobody was supposed to die, the way I planned it."
Michellia gives her a pointed look and then nudges the very-dead Ulfen with her foot. Eleanir grimaces.
"To answer your question, though.... it was getting back in, to take Michellia's place. She's the heir, after all. If it's worth coming back for, it's worth coming back for that."
Michellia gives her sister a scornful look. "You think it's so easy, don't you? You think I just sit around and enjoy the good life and have everything my heart desires! There's sacrifice too!"
"Oh, cry me a river," Eleanir answers. "When Mother eventually dies, you'll be the richest woman in Absalom, and you've never suffered more for it than a broken fingernail! You're the one who has the entire city fawning over you at your wedding, you're the one with a husband who's going to fall over himself to please you-- all I've gotten are dead friends!"
Michellia balls her fists. "You've had freedom! Do you know how often I've wished I could do as you had, just walk off from all my responsibilities? How often I've wished that in the last month?"
Aaaand they're at it again, bickering.
|
|
I agree with Maps here. Call me crazy, but I think you two should try it if you desire each other's lives so much. Your secret would obviously remain safe with me and, I would hope, my companions. I certainly would not want to interfere with the best laid plans. We could help by telling a story of the brides attempted abduction which we of course thwarted. The act being perpetrated by none other than Olaf, the brides former suitor. That could explain the tattered dress and black eye. Shall we give it a shot?
Diplomacy:
Michellia and Eleanir both blink once at Filios and Maps' words, and give each other a slow, assessing look. Michellia clears her throat. Eleanir chews on her lower lip.