|
Damn it to the Hells! Marcellano swears to himself as his bullet hits "Payday" in the shoulder, rather than somewhere a little more vital. Using the well as cover, Marcellano grabs one of his powder horns and begins to reload, knowing he should have his musket loaded before he goes charging in.
When he hears Fenyx's yelling from across the cabin, Marcellano smirks to himself. Pretty convincing, if you ask me... lets hope they bought it!
____________________
Inside the lodge, the sounds of Payden's shouts and the crack of musket fire have roused the weary hunters from their sleep. Fatigued from their long march back to the lodge, they blearily move about in the dark, unarmored and unready for battle. Forsaking the suits of armor and winter gear that lay folded in their trunks, they instead scramble for their weapons, grabbing their loaded muskets and listening to the sounds of windows smashing, footsteps inside the lodge, and gunfire outside.
They were not prepared for this.
Through the window he'd tried firing into, Styvanus can see one of the lightly dressed men roll out of his bed and onto the floor, grabbing a musket from where it leaned against the wall. Prone, he levels the musket towards the window with his feet braced against the wall and clicks back the firing hammer.
__________
Round 1
Ordrud couldn't believe the musket shots. What happened to the plan and the ruse? He thought the merman diving through the window was a good idea. As long as the merman didn't get trapped alone. Did tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum describe that as a storage closet? The frozen dead still hasn't reached the door to bash it open. What to do now?
He sees a straight line to the merman's entrance, so Ordrud runs for it with his sling in his hand. In case the merman needs support, or he has cover from the ruse.
__________________________________
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Styvanus dropped the musket that had failed him and brought his quick draw-shield up to eye level in reaction to staring down the barrel of the hunter's musket. Wasting no time, Styv followed Rasso's lead, he backed up and readied himself. "Andoran!" He shouted, charging straight forward through the window with his shield leading the way- The Captian didn't miss a step in spite of the shattered glass digging into his shield arm. He collided immediately with the hunter, his shield pushing the musket to the side and slamming home into the hunter's chest, carrying with it all of the Captain's weight.
_________________________________________________________________________
He had not expected the battle plan to stay together. Though he did not agree with the elf on much, the humans without arcane training were without question rash and prone to distraction, yet for all the discord they sowed in carefully laid plans, he knew that they were excellent with improvisation.
Pulling snow and ice from his beard, he looked down at the stacked piles of firewood before him and upon his rune scarred face that twisted mockery of a grin formed. It was time he improvised himself.
Glancing around the corner, he lifted his shield and trudged forward through the snow and out of the darkness. He headed unflinchingly toward the entryway in a defensive posture, kicking the door open or battering it with his hammer if necessary, but seeking to use what cover the elements of the chamber provided him. Beneath the lamp oil Ar'Zarrcal looked nothing short of a monster. His armor was black and rime coated, each carved thassilonian rune reflecting the dim light menacingly. His beard was a tangle of dark hair and frozen spit and his eyes glared from a pinched, magic marked visage. Hate filled those eyes. Hate and a blood lust instilled by a man far more cruel and twisted than the muscular Overseer and his wretched boss.
"You've outlived your usefulness. Halak commands your demise." He said with a harsh grumble. Rather than immediately bringing his war-hammer into play, he instead cast his head backwards and spit into the wind, uttering an incantation in the language of Thassilon.
"Штрајкот на наковалната, нека летаат искрата"
He would put there gathered firewood to its proper use.
Barred: When characters try to bash down a barred door, it's the quality of the bar that matters, not the material the door is made of. It takes a DC 25 Strength check to break through a door with a wooden bar, and a DC 30 Strength check if the bar is made of iron. Characters can attack the door and destroy it instead, leaving the bar hanging in the now-open doorway.
He had not expected the battle plan to stay together. Though he did not agree with the elf on much, the humans without arcane training were without question rash and prone to distraction, yet for all the discord they sowed in carefully laid plans, he knew that they were excellent with improvisation.
Pulling snow and ice from his beard, he looked down at the stacked piles of firewood before him and upon his rune scarred face that twisted mockery of a grin formed. It was time he improvised himself. Snatching up a particularly promising piece of firewood, he gripped it in his hand and moved as quickly (for a dwarf) through the shifting shadows beyond the windows.
Glancing around the corner, he lifted his shield and trudged forward through the snow and darkness. The shadows cast from the windows of the lit hunting lodge danced across his face when he peered in one of the windows. In the dim glow of the lamp oil Ar'Zarrcal looked nothing short of a monster. His armor was black and rime coated, each carved thassilonian rune reflecting the dim light menacingly. His beard was a tangle of dark hair and frozen spit and his eyes glared from a pinched, magic marked visage. Hate filled those eyes. Hate and a blood lust instilled by a man far more cruel and twisted than the muscular Overseer and his wretched boss.
Though uncertain if the large man would hear him as he marched through the snow beyond the lodge, he snarled out the bluff anyway. "You've outlived your usefulness. Halak commands your demise." He said with a harsh grumble. Rather than immediately bringing his war-hammer into play, he instead cast his head backwards and spit into the wind, uttering an incantation in the language of Thassilon.
"Штрајкот на наковалната, нека летаат искрата"
The long stick of stolen firewood was put now to its proper use. Igniting with a spark that could have been cast from Torag's own forge, burning despite the harsh weather.
Hearing the crash of broken glass coming from the direction he was heading in and the shout of Andoran, Payden Teedum is baffled. He can hear a booming voice outside that seems to be indicating something other than an Andoran ambush; or maybe everything just decided to go wrong at once. Payden was aware of the dwarven rifleman they never found the body of, and the ship that they had seen arrive hours earlier.
No, he thinks, that's definitely Halak. To Payden, his suspicions about Halak's treatment of the Lumber Consortium men was justified, he'd finally turned on them just like he had warned Thuldrin would happen.
Snarling, Payden storms over to the door to the supply room and fumbles with a keyring on his belt, unlocking the door and kicking it open. When the door flies open and Payden enormous form stoops to duck into the threshhold, the creature he spies inside of the storage room is just as confusing as the rest of this night. A tall, broadly built lobster creature with a shark's maw, surrounded by broken glass. The powerfully built martial artist clenches his hands into fists and widens his stance.
Wordlessly, he prepares to engage the aquatic creature.
_________
Seeing Ar'Zarrcal ignite the firewood, Talavuc's nose rankles and her eyes shoot open. Is he insane!? This had better be a part of the act, there's a hostage in there. Gripping her spear tightly, Talavuc looks to the barred door, then towards the front of the lodge. With a sharp whistle to Naasvit, she breaks into a run and circles around the front of the lodge. Naasvit reluctantly breaks into a trot beside her, one disgruntled snort made in defiance as he does.
Fenyx can see Talavuc come into view around the front of the lodge by the large windows of the southern wing. Skidding to a halt in the snow and dirt, Talavuc braces her spear against the ground and leans in towards the window, scuffing away some of the frost to try and peer inside, only to find, "Nothing?"
The erutaki druid squints against the darkness of the unlit room, but even in the scraps of twilight she can see that all resides in that enormous room are empty beds. Weren't there supposed to be sick people in here? Where are they?
Worried, Talavuc signals to Fenyx and motions to the room, then gives a hand sign that to her clearly implies that the room is empty. The simple hand-gesture is received clearly and appropriately by Fenyx. Though it did resemble the somatic components for invisibility, which he surmises makes some manner of sense.
Naasvit moves just past Talavuc and sniffs at the air, looking suspiciously towards the ravine. "What is it?" Talavuc asks her erstwhile companion, and when she looks towards that swaying rope bridge, the druid spots something the size of a small child flying away from the lodge at a hurried pace. Alarmed, she motions again to Fenyx, signaling that something has flown away from the lodge to the southwest.
Whatever it was, it's long gone.
__________
Nervously watching the siege of the lodge taking shape, Tyne tensely shifts his weight back and forth from one foot to another, shooting furtive looks to Dann as he tries to assess the large man's reactions. Fenyx's appearance as Halak is disturbing in both its accuracy and its commitment, and had he not been aware of the deception to begin with, Tyne would likely be fleeing like the other men appear to want to.
It is only Dann's reinforcing presence that keeps them from running. With one hand held out towards them, Dann's stationary position and steadfast gaze on the lodge has given all of the conscripts reason to pause.
Scowling behind his mask, Teladon dropped all pretense at surprise. Rushing forward through the tents towards the lodge ahead. His arms pump in motion as he sprints towards the looming structure. If only he had been given more time. If only he had the chance to place himself properly. But no, instead he was forced to respond to the enemy instead of having the enemy respond to him. Shaking his head, Teladon blocked out the frustration. There would be time for recriminations later. Now all that mattered was that the call to battle had been sounded and he had to act. To do otherwise would only lead to the deaths of the team. They had pushed ahead so quickly and so fast this was their one chance to bring the fight to their foes while they were unprepared. But Teladon feared how costly the fight could be in the end.
_______________
With the sound of gunfire and screaming downstairs, Thuldrin Kreed awakens in the small hours before dawn in a startle. Scrambling out of his bed, dark hair matted down to his sweat-slicked brow, he falls on his side on the floor listening to the sounds of shouting through the floorboards. He scrambles up to his knees, fumbles around in the dark and crashes into his desk, yanking a heavy backpack up from the floor and onto the desktop. Feverishly, Thuldrin begins to rifle through the bag, looking for something to leverage to his advantage.
Outside of the lodge, Big Dann holds his ground, watching the lodge anxiously while the expeditionary force begins to move on the building. As Dann waits, some of the other conscripted sentries begin to come out from their tents, sheathed swords held in trembling hands. Dann, on seeing them, holds out a warding hand and shakes his head, suggesting they not do anything just yet. From the huge man's expression, he seems to be holding out hope that he won't have to belatedly join the fight on the side of the ruthless Thuldrin Kreed.
Denek offers a side-long look to Dann, swallowing nervously as he holds his bow with a shaky hand. Going as far as grabbing an arrow from his quiver, Denek seems to be only somewhat more hopeful, but it's clear from his posture that he doesn't want to fight unless he has to.
Inside the lodge, in a dark and lightless space, something stirs awake at the sound of gunfire. In lightless dark, hands and feet scramble and scrape across a cold, stone floor. Chains rattle and clatter as they snake across the stone, and bare hands find purchase on worn, wooden steps. Listening in the dark, the sounds of Payden's panic and frustration is clearly heard nearby.
"Get your guns and kill whoever that is! Get up! Get up!"
Outside the lodge, Fenyx returns a 'thumbs up' to Dann in a hopes to, at the very least, confirm that Denek and Tyne are not lying about the group's intentions. Things seem to be progressing smoothly, and the necromancer smiles to himself beneath the confines of his newly-donned mask. But that musket-shot's report changes everything.
Rasso's eyes go wide at the sound of the musket. "What the f--" He begins, not bothering to finish his curse as he springs into action. Finally free of the gods damned deep snow, his crab like legs devour the terrain. As he passes Dann, Dyne and Denek all they see is a blue crustacean streak an oversized waggling lobster tail held up off the ground. In less than a second he's up the front steps of the lodge and leaping at the window in a graceful swan dive, claws held out point first in front of him. "Andoran!" he shouts as the glass shatters around him, slicing into his arms. With a loud thunk he slams down into an interior room, rolling to his feet.
As Rasso comes crashing through the window, he finds himself alone in a dimly lit storage room. A small hearth lies unlit in the corner next to him, while tall barrels are stacked in opposite corners. A tall and wide shelf set up against the western wall is laden with strongboxes, satchels, quivers, bags and an assortment of dusty jars and bottles. Atop one of the barrels beside him, Rasso can see a cluster of three small kegs clearly labeled, EXPLOSIVE in red paint. Nearby to them is a powder horn and a leather pouch, stacked atop a wooden box that has a stencil on the front reading, "Flywheel Firearms, Grand Duchy of Alkenstar, est. 4706 AR" and below that in smaller print, "12 Fine Rifle Shells."
Fenyx, meanwhile, is dumbfounded.
The wizard scowls to himself. Overanxious fools! They're going to get us all killed over their insatiable blood lust! Fenyx chokes out what might be a curse as he begins hustling around the tent and towards the landing just before the rope bridge. Hoping none of those inside the lodge see his hasty approach, he skids to a halt and inhales sharply for the rushed performance he is required to attempt. Perhaps it is time for the disappointed father to reveal his rage.
"" Fenyx gestures in the direction of the tents as he does so, the zombie under his control still lurching hungrily towards the doors into the lodge.
Damn it to the Hells! Marcellano swears to himself as his bullet hits "Payday" in the shoulder, rather than somewhere a little more vital. Using the well as cover, the marine grabs one of his powder horns and begins to reload, knowing he should have his musket loaded before he goes charging in.
When he hears Fenyx's yelling from across the cabin, Marcellano smirks to himself. Pretty convincing, if you ask me... lets hope they bought it!
Inside the lodge, the sounds of Payden's shouts and the crack of musket fire have roused the weary hunters from their sleep. Fatigued from their long march back to the lodge, they blearily move about in the dark, unarmored and unready for battle. Forsaking the suits of armor and winter gear that lay folded in their trunks, they instead scramble for their weapons, grabbing their loaded muskets and listening to the sounds of windows smashing, footsteps inside the lodge, and gunfire outside.
They were not prepared for this.
Hearing the crash of broken glass coming from the direction he was heading in and the shout of Andoran, Payden Teedum is baffled. He can hear a booming voice outside that seems to be indicating something other than an Andoran ambush; or maybe everything just decided to go wrong at once. Payden was aware of the dwarven rifleman they never found the body of, not to mention the escaped half-orc of Belkzen that had escaped the hunters, and now the ship that they had seen arrive hours earlier. Too many problems.
No, he thinks, that's definitely Halak outside. To Payden, his suspicions about Halak's treatment of the Lumber Consortium men was justified, he'd finally turned on them just like he had warned Thuldrin would happen.
Snarling, Payden storms over to the door to the supply room and fumbles with a keyring on his belt, unlocking the door and kicking it open. When the door flies open and Payden enormous form stoops to duck into the threshhold, the creature he spies inside of the storage room is just as confusing as the rest of this night. A tall, broadly built lobster creature with a shark's maw, surrounded by broken glass. The powerfully built martial artist clenches his hands into fists and widens his stance.
Wordlessly, he prepares to engage the aquatic creature.
Meanwuile, outside the back door of the cabin, Ar'Zarrcal had not expected the battle plan to stay together. Though he did not agree with the elf on much, the humans without arcane training were without question rash and prone to distraction, yet for all the discord they sowed in carefully laid plans, he knew that they were excellent with improvisation.
Pulling snow and ice from his beard, he looked down at the stacked piles of firewood before him and upon his rune scarred face that twisted mockery of a grin formed. It was time he improvised himself. Snatching up a particularly promising piece of firewood, he gripped it in his hand and moved as quickly (for a dwarf) through the shifting shadows beyond the windows.
Glancing around the corner, he lifted his shield and trudged forward through the snow and darkness. The shadows cast from the windows of the lit hunting lodge danced across his face when he peered in one of the windows. In the dim glow of the lamp oil Ar'Zarrcal looked nothing short of a monster. His armor was black and rime coated, each carved thassilonian rune reflecting the dim light menacingly. His beard was a tangle of dark hair and frozen spit and his eyes glared from a pinched, magic marked visage. Hate filled those eyes. Hate and a blood lust instilled by a man far more cruel and twisted than the muscular Overseer and his wretched boss.
Though uncertain if the large man would hear him as he marched through the snow beyond the lodge, he snarled out the bluff anyway. "You've outlived your usefulness. Halak commands your demise." He said with a harsh grumble. Rather than immediately bringing his war-hammer into play, he instead cast his head backwards and spit into the wind, uttering an incantation in the language of Thassilon.
"Штрајкот на наковалната, нека летаат искрата."
The long stick of stolen firewood was put now to its proper use. Igniting with a spark that could have been cast from Torag's own forge, burning despite the harsh weather.
Seeing Ar'Zarrcal ignite the firewood, Talavuc's nose rankles and her eyes shoot open. Is he insane!? This had better be a part of the act, there's a hostage in there. Gripping her spear tightly, Talavuc looks to the barred door, then towards the front of the lodge. With a sharp whistle to Naasvit, she breaks into a run and circles around the front of the lodge. Naasvit reluctantly breaks into a trot beside her, one disgruntled snort made in defiance as he does.
Fenyx can see Talavuc come into view around the front of the lodge by the large windows of the southern wing. Skidding to a halt in the snow and dirt, Talavuc braces her spear against the ground and leans in towards the window, scuffing away some of the frost to try and peer inside, only to find, "Nothing?"
The erutaki druid squints against the darkness of the unlit room, but even in the scraps of twilight she can see that all resides in that enormous room are empty beds. Weren't there supposed to be sick people in here? Where are they?
Worried, Talavuc signals to Fenyx and motions to the room, then gives a hand sign that to her clearly implies that the room is empty. The simple hand-gesture is received clearly and appropriately by Fenyx. Though it did resemble the somatic components for invisibility, which he surmises makes some manner of sense.
Naasvit moves just past Talavuc and sniffs at the air, looking suspiciously towards the ravine. "What is it?" Talavuc asks her erstwhile companion, and when she looks towards that swaying rope bridge, the druid spots something the size of a small child flying away from the lodge at a hurried pace. Alarmed, she motions again to Fenyx, signaling that something has flown away from the lodge to the southwest.
Whatever it was, it's long gone.
Ordrud couldn't believe the musket shots. What happened to the plan and the ruse? He thought the merman diving through the window was a good idea, though. As long as the merman didn't get trapped alone. Did tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum describe that as a storage closet? The frozen dead still hasn't reached the door to bash it open. What to do now?
He sees a straight line to the merman's entrance, so Ordrud runs for it with his sling in his hand. In case the merman needs support, or he has cover from the ruse.
Scowling behind his mask, Teladon dropped all pretense at surprise. Rushing forward through the tents towards the lodge ahead. His arms pump in motion as he sprints towards the looming structure. If only he had been given more time. If only he had the chance to place himself properly. But no, instead he was forced to respond to the enemy instead of having the enemy respond to him. Shaking his head, Teladon blocked out the frustration. There would be time for recriminations later. Now all that mattered was that the call to battle had been sounded and he had to act. To do otherwise would only lead to the deaths of the team. They had pushed ahead so quickly and so fast this was their one chance to bring the fight to their foes while they were unprepared. But Teladon feared how costly the fight could be in the end.
Nervously watching the siege of the lodge taking shape from beside the fire, Tyne tensely shifts his weight back and forth from one foot to another, shooting furtive looks to Dann as he tries to assess the large man's reactions. Fenyx's appearance as Halak is disturbing in both its accuracy and its commitment, and had he not been aware of the deception to begin with, Tyne would likely be fleeing like the other men appear to want to.
It is only Dann's reinforcing presence that keeps them from running. With one hand held out towards them, Dann's stationary position and steadfast gaze on the lodge has given all of the conscripts reason to pause.
On the rear side of the lodge, through the window he'd tried firing into, Styvanus can see one of the lightly dressed men inside roll out of his bed and onto the floor, grabbing a musket from where it leaned against the wall. Prone, he levels the musket towards the window with his feet braced against the wall and clicks back the firing hammer.
Styvanus drops the musket that had failed him and brings his quick draw-shield up to eye level in reaction to staring down the barrel of the hunter's musket. Wasting no time, Styvanus followed Rasso's lead, backing up and readying himself. "Andoran!" He shouts, charging straight forward through the window with his shield leading the way. The Captian doesn't miss a step in spite of the shattered glass digging into his shield arm. He collides immediately with the hunter, his shield pushing the musket to the side and slamming home into the hunter's chest, carrying with it all of the Captain's weight.
The hunter lets out a grunt of pain as the Captain slams his shield down on him and gets right up close into the rifleman's face. Backlit by the dim light of dawn, crusted with glittering ice and bearing that eagle-emblazoned shield, Styvanus is a terrifying sight to the unarmored rifleman seen throguh pain-blurred vision.
<< | | | Talon's Hill Lodge >>
In the dark of his private chambers, Thuldrin anxiously rifles through his backpack, the sounds of bursting windows and shouts below causing his hands to shake. But above all it is the sound of Halak proclaiming the termination of their arrangement that has tipped Thuldrin over into a fit of panic. He knows that there is no bargaining with the druid. After retrieving a thin, iron wand from his backpack, Thuldrin grabs the handle of his sword where it hangs in its sheath on the back of his chair. With a fluid motion, he draws the blade and turns towards his door.
There is only one way out of this altercation, and the way out is through.
Outside, Dann watches the emergence of one of the undead villagers with a paled expression. Yvonne, he thinks to himself, watching the woman's ragged body lope through the snow. He had not known her well, but his daughter had played with Yvonne's son by the river on several occasions. Now, seeing her hollow shell, Dann is filled with a rage he had thought died out long ago. Halak knew better than to parade the undead through the lodge, knew better than to spark the smoldering pride of the andorans back into an inferno. That fire was now relit.
Yanking his wood-splitting axe out of the ground beside him, Dann storms towards the front door of the cabin with a scowl painted across his face. The other men, seeing Dann take up arms against Thuldrin, return to their tents to grab their weapons and join the fight.
Inspired by Dann's choice to become involved, Denek raises his bow and draws back the arrow he'd retrieved earlier. Standing steady beside the fire, the archer watches for signs of movement from the windows, hoping to give Dann and the living dead a clear path to take down the door.
Inside the lodge, in the dark and the cold, the sound of windows shattering and raised voices from above inspire more than just Dann and the conscripts. The sound of rattling chains accompanies movement, followed by the clunk of wooden stairs and a grunt of effort. With the slam of one shoulder, wood creaks and a lock rattles but neither budge. "Motherf--" the curse turns into a groan and another slam of the trap door, followed by a strangled scream of frustration. "Come on, come on!"
Cornered in the storage room, Rasso can hear the sounds of someone smashing against a wall or floor in the lodge, and the muffled sounds of rattling chains and a woman's voice.
______
I bet thar's a whole lot o' useful in here. But I can't afford ter be readin' any bottles at the moment. Rasso thinks, seeing the powerful scarred man open the door to the storage closet he finds himself in. His years of combat instincts take over and he steps forward quick as a striking snake, lashing out with both his claws and teeth. He what strikes first often strikes last boy-o. He thinks grimly to himself.
The merman warrior's assault is furious and primal. His knobby claws lash out, aimed at snipping Payden's femoral arteries. With the lower strike offering a distraction, Rasso lunges forward with his wide open mouth, trying to bring his rows of triangular serrated teeth down on Payden's face as hard as he can.
__________________________________
Fenyx watches Talavuc's gestures with curiosity, momentarily puzzled as to when she had managed to find someone well versed enough in the arcane arts to instruct her in the applications and execution of a dweomer as advanced as... wait. The mink was far too large to be her familiar. No, she likely meant something else with the motion. Empty? Curious. Or perhaps the sick men are invisible? No. That's preposterous! Her motioning turns more frantic, though it is far too late to matter when Fenyx understands what she is indicating with her hurried gestures. Turning over his shoulder to look behind, the air seems disappointingly devoid of anything to warrant suspicion or alarm. Perhaps the exhaustion has gotten to her. Or perhaps she is gifted with sight that pierces the veils made manifest by illusory magic, and we are surrounded by flying, invisible sick men.
Regarding the windows of the lodge's front side, Fenyx resolves to imitate Denek in his commendable tactics. A wise course. Perhaps these yokels are not as addle-brained and hopeless as I had previously assumed. His light crossbow is raised in preparation for any attempts from within to thwart the advancing tide of zombie and Big Dann against the front doors. As he stands ready, weapon raised, Fenyx speaks calmly and soft enough that only Denek and Tyne can hear him. "Your sick friends seem to have vanished, friends."
_________________________
Oh but it is fickle. Instant karma will get me soon enough.
|
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Seeing a whirlwind of action burst around him as he was reloading, Marcellano notices that, as far as he can tell, the group has the place surrounded entirely. With that, Marcellano decides to flank the cabin in one direction that the other's haven't yet covered - the top. Having finally reloaded his musket, Marcellano retrieves his grappling hook hanging from his belt, lets the grappling hook slide down his grip until he has enough room to get a good spin going, and throws it at one of the tower's windows.
Lets see them expect someone from above, eh?
_______________________________________________
The interior of the lodge is in chaos. Intruders have not only breached the storm wall but managed to get all the way inside the lodge. Halak himself appears to be attacking, and the bewildered, fatigued and unarmored hunters are caught wholly unaware. It is the exact inverse of the ambush that waylaid Gwynn's unit not long ago.
The irony is lost on them.
In one of the bedrooms, the hunter pinned by Styvanus struggles with the Captain from the floor. His chest aching from bruised ribs and the snow-covered, heavily armored Andoran knight above him backs him into both a proverbial and literal corner. Raising his loaded musket he trains his aim point-blank on the Captain. At this range, however, all the rifleman is doing is leaving himself open. Styvanus swats the barrel of the gun aside, and before the rifleman can fire, he's smashed across the face with the flat of the shield. He goes limp, dropping his musket, sprawled out on the floor with a bloodied bruise on his forehead.
In a larger communal room, the sounds of the battle on opposite sides can be heard clearly. Three hunters spring into action with their muskets, the first one out the door shouldering it open as he dashes out into the common room. He follows the wall, hearing the sounds of a struggle in the adjacent room where Styvanus is manhandling his comrade. Another rifleman at his back dressed in a button-down suit of long underwear comes to a stop by the kitchen table when he spies Ar'Zarrcal's form peering through a window.
The musket explodes with muzzle flash and the roar of gunfire, blasting the window by the dwarf ope and taking a chunk of the water barrel out. Splinters of glass and wood clatter off Ar'Zarrcal's shield, but the shot missed him entirely. "We're surrounded!" The hunter screams, as if his warning could make a difference.
In an adjacent bunk to the common room, one of the hunters can clearly see Dann and the zombie making an approach to the door. "You son'f a b%!~+," he mutters, smashing out the window with the butt of his rifle. Leveling it out to aim at Dann, the hunter fails to notice Halak until a stray arrow fired by Denek sticks into the window frame beside his head.
"What the f--" is all the hunter can say as he spies "Halak's" haunting form beyond the glow of the campfire, right before a crossbow bolt splits the hunters forehead open and sends his lifeless body sprawling back into the dark of his room.
A third hunter moves out of the communal barracks in Payden's direction, finding the towering brute already advancing into the storeroom. "Boss! Boss! What's going on!?" Payden cannot hear the hunter over the sounds of his own screams of pain and rage, and the sight the hunter walks in on is a gruesome one.
Pulling himself free from Rasso's shark-like maw, Payden moves with quickness when he hears his hunter's call. Trying to duck out of the way, Payden expects to hear the crack of a musket and Rasso's screech. Instead, all he hears is a whuff of an improperly loaded musket misfiring and the muffled curse of the hunter behind him.
Snarling, blood running down his mangled face, Payden smashes a closed fist into an open palm and then snaps into a sudden burst of motion. Stamping his lead foot on the floor, Payden thrusts forward with a powerful blow against the dead center of Rasso's chest. The impact is hard enough the send fractures through his chitinous armor and nearly knocks the wind out of the summoner entirely. Within seconds, Payden follows up with a right hook across Rasso's face that shatters away part of his eidolon's head covering into ephemeral motes of shimmering light and semi-solid energy. A third strike comes immediately after with a palm-thrust under Rasso's jaw. The pain inflicted on his crustacean exterior now translates directly to his body through the link he has with his eidolon.
Payden is stunned to see Rasso still standing, and the pit-boss of the Lumber Consortium slams a fist into his open palm again and takes a readied stance. "I'ma rip yer jaw off an' beat you t'death wiv it."
__________
Round 2
Ordrud watched the huge bruiser pummel the merman. He had briefly thought to go inside another window, to revenge himself on those weaker hunters. However, the lobster won't last another few moments. Lastwall taught him to never ever leave a companion. The fight in the door-frame would be tough but necessary.
He climbed through the broken window. His spiked gauntlets and boots breaking even more glass. He shifted next to the merman dropping his sling on the floor and silently drawing his greatsword from its waist sheath, as if he was going to sharpen it.
Ordrud kept his rage in check in order to thread his greatsword over the merman and avoid glancing the door. Not much power, but maybe enough of distraction for his companion. Lastwall also taught him to always sacrifice power for accuracy, but he enjoyed forgetting that lesson.
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Glass, chunks of splintered wood and a mist of frigid water spray against the heavily armored form of Ar’Zarrcal. That first shot missed, but he was not confident that the next one would. Looking to the torch in his hand, two options presented themselves to the dwarf. One was to drop the torch into the snow and take advantage of the darkness to carefully circle the lodge and find a safe point of entry. The other was to expose himself to risk, but join the fray and aid his unlikely companions. For whatever else he was, Ar’Zarrcal was not a coward. Somewhere deep down in that rune-scarred form beat the stout heart of a courageous dwarf. Though he no particular fondness for the merman or the Andoran captain, they were a part of this team and could still prove valuable assets. Seeing more hunters flood into the room and with the potential to overwhelm the two Andoran officers, Ar’Zarrcal sneered at the hunter who had fired at him and with a battle cry that was a garbled and confused mess of thassilion and dwarven he dropped the torch in the snow beside him and thrust his shield forward at the already shattered glass of the window, hoping to break away what little remained of the framing wood.
With a hand now free, the ungraceful armored dwarf climbed through the broken window, stumbling and creating a further ruckus with the splintering window frame, the shattering of glass and the loud bang of the heavy barrel being overturned and kicked to side. Once inside the room, Ar’Zarrcal raised his shield and rushed toward the wood table. Upon reaching it he quickly slipped his hands (and shield arm) underneath the long table and attempted to flip it over onto its side, hopefully providing the short dwarf substantial cover from the musket fire that would come his way. Undoubtedly this would create further commotion with the breaking of tableware and the spilling of utensils and food.
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Styvanus feels the familiar recoil run up his shield arm as the blow leaves the hunter limp in the small room. He can see shadows of movement under the cracks of the door, and for a moment, he considers running headlong through the wooden barrier, but decides against it.
Exhaling a steady breath as he hears the table being overturned outside, he steps forward and flings the door open. Seeing the hunter standing in the door frame , Styv brings his left arm up quickly. " Over here." He taunts flatly. When the hunter turns his head Styvanus tries to seize the opening, jabbing at the musketeer with the rim of the eagle-emblazoned shield.
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Fleet as a kingfisher as it flew along the surf, Teladon rushed along the side of the cabin. To his right though the broken window he could make out the form of Rasso grappling with a giant of a man. The two were locked in combat and traded blow after blow against each other. From the opposite side the elf's keen hearing could make out the sound of a rifle shock as it cracked out into the freezing wind.
Dashing along the snow covered ground, Teladon saw a open window and what looked like an unoccupied room beyond. Gritting his teeth, the elf grabbed his obsidian blade from its scabbard and charged at the glass. The magnus knew it would hurt, but at least his mask would protect him from the worst he thought in a detached manner, just as he was in mid leap into the window.
With another loud crash, he landed into the room and rolling, rose to his feet. There was another door ahead of him and he could see light streaming out from below the door jam. Taking two quick strides, Teladon threw the door open and strode into the great room. To his left he could see two men who were engaged with the dwarven ambassador. To his right he could see the shape of Rasso in a doorway as he fought against the man. Making a snap decision the elf moved toward Ar'Zarrcal. Hopefully the man would have good enough sense to take advantage in the change of station.
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In the dark of his private chambers, Thuldrin anxiously rifles through his backpack, the sounds of bursting windows and shouts below causing his hands to shake. But above all it is the sound of Halak proclaiming the termination of their arrangement that has tipped Thuldrin over into a fit of panic. He knows that there is no bargaining with the druid. After retrieving a thin, iron wand from his backpack, Thuldrin grabs the handle of his sword where it hangs in its sheath on the back of his chair. With a fluid motion, he draws the blade and turns towards his door.
There is only one way out of this altercation, and the way out is through.
Outside, Dann watches the emergence of one of the undead villagers with a paled expression. Yvonne, he thinks to himself, watching the woman's ragged body lope through the snow. He had not known her well, but his daughter had played with Yvonne's son by the river on several occasions. Now, seeing her hollow shell, Dann is filled with a rage he had thought died out long ago. Halak knew better than to parade the undead through the lodge, knew better than to spark the smoldering pride of the andorans back into an inferno. That fire was now relit.
Yanking his wood-splitting axe out of the ground beside him, Dann storms towards the front door of the cabin with a scowl painted across his face. The other men, seeing Dann take up arms against Thuldrin, return to their tents to grab their weapons and join the fight.
Inspired by Dann's choice to become involved, Denek raises his bow and draws back the arrow he'd retrieved earlier. Standing steady beside the fire, the archer watches for signs of movement from the windows, hoping to give Dann and the living dead a clear path to take down the door.
Inside the lodge, in the dark and the cold, the sound of windows shattering and raised voices from above inspire more than just Dann and the conscripts. The sound of rattling chains accompanies movement, followed by the clunk of wooden stairs and a grunt of effort. With the slam of one shoulder, wood creaks and a lock rattles but neither budge. "Motherf--" the curse turns into a groan and another slam of the trap door, followed by a strangled scream of frustration. "Come on, come on!"
Cornered in the storage room, Rasso can hear the sounds of someone smashing against a wall or floor in the lodge, and the muffled sounds of rattling chains and a woman's voice.
Inside the storage room, Rasso briefly looks at the contents of the shelves with Payden standing ready to fight in the doorway. I bet thar's a whole lot o' useful in here. But I can't afford ter be readin' any bottles at the moment, the merman thinks. His years of combat instincts take over and he steps forward quick as a striking snake, lashing out with both his claws and teeth. He what strikes first often strikes last boy-o, he thinks grimly to himself.
The merman warrior's assault is furious and primal. His knobby claws lash out, aimed at snipping Payden's femoral arteries. With the lower strike offering a distraction, Rasso lunges forward with his wide open mouth, trying to bring his rows of triangular serrated teeth down on Payden's face as hard as he can.
His claws clamp down on the boxer's thighs, shredding the flesh and causing the human brawler to drop his guard long enough for the merman's jaws to clamp down hard on his face. His teeth scrape along the thug's skull, shredding flesh and leaving Payden's forehead, cheeks and jaw in bloody tatters. Rasso shoves the human back a half step and brings his claws up to shoulder level held wide. He roars with all the fury he's been penning up since they got this sh*t mission. Payden's blood coating his claws gleams in the light of the oil lamps, that combined with shreds of human face hanging from Rasso's teeth make him look terrible indeed.
Fenyx watches Talavuc's gestures with curiosity, momentarily puzzled as to when she had managed to find someone well versed enough in the arcane arts to instruct her in the applications and execution of a dweomer as advanced as... wait. The mink was far too large to be her familiar. No, she likely meant something else with the motion. Empty? Curious. Or perhaps the sick men are invisible? No. That's preposterous! Her motioning turns more frantic, though it is far too late to matter when Fenyx understands what she is indicating with her hurried gestures. Turning over his shoulder to look behind, the air seems disappointingly devoid of anything to warrant suspicion or alarm. Perhaps the exhaustion has gotten to her. Or perhaps she is gifted with sight that pierces the veils made manifest by illusory magic, and we are surrounded by flying, invisible sick men.
Regarding the windows of the lodge's front side, Fenyx resolves to imitate Denek in his commendable tactics. A wise course. Perhaps these yokels are not as addle-brained and hopeless as I had previously assumed. His light crossbow is raised in preparation for any attempts from within to thwart the advancing tide of zombie and Big Dann against the front doors. As he stands ready, weapon raised, Fenyx speaks calmly and soft enough that only Denek and Tyne can hear him. "Your sick friends seem to have vanished, friends."
Seeing a whirlwind of action burst around him as he was reloading, Marcellano notices that, as far as he can tell, the group has the place surrounded entirely. With that, Marcellano decides to flank the cabin in one direction that the other's haven't yet covered - the top. Having finally reloaded his musket, Marcellano retrieves his grappling hook hanging from his belt, lets the grappling hook slide down his grip until he has enough room to get a good spin going, and throws it at one of the tower's windows.
Lets see them expect someone from above, eh? Unfortunately, the distance, darkness and slippery slope of the lodge's roof provides little surface for Marcellano's grappling hook to attach to. It comes skittering back down with a trail of loosened snow following it, landing on the ground next to the lodge.
The interior of the lodge is in chaos. Intruders have not only breached the storm wall but managed to get all the way inside the lodge. Halak himself appears to be attacking, and the bewildered, fatigued and unarmored hunters are caught wholly unaware. It is the exact inverse of the ambush that waylaid Gwynn's unit not long ago.
The irony is lost on them.
In one of the bedrooms, the hunter pinned by Styvanus struggles with the Captain from the floor. His chest aching from bruised ribs and the snow-covered, heavily armored Andoran knight above him backs him into both a proverbial and literal corner. Raising his loaded musket he trains his aim point-blank on the Captain. At this range, however, all the rifleman is doing is leaving himself open. Styvanus swats the barrel of the gun aside, and before the rifleman can fire, he's smashed across the face with the flat of the shield. He goes limp, dropping his musket, sprawled out on the floor with a bloodied bruise on his forehead.
In a larger communal room, the sounds of the battle on opposite sides can be heard clearly. Three hunters spring into action with their muskets, the first one out the door shouldering it open as he dashes out into the common room. He follows the wall, hearing the sounds of a struggle in the adjacent room where Styvanus is manhandling his comrade. Another rifleman at his back dressed in a button-down suit of long underwear comes to a stop by the kitchen table when he spies Ar'Zarrcal's form peering through a window.
The musket explodes with muzzle flash and the roar of gunfire, blasting the window by the dwarf ope and taking a chunk of the water barrel out. Splinters of glass and wood clatter off Ar'Zarrcal's shield, but the shot missed him entirely. "We're surrounded!" The hunter screams, as if his warning could make a difference.
In an adjacent bunk to the common room, one of the hunters can clearly see Dann and the zombie making an approach to the door. "You son'f a b*%%%," he mutters, smashing out the window with the butt of his rifle. Leveling it out to aim at Dann, the hunter fails to notice Halak until a stray arrow fired by Denek sticks into the window frame beside his head.
"What the f--" is all the hunter can say as he spies "Halak's" haunting form beyond the glow of the campfire, right before a crossbow bolt splits the hunters forehead open and sends his lifeless body sprawling back into the dark of his room.
A third hunter moves out of the communal barracks in Payden's direction, finding the towering brute already advancing into the storeroom. "Boss! Boss! What's going on!?" Payden cannot hear the hunter over the sounds of his own screams of pain and rage, and the sight the hunter walks in on is a gruesome one.
Pulling himself free from Rasso's shark-like maw, Payden moves with quickness when he hears his hunter's call. Trying to duck out of the way, Payden expects to hear the crack of a musket and Rasso's screech. Instead, all he hears is a whuff of an improperly loaded musket misfiring and the muffled curse of the hunter behind him.
Snarling, blood running down his mangled face, Payden smashes a closed fist into an open palm and then snaps into a sudden burst of motion. Stamping his lead foot on the floor, Payden thrusts forward with a powerful blow against the dead center of Rasso's chest. The impact is hard enough the send fractures through his chitinous armor and nearly knocks the wind out of the summoner entirely. Within seconds, Payden follows up with a right hook across Rasso's face that shatters away part of his eidolon's head covering into ephemeral motes of shimmering light and semi-solid energy. A third strike comes immediately after with a palm-thrust under Rasso's jaw, but the merman is able to jerk his head back, vision blurring and legs wobbling as he does. The pain inflicted on his crustacean exterior now translates directly to his body through the link he has with his eidolon, pain enough to cause him to momentarily black out, barely able to stay up.
Payden is stunned to see Rasso still standing, and the pit-boss of the Lumber Consortium slams a fist into his open palm again and takes a readied stance. "I'ma rip yer jaw off an' beat you t'death wiv it."
Ordrud watched the huge bruiser pummel the merman. He had briefly thought to go inside another window, to revenge himself on those weaker hunters. However, the lobster won't last another few moments. Lastwall taught him to never ever leave a companion. The fight in the door-frame would be tough, but necessary.
He climbs through the broken window. His spiked gauntlets and boots breaking even more glass. He shifts next to the merman, dropping his sling on the floor and silently drawing his greatsword from its waist sheath, as if he was going to sharpen it.
Ordrud keeps his rage in check in order to thread his greatsword over the merman and avoid glancing the door. Not much power, but maybe enough of distraction for his companion. Lastwall also taught him to always sacrifice power for accuracy, but he enjoyed forgetting that lesson.
The blade slides down in a delicate slice into Payden's left arm, carving a deep gash enough to scrape the bone of his bicep and elicit a howl of agony from the boxer. Reeling from the cut and recoiling, the blade draws out with a pulse of blood that dribbles on the floor, and Payden seems as unable to keep his footing as Rasso, bleeding from horrifying injuries that -- even if he survives -- will leave him maimed for life.
In the kitchen, glass, chunks of splintered wood and a mist of frigid water spray against the heavily armored form of Ar’Zarrcal. That first shot missed, but he was not confident that the next one would. Looking to the torch in his hand, two options presented themselves to the dwarf. One was to drop the torch into the snow and take advantage of the darkness to carefully circle the lodge and find a safe point of entry. The other was to expose himself to risk, but join the fray and aid his unlikely companions. For whatever else he was, Ar’Zarrcal was not a coward. Somewhere deep down in that rune-scarred form beat the stout heart of a courageous dwarf. Though he no particular fondness for the merman or the Andoran captain, they were a part of this team and could still prove valuable assets. Seeing more hunters flood into the room and with the potential to overwhelm the two Andoran officers, Ar’Zarrcal sneered at the hunter who had fired at him and with a battle cry that was a garbled and confused mess of thassilion and dwarven he dropped the torch in the snow beside him and thrust his shield forward at the already shattered glass of the window, hoping to break away what little remained of the framing wood.
With a hand now free, the ungraceful armored dwarf climbed through the broken window, stumbling and creating a further ruckus with the splintering window frame, the shattering of glass and the loud bang of the heavy barrel being overturned and kicked to side. Once inside the room, Ar’Zarrcal raised his shield and rushed toward the wood table. Upon reaching it he quickly slipped his hands (and shield arm) underneath the long table and attempted to flip it over onto its side, hopefully providing the short dwarf substantial cover from the musket fire that would come his way. Undoubtedly this would create further commotion with the breaking of tableware and the spilling of utensils and food.
Hearing the sounds of fighting inside, gunshots and screams ringing out into the night, Talavuc looks to Naasvit and makes a very displeased expression. A moment later she takes a half step back and hurls herself through the picture window at the front of the empty bed chambers in the lodge, arms crossed over her face. Talavuc lands with a crash on the floor, broken glass showering around her. Glass bristles from her sleeves and hair, thin rivulets of blood run down her forehead where a small piece cut her scalp.
Rising up to her feet, she whistles sharply and hustles towards the door. A moment later Naasvit bounds through the open window and trots along at Talavuc's heels. On her way through the darkenes room, Talavuc can see the empty beds, tangled with blankets, and ralizes that the room is rife with the stink of vomit and sweat. Regretting her decision to come into the room, she shoulders the door open to the kitchen to see Ar'Zarrcal crouched behind an overturned table and two rifle-wielding men bearing down on him.
With a scream, Talavuc hurls her spear over the table and skewers the hunter on the other side. The impact of the spear sends him sprawling back to slam against the door behind him, spear wedged between his pectoral and shoulder. His scream is muffled by the sudden slam of the door against his back as Styvanus pushes out into the hall and sends the hunter stumbling forward against the upturned table. Lunging forward, the Captain brings his shield down at the hunter, only to narrowly miss as the injured man slides out of the way. Styvanus' shield takes a notch out of the table's edge instead of the hunter's head.
Naasvit, coming skittering into the room, leaps into the air and latches on to another hunter's shoulder, trying to drag him to the ground. The rufleman knocks the massive mink back with the stock of his musket, but the mink takes a chunk out of the man's shoulder in ragged strips of flesh on parting.
Fleet as a kingfisher as it flew along the surf, Teladon rushed along the side of the cabin, still out in the icy winds and snow. To his right, though the broken window, he could make out the form of Rasso grappling with a giant of a man and Ordrud by his side. The three were locked in combat and traded blow after blow against each other. From the opposite side the elf's keen hearing could make out the sound of a rifle shock as it cracked out into the freezing wind.
Dashing along the snow covered ground, Teladon saw a open window and what looked like an unoccupied room beyond. Gritting his teeth, the elf grabbed his obsidian blade from its scabbard and charged at the glass. The magnus knew it would hurt, but at least his mask would protect him from the worst he thought in a detached manner, just as he was in mid leap into the window.
With another loud crash, he landed into the room and rolling, rose to his feet. There was another door ahead of him and he could see light streaming out from below the door jam. Taking two quick strides, Teladon threw the door open and strode into the great room. To his left he could see two men who were engaged with the dwarven ambassador. To his right he could see the shape of Rasso in a doorway as he fought against the man. Making a snap decision the elf moved toward Ar'Zarrcal and Talavuc. Hopefully the man would have good enough sense to take advantage in the change of station.
Outside the lodge, hearing the sounds of chaos and death, Tyne edges around the fire and comes to stand beside Fenyx with his bow drawn. Looking to the disguised wizard Tyne manages a crooked, though nervous, smile and notches an arrow in his bow, waiting for signs of movement on this side of the lodge to fire.
<< | | | Talon's Hill Lodge >>
Attempting to slip out of his room unnoticeed, a figure emerging on the balcony in a crouch draws the attention of Talavuc, Teladon, Styvanus and Ar'Zarrcal with creaking floorboards and clomping footsteps. Giving up on an attempt at a stealthy approach, the figure swiftly stands up with one arm outstretched, brandishing a long iron wand. "You f*ckers f*cked with the wrong bloody f*cking man!" The screeching voice of a thus-far unknown figure rings out over the kitchen. Standing up straight, Thuldrin Kreed is a short and stocky man with swept back, wavy, graying blonde hair, a broad face and wide-set eyes.
"Efulvati!" Thuldrin screams as a glowing point of emerald light flares to life a the head of the wand, and with a flick of his wrist two screeching bolt of energy rocket through the air and slam into Teladon like bullets.
Outside, Dann watches the zombie smash at the door, splintering wood and pounding against the barricade. His heart sinks on seeing Yvonne's corpse used in such a fashion. He considers his axe for a moment, considers putting her down, but the screams and sounds of carnage inside make him reconsider. Instead, Dann excises himself from the situation, running into the now vacant open window beside the door. Climbing through the smashed out window, Dann hustles through the bedroom, stepping over the corpse of one of the hunters before slamming his shoulder into the closed door.
Dann emerges in the foyer to screams and furious combat. Spotting one of the hunters preparing to reload his musket, Dann winds up with his axe and takes a wild swing, but the hunter ducks out of the way of the swing, and Dann's axe takes a huge chunk out of the wall. "Andoran!" Dann bellows, joining the earlier cries of the Eagle Knights.
Thunk
Dann hear's something behind him, and the woodsman turns sharply to see the bearskin rug on the floor jump up a foot. Bewildered, Dann grips his axe tighter, only to hear another loud thump and the rug leaps up again. Silently mouthing a curse in confusion, Dann readies himself for the unknown just as a third and final thump turns into a resounding crash as a trap door is burst open, flinging the rug up in the air. Dust and mildew-stinking air flood the foyer, and from a concealed basement hatch strides a dirt-smeared blonde haired woman in a tattered black military uniform, hands shackled at the wrist.
Blue eyes stare ferociously at Payden, Dann and the hunter she can see. Bruises blotch the woman's face, rope marks around her neck indicate attempts at strangulation and a cut on her forehead has only partly healed. Gripping the chains of her shackles tightly, Knight-Captain Gwynn looks ready to kill everyone in the room if she has to.
Outside, Denek draws another arrow and draws it back in his shortbow, waiting for another hunter to come into view. Swallowing nervously, he can only hope that his choice to join the fight was not premature. Then, out fo the corner of Denek's eye, he spies the other conscripts coming out of their tents with shortswords in hand, screaming at the top of their lungs.
"Andoran!"
"Andoran!"
"Andoran!"
Denek's doubt passes, and his voice joins the others.
"Andoran!"
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Fenyx nods in response to Tyne, hoping to instill a bit of courage in the man. Though, in all honesty, he appreciated having another body nearby to draw any yet to be revealed threats. "Keep a spare eye on the opposite side of the bridge if you would, Tyne."
"Halak", seeking to direct the newly conscripted arrivals to the massive melee unfolding inside the lodge, uncurls a finger to point at the nearest of the men that spilled out from their tents. Addressing him in a guttural roar as the man approaches the steps he yells "" Scant steps beyond, the lifeless if not motionless form of Yvonne continues smashing into the door with reckless abandon.
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Pain. Stabby, burning, throbbing pain. These are the only sensations that Rasso knows. Teetering on the edge of death, the merman's vision narrows down to a blurry tunnel, pulsing red around the edges in time with his racing heart. Standing in the center of his narrowed vision is Payden. The brawler's face, arm and legs are in tatters and he is clearly just as badly injured as Rasso. The cries of 'Andoran!' echoing through the night, pierce Rasso's pain state and he rallies himself. Just one more bloody assualt... The merman synthesist thinks, lunging forward with the last of his failing strength. This time one claw goes for the neck, while the other reaches for Payden's crotch.
With the claws hopefully distracting Payden, Rasso tries to bite off the arm that Ordrud's sword just sliced open. As he darts forward teeth first, he stumbles and nearly falls. One of the merman's broken ribs was shoved through a lung by the sudden movement. With a cry of pain, Rasso stumbles backward, coughing up a clot of dark black blood. "Help me mate, I cain't..." his plea is broken by him vomiting more blood onto the floor of the storage room, as he hunches over struggling for breath.
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Having failed at trying to latch his grappling hook on the cabin's tower, Marcellano instead tries a different tactic - following everyone else's lead. Loaded musket in hand, Marcellano leaves his safe spot and jumps in one of the already broken windows, determined to get into the battle instead of trying to flank from above.
As he jumps into the cabin, he yells at the top of his lungs, "For Thrune!", not letting the Andoran nationals take all of the glory in this fight.
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The lodge has descended into complete and utter chaos. The hunters once secure within the structure now feel trapped by its very walls. Cornered by Dig Dann, one of the hunters brings his fouled musket up and smashes it against Dann's jaw, sending the tall man stumbling back with one hand grasping at his now bloodied mouth. Deeper into the lodge, the two hunters who are now surrounded in the kitchen have little recourse. Taking a step back away from the battle, his back pressed to the side of the staircase to the balcony.
Drawing the rifle's ramrod out of a narrow tube below the barrel, the hunter quickly begins packing in a new round and filling the breech with black powder from a horn swinging at his waist. Meanwhile, his compatriot takes a step away from the table Ar'Zarrcal and Talavuc are crouched behind and tries to fire point-blank at Styvanus.
The Captain springs into action, knocking the barrel aside with his gauntleted hand and swings his shield up to smash under the already bruised and wounded hunter's throat, knocking him clear off of his feet and sending him crashing to the floor, unmoving.
Back at the front of the lodge, Payday wipes blood from his nose and mouth and lunges in at Rasso. The merman raises his claws to shield himself, but the boxer is able to pry his chitinous arms aside and land one smashing blow against his brow, shattering Rasso's eidolon like shards of ethereal glass. Suddenly, Rasso wobbles and staggers backwards, crashing onto the floor as his crustacean armor begins to dissolve like ice in the heat, revealing the fish-tailed merman within.
As much as he would enjoy snapping the merman's neck for what he did to him, "Payday" can't turn his back on the ferocious orc warrior bearing down on him. This one was powerful enough to elude his hunters, gain reinforcements, and return... and somehow work out a deal with Halak? If he survived this, Payden would have to figure out how the hell that happened.
Stepping over Rasso's prone form, Payden ducks into the storage room and lands a powerful gut-punch against Ordrud, sending him reeling back into the shelves with a noisy clatter. Spitting blood onto the floor, Payden follows up with a tremendous right hook that blacks Ordrud's vision out for a moment, returning with blotches of light fading in and out. Nearly felled by these two blows alone, the ferocious warrior of Lastwall and Belkzen heritage remarkably remains standing.
"Thought you coul' get away from me, eh? M'gon f*ckin' gut you," Payden curses, his heels sliding through pooling blood on the floor, both his own and Rasso's.
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Total Damage to Rasso: 11; putting Rasso at -9 and dying. He may make a stabilization check on his turn. If Rasso reaches -20, he will die.
Total Damage to Ordrud: 19; Ordrud is still up
This was it. Teladon thought while gritting his teeth. This was the moment he had waited for. To his right he could see the ensorcelled merman fall to the crushing blows of the human. Behind him, the half-orc roared in fury. Somewhere in the distant part of his mind, Teladon knew that this was the moment when everything stood in the balance. Either they would win here or die. Thankfully, Teladon had kept his power in reserve. He knew that all there was going to be a long road ahead from the moment they started out from the village. His foresight had served him well once again. Teladons side hurt. The human on the stairs above him had used a wand with some skill and the magus recognized the spell. He needed to be dealt with.
Breathing out sharply, the elf focused through the pain. He let go of it. Let it fall away from him like the first winters snow upon a tree branch. The pain did not matter. This moment did. Letting all of his concerns and worry flood out of him, Teladon focused. Quietly and quickly he whispered the words to the 23rd incantation of empowerment. Abruptly the magus’s black ancient scimitar flooded with blue light, elven runes for and streaming out from inside of the blade. At the same moment Teladon shuttered. That was the last of his reservoir that bonded him to the blade.
Raising the blade up he pointed it towards the staircase where the man with the wand stood. Through the slits in his mask, Teladon narrowed his eyes. He would deal with that one. Reaching deep down within side of himself, Teladon began to whisper. This was the last of the offense spells he had prepared for the day. At last he had found a worthy reason to use it. In harsh clipped whispers and lilting sing-song, Teladon recited the 7th invocation of entrancement. As he completed the spell he thrust his blade forward and from the tip of the sword a cone of swirling azure blue, verdant green and sickly yellow light flooded outward towards the man atop the stairs.
Without checking to see if his spell was successful, Teladon leaped to his left over a nearby couch and then ran towards the stairs. Each step was a bound and in seconds he was atop the stairs, facing the man beyond.
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So much had happened in scant seconds. Ordrud’s heart soared when Captain Gwynn burst from her underground jail. Oh, Captain! My Captain! caught in his throat. The cries of ‘Andoran’ did nothing for him, but the sight of her did. She was the first to give him the respect of a simple warrior. He had finally felt free of the position of student and noble hostage that politics had sealed him in Lastwall. His first companions followed her lead and treated him as a fellow soldier, so the last few weeks had been a new beginning. All those emotions returned in a flush.
Then, around the hulk of a man called ‘Payday,’ he glimpsed the hunters who had pursued him for days. They shot at him, unsuccessfully tracked him like an animal, and finally returned here. These memories of hunger and paranoia had been simmering, since the arrival of his new companions. They boiled over each time he found another old companion dead. This had been a long day.
Now, this ‘Payday’ just dropped the lobster and knocked him a couple of times. The merman looked different on the ground unconscious. Ordrud could not understand why in the instant. But the torrent of pain from the two fists felt familiar. His mother had used pain to teach and focus him. Oruk would just beat him for fun. Pain pushed everything from his mind until it was clear, and he grinned with blood dripping from his mouth, ”You should have killed me. Now, it’s my turn.” The words hiss like air drawing inward before an explosion.
His monstrous roar could clearly be heard by Fenyx outside. Ordrud finds his stance moving his cold iron greatsword into the high guard position that had been drummed into him at Lastwall.
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But another strike would not be needed. Gurgling out a mouthful of blood, Payden staggers forward in one defiant stride. Then, belching out a gout of blood onto the floor, he staggers to the side and collides with the wall, then falls backwards out the door and onto the floor, his eyes unblinking as he stares up to the ceiling. An enormous pool of blood begins swiftly spreading out from beneath the slain pit-boss, and "Payday" has fought his last battle.
____
Bedlam dominated the interior of the lodge. Friends and enemies alike fell, gunfire rang out, and magic was hurled. Ar’Zarrcal looked about with disdain. Though it may have been a natural state, Ar’Zarrcal had been raised and re-raised to despise chaos and crave order and discipline. Turmoil and discord inspired in Ar’Zarrcal a fierce need to impose structure upon it. Though his teeth were clenched tightly together, his lips curled into a grimace. The best way to bring harmony to the current situation was to kill all the hunters who opposed them. He could not do it alone and even as he searched the interior he had difficulty discerning friends from foes. Those near the stairs however proved clear enemies. Enemies not hindered by the upturned table. They would be his targets. To Ar’Zarracal’s delight the masked elf seemed to have the same thought as him. Take out the humans on and by the stairs. Perhaps they might even be able to work in concert.
He was not shaped the same as Teladon. Whereas the ambassador of the Mordent Spire was tall and lithe, marked with the gracefulness of a bird or the flying fish sometimes found off the coast of Greater Shalast, Ar’Zarrcal was more like a bison – sure and steady, possessed with a fearsome charge. He let the elf lead the way and then followed in his shadow. Raising his shield up, Ar’Zarrcal charged at the pajama garbed hunter with nary a shout. His battle cry was not the name of his country, his lord, or the Goddess he now served, but rather the ominous clanging of his armor and the heavy footfalls of his rushing feet. As he ran at the soldier, his hand closed about the haft of the Warhammer he himself forged in distant Xin-Shalast. Pulling it free, he let his arm slip outward to his side as he rushed the man. Unceasing in his forward momentum, he smashed thrust his shield forward and up even as he brought his arm around and guided the Warhammer’s head toward the hunter’s hip, with the intent shattering bone with the impact of the strike.
Fortunately for the unarmored hunter, Ar'Zarrcal had not seen that overly large mink in his path until the last moment. Having to do a hop and a spinning turn, he was unable to regain the proper momentum to deliver the crippling blow he had intended, his hammer instead smashing into the wood of the staircase banister and scattering splinters and chunks of wood upon the floor. At the very least his action would cause the hunter to be of less threat to his allies and prevent him and the man of the stairs from double-teaming Teladon.
Attempting to slip out of his room unnoticeed, a figure emerging on the balcony in a crouch draws the attention of Talavuc, Teladon, Styvanus and Ar'Zarrcal with creaking floorboards and clomping footsteps. Giving up on an attempt at a stealthy approach, the figure swiftly stands up with one arm outstretched, brandishing a long iron wand. "You f*ckers f*cked with the wrong bloody f*cking man!" The screeching voice of a thus-far unknown figure rings out over the kitchen. Standing up straight, Thuldrin Kreed is a short and stocky man with swept back, wavy, graying blonde hair, a broad face and wide-set eyes.
"Efulvati!" Thuldrin screams as a glowing point of emerald light flares to life a the head of the wand, and with a flick of his wrist two screeching bolt of energy rocket through the air and slam into Teladon like bullets.
Outside, Dann watches the zombie smash at the door, splintering wood and pounding against the barricade. His heart sinks on seeing Yvonne's corpse used in such a fashion. He considers his axe for a moment, considers putting her down, but the screams and sounds of carnage inside make him reconsider. Instead, Dann excises himself from the situation, running into the now vacant open window beside the door. Climbing through the smashed out window, Dann hustles through the bedroom, stepping over the corpse of one of the hunters before slamming his shoulder into the closed door.
Dann emerges in the foyer to screams and furious combat. Spotting one of the hunters preparing to reload his musket, Dann winds up with his axe and takes a wild swing, but the hunter ducks out of the way of the swing, and Dann's axe takes a huge chunk out of the wall. "Andoran!" Dann bellows, joining the earlier cries of the Eagle Knights.
Thunk
Dann hear's something behind him, and the woodsman turns sharply to see the bearskin rug on the floor jump up a foot. Bewildered, Dann grips his axe tighter, only to hear another loud thump and the rug leaps up again. Silently mouthing a curse in confusion, Dann readies himself for the unknown just as a third and final thump turns into a resounding crash as a trap door is burst open, flinging the rug up in the air. Dust and mildew-stinking air flood the foyer, and from a concealed basement hatch strides a dirt-smeared blonde haired woman in a tattered black military uniform, hands shackled at the wrist.
Blue eyes stare ferociously at Payden, Dann and the hunter she can see. Bruises blotch the woman's face, rope marks around her neck indicate attempts at strangulation and a cut on her forehead has only partly healed. Gripping the chains of her shackles tightly, Knight-Captain Gwynn looks ready to kill everyone in the room if she has to.
Outside, Denek draws another arrow and draws it back in his shortbow, waiting for another hunter to come into view. Swallowing nervously, he can only hope that his choice to join the fight was not premature. Then, out fo the corner of Denek's eye, he spies the other conscripts coming out of their tents with shortswords in hand, screaming at the top of their lungs.
"Andoran!"
"Andoran!"
"Andoran!"
Denek's doubt passes, and his voice joins the others.
"Andoran!"
Pain is all Rasso can feel. Stabby, burning, throbbing pain. These are the only sensations that Rasso knows. Teetering on the edge of death, the merman's vision narrows down to a blurry tunnel, pulsing red around the edges in time with his racing heart. Standing in the center of his narrowed vision is Payden. The brawler's face, arm and legs are in tatters and he is clearly just as badly injured as Rasso. The cries of 'Andoran!' echoing through the night, pierce Rasso's pain state and he rallies himself. Just one more bloody assualt... The merman synthesist thinks, lunging forward with the last of his failing strength. This time one claw goes for the neck, while the other reaches for Payden's crotch.
The first claw is easily blocked as Payden's forearm snaps up and outward with a circular motion, deflecting the blow away from his neck. The second claw however goes unnoticed until it grabs ahold of his man bits. Then it shreds. The scream that erupts from Payden is long, loud and ends in a gurgle, as Rasso castrates the larger human man.
Rasso tries to bite off the arm that Ordrud's sword just sliced open. As he darts forward teeth first, he stumbles and nearly falls. One of the merman's broken ribs was shoved through a lung by the sudden movement. With a cry of pain, Rasso stumbles backward, coughing up a clot of dark black blood. "Help me mate, I cain't..." his plea is broken by him vomiting more blood onto the floor of the storage room, as he hunches over struggling for breath.
Right outside, Fenyx nods in response to Tyne, hoping to instill a bit of courage in the man. Though, in all honesty, he appreciated having another body nearby to draw any yet to be revealed threats. "Keep a spare eye on the opposite side of the bridge if you would, Tyne."
"Halak", seeking to direct the newly conscripted arrivals to the massive melee unfolding inside the lodge, uncurls a finger to point at the nearest of the men that spilled out from their tents. Addressing him in a guttural roar as the man approaches the steps he yells "" Scant steps beyond, the lifeless if not motionless form of Yvonne continues smashing into the door with reckless abandon.
Having failed at trying to latch his grappling hook on the cabin's tower, Marcellano instead tries a different tactic - following everyone else's lead. Loaded musket in hand, Marcellano leaves his safe spot and jumps in one of the already broken windows, determined to get into the battle instead of trying to flank from above.
As he jumps into the cabin, he yells at the top of his lungs, "For Thrune!", not letting the Andoran nationals take all of the glory in this fight.
The lodge has descended into complete and utter chaos. The hunters once secure within the structure now feel trapped by its very walls. Cornered by Dig Dann, one of the hunters brings his fouled musket up and smashes it against Dann's jaw, sending the tall man stumbling back with one hand grasping at his now bloodied mouth. Deeper into the lodge, the two hunters who are now surrounded in the kitchen have little recourse. Taking a step back away from the battle, his back pressed to the side of the staircase to the balcony.
Drawing the rifle's ramrod out of a narrow tube below the barrel, the hunter quickly begins packing in a new round and filling the breech with black powder from a horn swinging at his waist. Meanwhile, his compatriot takes a step away from the table Ar'Zarrcal and Talavuc are crouched behind and tries to fire point-blank at Styvanus.
The Captain springs into action, knocking the barrel aside with his gauntleted hand and swings his shield up to smash under the already bruised and wounded hunter's throat, knocking him clear off of his feet and sending him crashing to the floor, unmoving.
Back at the front of the lodge, Payday wipes blood from his nose and mouth and lunges in at Rasso. The merman raises his claws to shield himself, but the boxer is able to pry his chitinous arms aside and land one smashing blow against his brow, shattering Rasso's eidolon like shards of ethereal glass. Suddenly, Rasso wobbles and staggers backwards, crashing onto the floor as his crustacean armor begins to dissolve like ice in the heat, revealing the fish-tailed merman within.
As much as he would enjoy snapping the merman's neck for what he did to him, "Payday" can't turn his back on the ferocious orc warrior bearing down on him. This one was powerful enough to elude his hunters, gain reinforcements, and return... and somehow work out a deal with Halak? If he survived this, Payden would have to figure out how the hell that happened.
Stepping over Rasso's prone form, Payden ducks into the storage room and lands a powerful gut-punch against Ordrud, sending him reeling back into the shelves with a noisy clatter. Spitting blood onto the floor, Payden follows up with a tremendous right hook that blacks Ordrud's vision out for a moment, returning with blotches of light fading in and out. Nearly felled by these two blows alone, the ferocious warrior of Lastwall and Belkzen heritage remarkably remains standing.
"Thought you coul' get away from me, eh? M'gon f*ckin' gut you," Payden curses, his heels sliding through pooling blood on the floor, both his own and Rasso's.
So much had happened in scant seconds. Ordrud’s heart soared when Captain Gwynn burst from her underground jail. Oh, Captain! My Captain! caught in his throat. The cries of ‘Andoran’ did nothing for him, but the sight of her did. She was the first to give him the respect of a simple warrior. He had finally felt free of the position of student and noble hostage that politics had sealed him in Lastwall. His first companions followed her lead and treated him as a fellow soldier, so the last few weeks had been a new beginning. All those emotions returned in a flush.
Then, around the hulk of a man called ‘Payday,’ he glimpsed the hunters who had pursued him for days. They shot at him, unsuccessfully tracked him like an animal, and finally returned here. These memories of hunger and paranoia had been simmering, since the arrival of his new companions. They boiled over each time he found another old companion dead. This had been a long day.
Now, this ‘Payday’ just dropped the lobster and knocked him a couple of times. The merman looked different on the ground unconscious. Ordrud could not understand why in the instant. But the torrent of pain from the two fists felt familiar. His mother had used pain to teach and focus him. Oruk would just beat him for fun. Pain pushed everything from his mind until it was clear, and he grinned with blood dripping from his mouth, ”You should have killed me. Now, it’s my turn.” The words hiss like air drawing inward before an explosion. ”"
His monstrous roar could clearly be heard by Fenyx outside. Ordrud finds his stance moving his cold iron greatsword into the high guard position that had been drummed into him at Lastwall. Ordrud's blade moves like a chirugeon's scalpel, cleaving up under Payday's ribcage before the boxer even realizes he's been gutter. Using leverage, Ordrud forces Payday back against the wall and completes the brutal Belkzen fighting maneuver, twisting the sword upwards like a lever, holding it by the grip backhanded. The blade slides clean through Payden's left arm at the shoulder, even as it tears open his belly, using the wall behind him like a cutting board. Then, dropping to one knee, Ordrud drives the length of the blade down along Payden's thigh and splits it in two.
He's dead before he hits the ground.
Bedlam dominated the interior of the lodge. Friends and enemies alike fell, gunfire rang out, and magic was hurled. Ar’Zarrcal looked about with disdain. Though it may have been a natural state, Ar’Zarrcal had been raised and re-raised to despise chaos and crave order and discipline. Turmoil and discord inspired in Ar’Zarrcal a fierce need to impose structure upon it. Though his teeth were clenched tightly together, his lips curled into a grimace. The best way to bring harmony to the current situation was to kill all the hunters who opposed them. He could not do it alone and even as he searched the interior he had difficulty discerning friends from foes. Those near the stairs however proved clear enemies. Enemies not hindered by the upturned table. They would be his targets. To Ar’Zarracal’s delight the masked elf seemed to have the same thought as him. Take out the humans on and by the stairs. Perhaps they might even be able to work in concert.
He was not shaped the same as Teladon. Whereas the ambassador of the Mordent Spire was tall and lithe, marked with the gracefulness of a bird or the flying fish sometimes found off the coast of Greater Shalast, Ar’Zarrcal was more like a bison – sure and steady, possessed with a fearsome charge. He let the elf lead the way and then followed in his shadow. Raising his shield up, Ar’Zarrcal charged at the pajama garbed hunter with nary a shout. His battle cry was not the name of his country, his lord, or the Goddess he now served, but rather the ominous clanging of his armor and the heavy footfalls of his rushing feet. As he ran at the soldier, his hand closed about the haft of the Warhammer he himself forged in distant Xin-Shalast. Pulling it free, he let his arm slip outward to his side as he rushed the man. Unceasing in his forward momentum, he smashed thrust his shield forward and up even as he brought his arm around and guided the Warhammer’s head toward the hunter’s hip, with the intent shattering bone with the impact of the strike.
Fortunately for the unarmored hunter, Ar'Zarrcal had not seen that overly large mink in his path until the last moment. Having to do a hop and a spinning turn, he was unable to regain the proper momentum to deliver the crippling blow he had intended, his hammer instead smashing into the wood of the staircase banister and scattering splinters and chunks of wood upon the floor. At the very least his action would cause the hunter to be of less threat to his allies and prevent him and the man of the stairs from double-teaming Teladon.
With Ar'Zarrcal moved, Talavuc gives a snap of her fingers and points in the direction of the hunter that Dann is engaged with. A quick whistle is all it takes to send the mink bounding around the hearth, his claws scraping across the hardwood floor. He barrels right past Gwynn and leaps through the air, seemingly coming out of nowhere as he snatches the hunter by the throat and takes him, screaming, to the ground. Naasvit gives a few wild jerks of his head back and forth with teeth sunk in, and the hunter stops moving after the first couple.
Following suit, Talavuc springs forward while sliding her quarterstaff out of its fastening at her back. She maneuvers over to Ar'Zarrcal's side and lunges in with a jab of her staff to the brow of the hunter, causing him to stagger past the hearth and mantle, clutching his bleeding brow with one hand.
This was it. Teladon thought while gritting his teeth. This was the moment he had waited for. To his right he could see the ensorcelled merman fall to the crushing blows of the human. Behind him, the half-orc roared in fury. Somewhere in the distant part of his mind, Teladon knew that this was the moment when everything stood in the balance. Either they would win here or die. Thankfully, Teladon had kept his power in reserve. He knew that all there was going to be a long road ahead from the moment they started out from the village. His foresight had served him well once again. Teladons side hurt. The human on the stairs above him had used a wand with some skill and the magus recognized the spell. He needed to be dealt with.
Breathing out sharply, the elf focused through the pain. He let go of it. Let it fall away from him like the first winters snow upon a tree branch. The pain did not matter. This moment did. Letting all of his concerns and worry flood out of him, Teladon focused. Quietly and quickly he whispered the words to the 23rd incantation of empowerment. Abruptly the magus’s black ancient scimitar flooded with blue light, elven runes for Rejection and Malice streaming out from inside of the blade. At the same moment Teladon shuttered. That was the last of his reservoir that bonded him to the blade.
Raising the blade up he pointed it towards the staircase where the man with the wand stood. Through the slits in his mask, Teladon narrowed his eyes. He would deal with that one. Reaching deep down within side of himself, Teladon began to whisper. This was the last of the offense spells he had prepared for the day. At last he had found a worthy reason to use it. In harsh clipped whispers and lilting sing-song, Teladon recited the 7th invocation of entrancement. As he completed the spell he thrust his blade forward and from the tip of the sword a cone of swirling azure blue, verdant green and sickly yellow light flooded outward towards the man atop the stairs.
A scream erupts from Thuldrin as the corsucating wave of dissonant colors assails his senses. His vision blotches, head swims and he is caught in a wave of seemingly endless vertigo. Somewhere along the line, Thuldrin dropped his wand and his sword, both clattering at his feet at the top of the stairs as he pawed at his eyes. "Augh! You son of a-- I'll kill you!"
Beside the stairs, the hunter caught in the blast of color screams one gurgled scream and simply collapses to the ground clutching his head. He kicks and twitches for a few moments, then falls completely motionless, having blacked out from exposure to the spell's violent energy.
Without waiting to see his successes, Teladon leaped to his left over a nearby couch and then ran towards the stairs. Each step was a bound and in seconds he was atop the stairs, facing the now stunned man beyond.
Head throbbing and arms trembling, Thuldrin looks up to see the masked countenance of Teladon staring him down with sword readied. He can see Payday's bloodied carcass mangled beyond recognition in the storage room, and all of his remaining men have been defeated. Something still pounds at the door, and all Thuldrin can imagine is that Halak is actually out there.
"I surrender," is a pathetic mirror to what happened here years ago. Making the inacccurate assumption that the elf is Andoran and follows the same code, Thuldrin drops to his knees and keeps his hands cradled near his face. "I surrender!" It's louder this time, and he hopes it is enough over the chant of Andoran driving nails of shame into his spine.
"Andoran!"
"Andoran!"
"Andoran!"
"I surrender!" is Thuldrin's screaming, desperate, tearful plea. As if he were trying to say make them stop.
"Andoran!"
"Andoran!"
<< | >>
Hearing Thuldrin's surrender and seeing no other fight, Gwynn makes a weary and broken noise at the back of her throat. On catching sight of Styvanus Rozier on the other side of the lodge, a smile crosses her face, and then she collapses to her knees, falling forward onto her shackled hands and exhales a ragged, weary sob. Just the one, because she survived.
Dann grips his axe tighter, still hearing the zombie hammering mindlessly on the door outside and has half a mind to put it down. The men outside have gone closer to the door to help bring it down, but don't seem to want to close in on the zombie now that they've recognized her as someone they knew in life. Thuldrin's cry of surrender echoes outside, and Tyne can't help but hiccup out a laughed cry of disbelief. Eyes welling up with tears, he sniffles and scrubs at his face with one gloved hand and gives a look of bewildered joy to Fenyx.
It was finally over, Tyne thought. That may have been a bit premature. There was still much to do. But for now, the battle was won.
The war was just beginning.
_____________
Nodding grimly to himself, Fenyx turns and offers a weary smile to Tyne, though the mask of his disguise conceals the gesture. It seemed as though the grueling, self-imposed march the motley crew had undertaken proved worthwhile. The knock of the blood in the necromancer's pulsing veins calms. The adrenaline that had sustained him for the past several minutes subsides, bringing with it the reminder of how exhausted he truly was. He stows away his crossbow in favor of Dirge once more, using the butt of the scythe's length as support much as he had been the entire night and morning. A brief flourish of his arms returns his countenance and garb to that of the Necromancer-Ambassador of Xin-Shalast. The lodge belonged to them now. Fenyx begins to wonder... no. That was not quite the right expression. Was it worry? Was he worried about his new companions? Surely not.
Dispelling the unexpected and undesired concerns creeping into his mind, Fenyx says tiredly to Tyne, "Keep an eye on that bridge until I send for you. I will ascertain the situation within the lodge." Not waiting for a reply, the wizard begins briskly trudging up the steps, commanding his minion to cease it's efforts against the door as he climbs carefully through the same window that allowed Big Dann egress. Rounding the doorway into the common room, he beholds the remnants of the chaotic melee that had resolved moments prior. He nods to the hulking, heavy-breathing frame of Ordrud just beyond before noticing the ruined state of the merman that lay beyond. Hands dart through his pack in a hurry to fetch the last remaining restorative vial in his possession, his pace quickening as he makes his way to Rasso's fallen form. It would seem that their endeavors may not have come without a price of their own. The necromancer hopes he is wrong.
The Rasso laying on the floor bleeding to death is much different than the one the group has come to know over the past few hellish days. He is beautiful. That is, except for the various bruises, tears and lacerations covering parts of his body. The merman has short charcoal brown hair, and light blue skin. His pretty face is that of a young man, with full lips, a hard jaw and high cheekbones. His naked upper torso is thin, there is little muscle to be seen, but what is there appears to be tough as corded iron.
__________________
Ar’Zarrcal watched as the women from the North slipped around his side and flanked the stunned hunter he was opposing. The crack of wood against the back of the man’s skull brought a cruel smile to the dwarf’s lips, before it was quickly displaced by a more neutral expression. The pajama clad hunter collapsed to the rough floor even as Thuldrin shouted out his surrender. It seemed the battle had been won. A quick assessment of the interior of the lodge proved however that it was not without costs. The merman had fallen, his spiritual symbiotic armor shattered and dispelled from the mortal realm. He lay in the storage room in a puddle of his own blood, looking far less formidable without his eidolon. It appeared that Ordrud was tending to his wounds and so Ar’Zarrcal ignored that scene. He would live or he would die. The Orc-blooded warrior seemed to know enough about survival and battle-field stitching to stabilize the merman if he could still be saved – there was little Ar’Zarrcal could do assist at this point. With a razor focus, he began to manage the tasks beyond healing those wounded that needed to be done, speaking them aloud so his fellow companions and the recently liberated men of Falcon’s hollow could assist him.
“Contain, Secure, Search, Question, Dispense, and Rest.” His voice was harsh and the glowering look he gave those he passed by would not have earned him any friends, but he did put an authority behind his words, one which the conscripts likely would recognize and obey.
First, Ar’Zarrcal went over to the overturned barrel by the broken window he had used to get into the lodge. Righting the barrel, he found what he was looking for. A long coil of rope. His heavy armored footfalls carried him back to the unconscious hunter and he began to bind the man tightly, stringing his arms and legs together like a hog going to the slaughter. The hunter’s comfort was of no concern to the Ambassador of Karzoug. As he bound the hunter, he shouted up at Teladon. “Magus…” For the dwarf still did not know even a false name to attribute to the masked Elven ambassador. “… the leader could be of use to us alive. He has much to tell us.” Ar’Zarrcal saw no reason to kill Thuldrin. The man had been their enemy, but his actions inspired no bloodlust in the dwarf. He had not been hunted like Ordrud had and while he had almost been the victim of numerous traps, he suspected that Halak and the mysterious witch woman were the true orchestrators of these attacks and Thuldrin was but a compliant lieutenant. The rush of killing him would be fleeting and deny them access to what he knows. Still, if the Teladon or the others killed him Ar’Zarrcal would make no great attempt to stop them.
Once the first prisoner had been secured, the determined dwarf set about giving instructions toward freeing Gywnn and imprisoning Thuldrin. “Someone find the key to her manacles, unlock her and set them on the piece of rat-turd on the stairs.” He spoke those words even as he stalked back outside into the wretchedly cold night.
Crunching through the snow, Ar’Zarrcal came before the rope bridge and looked across its length into the foreboding wilderness that lurked at its other end. He looked at Tyne for a moment and offered the man a brief nod, before he set his gloved hand down on one of the rope cables which supported the bridge. His fingers began to trace intricate lines across the length of the rope as his mouth moved to utter an ancient command. “Олабавување и развивам”
At his command an assortment of Thassilonian runes began to stretch along the length of the rope cable, briefly illuminated in a fire-orange light, as the two ends of the rope unwound themselves from the stakes that kept the bridge secure. Obeying the wishes of its master, the rope went limp, casting the bridge completely off balance and sending one side tipping down toward the ravine below. Ar’Zarrcal looked at his handiwork and offered Tyne the briefest of smiles, though it was a pained and disfigured thing. That would at least inhibit a visit from unwanted guests.
Without offering a farewell, he turned away from Tyne and marched through the snow back to the lodge. There was still much to do. Windows needed repairing. Prisoners needed to be questioned. Loot needed to be accessed, appraised and divided; and following all that Ar’Zarrcal and company needed rest. As his ragged breaths steamed in the cold night air, Ar’Zarrcal wondered how close to dawn they now were. He was exhausted and sleep demanded its due.