Donatello's bolt flies true. Though the distance robs it of much of its force, it bites flesh and draws an angry yelp from the elf.
Sorala moves up behind Rhyfelwr, and screams at a loinclothed elf, calling upon the very tree the elf sits in to snag the elf, hold the elf, and impede the elf, in any way it can.
Ysanne continues to spread creeping doubt to the large elves with her cackling and evil eye as she pushes Bebop to circle back toward the party.
The elf in the tree is shocked by the ghost of the half-orc, but the large one seems less afraid of the white-haired witch as she circles around.
He swings at Rhyfelwr, his staff slamming viciously into the hobgoblin's side, as his fellow moves to engage Ysanne. The other's arrows fly harmlessly.
Septimus fires his crossbow at the large elf closest to him, then keeps moving to E6.
for dmg
Vallen continues his seemingly hopeless archer battle with the elf in the tree, the shaky dwarf's bolts starting to adorn the tree with little precision.
Donatello reloads then desperately tries to draw a bead past the trees, through the scrub and that doesn't fire into a confused melee.
Cackling Ysanne continues to spread growing dread using the tree as cover from the elf concerned with her when he attacks.
"Ugh!" Vada grunts as the elf thwaps him a good one, the blow leaving him hurting. He looks back towards the treeline, before deciding that discretion is the better part of valor, hightailing it away from the over-sized knife-ear.
Sorala looks to the elf closest to Rhyfelwr, and lets forth an angry shout, shaking her staff at him. "Que les seves extremitats de lent moviment sal d'aquesta terra amb la seva sang!"
Crossbow bolts fly everywhere, thunking into trees and occasionally coming within spitting distance of a target. Vada falls back.
As Ysanne cackles and curses, the big elf takes a swing at her. A swing that should have cracked her skull, but that got tangled in the branches instead. The other big elf spars with Rhyfelwr, neither of them hitting the other.
Sandra Thayer, still singing, moves up and throws her only weapon, a dagger, at the big elf fighting Rhyfelwr, grazing him.
The four remaining archers drop from their perches in the trees and begin to retreat through the forest.
Septimus moves to H6 then channels negative energy.
He should hit both the enlarged elves.
DC 11 will save for half damage.
Vallen notices the elves beginning to retreat, and moves around the tree to get a better shot at one of the magically enhanced elves. His baritone voice echos through the forest- "They're falling back! Press them!"
He tears through the underbrush, shield held high to deflect any oncoming arrows, before stopping and launching a glob of caustic earth in front of him.
Vada pulls one of the throwing axes he'd collected earlier from his satchel, before turning and chucking it at one of the giant elves with all his might.
Sorala holds her ground, again screaming at the elf nearest her and Rhyf. "El seu cos, la ment i les reaccions fallaran quan més els necessita!"
As Septimus moves around the battlefield, a buzzing sound can be heard. The elf fighting Rhyfelwr drops his staff, clutches his throat, and falls to the ground. The other waves his hands as what looks like wasp's stings blister his flesh.
Donatello curses again as his sightlines on the retreating archers are blocked by a tree, then turns to an easier target.
Ysanne cackles so more and seals the large ones fate with more doubt and despair.
"What's the word for demanding they surrender?! This needn't be a massacre."
Donatello wings one of the fleeing elves, and Sorala and Ysanne both curse the last remaining big elf.
Rhyfelwr steps closer to the elf that is still fighting and they trade blows, each missing the other. Sandra sings, and moves up to take the staff of one of the fallen elves.
Septimus moves to M3 motioning for the elf near him to surrender.
Vallen appears from the brush, shouting at Sorala as he moves to cut off the enlarged elf, but his legs are too short to cover the distance quickly enough. "Surround him! Sorala, can you tell him to surrender?"
** spoiler omitted **
Donatello wings one of the fleeing elves, and Sorala and Ysanne both curse the last remaining big elf.
Rhyfelwr steps closer to the elf that is still fighting and they trade blows, each missing the other. Sandra sings, and moves up to take the staff of one of the fallen elves.
Sorala turns to the remaining elf, her mind working feverishly, trying her best to turn out the word surrender in the new world dialect. Yelling, "ELF, ਦਾਲ ਸੂਪ!", the linguist then moves around Rhyf to the nearest fallen elf.
Donatello keeps up his rain of bolts.
At this distance I reckon I've got ругатня all chance to hit, but it does give 'em a reason to keep moving.
Ysanne cackles and defends again.
Maybe, he will just tire himself out.
Rhyfelwr and the elf trade blows without doing any harm. Again. And Vada stands by, admiring Sandra's singing voice, which is quite spectacular.
"ਸੂਪ, ਇਸ ਨੂੰ ਰਾਤ ਦੇ ਖਾਣੇ ਦੇ ਲਈ ਹੈ ਕਿ ਕੀ ਹੈ," the elf snarls at Sorala.
Sorala pulls a branch from a nearby scrub and waves it in the enlarged elf's direction, in a swaying, hypnotic motion. Wiggling the fingers of her other hand, the linguist yells, "ELF ਸੂਪ ਡਿਨਰ ਲਈ ਹੈ, ਕੀ ਹੈ. ਸਾਨੂੰ ਭੁੱਖੇ ਹੁੰਦੇ ਹਨ!"
"Give it up already! Can't you see your friends left you here and you are going to die?" Ysanne says with a cackle.
Vallen holds his fire as the others try to get the elf to surrender.
Septimus will move to O1 and channel energy again.
DC11
Hoping to bring down at least one target, Donatello aims and shoots again
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Vada stares the elf down, though while the message he wants to get across is "no quarter will be given," the elf probably reads it as "I am a stupid human who ran into an ambush and got punched in the face."
Cueta stretches her legs, her lunch of a few strips of smoked monkey jerky and raw ramps quickly consumed. Sighing, she gathers her pack and standing, stretches again, taking note of the chill in the air, and suddenly, deeply, missing the warmth and sun of the Shackles. The Mwangi mutters to herself, and sets off again into the wilderness. "Ewoo anyị nwere ike amụnyela ọkụ. A mara mma na-ekpo ọkụ ofe maka nri abalị ga-ekwesị arọ ya na gold."
Kal'Tos continues leading the group of explorers through the wilderness. Muttering under his breath about how the scout should be a better scout than him.
Istiel walks through the unexplored lands, the serene, virgin woods leaving her content despite worries of Gair and the status of the native elves edging on her mind.
Keeping up with Kal'tos is a challenge in itself, the dwarf often effortlessly moving through thickets of brush that snag her clothing and force her to find a quick, alternate route.
The huge elf looks nervous as Ysanne cackles at him and the party surrounds him, but as Vada's attempt to stare him down, he seems to take heart. He spins his staff, keeping it between himself and the party. For a moment, it looks as though he might surrender, but at that moment, an arrow strikes him in the back, and he falls.
The furthest of the four surviving elves shot him down, and with the others, continues to flee. The three trailing him hiss in pain as Septimus channels, but they do not slow down.
Meanwhile...
The explorers are cheerfully wandering around in the woods, oblivious to the excitement in camp.
Septimus will head back towards the fighting to see if any of the elves can be saved.
Heal check
Vallen clutches his crossbow as the elves flee into the forest, eyes sweeping the forest to ensure there are no more threats.
He flinches as an arrow slams into the back of one of the elves, momentarily horrified the elves would shoot one of their own to prevent their capture. Placing his crossbow on the ground, the dwarf kneels to the ground and clasps his holy symbol. "Thank Torag this is over. Keep the injured elves surrounded..."
Torag, our victory today was flawless, without a single loss on our side. Thank you for this blessing, and watching over our warriors in this ambush by our enemies. Please, your servant beseeches you to return vitality to our warriors that strive so valiantly to protect our community, and to save these elves from the brink of death. We will question them, learn from them, and with your guidance find a way to foster relations between our peoples to bring about cooperation in the New World
The warmth of Torag flows over everyone present, a flash of white light and the air rippling as a hot summer day.
Once Vallen's blessings close up the majority of his wounds, Vada moves over to reclaim the axe he threw at one of the elves, frowning at the shattered head of the weapon. "Oi, Silverclasp," he speaks to the Toragian as he returns to the group, "These things here are pretty handy, but might ya be able to make them outta somethin' that don't break the first time it hits somethin'?"
Ysanne stops cackling, half surprised at the zealotry of the elves. Hesitantly she stammers, "Should I- should I cure- his- uh- wounds?" Ysanne shifts in Bebop's saddle looking to the strangers, that were brave enough to follow her, for an answer.
Donatello carefully returns his last remaining bolt to its case, then stands up and dusts himself off.
Slowly he turns, surveying as much of the area as he can. When no threat presents itself he tries to memorise where his bolts went, then quickly heads over to the others.
"ругатня of a first day. You need a hand?" he asks of Vada as he closes.
As Vallen channels, the wounds heal on two of the fallen elves. The one shot by his own people is dead. The survivors open their bright eyes and look around them, assessing their situation. They sit up, but make no move to flee.
"আমাদের মুক্তি আপনার দাস বলুন," one of them says to Sorala. A moment later Rhyfelwr impales him with his glaive.
"Peidiwch â siarad â nhw. Byddant yn eich plygu gyda'u celwyddau," he says.
The other elf looks on with a knowing smile.
Vallen sighs and nods to himself as the elves begin to rise. He glances to Vada with a weary smile. "I am quite busy, but it might be an excellent task for my apprentice."
He lifts himself off of the ground as the elves stir, and begins to move over when Rhyfelwr impales one of them with his glaive. The dwarf gasps loudly, and a scene from a few weeks ago flashes before his eyes. Sai impaling the kuru without mercy, after hearing the comments he translated. This time, Rhyfelwr didn't even give them a chance.
"Rhyfelwr!" The priest exclaims, rushing to stay the hobgoblin's glaive before he executes the second elf. "Rydym yn gwybod dim byd. Hyd yn oed os mai dim ond yn dysgu celwydd, yn gwybod beth sydd ddim wir. I oroesi, mae'n rhaid i ddysgu. Os gwelwch yn dda, rhowch gyfle. Dim bygythiad yn awr." He pleads.
Still touching the glaive, Vallen looks down at the weapon, covered in blood and bits. The dwarf suddenly goes silent and looks extremely concerned. You made this. A voice in his head speaks clearly. Why are you surprised? Weapons are for killing, and it performed exactly as you made it. You are responsible for its creation, and for choosing a righteous owner. Did you choose wisely? In your final judgement, you will see this moment again... the first kill of your first weapon.
He shakes his head briefly and sighs, hand reaching up to nervously fiddle with the rings on his beard. "Sorala. Tomorrow I can ask Torag for some prayers to question the survivor, but... until then, what do we do? Will the other cooperate?"
Ysanne is more than happy to defer to the town healer as his channeling awakens the defeated elves.
"By the infinite hells!" Ysanne screams as the hobgoblin ends an elf's life. "What's the point of that?!" Ysanne's cry resurging a restlessness in Bebop as he nearly rears, but the terrain keeping him hindered.
She quickly scans the others around her; a moment of paranoia and concern for her own well being coming to question as the dwarf and hobgoblin exchange foreign words as the glaive drips of fresh blood.
Septimus will tie up the remaining elves so they are less of a threat.