The druidess hears Nem'an's question but holds a response for a moment. Walking over to the unconscious beast, Beorae kneels and takes a look at the huge bear-owl-thing, hoping to find some guidance in knowledge of nature's creatures.
The origin of these unnatural creatures, imaginatively called owlbears, are subject to debate among scholars, but nearly all agree that magic was a part of the infusion of owl and bear. Somehow the bizarre creature bred true and became part of the local ecosystem as an apex predator, with the strength and tenacity of a bear with the sharp senses of an owl. Owlbears usually reside in dense forests, and live in lairs with a mate, raising one to three cubs until they are old enough to fend for themselves. Like as not, this particular owlbear’s home is across the river.
Beorae turns the corners of her mouth and stands back up, turning to face Mot with a sigh, “We already have horses, and I'm not sure how much farther we'll be able to take them. Training this creature,” she says, pointing to the mess fur and feathers on the ground, “is probably going to be harder than you think.” She throws a short glance at Shark, who is licking his wounds at her feet, “Trust me, I know. And a young tiger is simple to train compared to a fully-grown owlbear.”
“Look, I can't stop you if your heart is set on trying to train this beast, but I don't think this is a good idea. I'm happy to provide help with training where I can, but magical beasts like this are a little out of my comfort zone.”
Looking across the river river, Beorae shrugs, “Plus, this owlbear probably has a mate and cubs in a den somewhere around here… I bet they rely on this one for hunting.”
“In any case, we should think about setting camp for the night, but we need to figure out what to do with the owlbear first.”
"Rely on this one for hunting..." Nme'an repeats. "This thing already almost hunted two of us and you two want to keep it around? As we camp for the night?"
"What about you?" Nme'an says turning to Themp, "Surely you have some mwendawazimu plan how the huge, loud, unruly creature will help you remain out of sight, yes?" he ask in frustration.
The clearly angry knight walks past the group, back towards their horses, and retrieves his dropped bow from the ground. He idly notches an arrow, mostly to make sure his bow is still intact, while contemplating what the reaction would be from the others if he were to use it on the downed Owlbear.
A wide grin crosses the scoundrel's face while he answers the knight. "Well, I'm sure even you, with your shiny armor and army gait, could easily wander about an enemy encampment if such a beast were pretty much wrecking everything in it, no?"
"Speaking of which," he adds, after a moment for serious thought "it would surely help us if the kobold were a lot more occupied with it than with us."
Mots eyes widen in surprise and delight. "Yoor sayin tha theres, babby bear-owls?! Maagicle babby bear-owls?! Meaty hands loose their grasp on blood matted fur as the Highlander starts casting about as if the cubs would be immediately to hand.
While the enthusiastic highlander spots no cubs, his eyes catch the tracks of the fallen beast. He also notices the water still in the thick fur of the legs and underbelly the large beast, suggesting that the owlbear may have crossed the river before attacking the four travelers.
Mot's movement away from the unconscious creature gives Nme'an the chance he didn't fully realize he was looking for. With one smooth, well practiced motion he notches his bow and...
for
...looses an arrow into the Owlbear's forehead, permanently ending its threat.
"Training this beast would have been... too large a burden given our mission," Nme'an states by way explanation. "And if the rest of you intend to follow the Mtu Mkubwa on his foolish hunt for a cub then I will... against my better judgement... accompany you. It is my task to see our mission accomplished and cannot do it alone, so I will be there to keep you all safe."
The knight steps forward and lays a hand on Mot's shoulder.
"I would ask that you delay this search for a cub until our return trip. Taking an untrained animal that is unable to defend itself into those mountains will only put it and us at risk," he says even as he begins healing the Barbarian.
Beorae lets out a heavy sigh as Nme'an puts the owlbear down for good, looking at Mot to see how the big man is going to react. “He's right, Mot.”
Uncomfortable with the tension in the party, the druidess starts surveying the area to see if she can find a good place to camp and train Shark.
Nme’an’s arrow drives into the round owlbear’s head, but only Mot is close enough to see it pierce through the base of the beak and out the other side of the jaw. Not a killing shot, but the highlander can see more blood soaking the fallen creature’s mantle of feathers. If the bleeding persists, the owlbear will surely die.
Beorae’s eyes easily find a distraction from the tension among her companions, and it seems about one hundred feet away there is a small copse of trees on this side of the river, granting easy access to water, plenty of firewood, and cover from prying eyes and harsh weather alike. If the druid could guess, she’d say there would probably be a small amount of berries or tubers growing below those wide evergreen boughs, maybe even a coney warren for Shark.
Hearing the thump of the arrow hitting home Mot turns and roars in shock and anger at the half-elfs betrayal. The big man nearly lunges for Nme'ans throat but is stopped by the gurgling breaths of the slowly dying beast.
Frantically Mot tries to cover wounds with inexperienced hands.
Nme'an takes a brief moment to shake his head, then, as calmly as before, he retrieves his heavy mace and walks past Mot. With a mighty swing he embeds the business end of the blunt weapon into the barely moving, helpless creature.
"Let this foolishness go Mot," Nme'an says, while observing the Owlbear in case another blow is required to kill it.
The highlander's meaty hands are able to stem the tide of owlbear blood, but not for long.
The paladin focuses on the killing blow to the owlbear, but leaves his defenses open to the large, angry man at his side. The great feathered beast shudders and breathes no more.
As the barbarian lunges toward the knight, Themp instinctively runs up towards them and place himself between Mot and Nme'an, arms spread wide to keep them apart.
"Hey, now!
He focuses on the half-elf and doesn't notice the big man scampers back toward the beast.
"You green-blooded hobgoblin, what the เพศ do you think you're doing?!", he hisses at the knight, jaws clenched.
"Mot", he says out-loud, turning his gaze towards the big man. The scoundrel finally realizes the Casns is back at the beast again.
"Mot!", he repeats, this time louder, to make up for the unforeseen distance, "This ไอ้เวร is overreacting, but you and me both know we can't get you a giant pet right now!"
Thinking fast, he goes on. "Think with me will you? We have the horses, which we have to keep safe. A giant beast like that will just eat them up. And then, what will the rest of us ride?"
The bright blue Urlghain eyes begin to cloud with blood, but the words of the diminutive ne'er-do-well cut through the fog. Face still contorted in anger, the massive fists nevertheless unclench. Quick as lightening one of them lashes out and snatches for the heavy mace, still bloody in the paladins hand.
"What? You intend to strike me for protecting the others from your actions?" the half-elf asks, outraged that the barbarian would stoop so low. "Fine," he says as he raises his shield into position, "Either do it, or Give. Me. Back. My. Mace."
Unable to even try to block the burly man from snatching the mace right out of the knight's grasp, Themp, against almost every instinct screaming inside of him places himself in front of Mot, an open palm barely touching the barbarian's chest.
"Hey, now.", he calls out, sternly, eyes deeply focused into Mot's. "There's no need for that. The beast is gone now. Mr. Shiny-Pants won't do anyone anymore harm."
Without breaking eye contact, Themp nods over to the paladin standing behind him. "Now, Mot, let's give Nme'an his toy back, shall we? I don't think keeping it from him will help him think anymore straight, as striking him won't help you feel any better."
"Well...", he reconsiders, a wide grin taking over his face while he slowly withdraws his hand "maybe a bit, but you know Mr. Frown means us well. Now, either give him back his mace or let me do it, but please, put it down."
With a firm grip on Shark's leash, Beorae listens to the three men and keeps an eye out while she walks toward the camping and training spot that she sighted before.
Mot starts at the half-elfs aggressive tone. But it doesn't take much for his bravado to kick back in. Eyes narrowing in distaste he answers both Nme'an and Themp. "Nae, Ahm nae goona hit heem. Ah dinnae strike at noothing that's noo ae threat." Hefting the mace lightly with one hand, his hard stare turns devious as he looks over the Paladins head. "But yoor evil cannae be alloowed ta continuue. Yoo willnae spill innascent bloood weeth thes weapoon again!"
Almost casually the heavily muscled arm flexes and sends the mace spinning gracefully through the air until it splashes down in the deepest, swiftest part of the river.
Nme'an's shield slides out of his grasp as he turns and watches his seldom used mace arc towards the river. The heavy metal shield thumps to the ground in perfect time to the mace's distant splash into the water, but the knight ignores it. Mot temporairly forgotten, Nme'an walks slowly to the river's edge and stares out towards the churning, flowing waters, but the heavy weapon is nowhere to be seen. It's not as if it would float, Nme'an knows, but he continues looking for far longer than necessary.
Finally, resigned to the fact that his weapons is, in fact, gone, Nme'an walks slowly back to Mot. He picks up his shield, then addresses the barbarian.
"You have gone too far. What you have done cannot be forgiven... Not by me..." Though his words and voice are simple and quiet, there is a barely contained rage apparent beneath them.
Without another word the knight begins readying his horse... apparently intending to leave the group behind.
Lightly punching Mot on the arm, Themp playfully chides him.
"Oh, great. Now he's deeply upset... Come on, be a good boy and go get him back, will you? I'll go see what Freckles was doing all the way over there while you two were ready to kill each other."
With that, he walks over to Beorae, honestly curious.
"Say, Red, what are you looking for so intently?"
As Beorae approaches the collection of trees on the western bank of the Emestar, a small furry brown blur scurries into the underbrush. Shark stoops to give chase but a word from the druid reigns in the tiger’s predatory instincts. There are a few small clear areas among the trees, and Beorae quickly spots the remains of a tiny cookfire among them. The patch of soot has fragments of wood and small bones, and her sharp eyes also notice a handful of flattened areas where other travellers may have slept. A thorough search turns up little else about the previous campers, numbering close to five or six, but the remnants in the ash couldn’t be older than a week, maybe two. Nothing Beorae finds suggests that the wooded area is currently inhabited by anything bigger than squirrel.
The shallows of the river look like they might harbor small fish or freshwater crustaceans, and among a bed of pine needles, Beorae sees the sprouts of wild radishes, still green despite the closing of autumn.
“I was looking,” the druidess says, nodding her head toward the pile of ashes, “for a campsite. I didn't expect to literally find one.” Looking back toward Nme'an and Mot, she mutters, “I sure hope this isn't going to be a problem.” Seeing that Shark seems to be recovering from the battle well enough to hunt, Beorae gives him leave to go chase some game. At least he'll be distracted if shouting starts…
As Nme'an readies his horse, Beorae walks over and places a gentle hand on the mount's muzzle. “Je, unafikiri wewe kufanya? Kama ungekuwa mtu mwingine, napenda kufikiri walikuwa kuondoka. Lakini wewe ni knight na Paladin, hivyo mbio mbali haina mantiki. Kuja kutusaidia kuweka kambi na nadhani tunaweza kufanya kazi kwa njia hii.”
"Odd. A campfire right within that... thing's territory. I wonder who managed to do that..." And if they got out alive.
Moving closer, Themp checks for signs of who set the camp, what they did while there and where they went to, if at all.
Mot spits and begins collecting his weapons from the recent battle. With a look of profound sadness the highlander regards the slain beast. The moment passes and the Urlghain moves to begin making camp wherever the druidess indicates.
The street rat doesn’t have much luck tracking down footprints, or discerning the who exactly camped here last, but his sharp eyes do catch a few details among the tree trunks and cleared areas. A handful of flattened areas suggest that no more than six campers were here some time ago. Picking though the campfire ash, Themp finds fish and vermin bones, suggesting that whatever the mysterious campers ate, it was caught in the wild and not carried with them from a city.
He also gleans some information from the lack of horse droppings, and not finding tree back worn by rope -the campers probably did not ride horses. Or, if they did, they made great effort to cover their tracks. With each of these clues, Themp gets the impression that at least one week has passed since other campers used this site.
Nme'an huffs at the druid's suggestion that things can be worked through, but then sighs as at least some of her gentle, interventive request filters through his anger.
"Kuna kitu zaidi kufanya kazi kwa njia," he replies sternly. "Mimi alijaribu kwamba njia tayari tu kwa kuwa ni kutupwa ... ndani ya mto. No, hasira yangu imenipatia bora ya mimi na mimi haja muda wa kulikwepa. Siwezi kufanya hivyo hapa duniani mtu mkubwa, au moja mjanja ... au wewe. On hii siwezi kuwa na hakika. Lakini, mimi kurudi katika asubuhi."
Without saying another word the angry knight leads his horse further north, well aware that both he and his mount are already tired from the day's journey.
As soon as his three companions are out of sight, Nme'an begins searching for a suitable place to rest for the night.
The heavy horse trots on, but is not quiet about his discomfort and fatigue. The distance of a mile over the flat terrain finally diminishes the knight’s companions from view, though he can still see the distant grove of trees where they camp behind him. Looking around for a place to set up camp, Nm’ean finds a few options. First, he sees a singular tree, where he could tie his horse and sleep beneath it. Or, if he wasn’t too tired, he could climb its branches to stay out of reach of any night creatures. Next, he notices part of the sloping river bank to be dry enough to set up camp, and the incline would keep himself and a kneeling horse out of sight from the flat lands that lead to the western wastes. As the sun begins to set, the half-elf’s sharp eyes also spot a boulder a short ways away. When he inspects it, he finds the top of it to be flat and wide enough to lay on, perhaps five feet off the ground. There is no place here to secure the reigns of his horse, but a simple command to remain might be all that is needed for the tired horse to stay close.
The choice of camp sites is a simple one for Nme'an. He approaches the tree and ties Rexel, then goes about setting up a very abbreviated camp site. Forgoing a fire, the half-elf consumes a cold trail ration then leans back against the lone tree. In liue of a fire, Nme'an simply uses his weighty bed roll as a makeshift blanket making it clear to any who might be watching that he did not intent to sleep this night.
As the sun sets, Nme'an's mood slowly lightens. He recalls his days of keeping watch throughout cold nights for small towns and villages after he left home.... Before he arrived in Thaleniel.
Home
The memories there were not all pleasant. There were a few, but most... The often unspoken scorn and mockery from those that saw his illicit birth to his well respected mother as a tragedy. The times he was excluded from festivals and events. The day he realized just what it meant to be disallowed to use his family name.
The goblin attack and the death of Helli'an, his brother, one of the few that loved him despite his mixed blood.
The memory of that tragic day quickly surfaced others. Namely, the long nights he spent on Brakton's wall in the days after the attack, watching and waiting for more attacks to come. None ever did, but it was then when Nme'an had realized the true value in himself. He had been one of the few able to fight during the attack, after the first line of defense had been breached, and afterwards, one of the few able to carry on. His people, full elves, tended towards happiness and merriment. It was not often that they faced true sadness. But he already had, thanks to their harsh treatment, and that allowed him to carry on.
And that's what he needed to do now... carry on. That's what he would do tomorrow.
Carry on.
Despite the unpleasantness.
Beorae watches Nme'an ride down the road a ways, then turns back to camp. “He'll be back in the morning, apparently. We're going to need to figure out a watch tonight, though. But first, let me see those cuts…”
The druidess takes a few minutes to work over Shark and Mot's wounds, cleaning them and making sure they aren't bleeding too badly.
Once she's satisfied that the wounds are sufficiently cleaned, she decides to start Shark on a new training regimen. Something a little simpler than attacking this time… For the next several hours, Beorae and Shark practice the "come" command .
With a sign, Themp shrugs and scours the are for his arrows, food and tinder.
One lousy arrow? *sigh* At least we'll be well-fed...
"Come on, guys. I found food enough for us. Are we setting up a fire or what?"
Themp finds, almost on accident, a patch of wild radishes among the root of the tall trees. As he gathers them, a full-bellied Shark picks up the basics of Beorae’s training eagerly.
After dinner, Beorae scans the area for any herbs or plants that might help create a healing poultice before taking another look at Shark and Mot's wounds.
"There, that should help a bit. But just to be sure…" Drawing the wand, the druidess puts her hand on Shark and channels healing energies into her companion.
She does the same for Mot, but his wounds appear to be more severe, so she uses two charges to help the big man back to health.
As she finishes with Mot, Beorae marvels at the wand's ability to store spell energies in such quantity. This wand is amazing. I wonder how these are made…
"Thank you for finding dinner, Themp. We need to set up watch shifts now that Nme'an isn't here. Three hour shifts should do it, I imagine. I'll take the middle watch."
_____________________
Scratching his head a bit, Themp says "Don't mention it, Red. But I think that, after all that fuss with that... thing, we'll need a bit more sleep. Tell you what, I'll wake you up about 4 hours in. Let the big man sleep his frustration off."
I just hope Nme'an makes it back... As much as I hate to admit, Mr. Shiny-Pants does pack a mean swing. Plus, he can take quite a beating...
"Shouldn't we make a fire, though? Given that the beast is very territorialist, I doubt there'd be another to bother us around. Plus, it's getting mighty cold here."
Suddenly, that slightly mischievous grin of his turns up. With a wink, he adds "I mean, since we're not sharing watches, might as well get something else to keep me warm at night, right?"
“Good idea,” Beorae replies to the suggestion of extra rest. At the rogue's quip, though, the druidess rolls her eyes and rubs the bridge of her nose. “Just get us some firewood…”
After the fire is built, Beorae prepares a sleeping area next to some bushes. She lies down with Shark snuggled up beside her and looks up at the sky, listening to the crackle of the campfire. I hope Nme'an is okay. Hopefully he's not too far up the road…
The druid finds a few hardy ivy vines growing up the tree bark and a mound of moss among the riverside stones that could serve as material for binding wounds, if first cleaned and properly stored. She also remembers that pine needles can be brewed in a tea to soothe indigestion and cold symptoms, but that is neither here nor there. While she is near the river, some brown fish skirt the riverbed into areas shadowed by rocks in the cold, clear water. Seeing the bottom-dweller while searching for curatives strikes Beorae as familiar…
The highlander says nothing as the two converse, trying a bite of a radish offered by Themp before grimacing and digging into his pack. He produces a hunk of cheese and a big handful of meat pies gifted from the people of Axton and begins chomping down with his large, stained teeth, washing it down with a dozen deep gulps of the homebrew in the clay jug. Sitting against a tree, Mot sighs contentedly when he is full, and his eyes close as he takes in the sound of the Emestar and feel of bark against his shaggy head. But it is not long before boredom plagues the mind of the wanderer, and he rises to help Themp gather fallen branches for a fire...
But the help is short-lived after he tosses a few twigs to the blackened spot of earth, and his eyes rest on the druidess and her faithful companion in the shade of the trees. A look of disappointment covers Mot’s hairy face and he turns to look back at the lump of fur and feathers a short distance south. An idea sets the rover’s jaw and brow and he purposefully returns to his pack. Unfolding the Urlghain instrument, the warrior straightens his kilt and wipes the dirt from his chainmail shirt with one hand, while the other cradles the bagpipes into position.
Long, even strides take him to the body of the owlbear, and facing the fallen creature, the pipe-bearer presses the blowstick between his lips. Standing straight and solemn, Mot projects a sombre and noble tune that carries over the plains, through the trees, and over the surging river.
After several minutes, the music concludes, and the Urlghain stands in silence for several more minutes, before stepping forward and resting a meaty palm on the thick hide of the creature, nodding once, and then heading back to the camp with a quiet, refreshed expression. Turning a squinty grin at the setting sun, the barbarian approaches the druidess and stoops to scratch behind Shark’s ears before announcing to his companions. “Yoo twoo get sum rest. Ah’ll bea taeken teh first wotch.”
Relieved that the drivel is over, if slightly sad for the barbarian, Themp throws his hand up in the air in frustration.
"Fine, big man. You take the first watch. Red, I'll take the last watch. Much better than to interrupt my sleep mid-way through."
Setting up his sleeping bag, Themp fold it around himself.
"So wake me when your watch is over, Freckles. Or if you need me. Especially if you need me."
The druidess starts to drift off to Mot's sad music and is already mostly asleep by the time the highlander comes over to pet Shark. “G'night…” she manages to mutter before falling completely asleep to the crackle of the campfire and gentle bubbling of the river.
The sunlight dims as the giant ball of gas burns billions of miles away, sinking below the western horizon. The calls of night creatures can be heard among the river and in the trees as the evening peacefully covers the wilderness. In time, the city scoundrel, the thoughtful druidess, and her fearsome tiger give in to the weariness earned from a long day of travel.
An hour passes, and the small campfire crackles between the highlander’s traveling companions. He wonders idly how far the pretty pally may have traveled, but the thought does not trouble him. Too restless to stand watch in one place for too long, the Casns slowly stalks the edge of the firelight, watching and listening for any sound out of place from the calls of the night creatures.
After slowly and quietly rounding the campsite a dozen times over the course of another hour, boredom steals away the fun of sneaking and the great warrior sits beside the fire and silently draws his greatsword, admiring again the runes chiseled down the long and heavy blade. Thoughts turn to family and home in the wanderer’s mind, and nothing intrudes on his revery until he returns the sword to its place and gently wakes the druidess. Mot readies his sleeping area and takes one last look around the campsite before his large frame tumbles onto the blankets, and begins snoring within minutes, not bothering to remove his armor but is always an arm’s reach away from his greatsword.
The druidess remembers the little bottom-dweller to be a flathead catfish. She recalls seeing freshwater fishermen wiping their wounds with freshly caught catfish. Upon inquiry, she learned that catfish slime greatly quickens the healing process by coagulating the open wound, and is rich with nutrients that encourage the skin to knit together quickly.
The druidess can see a bit further than the humans she travels with, but to little avail; clouds obscure the partial moon and starlight, already darkened by the shadows of the trees. Her keen senses and familiarity with the wilderness instead hears the regular chirps and calls, already lessened by the coming winter, for any sudden silence that indicates the approach of an unwelcome creature, or any change in tone to signal flight.
Beorae vigilantly watches through the deepest hours of the night, but nothing gives cause for alarm. She wakes Themp to watch over the camp during the hours just before sunrise.
The paladin keeps attentive ears and eyes long after the sinking sun and the darkening sky. His horse sleeps under the tree, and the river Emestar surges on to the east. The grey clouds overhead obscure the waning moon, and the knight’s elven eyes cannot see as well as under a full moon. The hours pass slowly and quietly, and soon the knight senses that the sun will rise again in a few hours.
Perhaps it is his reduced vision, or his distracted train of thought, but Nme’an’s ears catch faraway voices in conversation before his eyes notice anything. They are too far away to discern words, but the voices (the paladin hears two or three) are high pitched, and coming from the north.
Turning to see, the half-elf spies a troupe of small, reptilian bipeds heading south. Five in number, the kobolds do not act like they have seen Nme’an yet, but if they continue on their path, they will walk right into him. Presently, a few of them converse as they march along the river, just over one hundred feet away and closing. At this distance, the knight cannot understand their chattering language, and the rattle of bones in their armor reaches his ears.
Nme'an quickly surmises that neither he nor his horse can stay where they are. He carefully slips out from under his bedroll and takes Rexel by the reins.
Whispering, "hakuna matata," to the horse, he slowly leads it away from the tree in the hopes of remaining, for the moment, unseen. That the unruly reptiles are heading in the direction of his... traveling companions... is not lost on Nme'an.
"no worries,"
As Nme’an quietly moves away, narrowly escaping the attention of the five. That is, until one of them snaps his head in Nme’an’s direction and gestures, barking orders in the yipping tongue. The one giving the orders does not wear armor like the others, but is still armed with a crude spear. Necklaces of bones and stones rattle as he points anxiously at the tree.
Two of the kobolds crouch low and hold their spears ready, two begin whirling slings, and the apparent leader scans the area furtively, all with their backs to the river. But none of them seem to spot the knight in the open, dark field. The ones brandishing spears slowly advance on the tree, warily watching for hiding things.
After making sure the druidess is properly settled and the barbarian is still with them, Themp takes a light stroll on the edge of the fire's warmth.
Feckles said the paladin will be back... I wonder how far he went.
"Ningalipaswa mafichoni bila kazi," Nme'an say softly, chiding himself. Figuring it's only a matter of time before he makes a tale tale sound or the dim light glints off his armor in just the wrong way, Nme'an goes on the attack.
All pretense of stealth now tossed aside Nme'an stands straight and moves towards the small group tracking him. The Paladin says brief prayer while focusing on the apparent leader then raises his bow and fires.
for:
"I should have known hiding would not work,"
The paladin’s arrow punctures the tiny chest of the kobold, who reflexively lobs his spear in retaliation, and the slingers release their shots.
Weakened by the arrow, the leader’s spear sails in a high arc and Nme’an is able to sidestep the falling spearhead. The one stone finds an opening between the bands in the paladin’s armpit, and the other knocks him on the forehead. Clutching his wound, the leader ducks behind a bush, and wheezes a command out of sight of the half-elf. The two slingers retie the slings to their belts and move closer to the tree, pulling the spears from their backs.
Under the volley, one of the spear-wielders charges headlong at the knight, screeching a battlecry, while the other moves widely to Nme'an's side.
For all the charging kobold's zeal, his crude weapon scrapes harmlessly against the paladin's armor.
Not willing to underestimate the small group, Nme'an decides to take the five problems one at a time. He drops his bow, readies his sword and shield, and takes a defensive swipe and the now nearby Koblod.
Dodging the swing, the forerunner of Nme’an’s scaly assailants snarls what could only be a malicious, reptilian smile with tiny pointed teeth. The four kobolds close in with their spears, while their leader remains hidden behind the bush. They carefully step around the knight’s reach to attack him from all sides.
The knight dodges and turns away blows with his shield, though he feels a speartip find an opening between his banded armor on his back.
Focusing fully on defense for the moment, Nme'an makes a bold move and surges northward towards the Koblod leader.
Two of the scaly raiders jab out as knight starts to shuffle away, crying out in their harsh tongue when they miss. The other two cross the butts of their spears at his shins to bring the paladin low.
Their ploy to stop the half-elf works as he falls face down into the grass. The four kobolds swarm the fallen knight and begin their attacks anew.
But with his back to the ground, Nme’an is able to swat away most of the attacks, save one. The leader rises from behind the bush with the arrow wound fully closed, letting an empty flask fall from his hands. Seeing the knight on the ground and surrounded by his comrades brings a wicked smile to his face. The leader traces green glowing lines in the air and declares, “Acidum!”
The glowing sigil melts into a conjured, sizzling glob that floats inches above the red, scaly claw for a moment before the leader hurls it at Nme’an, careful to miss his fellow kobolds.
The thrown acid sails high over the ridged heads of the half-elf’s four attackers and splashes burns in the grass a few feet away.
Nme'an continues focusing on defense as he stands. Instead of attacking he quickly uses his newfound healing powers to rebound from the wounds he has taken.
As the paladin rises, the four kobolds see openings for their spears.
Nme’an’s defensive posture holds three attacks at bay, but one finds its mark. The leader circles around the vegetation and begins forming symbols in the air with his claws. “Butyro!”
The sigils vaporize, and a second later, slick oil begins running down the blade and handle of the paladin’s sword. Nme’an feels the grease ooze between his fingers, and his grip on the blade is uncertain. The four bring their spears in again at the armored knight.
The crude spearheads harmlessly scrape against shield and armor.