Mot yawns and rolls over. Burly arms snuggle tighter around his clan greatsword, as he prepares to fall asleep once more.
Nme'an selects his heavy mace from among his belongings, thinking its more substantial form will be more easily seen in the moonlight and stands up to his full height beside the tree he placed his bedroll under. With his mace held at the ready, and with the way the remaining light of the now diminished fire flickers off his heavy armor, he hopes to presents the most imposing sight possible to the approachers.
He speaks sternly to the two men saying, "You there! I can see you as plain as day! If you are in need of assistance then stay where you are and announce yourselves and your troubles. Assistance will be provided to you. But if you are here for some ill deed, as I suspect you are, know that this area is under the protection of the Order of the Dawnflower, and to continue closer is to invite your own peril."
A glance inward to the camp shows Nme'an that his companions seem to have heard his pronouncement, or were otherwise awakened. Despite his misgivings at Mot's behavior over the past couple of days Nme'an can't help but smile slightly as he sees the big man grip his large sword.
Themp, you can hear a hand brushing tree bark, and quiet, controlled breathing just on the other side of the trees . You also thought you heard a soft clack, but the campfire flares at that moment, so it may just as likely be the crackling fire.
Nme’an detects no evil in the two bumblers before him.
The controlled breathing and obviously muffled footsteps are all Beorae needs to know that this group is up to no good. As Nme'an addresses the imposters, the druid gazes through the trees and bushes, focusing on where she thinks the sounds are coming from. Speaking as lowly as she can while still making the spell work, she moves her hand and mutters a druidic incantation, hoping to light up the imposters and make them think twice about the cover of darkness.
With a final flourish of her hand, a fizzle of purple and green light bursts on the other side of the bushes as the Faerie Fire takes effect. “Either show yourselves, or we will do it for you.”
Considering that the intruders' target may be the horses and not the champions, Beorae gives Shark a shake to make sure he's awake and quickly moves to secure the beasts.
At the sharp, if quiet, sound of crackling, Themp sneakily gets up and hurries to a vantage point closer to the source of the hushes, right between a bush and two trees (i11).
The bumbling pair freeze at the command of the paladin, unsure of what to do.
Two men behind the trees curse in surprise as purples and greens cover them like a coat of stars. One of them recovers himself quickly and speaks up.
“Whoa there! We didn’t come here to fight anybody, good Sir Knight! No ill deeds here. I just wanted to speak with you. No harm in that, is there?”
The speaker is still obscured through the foliage, though his bald head shimmers violet from the druid’s spell. He appears to be wearing finely crafted leather armor that looks very well taken care of, and cradles in his arms a heavy crossbow. A third man that looks similarly dressed and armed as the bumblers is visible at his side, likewise gleaming in green and purple sparkles. The apparent leader extends an arm, indicating he wishes to speak, not fight. He waits for permission from Nme’an to proceed.
"One does not usually start a conversation by sneaking up on a camp in the middle of the night," Nme'an says, still suspicious. "Or attempting to sneak... I wager I could move more quietly than that. Still, if talk is what you wish then put away your weapons. You have my word that no harm will come to you if your intentions be as you say. "
Nme'an tries to judge the intentions of the small party:
Beorae listens to the leader's protests and watches the four through the trees and bushes, uncertain whether or not her new position is known to them yet.
Reaching down, she keeps one hand on the scruff of Shark's neck, both letting him know that she needs his protection, but also making sure he doesn't attack just yet.
Despite the tension of the situation, Beorae can't help but feel some slight amusement as the Faerie Fire shimmers its glittery dance around the nearest two imposters. The colors and sparkles make them feel at least a little less threatening, even if they intend to cause trouble.
Just talk and a cocked crossbow? Unlikely...
From his hiding place, Themp concentrates on the tone of voice and body language of the men, as well as any subtle action they might be doing.
Casns yawns grandly from his place by the fire. Turning over on his bedroll he opens one great groggy eye, it swings about in its socket until alighting upon the group of curious sleep disrupters. The shaggy brown brow lowers as the one eye glowers at them from across the camp.
This man is not being honest. His tone is like that of a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
The men following him were clearly preparing for violence, but now that their leader has engaged in conversation, they remain silent and listen for their next order.
“I…” the leader trails off when he notices the highlander’s glare. He clears his throat and begins again, a bit perturbed. “As you say, Sir Knight. Men, stow your clubs. This is the group we are looking for.”
“I’m stepping out of the trees now, do not be alarmed,” he announces, as the three men behind him obediently store their clubs at their belts. A few of them nervously glance in Beorae’s direction, more likely at Shark than the druidess herself. The glittering bald head steps back and away from the trees, into the clearing in plain view of the paladin and the Urlghain. His crossbow hangs at his side in one hand.
Themp catches a glimpse of the leader’s face as he passes between the trees. This is none other than the unforgiving father of Laura, Arthur Turel!
“I am glad a knight of the Order of the Dawnflower is present,” the middle-aged leader amiably addresses the knight, “for my business here is one of honor. You uphold the virtue of righting wrongs, am I correct, Sir Knight?”
"I do," Nme'an replies, cautiously optimistic given the way the intruder has addressed him and partially followed his orders. Still... "Your crossbow sir. Stow it, or discharge it into the ground, and then we may talk of honor and virtue."
Nme'an moves a bit closer to the leader, making sure he is well within striking distance in case the man does anything unexpected.
Themp manages to freeze even stiller than he was.
Oh, scheiße... Not with Mr. Knight in Shining Armor here...
There is something very strange going on here… Not buying the bald man's lie for a moment, Beorae can't shake the uneasy feeling welling in the pit of her stomach and she decides it best to stay prepared. Keeping an eye on the the situation, she holds on a little tighter to Shark and calls upon the forest spirits to channel Guidance into her companion while moving him to her right side.
Clack!
A twitch of the mechanism in the leader’s hands releases the bolt into the ground. He nonchalantly calls to his three followers. “Come over here, where they can see you.”
The three hurry to his side. Each of them wear simple, worn and patched clothes, with a wooden club hanging from their belts.
One of the three discreetly whispers to the crossbowman. Your aren’t able to hear all of it, but your sharp ears pick up “I seen ‘im be’ind that tree…” The leader blinks but otherwise makes no other acknowledgement as his underling passes.
He maintains his gaze with Nme’an, but inclines his bald head toward the light of the campfire.
“One of your number has brought shame on my family.” He raises his voice to speak to the group, “In the old days, those dishonored in this magnitude would challenge the offender to a duel, to the death.”
He is silent for a moment, letting the point sink in. He raises a hand dismissively. “But, these are changing times, and I am a forgiving man. I think a beating will suffice, so that a lesson can be learned.” He turns a brotherly look back to the knight, “Sarenrae teaches redemption and forgiveness, and I intend to give Themp Namor his second chance.”
At the word “beating”, the men behind the leader nod and begin pulling clubs from their belts.
“Step forward, young boy,” the bald man calls to Themp, a wide grin of satisfaction and righteousness growing over his face.
Nme'an sighs and rests his mace on the ground, within easy reach in case it is needed. I knew that rogue would bring me trouble,' he thinks.
"Who are you sir, and what are the boy's crimes?" Nme'an asks, replacing the intimidation in his voice for a more diplomatic tone. He senses that some event in the thief's past has indeed caught up to him, but what? "If he has murdered, or maimed, or committed some gross act of which our laws demand severe punishment I will escort both you and him back to Thaleniel so that he may stand trial for his actions."
Nme'an pauses for a second, considering his words and choices, then continues, "If however, Mr. Namor is accused of thievery, or fighting, or some other lesser crime, I will instead take custody of him here and now and return him to Thaleniel for trial once our task, important to the wellbeing of the entire kingdom, is complete."
Nme'an briefly pauses again, struggling to balance his respect for the law against the greater good Themp may be able to provide for Vyren as a whole. Finally he says says, "Sarenrae does teach of redemption and forgiveness, but she also teaches temperance and patience in all things. I assure you, your family's honor will be upheld, but not this night, and certainly not through the violent beatings of vigilante justice. Return home and actual justice will be done."
At Nme’an’s askance of Themp’s crimes, the leader blusters, “That’s none of your-” but he clams up when the knight lists possibilities such as murder or maiming.
Nme’an sees the man reddening as he goes on listing lesser crimes.
“...didn’t break any of those laws…” he stammers quietly.
The bald man takes an indignant posture as the knight issues final instructions to return home. “Fine. But I know you’re back there, Themp, hiding in the trees. Don’t think I’ll forget, next time you show your face in Thaleniel.”
The middle-aged leader meets the knight’s gaze for a moment, “Good evening, Sir Knight. We will go.”
The man turns and leads the small group back to the road. It is not long before a torch alights among the band as they continue east. After some time, the distant sound of hoofsteps fades into the night.
"Themp! Nme'an calls out to the still hiding thief, "In the morning we will need to talk, but for now know that you are safe and get some sleep. I shall do the same." He turns to Beorae and says wearily, "Your watch, Ms. Sevenstone. May it be less eventful than my own."
With that, the Paladin returns to his spot beneath the tree and with tired fingers begins the process of removing his armor.
Wait, did Mr. Knight-in-Shining-Armor just save my ass? Huh, that was... unexpected. I guess his sense of duty is stronger than I thought.
After making sure the men have gone, Themp strolls out of his hiding place, nonchalant smile on his face and pats Nme'an's shoulder as he passes him on his way to the bedroll.
"Thanks for that, Paladin. I'm afraid the disgruntled citizens of Thaleniel are getting a bit out of hand these days, huh?"
"For some of us at least..." Nme'an gruffs under his breath, too tired to engage more.
Mot rolls over once again, the metal plates in his kilt making soft clacking sounds. Letting out a powerful yawn he is asleep and snoring before the two have finished talking.
The night is quiet for the most part, though for a short time after about an hour since the troublesome men left, a faint chorus of wolf howls are heard in the distant west. As far as a quarter mile away, if Beorae were to guess, though the fog might play tricks on sounds. In any case, she is certain they are nowhere close.
The druidess may or may not have warned Mot about the wolves heard from afar, but either way, the highlander does not hear them. With his sight confined to the light of the campfire, the Urlghain pays close attention to hear anything over the rushing waters they camped beside. Nothing beyond the typical small scurries and cautious calls catches his ear, and in no time, Mot wakes Themp for the watch.
The river rushes and gushes and gurgles, and it is difficult for Themp to hear anything over it. A few times, an unexpected splash from a water creature snatches the rogue’s attention, but enough time passes after each one for Themp to get used to noise of whatever is swimming around in the deep part of the river. At one point, Themp thinks he hears wolf howls in the distance, but they do not last long, nor do they get any closer.
The rest of the night passes without event. Eventually, the sun begins to rise, turning the grey fog around them to a pleasant yellow hue, but it is still too cold for the mist to lift.
The gray morning comes far too quickly after the events of the previous night. Beorae lies on her back, staring up at the trees for a couple of minutes before finally getting up and re-packing her bedroll. Before the others have risen, and without so much as a word to Themp, she neatly stacks her things against a tree, then heads up-river (southeast) about 150 yards before finding a calm clearing for her morning meditations while while Shark goes hunting.
Finding calm serenity proves to be a little more difficult this morning, but eventually Beorae is able to find inner focus and call upon the divine nature spirits. The hour passes quickly and she opens her eyes to a brighter, more golden misty glow. As she rises, a blue-and-green butterfly that had landed on her arm flutters off, dancing over the bubbling river.
Once back at camp, she removes her boots and socks, rolls up her pant legs, and grabs a shortspear before wading into the river. The fish prove plentiful, and it's only a few minutes before the druid is back in camp, cleaning and preparing the fish to be roasted over the campfire. It's not until the smell of the crackling fish fills the air, whetting appetites, that Beorae speaks up for the first time. Looking Themp directly in the eyes, the druid speaks plainly, “We all have our own histories, and I won't presume to make any assumptions, but right now our lives are in each others' hands. I think that at least calls for the level truth. I haven't decided if I want to ask what last night was all about, but there's no doubt that man was looking for you, and looking for trouble. It seems to me that whatever his purpose, his actions weren't exactly in line with the law, and Nme'an's intervention may very well have saved your life. What I need to know is if that man, or anyone he's connected with, is going to be a problem for us again.”
As she finishes speaking, she she plates the first steaming, delicious-looking fish and hands it to Themp.
Rolling off of his bedroll Mot makes a show of getting to his feet and stretching towards the sky. Arms high above his head the highlander lets out a tremendous laugh towards the rising sun, hidden through the mist. His armor stretches and groans with the stresses placed on it, but otherwise seems fit for the day. "Och! There's oonly oone wae ta greet tha morning an ets mist!" He says while rummaging through his pack. In seconds he produces what looks to be a large sac with sticks poking out of it's sides. The color and pattern of the sac matches the dark greens and grays of the Urlghain kilt, and so to do the stains and muck of travel.
With his new tuning fork in hand Mot taps it against a nearby rock and listens to the tone a moment before taking a deep breath and filling the sac with air. Without warning the big man strikes the bag and it begins to wail with the sound of a thousand banshees. High-stepping with a massive smile on his reddening face he marches around the camp in circles playing for all he's worth.
Nme'an awakes to two things: The pleasant, hunger inducing smell of roasting fish, and the... sounds... of Mot's... music.
He arises for the former.
The noisy spectacle of the highlander's playing distracts the Paladin as he approaches the other two member's of his party. He doesn't even notice the druidess' stern expression or that she and Themp are in the midst of a conversation. It's only as he gets close to the rebuilt fire and the cooking fish that he hears the last of Beorea's words:
...and Nme'an's intervention may very well have saved your life. What I need to know is if that man, or anyone he's connected with, is going to be a problem for us again.”
The sound of his name being spoken, and the reminder of the events that occurred the previous night stills Nme'an movements beside the younger half-elf. Now he too is focused on the rogue, his glaring expression all but demanding answers.
As Beorae leaves for her morning meditation, Themp can't help but notice her... distance. As she wraps up the cooking and walks towards him, he can't help but sigh in relief.
A relief, however, that is very short-lived. As she confronts him, a good amount of concern and uncertainty surges up his very spine.
My presence here could actually make things a lot worse for them... I should go. Leave them be. Make the burden I carry my and no one else's problem.
If Beorae pays close attention to his body language, she could see Themp's shoulder sagging a bit from the alert state they were once she confronted him.
But I can't go back now. They'll lynch me if I come back empty-handed. Not mention Laura's father. Yes, they'll lynch me if I come back home.
A sudden melancholic grin strikes his face.
Heh. Home. As if that way of life could even allow the concept of home. There has never been home, you fool. Yes, I'll go on with this quest as far as I can. They won't deny me a home if I save them all. Yes.
His chest slowly puffing, a certain pose of self-assertion appearing, a sharp glint in his eyes, Themp answers, as much to himself as to Beorae.
"Girl, I cannot promise you my past won't interfere again. I have done much in my past to elicit similar responses to last night's from half the city of Thaleniel. So I will not make that promise."
He pauses and let that last sentence hang, just enough to make sure he gets to her. Then his face turns serious.
"But I will promise you this: I will not quit, I will not abandon this quest until I'm sure Thaleniel will not fall into a barbaric state. If the king dies, what that man last night did will be child's play to what will go down on the streets. And I don't mean just with me. I've seen stuff in all my years there that would make your skin crawl."
"If the law loses its grip on Thaleniel -and trust me, if the king dies it will- half the people of the streets I live in will turn into revenge-fueled murdering savages."
"I will not allow that to happen to Thaleniel. If I'm ever to call a place home, I must not allow that to happen to Thaleniel."
"That, druid, I will promise you."
Beorae lifts an eyebrow at Themp's gloomy foretelling of Thaleniel's future should their quest fail and the worst happen. While she considers his depiction of events to be perhaps a little on the melodramatic side, deep down she knows that he's at least partly right. The distinct lack of usual glibness in the Rogue's tone also lets the druid know that he's dead serious about staying the course and working together, which is reassuring.
She pauses for a moment while Mot marches past, pipes wailing at full tilt.
“Fair enough,” she says, handing a meticulously plated fish to Nme'an, and cracks a smile as she looks up to see Mot trying to serenade a very uncertain-looking Shark with his bagpipes.
Nme'an is taken aback by Themp's uncharacteristically honest outburst. Usually the rogue would have evaded the question through the use of humor or an ill timed nap. Hearing Themp speak of the need for the rule of law, amongst the other things he said, catches Nme'an's attention.
'So he knows our stakes after all?' Nme'an thinks in near wonderment.
"And what about the man from last night in particular? Who was... he..." Mot cheerfully marches by in the background causing Nme'an's question to die on his lips. An instant later an incalculably expensive looking plate with a roasted fish looking more ornately prepared than that of the food at their meal with the Court Wizard is thrust into Nme'an's hand.
"Asante kwa ajili ya chakula, Bi Sevenstone..." the Paladin says almost as an aside as he heads back to his things, almost entirely enamored by the meticulous attention to placement, color, and surrounding detail the Druidess somehow put into the breakfast's presentation in such a short amount of time.
Where did we even get plates?' Nme'an wonders, as he sits back under his tree and takes his first bite.
After finishing his meal a short time later (and storing the mysterious plate in his backpack) Nme'an sets about the task of strapping on his armor. A little over ten minutes later he too is prepared to move out.
Beorae recalls that the mists of the Greysight Vale begin to thin over the Emestar River as a northbound wind travels from the southern foothills and over Armaag’s Plains. Most who call Vyren their home consider the Vale to end at Brenan’s Crossing and the fork in the Emestar. Since the group is traveling on horseback, and making excellent time, she expects to reach the Crossing at some point in the morning tomorrow. If today’s pace is anything like yesterday’s, the group will be a mere two hours away from Brenan’s Crossing when it is time to set up camp.
The four continue northwest along the road. It is a quiet morning, and a few hours pass before they begin to see travelers on the road. Traders, soldiers, families, and missionaries all trickle by in pairs or handfuls. Beyond the road, the nearby land not obscured by the constant fog appears to easily rise and descend, hinting at the low rolling hills as the horses pass through the fringe of the Greysight Vale. Soon, perhaps by day’s end, the group should be traveling under clearer skies again.
As the group travels through the low hills dotted with sparse vegetation, three wolves trot into view, cooly intent on the four and their horses. They slowly pace, not charging in, as patient stalkers of inevitable prey. The horses shake uncomfortably, and Shark’s hackles raise.
The rogue spots a fourth wolf, concealed in the trees to his left.
The highander spots another of the pack hiding among the shrubs beneath a tree to his right.
Quiet footfalls here, a subtle stirring of vegetation there, and a momentary glimpse of grey fur, the druid counts a wolf pack numbering eight. She nearly misses the alpha wolf, whose colors blend in with the boulder he hides behind. The pack leader watches from the furthest away.
Beorae knows that wolves usually surround their prey before closing in, utilizing team tactics to bring large or numerous game. For three of the wolves to show themselves plainly indicates a level of experience in this large pack. She senses that Shark is on the verge of charging the nearest one, but holds back for her sake.
"Look! A trio of wolves!" Nme'an says.
Beorae, suddenly alert, does her best to not tense up with the wolves trying to sneak in, knowing that One Sock will sense any panic in his rider. “Try an octet. Most of them are hiding – these wolves know what they're doing….”
No sooner does the druid finish her sentence than she flicks her wrist and utters a strange Druidic incantation. The sound of her voice gradually rises until all the others can hear at the end is a wolf's howl.
Hoping that this trick will catch the wolves off-guard, Beorae shouts out to the Alpha wolf, “Радуйся, великий вовк Вале. Будь ласка, вийдіть з за вашою породи; ми можемо бачити всі вісім вас. Я прошу, чому ви наближаєтеся нас, простих мандрівників на дорозі в середині дня?”
Mots eyes light up as he recognizes the shapes stalking toward them. As Beora speaks his face scrunched up in confusion. "Ae ohcteted? Wea're nae where neer tha ocean..." he says as the Druid begins to howl at the wolves.
"Haha! Naow thas moor lahk it!" the big warrior hops lightly to the ground and strikes his chest with the flat of spear head. Tilting his head back, as furry as any wolf hide, he let's out a roar to shake the foundations of the very earth.
"Unafanya nini?" Nme'an asks as Beorea finishes her howls. At first he intends to stay on his horse, but jumps down himself and readies his shield and sword upon seeing Mot dismount.
"Lets see if we can't make this a repeat of last time, Mtu Mkubwa," he says to the Urlghain. "But first, hold stead. I want to see how this plays out," he say, glancing over to Beorae.
"...Big Man"
The three hesitate when they understand the calls of a ...half-elf? A grey wolf with white markings slinks out from behind a distant boulder, and answers with a chuff, and drawn-out growl that ends with a bark.
“Мої брати голодні. Зима холодна і ваша кров зігріє наші животи. Ветроступ, Кость, хто кусає, кігті, збити один великий перший.”
“My brothers are hungry. Winter is cold and your blood will warm our bellies. Windwalk, Bonebiter, Swiftclaw, bring down the big one first.”
The three that were first visible crouch, intending to spill blood. But the four travelers are ready.
Well, isn't that special...
At the sight of the wolves priming the attack, Themp quickly dismounts and readies himself.
"Watch out for the one behind that tree, guys!" Themp warns.
At the alpha's bark, Beorae sighs in dismay. This is the wild after all, but these wolves seem strangely aggressive for midday and being forced to kill the animals in self-defense brings a wave of sadness to the druid. The feeling lasts only a moment, however, as the she steels herself for the attack.
“Ви вибрали б смерть за своїх братів, то, в той час як ви стоїте там, як ягня? Ветроступ, Bonebiter, кігті: ваш лідер вибрав тебе, щоб бути першим, щоб померти.”
“So be it,” she mutters as she dismounts One Sock. She quickly points out the remaining wolves to the other three, “There are three more: one up behind the tree , another behind that boulder to our right , and the last behind the tree over yonder . These first three are coming for you, Mot.”
Readying her shield and spear, Beorae says to Shark, “Wagcine off of Mot, kulungile?”
"I think this group heard about you and your sword, Mtu Mkubwa," Nme'an says to Mot. "Too many of them to go charging in this time though. Stay close and we can team up on them."
Nme'an moves himself between Mot and the nearest wolf then himself to strike at the first animal to come in range.
The Casns fighter let's out a predatory chuckle. "Three oon oone? Hardlee ae fair fight. Ah ahlmoost pity tha wee beasties." Sniffing at the air he leans back, putting his weight on one leg, tensed like a spring. Raising a heavy palm, Mot gauges the distance with a thumb. All at once, the tension in his bulging muscles snap and send the spear flying towards one of the fell beasts.
After a second of momentary confusion in perfectly understanding his companion, Shark makes a single bound to stand ahead, between Mot and Beorae. His hackles are raised and muscles tense.
“Тиша, двох ніг!” the alpha wolf snaps, and then growls, “Чи не кинути мені виклик! Зупинити розуміння наші дзвінки!”
“Silence, two-legger! Do not challenge me! Stop understanding our calls!”
The highlander’s spear gouges one of the visible three, but the trio charge in nonetheless! The one to the left of the road tries to pass the big cat, but Shark snaps at him.
The tiger chomps down into the wolf’s neck and shoulder, and streaks grey fur with blood as the wolf twists away to reach Mot’s ankles. But Shark is not finished with him, and swipes a claw as he passes.
Avoiding the tiger, the first wolf snaps at Mot’s leg, but the bleeding neck injury slows him enough for the Casns to dodge it.
Another from the left tries to lunge between the druid and the rogue to reach the highlander.
The hungry canine also makes an attempt to bring down the big man.
Mot Casns feels a foot pulled out from under him, and he stumbles to the ground! The third, shaken by the roar of the highlander and slowed by a spear wound, rushes into the fray, though he is met by Nme’an’s readied blade.
The wolf lunges at the Urlghain, bolstered when he sees his prey fall.
Mot sees a yellow-fanged maw go for his throat, and interposes a meaty forearm just in time.
Uncertainty lost, the alpha wolf bares his teeth in a menacing, predatory grin. “Остальные из вас. Будьте готовы.”
“The rest of you. Be ready.”
The other wolves step out from their hiding places and encircle the four.
Nme'an tracks the wolf as it rushes and...
for
...misses
Grimicing, he pulls back and swings again at the now stationary wolf:
for
Almost panic-like, Themp quickly draws out his shortsword and slashes at the back of the closest wolf.
The paladin’s longsword drives deep into wolf flesh, killing the wild beast. Themp’s blade cuts across thick fur, but no blood is drawn.
“Чертополох язык! Дым кассира!" the alpha wolf barks, "Для носителя блестящей камня!”
“Thistletongue! Smoketeller! To the carrier of shiny stone!”
Two wolves on the right side of the road snarl at Nme’an.
Falling through the air, the Urlghain berserkers smile stays fixed, though his countenance clouds over with the shadow of anger. Using his backwards momentum to his advantage, Mot performs an awkward roll ending up on a knee and hand. Fixed grin becoming increasingly manic the massive man moves faster than any drunkard should, jumping to his feet while unclasping the devastating greatsword tied to his back.
Turning a his glaring gaze across the closest wolves he picks one who's wounds seem least grievous. Lifting his sword over his head, it's tip appears to touch the rising sun nearly fifteen feet in the air. With a roar Mot brings the heavy blade whistling to the ground not stopping for any wolf that might stand in its way.
Beorae whips her shortspear around as Shark mauls at the first wolf, but completely misses the target, almost losing grip on the weapon in the process.
Seeing an opening, she quickly sidesteps next to Themp so as to close the two nearest wolves between herself, Mot, and Shark. Regripping the spear, Beorae lashes out at the wolf between her and Shark .
“Сила зграї є вовк…”
At the same time, Shark snarls and redoubles his attack on the first wolf.
“…і сила вовкає пакет. Відбій, альфа, в той час як ви все ще є пакет, щоб подзвонити своїм розсудом.”
Hearing the Alpha's next orders, Beorae shouts above the clamor, “Nme'an, I think the two up there are coming to you next!” The strangeness of the wolves' behavior makes Beorae consider if she's heard any stories from the woodsmen that might help her understand what is going on here.
…and the strength of the wolf is the pack. Stand down, Alpha, while you still have a pack to call your own.”