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His heart suddenly not into it, Aterro's vigor wavers, and his hand meets table with a meaty *THWACK*.
"Well done, Ingyrd!" he yells in congratulations.
Having exerted himself, with full belly and more than a little drunk, Aterro found himself perfectly comfortable, and started lolling into a pleasant doze.
Cheers and groans erupt throughout the common room as soon as Aterro's fist slams the table beneath Ingryd's big furry hand. Wager are paid and soon enough Rosemary is ringing the bell for last call and bringing the festivities of the evening to a begrudging close.
Dawnflower retires to one of the newly reappointed rooms while others simply pass out or lay out a bedroll near the fire. For as summer wains, the nights grow chill with the cool air blowing off the nearby sea.
No one really knows when Scramsax snuck back or what he was up to, having disappeared for most of the night with the Nasty Rug. Curiously it seems to have gathered soot or charcoal stains somewhere along the way.
It is early morning. A hint of frost is in the air and a low fog has draped itself like a thin cloak over the meadow and grove surrounding the inn. The sun is yet to ride over the eastern horizon when the tranquil peace of the place is broken by shouts for help echoing first in the woods along the path to Nargenstal and soon enough racing into the common room rousing Aterro, Ingryd, and anyone else resting near the lingering warmth of the banked fire.
"Rosemary! Rosemary! Anyone! Help! Help!" Cries Maryanne, the young woman who'd been looking to apprentice with Vrindel and who was so good with the local stock. "Rosemary, it's Fafnir and his family. The boys and both Fafnir and Tulla are badly hurt on the path to town. Tulla said it was more of them odd guardsmen before she passed out. I did what I could, but they need help right away." She adds as a bleary-eyed Rosemary hurries into the room. Hearing about the assault, she utters a curse and begins to gather up a few herbs and other things from the kitchen while calling for Owyn to ready the wagon.
"Don't worry Maryanne, we'll get them back here and see them safe."
Ingyrd chuckles at the victory and nodded."Well met, yer stronger den ya look!" She says as she took another cup and drank it down.
Hearing the cries of the young woman and vaguely hearing what is going on she moves over and begins to shake the Thorite."Priest, trouble afoot"
"Who?" Luthael asks Gunnar incredulously. "The only saint of such a name died over a hundred years ago. She was a peasant's daughter who somehow became involved with a dragon and some other nonsense. She was also excommunicated by Temple leadership who at the time was deeply controlled by the Inquisition," which aligns with her hatred of the the Inquisition.
The prophet of Khors starts staring at Katerina, maybe Saint, and asks Gunnar, "Gunnar, where did you meet her? Can you take me there?"
"A ruined temple...not so far from here. I was drawn there by a vision of my own," replies Gunnar, then he cocks his head..."Did you hear some yelling in the direction of the inn?"
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Aterro woke feeling surprisingly refreshed. Although he couldn't remember getting up after the armwrestling contest, he was unarmored and under a blanket near the fire. No doubt Rosemary's doing, good on her.
At the sounds of tumult and chaos he rousing and dons armor (surprisingly easy since the thing is basically one big smock). Seeing a tankard of water in a nearby table, he down the thing in one go, clearing out the last of the cobwebs.
"Aye, aye, Ingryd, so it beseems. Let us go and do what we can.
Strange that they say it is odd guardsmen. Do they mean brigands?"
He calls over Maryanne. Though the girl had, oddly, thrown in the the strange creature of Vrindel, one canst not hold that against her. "What do you mean by strange guardsmen? You can tell us on the way."
"It's all part of what I was telling Gunnar and your priest of Khors here. The village has grown so much, so fast. That's already been a challenge, but within the last few week, there is a new group of guards working the area. Demanding payments for protection, essentially kidnapping folk to row the ships, stealing crops or livestock." Rosemary says as you hurry along the road. [
She spreads her hands out wide. "All of them are big, brutish fellows and oddly smell of cinnamon and eucalyptus. They don't appear to be part of the regular army or naval soldiers, because they don't wear the usually red dragon of the Queen's men. Instead they sport some kind of odd purple flower like symbol. Usually on a pin worn on their cloak or tunic." She takes a swig of hot tea from a canteen she'd quickly prepared. "Same symbol worn by that secretary of the Commandant's.
After about twenty minutes on the road, you come upon a sad scene. A family of four, a man woman and two young boys, lay propped against an overturned cart, the contents of which appear to be gone except for a few scattered sausages and squashed vegetables. The woman holds the youngest boy in her arms, trying to comfort the lad who is crying and sporting a nasty bruise that covers half his face. The older lad is unconscious with his arm in a makeshift bandage and splint. The father, also knocked out, sports a bad wound to the head, also bandaged, but with blood slowly soaking through. He's pale and unresponsive as the wagon pulls up.
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"That's not the definition of guardsmen," Aterro says flatly as they hurry along. "That is what 'bandits' are. I have heard of this thing called a 'protection racket' where bandits walk up to good, law-abiding, Thor-fearing people, and demand payment or they do injury to them.
Gratitude for telling me this. Now I see that our return was not in vain, or a distraction. What use is it to save the world, or destroy the greyskin plague, if the world has turned to rot and the people you thought you were saving are only ravaged by a disease of a different color?
I already want to call Exterminatus upon these followers of the purple flower, but I will at least hear their lying words first."
Aterro takes in the scene with a heavy heart, but also a tactician's eye.
"I do not have time to go about with white cloth to wait for nature to take it's course. Let us see how devout you people have been, and if you are worthy of divine favor."
Aterro holds up DeathMetal to the sky. "Thor, if these people be of good heart and stout character, if their foes be worthy of GLORIOUS COMBAT, let thy grace envelope all who hold thee in thy hearts!"
A nimbus of yellow light explodes from Aterro, flowing over all near him.
So consumed is Aterro with bestowing Thor's grace, and composing the needed questions to ask once all are roused, that he has little attention left for aught else.
Hearing the sound of extortion Ingryd growls, her lips curling and baring teeth before she then stops and begins to head in the direction that is needed. Ingryd was ready to do what was needed. She had grabbed her Maul, her hand axes, and her Javelins. She would use them and her own might to squash these fools.
Ingryd surveys the scene and notes the woman and the children. Concern, horror, and anger fill her as she looks about.
Though uninjured, Gunnar feels some small relief from the grim nature of this scene before him as the power of Thor washes over him, then finds its rest in curing the worst injuries of those among the wounded.
"You speak truth, Brother Aterro. True guardsmen protect the populace; they do not extort and pummel the people. Let us see to the wounded here and hear their tale, then we can be off after these erstwhile *guardsmen* that they may answer for their crimes," he adds, his gaze drawn to the four sets of boot prints leading off into the woods.
After Luthael tends to the wounded as an experienced battle surgeon, he conducts a quick search up and down the nearby section of road and discovers a set of booted tracks leading off into the woods and toward the coast.
"Look. The tracks are fairly recent and were made by at least four different sets of boots."
"After we hear their stories and ensure they on their way to the inn, let's follow them."
Scram's eyes slowly narrowed as detail after detail poured into his ears. Payments for protection. Slave oarsmen. Theft of crops and livestock. Very straightforward so far, thought the career criminal.
Cinnamon and eucalyptus. Thieves' Oil, he pondered. During a brief plague in Barsella, the emerging fad racket was to use a blend of such aromas prior to robbing the sick...the blend was thought to ward against illness.
Purple flower. Effildawnan were purple, but the halfling strained to make any further useful connection. Hell, lots of flowers were purple after all.
Bear. Bear? Bear! Scram startled on his feet, having just noticed the gigantic lumbering bear, slamming one pot of honey after the next while chatting up its plucky bee friend.
Pinching himself in the face "Unless we get runnin', all we're gonna find at the end o'them tracks is the footpad's dory halfway out to sea, I wager." after he realizes what he just said "...er, I mean, just kidding, I think I hear them nearby..." obviously lying and not wanting to run at the moment in the slightest.
The woman sheds tears of relief when you all arrive. Even more flow when Aterro's magic washes over the little group and both son and father slowly awaken. Groggy and disoriented, but the danger of death is averted thanks to the blessings of Thor.
"Bless you good sir." The woman says to Aterro with genuine relief and gratitude. "We've not met afore, but I've heard tales of the Heroes of Nargenstal. Now we know the stories are true and Thor truly blesses this land."
"Aye...but some are certainly trying to encroach on the Thunderer's lands and good works." Says her husband still rubbing his head as he slowly sits upright. "Bloody Gaurdsmen, my eye. Simple bandits is more like." He turns and notices the overturned cart and the harvest gone. "It was them bloody flower boys for sure. The scrawny fellow and three of the big brutes. Thieves and bandits. I'm sorry Rosemary, it looks like we'll not be able to provide that produce and meat for you after all."
"Never you mind that Fafnir." Rosemary says wiping a bit of grime from the younger boys face after offering him a sweet from somewhere in her kit. "You all will come and stay with us a few days. Make sure you've recovered."
"Mighty kind of you, but I've got to get back. Left Mathom alone to care for the stock and he'll be both worried and left with too much if I don't get back. But if you wouldn't mind takin' in Tulla and the younger boys, I'd be much obliged." The woman, Tulla, starts to object, but Fafnir raises a placating hand. "I'll not cause trouble. In fact, I've a mind that you were right. It's time to pack up. I'll bring Mathom, the stock, and what little else we've got of value and meet you back here in a few days."
"Can't say the inn is far enough away we won't be bothered, but it's too late in the year to start anew. If Rosemary'll have us, we'll over winter at the inn and then head north a bit to find a fresh patch of land to settle."
Rosemary quickly nods her agreement that the family can stay at the inn and soon enough what little can be gathered is gathered and all are ready to depart either for the inn or back to the outskirts of Nargenstal.
...thieves and bandits...
Scram interjects a corrective definition, raising a finger "No, no...the term for this would be 'Footpad'. 'Highwaymen' only if they were mounted see, and 'bandit' only if they were true outlaws, outside anyone's legal protection...ehe...I'll shutup now."
"Thank you Rosemary for taking care of them. We'll take care of these guardsmen," the prophet says and starts following the tracks. His shield and fireball are ready.
He wonders what the game is afoot here. Is the Dawnflower's sister trying to take over?
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"Fah! 'Footpad' denotes an urban environment," Aterro states back at the jewel thief. "We could say they were 'vagabonds' but their organization hints at a more cunning, organized and evil mind. No, I would call them 'marauders'."
He turns away, but then turns back.
"And not the good kind," he finishes, cryptically.
Turning back to the rescued family, he digs into his coin purse and gives them a fistful of money. He has never deigned to bother counting coppers, and contents himself that it is at least more than they had before.
"Here, this should stake you over winter, with Rosemary's good graces. Aye, indeed, it is good you are at the inn, for I want you where I can find you. Whether I crush this rat's nest outright or not, people will want to know why, and your tale will be good proof of what goes here.
So too, the city may need to know, if I have to denounce them publicly, and the more truth I can bring to bear, the better."
It was Aterro's will that he just crush evil where he found it, but some, a wrong-headed some of course, might say that any order in a war-torn land is better than no order at all. Hence, one must needs show that a cure that is worse than the disease is no cure at all.
"What is that you say, Luthael? There are tracks of four marauders leading away? Let us chase them down."
Aterro lifts his spikey Warhammer, the best thing to cut down a Marauder, in his opinion.
Ingryd points out the tracks to Aterro and then looks at the party. "Before we go in, I know Aterro is battle hungry and tested, but what do the rest of you do, and what is your style. Mine involves my big hammer or ripping evil to shreds with my hands and teeth!" Ingryd said as she began to follow the tracks her strides longer then the others.
From the blueberry bush *psst* "Griz. Over here, I can give you the lowdown..." came the voice of Scramsax, the Astral Traveler. Followed quickly with a boistrous retelling of the Narg Nasty 6's greatest hits, a tragic mockery of the oral loremasters. It was clear the halfling's gifts were not of the historian.
At some point, the rambling resided...like a great wave crashes back into the dark horizon. "I know of a certain energy, friend. I am not evil." The coward (in the interests of preparedness) was getting ahead of the bullet, flexing his neck and face muscles perfectly to not even mouth the words 'shred' 'hands' and 'teeth' simultaneously ever again in front of a creature such as this.
Luthael pauses at Aterro's calling and then turns to Ingyrd questions, "Style? I bring the holy light and fire of Khors to the deserving. Shining the divine sun where it is most needed."
Moving along as they follow the tracks, Gunnar says, ”As I intimated before, I assault the foe with Thor’s thunder and lightning.”
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Aterro nods as the others make their statements. "We are blessed, in that our band has no wilting flower that must needs be screened lest the harsh blows of the enemy fall on them directly. As a LightCleric, Luthael does quite well on the front line, even if it is not his druthers. So too, my brother has been known to step into the path of danger to get a better grip and slay the enemy more efficiently!
As for the voice from the bushes, he does as he wills, but believe only half what he sees and less what he says. So if he says he is not evil...." Aterro tapers off and shrugs.
"But, yes, I have been lonely in the van, so it will be good to stand un-alone in the shield wall, good Ingryd!"
"I see, So Luth is the healer, Gun is um a wizard? and the voice is the scout?" Ingryd says as she gets out her Maul.
"Let us get to it then, these bastards have hurt children. They will pay dearly for this. I prayed to the Bear Maiden to do all I can to make sure no other woman would feel the pain I feel. NO MOTHER!" She growled and then turned to go over to the mother.
Gently Ingryd pulled out her own blanket and laid it over the younger lad. She then looked to the woman and stared for a moment, before she spoke softly."What are their names?"
It was a small gesture, but she would want the names of this womans' children. She would on her own lips get the vengeance they deserve. The very Maul she welds will be covered in the blood of the marauders who dared try to rip another womans' children from this world.
Once she gets the names she will rise and head back in the direction the soon-to-be deceased men went. As she did, she would free her Maul from its baldric and kiss its head. She would then take a bit of the honey and pour it on it as she prayed to the Bear Maiden. Prayed that her strikes are true and the wrongdoers who committed these previous acts know regret before they died. If not then she asked that whoever shared their blood would know and fear to ever do such an act again.
Tulla's eyes go wide upon seeing Aterro's generosity. Gladly accepting the charity, she carefully slips the coins into a little pocket sewn into her dress.
"The Thunderer has truly blessed this land having brought us such generous and honorable folk." Tulla says dipping her head in thanks as she once again gathers up the youngest boy. "As soon as we get settled again, you can be sure we'll be offer a feast and celebration in Thor's honor for all your help and kindness." Her eyes flick toward Luthael. "And to Khors as well for trying to bring the Light to the benighted land."
"Aye, the Light god moves in the Orzu Wilds." Rosemary says with a smile. "Wait until you meet one of the young women staying at the inn."
Having only heard of the bearfolk of the wild north, both Tulla and Fafnir are a bit nervous around Ingryd, but her obvious concern for the children and desire to see those who brought such harm and near death to their family assuage any real doubts or fears. "The youngest is Raggi after my father, while the older boy is named Arne." Fafnir says with more than a hint of fatherly pride.
After a few more moments all seem ready to depart. The women and children back to the inn. Fafnir, back to his farm to gather his oldest boy along with the rest of his stock and few possessions. And the Narg Nasty Six Who Are Really Only Five along the apparent trail left by the belligerent bandits.
The track is rough, but reasonably easy to follow. It seems there was little effort to conceal their passage. Whether this is due to overconfidence or carelessness one can only guess. After about an hour, with the early morning sun finally breaching the tops of the trees, you find yourselves approaching a natural clearing among the tall trees and dense undergrowth.
The soil grows damp and is covered by tall grasses and reeds. Sitting atop a small rise near the south edge of the meadow is a small, ramshackle shack of rough cut timbers. A thin tendril of smoke, smelling of sausage and fir causally loops its way up into the sky. A pair of tall, beefy looking men sit on the porch drinking from a pair of heavy steins. Dressed in simple leathers and fine thick capes easily capable of keeping the morning chill away, the two get to their feet as you break through the edge of the forest and enter the meadow. The light of the sun can't help but reflect off the fancy purple and gold brooch that each wear to keep those heavy capes firmly clasped in place.
Gunnar looks to see if those fancy clasps of purple and gold are shaped like a flower, though most of his concentration is dedicated to casting a spell of detection in case there are any hidden enemies about.
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At Ingryd's conclusion, Luthael rhetorically asks himself, "healer?"
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Luthael strides forward, "aye, look. Khors shines his holy sunlight upon us."
The prophet calls out while approaching and wondering if it would be easier just to burn the whole house down.
What was the Inquisition's motto? He asks himself before answering himself, Burn them all, and let Khors judge their souls.
Healer, indeed. He pulses the grip of his shield to ready himself for the impending combat.
Ingryd holds her maul as she waits for the more stealthy and acute to tell her anything. She though surveys the scene around her taking note of anything in particular.
Scram felt endearment as he watched the cleric frolic off to the house, not a care in the world. He raised his eyebrows and turned inward...having a moment of nostalgic thoughts.
But he had more important ragchews, including: Who put that stuff in those steins? What was clasping their capes so firmly? When would be a good time to kill them all? Where could I start a fire that would destroy the bad guys but not the good sausage? Why was Invictusol talking to the house and not literally anything else?
Giving a thumbs up to everyone "Well, this should be interesting." before ducking behind a tree and clouding the minds of everyone he saw...
= 22 total
Spaced nine paces apart in a ring circling the shack, approximately twenty-seven paces from the center of the hovel are a series of staked out bodies. Grim scarecrows complete with straw hats, ragged clothes, and burlap sacks covering the heads. Yet the sack is not stuffed with straw. Holes piercing the sacks reveal days old blood seeping from empty eye sockets and grim, rictus hardened mouths still screaming whatever curses passed through dying lips. Each totem oozes with a foul obscuring magic, although what it actually hides within the shack, you can only guess.
Luthael calls out to the house, still a good fifty feet away from the porch and those who now watch with curiosity as the priest and his companions approach. At the same time Scramsax disappears into the surrounding tall grasses looking to make a loop around to the back of the house.
The two on the porch wave you forward. "Aye! Hello! Come on up!" One of the two shout in friendly greeting.
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"Oh! Good!" He says while walking slower and slower.
"Throw down your weapons in front of the house, Or I'm going to burn down your house!"
"Beware, there are gruesome totems circling the shack at a distance of 27 paces in all directions--there is foul magic afoot here!" calls out Gunnar, so repulsed by the scene that he immediately considers how to dispel it.
Casting Dispel Magic on the obscuring spell effect if he thinks it could be effective.
A deep growl utters from her body as she then speaks through it."They are feasting, here! Those blood loving bastards."
Anger began to rise within her. The feeling of a thousands of swarming stinging bees were beginning to form in her mind. The Warrior of the Bear Maiden was ready, these abominations needed to die. Let thier bodies fall and from thier bodies flowers will grow. Feed the bees.
At Gunner's warning, Scram stopped in his tracks, straining to see evidence of the hazards but believing his companion nonetheless. As the two opposing magical forces collided in mystic combat, Scram's subconscious was hard at work producing the psionic energy keeping him concealed...
In the year 34304, cybernetic overlords rule the last vestiges of human kind. Civilization is finished save these bold technologists, who resurrect the spirits of ancient warriors to inhabit their only hope: ASDKs. Yes, Autonomous Search and Destroy maKina...robots, in the 344th century.
"What do you have, Lead Historian Praxis?" remarked the young squad leader.
"Says here Narg Nasty 6, an unknown quantity of advanced dungeon delvers from a forgotten age..." the head floating in the jar replied, a jar of life sustaining nanobot fluid that is. It was flipping through the Hero's Codex with scissor-like actuators, and ultimately it was his decision what echoes of the past would be reborn here...which souls would interface with the fighting machines.
"Aterro, a soul born for metal. He could become the greatest ASDK of all." Praxis hinted, digging deeper into the fragmented records of the past. "Gunner, a power of mind to match the power of spirit. He should be granted our most powerful energy weapons." pulling a dusty tarp off the titanium plated magnetohydrodynamic pulse rifle. "Invictusol, a spirit with the power to see the future...perfect for strategic command." the old man head nodding in its jar in satisfaction. "Ingryd, a great endurance united with communal intelligence...tactical drone expert." he mentioned as the micro-ornithopters took flight.
"What about this one, says 'Scramsax'? Is that even a name?" the squad leader inquired.
"Hmm, no...code name perhaps. Says his specialty is the BFG, or Big Flocking Gullshot...I don't know what it means, like a seagull or...?" another befuddling mystery lost to time.
"I'll take the chance. Download them all at once, the machines are hungry for life..." the squad leader responded. Like all great leaders, he realized the past was your teacher but the future was your creation. If they were lucky, it wouldn't take long for the resurrection algorithms to complete...
”It’s a ritual circle…Stay back!” calls Gunnar, casting Detect Magic instead of going straight to Dispel as he struggles to find the right thread to pull with his Dispel Magic capability…Maybe if he can make the totems visible, his companions can physically disable the totems one at a time…
"Well now dat sounds like a threat." The one on the left says, his jaunty red cap tipping back like a ship crawling up a storm wracked sea. "My brother and I don't care fer threats bein' made against us, do we Snick."
Shaking his head and snickering with an odd hissing snicker, the other burly man grabs an ugly looking axe resting against the side of the shack. "Hehehesssshehsss. No we don't brother." He hefts the axe up onto his shoulder and stomps his feet to reset his boots. "And mother wouldn't like it if'n we let someone burn down are little shack. Heheheh."
The capped man squints into the sun, noticing Gunnar waving his arms and chanting as he cast his arcane magics. "Wat's he doin'?" He grumbles pointing at the dwarf.
"Looks like conjurin'" The other says, spitting onto the dry ground. "Best call Brother Quest."
With a simple nod the redcap steps back and bangs hard three times on the door. The pounding echoes across the meadow even as it rattles the entire shack causing dust and dry leaves to cascade from the overhang. Neither seems to notice Scramsax as he sneaks around to the back of the house.
You do believe it you clear the magics from, or destroy a segment of the totems, it would open a path to the house that might be safer from the other surrounding magics. Or at least weaken their effects.
[ooc]So three spells per totem. One goes away automatically with a 3rd level casting. The other two require a DC14 and DC16 check. If you bump it to 4th level, then you'd only need a DC16 INT check.
Using a third level casting of Dispel Magic, Gunnar dispels the Invisibility on the nearest totem, saying as it appears, "Luthael, there is another totem right over there," as he points to the next one over, adding, "If we can make them visible, hopefully Ingryd and Aterro can destroy them from a distance. There are two more powerful spells on each totem and we don't want to be too close when they release!"
As the abjuration spell takes effect, Gunnar's Arcane Ward thrums into being.
Luthael stops walking and looks where Gunnar is pointing. He prays for Khors blessing to remove some of the enchantments of the invisible enchantments.
After the effect, he walks toward the totem to try to understand.
Scram crouched in a shrub that was definitely not poison ivy, waiting to see the results of his magical companions efforts against the invisible totems.
Wizard and Priest of Khors each throw their efforts into removing the magic linked to two of the grim markers. When each completes their own specific set of divine or arcane rituals the two totems suddenly become visible to all present. A pair of gruesome scarecrows complete with straw hats, ragged clothes, and burlap sacks covering the heads. Yet the sacks are not stuffed with straw. Holes piercing the burlap reveal days old blood seeping from empty eye sockets and grim, rictus hardened mouths still screaming whatever curses passed through dying lips. The bodies are staked upon thick poles of oak.
Several things happen at once as soon as the two spell slingers complete their removal of the arcane traps. First, the empty eye sockets flare to life with crimson power. Each elicits a deep moan from their rotted black mouths. The totem affected by Gunnar's spell immediately begins to spill forth a sickly cloud of putrid green and yellow gas. Smelling of rot and sulfur and bile even being close to the cloud makes eyes water, throats burn, and stomachs wretch.
The totem attacked by Luthael attempts to spew forth an identical cloud, but the priestly magic scoured away whatever power was tied to the trigger, leaving the corpse to simply works its jaws in a useless threat. Behind that same totem, a wedge of the landscape from shack to the marker suddenly changes from an idyllic tall-grassed field to a massive ten foot high hedge of twisting, curling, spiked riddled thorns dripping with black, oily poisons.
Finally, out steps a third bulky figure. This one seems to have gone even more from muscle to fat. An upturned nose and squinting eyes giving the man a distinctly swine-like appearance. He also wears a similar pin and cloak and filthy clothing, but carries no sword, club, or axe. Instead the rotund man leans upon a metal walking cane decorated with spiraling snakes and thorns.
"Strangers have come a' knocking Brother." Says the redcap to the new comer.
"Spell weavers messing with mother's handiwork." Says the other. "They's your department."
The newcomer simply grunts. His beady black eyes take in Luthael and Gunnar. With another snort he raises his cane and points it at the Priest of Khors. He begins to chant in a strange, alien language that is more a series of grunts and growls. Moments later the tip of the cane begins to glow a bright green.
Ingryd growls as she pulls one of her javelins and glares at the newcomer. She steps up and between the two spellcasters.
Stepping back to the two warriors, Gunnar says, ”The blessing of Thor upon you both,” touching Aterro and Ingryd, giving them Thor’s gift of flight. He then moves to the side, putting the yellow cloud between himself and the enemy caster with the glowing rod, hoping to avoid making a tempting target of their group all clumped together.
Luthael surveys the scene and shouts, "And Khors' holy light reveals the monsters! And a more attractive third brother, too." With that, the prophet calls down holy fire on to the three redcaps, actually trying NOT to burn the house down, in case their prisoners are still alive.
Then, he heads toward the visible entrance to the hedge trying to spread out as much as possible to avoid area effects, too.
Ingryd will fly up and move towards the shack. Will dash to get there and then start to desend.
Scram never had a greenthumb, but some residue of Illarya's consciousness tickled his funny-bone at that moment...it was a great place to grow something. He poked the dirt with his short, stubby little finger and dropped in a magic bean. He gave it a splash from his waterskin with a smirk, before climbing a nearby oak.