Njinga takes up her shield in both hands, flaring divine power across one of the approaching ghouls that has yet to be struck.
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Njinga blunts the undead assault with her shield, no longer retreating now that their numbers have dwindled, but hauling off and smashing into the more injured one!
Ironhand smashes one of the unhurt ghouls full in the face to gain a breather, stepping back with her shield to the fore.
Njinga plants herself, flesh and iron hands holding her shield tight as holy energy lashes out from Mazludeh's symbol. "Not one passes us!"
Njinga instinctively sets her shield, but the onrush of sinew and strength makes even her quail, and she scampers to the side.
Njinga bulls her way through the field of cacti, using her shield and heavy armor to clear a path for those behind her!
"Right. Organize the march by tribes; if they don't know who's supposed to be at their side then we'll get more stragglers. Make sure no one overloads the carts - we can't stop to fix a broken wheel until we know if those things take rests."
Njinga finds her sister-in-arms watching the flood. "Ho Kestrel, it's impressive, is it not? Looking on how harsh the seasons are here it's no wonder that the Godsrain has brought them so many new, harsh gods. Hopefully Mahja Firehair will continue to catch their hearts and wills though."
"Vanguards are needed," Ironhand agrees, "but we need to do more. Have your sergeants- or your chiefs, maintain readiness for the march. Don't let the following spread out too far; if we spy danger we have to be able to react quickly."
Njinga unslings her shield, murmuring a blessing. Nothing's ever simple...
Njinga begins packing up her tent in solitude out of long habit, then, considering, she goes and seeks out her recent companions to offer her aid, and to get the help of extra eyes. Many hands make light work... "Good morning, soldier!" she barks, falling back to more soldierly conduct in her ease with the other Ironhand. "Tell me, what is an orc-march like?"
"Of course, Ironhand." Njinga concentrates and the wounds on her orcish counterpart seal and fade into a new web of thin scar tissue.
"Beasts such as this should leave heavy tracks. If they were sent from afar, let us find that trail. If they arose near here, then let's catch the sneaking hisser."
Njinga stops her retreat, slamming her shield into the bear's rotting ribs and funneling divine wrath through it!
Njinga's shield flares with light once more as the symbol of Mazludeh burns into the bear, before stepping back once more, trusting to its unthinking hunger to carry it forward into its destruction.
Njinga intones a battle prayer, grateful to see her companions removing themselves from harm's way. Still, it is not for her to turn her back. She gives ground to draw the bears on, but only inch by inch.
"I'll hold the line, the rest of you hit then withdraw and I'll follow! Zombies hate to fight on the move.
Njinga finds a private moment to speak with Kestrel frankly. "Good morning, sister, how goes your mission? I must admit that as the world itself shakes and lists around us, it can be hard to trust merely to faith. But I find, even in a time when gods themselves show their mortality, that their teachings may persist past even the time of immortal flesh."
"That is very kind; tell me, how much longer do we have to lay the groundwork for your speech to the whole of the Torrentmoot?"
"Choose your allies carefully. When beset from all sides there is a natural temptation to cast about for any who might give you aid, but this is a trap. Stand only with those who you can trust in your shield wall. If enough stand firm together, then no matter the size of the beast that comes calling, you can withstand them, but only if you hold as one. A coward who flees puts more than themself in grave danger."
Having already established some rapport with Grothlyn through the drunken dumbell, Njinga is as certain of a warm reception with the Gutspears as anywhere else, so when she returns to camp she joins the hold to show her determination as well. The Knights of Lastwall triumph not merely from faith or courage, but from methodical, hard work.
"Those aren't the sounds I would associate with courtship, but I trust your ear, Ironhand."
Njinga gives Skaytar a faintly surprised nod. "Yes. It's the right thing to do."
Njinga beckons and Melor's wounds are encircled in soothing light. Her legs churn as she rushes forward to aid him should its onslaught continue.
"Spellbane! Plumes behind the line!" Njinga dashes over, tackling the Peryton and holding it down with her shield in its face.
The Perytons have chosen their targets, so Njinga does
"Make sure the guard know to watch the skies. Too often that can be neglected."
Njinga locks her grip onto the device and sets herself to her task with all the dedication of a sentry keeping her people safe.
Njinga has little experience with intricate spellwork, and less with traps and contraptions, but she does know what trouble looks like when she sees it...
Even as a stranger, Kestrel was a sister, or at least a cousin, and Davorr, for all his learning, was an outsider. Njinga seeks out Grothlyn at her clan's encampment. "Excuuke elnej, jiak kij Ukir Njinga Doɹamokuɹ ɹo Knights of Lastwall." Once her prepared niceties are finished she tries to move to a topic where she's on firmer ground. "Latneh ukee Chak'uk burdav? Aav firukav jiak avhoughav iav evinaj juukav be ij avrick, buav avhere'uk ij nauk-al purpouke avo iav. Evinaj lat like alnej avo ukhow lat agh uk'olderruk avhe leukukon iav aveacheuk?" Orcish:
"Did you see Chak's dumbbell? At first I thought it would just be a trick, but there's a real purpose to it. Would you like me to show you and your warriors the lesson it teaches?"
"Close ranks then, lads." Njinga calls everyone around and channels healing energy into them before departing.
Seeing that the horror before her is flagging, Njinga joins Skaytar in unravelling the dark forces animating it, certain that even if it resists it will fall.
"Plumes to the back, Ironhand!" Njinga muscles her way in front of Melor, slamming her shield into the life-draining undead trying to finish off her comrade.
Njinga smashes her shield into the life-draining orc, her battle-cries calling up a torrent of radiant energy to smash into both undead!
A pall falls over Njinga, less from the skeleton's strikes than their master's dread will.
Is this horror too great for us? "Hold the line! We fight or flee as one!" Njinga sends a pulse of holy energy into the more damaged skeleton, hoping to finish it off before turning to the dirge singer.
Njinga once again greets the undead with a bulwark of holy power, flooding the room with Mazludeh's might!
"Well then it was bad luck or an ill force that kept their blades so sharp," Njinga grunts as she holds a bandage in her teeth to get it tight enough. "Let's save the blocked door for last. We know they didn't make it through there."
Just hold the line, girlie. Hold the line. Njinga slams her shield into the skeleton in front of her, using the breathing room that gains to fire another bolt of searing light into the creatures of darkness that assail her.
Njinga presents her shield strongly, light shooting forth from the eyes of the ouroboros. "Return to peace!"
Njinga's brow creases as she hears the task ahead of them, but her expression regains its stolidity once it's clear that Qísìk is on point. "How is it you know Belkzen so well already, Mr. Beqk? I had thought you new to these lands."
There's some sort of trick to this... Still, it's not as though I have another hand to use. Njinga gives an attempt as well, first praying to Mazludeh for Calm and Guidance to allow her to better focus on her task. She sets her stance, curls her fingers around the bar, and then in one smooth motion, hoists it above her head!
Kestrel and I are here for the same purpose. I should speak with her first... Lastwall was a big place though, and she's not familiar, is she?
Njinga tries to keep up morale, but finds herself increasingly short of topics...
"Back in Vigil, we mostly left hunting trips like this to the Scouting School of the War College. Or if you fell behind your unit when you were running the wall circuits. Is it the same here? With focuses like that?"
"Shall we hold a moment so I can help with the wounds?" Njinga begins with a prayer to Mazludeh, then begins work on everyone's injuries. Still, despite how common the ankhravs are in Belkzen, acid sprays aren't a common wound to her, and she's less effective than she might wish...
Njinga hisses through her teeth as she takes the brunt of the creature's acidic spray. Hold... hold... She waits until the crack of Melor's firearm has stilled, and then she tries to impart that Calm onto the creatures.
"This isn't what your aurochs look like, right?" Njinga asks with a note of concern in her voice. She swings her shield across her body, tightly gripped in her ironhand, and flings a scattering of shrapnel vaguely near the closer beast.
"Gut wounds aren't so bad. If a healer gets to you quick they can get you all sealed up before you die or anything putrefies. Guard your head, guard your heart; I can take care of anything else that doesn't fall off you."
"I am not much of a hunter, but you will have what aid I can offer," Njinga replies with a touch of formality. "Your bow is beautiful, Hign Bonesnap. Where did you get it?"
Njinga nods. "The beacons are lit, now we just need to see who will answer."
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