[Pathfinder] Journeys.

[cn3wton]

The groups swift dispatch of the men terrorizing those suspended upon the cliff face inspires gratitude among them. They quickly hoist the rope bridge thanks to Bronans assistance. Bacon had feared for a moment that the large man would attempt to toss him across the chasm, and relaxed once he realized it would not come to that.

 

Once across the slaves are more than willing to share whatever information they could. The group looks up and down the chasm, noticing metal spikes sunk into its edge as far as the eye can see, all but those near their feet have severed cords wrapped about them. It becomes obvious that the search for the opening just below the lip of the gorge cost many their lives. Motioning to the group one man points down, indicating that the rest of their captors had entered there the night before, leaving those few upon the ropes as sport for those left on guard. Urging the captives to return to their homes or seek refuge the adventurers move cautiously to enter the mysterious corridor beneath their feet. While many wish to remain and help fight they are by no means fit. It is apparant that many had been upon the ropes for many days and nights.

 

Once they reach the entrance they see that the corridor within is lined with torches. At its end sits an altar and a group huddles around, diligently chanting. The world outside quickly fades away and becomes dull. Attempting to peer back through the opening reveals only a hazy representation of what lies beyond. Suddenly all grows quite as the group gets halfway down the great hall when the gathered men stop their chanting. One turns and lowers his hood, a wicked smile spread across his face. 

 

"Just in time to witness the end!" He begins to laugh maniacally as a portal opens at his back. A grotesque limb stretches out and impales the man dragging him into the portal. The others do not move, despite this fact. Earth begins to fall all around the group as the chanting begins again, and one by one the robbed men are dragged to their doom, their screams seeming to fuel the flames. Pillars begin to fall as they very walls around the adventurers begin to collapse. As one they turn and begin to run to the exit, as the last of the crazed men are crushed by the falling debris. As they near the end of the passage the view of the outside world begins to clear, though the floor beneath them begins to give way. They are unable to return the way they had come down and are left with but one option. They jump, praying to land in the river below.

 

Each crashes into the icey water and struggle against the current. They are swept downstream rapidly, fighting for their very lives. As they struggle to stay afloat they see the sky itself darken. The sky turns a deep red in the direction of the city. And each member of the group was certain that what they had just encountered must have something to do with it, but first they must save themselves.

[Terinatum]

The corridor is lined with torches, messing with Flo's eyesight so she chooses not to venture into the elven sight. The room ahead looks eerily familiar to Flo. Why are we always coming up against crazed worshippers? The chanting ends abruptly and one turns to them, a wicked smile plastered on his face, oblivious to everything real around him. As he gets impaled by the monster from another plane, Flo doesn't hang around to watch. She starts to back up and looking about for another way through the maze of underground. The chanting begins anew, but with rampant shrikes and incoherent screams. She looks back out of morbid curiosity and sees the last of the figures get crushed under the falling ceiling. Damn!

 

"Run!"

 

Tess tries to head back the way they came, but the walls are caving in. She turns away from one section of falling wall only to be met with a part of the ceiling careening down in front of her. With nowhere to go, she slams head first into the rock and debris of what was once ceiling. She spins to her left, slapping the wall with her hands and continues on to come out on the other side. She saw Bronan a moment ago, but now she can only see earth crumbing. She stumbles as a large mound of dirt slams into her shoulder, knocking her to her knees. She tries to regain her footing, but the floor is no longer there. She feels the earth swallow her.

 

Flo feels something stable under her left foot and puts all her focus there to stop the falling. It works to some degree, but it will not last. She leans forward stretching her right leg out for purchase, but to no avail. Instead she is met with some light and sky. She knows it's the only course, but it does not seem promising. She swings her right leg back and then thrusts her whole body forward, pushing off with her left foot as hard as she can. The falling is quicker now with less earth to compete with and the water below comes to meet her all too quickly. She curls her body up just before hitting the surface. She hits something hard almost immediately upon entry.

 

Hoping it wasn't a friend, she scrambles to make sense of up and down, air and water. She breaks through the surface and takes a big gulp of air, only to be attacked with muddy water and more dirt. With no strength left and no more air to add to her reserves, Flo falls back under the surface and kicks as much as she's able to try and get clear of the murky surroundings. Her lungs are starting to burn and her chest demands more air. A strong current buffets her along to where, she is unsure. She conserves the little air she has and looks for sky. If it ever shows itself, she will be ready to push through to it. It had better show itself soon.

[Oramac]

Following the others into the cave, Oramac is wary of the surroundings.  The path is dirty, and smells of sweat and blood.  Heading along the path, the outside world fades as they hear chanting ahead.  Their vision blurs and the cave appears murky, unfocused.  

 

Back when he was a member of The Guild, he'd heard stories of this sort of thing.  Chants that open portals to who-knows-where.  He knew not how to stop it, or if he even could, but damned if he didn't want to try.  Coming upon the robed figures, Oramac immediately goes for his daggers, but stops shy when the man speaks.

 

"Just in time to witness the end!", he hears the cultist yell.  At the same time, a portal opens and he sees what he thought impossible: a long sinewy tentacle extending out to impale the man, pulling him into some unknown abyss.  The other cultists keep chanting as if nothing had happened, and without time to speak, the cave begins to collapse.  

 

"RUN!", Flo yells.  Needing no encouragement, Oramac turns on the spot and darts towards the cave entrance, even as the fog in his mind lifts.  

 

Feeling the ground shake and crumble beneath his feet, it's obvious the cave, and maybe the whole cliff, is collapsing.  Seeing no other option, Oramac deftly places his feet and leaps clear of the mouth of the cave, praying to whatever gods may be.

 

Crossing his arms across his chest, pointing his boots downward, he knifes into the rushing river below.  All too quickly, he's swept downstream and beneath the surface, his cloak catches on a submerged rock.  Opening his eyes, fighting the urge to try to breath, he rips his cloak off the rock with a burst of adrenaline and shoots for the surface, and the precious air.  Breaking the surface and getting half air and half water in his gasping, he barely has time to see Bronan before being swept under again.  

 

"Will this be my end?", he asks himself.  Not ready to give in, he desperately tries to swim towards shore with what little strength he has left.  Just before he blacks out, he feels a strong, powerful hand close hard around his arm and pull him towards the surface, and the shore.  

 

Gagging and spitting up water as he crawls up the bank, he barely has time to look around for the others and thank Bronan before succumbing to the shock and passing out.  

 

"Where the hell is Flo!?" is his last thought before slipping into unconsciousness.....

[DarK_RaideR]

Once the battle is won, Bacon takes the time to help the prisoners, offering everyone a word of encouragement and occasionally producing various snacks from his pockets. Whatever supplies and rations he has, these people probably need them more than he does, lest they die of hunger halfway on their way back to civilization.

 

Following the others into the cave, the gnome's senses kick to overdrive when he feels everything but the scene in front of him blur out. Could this be another vision, or have they been trapped by malignant forces of magic? Whatever the case, the cultists in front of them are certainly holding a portal open and the limb that reaches out from it does not look friendly. Suddenly, all sorts of random information and flashbacks flood the sorcerer's mind. The cannibal troops. Demons infiltrating the lands. The way the leader of the Rebels made him feel. Something big is at work and although he has the pieces, he doesn't seem to be able to put them together but he knows they do not display a pretty image. The rumble of the cavern's collapse awakens him from his stunned state, just enough for him to regret losing focus and not being able to identify the magic at work or the nature of the demonic arm that reached out. The rest of the group almost tramples him as they make a break for the exit and he follows along.

 

As he crashes into the water, Bacon is carried by the current and thrown against sharp rocks that scar his flesh. Too small and weak to fight against the might of the river, he barely manages to hold his head above the surface for a good breath, knowing he won't manage to stay afloat forever. The current drags him under again and adrenaline kicks in. The gnome is operating on survival instict alone and that instict tells him that he needs to grab onto something.

 

The rope!

 

As if dodging rocks, enduring the pain and trying to hold his breath weren't enough of a hassle, the gnome tries to grab the rope from his little backpack. Figuring he doesn't have the luxury of tying knots, he simply grabs two ends to create a noose. A tiny feeling of hope allows him to relax and ease back a little, letting the river carry him instead of resisting the current. The conservation of energy allows him to float back to the surface a few more times, before he eyes a thick strong branch stretching near the riverbed. With a desperate toss, the noose is wrapped around it and the sorcerer's descent is halted.

 

Finally crawling back to land, Bacon takes a moment to catch his breath, then looks around for his companions. "Bronan... Oramac... Where's Flo?"

[Gainsdalf the Whey]

Bronan leads the way down the tunnel, hammer and morningstar grasped in his hands in preparation for more fun. He smiles as they he sees the backs of the cultists, but just as he takes his first step toward them and raises his hammer, one spins with a grin on his face, wiping that on Bronan's clean away. As everything shakes and he knows they need to get out, Bronan is caught between charging into the portal and leaving the way they'd come. His companions make the choice for him however and he joins them in their sprint. He's much faster than the others in a straight line and quickly passes them, returning his weapons to his belt and tying them down, knowing the path they are going to have to take. He reaches the mouth of the cavern first and jump feet first into the water, not knowing how deep it is.

 

It's a good thing as his feet hit the bottom well before the momentum of a dive would have been slowed. He bends his legs and rockets himself down stream with the current, letting it carry him as he dolphin kicks toward the surface. He breaks to air easily and swims to shore. Once he has control of himself, he turns and sees Bacon and Oramac jet by him in the water, not doing as well as he had, and has no choice but to dive back in after them.

 

Swimming hard with the current, Bronan catches up to Oramac just after he goes under once again, and snags his arm just before it disappears into the darkness of the water. Luckily they near a bend and with a few kicks, Bronan frees them of the current and pulls them into the shallows of the river's shoulder. Looking downstream, Bronan sees Bacon pulling himself out, but no sign of Flo. He makes sure Oramac is breathing before taking off to the closest high point he can find to scan for her, but sees nothing. He returns to Bacon, shaking his head.

 

He reaches the gnome, but his eyes are pinned to the sky in the direction of the city. "If she lives, she could be up stream or still fighting to get out downstream. If she doesn't, well, we may never find her. If she gets out, she'll come back up river. I suggest a quick check upstream for her before we head back to see if the city needs help. We can leave a sign here for her to follow us if she decides to search the shore."

[DarK_RaideR]

"No" the gnome's laconic answer to Bronan comes as a bit of a shock compared to his usual talkative nature. "If one as mighty such as yourself made it to this point, Flo couldn't have landed earlier upstream" he explains. "And either way, we don't have the luxury of time. If we don't stop whatever's going on in that city, we'll all be overrun by demons. We leave a sign like you suggested, then we follow the riverbed towards the city, see if we come across Flo. Yeah, let's head downstream for a while, but if we don't come across her, we leave another sign and move to the city."

[Oramac]

Coughing slightly, embarrassed by his performance in the river, Oramac wakes up just in time to hear Bacon's words to Bronan.  He nodded his acceptance, though he wasn't sure if Bacon or Bronan noticed.  

 

Though he did not like the idea of leaving Flo behind, he couldn't fault Bacon's logic.  Remembering a story he heard as a child, he did silently vow to leave a trail for Flo to follow.  

[Gainsdalf the Whey]

Bronan listens to Bacon with a frown and nods in agreement. He had only suggested that they search at all because he figured the gnome would want to, especially for Flo. It seems that his friend had become a bit harder over their time apart than he had realized.

 

Noticing Oramac recovering, Bronan reaches down and grabs him by the neck of his shirt and easily hoists him to his feet before moving back to the shallows of the river. he begins plucking up stones and tossing them up at where the other two are for them to arrange in some sort of sign. Once he's supplied plenty of stone to make a more than obvious sign, he waits for the others to finish arranging them before leading the way downriver. As they travel, he keeps his hammer out and every few paces smacks a low hanging branch or even the trunk of a tree to leave a mark for Flo to follow their trail. The entire time, he hopes that his friend is alive to see them.

[Oramac]

Having recovered from his near-drowning, Oramac sets out after Bronan and Bacon. (Rubbing his neck where the Barbellian hoisted him up like a rag doll) 

 

Having helped prepare the rocks on the riverbank, Oramac sees Bronan smashing trees and making quite the obvious trail.  

 

"Bronan", he says, "I know subtle really isn't your thing, but wouldn't it be better to leave a trail that only Flo can follow?  She is a rangery type, and quite good at tracking her quarry.  Especially if we're the quarry."

[Gainsdalf the Whey]

Bronan looks back with a scowl at Oramac's comment, then turns back to stomping his way toward the city. He smashes yet another branch, even harder this time, before loudly grumbling "Let em come, I could use a warm-up before we get to the city. Don't want to pull something."

 

The Brobarian is obviously in a foul mood, his concern for his lost friend working on his emotions, and possibly judgment.

[Oramac]

"Obvious is it, then", Oramac thinks to himself, not wanting to get on Bronan's bad side.  As the Barbellian leads the way, Oramac drops a few paces behind and tries to add a bit of subtlety to the markers Bronan is leaving, so Flo knows it is indeed her friends leaving the trail.  

 

Also, so he can more easily drop out of sight to prepare an ambush if they are attacked......

[Terinatum]

Flo's sight has failed her a few times. She isn't hard pressed to say that ramming into this new tree trunk helped her regain consciousness. The pain went shooting through her. Her eyes pop open, but quickly she begins to doubt her vision. All is red! There is no blue or white sky to cling to for hope. What happened? Is this death? Father, you lied about all this!

 

But, the reddish sky is persistent and Flo's pain is receding again so she has little choice but to aim for it before she loses life itself. She takes full account of her body, using muscles and bones that she can hopefully rely on and swims hard to the red surface. Her left leg fails her, but her demands are met with mysterious strength and pure desperation, enough to break the surface of the river with a little more to spare. She claws the air and water until she meets a boulder. She clings hard to the wet surface, continuing to refuse to die in a muddy river.

 

Flo's ordeal seems to be over, but the pain inside comes on strong and she knows her body is battling a fight she has no way of helping with. She lays half dazed over the boulder, her legs slapping a tree trunk repeatedly with the current. The red and brown separate themselves and she sees the red glow for what it is. Fire. Battle. A city in full chaos. I should be there.

 

The only thing she can manage at this moment in time is to hit the boulder with the rock in her hand. Any noise is better than none. She would call out for her fellows, but she knew better than to try. There was nothing of use right now. Breathing was much more important. She tries to turn her head to see the river bank, but is only gifted with dimming sight. The only thing she can do is tap the stone and breathe.

[cn3wton]

Oramac, Bacon, and Bronan make their way through the forest as quickly as they can. The dar red hues of the sky acting as their guide. As they grow closer the sounds of battle are heard and the group quickens their step. They reach the treeline and bear witness to carnage.

The Preadorion camp lies encircled by Dreads and other crazed members of the city. Fires spread throughout at an alarming rate as siege weapons launch their missiles back and forth. The militia camp has fallen to infighting.

Slaves and innocents alike run for their lives, only to be pursued and cut down by the indiscriminate blades of the crazed dreads.

As each ponders their own course of action a small group of people make for the tree line near the group. They are pursued by a dozen men wielding crude weapons. This offers a chance for the group to slip into the city, but the helpless people will surely be cut down.

Meanwhile Flo stumbles down the path in pursuit of her friends, after lying on the riverside for what seemed lIke days. By the look of the markings left behind she is no more than an hour behind now, but her injuries are causing her to lose ground. She knows she cannot keep this pace, and will be of little help to her friends if she does manage to catch them, but she cannot stop.

Through her pain and weariness the usually alert Flo does not sense her pursuers until it is too late. They encircle her, darting between the trees with inhuman speed. She readies herself for what is likely her final fight.

One leaps at her from her side. She turns to meet it but knows she is slow. It hits her hard, knocking the wind from her. She drags herself to the base of the nearest tree and props herself up against it. She sees the figure in full view now. A man twisted, his features stretched as if something from within sought to break free. Hands curled into wicked claws and black bile dripped from its mouth. It stood facing her as two more of its companions flanked her. None stood still, quick spasms of movement here and there betrayed the foul beings excitement.

Flo prepared herself as best she could.

Suddenly a flash of metal caught her eye and a dagger, thrown by an expert hand, sunk into the skull of the closest beast. It howled in pain and grasped at the hilt as smoke billow ed from the wound.

A short stocky figure let from the shadows, wielding an axe with ease. He severed the leg of the right monster, as it fell he plunged it into the things chest, leaving the weapon lodged he drew his final dagger from the folds of his clothing and leapt to intercept the final charging monster. They met in a flurry of blows, each landing strikes on the other. But nothing seemed to slow the monster.

Flo tried to rise but could not find the strength. Her would be savior seemed to be doomed, as even the other monsters still writhed in agony and where not finished.

But as the final standing opponent drove the figure back towards a fallen tree, Flo recognized the desperate plan, and just as the monster dove forward for a final strike, thinking it's opponent done, the man turned just enough to grasp the side of the beast in its lunge, helping to drive it into the broken branch. As it flailed and howled the figure used it's knife to saw the things head clean of its shoulder, and only then did it stop moving.

As the man grew closer to her she recognized the silhouette. It was Varren, but something seemed different. Finding it hard to focus she tried to speak but could not. Ad Varren dispatched the other maimed monsters he approached her.

"Easy there, that's the last of um." As he grew nearer Flo could see that the fingers on his hand had returned. Surely it seemed that he had fully recovered from the grevious wounds he had sustained at the hands of the torturer. But how?

Flo instantly became defensive. Why had he led the group on to believe he had been maimed.

But once he was close enough Flo noticed more. His once dark beard was now white, and his eyes seemed to have lost much of their luster. It was if he had aged many years since she last saw him.

It became obvious that Varrens recovery was far from natural, and had cost the man much. He drew from his pouch a vial. He passed it to her.

"Here you are girl, drink. It will get you back in the fight faster'n anything else. Though you'll certainly be feeling it in the morning."

Varren helps Flo up and together they begin to find their way back to the city.

[WhiteGhost]

Things were going south fast so Quavyn decided it would be a good time to make himself scarce.  He waited in his room until he could hear snores coming from the room next door and decided that this would be his best chance of getting out unnoticed.  He grabbed what remained of the advance he had been paid and put on one of his less used travel outfits but left the rest of his belongings in the room.  He wanted to have a little extra time in the morning before people realized he was truly gone.  He was pretty close to average size for a gnome, but he would need the headstart one the others started following him.  

 

He eased himself out the window and crept carefully around the yard, watching carefully for signs of any unwanted eyes.  Once outside the gate, he turned left into the forest, heading in a north-east direction to where he had hidden the rest of his gear.  Word on the street was that some fellow named Hargull was recruiting non-humans for a battle to restore justice to a land divided by hate and bigotry.  Quavyn was not much interested in any fighting, but wherever mercenaries went, plenty of new marks could be found.  It was also a place his soon-to-be pursuers would prefer to avoid, which made it the obvious destination.

 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Observing the chaos of the small town, Quavyn chuckled to himself.  "time to have a bit of fun" he thought to himself as he wandered around the town, trying to figure out the various factions making up this so-called army.  There were some who were clearly fighters, calling themselves Priadorions or something, but he avoided them as much as possible.  "These guys clearly have way to many rules, I'll have more luck with someone willing to play fast and loose with the rules" he observed as he watched them go about their duties.  Another group, the Dreads, were certainly a possibility, but after observing them for a while he decided this may not be the best group to target either.  "One wrong move with these guys and I'm likely to end up in a pot of stew.  I will watch and see if I can dupe a few rubes, but best not to get too involved with these guys."  The final group, seemed like the perfect place to run a few scams.  These guys weren't creative enough to come up with a name, calling themselves simply the Militia, but they weren't a bunch of psychopaths either. 

 

He spent most of his time pilfering small items from the careless Militia members, nothing that would be greatly missed such as pots and tools, that could be given or sold to members of the Dreads in exchange for information.  It was much harder to go the other way because Dreads rarely had anything worth stealing, plus if he got caught he doubted he would be able to talk his way out of trouble with that lot.  He really did not want to end up in that stew pot.  He couldn't pilfer and sell within the same group either, because too many of them may recognize each others tools.

 

Unfortunately, the the Dreads seemed to be a pretty stupid bunch and rarely had any kind of useful information.  He would get pieces here and there that  alone were useless but together gave him an idea of the real reason they the Dreads were here.  He couldn't ask too many questions, though.  "if these idiots had any idea about how much I knew, I would be in a pot of stew before sundown" he reminded himself

 

As he was negotiating a price for a pair of woolen socks with one of his regulars, he suddenly heard a yell coming from the other side of a tent."SPY! He is a s spy of Arthur's!" Running around the tent to see the commotion but there is already a thick crowd and he is too short to see what is going on.  The guards press through and clear things up, but unfortunately by the time Quavyn makes his way to the front everyone involved seems to have been cleared away.

 

It didn't take long for the rumours to start flying.  Apparently there were a couple of humans who had discovered a dwarf spy, but the details were fuzzy.  Some claimed it was a giant and an elf who discovered a human spying in the camp, but after after talking to a few of the people involved he learned the truth of the matter.  "I don't care about the spy, they are probably a copper piece a dozen here, but why in the seven hells were the humans doing here, and acting against Arthur."  Quavyn decided to find the humans and see if he could figure out what they were really doing here.  Surely somone would be willing to pay a bit of coin for that information.  I'll find them tomorrow" he though to himself "humans will be hard to miss in a place like this" 

 

True enough, there were plenty of people who knew where the humans were staying, for a price of course.  Quavyn headed over to check things out and got there just as the group was packing their things into a wagon.  "Seems there are more in this crew than I thought" he mused to himself.  He watched them head off but decided not to follow them.  "Too bad" he thought to himself "it would have been interesting to see how things played out had they stayed".  

 

The next morning as he headed towards the market, he noticed things were amiss.  The normally active markets were empty, as if all of the merchants had suddenly decided to take the day off.  The mood in the air did not seem like a festival though.  The air was thick with a sense of dread that almost made Quavyn wish he had followed the human group out of the city after all.  

 

Before he had a chance to finish his thoughts, the city erupted in a mass of confusion.  The entire market place seemed to burst into flames, and the streets were filled with the Dreads chasing people from their homes and putting the torch to anything that would burn.  Quavyn headed down some back roads towards the edge of the city, but the way was blocked with the Militia coming over to enter the fray.  He hadn't been expecting action today so all of his equipment was still hidden away in a place he was pretty sure would be safe from other thieves.  He carefully made his way to the back of the smithy where the well was known to be poisoned from all of the scrap metal the apprentice had been discarding into it.  Grabbing a chain with a hook he had hidden behind an ancient anvil, he lowered it into the well and fished out his gear.  It was all wet, but given the fires raging everywhere that was probably for the best.  

 

With his wet pack on his back and his hooked hammer in his hands, he searched for some way out of the city.  It doesn't take long before a group of marauding Dreads spots him and chases him as he breaks into a run.  At the edge of the city he finds another group waiting behind a hedge, but with the approaching marauders they also make a break for the treeline.  Looking back, Quavyn's heart drops into his stomach as he realizes the Dreads are coming to fast and he is not going to make it to the treeline before they catch him...

[cn3wton]

1 week prior.

 

The sound of his horses hooves brought a welcome distraction to the mans dark thoughts. Tugging his half-empty waterskin from his belt the aging man lifted in gingerly to his lips. He drank the ale greedily as it warmed his belly.

 

Henry had seen quite a lot in his long life, little of which he liked to dwell upon. In his early fifties, a frazzled white beard hung from his face and his roughly cut hair was a mess a-top his head. He wears comfortable, well worn clothing; requiring a bit of ingenious tailoring and a strategically placed belt or two to hold in his growing belly. He stands six feet tall and half that wide.

 

Henry has always been strong. Massive arms and wide shoulders making him quite an imposing figure in the past. Though his form has softened as he has grown used to strong drink and all food.

 

As he slides the waterskin back in place, he speaks to his travelling companion.

"Now now Albus, don't go giving me that look." He stared at his stomach and appraised it. "Sure I have put on a few... Yes a few!" the large man shook his head. 

 

Henry rode atop his dark brown warhorse, Albus, near the center of a large field."What does a horse know anyways. I watched you sneak an apple extra apple at that last town. Oh yes I noticed! Bet you couldn't even hold a decent pace anym..." Before he could finish Albus took off with a start. Henry felt nostalgia rise from within him as the chill morning air rushed over him.

 

These feelings where quickly followed by his second breakfast. Albus slowed allowing his sick friend to dismount. Henry knelt beside a puddle of water in the muck, clearing his face. Albus looked down at him. Henry could sense the large animals concern for him. He rinsed his hands and rose placing his hand on his most trusted friends neck. He was a horse bred for war. Large and powerful. Henry cared for the horse greatly, ensuring he was well attended to. Often Henry went without food to ensure his trusted companion was able to eat. They had been together for years, Henry had been there when Albus was born. Seeing the slight hints of gray on the fine steed saddened the old man for a moment, but he pushed it aside.

 

 "Your right old friend..." He said as he moves his hands to the great beasts face, staring into his large eyes. "I shouldn't have brought up the apple!" Albus seemed to shake his head in disappointment, as much as a horse could do such a thing. Henry laughed. 

 

"But maybe a little bit of walking could do me some good!" The man said as he began to walk down the path. He did not bother holding the reins, as Albus followed closely beside him.

 

Henry had made it about half a mile before his breathing became labored,  at a mile he was holding on to Albus for support. Shortly after he was back in the saddle. They traveled in silence for the rest of the trip to the city,

 

"That's quite an interesting sight, wouldn't you say so Albus?" said Henry as he eyed the ramshackle city. It was quite amazing what could be created out of nothing with a little bit of motivation. He had heard humans were accepted but not necessarily welcomed in these parts, but that was okay. He didn't plan to stay long. Just long enough to build up some gold and purchase more provisions for the long journey ahead of him and Albus. 

 

He dismounted again and walked Albus through the crowd to avoid drawing attention to himself. He wound his way through the labyrinth like city, eventually finding an area that seemed relatively tame, and mostly populated by his own kind. 

 

A small inn had been constructed here. Freshly sawn lumber forming up the bulk of it. Quite impressive given the state of the area around it. It seemed to even have a stable to the side, so he walked with Albus to it. 

 

A young boy ran out of the empty stable. Clothes filthy as it appeared he had been playing inside. 

 

"Wow mister! That's a pretty horse! Is it yours?"

Henry smiled half heartedly. "He's a mighty handsome horse son. And a good friend. How much to use the stable?"

The boys brow furled in concentration "I uh... I'm not sure I'll have to check with pa, but I'm sure it won't be much mister! Please I can take care of um I swear!"

Henry's face softened a bit as he watched the boy look over Albus. He sighed "Alright, but first lets see the water supply and feed you got. Albus is a picky one he is." Albus seemed to whiny in response. The boys eyes grew even wider at this. 

"Did you just talk to him!" He asked "Wow!"

 

The boy led Henry through the meager stables. While clean there was little to no feed and the water was not up to Henry's standards. He turned and dragged off a sack of feed and a bucket, filling it about half way. Then pulled a waterskin down and turned to the boy.

 

"Here's one silver." He said, pulling a silver coin from his pouch and passing it to the boy. "You feed Albus this feed, when hes done fill the bucket with water and let him drink." Albus stamped his back hooves. Henry looked at him in irritation "I was getting to it!" Then he turned back to the boy. "After hes eaten and drank, there's a small saddle bag there, its got apples in it. He gets one, only one. And you can have one for yourself. I have counted and I know how many there are! If you follow my instructions there's another silver in it for you, deal?"

 

The boy nodded excitedly and went about his tasks. Henry looked to Albus as the boy began to fumble about and smiled. The large horse would behave for the boy. "And don't you dare try to ride him sonny, he doesn't like strangers in the saddle." The boy nodded. 

 

Content that Albus would alert him if anything happened Henry went into the inn. It was vacant, except for a man standing behind the bar with his arms on the bar, hands behind his head. Upon entering the figure stood up, his eyes where red. He wiped his face and attempted to straighten himself up.

 

"Welcome sir, please find a seat!" Henry looked around to the empty tavern. The man behind the bar began to sweat. "My name is Jerihm and this is my bar, may I get you something to drink?" At this Henry's ears perked up.

 

"Yes sir, I also would like use of your stables, what would be the fee?" The man behind the bar seemed to stop.  As if unsure. 

"Uh how long will you be staying?"

"Not sure." said Henry, "I am looking to make some gold here and there and restock my supplies before once again hitting the road. A week perhaps?"

 

The man adjusted his collar, it was clear the Henry that he had not seen business in awhile. "Well I uhh, to be honest I am not quite sure. My wife took care of such things, and I..." He began to trail off. Henry could tell where this conversation led. He pulled himself up to the bar, dropped five gold pieces down and pointed to a bottle. 

 

"I'll take that bottle, and use the stable and whatever space you have available for the remainder of the week. Oh and two glasses please."

"Will another be joining you sir."

"Yea.. yourself."

 

At first Jerihm didn't seem to comprehend, but then it clicked. This man had read the situation and put the pieces together. Jerihm nodded and fetched two clean glasses. They drank until dark. The young boy, Connor, spent all day tending to Albus. Henry had went to check on him only once, where he witnessed the boy attempting to groom the horse with an old brush. Jerihm and Henry laughed drunkenly, Albus looked at Henry in desperation. The large man rummaged through his saddlebags, now hanging on the wall next to his saddle, and produced a nice brush and handed it to the boy. 

 

"Gentle boy, gentle." And the two men returned to the bar to share drink.

 

Over the course of the week Henry grew comfortable in the inn. After a few days Jerihm began to open up, there wasn't much else to do considering no one would step into the tavern. Travelers where rare, especially in this part of the city, and Henry got the sense that something had happened that hung over the bar like a black cloud. 

 

Henry knew how to change that. He spent some time, gathering items from among the town. Fostering connections and telling people of a great spectacle to be seen later in the day. Once before he practiced in secret, and when the time came only a dozen or so people arrived. Henry had expected this, fewer in fact. So he began the show. Utilizing the items he gathered he put on an amazing display of strength. Lifting an anvil, "borrowed" from a local blacksmith, and tossing it behind him. Lifting a great cart filled to the brim. And even raising a beautiful woman above his head with a single arm. Slowly the crowd began to grow as his displays of strength grew. And over the week the fame of "Old Henry" began to grow, and so too did Jerihm's inn.

 

Things seemed to be going well. Henry would put on a show once a day, then share drinks with his fans. He gave advice to Jerihm as Henry had drank in more than his fair share of taverns on the road. And even Albus seemed to grow content with Connor's constant attention.

 

But it could not last. Henry heard of a public execution of a dwarf spy. He knew his time here was coming to an end, and Jerihm's mood darkened. There would be no more shows, and the Jerihm decided to keep the tavern closed. Henry sat at the bar drinking with Jerihm. 

 

"I've decided to take Connor with me and leave Henry, I know you plan on it as well. Please let us come with you. I've got plenty of food here for all of us for the road. And enough gold to buy a horse for my son and I and put this horrid place behind us. Please!"

 

Henry's gut was in a knot. He had grown close to the man and his son over the past few days. But the road would be dangerous, could he bring himself to face it with them? Could he forgive himself if... He pushed those feelings aside. There was something wrong here and he could not leave those he considered friends behind. 

 

"Very well, we should leave, today. I will start gathering the food and supplies for the road. Go purchase yourself a good horse. We leave as soon as we are able." 

 

Jerihm nodded. Determination in his eyes. Henry quickly began to pack everything that they would be able to carry. He woke Connor, and the boy eagerly began to help. Henry carried the supplies to the the stable and saddled Albus. Placing and securing everything he could to the saddlebags. Connor had his few belongings in a small bag clutched in his hand. Excitement evident on the boys face. Henry smiled back. 

 

"How about you get Albus some water, I'll be right back with the last of the supplies. Your da should be back any minute now."

 

Henry patted the young boy on the head and entered the inn. He began packing up a few bottles of alcohol for the journey, when he heard the commotion outside. Men yelling, and a call from Albus that sent a chill down Henry's spine. The call that marked trouble. Dropping the bottles Henry rushed outside. A horse ran wild down the streets in panic, no one holding its reins. A figure lay in a pool of crimson in the street. And 3 figures, blades drawn, moved towards the stables. 

 

Henry roared in anger, running towards the stables. Three filthy looking men closed in on Albus, Henry recognized them as dreads, with filthy clothing and crude weapons. Dried blood staining most of their gear. A small figure was curled up in the corner behind Albus, while beneath the war horses might hooves a figure lay unmoving and trampled. As the figures began to wave their swords Albus reared up and pushed them back with kicks from his mighty front legs. 

Henry shoulder tackled the one in the center, knocking the screaming man down beneath the horse as it landed. He punched one in the face knocking him cold, and turned on the other. The man was crazed. But seeing 3 of his friends defeated caused him to reconsider, he decided to flee.

 

Henry did not need to go to the body in the road. He could see it from here. Jerihm lay face down, unmoving, in his own blood. 

 

Henry rushed to the small boy curled in the stable. The sack of apples lay scattered at his feet. The boy had obviously been trying to sneak one to feed Albus when this had happened. The boy was sobbing and shaking in the corner grasping his side.

 

"Easy boy, its me, its Henry. Its ok boy let me see, let me see." He grabbed the boys now pale arm. It was cold. Henry's face grew dark for just a second, as he saw the blood staining the small boys cloths. Henry could feel Albus standing above him, his concern for the boy evident. 

 

"We have to get him out of here Albus. Now." Without missing a beat the horse turned. Henry placed the boy in the saddle and mounted behind him, steadying the boy with one arm. As soon as he was stable Albus took off with a flash.

Henry held on to the reins with one hand, clutching the boy close with the other. Where could he go? Chaos was breaking out all around him. Screams, and the sounds of battle. Who in this crazed city could he trust?

 

The boy had stopped shaking and Henry looked down in fear. Connors face was calm and pale. Slowly the boy reached out and began to stroke Albus's mane. 

 

"Such a good horse, right Mister Henry. Think he'll let me ride him one day? I would like that..." The boys hand grew limp and he began to close his eyes. Tears began to blur the old mans visions. He began to shout "No Connor, keep your eyes open Connor!" Albus began to move faster and faster, knocking aside people as he ran. Sweat began to form on the great steed and his breathing grew labored. But he pushed on.

 

They had to find someone, and soon.

[mitch_dee]

Markas crouched by an opening in the crumbled city wall, a small group of commoners huddled behind him cringing with each scream and movement of the shadows.  He looked around as the chaos ensued….’how did this happen?  Why the hell did I stay?’ he thought to himself as he looked out into the field leading to the forests tree line.  He waved a man out of the small group over, “Take them and make your way to the hedges over there and wait”, Markas said as he made sure the line of sight was clear.  “When I signal you make a break for the woods, don’t look back, just run…get them away from here.”  The man nodded in agreement and gathered up the group. 

 

Markas watched as they worked their way to the hedges, he frowned as he recognized one of the old women; she had been with the group of farmers he escorted into town a few days before.  Tales of trouble had been whispered as he was traveling through the area.  He had come across the group of farmers on the road to the city a member had been stabbed by a roaming thief the night before.  Markas had healed the man’s wounds and decided to escort the group to the city.  ‘How many are alive?’ he wondered.  He pushed the thought out of his mind and focused on the task at hand…’I must help those that live’…. Movement along the tree line caught his eye, he could not make out exactly what it was, friend or foe… the fighting seemed to be closer to the city, he hoped it was survivors that had already made it out of the city. 

 

Waiting to give the signal, he watched the group at the hedges but he realized the man in the lead was no longer looking at him, but down another street at something, something that caused a look of terror quickly take over the man’s face…the rest of the group followed his gaze and with one scream the panic set in as they bolted into the field towards the woods……’Not yet you fools!’ his thoughts screamed as he reached back to notch an arrow in his bow.  Just then a gnome appeared in sight running from the direction that had caused the group panic…’By Erastil, they were panicked by a gnom…..’ his thought interrupt quickly when he saw the group of Dreads chasing them all down.  Drawing the arrow back he whispered a short prayer to his god, whose symbol hung from his bracer.  He released the arrow and then another and continued.  He had given no thought to if they hit their targets, he only cared that it may confuse or distract the pursuers and allow the others to escape.

 

The sound of thundering hoof beats mixed with yelling and commotion from the road behind him grabbed his attention. He turned to look back into the city, there were groups fighting in the open, bodies in the streets and people running anywhere they could just to escape the choas…his hand instinctively touching at the pendent under his armor “May the Hunter help us…..”  

[DarK_RaideR]

With the group approaching the hedges, Bacon sees his chance and is about to make a run for the city while the distraction's there. Leaving the peasants to be slain by the crazed Dreads stabs him in the gut, but he tells himself he can't save everyone in this and there are bigger things to be dealt with. He only takes a step when his eyes alert him to the presence of a gnome in the group. It's been like forever since he last saw one of his own kind and for some reason, he feels compelled to rescue his kin. If nothing else, these people may have information about what happened.

 

"Bronan! I'll pin them down and give the people a chance to escape. You take it from there" he shouts at his companion. "Oramac, you can flank 'em if you like, though I think Bronan can deal with a few immobilized savages. Best if you guide the peasants to safety"

 

OOC: Casting Entangle as a Bloodline spell to pin down the Dreads and allow the others to escape

[Laghail]

Traveling with a four legged conscience is a pain in the ass. The first months of travel east along the cart tracks and game trails meandering out of the western hinterlands had been placid enough, the flea bitten puma had acted more like a dutiful mountain lion / best friend and less like a babysitter, taking wild game for the evening meal, and providing a willing, if furry, ear to talk to on that unending longstriding run out of the wilderness. But the last few days? Forget it. Once the we joined the main roads leading into the major cities, the odd refugee began flowing past us, at first ones and twos of people nervously looking over their shoulder, then a day latter the floods of people carrying the last of their worldly goods on their backs, raw misery pouring out of them; Rakki got downright pushy.

To be fair, the puma always had a more pointed sense of right and wrong - the rape and murder that the refugees suffered in their flight from roadside bandits and, well, each other - that's just life. But the damn catamount believed in a simple code of right and wrong, and she always pounced first and thought of consequences later. Like two days ago, some family had been cut out from herd of refugees by masked men who neatly separated the people from the goods, and the young women from all the rest. Before I could explain the concept of "inevitability", or "camp followers," my faithful magical companion, the embodiment of my bond with the druidic magics of the wild, had ditched me to rescue a camp whore from her clients. 

I took some bad hits in that fight. There were six of them and I was lucky they were so poorly equipped as I rushed in to back Rakki up. One opened my guts with a lucky stroke of a knife and it took me until this morning before I was able to heg the last piece of intestine right. I was so grumpy with the healing process that when later that same day, a much larger group of bandits grabbed another girl from the tide of refugees, these bandits not even having the decency to get her off the road properly before they started in, I immediately grabbed my sling and put a pigeon-egg sized rock in her forehead from 200 yards. 'Her' being the victim, not my best friend. Rakki gave me a resentful 'chuf', but she wasn't angry. Neither of us would survive tackling a group that big, and we both recognized the mercy kill for what it was. Which is why I was so surprised by those damn gnomes. 

We'd arrive at the city this morning and had spent the day observing the camps and commotion engulfing the huge town. I'd been warned to expect urban life to be categorically different than the villages I'm accustomed to, but this wasn't a city, it was a whole world of civilized but unwashed masses, all fleeing the soldiers as fast as possible. We'd been crouched in the bushes overlooking the last stretch of road into the place, and no, I wasn't stalling! I was assessing the situation and planning what in the nine hells I was supposed to do when the city I was sent to visit was actively burning down in front of me. I turn to Rakki to defend myself to her, but again, she's gone. 

I spot her stalking through the tall grasses towards the road towards what looks to be a kid about to be run down by a gang of nightmare soldiers. I automatically lurched forward, mentally screaming at her to heel as I drew my machete, but even as I got close enough to recognize the 'kid' as a hammer-carrying gnome, Rakki had burst from the long grass and leapt in front of the gnome to snarl a challenge at the approaching dreads.

Gozreh's balls and tits, this cat is going to get me killed.

 

OOC: Tvar will fight to the death if need be, to keep the cat alive. The cat has a things for gnomes and will disengage if they're safely escaping.

[Gainsdalf the Whey]

As Bronan emerges from the trees and takes in the sight of the city in chaos, fires ablaze, a wide smile spreads across his face. The words "Just like home..." escape in a relaxed sigh, as someone a bit more traditional might utter when having a bowl of soup that reminds them of their mother's cooking. He watches the dreads chasing the people with interest, initially completely happy to watch the band mow them down before heading to the city to figure out what the hell is going on. But, once his gnomish friend starts shouting about helping the people, Bronan just shrugs. "I guess this should make a good first set. Guessing today is going to be a volume day..."

 

While his friend gets into position to cast his spells, Bronan starts bouncing from foot to foot, working himself into a rage. As he does, he drops his pack and adjusts the straps on his breastplate to snug it up. Then, expecting a long high volume day, he goes for the armored route and straps his heavy spiked shield to his left arm, then take up the dragon tooth mace in his right hand. Once Bacon starts casting, he takes off at a charge while bellowing  at the group.

 

ooc: Bronan is going to use intimidate before getting to the foes, then set to work with cleaving attacks until the numbers dwindle before switching to power attacks.

[Terinatum]

Oramac's post:

 

By the time Oramac understood what Bacon said, Bronan is already smashing his way through the crazed enemies. So he waves on the people and points them down the path they had just taken, telling them to steer clear of the river as soon as they can.

 

Oramac himself finds cover in the trees, looking to strike. He first ensures that no one got behind Bacon or Bronan. He turns his attention to the enemies and he has plenty to choose from. But he is looking for a good rogue opportunity. There will be plenty of face-to-face encounters, he doesn’t wish to add to that number. He spots three dreads picking over dead bodies just past the back of a small hut. There are four trees clumped together not ten feet from them. Oramac judges the distance carefully, takes a quick stock of any others around, and then bolts to the trees. He slips neatly through two trees and easily leaps up onto another one with a strong-looking branch about shoulder height. He catches his weight smoothly against the trunk. He moves around to the opposite side, closer to his prey. From here, he can take out one, maybe two, before the others noticed, if he chooses the right one.

 

As if the Gods were taking pity on him, one of the dreads sits back fiddling with a trinket he just found. The others are still ripping and tugging and chewing on the corpses. Swallowing hard against the vileness before him, he turns it into a controlled rage, sending his might through his weapon. The short flight of the dagger, with his added strength, gives the sitting dread no chance. The blade sinks deep into the left side of his neck. A better shot he doesn’t remember. The dread flinchs and reaches for his neck. He then starts to quiver, his blood pouring out onto his shoulder and back. The dread slumps forward, unmoving. Oramac’s gruesome delight leads him to follow up with another dagger throw.

 

Without the power of anger nor a great angle to attack, the dagger hits the dread in the back of the shoulder. It stuck so that was something. Oramac flings himself toward the third to punch dagger his kidneys. At least that was the plan. He touches down smoothly enough and gets one dagger into the dread, but his enemy is already turning to meet him. He forfeits the second strike to get clear of the dread’s reach. He bounces over the carnage and veers to his left, back toward the second dread. The second dread has removed the dagger and flings it at Oramac, but misses, sending the dagger toward the hut. Oramac might have the first move, but confusion is clouding his mind. Why in the name of all the damn Gods, did I get out of the trees!?” He presses hard against the earth with his feet and puts as much speed as he can into his next move.

 

He doesn’t have to clear the corpses to get to the second dread so he gains a good amount of speed in a short time. With years of practice, he swiftly pulls 2 darts out to use as a second weapon. He ducks the dread’s crazed swing and plants his dagger in its gut. Now with a grip, he swings around the back of his enemy, pushing up to his height, and buries the two darts into its neck. He lets go immediately, trying to find the other dread before – He feels cold steel rip through his sleeve and bite his forearm. Before he can turn to greet this threat, the threat crumples to the ground, lifeless. Oramac practically loses his balance searching for the ally. But there was only, the dead and dying dreads, the trees, and himself.

 

The one tree? Where there were once four trees, there now stood only one. But three rangers stood tall in the empty places. One ranger let’s his recently emptied crossbow slip back into its sheath on his thigh. “Come, we need you. And your friends, Varren and Flo.”

Oramac stands motionless for only a moment for which he is quite proud. He retrieves his weapons and wraps a wound rag around his arm. One of the ranger’s ties it down snug and he nods his thanks.

 

“I’m sorry that I am not more aware of your need for us, but we may not all be…” Oramac trails off, unsure what to say.

 

“Fear not, Oramac, Flo and Varren are only a few minutes away, though they are moving slow. Please, we must go. Bronan and Bacon must stay here. I don’t know why, but I don’t question the One who spoke this to me.”

 

Oramac isn’t certain of any level of trust with these rangers, but “Flo lives? And Varren is with her? Take me to them.”

 

“Come, we must hurry. The gate is opening again.”

 

“Bacon! I’m going back to get Flo and Varren. She’s alive!” Unsure if he is heard, he turns to the forest. They enter the forest, Oramac’s excitement is tempered strongly, keeping watch for a trap, but his heart is lighter. If this is true….

[Terinatum]

The killing tide of Dreads is gaining ground with Preadorian walls breaking and the soldiers guarding those spaces falling too quickly. Two of the Preadorian siege weapons are warped from aerial attacks and sit smoldering. Soldiers try to move the third into a safer position and reload. The large Orc commander strides confidently from one fighting area to the next, blaring orders to his fighter and bellowing out his recipe of motivation. The soldiers seem to regroup and press harder, love for their commander fueling their battle rage.

The infighting among the militia has come to an impasse of sorts. Three groups are loosely separated by a battleground of dead bodies and burnt lumber from the fallen buildings. They stare hard at each other, but none move to fight as the lust to kill is passing. Some break from their group to leave quickly, hoping for a better chance somewhere else, anywhere else. The commander giant of the militia takes this moment and breaks up the remaining stubbornness and orders them to break camp, at least of what little remains. The factions obey, but many daggers find the backs of a rival before all is settled.

 

The city itself is collapsing, buildings sprawl broken on the roads. The fire is creating as much smoke as it is flames. Most people are stuck where they are, between nature’s fury let loose and the unpredictable appearances of small-numbered groups of Dreads killing anyone in their path and frantically searching for something. The people that are most likely the innocents in this debacle, they have to stay here trapped and they have to try and hide, and they will choke on their fear with their last breaths. The lifeless bodies that litter the tinier roads and alleys are blocking carts from moving, keeping people from leaving with any goods at all. Some do try to move the bodies, but most push their steeds to stomp over them to reach an exit. It is hard to look at. Luckily not many are seeing this nor will many live to remember such a scene.

 

But, at this moment in time, were anyone to look closely into this seemingly endless mass of evil, they would see love persevering in small pockets around the city. People are breaking the weakened walls around the city and helping others before themselves to get free of the madness and make for the trees. On the streets that are still passable, those on horseback carry the wounded, looking for a reprieve from this insane push toward death. And those free people on the outside of the city, they continue to fight around the edges to keep dreads and crazed killers from leaving the city. Safety has to be established if any of these survivors are going to make it to the next day. The final battle in this city’s war does not seem to be at hand.

 

A silver flash crosses the sky once, a tiny streak. Unlikely that anyone notices. Again the silver ray comes, now multiplying itself again and again. The sky’s red hue is being challenged and it is not winning.  The sky doesn’t open up, but the smoke is blown away from the city, first up high and then lower. At the center of the Preadorian camp, the silver light strikes hard at a statue, cracking it open. The people close by run clear of the damage or are stuck in place by the fear of what they do not know, but no one is harmed. A brutal roar screeches from the center of the dread army. A response to the lightning strike? Does the malicious Strakk sense a change?

Gronn drops his commander duties instantly and runs to the once priceless statue. The remnants of the statue transform into seven humanoids. The androgynous individuals stand in a half circle representing each of the major peoples of the land: a dwarf, elf, halfling, gnome, half-orc, half-elf, and a human. They are beautiful in their austere presence and a bit uncomfortable to gaze at. Who are they? Suddenly, more silver light flickers and flashes behind the half circle of the seven. As it grows, a female figure emerges, one most cannot look upon. She wastes no time and begins the weaving of a spell. The seven seem to rock in unison as she does. There’s no sound as the spell is cast, but the effect is startling. The hundred or so dreads that had made it past the walls of the Preadorian camp suddenly turn and try to escape the compound.

 

Another weaving of a spell and the woman sends up a glowing orb above the city. Silver and blue, the orb reaches its desired height and burst open releasing sparks the silver and blue threads of light. They fall to the ground and onto roof tops, covering a great swath of the city. More importantly, the threads fall on the dead bodies throughout most of the city. No one knows right away, but the dead start to rise. They begin to wake from their death slumber. Not everybody that is touched by the threads rises though. Not one dread rises and many others never stir for they were not called to return. The risen ones find themselves back in the thick of it immediately and not all survive for long, confusion working against them. But many more do survive and start to push the rear and the flanks of the dread army. The dreads are now surrounded and outnumbered.

 

The dreads are not so easily scared off from their prey and again press the walls, hindering their frantic brothers and sisters from trying to get out. The rear guards find themselves overwhelmed and try to change tactics. Strakk doesn’t seem to be giving any orders, but the battle engages again with the force of evil and the force of good paying the price for fear and hate. But now the tide has turned for the good.

 

The woman steps to Gronn and he falls dutifully to the ground taking a knee. She rests her hand on his head and speaks to him. She steps back and he rises slowly. The joy on his face cannot be driven away. He turns to his troops and gives them reason to win this fight! The woman returns to the seven and they disappear unceremoniously and all is quiet in that space. The statue is indeed broken, but laying inside the debris is a silver and blue statue of a woman surrounded by the seven.

[WhiteGhost]

Quavyn pumps his short legs as hard as he can and somehow manages to pass the people in front of him, who for some reason seemed to have slowed a bit. "If I can get these people between me and those maniacs I should be able to make it to the trees" he thinks to himself as he runs between a few of the slower ones.  As he comes around the right side of an older woman a flash of movement off to his right almost makes him trip and fall mid-step.

 

Out of the tall grass bounds a huge, snarling puma!

 

Wondering how this day could possibly get any worse, he quickly changes course to head into the taller grass to his left.  Risking a quick glance over his shoulder, he is somewhat surprised to discover the Puma has not turned to chase him and seems instead to be staring down the oncoming Dreads.

"The Gods are good" he mutters under his breath as he reverts course back towards the closest trees.

 

Once he reaches the treeline he turns to observe to scene between the treeline and the city wall, trying to make sense of what is happening.  Off to his right he notices another gnome among another group of refugees, although it seems as if he is trying to move towards the city, setting him apart from the rest.  Looking closer, Quavyn gets the feeling that he has seen this gnome before.  "Is this the same gnome I saw leaving with the humans earlier? why would he be back..." 

 

His thoughts are interrupted by a flash of silver lightning across the sky.  "Storms a' brewing" he thinks to himself as he turns his attention back to the battle.

[cn3wton]

Henry wipes the tears from his eyes with his hand, trusting Albus to guide them as he cleared his vision. He clutches the boy close to him, holding him up and protecting him with his left arm. 

 

Albus's breath is growing labored, but the mighty steed will not stop until the boy is safe. The mighty horse knocked people aside as it pounded down the roadway. Dreads take swings at them, but are unable to connect or are too afraid to get within range of the stampede. 

 

There has to be someone in this madness. Someone who...

 

Henry sees a man crouched behind the wall with a group of survivors. He seems to be guiding them, and unlike most of the populace not focused on the killing of all those around them. Henry urges Albus towards the man.

 

"Very well Albus, lets pray he will be able to help..."  

 

In an instant Albus brought them to the mans position, as they approached Henry shouted. 

 

"I mean you no harm Sir! Please the boy, he's... he's dying. Have you seen a healer! He does not have long but..."

 

Henry turns Albus to the side, prepared to take off again with a start if the man is unable to assist him, while shielding the boy from the man if he turns out to be hostile. 

 

Time is running out...

[DarK_RaideR]

Bacon casts the entangling spell and vines immediately rise from the earth to grab one of the approaching Dreads. Slightly misplacing the spell's effect area, it only catches the first of the men while the rest move around it. Bronan darts to the right and while he does attract a significant number of Dreads upon him, the gnome can't help but feel exposed. Instinctively, he looks for the third member of his party, but Oramac is nowhere to be seen. It only took a moment to look around, but when he returns his attention to the action, he has a split fraction of a second to panic before the oncoming wave of refuges washes over him. Trampled underfoot, the world goes dark and Bacon falls into a deep, dreamless sleep, never to witness the silver streaks in the sky, the spellcasting woman or the outcome of the battle.

[mitch_dee]

As he stared back into the city Markas found himself overwhelmed…so much mayhem and death.  Standing with his hand still on his necklace he noticed a silver streak through the sky, the sight was enough to snap him out of his daze…just in time to notice the Charger rushing towards him, the large man on its saddle was saying something.  Markas could only put the end of it together as the horse turned broadside as it slowed…

 

“…the boy, he's... he's dying. Have you seen a healer! He does not have long but..."

 

Looking at the slumped over young boy Markas nodded trying not to be overwhelmed by everything going on.  “Is he yours?... Never mind that, take him down…gently, set him by hut wall over here” he said to the new arrival.  “I am Markas” he said to the rider, “and I will do what I can, but I need to know what happened to give him the best chance”.  Markas threw his bedroll down for the boy and reached into his pouches for his bandages and supplies waiting for the large man to bring the boy down.