Mortosh doing as Hanzo told him had been leading the villagers out of town When he began Smelling sulfur ("Oh? More Death How Wonderful") Mortosh thought sarcastically as he began telling the villagers to hurry up when he toke notice of shifting shapes in the darkness of alleyways there was something in the alleyways.

("Zam? There Is Something In The Alleyways Can You Deal With Whatever It Is? I Have To Finish Here") Zam nodded her head and Began fly away until Mortosh Spoke to her again ("And If It Has Some Sort Of Affiliation With The Slavers, Then Distract Them Ill Come To You As Quickly As I Can") And with that Zam Flew To The Alleyway and saw four masked men, two in each alleyway all armed with crossbows.

recognizing that the colors of the men's outfits matched the one of the slavers Zam quickly flew behind one of two groups and Pulled out her flute, began play a tune that caused the would be assassins to begin relax and to start to seemingly try to shake off there sudden drowsiness the sound off her song seemed to have carried itself to the other group as they seemed to be in predicament as the first.

As she was beginning to fly back to Mortosh she saw swarms of Flesh-Locust head towards her so she slowed herself down to a hover to see the swarms of locusts fly towards the alleyways she then heard tired screaming from the alleyways.

("Zam Are You Coming?")

---

---

Tobias cracked his neck as the strange fog rolled in. On any other day, the prospect of a magic, potentially soul-devouring mist would have concerned him - but with things as bad as they were, he was just glad for the concealment.

Twirling his knives in his hands, the thief jogged off parallel to the incoming force, running behind a building to get a better look at them. His head swam slightly as he did so, and Tobias reminded himself that he didn't have much more blood to shed for this doomed cause. Don't get hit, then. The drink wasn't exactly going to help with that - if he survived this, he'd need to enact some policy about waiting for retribution a few hours before celebrating victory.

Then there was that damned song - he knew an enchanted song when he heard one, and that one was trying to fuck with his head. Why did he never become a bard?

The rogue peeked out from a wall and counted nearby foes. Three men walked past his hiding spot - two in leather, one in chainmail. Worse, the one in mail was walking a dog - no, fuck that, a wolf - around on a chain.

That wouldn't do for all the rogue's clever tricks. Puppy had to go, and puppy had to go now. Tobias stepped silently from behind his cover and sent a dagger spinning forward. The animal was struck with a whimper, but didn't go down - it sprinted, slavering, for the rogue.

Tobias cried out as its jaws enclosed around his arm, falling back from the impact. The beast snarled and yanked, trying to tear his limb off, and with his free hand he stabbed at it frantically, jabbing again and again until finally, its thrashing stilled.

Tobias rolled the animal's body off him and proceeded to have exactly no time to survey his injuries before the mercenary who'd been holding the animal was jabbing at him. Tobias kicked up to his feet and brandished his dagger out. In a blind fury, the bereaved pet owner swung repeatedly, advancing on him, and it was all Tobias could do to duck and dodge each cut. A retaliatory jab skirled off his foe's armor - new plan, then.

The thief ducked a swing aimed to decapitate him and came up, drawing his dagger across the side of the man's arm. It was a barely superficial injury, but it certainly took the man's attention - and so he didn't notice Tobias's other hand nimbly undo the buckle and yank his belt free.

The footpad somersaulted backwards, reeling a little bit at the landing. With an angry shout, the mercenary charged after him, only to realize rather suddenly that his pants were around his ankles. A furious charged turned to a belly flop as his enemy crashed to the ground at Tobias's feet.

By now the others were coming, brandishing knives ready to throw. Quickly, Tobias kicked the longsword away, grabbed the stunned, pantsed man behind him, and held him as a human shield, keeping him controlled with both hands by holding his own belt around his neck. The two assassins paused, daggers still in their hands, unsure how to proceed after this turn of events.

The short impasse was broken when the sound of hoofbeats came through the mist. A fourth man on horseback charged out of the fog, murder in his eyes as he brandished a shortsword. Tobias was able to duck the sweeping blade unharmed, but the same couldn't be said for his captive. The headless corpse toppled to the ground, making Tobias's stomach turn and (perhaps more importantly) leaving him unprotected. A dagger took him in the shoulder, making him cry out in pain. Quickly, the thief yanked the blade out and held it, brandishing both knives at the two oncoming assassins.

His arm bled, his heart raced, his head swam. Being brave would be easier if he wasn't so scared shitless.

---

Sana's words passed over Drizzak as he glowered down at the twitching body of his former opponent. The silver curved blade stuck out of his shoulder, shining red in the light as it dripped slowly with his blood. His eyes went from the body to his shoulder, then to Sana as he looked at the potion. He felt terrible. Terrible aside from the weapon protruding from his little goblin body. His stomach turned and roiled as he tried to stand and take a wobbling step forward, potion in one hand and the other at Xilipha's former weapon.

'Just drink it...' Sana had said, and Drizzak debated simply swigging the potion to help with his wound, but a spark of brilliance lit a fire in his mind. His claws curled around the handle of the blade before he tore it from his shoulder and let loose a gout of blood. It took a moment, with his injuries, for him to flick the cork from the potion and begin pouring it directly into the wound. It sizzled and burned with a faint smell of herbs. Tears welled up in his eyes, but as the burning stopped so did his pouring, instead choosing to swig the remaining dregs.

The wound seemed to be sizzling itself closed, small wisps of smoke rising from where the skin broke as it began to reassemble itself. It was like being stabbed in reverse, with all the pain being sucked away. Drizzak couldn't help but scratch around it as feeling came back, but what caught his eye was the flecks of gold that lay just beneath the non-healing patches of skin. An ingredient in the potion? Little crystals of blood? Just plain ol' dirt? He couldn't tell, nor did he care as soon as the pain faded.

The slashes on his face and the dog mauling wound on his shoulder glittered dimly with the same golden flecks. This potion was definitely working its magic, but he still felt stiff in the limbs enough to warrant a stretch. A walk around would do just fine, a rummaging through some of the leftover supplies and rations would do even better. A set of saddle-bags seemed to call out to him in the distance, and like a good goblin, he began to limp over. His step was heavy and his pain was dulled, but he couldn't help but turn back to inspect his former opponent.

Best to just let the dead lay still.

Drizzak made his way over to the bags with a grumble, setting his mind to search through them. What he found was peculiar. Three separate vials of liquid, purse of gold and silver coins, some gems and a rather beautiful ring. All of it was rather interesting, but the ring held his attention the most. A ring made of silver inlaid with a band of deep blue along its center, all around its circumference. The band of blue seemed to roll and tremble, like waves in motion.

Drizzak finally found his cheeky, toothy smile as he slipped it onto one of his dirty claws. He would show them all the other stuff, but surely it was finders keepers when you no one else knew you had something. The rest was deposited straight into a sack and then straight into the wagon, as Drizzak hopped up to sit at the step of the wagon. He looked up to those already near the wagon, checked his blade and whip before deciding to hop off and walk, allowing someone else to have his space if they so chose.

He refused to look back as he spoke to his companions, tone a little more chipper than before.

"Drizzak think leave is good idea now. Only dead here. It stink too."

"Uh. Thanks," Fiona said to Vaeri, accepting the small piece of parchment. She wasn't really interested in branding herself with some kind of magic on a whim, but perhaps one of the others would take it. She would ask them later. For now, there was work to do if they didn't want to stay here any longer, which Fiona certainly didn't. Flipping the lid of the gold chest back closed, she scooped it up by the handles and carried it over to the wagon, setting it in the back. It was a bit of a tight fight, but all of the surviving prisoners were able to get inside, with enough space to be relatively comfortable for the trip. She imagined anything would be better than what they had recently endured.

Fiona was glad Sana agreed with her on the subject of the gold. She imagined some of the others might not want to let it go so easily, but these people were in dire need of it. When Sana came over to ask her favor, Fiona nodded immediately. "I'll let Hugh know. Be sure to watch yourself, though. I doubt there are more slavers around, but it never hurts to be safe." She couldn't claim to know what the woman was going through, as Fiona had yet to experience anything like what Sana had endured already today, but some space and quiet seemed like it would help.

"Alright, let's get going. I can drive the wagon." Fiona stepped up to the front end of the wagon and took hold of the reins, waiting to make sure everyone was on. Her horse would follow along on his own. "Lob, can you lead the way? Make sure the path is clear enough for the wagon to come through easily."

This will be much more difficult than the last time... Our numbers are fewer and theirs are greater... They have the advantage... As the slavers approached, Melvus' right hand rummaged in one of the inner pockets of his robe until he produced a vial. Using his left hand, he uncorked the vial and poured it out on his outer cloak, which was covered in blood still.

The clear liquid pulled itself from the bottle, until the last drop, it thinned itself out until it covered the entire cloak. The fabric maintained its lucidity but was now as hard as armor. One hour... I have plenty of time... It didn't take long for the enemy to get into a formation, archers behind, the slaver, himself, behind them on a horse barking orders at the rest of their lot, a few swordsmen with dogs... No, wolves... Melvus silently cursed. The enemy is more organized this time... Melvus glanced down at his right arm, he figured that the elf's healing magic would be enough, it felt mended at any rate.

Not long after the enemy formed up, the archers let off a volley of arrows at the group. Melvus turned around and pulled his hood over his head. He could feel the arrows through the fabric, it was as though a small child was lightly punching his back. It's effective if nothing else... When Melvus turned around he was met with a wolf. It was in his face, well... not really in his face but it was really close, just a few feet away at this point. Not far behind the wolf was a handler, he was one of the swordsmen, who carried a chain and a longsword.

As the wolf jumped to attack, Melvus brought up his staff and pushed the dog off of him, not before it knocked the wizard to the ground. Melvus quickly regained his footing, by this point the mercenary, Melvus decided that he must be a mercenary or a bandit of some type - perhaps a slaver himself, the merc-bandit-slaver charged the wizard, neither of them really took notice of growing fog behind them. Melvus side stepped as the merc-bandit-slaver lunged. The dog jumped again. The beast broke a few white-yellow teeth on his cloak as it attempted to sink it's fangs into his right arm. Melvus knocked it off with his staff, rearing around he pointed the staff at the hound and whispered "Rain of Light" From the staff burst a shinning spear which broke into many smaller spears, most of which sunk into the wolf, mutilating it beyond recognition. The beast's scarlet blood soaked into the dirt beneath it.

The swordsman was on-top of Melvus by now, the latter attempted to sidestep the charge, as he had done the last time but he tripped on what was probably a stone of some kind. The duo fell on top of each other, the man's sword was knocked from his hand, clattering on the ground. The merc-bandit-slaver threw a punch at Melvus who had no real choice but to take it. The larger man's fist slammed into the wizard's face, breaking a few teeth and rattling the latter of the two. As Melvus was regaining himself, the swordsman took no time in landing a few more punches, Melvus showed no emotion as the man brutalized his face, rendering it to a bloody mess. The wizard placed his hand on the man's neck, the man took notice and moved his hands to remove the wizard's hand. He was likely fearful of what the wizard would do.

Melvus yelled, "Rain of Light!" Blood splattered in a great many directions as the man's head was ripped from his body. From a distance, the wizard placed his hand on the man's neck, yelled a spell, and from the back of the man's neck, as his head was ripped off in a bloody mess, shot a shinning spear which broke into a great many smaller spears which hit nothing, perhaps a wall or something, Melvus wasn't paying attention.

Melvus took notice of two archers emerging from the, now prevalent, fog who knocked arrows and fired at the wizard who had promptly disappeared, their arrows causing dirt to explode up from where they landed. Next to Sister Agnes appeared a bloody wizard, "Good sister, may I ask for some assistance?" Melvus could hardly see, he wiped his bloody face, painfully, with the sleeve of his cloak.

Vaeri wasn't sure why Fiona took the tattoo when it seemed pretty clear she did not want it. She would be perfectly fine with handing it to somebody else and had made it clear so. Perhaps it was more of a taboo in human culture to turn down gifts. Then again, Vaeri had done much the same thing no more than an hour before with the bow Lob presented to her. She dismissed the though though. Vaeri had taken the bow out of bewilderment at the entire situation, Fiona probably took it out of some feeling of obligation. Finished with her rationalizations, Vaeri blinked. When did Sana get here? Wait, she's been here the whole time. Oh. Somehow in the last millisecond all the captives had been moves to the wagon. Vaeri was also pretty sure she had just been about 2 feet to the left.

A bit emptily, Vaeri nodded at Sana's request, not really comprehending what she had been saying. In any case it looked like everyone had started moving, Fiona driving the wagon. Vaeri would follow behind. The movement would help keep her awake. It appeared Sana would be staying behind. Maybe it had to do with her father. She would probably catch up later. Moving alone and on a horse certainly would be faster than with a wagonload of starved humans.

Sister Agnes

Sister Agnes stood there gripping the post where she stood; the song the bard played made her to rush to his allies’ side and heal them. Her finger nails digging into the wood causing lines to be scraped away and the shaving to curl along her hands. Taking a few deep breaths she was able to resist and shake off the effects of the spell. That was not something she had had to fight in some time, thinking back to her time before the convent and as much as she wanted to dwell in a different time than the horror that was unfolding before her it was not time for such things.

The fog rolled in from the alley ways and crashed to the center of the town, covering what was happening for most of the fight. Lowering her head she said a quick prayer, hoping any god or goddess of good would hear her prayers. The group needed help, any help. Turning as she felt a presence beside her she gasped at the sudden appearance of Melvus; it startled her that one moment he had not been there and then the next he had but that wasn’t all of it, the way he looked showed he had not fared so well in the beginning of the fight. Hearing his words she nodded. She had already healed several that day but she still had some healing left up her sleeves as it were and it was time to use what gift she was blessed with.

“Yes, of course, just hold still,” Sister Agnes said in a caring voice.

Stepping over him close, she raised her hands and placed them over her heart as she chanted to herself before moving her fingers to his wounds and a soft warm light began to envelop him. She did not know if he had injuries besides what was visible but she didn’t want to risk not healing him enough so her hands roamed from his face, down his neck and to his chest where the light quickly grew and went over his entire form. As she pulled her hands away he would find that what flesh that had been damaged was not only healed but looked like nothing had happened, no scars remained and bones reformed. She thought perhaps that she had used too strong a healing spell on him but then she looked back at the fog and knew she had not. They would need every drop of blood they could spare in this fight for it was long from being over.

Reaching into the pocket of her habit she pulled out a clean cloth and dipped it into the water trough before ringing it out quickly and placing it in his hand so that he could clean up the blood now that he was healed. As much as he needed the healing he surely needed to clean away the blood so he could at least see at this point.

---

---

A knife whistled past Tobias's ear as he jerked his head to the side and broke into a dead run. As he closed to a melee with the two assassins, he slashed his daggers out wildly. His attacks succeeded only in putting his enemies off balance and causing one to step backwards - which, of course, was all he was hoping for. Tobias flourished his arm downward and sent one of his daggers flying towards his foe's now outstretched boot.

The man cried out and dropped down to tug the knife out of his foot, grimacing as he did so. This left Tobias with one dagger and one enemy - a net positive change, he thought. The assassin came at him with a flurry of cuts and stabs, which Tobias only narrowly managed to twist his body out of the way of, even taking a superficial cut on his thigh. The wound was inconsequential, but painful, although the blow allowed Tobias to catch a glimpse of what the man was wearing on his belt. Manacles. Slavers.

Tobias sidestepped, bringing his blade up. The assassin's gaze followed the knife automatically as it spun in the air a mere inch from the rogue's hands. A parlor trick, not an attack, but it took the man's attention away from the nimble fingers grabbing at the irons.

The thief, suffice it to say, had a lot of experience with wrist irons. He could even do a trick or two with them.

Tobias gripped the cuffs by one end and flicked the chain up, snapping the manacle shut around the man's wrist before he'd noticed what had happened. A perplexed look just barely crossed the assassin's face when Tobias caught the knife he'd tossed up and tugged at the chain.

With a knife in one hand and the chain in the other, Tobias was able to keep his foe off-balance. The man lunged, Tobias yanked his wrist left with the manacles, sending his charge twisting off and exposing his back to the rogue. The assassin was rewarded with a quick stab for his trouble before spinning around, slashing wildly. Tobias yanked again, downwards, elbowed the man in the face as he went lurching.

The other assassin was recovering now, brandishing the bloody knife that had just been embedded in his foot. Tobias stepped, twisting the man around with the chain to keep him in between the rogue and his comrade.

Tobias heard the sound of hoofbeats behind him and knew that the horseman was making another pass. Instinctively, he tucked his head in and dropped to the floor, and the short-sword went whizzing over his head once again.

Just as the horse passed, Tobias flicked the chain again, snapping the other cuff around the animal's leg and relinquishing it.

The unfortunate assassin barely had a moment to register what had happened before being yanked off his feet and dragged, bouncing and rolling, behind the charging horse, hollering all the while.

Tobias rose and immediately stepped back from the other assassin's attack. The man punched him in the head once, twice, three times, kicked him in the knee and shoved him backwards. The rogue dropped his dagger and fell backwards into the dust.

He scrambled to his feet and held up his empty hands in a show of surrender as the assassin advanced on him. "Alright, alright, you got me! Good effort," he said, breathing heavily, head pounding.

The man gave no reply, save a snarl, and reached for the dagger at his belt to find it missing. Confused, the assassing fumbled all over his clothes for a moment, hands seeking one of his weapons, before he snapped his gaze back to the surrendering thief.

Tobias shrugged slightly and flicked his wrists, sliding two familiar-looking daggers out of his sleeves and into his hands as a grin plastered on his face.

That song... It's a charm, right..? Melvus thought as the nun, who seemed rather fearful herself, which could easily be a misinterpretation of her body language, agreed to heal his wounds. His face stung as he had wiped some of the crimson fluid from it, adding to the already blood-stained cloak. This town has had more promising days than this one. She placed her hands over her heart as she chanted, the old woman's wrinkled hands glowed as she laid them over Melvus' facial region. The wizard could feel his bones mending and his wounds closing themselves, she moved her hands to heal other areas over him. Afterward he felt as though he would after a good night's sleep - well rested, full of energy, unscathed. She handed him what appeared to be a cloth to wipe the blood from his face, which he did, it would be useful to see during a fight. Melvus turned to the nun to say his thanks - that was when he noticed the archers.

It didn't seem as though it had taken them particularly long to find him - he had only gone as far as ten seconds would take him. "Go." Melvus said definitively to the sister. Melvus was reminded of something from his past.

Melvus and three other champions of Aesil had been selected to act as Efrida's escort during a diplomatic visit to the Palace Borough, another faction within the walls of the, immensely large city-state Drisbane. Along with him was Argus, a skilled archer, Helen, an 'assassin', and Cylus, the master of the sword. They made their way out of Aesil territory, the Princess, at the time, received many gleeful looks and cheers as she passed through on her white stallion. her escorts, as was tradition rode brown draft horses, but this was irrelevant. In order to arrive at the Palace's territory they would have to pass through the Neutral Zone, an area guarded by the Guardians, but they didn't enforce as much as they did in their own territories, so it was essentially an area ripe for a free-for-all. If such a thing did happen and the Guardians found out, they would likely incur on the provoker's territory in the name a justice, if there was such a thing in this city... this world.

It was a known thing among the quartet, if any power within the walls would have an attempt at Efrida's head, it would be here - in the Neutral Zone. The aforementioned area within the city was a rather dreary place. There were many people who lived there with no place to call home, Efrida generally invited them to live in Aesil territory - she wouldn't do it herself, but she would send attendants to convey the welcoming message. Today, however, she was on a mission of her own - to establish peace between Palace and Aesil in a greater attempt to silence the wickedness of Goetia. Aesil would say naught about Goetia's most recent incursion to their territory, this was mainly because potential allies had incurred on the evil faction and they would reveal this if they were revealed. Of course, the Guardians knew about the incursions but would do nothing unless directly confronted about it - they didn't really have any real power and to claim justice without genuine cause would be seen as their own unjustified incursion by the populace.

"You will be going no further today, Your Highness!" A deep voice rang out from nowhere - it was the middle of the day and the sun was high in the sky but it seemed to turn to night.

"Now!" Another, higher pitched voice said, it was like that of a child. Melvus could hear the whistling sound of arrows, before their trip they were reminded to enchant their clothing with vials of 'Divine Raiment' Each of the champions pulled their hoods over their heads. Melvus dove from his horse, knowing that it was gone. When the arrows had all met their marks, most of which hit the ground, some of which hit enchanted raiment, one of which... it had sunk deep into Helen's throat, she didn't have enough time to fully cover herself, or perhaps her hood was pushed aside by an arrow - it didn't matter now. If she wasn't dead already, she was going to die soon.

The enemy must've been far away, they were giving the Aesil faction time to themselves before their next attack... This isn't Goetia... They seem to only have had enough arrows for the one volley... A larger faction wouldn't have to ration their supplies like this... assuming that they aren't just giving us time... Melvus watched as Helen lay in Efrida's arms, she gargled blood as she tried to speak. Her futile attempts to convey information only caused more blood to spew from her grave wound. He watched as Cylus reached down and pulled the arrow from the poor woman's throat, a trail of blood following it as it excited. Her eyes glossed over and her squirming halted.

"Why... Cylus, why would you do that?" Efrida had spoken, tears welling up in her eyes.

The older man kneeled down next to her, "She was too far gone may queen. Even your healing magics could do nothing for her, you know this to be true. Your life is too valuable to risk it-"

"Please, don't" Efrida wiped her eyes, their horses were utter carnage of what they used to be. "We need to prepare, they'll likely swarm this area soon." She turned to Cylus, "Ready our defenses."

"Yes-" Cylus was cut off by a large unit of soldiers emerging from a road out of the area they were in, Melvus realized that it was an old plaza a large crossroads, there were eight roads leading in and out and it was in the shape of a large octagon.

"Attack!" Came the deep voice from before, it was a man with dark skin wielding a rather large axe. A minority within Drisbane, unpleased with the way they were being treated in turbulent times. The unit, with what was about fifty men, not all of which had darker skin, but most of them did. They charged, some of which bore axes, others wielded swords and yet others maces. Most of them had bows on their backs. I was right... A smaller faction... Melvus raised his staff and from it burst a golden spear which broke into a great many smaller ones, they shot forward, true in their direction, many of which clattered to the ground but the rest of them lodged themselves in opposing soldiers. Soldiers...? Hmm... Organized militaries are not legal within the city walls... I suppose the Guardians don't waste time regulating weak factions.

Melvus' attack left about nine bloodied corpses in its wake, the poor souls had no real chance, a few dove to the side to avoid danger and succeeded, but the rest were not as lucky. Argus unslung her bow from her back, knocked arrow after arrow, firing into the oncoming force, they were almost on top of the champions by now. The, now, trio formed a triangle around the Princess as the enemy closed in. As Argus shot off her arrows, Melvus' Arm of the Heavens shot out lifting enemies and tossing them into their comrades. Their numbers seemed to have doubled out of no where. How...

"They're being reinforced!" Cylus yelled over the commotion, pointing to the additional troops making their way into the fray. The old man, himself, seemed to be a fury, taking on a great many of combatants at once, their attacks could not break his perfect defense. He'd already taken down about twenty of their untrained grunts by this point. Melvus had summoned his Heaven's Wheel which shifted to defend and attack. Argus was the first to be overwhelmed. Her bow skills were not very useful at close ranged combat.

She dropped her bow, drew two arrows and was using them as daggers. She used her superior nimbleness to dodge the enemies attacks, all the while getting close enough to lodge her arrows into eye sockets, exposed skin, chinks in armor. She was ducking and weaving. She jumped to the left, avoiding a blade, then dropped to the ground to avoid a swipe which landed on an enemy. She proceeded to kick her immediate opponent's feet from beneath them while stabbing heir throat with her arrow, yelling the entire time. She reached back for another arrow to find that her quiver was empty. Nearly thirty enemies lay dead around her, her breathing had become very heavy. They only reason they'd survived this far was because of their armored clothing... No chinks.

She began to punch and kick, but quickly lost her energy and was swarmed by nearly fifteen enemy combatants, Melvus lost sight of her in the storm. Melvus drew his own straight sword, his swords were fading - he was losing energy. The enemy had been reduced to about thirty from their original hundred... Cylus had taken out most of them, but his old body could not take the strain, he collapsed. His body no longer able to take the stress, Melvus presumed. Melvus guessed that there were about fifty dead enemies around he old man... These people are not well trained... They cannot even compare to a master... Luckily the enemy seemed to assume that he was dead, fell by their swords.

At this point, the deep voice of the man rang out, "Back off! This dog and his queen are mine. Head back to camp." The man approached with two archers at his side, his axe slung over his back and he wore leather armor. The archers stayed back as the man stepped forward.

Melvus turned to Efrida, who was still unscathed, at the cost of two of her most skilled champions. Melvus could see the mangled body of Argus... She was only recognizable by the, now crimson, armor she wore. "Go." Melvus said to Efrida.

"No, I'll stay."

"Go!" Melvus spoke back, he knew that if he lost, she would be defenseless, if the archers tried something he could deal with them, but if she was here when he fell, she would die.

"No-"

"I will defend your life, my queen. But I will not give my life if your death is assured. I will not allow you to stay." Melvus turned back to the enemy, who was waiting for his fight. "I gave my word to bring you to the crown in any way I could-" She attempted to cut him off but her voice was drowned out by his, "Once I have given my word as a solemn oath! On my honor as a vassal of Aesil, I will not betray that oath! The best way for me to assure your crowning is for you to get to the Palace territory alive, I cannot assure that if you die here. Go!" He could hear footfalls behind him as she ran to the exit of the Neutral Zone. Melvus took notice that Cylus was no longer on the floor He went with her... She is safe... The injured wizard turned to the enemy.

"Have at me demons!" Melvus yelled at the archers who stood before him, Sister Agnes behind him and his wounds healed.

As the adventurers tumbled out of the inn, groggy and drained as they were, Hanzo could only stand and hold his ground at the incoming armament of raiders. They were clearly far more armed than before, even boasting a couple of spell-casters on their side; clearly, these slavers held a far larger operation than any of them had anticipated. In spite of their own beaten-down condition, Hanzo hoped that the adventurers could prove to be more fortunate than their foes.

A great fog began to roll over the town - the work of the enemy mage, it seemed - and Hanzo steeled himself for the assault. That spell-caster was going to be a major problem if he was allowed to lob out any more magic, especially in a layer of obscuring mist. At least for the time being, the monk could sense and see the bandits coming from about 10 feet in front of him, assuredly bearing more clarity than they. Regardless, the enemy charged on, one of the flanks breaking off to aim for the lone martial artist.

Upon the horse, a thief relinquished his reigns in order to pull out a pair of daggers, tightening his heels upon his mount's flanks to steady himself. He flicked out his arm, and one of the daggers went sailing at Hanzo while the horse still came clomping forth. The monk gave his foe less polity this time; diving under the flying knife, Hanzo turned on a hell and threw himself into the side of the charging mount. While it worked to knock the horse off-course to the side somewhat, it also more accurately struck at the thief's taut leg, for a single moment pinching it painfully between Hanzo's shoulder and the mount's flank. As the teetering stallion clomped off aside to regain its own composure, the rider quite unexpectedly found himself thrown off, his sudden leg pain forfeiting his balance.

Hanzo's attention shot back to where the thief rode in from, expecting more bandits to follow. Tuning out the commotion elsewhere, the monk was just able to distinguish the sight of another flying blade as it heaved itself from the fog. Hanzo sidestepped the projectile, a hand axe, with ease, allowing himself a wider motion to ensure he wouldn't suffer an errant cut like last time. Another axe flew out, and Hanzo dove down and forth to avoid it when the sight of two bandits entered his vision from the mist.

Leading the pair was the larger of the two, toting a large warhammer and plate armor. Behind that one was a more hunched-over warrior, bearing less plates but wielding a hand axe - the source of those other thrown axes, presumably. Before he could confirm the thought, the hammer bandit charged at Hanzo with gruesome intent.

The man was big and powerful, but also slow and hefty, and he gave ample time for Hanzo to wind up a heavy punch of his own; the glowing aura growing in his fist cleverly disguised by the light-bathed fog. In the moment that his foe wound up the decisive swing, the monk sprung forth and plunged his fist right into the breastplate with a solid crack - there was a split second before the bandit warrior suddenly recoiled in pain, the wind knocked from his chest and the momentum in his attack lost. Hanzo, meanwhile, did well to hide the fact that the crack came from his own hand.

Hanzo wasted no time in rearing back, opening his fists and mashing his palms together with a clap. He quickly channeled his energy again, focusing within his closed hands and creating a glow of teal light. The bandit's next attempt to attack was instead stopped as soon as it started, a blast of raw power slamming him in the face and knocking him down.

A third axe flew out from the surrounding fog, but it seemed to go wide on the monk's position - until a knife plunged itself into Hanzo's shoulder blade, reflexively urging him to the side. Unable to recover in time to dodge, Hanzo forced his arms up to take the blow from the thrown axe... but then it fizzled right through him with no quarrel. After a brief moment of confounding, he realized that the axe must've been an illusion, but that sharp pain in his shoulder had to be real. The thief must've gotten up! Hanzo whirled around to find the slander bandit drawing another knife, tossing it in his grip-

And then he failed to notice a real hand axe being thrown at him until its whistling entered his ears. He desperately backpedaled away, but too late, the axe smacked itself vertically into the center of Hanzo's ribcage. The monk stamped his foot to the ground, regaining his balance, but he continued to fight to stay standing given the two weapons lodged in his body.

As if it couldn't get any worse, the area he stood then suddenly exploded in flames.

---

The burst of heat working slightly to dispel the fog in the immediate area, the axe bandit glanced back behind him. Stepping beyond the wall of archers, the fire mage shot a curt smile to the two armored bandits, his hands still wisping with heat from the fire blast.

"Dammit, Cade!" The axe bandit spat out suddenly, turning aside to face the mage, "I had that one!"

Shaking out the curls of residual smoke from his hand, the robed man gave a provoking chuckle. "Oh, Wick, of course you did. I was merely speeding up the process."

"Seriously!?" Wick stomped, and his partner snapped up, drawing his attention to the infighting. "What's the point of making 'em suffer if you just keep blasting 'em to bits!?"

"Uh, hey guys-" a faint male voice rung out from behind Wick. The other bandit warrior took a glance aside, and suddenly fought harder to get up.

"If you knew anything about my magic," Cade retorted to the arrogant axe bandit, getting notably more annoyed, "Then you might actually delight in knowing that it's the burning that kills them, not the-"

"GUYS-!" Another cry, followed by a sharp clashing of blades. The bickering pair finally turned around...

---

A painful smack echoed out, and with a fresh red sore on his face, the thief tumbled to the ground in a harsh spin, roiling in pain. Standing over him was the monk, terribly scorched and blood drizzling down his chest, but well alive. With a second wind and a heaping of adrenaline, he had deflected the thief's vain effort to defend himself and promptly nailed him with a heel kick to the jaw. Already, the warhammer bandit was getting ready for his next assault, as Hanzo ever so subtly shifted his grip on the weapons previously stuck in him.

A furious Wick was first to act, however, swinging his other axe in a wide curvature to desperately try and claim superiority. Snapping up his own axe and knife, the monk deflected the hand axe upward and followed with a swift toss of his arm, slinging the knife in a counter-attack. Unable to avoid it, the bandit tried to shield himself but ended up with the blade lodged in his arm, ensuing a cry of pain. The other bandit warrior quickly began his own attack, this time a mighty leaping overhead strike that Hanzo couldn't knock him from. And indeed, the monk didn't even try to do so, but instead dove forward to roll under the attack and behind the bandit.

Caught off-guard, the fighter was nigh-helpless as the axe was plunged into his spine. The piercing strike shot overwhelming pain throughout his body, paralyzing him, and the bandit collapsed to the ground. Hanzo's fierce gaze returned to the mage, and the two found themselves locking eyes.

Cade was already preparing another spell, more deadly than a simple fireball. A painfully furious Wick, meanwhile, charged at Hanzo with his fisticuffs alone. The martial artist would have to fend off the closer threat first, and so infused surges of Ki into his fists. Wick's strikes were quick but thrown wide, and Hanzo was able to parry and scrape past them to land his own Ki Strikes on the bandit. These blows were not as focused, however, and so Hanzo's punches could not penetrate his foe's armor well enough to fell him.

The angry warrior, visibly running out of steam, suddenly tried to force himself forward, looking to grapple the monk and crunch him in his grip. A big mistake, as Hanzo was able to quickly shift himself and turn the tides to his own favor. The fire mage finished his magic chants with a final yell, and thinking fast, the monk heaved the exasperated bandit over his shoulder at Cade. A violent comet of fire erupted from the spell-caster's palms, and Wick exploded into flames on contact, tumbling to the ground in a sizzling heap.

Now visibly panicked with his spells being thwarted, the fire mage called out for help, siccing his familiar at the monk. It dove at Hanzo with a screeching cry, trying to claw at the man's head, but Hanzo managed to parry the attacks with his arms, scratching himself less vitally. His attempt to whip the bird away was short lived when it flew out and circled around for another dive. This time, Hanzo focused himself in his stance, and managed to intercept the fly-by with a round kick, knocking the hawk to the ground.

The mage was attempting to chant a quicker incantation, but it was not fast enough, Hanzo able to lunge out and knock the caster to the ground with a flying kick. He leaped upon the downed slaver, taking the lapel of his robes in one hand and raising the other to punch him out cold. With fear plastered upon his face, the mage cried out, "No, wait!"

The monk hesitated, his battle face turning into a scowl. With the opportunity to speak, the man choked out, "Y-you are certainly a powerful fighter - why waste such talent defending this poor village?"

Retaining his scowl, Hanzo took but a second to respond, "You are a wielder of great arcane power. Why waste it on terrorizing such a 'poor' village?"

Fear returned to the mage's visage for a moment, followed promptly by anger, and yet more promptly by a curt, defeated chuckle. "Clever, too... ah, well." Pursing his lips, Cade blew out a shrill whistle that led the blood hawk to claw at Hanzo's head again. With a final cry, he finished his incantation, shoving his scorching palms into Hanzo's exposed chest. "Burning Hands!"

Several moments passed, the flesh scorching under his press, but the monk's gaze only grew more furious as he struggled. Finally, his hand stole a grip on the hawk's neck, twisting into a tight fist that choked the air out of the bird. Horror reclaimed the desperate mage one last time before the fist finally drove down, slamming his skull into the ground and concussing him instantly. Opening his hand, the choked bird fell limp aside its master's head, the last of its life leaving it.

With heaving pants of breath and a painful groan, Hanzo stood up, his adrenaline wearing thin. His skin was burnt and raw in many places, his muscles ached in strain, his head and arms bled with harsh scratches and his chest burned very painfully. If nothing else, at least the gash on his chest was cauterized, leaving a dark scar around a splash of burnt skin, but even then, his ribcage was still pierced from that wound. Much like this whole encounter, it was a far cry from what he had dealt with merely an hour before.

Wiping blood on his forehead away from his eyes, Hanzo raised a hand and weakly called for Sister Agnes, slowly retracing himself down his path of carnage and defeated bodies.

“Thank you, I know he will cherish it.”

Lob got a hug! He returned the hug and gave Sansa a lick on the side of her face, it was a dog thing. He held back from the group as others were loaded in, taking any barrels of water of food for the others, but he could see the looks on frightened faces. The animal they wanted gone, the beast they endured for the hatemetal he had.

“I need a favor, I need you all and the others to go back to the village without me. I need to bury my father and well I need some time to clear my head. I can take care of cleaning this place up and getting rid of the rest of the bodies. These people don’t need to wait around any longer than they already have to get some food in their stomachs, Could you let Hugh know I am alright and I will be back by nightfall? I know he will be worried sick when you show up and I am not there but yeah, I need some time to clear my head. I just need sometime alone,”

The half-orc huffed and shook his head, this group had more smells, but not enough bodies. It may be the ones that are dead in the village, it may just be all the bodies... but it didn't seem right. He wanted to help bury the dead, he had done it before.

Redwheat, divinghawk, Bigwhite with littlewhite, goldgrass, greywolf, riverstone, swimmingbird... Darknightsky. Those were some of his tribe he had set to rest after the gnolls. He dug the graves with his own clawed hands int eh soft earth of the plains, riders with their dogs whenever he could as it was right. Now he had the chance to bury more dogs, not a wanted choice, but no one else here would give these loyal dogs the burial they deserve.

"Lob, can you lead the way? Make sure the path is clear enough for the wagon to come through easily."

He looked from one female to another, conflicted. He had orders from the alpha to leave and another asking for him to lead them. But something was wrong still.

"Lob lead to road, come back."

The Slavers Camp – Group A

Sana nodded to the group as they agreed to take the people back to the village; they needed tending to and who knew what was going to happen on the road back or what was happening in the village itself. She giggled slightly as Lob returned the hug and licked her face, smiling at him. They were a group of people that she had fighting at her side now and she was grateful to them. She hated having to send them back without her, not knowing what lay before them but it was something that she had to do. She really needed time alone, time to bury the past and find a future; whatever that may be.

Stepping over to Lob as he spoke she shook her head and rested her hand on his shoulder. “Please, lead them back to the village and keep them safe. For me,” she asked softly. “They need your strength,” she added as she looked at him. “The rest of the slavers may be headed towards the village and if so they will need all the help they can get,” she admitted as she stood there. Looking over towards Fiona and Vaeri, as well as Drizzak she had a look of concern fall over her features. “Stay safe, be careful,” she said quickly as she stood there.

The forest would be hard to traverse, it would take a couple of hours just to get through the narrow paths with the wagon back to the road itself and then another couple of hours to take the road back into the village. Who knew what would happen on the route. Would they be able to get back without another fight? Sana did not know but she knew that if they did they would need more than just three to get through it. Lob was quick and he hit like an anvil. They needed a tank to help with the speed and spells the others had.

Turning back to Lob she smiled. “Don’t worry, if anything happens I will run. I won’t fight. I’ll stay safe. I will see you all tonight for a much needed drink,” she said with a slight laugh. Sana was not one to drink usually but after the day they had had she knew by the time she got back to the village she would want to drown away any sorrows that were left.

“Oh, make sure to give some of the gold to the apothecary when you get back, I think we are going to need a lot more healing potions if this keeps up,” she said looked back at the rest in the group. “Now, get out of here and get these people some much needed food,” she said before stepping away from them and waiting for them to leave.

Hugh nodded at the thief's answer, a scowl still gracing his face. He didn't mean to scowl, it just stayed there after hearing what the man had to say of Sana a few moments ago. He simply vented his anger in fist clenching, drinking some of his coffee. He felt a little crack on the coffee mug, which he quickly set down.

The little conversation didn't last long, as Hugh had no response to the thief's words, only taking them and keeping them in mind. The thief had found more interest in conversing with a random stranger whom was wearing the same clothes as him, or something along those lines. The wizard appeared to have joined them and conversed with the thief, seemingly ignoring Hugh for the most part.

Hugh simply played with the cup, staring into the drink as reminiscence played through his mind. His mind drifted through the day and the past, reflecting on the trigger from earlier. His mind was a storm of thoughts and memories. He had no control as his mind went through darker places in his life.

The man's attention was quickly diverted by the sudden rise of the thief, as he headed off towards the window. It appeared to be from some commotion occurring outside, as Hugh followed suit. He walked up behind the wizard, taking his time. Though his eyes grew tired as he noted the crowd of rather ugly looking creatures and men, seemingly intent on causing trouble.

He groaned and headed back over to where he had left his coffee. He took the chain mail shirt and put it on, followed by his pauldrons. He didn't care whether or not they were going to fight him, he wasn't in the mood for getting stabbed again, as he was too tired for the work. He finished up his task with donning his weapons, his battleaxe slung across his back.

He strode outside, coming in after the others, as they seemingly lined the street in front of the inn, looking ready to take on this group of prolific miscreants. Hugh sighed and stared at the new group, feeling more tired than usual. "Y'all must be trippin'." He said, sounding like some inner city commoner.

His words were quickly followed by two hyenas, running straight towards him. "Mutha fucker-" His fist soon met the body of one of the hyenas, as both of them jumped at him. One hyena's teeth sunk into Hugh's armor on his shoulder, trying to bite through his chain mail armor. The other was soon lying on the ground on its back as Hugh stepped on it, crushing it underneath his weight. He held onto the other, squeezing it to his chest, hoping that it might break.

The one under his feet was screaming in its odd hyena way, as Hugh broke its ribcage with his weight. Hugh began the process of snuffing its life out, as he began jumping up and down, one hyena in his arms biting into his shoulder, and the other being crushed under his weight.

It wasn't long before he found the other one to stop screaming, giving him a little bit of a break to rip the one on his shoulder off. He started this process by quickly moving his hands up to the beast's jaws, getting a grip on each one and prying the beast from him. It had done its damage, as the pinch alone on his shoulder caused enough pain and bleeding. It would have been worse had the teeth been fully embedded into his skin, but that wasn't the case.

Soon, victory was his, as he ripped the beast from his shoulder, nearly breaking its jaws. He threw it to the ground and stepped on its neck, crushing its airway, before drawing his falchion and stabbing it into the beast's lungs. He repeated the process with the other one, before standing valiantly over the two creatures.

"Alright, who's next?" He said, the combination of a grimace and a grin on his face, as he used one hand to rub his wounded shoulder.

With reluctance, Lob nodded and lead the way. He would up an axe from the dead twins if it was available to begin the brutal clearing of brush. He was not having a hissy-fit, but leading a wagon was not as easy as most thought, moreso with the sick and injured sensitive to any bumps. They got a wagon in, so it would be easiest to lead the wagon out the way it came, a longer lower route but easy enough all the same.

He was told to find for them and so he was foraging while clearing brush. Tearing out a bush by its base, he found a rabbit warren. There was a quick horrific scream and then Lob popped up with a fat lop by its ears.

"FOOD!"

As Vaeri walked through the forest, she looked upon the half-orc named Lob and gave him the keyword dog. That one would be more than simple enough to remember. As time past, her mind regained clarity and she realized that she had probably fallen asleep for a couple minutes right before the party began moving. She needed to make sure that such a thing did not happen again. But it was easier said than done, with no more imminent danger, the lack of energy in her body and the heaviness of her eyelids was the dominant thought in her mind. The constant movement of walking the road helped to keep her awake.

Vaeri looked at the people in the wagon. They were weak, sick and injured, but even ignoring that, they had an air of mixed feelings: Relief that they no longer needed to live stuck in cages, apprehension of these odd strangers who saved them, uncertainty about the future, but beneath it all, was a faint hope blossoming. The hope that maybe they can make something of their lives and that their experiences in the camp could be put behind them. A noble hope, hopefully one that would stick with these poor souls.

These thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Lob shouted FOOD, holding up a squirming, screaming rabbit with a proud look on his face. Vaeri chuckled. Now that she though about it, she could certainly go for a meal. She walked lightly over towards Lob, looking into the hole he found in the brushes.

"Do you think you can find more rabbits? I could cook us all a meal if we had about 5 more of those about that size." A single rabbit could feed about 3 to 5 people if prepared correctly, and counting Fiona, Drizzak, Lob and herself, there were 18 people total. Under a best case scenario, they would need 4 for everyone to be fed. More likely they would need 5 or 6. If they could not find enough, she would do as best as she could and give the remaining hungry some of the dried meat she kept in her bag. It was one thing for everyone to go hungry on the trip back, but for some to eat while the others starved would simply be cruel.

The light surrendered to the pitch of the night. A sky without a moon hung ominously over the open field, and there shadowy figures flickered and silhouetted against the dim sparkle of the stars that speckled the endless void.

Although the figures heaved and moved with heavy swings of powerful arms and heavy metal weapons, not a grunt or groan swept from the closed lips of the silhouettes.

Heavy weapons of incredible size glid through the cold night air, without a gleam or sparkle so often seen under starlight. Feet switched, leapt and strived to avoid the swings of the others. Dark grass was bent and crumbled under thick boots, and liquid born colorless without light sprinkled from the wounds caught by the powerful figures and glimmered in the peaceful breeze of the massacre.

A single figure appeared in the center of the monstrosities that were being born on this night. He glew softly, like the dim stars, but he remained faceless like the invisible moon.

As scarlet poured down the bodies of the fighters, so too the dark sky polluted crimson. The glowing figure found the field to be gone, and the grass replaced with a sea of bodies, mutilated and violated.

The vast expanse of discarded corpses were covering the ground so thick, no blade of grass poked through, and doubts of earth being found underneath haunted the mind of the glowing figure.

He stood still while the large silhouettes now fought themselves, backgrounded by the hating red sky.

Eyes hidden behind metal flickered and scoured across the fighters. Blood crusted the beards, and strung throughout the hair of both women and men. Naked and bare the figures fought around the single solemn figure, stomachs split, and fingers ground to the bone as they held fast to the metallic objects used to torment each other.

The glowing angel turned on his heel, and before him a sea of horses pounded across the plains of bodies, dark hair and tails whisking in the calm breeze as the skies swirled and flowed as a river of red.

The horses moved inhumanly fast, and their large anvil like hooves crushed and splatted the mutilated bodies of the ground. Smoke of exhaustion steamed from their heavy breathing nostrils and the fire of the forge burnt out their eyes, leaving in place pink scars.

The black horde pounded closer and closer to the relentless fighters, and the sole figure of light. The acrid breath of the horses burnt the nose of the still man, and soon the crushing weight of the horses were bearing down on him as the fighters wrestled each other, snapping bone and ripping skin. The hooves cleaved the fighter’s eyes shut, and slaughtered all that stood.

Dust was kicked up from the collision, and the scarred hand of the golden eyed man reached out to grab whatever was in reach.

The cloud of dust softened into nothingness as the man’s golden eyes blinked open from his daydream. He was standing not in the ocean of bodies, but rather on a dirt road that lead into a cloud of strange fog.

A cursory glance about himself also revealed that he was not covered in strange thick armor or concealed behind a massive helmet, but that he stood plainly, clothed in a pale green tunic, cut at the sleeves to reveal long masculine arms covered in a never ending and spiraling red scar that marked him menacingly from his fingertips down to his booted feet, carved up his body, over his stern face, and finally hiding underneath short cut black hair.

The broad man’s hand was still outstretched, and it’s palm was laid gently on the leather bound shoulder of a shocked man holding a readied crossbow.

The two men blinked at each other in an awkward confusion. The archer quickly scanned the weaponless man, as did the golden eyed stranger.

There was a shout and the stranger quickly realized what he had walked into. A bolt whizzed by his head and the leather clad shape of another crossbow man caught his attention.

He was under attack. The stranger quickly tightened his grip on the archer in front of him and pulled the shocked man close. The stranger used his free hand to quickly slide a small blade from the crossbowman’s belt.

The captured archer groaned and struggled under the weight of the strangers python arm as it wrapped around him. A flying elbow from the archer however slammed hard into the stranger’s jaw, and gave him enough time to wiggle free while the golden eyed man shook his head free from the dizzying blow, drizzling small speckles of crimson from a split lower lip.

Another bolt whizzed by, and quickly another one. The other crossbowman had the stranger in his sights now, and there was only so many times he would mistake his aim before he struck the golden eyed stranger.

The stranger reached out, and by luck his fingers wrapped around the belt of the fleeing archer he had captured, and as he yanked the cross bow man back against him, he heard the twang of the other crossbow slap against its wooden frame.

His arm squeezed and with a heave of might he spun himself and his captured human shield around, and with a yelp from his prisoner, the bolt of the assailant bit deep into the flesh of the first archer.

The stranger felt the crossbowman’s struggle weaken and he loosened his grasp. As the weakened man started to move, the stranger quickly sank the short blade that he stole from the man into his lower back.

As the body of the archer began to slump, the stranger retightened his grip, pressing the bloodied corpse against him as a shield. Another bolt flung from the other archer, and sunk into the dead flesh of the meat shield.

The stranger groaned in annoyance and grabbed the stiff hand of his cadaver shield, and lifted it and it’s tightly gripped crossbow up. He clamped his hand over the slowly chilling hand of the dead archer, and squeezed the hair trigger of the crossbow, releasing a stray bolt with a twang.

The bolt flew with a whistle and buried itself into the chest of the assailant, sending the man backwards over himself and landing on the dirt with a poof of dust. A soft gurgle bubbled from the man as he laid in the dirt, and for a moment the golden eyed stranger stared, before realizing his fight was far from over.

In the struggle, he had no time to notice the two strange men who were watching his fight, eager to rip him to pieces in a bloody revenge.

The stranger dropped his cadaver shield and it crumpled grimly to the road. The man wiped his bleeding lip with his bare arm.

Before the stranger could react further to the two new enemies, a strange owl swooped down from the sky.

The stranger lifted his arms in defense as the flying creature scratched and pecked at his forearms, screeching a battlecry. It’s sharp ebony talons ripped at his skin and tore scarlet ribbons into his arms as he clenched his teeth in agitation.

A slim blade flew at the distracted stranger by the flick of one of the men, a bard’s wrist. The stranger’s quick steps avoided the blade from sticking into his heart, but instead his tunic ripped and the side of his rib under his arm trickled with blood from the grazing thrust.

The flapping wings and flying feathers obstructed the strangers view of his enemies, and with a frustrated groan he struck out with his left fist. The thick knucklebones connected brutally into the face of the owl, effectively knocking it from it’s flight.

The owl landed on the ground in a flutter, and it twitched spastically as the stranger stepped over it to meet the bard who had closed in.

A flaming axe whizzed by the stranger’s head and caught him off guard, making him stumble backwards. His large boot stomped on the bird with a crunch as he tried to regain his balance. The man who had summoned the axe swore harshly under his breath at the sight of the bird being squashed.

The stranger was quickly brought back to attention as the sharp blade of the bard whizzed by his stomach, just missing it’s mark. The bard thrusted with his blade again, but this time the stranger parried it with his own small blade.

The two aggressively attacked each other. The bards blade thrusted, and the strangers blade snapped up to parry. The bard swung to the left, and flying axes hurled to ease the stranger into the deadly bard’s blow, but the stranger ducked and thrusted his tiny blade forward as he rose again once the danger had swept by him in a low whistle.

The bard was quick and flashed his fanciful blade in a skilled thrust to the stranger’s torso. The stranger moved awkwardly towards the blow and then winced in pain as the blade sunk into the flesh of his shoulder and out the back.

A powerful pain however broke the bard’s joy, and he looked down. The strangers hand was up against his stomach in a bloody mess, balled into a fist. Past the edge of where the fist met the gore of the bard’s stomach, the small blade laid deep inside the man.

The stranger pushed further with the gruesome blade, and the bard was sent back, his blade sliding out of the stranger's shoulder, bringing with it a spray of red.

The bard slumped to the ground in a macabre mess of both his and the strangers blood, the wet hilt of the tiny blade protruding from his belly.

The final man took a few steps back as the stranger leaned over the bard’s body and ripped a lute that was slung around the limp shoulder of the dead man.

Axes started to spout out of thin air and spin wildly at the stranger. His golden eyes widened and he tried his best to dodge them. He lept to the left and rolled to the right, splashing a squirt of blood onto the gravel from his shoulder.

He ground his teeth in a sharp pain as he sprinted his final approach. One of the axes had caught him off guard however and when it dissipated into thin air as it collided with him, not causing him any harm, the stranger squinted his angry golden eyes at the illusionist.

The trickster summoned more apparitions desperately, but the Stranger advanced stalwartly.

Once the golden eyed stranger was in reach, ignoring the false blades that threatened him, he lifted the lute over his shoulder, and swung it heavily back down. The wood splintered as it smashed into the side of the illusionist’s head.

The magician fell to the ground from the powerful blow. The stranger walked over the body to finish the battle, and as he stared down at the crippled body on the ground, the eyes of the trickster dimmed with unconsciousness.

The stranger put a scratched and bloody hand over the hole in his shoulder and frowned before kicking the body gently and stepping over it.

His eyes flickered over the battlefield he had just been thrusted into and he frowned, his head lightening and woozy from the loss of blood. This was not his idea of a peaceful midday walk.

The assassin threw up his hands as Tobias ran at him, a stolen knife in each hand. The rogue slammed the ends of both daggers on each of the man's temple with the crack, his foe's eyes rolling back in his head as he collapsed to the ground. Tobias still wasn't executing prisoners like Sana Arrow-Eye, the splitting headache and... potential brain damage the man might suffer notwithstanding.

Tobias turned just in time to see a figure running at him from out of the mists, brandishing a shortsword. Tobias sidestepped the overhand chop but wasn't able to avoid a punch in the jaw that sent him reeling. "Little bastard," the man said, spitting on him.

Tobias looked up and realized the man was vaguely familiar. Evidently, the horseman had dismounted to attack on foot, realizing that another mounted charge would spell the end for the comrade shackled to his horse.

Tobias tottered to his feet and threw a dagger, missing by a mile. His second dagger came as the man was charging him, and though it caught him in the shoulder it barely slowed his furious charge. Tobias dove out of the way a second too slow, and the blade painted a red line across his back. Another scar for the tapestry.

Tobias landed hard and tried to scramble up, to no avail. His enemy was on him, the sword descending, and the rogue was bum out of tricks. Well, save one. The rogue closed his eyes and poured the vial of silvery liquid into his mouth.

The blade stopped mere inches from his face, and a perplexed expression spread across the would-be executioner's face. Tobias rose, cautiously, and took a step away from the man as he looked left and right, wondering where his quarry had gone. Calmy, Tobias moved behind him, threw his arms about his neck, and squeezed.

When the man's struggling stopped, the invisible rogue took a deep breath. Pain and fear began to reassert themselves as adrenaline faded - his wounds burned all across his body, his head pounded, and he could barely stand straight. Limping, holding the cut in his shoulder, he staggered through the fog. "Sister Agnes! Sister Agnes!" he called faintly, rubbing dirt on his face to make the outline of his transparent visage visible.

The Village – Group A

Sister Agnes ducked behind Mevlus, half grateful he was there and half thinking that he was completely nuts. Then again looking around at the group that was defending the village from the attack she concluded they had to at least all be somewhat out of their minds. Looking up before glancing over to him she nodded. “Thank you,” she said quickly and then proceeded to move out of the way and back towards the entrance of the apothecary so she could watch without becoming a target and another victim they would need to defend.

Then she heard Hanzo call out for her; gathering the folds of her habit she moved as quickly as the old woman could over to him. He had managed to take out several of the assailants but they had done their own damage on the monk. Running over to him she took a quick look at his injuries before she reached out as her hands began to glow with a soft white light. Moving them over his body slowly, not wanting to rush the process now that body after body was dropping to the ground, the few that were there taking the upper hand in the battle finally. Hanzos injuries began to close and the bleeding stopped after a few moments, the flesh reknitting itself and healing. There would be some small scars but there was nothing major left once she pulled her hands away and he would be able to function normally once again. Fatigue and blood loss she couldn’t help, she knew of a few spells that would but she did not possess them.

Turning as she heard more of the battle ensue from behind her towards the southern end of the village Sister Agnes perked a brow at the new comer. She had not seen him before; he wasn’t one of the ones that had come into the shop earlier in the day and she couldn’t help but wonder why he was there. Seeing him fight off the evils that were attacking the village she had to say a quick thanks to the Light for sending another person to battle these maniacs. Turning back to Hanzo she smiled. “You need to get to the side and rest, it looks like things are being taken care of,” she said in a kind voice before moving away from him and heading towards the new comer.

“Thank you,” she said to the man that was holding his shoulder as she approached him carefully. “Don’t worry, I won’t try to hurt you,” she said softly. Sister Agnes was your everyday looking woman of the cloth and looked far too old to be in the middle of a battle rushing around healing the younger folk but it was all she could do for them. Stepping over corpses as the fog faded away she came close to him. “Seems you need a bit of healing,” she added as she held her hand out, it glowing faintly with a holy light. If he were to detect her alignment he would find that she was a lawful and good soul that carried no malice in her heart even if she was fatigued from healing body after body this day.

Resting an old and weathered hand atop of his that held his shoulder she said a soft prayer and warmth would fill his form, starting at the wound and slowly spreading out from there to fill his body. It would cause the wounds to close and the flesh to reknit itself as she healed him, the bleeding would cease but sadly the woozy feelings and light headedness would remain. All she could do was heal them from any more blood loss, the rest would require water, food and rest. As she finished she glanced around, wondering if this was it for the day or if there would be more than needed protecting. There was still a smell in the air that would not leave coming from the bodies of those that attacked the town. Whatever the source had been was not there before them and it made her worry that this day was far from over with. She only could hope and pray that the rest of the group would be back soon from their little side quest.

”Sister Agnes! Sister Agnes!”, she heard cry out but she could not see where it was coming from as she stepped away from the new comer and began to go towards the sound of the voice that called to her from seemingly nowhere. Then she saw it, a faint outline of a face seemed to be floating in the air and wobbling with each step.

“I see you,” she called out as she ran over to him and reached out carefully, trying to find his body with her hands since he was still under the effects of the invisibility potion. Finding one shoulder and then the other she opted to heal him as best she could instead of focusing on a single point. She did not know how injured so she did not want to risk not healing him enough. Lowering her head as her stood there she began to glow softly and the light fell from her, enveloping Tobias as she prayed; the light outlining his form as she healed him. It took longer than she would have liked but she was not going to risk not going enough for the thief.

As she finished she took a step back and sat down, breathing heavily on the edge of the walkway of wood that lined the shops of the small village. She had been used to healing people over the years but not having to heal this much so quickly in the middle of a battle. It was something she was unused to and it was beginning to take its toll on the old soul. Resting back against a post she took a few long breaths to regain her composure. She hoped the battle would be over with soon.

Mortosh having had finished of the assassins called Zam back and they wandered to Battle it seemed most of there companions had finished there respective fights so it would seem that Mortosh wouldn't be needed here at least that until he noticed Sister Agnes leaning against a post

"sister Agnes are you alright?" asked Zam Mortosh wanted know as well if the kind nun was alright perhaps there was something he could to help she shook her head but it still didn't put Mortosh at any ease there must be something he could do then he thought of one thing. he began casting bless in the direction of Melvus and Hugh.

Time To Say Goodbye

There Sana stood, watching them leave as the wind kicked up around the remains of the slavers once proud encampment; a den of horror and savagery. The bodies of their foes scattered the ground. The emaciated remains of those who had been captured but not survived laid with hollow eyes staring out into the abyss of nothingness that was the death that had claimed them; their bodies having been crushed beneath the soles of those that had survived and that were now on their way back to the hopeful safety of the village that was several miles south. Small fires still flickered from the various fires that had been burning when they arrived, one was larger than the rest; the one that had claimed Sanas skin when she was brought down by the ravenous dog that attacked her.

The group slowly moved out of sight behind distance and trees and it was not until then that Sana turned and looked fully at the harsh reality that lay before her. It had been seen on their arrival but battle had ensued quickly and then there were other things that kept ones eyes focused away from the bigger picture. Now she saw the forest that lay beyond the trees. She knew she shouldn’t have stayed behind, alone to face this. Her emotional state was already so fragile but this was something that needed to be done and after the loss of her father and the knowledge that the rest of her family was gone; the gypsy did not need those that did not know her around, nor did she need comfort at that time, Sana needed to be alone.

Life was full of twists and turns but it seemed that no matter how far you traveled you always ended up facing your past once again; no matter how long you had tried to avoid it. For as long as Sana remembered she had fled the life of the gypsy. She had rejected what she was, not wanting to be an entertainer, a vagabond, a courtesan and yet here she was staring at the very face of the one that had been the reason she was born into that world. Life had come full circle for her and her fathers last words rang in her mind, I’m sorry I drove you away. Kneeling down she took his hands and placed them over his chest, “I forgive you,” she whispered; rising she sought out some means to lay her fathers body to rest, eventually finding a shovel she could only assume was there to bury the bodies of those that had not been strong enough for the trade.

Seeking and finding a quiet spot away from the tainted earth of the camp she began to dig, dust and dirt kicking up with each strike to the earth and in turn it being tossed aside. Memories of her life before her days on the road, before the years of loneliness, flooded her mind as she went deeper and deeper. She was not remembering the fights, the pressure; she was remembering the good of watching her father play and her mother sing; them teaching her and her sister through song and tale. With each mound of soil that was tossed over her shoulder was like a weight lifted off her shoulder. She was burying the past and coming to peace with it. With each toss of earth she found solitude in what she was as if it was an unveiling and acceptance.

Climbing from the hole she wiped the sweat from her brow and understood that she did not have to choose between being what she was and what she had been. They were both parts of her and that was okay. Shuffling over to her fathers corpse she hefted it up and moved it to its final resting place deep within the earth below. Pulling a silver arrow from her quiver she placed it over his chest and rested two copper coins over his eyes; climbing back out she did what was needed to cover the body that no longer held his soul. There would be no marker to make his grave known; that was how it was, how it had always been. Closing her eyes she said goodbye to him and her family, souls that she could only speak to now through memory. No tears, not now. She just needed to hold on for now, to hold on to get through the day and the night.