Ohhh, why was he in the street? This wasn't a smart place to be, and he knew it full-well. Why would he even consider fighting these creatures head-on? There was nowhere else to go, if he entered the side streets he'd likely be ambushed before he could engage in ambushing of his own in any way, the Rogs themselves as well as his allies were surely more skilled fighters than him... all he had was his wits and some prayers.

...maybe prayers were the right way to go, then? It was worth a shot, at least. Stepping back a couple of paces, just so he was behind everybody else, he re-sheathed his weapons, drew the two ritual daggers on his person, and... gawped at the sight of Ursa turning into a Gods-damned bear. How long had he been hiding that? How was he even transforming like that? His first thought was "werewolf", but those were wereWOLVES, there was no such thing as a wereBEAR... right? Surely something like that couldn't exist, right?

Well, either way, it was standing up to the troll quite handily. He supposed he'd have to take advantage of everyone else's distraction to get the prayer out. Muttering his prayer to Fineki under his breath, quietly so that the others didn't hear, he sketched out some symbols on the ground before him, the daggers a pair of pens for the ritual in question. The argument, in theory, was that this ritual would draw forth a temporary wellspring of good luck for allies, and bad luck for enemies... of course, knowing his deity's whimsical nature, it was just as likely that the opposite would come true, or indeed that both parties would be blessed, cursed, or ignored outright. Or he might just grant some other favour. Who could say, with a god of his particular standing? T'was not Settionne Maralanna's place to question the acts of deities, especially when he was the one invoking their favour.

@POOHEAD189@The Fated Fallen@Sypherkhode822@Banana@Fetzen

Alice focused herself to listen to her surroundings, trying to get an idea of where the majority of Rogs were coming from. Some screams echoed from in between the mass of buildings, and she winced. She knew she couldn't have done anything and could likely have walked all day in this village and not found anything, but she still felt awful that these people having survived one attack should be doomed after another.

Her feelings aside, she launched her projectile amongst the houses, it's aura would be unblocked by physical walls. Just as it left her right hand she instantly followed it with the wand in her left, launching a missile after it. She'd done it several times before, and the missile would split the rock just before it hit the ground (or even a few meters up, which would be even better) and unleash it's intended aura. The Rogs would find themselves losing energy when they started flanking from that direction, and struggle to pull back bowstrings or launch javelins in a lethal manner.

Suddenly a loud boom and clatter could be heard from further down the street they were on. A large dust cloud had arisen from a collapsed house down the way, and when a troll emerged it Alice wished she'd had the discipline to save her only nullification aura for that. She debated quickly about trying to create another one, only to snap back to reality as she narrowly ducked into cover from two arrows. No, her hands were too shaky now, and likely her being distracted would give the Rogs an opportunity to climb up to her, certainly something she didn't like the idea of.

She launched a few apprehensive missiles, many doing good damage to her eye, but most people were distracted by the combat in the centre. Urasen had turned into a Werebear, which seemed to obvious in context. Actually he'd done a really bad job of hiding it, with his constant slips of the tongue and... Actually this wasn't the place to mentally discuss these things. He was doing a good job, however, and she realised it made sense for the party to try and keep the Rogs off of him, as she could imagine the mounted ones could do a lot of damage with their spears, dancing in and out of engagement and being able to reach his weaker areas. With that in mind, she focused on targeting those more elite ones.

Her missiles mainly impacted armour to heavily for them to be of any real damage, mostly though even a glancing hit would knock them off their mounts, which was good enough for her. She quickly ducked into cover so that only her forearm and head were visible, ready to hide fully if she got any more hostile attention. Some part of her despaired at what the state of her dress would be when she stood up, and she couldn't help but laugh. She always enjoyed tormenting her old regime-like monologue and the brief amusement helped focus herself on her job, her spells getting ever more potent towards the monstrous cavalry

@POOHEAD189@The Fated Fallen@Sypherkhode822@Banana@Fetzen

Mags:

Despite knowing that there were bloodthirsty Rogs just outside the inn, Mags couldn't resist one last frantic gulp from the dipper, pouring the rest of it over her head. The water dripped down her face, washing away the dirt in tiny rivulets. She felt better than she had in a week. Resting her hands on the bar, Mags slumped so that her curly hair brushed against a jar of moonshine. Her face went slack, and the sounds of the howling outside faded to a dim droning.

Okay... Rogs. Servants of the Dragon? Could be.

She categorized the aches in her body, more out of masochistic curiosity than anything else. It was a little impressive how something so small could hurt in so many individual places.

Only way to find out is to take one of them alive.

There was a splinter that had been pulled out from the rough edges of the bar, and Mags spun the little jag of wood between her fingers, thinking and focusing.

Which means to make sure the rest of them aren't living

The splinter broke off between her fingers, and she tossed it away as she walked out from the bar, slowly rolling her neck. She paused only to pick up a strong smelling jar, sloshing the potent liquid inside.
Her heart thudded as she pushed open the batwing doors, squinting against the smoky light.

"GO!"

And nearly stumbled back inside as she watched a giant bear fling itself at an equally massive troll.

Merciful gods.

Rogs were already streaming past the troll and the bear, rushing towards a man wielding a staff. Tracking a flash of movement, Mags saw arrows arc harmlessly past a hunched young woman standing on the balcony. The woman was hunched over, concentrating on something in her hands.
Further down the street stood her new friend Settione. It was good to see him, even though he looked terrified. He was holding two daggers limply in his hands, and it didn't seem that he was brandishing them properly.

Already the mosaic was starting to form- the swirling colors leading her forward. A small part of her mind noticed how much more vibrant the colors were being. And it was easier to reach the magic, somehow. Like she was being helped.

Ainth's Misanthropic Assemblage A viscous, foul smelling green liquid formed on her finger tips, and she tilted the bottle so that the goo funneled into the bottle, dissolving into the moonshine until it was all one substance. Gagging at the smell, she struggled to keep the jar steady as the goo dripped down.

I saw lots of flies around here because of the bodies. Hopefully the alcohol in this should spread out the effect of the Assemblage.

A glance down confirmed that the arrows still laid in the abandoned quiver on the steps. That would come later, however.
The next part was something that she had never even thought to try before.

The mosaic flashed brighter, she had to cast the magic now or lose control over the spells completely.

Here fucking goes.

Phaflasta's Predatory Fusillade

Mags tossed the jar lightly into the air, and then focused the spell onto the jar, lobbing it forcefully down the street, arcing high as it neared the crowded Rogs.

Lasnatza's Dismal Veil And now the mosaic burst into one final display of color as the interlocking spells finished it's work.
A sickly green fog began billowing from the jar as it neared the Rogs, spilling onto the streets.

Mags let out a little smile as the jar shattered against the ground and more fog began to fill the streets, causing some Rogs to stop what they were doing and cough.
She had drawn the fog from the moonshine from the jar, and since that had been infused with the Misanthropic Assemblage, the fog now was irresistible to the entire towns insect population, who would come swarming (haha) towards it, causing much consternation and confusion among the Rogs.

Looking away from the quickly growing fog in the middle of the pack, Mags saw a flicker of movement as the woman on the balcony flung something towards the Rogs.
Is that... A rock?
An even faster blur chased after the rock, breaking it and sending smaller pieces flying across the street. I guess as a distraction, falling rocks aren't the worst thing in the world.

A few of the Rogs had seemed to notice her, since they were rushing towards her and shooting arrows at her.
Better get going, then.

Hopping down from the steps, Mags drew her dagger and began beating a quick retreat towards Settione, hoping that he could help her fight off the Rogs.
Further down the street, the fog seemed to be stalling, hanging limply in the air. There were flies, but they were moving slowly, lazily. What the hells had happened?

An-Hasst had been busy trying to evaluate which one of the apparently many rogs rapidly approaching them to tackle with first when the sudden noise of the collapse forced him to pay attention. Detecting the cause of it once his head was turned around was horrifyingly easy. It was the moment when the Skayleigh instantaneously regretted having gone for the rather short bajonets instead of his crossbow. The latter item would have made employing a quick and much more efficient approach literally aiming for the troll's head much more easier. Now he found himself thinking about trying to jump at the ugly creature's neck and gut the hell out of it, but again this thought was interrupted by a roar. A were-roar. How cute! And not really surprising after all if one had listened closely. Still it was an impressive sight, almost the height of himself. Maybe it was best if Ursaren dealt with that troll why they busied themselves keeping the trash off of him.

That didn't change much about his own problems though. While the Skayleigh combined the enormity of a monstrous heap of muscle with the aspect of being lithe and thereby could theoretically be considered a very dangeorus combination of his own, he couldn't add a real soldier's experience to the equation. Despite the ongoing conflict on the Kaelic island this wasn't exactly a tradition among his family. They were woodcutters, even though quite prominent ones.

Several things happened at the same time then. It took An-Hasst almost as much additional time to realize what Alice had done as the woman's action had given to him until the Rogs had come very uncomfortably close to him. Still he found this to be very benign effect as slower enemies were better enemies in general. He wasn't so sure about what this other, new woman was pulling off though. Even in masses: To what degree where ordinary flies capable of killing an armored Rog ? Weren't it the maggots who did all the trick with eating the dead bodies ? And weren't they doing this at a speed far too slow for a combat, even in masses ? If he approached those affected by this... goo... They'd disturb his sight as well!

So far he had seen more people dealing with some fancy magic than with anything actually lethal. It only meant that he and the others would have to deal with more of the really ugly stuff. He turned his view to Settionne and the filth-in-a-jar woman. Whatever the priest was doing it didn't look like it was putting up a good defense fight for him. The small man had apparently opted for hiding behind everyone else, but what if the rogs would make use of the maze of streets and rubble and a portion of them went around them ? The moment they'd be surrounded by them the concept of 'behind everyone else' would cease to exist, so better to make one's stand closer to the two.

It was a slow and fighting 'retreat' though. The first rog slammed his serrated blade onto the Skayleigh's thick wooden armor. There wasn't as much as a splinter, but the danger was that one time the creature, despite all its blind savagery, would find the right way of lifting them and ramming the point into the leather below them. Neither was An-Hasst currently really aware of this bit of his mostly theoretical knowledge, nor had he much of an opportunity to take counter-measures. He was far too busy with trying to make the best out of the bajonets and land hits where there appeared to be weak areas, an effort which quickly covered his armor in blood and his face in speckles of it. Frankly he quickly developed into something with striking similarity to the Rogs: A ferocious humanoid who basically was going berzerk, pushing his physical prowess up to the point where he just literally jumped at his enemy, kicked and weighed him down onto the floor with his armored feet and bashed his head until he could hear a -- at this point eeriely satisfying -- cracking noise.

Of course that didn't stop the next Rog from coming for him. In fact he did so while the Skayleigh was executing the last bit of his maneuver during which the cracking noise occured. An-Hasst's enormous height now acted against him as the Rog could hardly do anything else than letting his ugly blade push its point along the back portion of his armor in a very sharp angle. The sturdy leather slowed its approach, but still a surge of pain emanated from somewhere close to his shoulder. Those members of the party close to the location would possibly would be able to hear a very angry scream distinguishable from those of the Rogs. Enfuriated the Skayleigh twisted around, one of his arms now almost dangling from his shoulder, but the other one hitting the Rog's neck from the side. The blade cut into it, disrupting the blood flow and making his enemy slowly descend onto the ground. Still he'd probably have to get out of here very soon...

@POOHEAD189@The Fated Fallen@Sypherkhode822@Banana@BCTheEntity

The Troll was a bit too stupid to actually comprehend what was occurring before it when Ursaren transformed, growing in size, muscle mass, and body hair. It had a confused, somewhat blank look that kept it from actively attacking until Ursaren slammed into the beasts, causing it to topple backwards and flatten a few Rogs that screeched until they were squished. Still, the Troll did not stay down long. It still couldn't comprehend what had happened, but it's anger over-ruled the confusion. With one apeish arm, it pushed itself up. It roared, spittle flying out of its mouth before it punched at Ursaren. Despite the Were-Bear's size increase, the punch of a Troll was strong enough to break open fortified gates. Avoiding it as much as possible was the best option.

Beren raised a finger and opened his mouth, and then lowered the finger while closing his mouth. If Alice had spoken her thoughts aloud, he would have agreed. All of the hints were right there. Guess Beren thought it was a bit too obvious. His deadpan demeanor disappeared abruptly when the first screaming Rogs made it to him. The muscled warrior snapped his fist forward to bury it into the face of the Rog while simultaneously blocking its swing by knocking aside its forearm. The Rog fell back, and the next one to attack Beren received a leaping roundhouse. It was then he had to take his weapon out, for the monsters were like a relentless tide. His staff moved in a blur, spinning and blocking as he backstepped, fighting for his life. The magical blasts from Alice streamed down among the horde, killing one or two and knocking a few more down, including two riders. The Worgs still pressed forward however. Her hex upon the buildings permeated, probably helping them from being flanked...for now.

As Sett finished his prayer, Mags tossed her piss-smelling bottle down the street. It shattered atop a Rog's head, cracking across its skull and knocking it out before the green mist billowed outwards. It would be near the Troll and Ursaren soon. The mist wouldn't deal serious damage, but it would halt the flow of the horde for now, screeches mixed with coughs and shrieks. Beren was joined by Geradin who had caught up. His hammer glowing, he broke Rog knees and skulls as he shield rushed various others, allowed Beren to crack a few skulls himself. Seems for now the tide was turning thanks to Settione's timely prayers. Still, Beren had recieved a large gash on his arm from a jagged blade, so far.

Argon waded into the fray, hacking at Rog's and killing a few, ignoring his own wounds and knocking aside those that dared stab at him with his powerful limbs and tail. He made it to the Troll and Ursaren, hissing at the Troll with a pointed sword, challenging it and helping Ursaren in his fight. Meanwhile, the Rogs that fell before Ann-Hasst managed to cut him a bit, but so far he was keeping well and slaying those that came before him. However, an extra armored and particularly large Rog waded through his troops, sizing Ann-Hasst up under its black iron helm. It held a wicked halberd in its hands, approaching him steadily.
@Banana@Fetzen@Sypherkhode822@The Fated Fallen@BCTheEntity

The werebear growled fiercely at the troll before him when his opponent threw the gorilla-esque punch, however the punch would be sadly caught within the clawed grasp of the monstrous Old Ursa. This aged grizzly wasn't something to trifle with, as he had decades of experience piled on top of his already respectable ability to hold his own. What Old Ursa did not expect, however, was a deft headbutt delivered directly to his snout by the behemoth of an opponent he was currently wrestling. Now all the werebear could smell was a faint smell of blood, but it was overshadowed by the feeling of rushing adrenaline in his body. It'd been far too long since he'd transformed, and the feeling of relief was appreciated.

The old bear continued wrestling the troll until he noticed that Argon had arrived beside the two tyrants, and while he was slightly afraid that any of his hits would miss and contact him, he did know that any assistance here would be good assistance. "Head up!" roared Old Ursa as he broke free from wrestling the troll, delivering a hefty slash with his claws that would send the troll stumbling backwards, this time a few feet away from Argon.

Mags

Mags heard the satisfying crack as the jar broke over the head of the rog, and watched with growing pleasure as the fog rushed forth, obscuring and choking many of the war band. Still, they rushed forward, and the tall man carrying a staff began knocking back the Rogs with startling accuracy and force. The howling curses of the Worgs chilled her, and Mags began unconsciously backing away as she saw them stalk slowly closer their amber eyes flashing with malice. She froze in the street, ready to turn and flee.

They're faster than me. There's no way I could run from them.

The giant bear's roar drew her back to the fight at hand. She didn't know these people, but they were trying to fight off the Rogs, and some of them may have been looking for the dragon.

Good enough reason to stick around, I guess.

A Rog broke out from the fog, spitting obscenities and blindly swinging his wooden club. The Rog spotted Mags, and began to rush towards her. She backpedaled as the Rog closed the distance between them, raising his weapon high above his head, yellowing teeth bared in pleasure. When he was only a yard away, Mags stopped, dropped into a crouch, and flung herself at the legs of the Rog, tackling him. The club went down over her back, and the wind was knocked out of her as they crashed to the ground.
Wheezing, she began to crawl away when she felt the Rog grab her by the ankle. Twisting over, the Rogs bloody face swam in her vision as he stumbled to his feet, lifting the club from the ground and raising it up, readying to strike Mags.
A rainbow blur rain through her head as she flung a hand up to protect herself-

Excellent Prismatic Spray

The Rog's head and shoulders pulped themselves as the iridescent beams burst through, knocking the Rog backwards until it lay on the ground next to Mags, blood pooling out.
Chest heaving, she slowly pulled herself to her feet, looking around at the fighting around her. There were still more Rogs approaching.

Too late to run away, anyways.

The colors began to swirl as she summoned more magic, readying her next attack.

At last, his ritual was completed, and for a few moments, Sett held back, observing the handiwork of his god... whatever that was. And from the looks of things, that was quite a big positive input! Things appeared to be going well for his allies, anyway. Perhaps that would change shortly, but for now...

For now, he had to find some other way of making himself useful. And much as he really, really didn't want to go toe-to-toe with any number of those entities... well, maybe Fineki would smile upon him, allow him to sidle around the group and get to the most important areas of the fight, where he could take out the leaders. Stealthily. Not the troll though, that was already being handled nicely.

And on the other hand, that heavily-armoured Rog approaching the Scay-lie seemed like a much juicier target... did valdium cut through armour plating as well as magical flesh? Damn him for not knowing these things off by heart! But, why would he need valdium when good old iron was more than sufficient when applied to a significant weak spot, like a joint, or its neck? Drawing his dagger, he gradually trod toward the Rog in question, keeping an eye open in case any of its fellows decided to charge him, and making damn sure the thing's attention was focused on his good friend the Skay-lay instead of him, for why draw attention to yourself... when you can not?

@POOHEAD189@The Fated Fallen@Sypherkhode822@Banana@Fetzen

So far things had been going on relatively well, at least as far as An-Hasst could survey the overall situation. He had taken a major bruise which was easily visible by the reddish stain than started at one point on his back and went down in a broadening line to his legs, but he also was surrounded by several slain rogs. Settionne had gone out of his sight or rather the other way round, but before the Skayleigh could try and regain knowledge about that strange and small man's position, something else happened...

Or rather: It stomped towards him. Hopefully this was the largest one of the bunch -- not because otherwise he'd have to share the honor of having dealt with such one, but because otherwise they'd probably all share the unfortunate misery of death by... being already halfway split in one half by one single hit of this halberd ? Obviously the situation would have been so insanely much better with him havings his hands at that weapon and the Rog having to deal with his petty bajonets, but before An-Hasst could even dare to think about trying that wicked thing out he'd have to get rid of its owner first somehow.

Some inner feeling told the Skayleigh that the simple application of brute force, despite its successes so far, was in grave danger of being insufficient against that kind of foe. This thought truly was the case once the Rog suddenly swung his weapon for the first time. An-Hasst, having underestimated its vast range at first, had to throw himself and his so far clean looking face into the trampled and blood-stained mud beneath his feet. Luckily he merely looked like being a behemoth who'd be massively impeded by his own bulk, so he found himself able to get back up into a crouched position and rush sideways before the Rog could deply his disgusting, but heavily armored foot against his stomach.

The Rog experienced some delay with tracking that strange enemy with the golden-colored hair, but the concept of faster-than-he-looks-like probably wouldn't take indefinitely to gain a foothold in the ugly creature's mind. An-Hasst recognized the opportunity and approached the Rog's left armpit from below, ramming one of his blades into where one could, for technical reasons, hardly apply solid metal plating. With the additonal support of his other hand the blade pushed the rings apart like a wedge and sunk into the Rog's flesh.

The Skayleigh couldn't tell if the action had been a deliberate one or a reflex response in order to protect the injured armpit, but the Rog's left arm immediately moved in in order to close the gap between them and his torso, the effect being that An-Hasst's left hip was impacted by the Rog's elbow. The much greater flexibility of his scale armor didn't exactly help to block the path of the black, solid armor of the Rog. Had An-Hasst been Argon or Ursaren he probably would only have been thrown to the ground again, but, while he looked heavier than the lizardman, the opposite was the case and he was actually tossed away by several feet.

It only helped to amplify the amount of pain emanating from his left flank. Lying in the mud again and trying to get up as quickly as possible, the Skayleigh's efforts were hampered by the feeling of blood seeping into his stomach and at least one of his ribs being broken. He wasn't out of the Rog's immediate range and despite hating it, the wisest course of action at the moment probably was to get further away. After all and from his different point of view now he could see Settionne again. Hopefully that bloody bastard would finally start doing something and buy him enough time to stabilize and get his crossbow ready! That was... if the man would be actually willing to attract the Rog's attention and the latter one would actually be willing to buy it. Otherwise he'd have to do somehow with the one blade remaining and despite his injuries.

On the good side of things one could add however that the Rog was hemorrhaging blood at a rapid rate. The creature angrily ripped out the blade from its deep wound and tossed it away. The amount of power behind the halberd's moves hopefully would have greatly decreased. Still... getting hit by it ? Better not. At least if you were only very lightly armored.

@POOHEAD189@The Fated Fallen@Sypherkhode822@Banana@BCTheEntity

Alice had been in her fair share of fights before, she'd even been a part of a Dwarven military operation once (never again!). She knew that staying where she was would ultimately be fruitless, she would be overwhelmed as she tried to stay on her vantage point since the arrows would stop her from being able to properly defend it. Still, she took one last proper look across the unfolding battle before she descended.

She noticed several of her fellows locked in mortal combat with the foe, noting that Settionne and An-Hasst had made their way to the fighting. She also assessed the impact of her spells. Her nullification field had helped greatly, and she saw barely a soul charge from that area. Her missiles hadn't worked so well insofar. Despite being riderless the giant wolves, or worgs as she gathered by their obvious intelligence and wroth, were still charging towards their intended targets; bounding past and over the other charging Rogs.

She quickly processed that fists aren't the best weapon against a leaping ball of teeth and claws twice your weight, and shouted over the din of battle to Beren "You have the little ones, I'll keep those worgs off of you!" and focused her efforts. Instead of launching the fusillade she had amongst the Worgs before to confuse them, she now focused her energies into single projectiles, easily strong enough to puncture deep into the creatures in unarmoured spots. One by one she began eliminating them, and Beren was doing a good enough job himself against the obviously unprepared Rogs. Likely they thought a man with no weapon would be an easy target (well, she probably would have done as well).

A loud and terrible 'thump!' resounded across the battlefield, catching her attention and many of the Rogs around, though Beren did nothing but take advantage of the situation and continued his mechanical advance through their ranks. Looking over the Rog's heads, she could see that Ursaren had started to gain an advantage over the Troll, and was knocking it back with well delivered blows. She thanked Ragnarok quickly that things were going well, and for a bit of strength to see this through before she had to duck under an arrow. She quickly shot the archer through the neck and laughed at how her god always liked to keep His followers on their toes.

"Keep fighting Beren, we're getting there!" she cried amongst the chaos they found themselves in, though if he had heard her unnecessary statement he showed no sign of it

@POOHEAD189@Fetzen@Sypherkhode822@Banana@BCTheEntity

The Troll tanked the claw swipe, and clenched its massive fist. Its next punch snapped outward like a fierce club blow -from a troll no less- and sent Ursaren skidding back. It would be a bit hard for Ursaren to breathe properly for a bit. Luckily, Argon was there to wade into the battle with his sword, hacking hard at the Troll's forearm. The Troll growled, tearing his arm back. Argon hissed, and bashed it in the head with his shield, stunning it. It shouldered Argon away, the relatively large Lizardman still being sent off his feet by the blow, though the Troll was stunned!

Beren and Geradin fought side by side, the Dwarf hacking with his hammer and bashing foes back with his shield, taking hits with his heavy armor and sturdy constitution. Beren had since tired down somewhat, but he was still moving with swift reaction time and fierce hits. His corded muscles glistening in the sunlight with sweat, now wielding both his axe and staff in his hands. He could not use the staff effectively in one hand, of course. But he used it as an extra blocking (and prodding) tool as he spun and cleaved with his Dwarven Axe. Now that there were no reinforcements for the time being, and more importantly, the miasma behind the Rogs was demoralizing them somewhat, the two warriors pressed their advantage. Beren kicked a smaller Rog into the Miasma, and then waved to Alice, showing her he heard and was appreciative!

Suddenly, a forgotten beast bounded out of one of the alleyways. It was a great red Elk, snorting some of the Miasma from its nose. It was Brogach! As if on cue, Calanon the Ranger was spotted by Alice atop one of the three story buildings to the northeast, around the wall of Miasma. He called out, exclaiming he found a place to hide it seemed. His arrows began flying as he cried out, thinning the ranks of the Rogs that were still alive, and spitting two that were encroaching upon young Mags.

The Rog Captain growled, and gave a coarse cough. Blood seeped out of its lower helmet, indicating blood from the mouth. Still, like the cockroaches they were often compared to, the Rog was resilient and still remained upright, though shaky. It gripped its Halberd, raising it and pointing the tip at the grounded Skayleigh, crying out as it thrust forward. Only for an arrow to ping it in the helmet, offputting it somewhat. It growled, readjusting the helmet and swinging wildly to keep anything in front of him at bay as it did so.

@The Fated Fallen@Fetzen@BCTheEntity@Sypherkhode822@Banana

The werebear panted with some sort of otherworldly aggression as he skidded backwards into a horde of 'rogs. His heart was pounding through his chest out of fury. He felt the air rush past him as he recovered from the blow, unable to recover his breath entirely. Old Ursa also felt the adrenaline rush through his system as he barreled towards the Troll with his mighty paws raised. He didn't exactly know what he was going to do, but the body of the wearbear ran on what felt like autopilot to him, and he trusted his gut with whatever it was about to do.

"RRRRAAAAAAGGGHHH!" Ursaren let out a hefty roar as he delivered a mighty uppercut to the chin of the Troll, sending him soaring backwards through the horde of terrified Gundarogs behind him. Blood was spilled on the clear path as Ursaren took a deep breath, trying to recover what he could of his ability to use his lungs for a bit, but he still remained vigilant as he watched the Troll. He had to play on the defensive for a few moments, as his frame wasn't looking so great. That punch did a number on his constitution, but he could take a few more before he was down for good.

On the one hand, it looked like Ursaren and the troll were going toe-to-toe, and the bear person creature was finding himself on the back foot. On the other hand, the Elf Ranger had turned up at last, and was making a mess of the other Rogs... more importantly, though, the leader figure Sett was after was distracted for the moment, trying to stab and slash at the Skaylay to prevent him from approaching. Now was his chance! Possibly to die horribly and not realistically contribute at all, but also to perhaps kill the thing!

By now, he'd wound up behind the Rog captain, practically between it and the rest of the army. He'd have to rely on luck and that miasma to ensure they didn't get him from behind... luckily, he was a man for whom good luck was quite prolific. Thus, he crept toward it, waiting for his moment... waiting... and...

As the Rog swung its halberd forward, he leapt on to its back, latching one arm around its chest, and drove the dagger in his other hand into the creature's neck. As expected, some chainmail provided resistance, but since it was a dagger, it was practically designed to pierce between the rings, and once a solid stab had been achieved, Sett wrenched the knife round and across its throat, an effort to try and decapitate the beast, or at least mostly decapitate it, severing every major blood vessel in its neck along with its windpipe in the process.

@POOHEAD189@The Fated Fallen@Sypherkhode822@Banana@Fetzen

With a final fusillade between the ranger and wizard, the small group was in the clear, for the moment. Those that hadn't been felled beneath hammer and fist were falling back into the sapping aura where Alice was confident they would not come back. Despite this Calanon was still shooting towards another position, and he called to them as if sensing her attention, saying that he'd found a place to hide after all.

Alice turned to her two exhausted companions, noticing more than a little blood pouring over their slick forms. More than likely it looked worse than it was, and she held her bottle of elven liquor out to them both. "Thank you, both of you." was all she said about the fight that had just ensued, though a part of her felt at ease knowing that these people had at least got a small amount of justice this day.

She was sharply aware that not all sounds of conflict had died down, loud thumps could still be heard, though she reckoned most of the clatter of arms and armour was from the hostile forces fleeing. She reckoned, though she knew that there was no real way to tell. Geradin seemed uneasy at the prospect of staying here as time went on. He did that thing he does where he would lean on his hammer one moment and quickly shift it up to his shoulder and move a few paces before repeating the process. The familiarity she shared with her friend made her smile even after all that had just happened.

"Well, where to now?" she said after they had all gotten their breaths back, and after the novelty of Geradin's shuffling had worn off. "I suggest we try and find the others, and see how they have fared." she hoped that they weren't overly hurt. She was acutely aware the party had no real healer, and although she had seen Geradin stitch up many wounds with his God's favour she didn't know how useful such things would be when used for major wounds, or for long term care

@POOHEAD189@BCTheEntity@Sypherkhode822@Banana@Fetzen

An-Hasst had been halfway through the process of confronting himself with the fact about one's own mortality. Sometimes it came earlier than expected, sometimes it came without time to think about it. This wasn't the case here though, the sluggish rog apparently took his time to lift his halberd again with his one remaining functional arm and wasn't all too precise with his thrusts. Still the situation felt very dire since the Skayleigh could feel that he himself was neither all too mobile nor all too powerful anymore.

Soon it proved though that it wouldn't be the chunky piece of metal attached to an oversized wooden stick that would drive him out of this side of the world. It was the prospect of having to digest that it was thich utterly useless, utterly weak, utterly hideous and yet at this moment very successful priest. Now he dared to jump to his aid! An-Hasst secretly bit the inner side of his lip in an attempt to swallow away his feelings, but not to much avail.

There were still rogs on their way, so he merely was out of the most immediate danger. Slowly he heaved himself back onto his feet and limped towards the entrance of one of the buildings. He'd need to reach an elevated position, some place that could protect him while he was preparing and reloading his crossbow. The giant stepped over the Rog Captain's body and gave it a series of vicious kicks into its face and chest as it as some muscles were still twisting. The creature appeared to be dead. Then he passed Settionne, looking down at the tiny man but not saying a word.

@POOHEAD189@BCTheEntity@Sypherkhode822@Banana@The Fated Fallen

Ursaren's blow staggered the Troll impressively, and scraped off the some the 'scales' of its rocky skin. But it did no more than that, causing it to grunt in surprise and annoyance. Two Rogs were dispatched by Argon, before the towering reptilian leaped savagely, and hacked at the Troll with his large sword. The blow wounded the beast, but the two larger members of the party heard Beren calling from behind them.

The muscled monk had cupped his hands to his mouth as he called for them to retreat. The Troll seemed wounded and distracted at the moment, and the Rogs were wary to pursue without the Troll moving forward. This was their chance. Argon hissed in annoyance, but backed away a few steps, swatting his tail menacingly at any that looked confident enough to try and harry them.

Meanwhile, Settionne's dagger did manage to penetrate the chainmail upon the Captain's neck, drawing blood that seeped and gurgled out of him. Still, the armored and powerful Rog shook mightily and sent Settionne flying back to hit the ground, (none too gently I might add) before it fell to its knees and vainly tried to stay alive. However, even cockroaches need air, and it finally fell onto its face. Dead.

Beren the Monk's boots skidded across the street as he halted in front of the Skayleigh and the Priest of Fineki. He had a few nasty cuts along his forearms and shoulders, and his gi was tattered. He held his hand out for Sett to help him up. "Calanon is two streets away. We should head over to him. I think he's found a way out of here." Beren breathed.

"Ack, I can heal many wounds but not all at once!" Geradin exclaimed to no one in particular. He hefted his warhammer and nodded for Alice to follow him, moving his stubby legs (which Alice could easily keep up with as he headed over to the others, bar Ursaren and Argon). The cloud that Mags had created looked to be thinning. They'd best hurry. "It's a dark day when a Dwarf runs of Rogs. Bastardly creatures."
@Fetzen@The Fated Fallen@BCTheEntity@Banana@Sypherkhode822

Ursaren almost didn't hear Beren's call for attention, but he did at the last second. The werebear, alongside Argon, had damaged the troll enough to the point where it likely wouldn't pursue the group if they ran, and Ursaren was completely fine with it. He probably lost a tooth or two from a punch, not that he really minded. Healing magic could resolve it, and Ursaren was packing. The werebear turned to face the rest of the party before dropping down onto his front paws and beginning a massive sprint towards the rest of the party. Argon was welcome to hop on if he wanted.

As Ursaren made it to the rest of the party, he heard Geradin exclaim something about healing, and it triggered a reaction back from the jolly old man that was inside this shell of a bear. "When return, I heal too." His language may have been basic, but he could still tell the party that he was useful. What he resisted to tell them, however, is that his werebear form could last indefinitely at his command. Bah, they'll figure it out eventually, right now they needed to escape, and Ursaren rose to protect the party as they grouped up. Rogs were like rabbits, and Ursaren was still the mighty bear of the woods. They'd be easy for him to take down.

The question is, would his mind hold up though?

Sett's fall to the ground was not quite as soft as he'd have liked. For a time, he found himself sorely winded, barely able to breath for the catching of his diaphragm. And he'd knocked his head quite hard too, at that. That was going to be a bruise tomorrow, he was sure, and he'd have to have been extraordinarily lucky in order to not suffer worse damage than that. And he had already had his stroke of good luck for the day... unless he'd not used up all of it. The wellspring he'd opened might not have closed at that time; in fact, it made little sense for it to have closed between his skewering the Rog's neck, and taking a tumble off its back. And worst case scenario, he supposed he could get another member of the party to heal him. Or even himself! Was he not a priest? Did he not have... well, he didn't, because that wasn't what priests did, but regardless, he hoped Fineki was still smiling upon him.

Either way, the Monk had made an appearance, and offered a helping hand to get the priest back on his feet, and an escape route for everybody here, as it seemed these Rogs would overrun them if they failed to escape. What was the monk's name? Belend or something, he wasn't sure he'd asked. Even so, he took the hand, saying 'Yes, thank you, thank you kindly, much appreciated, it's not every day a priest has to get into a fight like this,' and generally making himself seem a tad more of a fool than he really was for the moment. So on the one hand, he was finally about to get away from what he'd assumed would be his inevitable death.

...and on the other hand, his innate urge to steal hadn't been fulfilled in a while. And there was a perfectly good set of headgear lying unused by anybody at the moment... instinct kicked in, and as he walked in roughly the direction indicated, he subtly glanced around to make sure nobody of note was paying attention, least of all that Skally who had taken a serious disliking to him. When he was sure they weren't looking, he quickly (though casually, as if readjusting a shoe rather than looting a corpse) knelt down next to the dead Rog leader and, in order, stuffed the helmet, the chainmail under the helmet, and the leather cap beneath that into his Elven silk bag, before standing back up and continuing to jog away as if nothing had happened, all in the span of a second and a half or so. Such were the benefits of deft hands and keen eyes. He could pretend he was going to bless the items or something later if they were discovered, "symbolic of purging the filth of those Rogs and their bloodthirsty ways out of our souls, that we might all remain pure and sinless in their wake". Yes, that'd be reasonable. Maybe claim they were battlefield relics or something.

@POOHEAD189@The Fated Fallen@Sypherkhode822@Banana@Fetzen

Retreat ? How nice... Well... Not that the Skayleigh actually felt any real urge to firmly rebuff this proposal -- his body insisted on not to --, but it still hurt mentally. An-Hasst could feel the surge of adrenaline slowly subside now that he was idling around. The deeper the moment of him lying on the ground and facing the danger of immediate death had ventured down time's infinite throat, the more he considered this battle to be a nice and, most importantly, varied show in comparison to the monotony of walking around all day.

He had not taken any notice of the priest's quick appliance of greed towards the dead Rog Captain, but even if he had he probably wouldn't have cared about it. Anyone eager to stick his head into the filth that had to be on the inside of an ugly enemy's helmet ? How could this hurt the dead ? It would only hurt the poor guy feeling the need to make this descision. An-Hasst wasn't ready for grabbing the Rog's armor: Too much trouble for the little time they had left and most of the parts had no chance of fitting to his own body without massive rework anyway. The this halberd however...

The Skayleigh thudded over to the corpse, now indeed wondering where the rog's helmet had gone so suddenly. At least the flow of blood was starting to diminish, but some droplets were still raining down from underneath his armored coat. He firmly stepped onto the rog's hand still holding the halberd's shaft, cracking some minor bones in the process. That weapon looked like brute force would already be sufficient to deal very major damage, something his bajonets had proven they could never deliver. The weapon was pulled out of the rog's shattered hand and An-Hasst let it rest on his own shoulder now before he turned towards the muscled monk again. "A way out of here ? What kind of way ?" While asking, the Skayleigh didn't hesitate to follow Beren though.

@POOHEAD189@The Fated Fallen@Sypherkhode822@Banana@BCTheEntity

Alice followed after Geradin as he spat "It's a dark day when a dwarf has to run from Rogs. Bastardly creatures." She couldn't help but agree. Any other day a raid like this would have been shattered by their actions, but between the Rogs somehow gaining a troll and them somehow amassing this great a number she could understand Geradin's bitterness.

Not only that, but these actions were extremely uncharacteristic of raiders. If there wasn't easy loot to get, why would they have attacked? What would make a small group like them worthy of bringing the entire might of the Rog's in the region on their heads? There was clearly darker powers at work here, and she meant to share with the party her hypothesis that they were no longer travelling unnoticed at the earliest convenient moment.

For the moment though, a retreat was in order, she stuck close to Geradin as he marched towards Calanon's way out, weapon still out just in case. As more and more of the party slowly linked up on the path there she noticed many would need healing. She smiled encouragement to the various members in appreciation of their struggle, and even saw that Settionne had bloodied himself.

As Beren moved them closer to their destination, she spoke up "Please don't say it's underground. I'm not sure most of our number would fit into a smuggler's tunnel."

@POOHEAD189@BCTheEntity@Sypherkhode822@Banana@Fetzen