Without their commander, the cultists appeared decidedly less threatening a bunch, and now that the offence had fully began, Orchid had taken the chance and rushed in. But rushing at them was precisely what the guards of exit and entryways were to expect, and just before the reckless assault of the barbarian would find purchase, he would find the scimitar of the hooded cult member slicing away at his abdomen, splattering a trickling of blood on the grazing hit.

The assailant had not been quite as lucky in avoiding death as the green-skinned man intent on breaking through the line of defence. The machete came down mercilessly, shattering bone with the aid of supernatural anger only few could muster. The cultist slumped under the strike, his consciousness failing before the shock of the blow. One more adversary taken care of.

As the others engaged in attack, so did Kyra. She heard the death cries of one of the cultists as they were hacked down by the orc, and from the shadow of the tent Kyra emerged, her amulet now exposed, as she aimed her bow at one of the cultst who stood away from Brannor. "Guiding Bolt!" A arrow made of radiant energy appeared in her hand as she notched it into her bow and let it fly, it's divine energy shooting into the cultist with all the fury and fervor Kyra could muster. "First you... Then everyone else in this damned camp." Kyra looks around and moves through the tent for anything that might help mask their escape. Failing that, she needed a torch, or perhaps just some sort of firestarter. This place will burn to the ground.

The magical arrow from nowhere took the lone cultist by surprise, death claiming them before they had even realised what had happened. The corpse that now lay on the ground emitted a shimmering glow, the magic still ready to complete its task despite the obvious redundancy of it. This left only one of them standing, though as Kyra looked around she managed to catch a glimpse of worrying news. While the tent was largely filled with objects of everyday living suitable for the race of kobolds, it was what she picked up from outside of the tent flaps that was the problem. More were coming. Though that had been obvious from the start.

The remaining cultist did not follow in the footprints of those the heroes had often seen. Despite the overwhelming opposition, despite the fact his friends, or at least allies, were falling all around him, he raised his weapon and screamed his battle cry into the nighttime air, to join the smells of battle and death as an auditory companion. "FOR TIAMAT'S GLORY!" the Cultist screamed, bringing the weapon down on the one opponent within his reach.

The fervent strike driven by the man's beliefs found purchase on the hooded man's arm, the weapon managing to find a spot where armour gave way to a softer joint. While only a minimal amount of blood was drawn, if that, the strike had harmed the last night's champion. The Cultist knew he was staring death into the eye. But he had chosen to not die with his back turned to the enemy.

The strike elicited little recoil from the cloaked figure in the wake of a brilliant magical bolt which passed by them both. Not because it failed to connect, but something turned the injury aside with unnatural resilience and spurred a horrible, horrible response from deep within. It was there, in that moment of realization, that death stared the attacker back with, at least this time, metaphorical jaws that would pluck what little life they had from corporeal figure. So Brannor's gaze narrowed in fixation and he snarled, soon turning the killer blade on the lone survivor of the spearheaded strike the heroes of Greenest were delivering to make their escape. What came then from the feral man was nothing short of terrifying ferocity that had been prefaced by his grunt, hefting the sword in spite of his wound.

There were no words, no passionate, vigorous spectacle, or snide and cunning remark before the sword swept from low to high, the angle centered just under the dragon-worshiping man's ribs. There was only the roar of a wounded animal that lashed back significantly harder, regardless if anyone could even hear anything over the sound of tearing flesh and armor at all; a retort only steel aptly could give. But the knight-aspirant finished his strike all the same and stepped through after, carrying on and moving even if it meant under threat.

As it were, if dying in the mud and bleeding to death from being carved like fresh meat was this cultist's idea of serving this dragon better, Brannor was all for hastening that outcome. One way or another he was going to cut a path through the enemy who made the mistake of crossing them but one night ago and ruining so many lives in the process. All the feral champion could hope for now was that his allies followed him and the corona of lunar magic that carried with his sizable figure, no matter if the enemy was dead or not. Thus far he was far from concerned they would fail, as the priestess had laid one low with her magic and another was butchered by the green skinned half-blood.


@Hekazu@Gordian Nought@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen

With the rest of the cultists dead, Parum looked around d and was frantic. ”Okay we really, really have to go now! Torus grab Leosin! Orchid, Brannor, clear us a path! Kyra, distract the the cultists somehow!” Parum knee that Kyra wanted nothing more than to kill everyone in this camp. So she’s enable her, taking out a flask of oil and handing it off to Kyra. ”Go nuts. Let’s just get out of here fast!”

Upon the threshing floor, the spectrum of wheat winnowed the chastened chaff.

Green blood. Blue and pink haired. Golden eyed.

The colors of a day-old covenant had already hewn the straight and narrow egress for the brown bear and the monastery’s exhausted master. The black bird above, mingling with the ebon eve with is charcoal wings, hurried ahead with eyes scarlet, adulterous with the heavens, flocking closer and hovering lower, near the ursine beast. The molded myth, now fashioned with nature’s guise dashed candidly like a loosed arrow through the guarded gates, which the others so deftly helped keep ajar. The proverbial needle’s eye was foremost surgically procured by the feral tiger, who paradoxically hid beneath the quilt of human flesh, beckoned by an unseen Pale Lady.

The bard masticated these circumstances, playfully enjoying the idiosyncrasies of their cabal, while the druid prayed the slaves would also flood behind the parting of the purple sea of slain cultists.

Onto an exodus away from shackles and hordes.

@Hekazu

As the bear carrying the prisoner rushed away, shouts came from behind. "Over here! They are trying to breach through!", "To arms! To arms!", "For Tiamat's glory!" and "Run them down! Nobody leaves!" forming the majority of them. Despite the great luck the heroes of Greenest had had, they were hardly free to go quite yet. Three more cultists had already caught up to them, and only more were to come. There would not be time to take all of them down, nor would any sane man even consider such an act possible, especially not with the tall figure of the blue half-dragon dressed in purple rushing through the crowd at great speed, pushing many of his own underlings aside as he gripped the handle of his halberd.

The the great luck of Kyra, the one who was hanging far back enough for the enemy to be able to reach, they could only make it to her instead of quite yet unleashing their assault upon her person. Of the three arrivals, two entered the tent while the last one stayed at the exit, and one of them even made it all the way next to the bow wielding cleric. "Prepare to die, nonbeliever!" the woman screamed in the pink-haired one's face, already preparing to swing her blade.

Growling as Orchid barely registered the blow from the cultist's blade, he could hear more approaching. He heard one of them inside a tent nearby, no doubt going after Kyra since he could see Parum, Brannor, and Torus here. Had he not been raging Orchid perhaps would have thought to escape first and fight later. But as far as he was concerned, Kyra was in danger. She needed help. So the half-orc charged into the tent, forced his way through the canopy to get inside and strike at the nearest cultist he could see, throwing caution to the wind so that he may cut down the enemy in a single blow. He did however manage to suggest to Kyra that she make her escape. "RUN!"

Kyra had little time to waste as cultist burst into the tent. She immediately drew her hunting sword and got ready for a fight. While she wasn't in favor of two-against-one, she wouldn't let these cultist get the better of her. Fortunately, the odds soon shifted in her favor as Orchid burst through the tent and slashed into a particularly loud cultist. Though his blade cut deeply into her she was still standing. But not for long. Kyra plunged her blade right into the cultist's wound, twisting her shortsword as she pulled the blade out. If that didn't kill her, than Kyra wasn't going to stand around and wait. And Orchid did have a point; they needed to get out of here now. After attacking the cultist Kyra fled the tent through the whole that Orchid had made, running as far as she could towards the forest.

When Kyra passed Parum with the outstretched oil flash, Kyra shook her head. "As much as I'd like that, we don't have time. We need to flee into the forest. Trust me, I know these woods. I know a where we can loose them easily." Kyra continued onwards, a watchful eye behind them to watch who would pursue them.

With the member of the cult closest to threatening to reward any attempt of escape with a slash of her weapon taken care of, the woman slumping down while Kyra turned tail to run, the remaining cultists set to enacting their revenge. "Leonard! Wrap around the tent, stop their advance!" the man already inside shouted to the one on the door while he charged the half-orc. Despite how reckless the green skinned hero had been in his earlier strike, luck was on his side as the cultist's weapon would shred the roof of the tent before halting as it suddenly his a support instead of its intended target. The frantic assailant was quick to recover, but their chance to land an attack was long gone.

The other man did as called for however, taking off after the escaping priestess, only to find himself another target closer by in the blue haired halfling woman handling a flask of oil. That would certainly explain the burning tents. "For Tiamat's Glory!" the man bellowed as he swung the sword he held in both of his hands at the bard. However, the attack was more enthusiastic than actually dangerous, being so telegraphed that even the most newbish of combatants could have seen it coming and sidestepped it. And that was what would happen, the blade cutting naught but air.

What was going on behind him was not the most pressing concern, at least not initially. Glancing back after the man he felled slumped into the bloodied soil with a twitch, he could hear the shouting growing more hurried and reckless. The savage had thrown himself into a swing that bit deep into one of the thoughtless zealots, followed by a twisted jab from the young priest who then wisely bolted as yet another enemy fell. Still shuffling along at a hastened pace, the man's voice rose much like the hair on the back of his neck.

"Don't waste your time with them, leave!"

Whatever had possessed them to delay was now more than quickly catching to them and he knew it more than most. The game was up, the surprise was over. Anything done now other than withdrawing was an absolute waste of energy. If the slaves failed in their escape, so be it. They had done all they could for them after all; if their will to survive and evade capture was so meek and meager, natural selection would thin out the worst of them. If the fire did not devour most of the cult's camp, so be it, but at least it cost them some of their luxuries and would damage their morale. If killing one of their lesser leaders did not make some of the aspirants think twice who they were crossing with, then that would be how it was, and Brannor would take due pleasure in freeing the darkness from their stained blacken souls with another purging swing. Bit by bit would he tear the evil from the cult, even if it meant he left nothing of them in the end, mercy being entirely optional. After all, the fading light of hope, that flame in the hearts of others, was dwindling elsewhere faster and faster the stronger and more coherent this enemy was allowed to become.

But first they would need to escape and their dallying was putting that at risk. Their break across the grassland and out the shoddy ramparts would just be the start of it and there would be far more to come. So he carried on in his spellbound shroud, leaving bits of fading stardust and pale light from him as he continued on his way. If need be he would fight, but first he needed to break from the enemy and get them somewhere safe enough to actually fight; here at the doorstep to their camp was not that place.



@Hekazu@Gordian Nought@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen

Parum watched as orchid charged through the tent and helped save Kyra, who quickly fled and told Parum to do the same. Before she could even put the flask away another cultist charged at her. She barely saw him fast enough for her to narrowly avoid his blade. "Oh gods!" Parum didn't waste any time. She pocketed her oil flask and focused on getting as far away as her legs could carry her. "We got what we came for, let's go!" The halfling was extra careful to avoid any attempts at retaliation by the cultist, using her small size to easily avoid his reach, but her little legs could only take her so far. She turned to Orchid who was still in the tent and shouted orders to him. ”Orchid stop fighting we got to get out of here!”

The plagiarized momentum accrued within the muscles of the dashing proverbial grizzly, hiding both bard and druid, within its fur. An ursine beast with two minds unified in purpose, now simultaneously aspiring to follow the golden eyed leader further into freedom. The mystical tether between familiar and master required coordination with a bird's eye view and a bear's brawny run, as cultists fell to Orchid near in an adjacent tent. These distractions were not all for nought, as their faction continued their exodus away from the horde's encampment.

Most of the heroes of Greenest were well on their way out now, but the full force of the cult was not far behind. The next arrivals numbered one head more than the last batch, this time two of them wearing the more elaborate armour of the one leader that had been struck down, and had Parum still been nearby she might have identified one of them as Dragonclaw Stern, but not from the distance she was at. The two were followed by two acolytes openly brandishing the symbols that served as the source of their power. "Stop the enemy! Slay them all!" one of the leadership figures yelled, their underlings ready to obey.

Despite this eagerness, they could not quite close the distance as fast as the previously rushing ones had. They were left twenty or so feet away from their closest mark, that being the half-orc of the group. While they still prepared to call upon their power however, the machete wielding man had the chance to sink or swim. Even in his state or rage, he would understand that the fight could not continue in the favour of he and his friends, especially not if they were all retreating and he would be left on the field alone.

With Kyra safely away from the cultist, it was time to split. No hesitation, no thought, he just needed to run. And so Orchid booked it away from the cultist, not even caring if they slash at him, while running to Parum. Compared to the rest of the party she was the slowest one, and Torag was already busy carrying the wounded Leosin. Plus, Parum was small so that made her easy to carry. Orchid would scoop her right up if she would allow him, and than run off into the forest as fast as he could. "Ha ha! We run! Slow em down, ya?" Orchid asks the halfling as he tries to catch up to the others.

Orchid's opponent would not be so merciful as to let the enemy of the cult to run away freely, and brought the scimitar at the waist of the running man with remarkably greater proficiency than what had been exhibited only few moments ago as they had managed to hit the structure around them rather than the flesh of the strike's actual target. But this time the edge found purchase in the flesh of the raging man, even if the sting of it lessened by Orchid's disinterest in his own injuries.

The half-orc made himself scarce to the great disappointment of the acolytes, who now needed to make haste if they wanted to make any progress at all. One of them ran as far as his legs would carry him, heading after the bear that was making a swift exit with the special prisoner in tow. The other chose to run after the other supposed liberators, through the tent she'd seen the half naked man and green skinned man make his exit. Her steps were not quite as fast as her compatriots, but that left her time for something else. To utilise the symbol that hung from her wrist, the string of which was entwined between her fingers, the five dragon heads in a circle swinging in the air with the momentum of her rush.

"Halt!" she would yell, the words laced with magic drawn from the divine influence of the Queen of Dragons, the unnaturally compelling word aimed in the direction of the pink haired rival priestess. To the cult member's great displeasure, the woman would not stop dead in her tracks as wished for, but be free to continue on her path towards the plains and the woods that stood not far from here. The woman bit her lip, even seeming as if she was not looking to continue the chase from there.

Kyra continues to run into the forest, feeling the compulsion to halt touch her mind, but she easily shakes it off. She wasn't about to listen to the commands of these brigands. However as she ran, Kyra did take the time to turn around and shoot at one of the cultist, namely the one pursuing Torag and Leosin. She wans't about to let the one person they were trying to save get taken so easily, and so Kyra aimed to pierce the cultist's sword arm, hoping that the sudden blow to his hand wound cause him to drop his weapon and potentially even flee knowing that he is not ignored. However Torag needed to be able to keep up with the party even if he was carrying Leosin. "C'mon, we got to hurry! Just focus on running Torag!" Kyra clutched her pendant and focused her magical energies to envelope Torag in a protective ward that ought to dissuade attackers from trying to harm him, so long as he himself doesn't try to go on the offensive.

Despite the best attempts of the cult to hinder the escape of the heroes of Greenest now with a monk by the name of Leosin in tow (or more accurately bound atop the old man that had decided it would be appropriate to turn into a bear at a moment like this), the group that had put itself together by pure chance alone a night ago was making their daring escape with great success. As the last desperate attempt to cut this act of heroism short, the cult fired a volley of arrows at the ursine beast that had been a person only moments ago. However, a divine presence protected the Druid with no interest in aggressive manoeuvres from the hail and he would end up suffering of only one arrow, while Leosin would manage to grab the few arrows coming his way with his hand, exhaling loudly and leaning against the furred back of the creature as their swift retreat resumed its process.

For a few minutes, there was silence. The few men and women that had ran after them simply could not keep up with the pace of the adventurers and cursed their inability to move any faster. However, it would not be left only to those of solely human ability to chase the meddling heretics down. Several riding horses burst into the night, a search party composed of two higher ranking cultists and their three underlings took off, following the path they could still make out in the grass of the plains and aiming for the people they could see from their higher vantage point. "Get them! Bring them back to the poles where they belong!" a Dragonclaw would call out, the rest of the bunch joining him in the battle cry.

As bolstering an act as it may be, it would however serve as the first warning of the impending danger to the heroes. Had they missed the approaching silhouettes in the dark, they would now know for sure that enemy was indeed approaching. The beating of the hooves of their horses, as well as their snorting, would definitely clue them in just how they had managed to catch up to them just as well. The enemies had the speed. They knew they could not make it to the forest, not before the enemy caught up at the very least. And so, there were but few options. To cut the advancing spearhead of the enemy attack down, or to attempt to avoid it long enough for safety to be reached.


@The Harbinger of Ferocity@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Gordian Nought@Norschtalen

The enemy was as seemingly foolish as they were zealous, as it was made clear several times over they had hacked down the best of the regulars they had in mere moments; their own champions were the few things that had even posed them, let alone a town, a threat at all. Whatever promises of greatness and glory they had been sewn with, the knight-ranger was determined to reap from them. So with the beating of the horses' hooves and their shouts, the presence of the riders of the clustered together, they made for a relatively easy shot; spurring the man to draw an arrow from his quiver. The tension on his longbow stringing out in response, this was all true except for the fact that the rest of the escaping entourage had been lagging behind for any number of reasons; blaming any one or any individual was moot.

There was no time to adjust the shot, a blind arrow that missed friends was better than a sure arrow that hit any one of them as there was no telling where they would go to avoid their pursuers. Thus the warrior committed and the shaft loosed, darting through the night, whipping past the monk and bear, down the corridor that was between them and the other archer of Greenest. Unfortunately, it too sailed well wide off from the two east-most riders, who had slowed to either maneuver or dismount into battle. But the wildblooded paladin was not through with them yet, taking off to press the moment forward, back past his compatriots and where he could meet the enemy; perhaps dissuade them further, this time in close with steel.

Unsheathing the blade, he bounded through the tall grass, cloak turned now to the forest and allowing the bear to pass by. There was no time to flee anymore, just fight, and to be perfectly honest with himself, the tiger in him wanted a fight. Brannor could not be sure if this was the beast he was - the true him beneath the flesh - or the holy compass in spirit, the pull to at last strike back against his enemy rather than skulk away, or even the melding of them both as one pure, divine, wild thing. Either way, be it animalistic anger or sanctified vengeance, these men came here full aware they were likely to die, still stained with all of the evil things they had done.

Why not see them to those ends?

So the sword was loosed from its scabbard and the bow was cast from hand, Brannor rising in voice, hoping the scene at hand now made the issue clear despite his comment some minutes before, "Now is that time to fight."


@Hekazu@Gordian Nought@Ryonara@Lucius Cypher@Norschtalen

Orchid rushed forward through the forest and into the clearing. It was a familiar rush; the rush of a hunt! Or rather, a hunt gone wrong. Orchid was familiar with that too. His pursuers chased them like a mad beast would, fearless but ultimately blind as well. They wouldn't even realize that they've gotten too far ahead of themselves for any hope of backup. But Orchid and the others weren't safe yet either. It was only going to be a matter of time before the horsemen would catch up, and in the meantime, they must escape their pursuers. If he had a hand free Orchid would have attempted to hurl a javelin at the enemy, however not only where they quite far away, but his arm was currently occupied holding Parum, and his other arm had his shield. Knowing she was the slower of the group Orchid took it upon himself to carry her to safety, at the cost of his ability to fight back. "Tch! Can't fight like this!" Orchid bemoaned, but still he had to ensure the halfling's safety, along with the others. And Orchid knew if he wouldn't be able to outrun the horses on the open field. No, he needed the cover of the forest, or failing that, ensuring that his allies are equally protected. And so Orchid ran to Torus, Depositing Parum onto his back so Orchid would have a hand free as he drew his javelin and readied himself for the enemy.