"Cut them down! Stopping their escape first, taking prisoners second!" came the order as the hoofbeats of the horses grew ever nearer. Now that they were even closer, the lack of any and all armour on the horses grew apparent. These were not animals for war, a slim glimmer of hope for the ones making their escape. After all, they might be easier to deal with in many ways, if they were not trained for situations quite as stressful as combat.

Their riders however, they knew exactly what the idea was. With their marks conglomerating into a single spot, they would follow suit and collapse on them. The leaders let their lower ranking brethren in first, to serve as a distraction to their own assault to come in only a few seconds. To their disappointment, that was largely what the riders were capable of doing. They all swung their scimitars, but none of them could land their blows. It was as if they had never fought on horseback before, the half-orc, bear and pink haired cleric alike surviving without a scratch. But as pathetic as that attempt at an attack may have been, the more elaborately garbed pair nodded at one another in some unspoken understanding and rode forth to deliver their own attack.

With their numbers fewer, they could not reach all members of the rescue party sent from Greenest. Thus they chose to prioritise. The first one to approach swung their blade first at the barbarian, the recent need to protect oneself against their ally proving to be a mistake easily capitalised on as the wicked scimitar sliced a nasty wound onto the muscle of the hand holding the javelin. This assault was not over, however, and the blade was soon plunged towards the hind quarter of the bear now serving as a mount to twice as many people, this attack drawing blood much like the former, but being already weakened by the earlier impact it would not cut quite as deep.

The other of the commanders made their own strikes, Brannor managing to deflect the first one descending on his person quite amiably despite the presence of the interfering cultist, but the second sliced through the man's hood and neck alike. The dragonclaw sneered in triumph, only for their visage to soon contort into one of confusion. Any man would have died of such a blow, delivered in the name of the very Queen of Dragons. But not Brannor. Well, to be fair, the champion of Greenest was not one's usual man.

Kyra had hoped maybe she could have guided the others through the forest well enough to lose their pursuers, but it seemed that the cultist knew these parts of the woods well too. They came on horseback, quickly catching up to them. On the bright side, at least they were far away enough from the camp that these cultist shouldn't be getting any reinforcements. However Kyra knew she was good for only one more spell. She'll have to make it count. "Oh Great Mother hear my plea, in this time of great need. Protect the your stalwart knights, to vanquish evil and purge the night!!" Kyra raised her holy symbol towards Brannor, who would feel his wounds close as holy energy was channeled through his body to heal him. Additionally, he would notice a divine aura surround his body to help protect him from further harm. With her blessing finished Kyra felt the magic leave her body; she had used up all her spells for today. No matter. She took out her shortsword and stared down at the horseman before her.

"I will return your body to the dirt!"

"Oft! What's the big idea Orchid? Torus can't carry the both of us!" But before Parum could try and get off, the horsemen were already on them. Parum was barely able to scramble on top of Torus as they came swinging. She was good for two more spells but needed to use them wisely. Scanning the battlefield she plucked a string on her voil with her rapier. It made a sharp twang as magic began to fill the air, then exploded in an explosion of light. One of the dragonclaws and the regular cultist would get showered in this bright light, and if they weren't fast enough, they would be covered in the stuff. "Torus, give them everything you got!" She said as she played a quick melody on her viol, fueling Torus with encouragement and confidence.

With vision reclaimed, the twined serenade of the sapphire-haired Hin pulled heart strings of the old druid realizing that their escaping faction had halted its hegira, due to the galloping constraints by cultists on horseback. The brown bear acknowledged the musical reins, but however, instead pocketed the bard’s mystical inspiration as a savagery quickly over took its furry grimace, lashing out T the rider upon the commandeered mare with its maw. Not even gleaning whether its evil equestrian fell by the piercing bite, the ursine beast of burden overtook the flanking fanatic surrounding Orchid. The following swipe bore a barbarism that was critically cruel, slashing along the inner torso from neck to epigastrium.

Shortly thereafter, a subdued growl emitted a violent viciousness, almost akin to a reflexive cackle, suggesting the animal shouldered two minds of its own.



@Hekazu@The Harbinger of Ferocity

The brutal attack that would have felled any lesser man or beast was turned aside by tremendous power, something terrible in nature. The spatter of deep red hit the grass and the green-cloak staggered a bit, turned aside by the killing blow. Yet there was something horrific to a strike like that which did not kill a man, something inherently unsettling and unnatural to it as Brannor stood back to his full height, a glare of feral revenge in his eyes. Both parties initially expressed the shock, but it changed from there. One was thereafter a stare of total confusion, but the other? The other was one of broken restraint, as if the blade cut open something that was being held back, showering it in red but freeing it all the same.

For a few, long, painful moments the surge of emotion and holy fury grew, but it too caught fire like the expression, engulfed and inflamed. The touch of the young woman's magic, with its undercurrent of something more wild, evoked what was already transpiring and with a roar, the paladin warped into a murderous figure, bristling and snarling. Rearing back, the true Champion of Greenest then showed its face, its wounds mostly healed by the curative magic that enthralled it came with an accompanying sister magical ward. But more than anything the guttural cry sent a shock of terror through the untrained mounts, as something monstrous and predatory suddenly made itself noticeably manifest.

Brannor shook himself off, curling at jowls and hefting the sword, silver pendant clinking against the breast of bloodstained chainmail. If any of the enemies bolted on their mounts, willingly or unwilling, the beast within made manifest throughout was going to swing.


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

Despite having taken a rather grievous wound right after despite Parum to safety, Orchid merely laughed. A lot of things happened quickly and he merely took it all in stride. After all, such was the way of a Totem Warrior; he could not change the chaos of life any more than he could stop the sun from rising, from tides shifting, or winds blowing. But what he can do is live and utilize those things to continue living. As quickly as they came the cultist were getting cut down; Torus tore through them in his ursine form, Kyra sliced them with her sword, Brannor revealed his bestial side, and even Parum used her magic to ensure the destruction of a few more cultist members. Now it was Orchid's turn. Having dropped his javelin in a failed attempt at reigning in one of the horses, he instead draws his signature machete. It was starting to get dull with use; while he was no smith Orchid knew the basics of weapon maintenance and how to sharpen a blade. But for now, he'll add another notch to his blade. As he drew his blade Orchid chopped towards the Dragonclaw's leg, hoping to cleave it clean off his body.

"WAAAAAARGH HA HA HA HA!"

The sudden change to the champion, their newfound bestial shape specifically, was too much for the horses of the cult. Not trained to endure such stress, they bolted in many directions, with only one exception, that being one of the Dragonclaws managing to keep his under control. The man bit his teeth together as he yanked on the reins, guiding his vulnerable flesh away from the strike of the roaring barbarian, and though the strike found purchase, it merely wounded the man instead of opening him up for death. But with the powerful move of the half-orc came the consequences. A reckless strike gave an opening for punishment, and the cultist whose rank was above the rabble already cut down by the heretics was more than ready to exploit it.

The scimitar of the rider cleaved a bleeding wound into the side of the barbarian too simple to understand greatness, and even in the simpleton's rage it was enough to cull the herd of these nonbelievers. More would follow in due time, the Dragonclaw knew, and brought their blade down once more, now upon the ursine form of the druid. The steel found purchase once again, whittling down on the defences of the heretics, but by then even the one consumed by the fervour of battle would notice the urgent need to regroup.

The two riders both took off onto the path the prisoner snatching adventurers were obviously planning to take, and though the horses of them both were deft and knew how to preserve themselves, the riders were less prepared. While the one further away took back control of his mount, the aggressive one barely avoided the swinging claws of the bear, ready to pay back for the harm caused upon their companion. For now, they would only strike empty air, however.

"For Tiamat's glory!" the two still remaining riders called out their battle cry as they prepared for another assault, now from the front.

As Brannor transformed into a terrifying beast, Kyra was both frighten and awestruck. She had heard of these creatures before, skinwalkers, and knew that while most used them for horror stories, there were tales of heroic shapeshifters who used their frightening visage to strike fear into the heart of evil. No wonder why Brannor was so aloof; he was cursed with this powerful blessing. Kyra would have asked him more about it if she didn't notice the cultist next to her trying and failing to control his mount. His horse fled and left himself open for an attack; Kyra didn't hesitate to thrust her shortsword into the groin of the cultist, stabbing him fatally as his horse ran off with his dying body.

But Kyra had no time to celebrate. Shortly after the horses fled, one of the dragonclaws managed to reign his horse in and went after Kyra. She cursed under her breath; she was too far from the others to expect their immediate aid. She needed to get ready to fight this man alone. Fortunately he couldn't ready and attack without trying to calm his horse, so all he could do was ride up to Kyra. And it was in that moment she would strike. Dropping her father's longbow Kyra leapt high into the air, almost to the same height as the mounted dragonclaw, and thrust her shortsword at him. In his eyes it would look like she was going to stab him in the heart, and Kyra would've loved nothing more than to do that. However she was smarter than that. As her father would tell her:

"Break a wolf's fangs, and all you have is a pup."

Kyra's blade went past the dragonclaw and struck his sword hand instead. Kyra intended to disarm him of his weapon, and once he drops it she'd take his sword and run back to the group. If however the dragonclaw manages to keep a grip on his blade however, she'd have to stall him long enough for the others to reach him. If so, she'd reposition herself and try to get behind the dragonclaw so Orchid or Brannor could reach an eliminate the cultist.

After the explosion of light and magic, the enemy were quickly routed. Brannor's transformation scarred off many of the horses, which gave her fellow adventurers an ample opportunity to attack them as they were forced to flee. One-by-one they were cut down leaving only one left who was still covered in Faerie Fire. If she had a crossbow she'd shoot him, alas she had nothing of the sort. While mounted on Torus she strum her voil and pointed her sword at him and mocked the lone survivor in draconic. "Wopsit! Si tepoha ocuirtor pups svaust maulk desta!" The rider would feel his mind ache as her words wormed into his head and hopefully would both distract and harm him. Then she turns to Brannor, her mind too focused on the fight to realize that she may be terrified by his monstrous form. "We can't let him escape Brannor! Strike true!"

The insult reached the ears of the glowing rider who had just recently lost his sword to a running cleric, but the man did not let it bother him much, if at all. A statement came back to Parum, biting at the weak point of the quip: "Renthisjic wer ir svaust enelic shafaer prekitr itrewic di laraeki! Vur ti tangis shafaer jacioniv kurjh!" Despite all that, it was very much clear that the Bard's worries were well founded. The rider was tugging on the reins of the horse, preparing to withdraw.

Furry eyelids guttered in quickly the flamboyant display of the dragonclaw adorned now with the plume of fairies, courtesy of the bard upon the bear’s back. The pirate remembered that this gangrenous adversary solely stood between them and liberty, welding the heroes of Greenest to the evil encampment. Completing unfinished business was Xaron’s specialty in Amn, dealing those who spurned the ideology of the all-powerful coin.

The cultist soon came to focus as the brown monstrosity narrowed the gap. The first gasp of consciousness projected as a growl, in the looming charge of the druid, erring on a thwarted bite. Huffing, with Parum hoisted tall, reined by the Nietzchean rope that tethered the soporific monk, the ursine beast swiped its clawed paw, meeting another dodge full of air.

>Torus miss both attacks: Bite, then Claws. Despite Advantage.

The tiger wasted little time blasting across the field after the lone living enemy within its grasp. Rushing past the bear as it cleaved a deadly paw at the dragon fanatic, it stopped only a few steps beyond the designated prey. While not surrounded completely, the presence of two feral foes of very different veins likely drove the mount mad with anticipation, especially as one of the two predators angled in behind it. The weretouched beast of the two attackers it and its rider now faced showed no inkling of ignoring this opportunity and, with sizable hand gripping the sword it carried, prepared to attack at moment's notice.

It snarled violently as it took an advancing step in, the menace not just for show. Brannor for all intents and purposes intended to kill the man, regardless if he so much as surrendered or fought to the last; the vengeful hot blood of a monstrous being possessed by equal fanaticism was compelled to after all. So it became ever more evident the two beasts intended to butcher the glittering, glowing cultist like a lamb cast into a pit of fangs where nothing but tearing claws, hungry maws, and even deathly cold steel awaited.


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

After slashing the first time into the dragonclaw's leg, Orchid got careless. He left himself wide open for a slash right across the face, cutting through his nose and over his eye. For a moment he blacked out and thought it was over for him. Then he opened his eyes. He saw his body falling towards the ground. In his mind he relished the idea of taking a bit of a nap; he's been working hard all day so he could afford a bit of a rest. But then he could see the dragonclaw who slashed him. A rage welled up inside of him. He could not rest while letting this man, who had harmed him so, get away alive. Orchid's eyes widen more as he planted his feet and glared at the man. He tried to run away but wouldn't get far; not without his leg. Orchid lashed out, his blade finishing the job he did the first time, chopping the man's leg off as his horse carried the dying man away.

Orchid felt his rages pulsating through his body. There was still other threats around. He turned to see another dragonclaw trying to ride away and Orchid wasn't going to allow that. Not just because Parum told them to chase him down, but because Orchid wasn't going to let prey get away. The bear called Torus and the tiger called Brannor charged at the Dragonclaw, and so the beast known as Orchid also charged, running right over and above Torus so he could leap towards the Dragonclaw. ""WAAAAARGH!" Orchid lunged towards the Dragonclaw, his sword poised to take the cultist's head clean off of his shoulders. Orchid struck hard and struck fast, bringing his mighty cleaver though flesh and bone.

The situation was grim. A sword came flying from the side, and that wasn't even the worst of it. While the Dragonclaw managed to grab the blade rather than allow it to plunge into his throat, it made a nasty slice on his fingers before it stopped. That would not help his fighting any, but at least he now had a weapon. Yet, it did not take much strategic aptitude at all to realise in just how deep shit he was now in. All of his allies had been slain, their horses running wildly away from the thing that one of the heretics had become, and now the non-believers were making an attempt to surround him. He had only one direction to take from here, and that direction would be away as fast as one could go.

He encouraged his horse to move, still clutching on to the machete that he had just managed to stop from ending his life on the spot, but in his hurry he had neglected a single detail: While he himself was ready to avoid any strikes, the way he rushed his horse meant that it was much less so. There had been but a scarce few hoofbeats before a large blade had cut the escape short. The animal began barrelling down towards the earth, and the cultist had no option but to jump. As the blade descended upon the horse anew, splattering gore around and ending the animal's misery, the dragonclaw ran. With all the might the Queen of Dragons had, he did not possess enough of it. A punishment would follow for this failure, but from that one would rise again. From death, not as much.

After stripping the cultist of his sword, the rest of the party chased after him. Seeing that he was as good as dead he tried to flee again, even after being dismounted. Dropping the stolen scimitar Kyra drew an arrow from her quiver Kyra ran closer towards the dragonclaw, stopping only to take her time aiming at the coward. Like a wounded pig trying to flee for it's life. It was merely prey in Kyra's eyes as she released the arrow, Parum's Faeire Fire making him an easy target to strike even in the darkness. She aimed her arrow right through the heart of the cultist, aiming so her arrow would neatly enter through between his ribs and out of his body.

Now properly mounted on Torus' back as if he were a horse, Parum was much more comfortably fighting. In fact, she felt better mounted then on the ground. She wondered about investing in a mount, perhaps a fast horse or even a riding dog. But that wasn't important right now; they needed to deal with the last surviving cultist before he goes back to get more allies. Parum was angry that she didn't have any hard hitting spells to use right now, but at least he didn't go out of her vicious mockery range.

"Loreat hefoc wer faessi wux re! Si tepoha ocuirtor Kobolds mrith throdenilt kalith!" Parum struck a tune again, focusing her magics to crawl into the cultist's mind to scramble his brains and end him rightly.

Closing the distance.

The grassy knoll of space, which separated the claw from that grizzly bite. The cultist had uncannily evaded and survived all attempts to fell its zealotry, both physical and unseen. The fur, labyrinthine with the dew of sweat, bearing the burden of a frail friar and a blue-haired bard, now swayed in concert with the green blades of the field. Each enjoyed the winnowing whip of the wind, casting its whimsical flagella, aside and back again, hither and thither, cooling the bloodied carpets, which blanketed both beast and earth. The race for the false worshipper married ursine paws with the vast field, yielding druid, monk and Hin nearer to their prey.

Nostrils flared.

The bear growled, with the viciousness of a hidden Charon, eager to rip limb from a ripe torso.


@Hekazu

The thrill and seizure of Brannor's mind by the hunt, the pursuit drove him immediately after the quarry. In its flight away from the predatory, killer things that hounded it, be them the relentless attacks upon its consciousness or the things that might well have hungered for and carved its flesh, it led them closer to the woodlands they so sought to escape to. The ominous magical glow and glitter about it making the cultist a beacon to its impending killers, namely the bear which thundered wildly and rampantly after; the pale tiger was not far behind, long strides moving its bristling self, jaws drawing in large breaths over pointed fangs. The sound of the chain shuffling across its chest likely an omen as ill as any other at this point.

All this lone man could do now was delay the inevitable against such relentless foes as they came closer still to the evasion of his allies. He and his devotion to the dragon-queen would not see him out of this, neither would his companions who laid massacred in the grass. For the now monstrous paladin, a thing of fur and fury, it was just as intended. The good could not stand idly by while evil worked its wiles so flagrantly...


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

"MY SWORD!" That was a gift from the elves! Orchid had plenty of reason to kill this dragon claw but this was unforgivable. Orchid turned and chased after the man, even as wounded as he was, taking out one of his javelin from his pack to impale this fetcher through the heart. All the while the orc was yelling obscenities in his native orcish, a tongue in which he is much more fluent, even peppering in some elvish curses that were both flowery and provocative. A lot of it had to do with the horrific things Orchid was going to do to the man's body after he dies, though whether or not Orchid intended to follow through or not was deliberately left uncertain.

And in that moment, it was over. The javelin pierced the body of the cultist who would scream into the air, his legs giving out from under him. Not far from dead, but very much conscious, bleeding on the ground. Breathing had suddenly become an immeasurably difficult task. And if it came to it, he had seen how these people had slain all of his brethren. They were brutal in their manner, and even someone of as strong a will as him would eventually cave to the demands they would bark at him. And then they would kill him, just like any of the others. The man turned onto his side and raised the machete he was holding against his stomach, slipping it between the leather armour and his skin. "For Tiamat's glory!" the man yelled, plunging the half-orc's machete into his abdomen. Beyond saving now, the man gurgled their last, an unexplainable grin on his blood coughing face.

Not all of the heroes were set on approaching immediately, however. Despite the half-orc eventually seeking to reobtain his weapon of choice, as well as anything else the cultist might hold on his person, but for now he was dashing after the horses. It seemed whatever he had been eating and drinking earlier in the day didn't take too kindly to that however, and he soon found himself out of breath. The animals had won this round. And with them, they would bring the knowledge of the cult's failure to them. Whether that was good or bad news for the heroes would be left to be determined. And likely not known by those heading for Greenest. They still had many hours of travel before them, though thanks to Kyra knowing the area better than the cult likely did, they would manage to avoid further attention.

Come the break of dawn, the rising sun painted the horizon in a much brighter colour behinf the keep of Greenest, no longer only a dot in the horizon but a very real place to reach. A few of the city guard were already out and about, poking through the few charred ruins among the still standing houses, no doubt seeking any signs of those believed missing, or perhaps valuables of the citizens the cult may have dropped in their haste. Whatever their task, many of them stopped briefly to greet the returning troupe, even Torus now in his human form, unable to hang on to the ursine shape for as long as the journey had taken.

Once they finally stepped inside the keep, they were greeted by nobody else but Escobert the Red himself, who would show them to the relative piece of the infirmary, so that any wounds could be seen to and that especially Leosin would not wander off on his own. And with several of his brotherhood present just as well, their master would be forced to stay, were it in his interests or not. Nonetheless, once everyone's wounds had been seen to, they were told there would likely be several hours before the Governor would be able to come and see them himself. Of course, most of this was an act. The heroes simply needed to rest, and like with many members of the guard, they were simply told this so that they would stay put.

Once the long nine hours would have passed and sun would now be shining on the keep from high above, the Governor would request the presence of the heroes on the main gate of the keep, at the scene where Brannor had taken on the threat of the half-dragon. "Heroes. There is no other word we can use for you at this point. We cannot know what would have come out of this all had you not been here to turn the tides, and now even to strike at the heart of the enemy themselves. While any tactical knowledge you may have obtained for potential greater military action, what you have already done is much beyond what we would expect from anyone not affiliated with our little frontier town", the man would speak, though with those words spoken he did realise they failed to address Kyra properly. Many of those present knew her too, and thus she would be welcome to a short paragraph of her own.

"But of course, our own priestess Kyra Shepard was with them all on this journey as well… and make no mistake, she is no less a hero than anyone else of them. In fact, as far as I see it her talent might well go to waste as a simple priestess, but time will tell whether that becomes the truth. Whether she will stay, or seek to bring light to the world in other ways." But with that said, the governor held an open hand out towards Escobert who would lift a heavy pouch onto it. "This is from all of us. From those who could give, and the prayers of those who were less disposed. Collected from those willing, and nobody else. Please, accept it for your deeds." Within the pouch, golden coins and small gems, as well as a ring decorated with semiprecious gems clinked against each other. This was the physical and monetary manifestation of the gratitude of those of Greenest.

After the grander ceremony, a few of the monks would approach the party still in the company of the governor and the castellan. "Excuse us, our master would like to speak with those who rescued him", they requested the presence of those who had just stood before the people. Governor Nighthill would nod at these words, though before sending the adventurers on their way, he mentioned one more detail. "And you, great knight. The matter of the splint mail has been seen to. A local blacksmith, shall we say, received a fair amount of materials and absolutely refuses any payment."


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