He wastes no time, he begins to chant in Andu while holding his holy symbol. At the end of his chant he unsheathes his war sword and shield. Foerde will take his stand here in the hallway.
Torchlight flickers round the corner of the lower bend of the spiral stairs.
Three tall figures appear, coming up the narrow stairs single file with swords and shields raised. They wear high-domed helmets and coats of hide sewn with bronze rings.
Foerde recognizes the style of their arms as antique Elvish.
A fourth armored figure, hanging further back in the stairwell, carries a torch aloft.
The footfalls from the upper stairway grow louder, but no figures appear from that direction--- yet.
The foremost of the armored warriors shouts at Foerde in the Elvish language-
"Lay down your arms!"
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.
"How about you lay down your arms and tell me where I am and with whom you hold allegiance, and I won't have to kill any of you this day." Foerde says in the Elvish tongue.
History prefers legends to men. It prefers nobility to brutality, soaring speeches to quiet deeds. History remembers the battle and forgets the blood. What ever history remembers of me if it remembers me at all, it shall only be the fraction of the truth.
"How about you lay down your arms and tell me where I am and with whom you hold allegiance, and I won't have to kill any of you this day." Foerde says in the Elvish tongue.
"Your foolish boasts fail to impress, abomination."
The other elves laugh at their spokesman's remark.
And then the whole gang rushes Foerde!
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.
"I do so enjoy a good fight!" Foerde says to them, striking at the nearest foe.
History prefers legends to men. It prefers nobility to brutality, soaring speeches to quiet deeds. History remembers the battle and forgets the blood. What ever history remembers of me if it remembers me at all, it shall only be the fraction of the truth.
He returns his attention to the house, weapon ready. "So, Cormac, you were just exaggerating when you said weapons don't work on her, right?"
Reese slumps to the ground as if struck by an unseen sap.
And so do Ned, Hob, Sevett, and Gatt!
The Elf women , hampered by their bonds, immediately try to escape.
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.
A dry thump draws Roald's attention away from the house, he turns and sees Reese prostrate on the ground and one of the elven prisoners trying to crawl away in her bonds.
Then something buzzes past his ear.
Roald jerks away, "Shit!"
The shot came from the bushes.
He marches over to the elf trying to crawl away from Reese. "Time to make yourself useful, knife-ear!" He reaches down and wraps his free arm around the prisoner's waist, hoisting her up between him and where the shot came from.
"Most men would rather deny a hard truth than face it."
"Ain't no exaggeration," Cormac growls, the blood pulsing in his ears. "Hit her right between the eyes with my hatchet an' then watched the cut close up in front o' me."
MOMENTS LATER
Cormac watches his men drop to the ground and runs over to Ned, dropping down to see if the man is alive and/or wounded.
"Of course," Benn mutters, "It would be a damned shame if we ever knew what the hell was actually going on."
"Ain't no exaggeration," Cormac growls, the blood pulsing in his ears. "Hit her right between the eyes with my hatchet an' then watched the cut close up in front o' me."
MOMENTS LATER
Cormac watches his men drop to the ground and runs over to Ned, dropping down to see if the man is alive and/or wounded.
Ned shows no obvious outward injuries, but he seems unresponsive. He does not move, speak, open his eyes, or otherwise show any sign of consciousness.
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.
Cormac spots some movement in the bushes, gesturing silently and sending the spiritual wolf charging after it. In the meantime, he rears back and slaps the former poacher in the face, shouting "Wake up ye knob! We're under attack!"
"Of course," Benn mutters, "It would be a damned shame if we ever knew what the hell was actually going on."
As soon as the men start dropping, Renn pulls hard on the rope--the elf's neck being at the other end. "Not so fast!"
To Benn, he calls out, "What's wrong with 'em? Poison? Magic?"
"You said I killed you--haunt me, then!...Be with me always--take any form--drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!” -Wuthering Heights
The ghostly wolf rushes into the bushes, flushing out the sniper. The shooter (Gavin-- Cormac and the others met him riding up a short while ago) drops his arbalest and snatches up a wood-cutter's axe, sprinting towards Cormac.
Roald heaves his prisoner into charging man, knocking him down-- just as Cormac begins shooting arrows at the wood-cutter and Ned hurls a hatchet.
Gavin goes down with the bloodied, bound elf woman sprawled atop him.
Taking advantage of the momentary distraction, the other elf woman bites her rope lead for slack and then runs. Renn tries holding her fast. The rope whips through his hands, stinging as it burns across his palms.
Renn's prisoner woman reels, away, choking and coughing with a rope still hanging about her neck but no longer held in Renn's grip.
Ned kneels beside his brother, Hob, shaking him and shouting at him. ''Wake up!"
The armored enemy breaks into a clattering jog, heater shield raised and visor lifted. He slams into Roald as Roald turns and stoops in an attempt to rouse Reese.
Roald has just enough time to brace against the sudden rush, and keeps on his two feet.
The big, stout, armored man swings his hammer down, but Roald dodges the blow.
The armored man laughs, white teeth flashing in his black beard.
"Ha! A good fight!"
Cormac flinches as an enchanted arrow suddenly flies out of the house and strikes him in the back.
The two spearmen run to engage Renn, stabbing with their boar-stickers.
OCC reminder: there are two female elf prisoners. One just got tossed, shot.
One is reeling across the yard, coughing and choking with a rope tied to her neck, but not held secure by anybody.
Last edited by ewancummins on Wed Mar 25, 2015 4:48 am, edited 13 times in total.
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.
Three of the Elves rush forward in a single file line, while their leader stays back holding the torch for light. With a single downward slash of his sword Foerde fells the first one. A quick flurry of sword strikes and he takes out the other two attackers! Three more Elves come from the upper staircase section of the tower, the middle rank wields a spear. Foerde takes the first down and then steps back so his enemies can't get an advantage over him and attack from behind. The battle rages on, despite serious losses on their side they continue to fight on! The Elves attempt to rush Foerde with their shields, in a combined effort to push him back or knock him down. The attack is render ineffective as they trip over the bodies of their comrades or slip on their blood. Foerde downs another Elf swordsman, then moves to attack the Elf spearman. After watching Foerde kill the spearman, the last swordsman flees down the stairs and away from battle. Grabbing a torch off the wall with his shield hand, Foerde gives chase. He catches up to the elf at a side door, he attacks but it isn't enough to disable the elf before he can open and escape.
Guard Room
After catching his breath, Foerde continues down the stairs. At the base of the stairwell is open door which leads into a larger open room. The room is rather spartan, with only a large square table and two candles. There are four closed doors (besides the open door in front him). Six Elves all wielding spears and they see him and look ready for a fight...
The Elves form a semi-circle around Foerde and strike at him with their spears. Four of them manage to land blows and wound the beast man. Foerde chants in Andu and makes gestures with his hands. They strike again, failing to bypass Foerde's defense. Foerde strikes one them but it is only a minor wound. They strike again in tandem. One manages to land another blow, while two fumble their attacks and leaving an opening for Foerde to strike. Foerde brutally attacks an Elf in front of him with three 3 consective strikes to the neck. With the last strike he severs the Elf's head from his body. Taking an advantage of their fumble, Foerde attacks one of the Elves behind him, with two attacks the Elf falls mortally wounded. Foerde continues to fight off his attackers, blocking their blows his shield and while he focuses one target at a time.
A door on the other end of the room opens, six big hounds and their master join the fray. The other remain Elf spearmen move around Foerde blocking the easiest escape route. Foerde calls to Cuireaccen and asks for sanctuary while he takes a moment or two to recover from the wounds of his previous battle. The hounds rush at him, leaping into the air. Taking cover behind his shield, the hounds fail their attempt to knock Foerde down. Foerde is given a small amount of protection from his god, most of his enemies seem to have forgotten that he even there. Save for the hound master and one of his hounds. Foerde begins chanting prayer of healing, managing to recover from some his injuries. He moves against wall, chanting in andu a couple more times.
Foerde attacks the hound master, delivering a minor injury but it is enough to make him jump back. The hound master calls his hounds to protect him! With his back against the wall and out numbered Foerde attacks one of the hounds. Hound howls in pain but is still able to fight, six more elves carrying bows enter the room. With no available shot they position themselves and make ready to fire. The hounds retreat on their master's orders, while the archers fire their first volley. The arrows bounce off Foerde's armor or hit the stone wall behind him. Moving along the wall, he finds a door and kicks it in as the archers fire yet another volley at him. All but one misses, then at last moment possible Foerde seems to move just slightly enough to avoid being harmed...
History prefers legends to men. It prefers nobility to brutality, soaring speeches to quiet deeds. History remembers the battle and forgets the blood. What ever history remembers of me if it remembers me at all, it shall only be the fraction of the truth.
Foerde has taken a dubious refuge in a short, darkened hall. Before him, creaking on twisted hinges, hangs the wrecked door he kicked in.
Behind him, down the hall, a closed door bars further retreat.
The hounds bay from the guardroom, and footfalls sound on stone, coming closer to the broken door...
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.
While the transformed, spectral sorceress explores the dark cellar, Devlin stands at the top of the steps, candle in one hand and rapier in the other, watching and waiting.
Ugo finds a snug hiding place in a hall closet.
Father Michael prays in Old Andu, clutching his holy symbol.
Delight is to him- a far, far upward, and inward delight- who against the proud gods and commodores of this earth, ever stands forth his own inexorable self.
Renn curses as the role flies from his hand. He draws a dagger with his free hand, intending to hurl it at his escaping prisoner, but then the two spearmen close in on him. Turning to face them, he lunges at the first with both blades.
"You said I killed you--haunt me, then!...Be with me always--take any form--drive me mad! only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!” -Wuthering Heights
