Turn8

Aftermath? or the fight goes on.

The man lying prone in the muddy grass, groans and his fingers twitch as if clawing at the air. The Ranger bends close to check his wounds. The body slumps once more, exhausted and breathing shallowly. The tangle of greenish leaves and blood-soaked cloth are still in place and Lochan pours some of his water onto the wound making it dribble onto the ground. "Hmm, not too bad. I thought it was worse. We'll have to wait though before we remove that arrow. At least its passed cleanly through the muscle and doesn't seem poisoned."

Valdo turns from his position by the cart to watch the wounded militia man. The oxen are lowing in their harnesses and the horses are still skittish, but less than when the goblins were nearby.

"If we can get this cart fixed, we'll take all of them to that homestead back a way and make further decisions there. If he is alright, you can come and help me here."

Lochan, rises wearily to his feet and goes over to where Valdo is prising the wheel of the cart out of the mud using a wooden plank as a pivot. The axle groans but starts to shift and Lochan takes hold and applies his back muscles into lifting it off the ground...

********

Up on the misty hill, after awhile, something begins to seep into Meraina's mind, that hasn't so far been in evidence, this day.

~You bloody coward! Running and running, not thinking about anyone. I mean that Elven woman yelled at you back at the Inn but you ignored her! No I am at least going to see if I can help someone, no matter how minor an effort it is!~

Grumbling to herself, Meraina rolls up her bedroll, then re-saddles her horse and ties the bedroll back on. Still grumbling to herself, she mounts up and gently begins to ride the horse down into the forest. On the way she makes sure all her daggers are in the right place and are easy to get to.

Steering clear of the open ground and scattered trees by the grazing land around the settlement, the woman sends her horse around in an arc towards the supposed direction the Szreldor have taken. The woods here are mostly pine and apart from low underbrush and shallow dips in the earth, the way is open and clear of branches to the horses head. Following a faint animal trail, Meraina weaves between the trees making little sound.

Suddenly, up ahead, she spies movement under the trees and holds back on the reigns. The movement is quickly lost in the general shades of the wood and it might have been just a deer or other animal but her impression is of something else. Carefully, she moves forward.

Meanwhile in Buhr Criocha...

As Saelvach pushes open the door, he immediately sees the room ahead is occupied, but not by the enemy that he expects. There are four men in the room and all are from the village militia. The nearest turns swiftly, weapon drawn, as the Gambler enters. "What... ah, its you."
A quick scan beyond the man shows that fighting has already visited this building. The man before him is a guard of the watch, but his name escapes Saelvach for the moment. Behind him, a man crouches before another, sitting with back against the wall. This man has a nasty shoulder wound which is being cleaned by the other guard with a damp cloth. The fourth man is lying prone upon the floor beside the low wood table centered down the room. This one has the insignia of a local sargeant upon his collar.
The guard before Saelvach sheaths his blade and humphs noncommittally as he follows the Gambler's gaze. "Yup, Morgral is dead and Waldren is lucky to be alive. This place is going insane. They didn't stop to raid the armoury but Boldor is missing; hope the poor fool made it. I can't see what they wanted but no-one has heard from any of the other sargeants or the watch-commander yet. Someone should be reporting back soon. The town is such a mess, its hard to know where to start."

Beneath the man's dark moustache and close cropped beard, Saelvach can see the man is young in years and experience and is clearly stressed at the situation. His clothes look damaged showing that he also has seen action this night.

*********

Relg circles with the man before him, each sizeing the other up, searching for the battle lust that is the sign of a true warrior of the plains. Relg is unconcerned by the Szreldor's apparent bravado and taunts him with comments to distract the man. Even when he reveals his infamous name, the man seems resolutely oblivious even though a faint flicker of recognition crosses his features. Grimly he sets his jaw and suddenly leaps to strike but Relg steps easily aside. The Gargath's reply bounces of the warrior's shield. They circle once more until Relg stabs forward a moment before his opponent, but the other blocks then lunges but misses. Relg is in a better position but fails in marking a blow upon his opponent. He narrowly avoids the vicious counterstrike aimed at his neck and decides to take more care. Relg is again first and this time catches his opponents sleeve, tearing the leather and drawing a line of blood. The man spins away but Relg now has the edge and begins to push back his foe along the street and away from the prisoners but his weapon suddenly slips almost from his grasp and he looses the initiative, stumbling sideways to retrieve it. The Szreldor sees his chance and leaps forward but Relg's shield is there and sparks fly off the metal rim as it makes contact. With his shield arm, the Gargath war-seeker pushes the other man back to purposefully stumble over a missing cobblestone he spied in the street. The man's ankle shifts and his shield is flung out for balance. Relg takes the opportunity and brings his blade down on the man's forearm. He screams in pain and staggers against the wall, looking at the bright blood pouring out of the wound. He looks up slowly as Relg steps forward...

********

As Coru brings his sabre up to attack the first warrior, the man brings his bow up to deflect and tries to step aside. There is a splintering sound and the bow is cleft in the middle, near the grip, but the man is unhurt. Coru, shouting insults, drives on as the man fumbles for a new weapon. He dives in low as the Szreldor tries to parry with his upswinging sword but succeeds only in deflecting most of the force which sends the Gargath blade into his upper thigh. The man nearly collapses under the shock but hits the wall behind which partially supports him. The man is clearly dazed for the moment so Coru risks a glance over his shoulder for the other man.

And not a moment too soon! He brings up his shield as the other man lunges close upon him. Coru's shield goes high but hits the Szreldor across the face and the man's blade only nicks the Gargath beneath the arm. Facing his new opponent, Coru strikes back and catches the Szreldor on the shoulder but at the same time, a female voice behind shouts: "Look out!" Coru instinctively ducks as the first man's blade narrowly passes over his head. However, it is now that the Gargath's luck truly runs out as the second Szreldor takes the opportunity to press in his own attack, catching Coru a vicious blow across his chest and arm. The blow does not strike deep but Coru's guard is gone and the man steps in for the killing blow. It is then that a large stone hits the man square on the jaw and he falters. Coru leaps back and out of range of both men's blades as further stones and bits of wood assail the Szreldor from the side. The prisoners are fighting back!

*********

Boldor stomps on through the village, heading down the main street towards the gate to the south. He can see the fires burning across the rooftops and in places passes buildings that are almost completely gutted.
People are starting to appear from doorways and in shadowed streets but everywhere he looks, the Dwarf sees the aftermath of a village torn open by the ravages of an uncaring invader. Like raging dogs, the Szreldor have preyed upon the simple folk who live here; taking little with them but leaving much mangled or destroyed in their wake. Wherever Boldor's roving eyes alight, he is witness to a sad tableau as women kneel wailing over their dead husbands, lying slashed to pieces in the road, or cries of men and women calling for lost children or relatives. The scenes shock him until he cannot hold on to the rage contained within him and he almost cries out. His rage turns slowly to grief as he knows he cannot aid them but stumbles on.
He passes worse scenes further down the road but here the fighting seems to have been thickest, for Szreldor bodies lie among those of the militia men who lost their lives in defending the settlement. At one point, the Dwarf sees an old man standing silent and uncomprehending beside the charred body of a woman lying face down before her front door, the building is now just blackened timbers sending curling smoke into the dawn air. But Boldor's attention is soon caught by a cry from a side street and he turns to see a wounded Szreldor backed up against the stone side of a building. A mob surrounds him there, uncaring of the wound in his side that he clutches. As Boldor begins to move towards them, he shouts out to the people but in his grief speaks in Khuzdul and the locals do not understand. The words die on his lips as, before he gets close enough, the people surge forward and the warrior goes down beneath the thrust of a farmers bill-hook. The aging Dwarf staggers to a halt, stunned and helpless.

Meanwhile inside the tavern...

Tewo looks nervously towards the ceiling overhead. Speaking in the local speech, the old Dwarf says to his companion: "I think we should sensibly think about leaving this building soon. Things might soon get rather hot for you and I."
"Yeah, I was thinking about that, but so far there doesn't seem to be much in the way of smoke or anything coming down. It might have gone out?"
"Possibly, yet I think I shall have a look anyway. Just to be on the safe side. I might even give a hand putting the damn thing out. Oh! That reminds me. We might as well see if Balneg and wife are still in the cellar. He might be useful. Are you alright with that one?" he adds, gesturing to the Szreldor prisoner resolutely ignoring them in the middle of the floor.
"Yes. I'll be fine. I'm quite used to coping with these things actually," answers Froin holding the crossbow tightly.

Tewo gets up and goes over to the cellar door at the foot of the stairs. knocking upon the hatch lid, he calls: "Hello? Are you both alright in there?"

*********

Heladil takes stock of the situation outside and proceeds to cover the
northman's position across the courtyard. With the motions of the mercenary that he can clearly see across from him, the Elf is able to tell where the Szreldor are hidden. He stays hidden around the corner, ready to respond.

After his earlier exertion, Gwalchmai shelters behind cover. A strum from further away signifies the Szreldor's bow is still active but the arrow doesn't come close. He looks once more to the wall where his own enemy is sheltering. The man is now backing slowly away down the wall with shield held ready before him. The lines of the orange painted emblem upon the wooden frame stand out clearly in the shadow of the building above. A brief shower of sparks and acrid smoke from the burning roof obscure Gwalchmai's vision for a moment and when he looks again the man is gone.

Arekhel creeps cautiously from behind the horses, making sure that
no other Szeldor are present or ready to shoot at her. She runs furtively over to Gwalchmai where he hides behind a young oak tree.

Gwalchmai relaxes as she dives into cover of the grass beside him. He shifts his weight to ease the pain across his belly, wincing in pain.
"Do you know how to take care of this, or somebody else who knows?
If we have to face other such encounters outside the inn, I need to be in a better shape!"

She replies:
"Hum, I know the lore of plants and I've lived long enough to see many wounds. Let me have a look, and maybe I can help you."

<The wound is partially held closed by the steady bandage applied earlier but any further movement could place the muscle exposed in danger of ripping open.>

Arekhel opens her saddle-pack, looking around all the time, and rummages in it until she finds a small set of finely-made needles and the thread. She also produces some sort of dried herb fragments similar, to Gwalchmai's untrained eye, to a dried moss.
"Hmm. I'll need to get these soaked well before you can get any benefit from them."
She re-pockets the herb then sees to Gwalchmai's dressings while asking and shaking her head in dismay:

"What's going on inside? I heard some more shouting and who gave you
this wound? Have you been attacked by more of these idiot soldiers?
I really do not understand what it all means! Why are they attacking innocent people who mind their own business's! Men are definitely crazy!!!"

As Arekhel continues grumbling about men in general and the insanity of the Szeldor invaders in particular, the sound of pounding hooves echoes in the yard. Looking up, the defenders see a Szreldor horseman and a footman beside him round the far corner of the building. He rears his animal in sharply and stares down the dark passage towards the stableyard; the man next to him also halts but this one is holding his right arm across his chest and appears un-armed. Raising his decorated war-spear, the mounted man shakes it in the air and shouts something in the guttural tongue of the Szreldor. Heladil takes an opportunity to fire at this new target but spies the Szreldor bowman moving also and his shot misses the horseman. The two enemy warriors rise from the grass in answer to their leader and return fire, catching the wall next to Heladil's face. Chips of stone fly up and catch the Elf across the arm, he swivels away into cover, blinking dust from his eyes.
Before Gwalchmai can shift to a position where he can retaliate, the two enemy retrace their steps under cover of the bowman to their leader. Giving one last shot towards the trees, all four Szreldor turn and disappear behind the tavern building towards the main street beyond.

Apart from the dull crackling of the outer roof timbers, the yard becomes almost silent...

End of Turn 8.