Stradia: The Fourth War - Chapter 1 Cont "The North Falls"

[Lumenskir]

Ariosto almost called out for the man to watch his way, but there were lives that became immensely enriched by knowing when to speak up and when to stifle minor quibbles. Something about the man intrigued Ari, and he tried to recall anything that might enlighten the mysterious figure.

Hmm, might be Gorn, but doesn't seem too elfish...Aldarin, or whatever the head knight was called? Whoever, northwest means command base... The enchanter waited a few moments for the man to walk out of direct line of sight, then shuffled along after him, being sure to keep a fair distance between them. Rounding a corner, Ari spotted the man up ahead. Tapping his glasses, a purple haze enveloped the empty air between the frames before draining away, only the target's figure radiating an aura in Ari's sight. Confident that he couldn't lose his mark, Ari pressed on, allowing the local peasantry and militia to provide necessary cover.

[Barahad]

The melee ended, giving Graeme a moment to catch his breath and take stock of the situation. It was, on inspection, a grim scene: far too many Kenshurian bodies, and far too many Venurians to be properly dealt with by the two men.

The shambling trolls, who had seemed earlier to be resting by the dormitories, had finally noted the death of their fellows. Roaring, they took up their weapons and swept across the field. Graeme frowned. Fighting charging trolls from a standing start was never a good idea. Fortunately, the creatures were not advancing in a close formation, leaving sometimes wide gaps which could be exploited; hopefully. Lifting his sword, he glanced at Bentis. "I suggest we scatter!" He spurred his horse forward, and laughed to himself. He'd never heard of anything so desperate as what he was about to attempt...outside of the folk-tales of his homeland. Then, he swept that thought from his mind and commited to the charge.

The trolls, for their part, seemed taken aback by the audacity and apparent madness of the Kenshurian horseman. Graeme aimed his horse straight at the nearest troll and galloped past, his sword swinging with a deadly hiss through the smokey air. A great fountain of blood followed the stroke, and the creature collapsed to its knees, its severed head coming to a gruesome rest before it. In moving to flank and overwhelm horse and rider, they had gambled on a static defence. Now, with the knight in motion, they began clumping together, hoping to prevent a repeat of the knight's first attack. Several struck at him as they moved, but the blows were poorly aimed and mostly absorbed by Graeme's shield, sword and armour.

Wheeling his horse about at the end of his first (and maybe last) charge, Graeme lifted his sword in a salute to his enemy. Then, he set himself firmly in the saddle and launched forward. A group of six trolls raced to meet him, even as the other five moved against Bentis. They were no doubt hoping a quick, head-long clash would end in their favour. Graeme frowned, and then made an abrupt decision: he would deny them battle. Even as the trolls closed the distance, he began ordering his mount to weave and turn sharply. As the distance closed, and the trolls once again fanned out to deny him room for his desperate manoeuvers, Graeme straightened his course and pushed through them, passing right between two flummoxed trolls which in their haste to strike his back nearly felled each other. He had not time to strike them, but he bore down on the trolls advancing on Bentis like a hawk on its prey.

He slashed in from the left, his sword snicking loudly as it cut armour and flesh. Not waiting to finish the wounded troll, Graeme struck again against another creature. His sword rang on its steel helm, and the force of the blow drove the troll sideways, knocking several of the others off-balance. To his right rear, Graeme could hear his pursuers regrouping, turning to face him. Then, he heard a sweet sound: Penn's voice rang clear and clean across the battlefield, raised in the notes of an ancient battle-song. Graeme found himself answering. "Give them death!"

Arrows zipped in, playing havoc among those which had been pursuing him. The wounded trolls were now on the defensive, scampering hastily back from the charging knight. Yet Graeme bore remorselessly down, suddenly among them, striking like lightning and then disappearing as quickly. 'Pierced-Neck' died first, his throat slashed open on a quick pass; 'Numb-Hand' fell next, a vicious sword-stroke opening his chest, spilling his dark life blood across the hard-packed earth. It was at the moment of Numb-Hand's death that Graeme paid for his bold strategy. The four remaining trolls howled around him, wounds forgotten, mouths foaming, eyes wild. They struck with whatever they had at hand: weapon, fist, head. Graeme's raised shield and flickering sword could only absorb some of the attacks. A vicious overhead smash with the butt of an axe knocked his helm from his head, while leaving him dazed in the saddle. Blood dripped down the side of his face as a heavy mace soared down on his upraised shield, driving him to an awkward angle in the saddle. Graeme groaned from the pain of the blows and stabbed desperately sideways with his sword, running 'Broken-Leg' through.

The beast howled and seized Graeme's sword arm, dragging him from his saddle. Later, Graeme realized this move had probably saved him. At that moment, all he understood was that one moment he had been mounted, and now he was falling. He gathered himself up, released the sword stuck fast in the creature, and rolled as best he could. The shock of landing drove the breath from his body, and it took the three remaining trolls but a moment to dive towards him. Taking a quick breath and snapping his head around, Graeme saw the first of the blows sailing in. He rolled away, angling his shield in case he moved too slowly. It was a close thing. The mace angled off the edge of the shield and buried itself in the ground next to him. 'Split Gut-Broken Leg' was still staggering around, grabbing feebly at its various wounds. 'The damn thing's walking off with my sword!' Graeme swore to himself and grabbed for his dirk. He was now on his feet, scrambling madly away from the trolls. A dirk would be little use...he grinned and stopped, facing the trolls head-on.

The trolls approaching hesitated, seeing the mad grin on the Kenshurian's face. One against three: he should have been fleeing. Yet he did not. The tense moment passed when one of the trio took a small step back. The two others turned to glance at his odd movement, and saw the cause. A long hilt jutted from his throat, blood burbling gaily around it, dripping down on to the creature's armour. It looked down in surprise at the blood spotting its chest, and then toppled backwards, shock and injury driving it to unconsciousness. The two remaining trolls lost their hesitation and drove straight for the Kenshurian, even as he raced in a mad arc to the right, moving to intercept 'Split Gut-Broken Leg'.

The mortally wounded troll was staggering slowly now, as though drunk. Two arrows had feathered its back in the moments after Graeme had lost his seat. As Graeme closed with it, he watched as a third sprouted from the back of one of its knees. That leg, the good leg, gave out, and the troll stopped moving. It grabbed feebly at the knight as he stopped before it. Pain filled the eyes of the creature before him, and Graeme felt a sudden pity for the wounded creature. 'Being,' he silently corrected himself. There was thought behind those eyes. "I am sorry." he doubted the troll could understand as he reached down, pulling his blade free. The creature vomited thick blood on his already stained tabard; then, abruptly, its eyes clouded over and it sank into whatever peace death offered to its kind.

The battle song's ancient spell had been broken in that moment, and something deeply rooted had been shaken within Graeme. Still, he could not deny the horrors visited upon the Kenshurian dead, or the intent of his foes. He turned on his remaining pursuers with the same ferocity he had previously displayed. He offered no quarter as they whirled together, bright blades, black with blood flashing and spinning through the smoke-filled air. Graeme winced as the head of the huge mace grazed his side. He felt the terrible crack of a rib (maybe more than one) and breathing became an agony. Other injuries, unnoticed in the thick of the battle, began to gnaw at his concentration. Still, he persevered, a swift chop from his blade leaving a troll's hand hanging by a thread of flesh. The creature staggered back, and Graeme opened its armour and abdomen with a slicing stroke across its stomach.

That left Graeme and 'Mace' to circle each other warily. This creature had been by the far the greatest threat he had faced. It stepped in, swinging its mace straight down towards the knight's head. Graeme lept back, and the head buried itself deep in the ground. Graeme jumped forward, hoping to force the troll to release its weapon if it wanted to survive. Instead, the creature leapt back, ripping the weapon out of the ground, striking at Graeme's already injured side. The knight twisted and drove forward, catching the haft of the weapon across his back. He gasped at the pain of the blow, and dropped to his knees, releasing his sword. The two combatants looked at each other in surprise: Graeme because he was not yet dead, the troll because it was dying. In Graeme's desperate lunge forward, he had instinctively angled his sword up, driving the point of the blade under the ribs and into the heart. 'Mace' staggered backwards, its weapon falling into the ground. Grabbing the hilt of the blade, it drew the sword forth, and died.

Stiffly, slowly, Graeme came to his feet. The battlefield around him was now silent, his enemies dispatched. Not far away, he could see trolls still pounding on the doors of the Temple, each stroke bringing them closer to entry. Picking up his fallen sword, he turned to his horse, standing unconcerned amongst the carnage. "Some help you were," Graeme winced as he swung into the saddle. His ribs were definitely cracked, but he had received worse injuries in training. He could still fight. "Bentis I think w-" Graeme trailed off. "By the Gods! Bentis!" He glanced wildly about, seeking some sign of the young militiaman.

[Jtab]

Bentis had assured himself that the trolls before him were very much dead, but the much larger group charging to meet the Kenshurians were quite lively. Their menacing approach was punctuated by the large axes they carried. Bentis turned to draw confidence from his companion. However Graeme did not feel any surer then Bentis himself, as he frowned at the prospect of being so severely outnumbered.

"I suggest we scatter!" the knight spoke as he raised his blade. He then bolted forward atop his steed, assumedly to draw half the attacking company away from the horseless militiaman. Graeme felled the first troll of the new attacking company with a swift slash of his sword as Bentis stood back awaiting his foes. As the closed to striking distance the knight rode by once more, attacking the unprepared trolls who had focused on the young militiaman. Blood splattered across the ground as the passing blows found their mark in troll flesh. A second strike glanced off the helmet of another nearby troll before Graeme had concluded his assault against this contingent of the enemy. The troll withstood the blow to its head but was visibly shaken, while the first troll to taste Graeme’s steel lurched forward to attack. Bentis had remained focused through all this and was ready to dodge the first slash to come his way. Stepping to the side, he used the momentum of the Venurian’s attack to move the act completely out of position with his staff before catching the bleeding troll beneath the chin with a thunderous crack. Before that troll had completed its slump to the ground, Bentis crouched down low, sliding his leg towards the troll to his right, then thrust with the full force his position allowed him. His pole speared the troll in the gut, sending it toppling to the ground a few feet away. The troll which had been shaken up earlier regained its senses and chopped downward while Bentis was in no position to dodge. Swinging his staff in response, he caught the troll’s axe in its shaft, deflecting the blow just to the left of his far foot. Quickly Bentis rolled backwards to put distance between himself and his foes before scrambling to his feet. Sweat dripped from his now dirty face from the intensity of the battle. Darting to the right, he found the troll he had speared earlier gasping for breath as it knelt, holding its gut. Having no intension of allowing it to recover and fight another day, Bentis swung his staff with both hands, crushing the ribs of the oblivious troll. The three remaining beasts moved to attack the Kenshurian with renewed vigor. Bentis moved with them to avoid becoming surrounded. Suddenly, the troll to his left leapt forward with a fierce swing of its club. Bentis ducked beneath the fatal blow of the club but was caught by the blunt side another troll’s axe which sent him to the ground hard. Had Bentis not ducked, the edge of the axe would have killed him if the club had not. The young man retained his composure and rolled away to relative safety. The trolls quickly charged after Bentis as he recovered from the roll and took his feet once more despite a now very sore shoulder. The first troll to reach him swung his club sloppily. The young militiaman dodged to the outside and smashed the kneecap of the rushing troll before stepping to meet the next troll. This time Bentis would be the first to strike, again crouching low to get the most power into his thrust. A gargle and a snap resonated as the staff smash into unprotected neck of the troll. The last troll to remain on its feet swung feebly as Bentis moved to knock its weapon away. He followed up by slamming his staff down on the hands of the attacking troll, breaking several bones and rendering the hand useless. As the troll shifted its weapon to its still functioning hand, Bentis came across its face with the full force of his staff. One final blow to crush its ribcage and Bentis moved to the earlier debilitated troll. It could not stand with its knee smashed as it was but that would not stop it from trying. It struggled continually to regain its footing but would sooner find a hurried death.

Panting, Bentis looked across the battlefield to find that Graeme was doing rather fine on his own. Still, an ally at your side is always welcome so Bentis moved to assist Graeme in his battle.

*Crash* the sound came thundering from the temple. Turning to investigate, Bentis witnessed the trolls pour into the now open temple. Looking back to Graeme he noticed arrows pouring in from the forest. This signified to Bentis that the cavalry had arrived, so to speak. “Graeme will be fine, but the temple needs help now” Bentis told himself as he burst into a run towards the temple.

[Rhiya Ravenwing]

"Spread out and observe for starters. If you attack, swing in with groups of three, strike the foe, and then retreat. You, however, will stay with me. Do not worry," Xivven reassured the gargoyle, who looked slightly crestfallen, "we too will fall into combat soon. But for now, I need to see a co-ordinated attack. In and out again, not engaging if they try to press the attack, keep them harried while the trolls do their work, while you and I observe. Should things get out of hand, we can step in and give a helping hand."

[OOC: Hunters will be using hit and run tactics. They will not engage if you try to chase them, and last time Asizien said the gargoyles are also very damned fast.
I don't know what Asizien wants to do, so I'll leave what the gargoyles do up to the GM of awesomeness]

[Azisien]

Temple of Avelia - Lobby

With the temple doors sufficiently fragmented, it took one mighty kick to snap the wooden bolt holding the doors closed. Zoreg stepped into the lobby sporting a greedy-looking grin, as if he had just entered a prosperous game trail. The grin looked especially odd, considering his once bushy unibrow had been completely removed, and any stray hairs on his head replaced by black singe.

As the group of eleven Venurians moved into the lobby, one of the gargoyles guarding the flank called out. "Sir, one of the Kenshurian warriors is coming." The gargoyle took stock of the events unfolding in the courtyard, and his jaw dropped a little. "Your men...Sir, they've all been slain!"

Zoreg spared a look back out into the courtyard. Indeed, several Kenshurian warriors had arrived, and one was running towards the temple. It would only be a few moments before he reached the steps, and the ice on them had all but melted. The lieutenant considered his options. At that moment, he was only interested in killing the priest that had struck him and killed two of his men. "We charge the tempal! Ferget the Kenzhurians fer now, we can 'old dem in a narrow 'allway." The Venurian officer lunged forward at a speedy pace through the lobby with his ten followers in tow. A corridor intersected the narrow end of the lobby and went off to the left and right. "We go dat way!" Zoreg shouted back to his men, turning left.

The corridor wasn't long, and bent to the right in an overall crescent shape. There were several rooms along the way, but after a brutal, rapid inspection by Zoreg's men, all turned out to be empty. As they came around the bending corridor, they saw that it became straight again and bent to the right again at the other end. It would probably lead them back to the lobby where they had started. A Kenshurian woman stood before a large set of doors about halfway down the corridor. She was already in the middle of a spell incantation, aimed directly at their group. Given the width of the corridor, Zoreg realized how cramped and vulnerable the massive Venurian party was.

The great troll lieutenant gripped the chain on his weapon and lunged forward at the chanting human.

******

Temple of Avelia - Courtyard

As Penn continued to let arrows fly at the contingent of trolls, he looked on as most of them met their mark in some form or fashion, and as his ally Graeme did the dirty work. He noticed the younger fellow Bentis run off towards the temple after dispatching a number of trolls with little more than a wooden stick. Penn had heard the crashing noise too, but it had been muffled by the din of combat. Looking forward, he and the others could plainly see another sizeable group of Venurians entering the temple proper.

"Take caution, friends!" Had it not been for Ishva's deep voice, Penn would have been killed right there. The monk had diverted his attention at just the right moment for the Border Ranger to notice the javelin sailing toward his head. He shifted back in the saddle purely out of reflex and watched as one of his possible deaths imbedded itself in the ground fifteen feet to the left of his horse.

Penn, Loki, Ishva, and Vincent were all being targetted by a number of assailants from the northern treeline. Ishva brought her hands up and they became coated in greyish stone. "Father, move!" Vincent was mostly unresponsive, either lost in his emotions or otherwise too inexperienced in combat to react in time. The javelin that would have skewered him through the chest instead stopped abruptly as his monk bodyguard jumped into the air with feline agility and grabbed the weapon in mid-flight. Ishva dropped the spear immediately and moved to intercept another of the projectiles. This time the javelin would have struck Vincent's horse, but instead it broke in half and lost its momentum prematurely due to a perfectly-timed punch. "The winged ones attack us!" She shouted, spotting a group of three gargoyles come out of the tree cover momentarily to loose a javelin each before retreating back into the forest. Two of the javelins missed, one by a reasonable margin, while the other whizzed right over Loki's head. Sometimes it was good to be a dwarf.

The third javelin was again intercepted by Ishva, but not so perfectly. She attempted to chop the javelin instead of punch it, but her timing was slightly off. The javelin did snap in two and fall apart on the ground, but not before it had sliced a deep gash in her right arm. Blood rolled out of the wound and down her arm. Ishva returned to her guard stance before Vincent's horse and waited for the next cowardly volley.

******

Temple of Avelia - North-Northeast Treeline

At Xivven's command, her hunters split into two groups and started performing hit and run strikes on the largest group of visible Kenshurians. Her personal gargoyle moved forward slightly, his concentration was intense.

Only twenty-five feet away, Aieris sat in hiding behind a tree. She had been able to hear the deep-throated voice of the gargoyle and the much smaller, but otherwise strong voice of Xivven, but Aieris was unable to make out what they were saying. It was a good thing she had taken a bath recently, otherwise she would have been found out all the easier. She knew now was the time to be completely silent. The slightest movement could cause a noise that would give away her position. She didn't know how good these people were at hunting things, but she also wasn't one to take unnecessary risks.

The gargoyle sniffed hard again, and it was all the noise Celeste needed. Fifty feet north of Aieris and Xivven, she had retreated back into the woods after gargoyles had spotted her and laid in waiting for immediate danger to pass. As it happened, more danger showed up unaware of her position. The arrow she fired at the minute noises the gargoyle made flew true and met its mark. The broadhead managed to pierce the Venurian's hide armor and dig deep into the flesh of his right arm. Not a lethal shot, but an impressive one nonetheless.

Xivven's gargoyle mentally calculated the position of the shooter and fell back behind a tree that should provide ample cover. Just in case, he folded his wings tightly against his body to reduce the size of his form. He hadn't made any noise when the arrow struck him, that would further give away his location. He gripped a javelin in his left hand and motioned to his commander to take cover, then pointed roughly in the shooter's direction.

Celeste moved forward as quickly as she could without making noise. She spotted Aieris ahead, but couldn't see the Venurians she had shot at. There was no safe way to alert the elf without tipping off the enemy, but she had to try. Celeste looked around on the ground for a stone she could throw and found a rock that fit nicely in the palm of her hand. The Venurians would hear this too. She threw the rock and caught her breath as she watched it nearly strike Aieris. Oops. The rock hit the humus and made a reasonably loud noise as it slowed to a halt. Quickly, Celeste grabbed another arrow from her dwindling quiver and prepared to fire upon enemy movement.

******

Temple of Avelia - Western End and Stables

As Mithik examined the blank stone wall of the back of the temple, a temple resident was dragged kicking and screaming before him by one of the hunters. "We found him hiding in the hay stacks."

Mithik didn't bother turning his head. "Take him as a prisoner. Might as well try to gain some intelligence out of this little trip." The hunter saluted and backhand slapped the young human man across the head. He was out before he knew what hit him, and the hunter dragged his unconscious body away.

The western exit into the stables had been identical to the tough wooden door that protected the eastern front of the temple, but it was now gone, transmuted by Mithik's hand. The rear exit to the temple of Avelia no longer existed, it had been replaced by the thick stone the rest of the temple had been constructed out of. Satisfied, Mithik motioned to his men. "Come, we're going back to the eastern entrance. Ah, and start gathering firewood. Lots of firewood."

******

Gole

The big man was indeed on a direct course for the Border Ranger House. He was stopped by the two guards before the entrance, but they allowed him to pass after a few moments of conversation. The door of the house shut behind the stranger, and the purple aura around him was lost.

This area of the village did seem more lively than the central areas. For one, a lot of progress had been made on the inner trench. It seemed completely dug in some areas, and dozens upon dozens of men toiled away in other places. Looking around, Ari couldn't discern any other figures of interest. Not yet, anyway.

[Rhiya Ravenwing]

Xivven heard the whisper of arrow and the halting of the bolt in the gargoyle's flesh. She turned sharply, to see the gargoyle wince, biting back the yelp of pain. Xivven immediately ducked low, allowing the low bushes to obscure her presence. Moving carefully, with the careful wave of the hand now and then to smooth out uneven ground and sweep away silently twigs in her way, Xivven moved towards the hunter, crouched and silent. She followed his pointed claw to note the direction of the arrow's path.

Xivven focused on the palm of her hand. The air was drawn in silently, slowly, packed into a tiny sphere of solid, whirling elemental force. A rock was thrown, and the hunter was about to surge forward when Xivven's hand stayed his movement. Her eyes and her hand said 'not yet' while Xivven charged her explosive attack. With silent consent, the two marked the direction the rock was thrown in, nodded to each other, then the gargoyle ducked behind the tree as Xivven made a flinging motion with her other hand.

In the exact opposite direction.

The tiny ball of compact air whizzed silently through the air, guided by Xivven's willpower only. It curved through the trees, literally invisible, not even stirring a breeze, its trajectory spinning around in a wide arc that ended up coming from the west side of Celeste's new position, Xivven's assumption of the rock being thrown relatively accurate to within a few feet.

Then it exploded with tornado ferocity, tearing through the forest like a shockwave pulse, ripping up the underflora, its power enough to send any person within its 10-foot radius flying.

The moment Xivven released the explosive air ball, she turned to the gargoyle.
"Hold your breath," was all she whispered before the thing exploded. A look of shock came over the gargoyle, then understanding instantly overtook what she was about to do as Xivven grabbed his arm. The indrawing of air was silenced by the explosion her attack made, and the gargoyle had a firm grip on the elementalist.

Then the earth swallowed them. Gargoyle and Elementalist both.

[OOC: soo.... anybody wanna play curve-ball?]

[Mintaro]

During the majority of the skirmish it had seemed like his arm had fired of its own accord. He knew then that Avelia must be with them in this sacred place. Guiding him to shoot beyond his will. Truly it was a good thing. Penn took a quick stock of the field. The situation was grim. Trolls to the front of them, gargoyles to the back of them, and there he was stuck in the middle again.

"We move to the temple." He said curtly to his allies. As they neared Graeme he joined in their charge. They hooves of their horses tearing up dirt as they went.

[Lumenskir]

Ariosto surveyed his options. He would have to get into the Ranger House some time, but to magically fool the guards and then walk in unannounced would draw so much unwanted attention...better to leave it for later.

Walking over to the trenches, Ari looked the men over with a bemused gaze. The process seemed to be the definition of a toil, and merely standing in the heat of the day was making the enchanter perspire. As he dipped a cup into the communal water trough, he thought how horrible it would be if a small sample of any of the numerous serums he had read about from the Venurian libraries managed to get mixed in with the water. What had the texts called the one that raised the body's temperature 20 degrees...Andiron's Warmth? Terrifically useful when stuck in a snowstorm, but with these sweltering conditions it would merely be terrible. Whole trenches turned into mass graves, such a shame.

"Whoo boy, hot as a banshee out here!" Ariosto pulled his hand from the top of the water source. He had made sure to drizzle his conjured concoction as inconspicuously as possible, but what did this simpleton see? "Mind if I take that cup from you?"

Ariosto deflated in relief. He handed over the drinking cup to the man, a sturdily built worker. After the man had lapped his fill from the water, he looked up to start the conversation renewed, but saw only empty air.

[Aieris]

As she leaned against the meager protection offered by a tree, Aieris wondered what it was that was following her. She had heard voices, then what she assumed to be the whispers of trained hunters gliding through the forest towards the courtyard of the temple, and now for the moment all was silent again.

The next sounds she heard were the whistle of an arrow, the twang of a bowstring, and the soft thud of an arrow hitting its mark, then nothing. Someone was shooting at her pursuers, but she could neither see her supposed ally, nor whatever it was that was somewhere behind her.

The sound of something hitting the damp earth near her startled her, and she looked rapidly around her before catching a glimpse of someone clad all in white, hunched low to the ground behind a tree in much the same manner as herself, reaching behind her back to the quiver of arrows there. In the brief moment their eyes met, Aieris saw what looked to be a lithe young woman, dressed in what was likely the garb of the temple nearby. Then, as she caught movement to her right out of the corner of her eye, she quickly turned towards what appeared to be a massive gargoyle being ridden by...someone.

Who, or what, ever was riding the gargoyle gestured once, and there seemed to be a slight disturbance in the air, before a large explosion rocked the trees where she had seen the girl in white. Glancing quickly to the explosion, all she saw in the aftermath were ruined trees, and then, cursing herself for looking away, she swung her eyes back to where the gargoyle and its rider had been moments before, only to see a shower of earth fly up from the ground, and then nothing.

Once again, she was alone in the forest. She could see neither her pursuer nor the woman in white, and as she listened intently for any sounds, all she could catch were the scurrying and fluttering sounds of animals and birds as they did their best to escape from the violence that had erupted in the forest.

"Bloody hell I wish I could run away like them" she thought to herself as she stood there, bow still half drawn, "By bloody Avelia, how did I get myself involved in this". Still, being angry at herself would get her nowhere. As she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, she reasoned with herself. Even if the gargoyle had gone underground, it would put out a fair amount of heat. And if it did, she could find it. And if she could find it, she could burn it, even if it were surrounded by ground. She would just have to burn the ground as well.

As she exhaled and opened her eyes, her pupils began to burn red as she drew in her power. She would find whoever was making her life so difficult, and they would burn.

[TheBlindMime]

Loki was more then a little annoyed when the spear flew just above his head, either that blasted gargoyle was a lousy shot or he had just insulted Loki.

It was a tradition amongst dwarves to challenge another man for title or property, you threw an object over his head, to express how it was out of his reach. It had eventually devolved into a joke amongst dwarves, save for the rare occasions it was actually enacted. From outsiders however, it was a racial slur.

"Come oot and face meh yah cod'sarning daug luvin' pihles of cedar!" To a dwarf this statement would have been damndably offensive, so offensive in fact one of the two would have to die. To a gargoyle however it must have only been a jarring befuddling mish-mash of words.

As the group broke for the temple no one was exempt of his curses, "Tourn this grub'eaten mangeh daug of a horse 'round you stub-nosed cowerd of a ranger!" Loki swung his hammers dangerously close to Penn as he struck not one but two spears out of the air.

Slipping off the horse just as its feet clattered against the stone steps of he landed with a stiff roll and rose to his feet with a bestial cry. "FACE ME COWERDS!!" His angry words striking out at the gargoyles who remained close to the treeline and far from his grasp.

Loki remained halfway up the steps, his weapons at the ready. His eyes and hammers searching for something, anything to lash out upon.