"Ambush in Avalon" Log Date: 6/10/99 Log Cast: Thomas Murako, Bandit Negotiator (NPC emitted by Obier), StormBearer, Faanshi, Gaiden (NPC emitted by Thomas, Faanshi), Drazhar (NPC emitted by Obier), StormBearer's crow (NPC emitted by StormBearer), Milane, Kira (NPC emitted by Faanshi) Log Intro: The journey to Avalon has been one fraught with changes for Faanshi, for she has begun to see firsthand how a company where everyone works together rather than pulling rank on one another can exist... she has begun to grow close to Milane, Thomas's Hand, seeing in the other woman not only a friend but a potential sister... and something strange has begun to occur to her perceptions of Thomas Murako himself. Ever since a sunset where the Mongrel leader came to seek her and spoke with her of her fears that he had seemed to become a Warlord -- and thus putting himself well out of the easy ken of a humble shudra girl -- she has been unable to think of little else save Thomas's words to her, the sound of his voice, his general presence. But as the party under Thomas Murako's command draws ever nearer to their destination, something soon arises that demonstrates that not all in Avalon is as Murako expects... *===========================< In Character Time >==========================* Time of day: Afternoon Date on Aether: Monday, October 12, 3904. Year on Earth: 1504 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Last Quarter Season: Fall Weather: Clouds Temperature: Cool *==========================================================================* Somewhere on the road to Avalon(#717RFJL) The road leading towards the once Empyrean city of Arcillium is well-travelled and constructed of stone. Though passage has worn it assunder, it looks as if it has been kept in fair condition. To either side of the via, rolling hills make up the flatlands. Just along the northern horizon a glimse of woods can be seen through the hazy heat of the late summer. Now on the other side of the Flumen Polaris, the group that left Haven over a week ago, trods upon the soil of the once Empyrean province of Arelate. Crossing the river was something of a task, but with the help of several skilled individuals, it was accomplished. The only problem arose when a raft was almost overturned during transit, dumping several unhappy Mongrels into the wide, deep waters. Several days later, the cadre is now trodding upon a road of Empyrean make towards the city of Arcillium where the settlers of Avalon have made their temporary home. Spirits have dimmed little during the transit and as everyone approaches their destination, smiles and hopeful talk are a common sight. Drawing towards later afternoon and with only a half a day's travel to the city, Thomas Murako rides at the head of the people who followed him from their homes. To his left and right are the makeshift 'soldiers' of this new nation -- a measly ten in number. As his eyes gaze ahead to the distance, they narrow a touch, as if he was spying something. Raising his hand as if to signal the others to stop, he begins to slow his horse's pace. "What is that?" the Mongrel asks, pointing with his finger towards what appears to be something across the road, and a small plume of smoke. The campfire seen is currently surrounded by a few swordsmen, all dirty and ill-kept. Five archers pace around in patrol, intelligently closer to cover where thier keen eyes can peer deep into the distance and release their barbs accordingly. One of the forementioned archers perks his head up, tilting it to the side to allow his hearing a greater distance. A hand moves to quiet those near him, alhough the mercenaries around the campfire remain talking quietly. "Shaddap! Get movin', dey's be here!" a harsh whisper is said, and the three visible by the campfire stand tall and move further away from the glow of the flame. StormBearer looks to where Thomas has indicated, concern in his face. As he spies the occurance which the leader has indicated, his eyes flare. Clearly alarm overtakes his face. He reigns in his horse, shouting to those around "Watch out!" It has, truly, been a journey of firsts for young Faanshi. If the terrain over which she has travelled hasn't held wonders enough -- like trees whose leaves are the colors of fire, as if the Khalid Atar himself had passed his hand over them -- the people who ride in the train of Thomas Murako have fascinated the shy shudra halfbreed. Kindly smiles have been directed her way, as the more easygoing and patient among the company have observed that the girl is as new to overland journeys as a just-hatched fledgling to its wings... and as stunning as the information they've imparted to her has been, their smiles and amiable treatment have amazed her all the more. In the midst of it all, she has been particularly fascinated by Milane, who has seemed blessedly familiar with her apparent tie to Varati ways... StormBearer, and the bird who rides with him, the bird who seems to be no bird, if the Herald's story is true... and Thomas Murako himself. These three have made up the primary focus of Faanshi's surreptitious attempts to comport herself well on this journey. And now, although she does not ride with the Mongrel leader this day, but rather back along the company in the cart with her dog, still she is within range to see something odd in the behavior of the two men who have served as her examples. Beside her, Kosha, sniffing the smoke in the air, barks out softly, and Faanshi herself peers anxiously forward over the top of her veil. Darkened brown eyes level on the 'outpost' which lies ahead on the road. From the looks of it, several logs have been set across the road to block the passage of horses or carts. "Bandits." Thomas mutters, half beneath his breath and half to the man who rides to his left. Almost immediately his hand drops towards the broadsword that is fitting into the side of Tempest's saddle. The Mongrel leader's brow creases with mild concern, and that is reflected in his voice, "Gaiden, leave one of the men with the group. Have them stay back away from the blockade till we give the clear sign." "Yes, Thomas." the answer is given and the Mongrel lieutenant turns his mount and gives the order to the last man in the line, "Fall back and remain with the others. When the way is clear, we will give you the clear. The rest of you, follow me." "Yes, sir." an answer almost in unison. And with that, the seven other horsemen fall into line with their commander. Murako catches StormBearer's warning and gives the Sylvan bard a nod, "StormBearer," the large man's mount approaches the other's horse, his words are low, "this might get dangerous. I'm not sure how many men there are ahead. If you can lend us a blade, or if not, at least ensure that Milane and Faanshi are watched over?" The other soldiers have aligned themselves in a vague battle formation, but not drawn their weapons. Gaiden looks towards Thomas, "Thomas. We should approach and find out their intent." Already, the man upon the warhorse is turning to head towards the 'thing' in the road for the need is great. A semi-toothless Mongrel looks up towards the man riding closer, smiling with his diseased mouth. The other two mongrels that were previously near the fire with him stand with thier blades drawn to back him up. "Well, well, well. Looka what we's got 'ere...ifn' it ain' big ol' Murako, back from 'is all important trip. Dis' ah toll booth, 'yer highness', an' we's be chargin' ye a small toll tah cross. An' we's reckonin' ye pay, jus' so none ah dese loverly people wit ye cin see dem through safely, 'aight?" A hoarse chuckle is offered, his dirty face watching the big man closely for his response. Under cover, the five archers ready thier arrows and nock their bows, waiting patiently. StormBearer pulls lightly on the reins of his horse, pulling back from his place immediatly between the soldiers and the rest of the host, to where Faanshi and Milane can be found. He watches carefully as the two groups meet, keeping an eye on the mercenaries behind the rest. As StormBearer rides back along the company, Faanshi can see several concerned and increasingly dark glances exchanged up and down the way. Something, obvious even to the innocent girl in the cart, is wrong. Unnerved, Faanshi sinks a little lower, a little more out of sight, while peeking over the top of the cart's wooden side to try to keep the Herald, Murako's Hand, and Thomas Murako all in sight at the same time. Beside her, sensing building tension in the air and unable to see much due to his own small size, Kosha lets out a tiny growl. High upon the warhorse, Thomas Murako towers over the crummy Mongrel mercenary who utters demands from a toothless maw. Behind Avalon's spokesman ride seven mounted young men dressed in leathers, each far more clean-cut and better-looking than this rag-tag band of robbers. Yet, from the looks in their eyes, these mounted warriors don't possess anywhere near the skill of those they face off against. Many have little in actual combat experience and though Dremmond's training was excellent, it is no substitute for the real thing. From his position, Thomas eyes the drawn blades and the nocked bows, his face never rising above a deadly calm, "In whose name do you demand this toll, sir?" The spoken tone is polite and far more 'cultured', the level of confidence in his voice is /clear/. "I am certain you are aware of that this land has been claimed in the name of the nation of Avalon. To the best of my knowledge, you have no rights to petition anyone for a 'toll'. Unless of course you intend to rob us." His gaze flicks towards the creaking of the drawing bowstrings and he grins just a touch, "Which to my eyes it appears like you are attempting." The toothless Mongrel laughs again, a hoarse rasp ecasping from the depths of his throat. "'Aight, dey's was right 'bout you's bein' fiesty...but trus' me, 'your excellence', dere ain' no way I be backin' down. We's collectin' tolls fer th' REAL leader a' Avalon, someone who's gon' make it much better den you'd ever do. An' we be the first post, we be gettin' monies to help raise de funds, aye? More ah business proposition, but we's be good at robbin', too...if'n ye force us t' do tha'..." Sword raised and waved a bit, just to show that he means business. "So wha's gon' be, mistah bigshot? You payin' us, or you choosin' to feel mah sting?" StormBearer watches the dialoge between the Mogrel leader and the mercenary with poor dental hygiene. For a second he looks down at Faanshi, examine the state of the girl, but then he returns to the action. Notably, the crow which normally sits upon his shoulder is still missing, as it has been for a few days now. This does not seem to bother the Herald, as if he expects it. The Herald's glance can show him Faanshi's figure kneeling there in the cart, peering over its top with unmistakable worry in her green eyes -- aye, the veiled girl is for once looking up, her attention riveted upon Murako and the man he confronts. She is not within easy earshot of the Mongrel leader and the ruffian on the road -- but to her anxious gaze, the weapons being brandished are all too in evidence. _He wants to fight with Thomas,_ she realizes, a sick feeling beginning to steal through her chest, and a little prayer escapes her, barely breathed aloud: "Ushas, watch over us... Son of the Dawn, lend him strength..." "The real leader of Avalon, eh?" Thomas answers, a vague skepticism in his voice. Shifting on his mount, the Mongrel leader grows silent, head bowing as if he's considering the offer which the mercenary has made. A soft exhale escapes his lips as if he was resigned to something. These next words come in a vaguely patroizing tone, "Admittedly, your offer is a very lucrative one, sir." A glance is cast over his shoulder towards the people who are simply waiting for him to do /something/. "I'll tell you what." Leaning forward on his steed, a grin slides over his lips that isn't normally seen on someone as stoic as this man, "Why don't you take your two-toothed, worthless mercenary ass back to this so 'called' leader and tell him that Avalon already /has/ leaders? Do that, and I promise you'll walk away from this with all your limbs workin' just fine. Deal?" With these words, the men behind Murako move nervously on their steeds. Those are fighting words for certain and there can't be any good of this. Some move their hands towards the hilts of their swords and two produce what appears to be Empyrean arbalists. The toothless mercenary laughs louder this time, narrowing his eyes in anger. "Rilly? Well m'limbs seem t'werk fine 'nough fer me...an' certainly fine 'nough tah swing dis 'ere sword 'round..." The man looks to a tall hill to the right and blows air through his gums. He tries again and fails. Finally, one of the archers takes control and lets loose a loud whistle. Another hoarse chuckles from the toothless mongrel. "...An' you's be much ah's dumb ah's ye look, 'cause you's gon' have a li'l trouble haulin' nobody's ass ah's a ghost!" The three mercs draw back a bit, and from the hill on the right six horsemen pull up, a dark skinned Varati in the lead. "In the name of Drazhar, lieutenant of Traxis, put down your weapons before we put them down for you!" he exclaims, the riders drawing closer quickly. Blades drawn, of course. StormBearer's gaze is drawn to the horsemen upon the hill. His brow darkens, as do his eyes. A deep mutter goes out under his breath "By Ferrin!" though it is quiet enough that few can hear it. He draws himself up in his dark horse, which also stiffens and stands straight up. His cloak blows out lightly behind him as he does so, and his hood falls away from his face. His eyes intensify, and he waits, watching... As the riders pull into view along the ridge, the men with Thomas cast their eyes skywards and realize they are obviously outnumbered by these bandits. Murako himself watches the toothless Mongrel back off carefully, even after he's heard the pounding of horse's hooves above him. He is the last of the mounted warriors to look at the man who calls himself Drazhar, lieutenant of Traxis. Still, the Mongrel leader remains calm, his mood considerably more stable than his men, whose mounts shift nervously beneath them. "Steady men." Gaiden calls out, his own sword drawn from the sheath at his side with a soft hiss. It is clear that this man has some experience in battle, and perhaps this is why he is a commander. Thomas Murako merely rests his hand upon the wide hilt of the broadsword and draws it forth from his sheath with a slow motion, letting the weight of the blade settle into his palm. "I'm afraid we won't be able to do that, Drazhar!" he calls out, his voice clear across the distance between them, "This is your last chance to surrender and leave this field. I'd advise that you take it and be smart." A sidelong glance towards the Avalon commander and Gaiden shouts out an order, "Ready weapons!" Even though the men are nervous, each of them draws into their hands a chosen weapon -- some blades and some arbalists. "Ready line!" Another command and with several practiced moves, the horsemen begin to form a line approximately six men across, their leader to the left. Drazhar chuckles darkly, shaking his head. "Well then, my dear Thomas Murako...I am afraid you must die..." A hand gestures to the bushes, and the towards the men on horseback. "You know the drill! Men to the ready!" he growls, the men already prepared for battle. "In the name of -our- Avalon, attack!" he calls, The five men rushing forward and leaving him slightly behind, perhaps to be able to engage one of the higher ranking officers should they be open. As the horses begin to thunder down the hill towards the line of Thomas' men, a five-arrow volley flies upwards from the foliage cover, arcing downwards to hopefully hit thier marks. The toothless mercenaries wait with thier blades drawn, probably to finish off any men felled from thier steeds. Though the Herald cannot offer anything himself into the ensuing fight, perhaps his friend can. Above the field of what is becoming a battle, a dark caw rings accross the field like a bell tolling doom, but it is not the call of birds of carrion, for it is the crow which so often accompanies StormBearer. Circling over the battlefield, the bird watches carefully as it gains altitude. She had marched with the armies of the Khalid Atar -- but somehow, Faanshi Khalida had managed to be spared the sight of the warriors of the Varati in combat, shielded as she was by the vast numbers of shudra and mongrels and other non-combatants between herself and the fighting men of the Children of Fire. Thus, for the first time in her young life, the halfbreed maiden gets her first sight of combat, of men charging at one another with the intent to wound, to maim, to kill. The sick feeling in her chest increases -- for although Faanshi does not know combat, the weeks she has spent stealing through the streets of Haven to try to practice her magic have certainly introduced her to pain. And what pain does to rouse the half-tamed power that lurks somewhere within her. Her eyes stricken, she wraps her arms about herself, shying back in the cart, even as someone near her shouts for her to keep down and the puppy beside her begins to howl. The volley of arrows flies forth from the archers' bows, closing the distance with their targets in the near-blink of an eye. Several miss their marks entirely, yet one finds a home in the chest of the last man in the cavalry line, embedding itself through his leather armor with a sickening thud that sends the wind rushing from his lungs accompanied by a spray of blood. That poor young man tumbles from his saddle and hits the ground at some odd angle. Most likely he's not going to make it home. Almost simultaneously, Gaiden calls out, "For Avalon! Charge!" and the mounted men thunder forward to meet the opposing horsemen. Thomas Murako gets an arrow of his own, the long shaft embedding itself in the upper part of his thigh and making some penetration through his pants. When it hits its mark, the leader looks to it, just for a split second. His eyes register shock at first, and then quickly turns to blackest anger, teeth gritting as he reaches down to the side of his horse and grabs an arbalist that was hidden behind his leg. Pointing the weapon at one of the three groundlings before him, he squeezes the trigger and sends a quarrel flying towards the throat of one of those hapless bandits. "Bastards!" he growls deeply in displeasure. Drazhar grins a wickedly tooth-filled grin, quite the opposite from most of these rag-tag mercenaries. He also looks like the only one with actual military experience. "I shall personally rip you limb from limb, Murako!" he calls forth, brandishing his blade but not joining the line of horsemen that has just come into grips with Thomas' cavalry. The quarrell sent by the leader finds its mark well, sending one of the 'enforcers' down. "Zoulie!" the toothless negatiator calls out, blinking a bit and crouching down towards the fallen soldier. The one negatiator left standing charges forward towards the nearest horseman, looking to stab either the man or beast. Battle cries are sounded from both the horsemen, footmen, and archers (currently reloading their bows). After a decade of servitude to a Varati warrior, Milane is almost more comfortable in situations of conflict. She was taken along, as a token of comfort, on many a battle and conquest. She attended to the wounds of her owner, and began to see the battlefield as her home. Milane feels no astonishment to the scene before her, and a strange sense of calm enters her expression. "My goal. . ." Milane thinks, quietly to herself. "Murako's safety. . ." her mind and heart answer in definite unison. Without flinching or a thought to the logistics of the situation, Milane bolts forward with her hand on her dagger -- a foolish move for a mongrel woman. For, although she is strong and although she is skilled with her dagger, she is no match -- no concern -- for these circumstances. "Murako. . ." Milane keeps in the back of her mind, as her feet quicken pace. The mongrel woman is going to the leader's side to fight the good fight, regardless of her own safety. "I am so insignificant. . ." she thinks. . ."Murako's safety. . ." A crow can do damage to one's face, but the amount that it can do is limited. As another caw flings itself across the battlefield, a dark bolt of feathers flys downward from the sky towards one of the horsemen, but as it does, it seems to subtly change.. becoming larger, talons lightening and becoming clawed hands, tail spliting into a mockery of legs. What falls towards the horseman is neither bird nor man, but a foul composite of both. As it does so, the expression on StormBearer's face is shocked at the least, but his attention is quickly redirected by the form of Milane moving forward ".. Milane.." he manages a strangled cry, trying to stop her when he is so full of surprise.. "_Milane!_" Never before has Faanshi had to raise her voice above a shy, maidenly murmur. Now, though, as she sees Thomas's Hand charge forward into the fray, the shudra girl cannot stop the terrified cry that bursts out of her. For a moment, it seems as if the maiden might fling herself over the side of the cart to try to catch up to the older woman, but another of the company, the one called Kira, has scrambled into the cart from the back. "Get _down_, girl!" she can be heard to bellow, as she bodily seizes Faanshi by her shoulders and for good measure flings a blanket over her. "Get down and stay down!" The horsemen of the /true/ Avalon meet those of its usurpers in a titanic clash of hooves and steel. Gaiden at their head meets his sword with that of a foe, gritting his teeth as he tries to unseat his opponent. The whining of horses and the grunting of men soon follows as a large cloud of dirt is kicked up in the wake of conflict. One of the bandits tumbles from his horse and falls into the midst of the beasts. He screams loudly as a hoof cracks his ribs and then another crushes his face. Then he is silent. A quarrel flies forth from an enemy arbalist and settles itself into the side of one of the Avalon horsemen, who in turn grunts and tries to turn forth from the fray. A mace catches him across the face and cracks his jaw, sending him sprawling from his mount and into the dirt. "For Avalon!!!" someone screams from within and the battle continues. Smartly the outnumbered men made themselves difficult targets for the archers, who risk hitting their own men in the middle of this mess. Thomas meanwhile, throws his crossbow aside and immediately charges forward, rearing Tempest up on his rear legs as he throws his steed into the midst of the remaining two ground-troops. His broadsword flashes in broad strokes as he attempts to cut one down beneath him, using the weight of the beast beneath him as leverage. Faanshi's voice distracts Milane's focus, but not her eyes, for a moment. "Pray to Ushas, Imphada Faanshi! And stay down! Use your VEIL!" One last bit of advice is the only thing Milane can offer her Varati-clad friend. For Ushas must be watching over the mongrel woman now. She has escaped the arrows and random clashing of swords in flesh only due to the compassion of the divine. Milane's feet have quickened already, and the fast walk has improved to an athletic run of some skill and power. "Murako's safety. . ." is Milane's complete focus. The dagger is held intently at her side in her left hand, ready for strike. It is time to fight the good fight. "Murako's safety. . ." She is within his circumference now, and near the flight of his broadsword. "FOR AVALON!" the booming alto voice cries with as much energy as the Hand can muster. "Thomas. . .!" Milane screams as her run bursts into higher speed, throwing the red of her lenga skirt in flames around her. The Hand is heading straight for the enemy with her dagger outstretched for a meager attack. One injury is all she expects to make. One injury to weaken the enemy's chances of hurting Murako. As the fighting breaks out, those who have accompanied Thomas simply watch in horror as these troops confront the company of bandits. Some have taken cover behind wagons, others now hold tools in their hands as make-shift weapons. A few stare in mild wonderment, but no one rushes forward to take part in this melee. Men are dying left and right and besides Milane there isn't a hero amongst them. Drazhar laughs yet again, flashing those pearly whites. He obviously cares not for the well-being of his men, but just as pawns to win this game of chess. "Caravan! Strike at the ones without cover, fools!" The archers, in acknowledgement, aim now for the people behind the cavalry line, letting loose a volley of barbs towards the innocents. The horsemen aren't doing so well, one of them being stopped dead by fear as some monstrosity crashes into his horse, sending both man and beast to the ground, crushing the mercenary's leg. Mercenaries fight on, however, too afraid to turn their backs on these things to run, and really turning a bit too frantic to fight as effectively as possible. The leader of the group looks around, wanting to go for Thomas but not finding any openings...but....his eyes flash towards a foolish woman running into the fray, and he laughs his bone-chilling cackle. "Yah!" he yells, his horse turning and moving quickly towards Milane. As the half-crow lands on the horseman, sending him to the ground, the beast tumbles with them, clawing and at the man all the way. Then it jumps away, half-wings pumping powerfully to propell it towards another of the horsemen, where the beast's talon/arms reach out to neutralize another. Meanwhile, StormBearer's eyes watch the battle with horror. It is not the battle itself. He has seen battle before. Yes, battle he has seen many a time. Battle is not new to him. What fills him with horror and dread and loathing is the sight of Milane and the leader horseman who is approaching her.. The reason for the presence of the girl in the colors of Clan Khalida, the girl who keeps her face veiled from the company's view, is thus far unknown to the men and women who have ridden with Thomas Murako from Haven. But with the way their leader has seemed to favor the girl, allowing her to ride with him upon his white stallion, approaching her for private conversations at sunset, curious whispers had in the last few days begun to circulate through their numbers. The woman Kira has heard these whispers. She has no idea why Thomas Murako has chosen to bring this Varati maiden along with them -- but two things are clear to her. Murako looks on her with favor, and thus, she should be protected. She is, obvious to anyone who looks upon her even with the veil, a vulnerable maiden, and thus she should be protected. And thus, while the screams of wounded men and women begin to sound chillingly close, Kira shields Faanshi with her own body, hissing urgently into what she assumes is her ear hidden beneath her sari: "Lie still, girl! Don't make a sound! Keep your head down!" Panic-stricken, the halfbreed maiden can only nod, and Kira grunts her approval as she covers up Faanshi as best she can, hiding her and her puppy from view, curling an arm around the little dog to try to keep him quiet. As the archers open fire on the carvan of people, several innocents are dropped right off the bat, an arrow running through a young man who zealously strides forth and brandishes his pitchfork at the attackers. He falls to the ground and lies still. Another finds its mark in a young girl who left herself too exposed, the shaft sinking into her tender flesh and sending her down and bleeding. Other arrows stick into the hardened wood of the carts and sends some of the group into a blind panic. Meanwhile, near the front, the horsemen, with the aid of the crow, appear to be routing their opposing compatriots. Gaiden swings his blade and it finds its mark in the side of another bandit, forcing the man to grasp his side and pull back, somewhat pained. The dust has grown so intense that it almost obscures the sun in some areas, the cries of battle still continue. The whole scene has errupted into chaos. Thomas brings his blade down upon the shoulder of the toothless Mongrel's compatriot, the horse's weight causing the massive piece of metal to almost sever the other's arm completely off. He screams in agony. Murako appears ready to engage the last man, but the cry of his Hand causes him to whirl his attention to her. "Milane!" He cries out. This motion leaves him wide open however, and the grimy piece of filth that cursed him strides forward and shoves his sword at the leader's exposed flank. Hearing the approach of a foe, the large Mongrel moves too slowly to avoid the cut of steel. He groans and struggles to remain in his saddle. "AVALON!" Milane screams madly as she charges her insignificant form at the overwhelming power of the enemy. "_MURAKO'S_ _AVALON_!" Milane cries forth in belted alto-minor tones. The woman's eyes have shed tears of her fierce passion and dedication to her goal, in this fury of loyalty. "Murako's safety. . ." echoes in her mind and heart, continuously. Indeed, this goal has made her blind to circumstances and strategy. The left hand holding the dagger goes up to reach as high as she can in proportion to the raised enemy man on horse, to attempt a strike at his body. Somehow, Milane has accepted death as her fate and cares not. It will be a death that prevented one of the enemy's strikes into Murako's form. It will keep Avalon free of this man's grips for just one more second. Right towards the Mongrel woman Drazhar rides, one hand manipulating the reins of his earthen brown war horse, the other gripping his saber tightly. Eyes cast back to Thomas, a chuckles eminating from the depths of his throat as the woman's name is called. His idea is sparked again: She must be important to him then, should he not only know her name but call it out in desperation as she is brought closer to peril. Dark orbs are brought to regard his quickly fallen men, with the three felled by cavalry blades and the two taken down by that crow-beast, only one lone soldier remains, and he isn't even on horseback. It's the negotiator from before. "Don't cry out for the hopeless, Murako! Inevitability draws closer, and the dark shadow of defeat will not shade mine eyes this day! You may have slain my men, but I shall truly have the defeat!" Another cackle pierces the battle cries, and in a fluid movement the leader of the mercenaries casts his blade into the fray of enemy soldiers, his free hand going to grab Milane by the waist. Hoisting her up so her body is pinned between the horse and his chest, he brings the elbow of the hands manipulating the reins expertly down on the back of her head, to knock the girl out. The crow has indeed fallen another of the horsemen, but this time there is no jumping away for another, for there are few others around. In rage, and in fury, and in horrible bloodlust, the crow continues to rip into the body of this fallen horseman, shredding and tearing flesh with its talon/hands, and anyone to see its eyes could see pure, shining, furius pools of green liquid fire, burning as the beast continues its assualt on the near-dead man. The archers continue to fire on the caravan of innocents, heedless that the cavalry has been felled and the footman now lie bleeding on the ground beneath Tempest's hooves. The man who was ordered to stay back urges his horse forward towards the bowmen, screaming as he waves his blade, "Curse you!!! Bas .." ..and his words are chopped off as he is hit in the throat with an arrow. He falls from his horse, which continues to charge riderless until it is turned with another arrow in its muscled throat. A young child is struck from behind as he tries to run to his mother. The father, enraged, stands up to charge the men but is struck in the upper arm and falls. The bandit riders have been turned and as the dust settles one can see that only Gaiden and another man have escaped without signifigant harm. It is they who now turn their mounts upon the archers from a different angle, charging at a deafening pace. Thomas, meanwhile, strengthens himself against the wound in his side and then instead of backing off, throws his weight from atop the steed onto the toothless man, his meaty paws seeking the other's throat as if to crush it. Milane's cries are heard, as well as the Varati's boasts. Bastard. Bastard. But he must subdue this foe before he does anything else. As he seeks to get hold of the grimy creature before him, a dagger flashes from behind his back aimed at this one's heart. The face the Mongrel leader bears is pure evil. He is hatred as he kills this man. Violence beyond control. Faanshi had heard Milane's last shouted plea to her -- and there in the cart, huddled under a coarse-woven blanket and the sturdy, stocky form of a middle-aged Mongrel woman named Kira, Faanshi tries to begin to pray desperate prayers to Ushas, Lady of the Dawn... and to her son, Khalid Atar, the Neverending Fire, in the frantic hope that he will hear her from afar and lend his divine strength to the company of Thomas Murako so that they may fight off their attackers. But something begins to happen within her head and within her blood, power roiling up from somewhere deep inside her. Her palms begin to burn with it. Her ears, their outer structure mutilated by the sword of the Warlord Hashim, begin to roar with it. As a frantic Kosha tries to wriggle in under the blanket to huddle up beside her, she hears herself plead to her self-appointed protector, "Let me up, imphada..." It's a barely audible croak. But it's enough for Kira to hear her, and a decided pressure from the matron's hands on her shoulders signals the stubborn insistence that she stay _DOWN_. Another hoarse scream, and the negotiator is dead, his death cries causing the archers the break from any semblance of duty to retreat in a mad dash over the right hill, should they even make it from the men on horseback. A goodly amount of blood sprays on Thomas from the killed negotiator, the one who first instigated the whole chaos that has now taken a valued friend of the groups, who's unconsious body lays on the horse of Drazhar, his dark eyes burning with the fire of victory. At least, for him. He goes to motion for his archers to hold his ground, but clenches his teeth in pain. Perhaps Milane did not go without some fight, as her dagger aimed true to his form and imbedded its steel within his shoulder. Witdrawing the small blade with a slight cringe, Drazhar looks to Thomas and screams. "Halt! If you value the life of this wench, call back your troops! -Now-!" he says, not moving more than the few yards distance he has put between himself and the melee. While no one watched, while even StormBearer himself concentrated upon the battle, an arrow had broken its way into the shoulder of the mounted Sylvan. He ignored it, ignoring all else but his transformed friend. Now, his face bound with pain, he slips forward on his horse a small amount. His eyes burn along with the crow's as it continues to assualt the fallen horseman, but the Herald's burn not in bloodlust but in sadness and regret... "Imphada... I beg you... allow me to rise...!" "Scorch it, girl, what part of 'stay down' do you not understand?" In her mulish determination to watch over the maiden Thomas Murako has brought into their midst, the Mongrel Kira does not notice the odd, hollow tone of the whisper that reaches her from beneath the blanket. Nor does she possess the sensitivity to feel how the aether that surrounds Faanshi has begun to grow taut and heavy and still, like the air before the coming of a thunderstorm. Even as the knife smoothly penetrates that loud mouth's chest and mangles the seat of his blood's circulation, the Mongrel twists the blade, letting the warmth of his own sanguinus spread throughout the cavity. Thick and heady, the crimson stream hits Thomas in the face, spraying in droplets down his armor and mingling with his own bodily fluids. "Die." Those are the last words that negotiator hears before the blackness takes him to the realm of Aidoneus. "Die." And then the words of the Varati come through the bloodlust. The remaining horsemen have meanwhile taken to chasing the archers, one of them is even struck down as he runs by the bloody sword of the Avalon commander, yet when Drazhar calls out for the others to halt, they slow their pace, all eyes coming to a rest upon the girl that he holds captive. Milane. Thomas Murako's advisor. Slowly and with no little pain, the battered leader crawls to his feet, standing over the wide-eyed corpse of that toothless bandit. His darkened gaze is turned downwards for a moment, as if he was having to come to grips with the fact that there is little he can do. Then, he looks up towards Gaiden and the other rider, giving a small nod as if to indicate they should withdraw. "You have bought the lives of your men, Varati. Now, let the woman go. She has no part of our conflict." He steadies himself by placing his hand to the hole in his scale armor of his side. Gritting his teeth a bit, "Harm her and there will be no end to your suffering. I swear this." Drazhar lets out a sort of giggle, like a child who's found a coin on the walk in front of a candy shop. The remaining archers scramble over the hill and disappear from sight, probably running for thier steeds to ride swiftly away before their insane commander leads them to death again. "Well -Tom-" Drazhar says, grinning with those blindingly white teeth. "I don't -know-....I have always had a flair for the dramatic....and killing the girl who tried to save your life with the very weapon she tried to save your life with, killed by the man she tried to save your life -from-..." He grits his teeth and pulls Milane's head up by her hair roughly, putting the steel of the dagger lightly to her neck before laughing. "...Well if that isn't just the supreme definition of irony...I just don't know what is..." He looks towards Thomas again and gives him a wink. "Please, Murako...give me just one reason why I -shouldn't- slit her throat right now and watch her life flow out of her in a wave of crimson and pain?! One reason, Tom!" Even as the Herald's hand was about to move to his shoulder and remove the arrow, it is now stopped dead in its tracks. A strangled whisper leaves his mouth as he watches, too quiet for anyone to hear... "I must get up, imphada... please, I must get up..." Faanshi's words escape her in the barest of whispers, and she can barely hear her own voice, drowned out as it is by the ever-louder roaring between her ears. And although she frees a hand to try to pull the blanket off her face, she can barely see the light that meets her eyes or the shape of the Mongrel woman pinning her down in the cart. She can't even see Kosha as the puppy tries, frightened, to get in under her veil and lick her face. Fire is building behind her eyes, and drowning out her senses. It demands she move... and, pulled by its demands, she begins to struggle under Kira's form. The Mongrel woman, wondering if the maiden has somehow gone mad, swears and hisses, "Don't make me knock you out, girl!" Thomas takes another step closer to the mounted Varati leader, the arrow that juts from his leg still forcing him to limp instead of his confident stride. Amazingly, it seems to bleed very little, but then again, such wounds tend to behave like that. "Because she's the only way you are going to get out of this alive." His words come frankly and simple, eyes focused like two hot coals on the man who holds Milane hostage. The horsemen who Thomas ordered off turn their mounts /reluctantly/ from the butchering bandits, but do make their way back down so that they are closer to Drazhar. Murako continues, "Don't waste our time with your gloats, bandit. Take the girl and flee like the coward you are. I /will/ get her back. You /will/ die. And tell Traxis that we shall be ready to defend our home from this /butchery/. " His gaze flits towards the people who even now struggle to bandage their arrow wounds. The mother cries over her dead child. Most of the group is huddled around them, or merely staring at the raiders with a hardened eye. The last words of the large Mongrel are spoken with a clear purpose that is almost insanely possessive, "Avalon is /ours/." There is a coldness behind his blackened eyes that implies nothing but hatred. Drazhar laughs again, reining his horse around dramatically. Its front hooves rear up, and land at a 180 degree angle before he begins to ride away. His last words are audible to all those who will listen before he rides, his voice a shout for all to hear. "Heed my warnings, fools! You have not yet seen what Drazhar, the master of blades, can do! I shall return to reclaim those that have not yet fallen, and I shall keep this little treasure with me untill we meet again...and who knows? Perhaps I will take mercy on you all and kill you outright...for this 'Milane' girl will be the example of what happens to those who go against me, and captivity within my grasp is a fate worse than death, I assure you!" His voice lowers so now only Thomas and thos near him can hear. "Avalon may be yours...but Milane is mine. I'll have some fun with this one, yes indeedie...too bad that pretty face is going to have to go through so much pain, eh? But such is war, and you should be happy that her torture isn't -totally- murderous...but more in the name of Avalon, -my- Avalon...." An insane cackle is left after this, the man tapping his horses sides with his boots and riding over the hill, disappearing from sight. StormBearer's attention is drawn from before him, behind him, and within him. He struggles with anger, and at the same time, struggles with pain. His face contorts in rage and helplessness as he strains.. wait.. what.. is that.. a power amassing? What? Between Faanshi's struggles and Kira's determination to keep her prone until it's safe to move, one small puppy is very easily overlooked. As the stocky Mongrel woman finds herself suddenly wondering how a seemingly dainty maiden could wrestle with such vigor in her grasp, Kosha's front paws are inadvertantly squashed beneath her arm. The dog yelps in pain and startlement and nips at the woman, startling her just enough to make her loosen her hold on Faanshi... and that all the halfbreed maiden needs to spring up and scramble, without grace or the apparent ability to see where she is going, out of the cart. Faanshi does not hear Drazhar's cackling laughter, or the rumble of hooves that signals the retreat of him and his men. She doesn't hear Kira's cry of protest. Nor does she hear StormBearer's whisper as she stumbles to the Herald on his mount, her hands uplifted, aether swirling wildly around them. Drazhar and his remaining cronies make their way off, leaving the band bound for Avalon steeped in loss, sadness, and blood. Thomas himself can only grind his teeth as he watches Milane taken off by that monster, powerless to do anything to stop it. He takes another step forward, as if to follow them. To do something about it, but this time, he stumbles and is forced to drop to one knee, teeth still clenched, but this time because of the pain. Luckily, Gaiden is close at hand and leaps from his mount to help Murako from falling completely, "You have been wounded, Thomas. Stay still." A soft mutter to his leader and suddenly he looks back towards the other horseman, "Quickly! See to the other men and injured. Find out who is alive so that we might tend to them." "Damn him, Gaiden. I will..." ...his fists clench tightly as the large Mongrel looks up towards the place where the Varati rode off, "..we will find them." "Yes, Thomas, we will. But right now you must lie still till we can get someone to look at you." the Avalon commander answers him in concerned tones. "I am fine. Go see to the others. Please." Stubborn to the end, Thomas moves as if to shake the other man off, "And dispatch a rider to Arcillium and tell Obier and the others to send aid." StormBearer's hand finishes its journey to the arrow that has impaled him, and with a slight gasp, it is removed from his now bloody shoulder. He almost turns his head, but cannot, for the pain is great, and despite all his seeing and experiencing battle, he never fought in it, so he remains still then... It is fortunate that the Sylvan gets the arrow out of his shoulder, for a beat later, Faanshi's fingers make contact with him. She can't reach his shoulder -- not when he is on a horse and she's on the ground. But this seems to make no difference, as the aether surges out of her and sweeps over the wounded Herald. Faanshi does not know who is before her, nor does she have the slightest idea how much time elapses before her power, now raging at full strength, pulls her away from StormBearer and on to the next nearest source of pain. Kira's voice cries out: "Stop her, she's snapped--" Hands reach for Faanshi, but she reaches the next wounded person first -- and several more voices gasp their startlement as the reason for her presence among them suddenly and undeniably reveals itself. "She's a healer!" "A healer?! Oh, gods, healer, help us! Help my husband!" "Her next! Do her next!" Thomas's eyes come up at the cries as they emerge from the crowd, and he speaks softly to Gaiden who just rises to his right, "Faanshi." And then he looks back down towards the ground, lowering himself so that he takes weight of his legs. Slowly, he examines the wounds that have been inflicted upon him, his eyes narrowing in particular at that nasty piece of wood sticking from his leg. As the halfbreed's need to heal others carries her through the wounded amid the caravan, the helpless who were struck down by this madman, he tends to his own needs, content to not force himself on the girl no matter how grave they might be. "Gaiden, please..go to see to the others." Murako says as he reaches to pull the shaft from his thigh, wrapping his thick hands around it. "Yes, Thomas." and with that, the commander makes his way towards the spot where he is needed the most -- helping the wounded. Meanwhile, one would hardly near the strangled cry as the Mongrel yanks the arrow from his thick muscle, throwing it aside with a forced hatred, "Bastards." he mutters again, "Damn bastards." Out there, is a fallen horse. A fallen horse which once held a rider. A rider which now lies, mutilated beyond recognition. Upon this ripped and shredding corpse sits a bird, a crow, that crow. It watches. StormBearer, however, is not suprised by his sudden healing. Maybe he was expecting it? But how? Now he watches Faanshi quietly, a slightly worried look upon his face, watching her do her magic upon the wounded.. Voices raised in urgent supplication blur together in the halfbreed maiden's hearing; faces, stricken with pain and pale with blood loss or fright or both, make no impact upon her sight. Faanshi's world has reduced itself to admit only one thought through her consciousness: the seeking and mending of the harm done to the broken and bleeding bodies that surround her. But as she begins to make her way through the company, those still on their feet begin to realize what she is doing... and that there seems to be no sight within the eyes just barely visible above her veil. Gaiden, hastening back to take charge of the situation, immediately realizes that the girl seems possessed -- and he starts barking orders, to prevent men and women and children from overwhelming her with their need, and to make sure arrows are pulled from wounds before she reaches them to lay her hands upon them. If the disturbance she is creating in the aether is a thunderstorm, then her hands are golden lightning, striking unthinkingly each time they're guided to someone's damaged body, leaving them shocked and drained and trembling in her wake... but whole. As soon as Gaiden has left and the arrow is out of his wound, Thomas looks to the place where Faanshi is applying her healing arts. His eyes examine the crowd as Gaiden tries to keep things under control, making sure that her abruptly revealed talent is put to the most effective use. Satisfied that all is well, the Mongrel man moves to get back to his feet, struggling due to his wounds, but seeming to possess the sort of mental strength that allows him to carry on despite the damage to his flesh. Though no one would notice, there is an amazing lack of blood coming from his wounds. His mount stands not far away, and it is in that direction he heads, grabbing the reins from the beast's neck and groaning as he mounts up. However, once he is upon the horse, his erect posture hardly betrays that he is injured. After all, a people must have their leader. To see him stricken in such a fashion could make them lose confidence. Lose heart that he is capable of defending them. And so he settles into the saddle and watches, his hand covering the hole in his side. Applying her healing arts... well, if 'applying' and 'arts' are words that can describe the oddly mechanical, oddly blind way the shudra girl is staggering through the company, reaching without sight for the next wound, the next rent in flesh. She is unaware of Gaiden's support as the man elects himself her personal helper and keeps a methodical control over what she's doing... because she cannot. And because Faanshi seems to hardly acknowledge his existence, the soldier Gaiden realizes that he cannot alert her to the need of his commander at the front of what's left of their train. Concern for Thomas Murako makes the man glance in his leader's direction -- and the sight of Murako upon his white stallion, looking more alert and aware than one would think possible for a man with a sword hole in his side and an arrow hole in his leg, gives him pause. Perhaps his leader doesn't need the healer's touch? As it happens, though, the issue is rendered moot. As Faanshi turns to stumble away from a now dazed-eyed woman whose formerly arrow-shot chest is now whole and unmarred beneath her blooded dress, the halfbreed's all too delicate frame finally and quietly buckles under the onslaught of her own power. Without so much as a sound, Faanshi collapses. Anxious cries spring up anew as the maiden in the sari and veil sags, and a startled Gaiden catches her up in his strong arms before she can hit the ground. But this situation, too, is under the man's control. With a sharp wave of his hand, he gestures those worried men and women still seeking to have the healer brought to their loved ones to give the clearly exhausted girl some room and air. Faanshi is soon given over into the care of Kira, who nods earnestly to Gaiden's stern order to keep the girl undisturbed until she wakes of her own accord. The Mongrel woman carries the shudra away, her pleasantly homely face reflecting a stunned reverence. That task accomplished as best it can be, Gaiden turns his attention to overseeing the rest of the company. And so the battered band begins to collect itself up once again. Thomas Murako, even wounded, helps Gaiden and the few healthy soldiers to get those injured that Faanshi couldn't reach, comfortable. They set up camp for the evening in this spot, disposing of the bandit's bodies in unmarked graves. A rider is sent to Arcillium and by nightfall, a contingent of troops and supplies has arrived to help the group make their way back towards a safe haven. What remains behind is the grim realization that another hardship has struck this people who struggles to establish themselves. This time, not from another nation, but from members of their own, greedy for a share of this new land. [End log.]