Act 3: North Through The Foothills

Sweet words of Tantorus' mercy brought holy missives to the flesh of all gathered in the crashed calamity. The healing utterances begged clemency for crimes of impetuous treks into snowy passes- saving all asses but one. The Mule had mulled it's last. Tiberius' prayers could only reach so far.

Xander could feel his wounds start to knit themselves together, fresh wounds become dull throbs. He heard Amon's guile filled plan and Rholf's agreement.

The crouching half-ling offered his own spice to brewing goulash of ambush.

Producing a pouch of spiny metal barbs shaped like a man mid jumping-jacks, placed at the center of the ambush, these unkind misfits would spark a yelp from their would be captors and slow their movement, giving them critical moment of pain and confusion to spring the trap.

****

Xander readies the cattle-tops for dispersal at the appointed spot.

Syrillian ran a hand through his hair as he listened to Tiberius. From behind him he heard Rholf chime in and Syrillian agreed. He did not plan to be captured, either death or victory. He watched as Tiberius fretted over Freya. Then the speak of an ambush, it was crazy enough that it might work for without their horses they were on even ground.

"Agreed lets head to th-" Syrillian was cut off as radiant light cast over him. The throbbing in his temple had begun to stop and he felt as though he didnt just get into a wagon crash. The ache in his shoulder and back had begun to recede and instead were replaced with relief. Syrillian looked bewildered and stunned at the sight of what had just happened. "What, What was that?" he said "How did you?"

Syrillian snapped himself out of his daze and looked back to Rholf. "We will talk about this later." he said looking back to Tiberius. He voice held no malice, instead he seemed intrigued. Unsheathing his other dagger he walked to stand next to Rholf preparing himself.


--------------------------------------------------------------------
Syrillian is readied to run into the woods to set up the ambush

Amon's eyes scan to the north, where the mounted riders from Valkur edge their horses down into the valley at a careful clip. Wind whips through the pines, carrying on it the faintest breath of snow.

The men pause perhaps 100 feet away, corralling their horses.

"Spread out!" shouts the lead man, who jumps from his horse alongside the three beside him. They pull heavy crossbows from their backs, pointing them downward toward the wagon as they move forward.

Behind, the rest of them start to fan out...

=======================

OK guys, they are approaching you with caution from above. Still time to execute the plan that Rholf and Syrillian and Amon have alluded to...

Let me know how you want to proceed. Alternatively, if you plan on surrendering then I need a definivite "WE SURRENDER" somewhere.

Cheers
-The Master

Amon looked around hastily, the plan forming in his mind. They would have to be quick: time was not on their side. Amon gestured quickly to the others to gather closer around him, while he loudly yelled out so that he was sure the attacking men could hear him:

"We have to run! Anyone who can't run gets left behind!"

As Amon and the others began to run into the forest, Amon waited until everyone was close enough that he could speak without his voice carrying to the men behind them.

"If we are going to set an ambush, those of us practiced in the ways of stealth will have to hide the moment their line of sight is broken. The rest of you keep running for a short way. We will need someone, preferably someone who is bleeding and would believably fall behind, to 'collapse' in the snow. That will draw the enemies eye and allow those of us in the shadows to get the jump on them, and that will be the signal for those of you that keep running to double back and join the fight."

Amon gave a hurried look to the others just before they entered the tree line.

"If anyone has a better suggestion, now is the time!"

The barbarian was not moved by Tiberius's words or the blessing of his god. The soft radiant energy flowed through Rholf's body, but little was mended. The throbbing in his skull was curbed slightly, but otherwise the barbarian was not impressed. "Hmph," he thought while he prepared to run.

With Mountainfall in his hands, he lurched forward, closer to Tiberius and Freya. Rholf spoke to Xander quickly, "Can you make for their horses during the confusion? When you make it, send half their horses south along the path toward us." He waited for an answer before beginning his run into the treeline. The Barbarian trudged down to the trees with surprising speed. He leaned against the tree and called out to the Valkurians (AFTER everyone that was running, did so).

"SPREAD OUT! SO I CAN KILL YOU ONE AT A TIME!" roared Rholf, from behind the tree. His booming voice echoed among the rocks and trees. He tried to shake their resoluteness. Distract them from the ranged fighters and the caltrops hidden in the snow. With any luck, or maybe with the blessings of Tiberius's god, they had a fighting chance.

_____
Actions:
Rholf Ran 40ft and hid behind a tree.
Intimdate Roll= d20+5= 11 (doh)
Stealth Roll= d20+1= 18 (hurray)

Freya wrapped in the blanket, Tiberius picked his shield up from the deep banks of snow and followed her.  He kept one hand flat against her back as they moved, guiding her behind a tree thirty paces from the back of the wagon.  

His voice was serious, stern, and demanding.  "They have crossbows, Freya.  Stay behind the tree."  He spun around and looked up the hill, then down to his wrist where he tightened the shield's straps on his arm.  He brought it up before him, setting his feet and bending his knees to bring his body narrow and low behind it.

[Total Defense +4 to AC.]

He shakes his head as he hears Rholf's threats.  'That brute is going to get us all slaughtered,' He thought.  He shouted over his shield up the mountainside, hoping these men that attacked them, whoever they were, did not lack reason and civility as his barbarian friend suggested.  "I am Tiberius Celsus of Aubard!  My step sister and our entourage travel to the Rime in search of a dangerous criminal named Caylus.  Please, sirs.  Parley!  Parley!"

[Diplomacy roll 24]

Words fired rapaciously as the arrows of their ambushers threatened to do the same.

While Amon and Rholf spoke tact and aggression, Tiberius entreated words of mercy and clemency. They struck a cord in the hearts of all gathered, ringing with truth.

It would at least at minimum grant a moment of reprieve for Xander to slink toward where the horses of their enemy stood.

Xander moves in stealth (carrying over stealth) toward the horses where he will wait ready to act, listening intently to where the adjunct of Tantorus would take them.

Tiberius steps out of the trees, watching as the black-clad men approach with crossbows trained upon the wagon. Before him, he can see that his fellow travellers have spread out like a cadre of soldiers, taking covering positions even amidst the chaos of the wagon crash.

Clearly, these men were no strangers to battle.

The cleric's eye catches upon a figure still laying in the snow, half covered by the wagon. The man is unmoving, and his body is twisted in an ugly contortion that betrays broken bones and undoubtedly rent organs.

The one called Coyote. Alive moments ago, and claimed by the force of the crash...

Tiberius' lips move...

"...PARLEY! PARLEY!"

(...)

The Valkurian out front slows his approach as the remainder of his unit disperse behind him. Their horses move swiftly through the snow, the beasts clearly used to the deep powder and treacherous terrain. The pines rain down their bounty of white dust as they thunder underneath, misting this pass like the base of a waterfall.

Their leader lowers his crossbow slightly, staring at Tiberius. (Diplomacy)

"Aulbard?" he shouts tentatively, and now the rest of you can see him walking into plain sight. Amon remains hidden in the foliage, his bow trained expertly on the head of the man...

He is tall, with a long black beard that tapers down at his belt. A steel helm rests upon his head, and he is thick and muscled. His voice is clear, and higher than expected.

"You have the look of an islander, this much is true. And that girl..." he looks beyond Tiberius at Freya, who is mostly hidden behind the tree. Clearly, the man had spotted her from afar.

"She looks familiar."

There is an awkward pause as the Valkurian men behind him seem confused in this new development. They hold positions, still training crossbows at the wagon, even as some begin to spot the rest of you hidden in the treeline. One in particular seems to be actively searching for Rholf, perhaps amusedly searching for the hidden threatener.

The man speaks again.

"I am Captain Feregus, and you are charged with trespassing on Valkurian land, through the Croal route where only the Beregosi dogs dare slink into our blessed home."

The words land on your ears amusingly, knowing full well that just as many Valkurians used the pass to slink into Beregos unheeded.

He holds his crossbow up, making a few motions to his crew behind him that you cannot understand. Then, he shouts again.

"Our scouts spotted a cadre of Armebrost not long ago, with an auxiliary group of travellers in tow. And now, our scouts are missing. Was that your men, traveller? Do not lie to me, else we'll forego capture and slit your throats here and now."

================

OK lads, time for some convincing here...

Syrillian had hidden closer to the wagon, if worse came to worse he would like to be able to reach his attackers before being impaled. Syrillian cursed under his breath as they edged closer first the words of threats then of parley. "Bloody parley?" Syrillian thought as he tried to catch his breathing. He knew the men had seen him yet he remained stoic. What was Tiberius planning?

Perhaps blood shed could wait but he wouldn't hold his breath on it. He just hoped if he died it was quick and so he waited for the next step.

---------------
Syrillian waits for a que of some sorts
Stealth 6 bleh

'GODS DAMMIT!!!' Amon yelled inside his head. 'What is he thinking?! We need them to get closer, and now they're going to hold their ground while Rholf lays freezing in the snow for an ambush he won't get to spring!!' Amon had to grit his teeth to keep from yelling obscenities at his fellow traveller.

Amon kept his bow trained while he sighted in on which men he could hit from this location. 'This is what I get for letting the others poke their noses in someone else's business...' Amon thought. 'We this is over, he and I are going to have a talk that he will not enjoy.'

"Coward."

Thought the barbarian, when Tiberius called for a parley. He was now the furthest from the enemy, while Tiberius danced his tongue with their leader. "Why give them opportunity? When they do not believe his lies, they will kill him and the rest of us." Rholf was confident in his speculation. "The hearts of men are not changed by words," the barbarian whispered to himself. He tightened his grip on his weapon.

The cold began sinking into his sore muscles. The snow dampened his fur boots and his legs began feeling heavier by the minute. The threat of combat hung in the air like a thick cloud holding too much rain. Rholf exhaled and watched it dissipate into the air above. All he could do is wait. Wait for either the Valkurians to depart... or begin their assault of Tiberius. "Their assault might give me enough time to close the distance again."

Feregus wrote:

"She looks familiar."

The words echoed through Tiberius' mind.  His stern face sank.  Certainly Freya's father had put a bounty out to reclaim her upon their flight.  He knew well the consequences they faced together.  Consequences most men would not hesitate to bring for the promise of a small sack of coin.  He thought of the barbarian's words about what the men would do to her and smirked.  Their worst would be a mild fate compared to what her father would do to her if they were to return in chains.

He glanced back to her and whispered, "Make for and hide behind the tree beside Rholf.  I'll cover you.  Go.  Now."  His eyes were fierce and demanding, allowing for no compromise.

Turning back to the enemy he studied the leader from over his shield as he began to move to the side and backwards through the snow at a normal pace.  He spoke his answers as he walked.  "I know not why we were attacked or by who.  We were awoken by screams of ambush and calls to flee."

He took a deep breath and continued, "We simply wish to apprehend this criminal and return him alive for judgement and justice.  The reward is substantial.  Perhaps we could negotiate a share in the coin?"

[Diplomacy 29]
[Tiberius moves and continues total defense and diplomacy]

Captain Feregus looks down his nose at you, his men flanking out behind him like spectres in the snow. Their horses carry them on through the deep banks, crossbows trained out with military precision.

Those of you that rode with the Armebrost can see the Valkurians have a similar approach to their positioning in battle. Long-estranged brothers, split by a bitter rivalry.

Feregus grumbles through his beard, listening to Tiberius' entreat. (Ti, Diplomacy)

"Bounty hunters, you say? I'm a man of justice, cleric - but there isn't a man that passes through Kethuna without a Valkurian blessing, regardless of purpose. You stand in contempt of our laws, and the penalty is death."

His gaze is stony, but a faint grin curls beneath his beard.

"But I am a reasonable man!" he shouts, hearing the faint laughter of his men behind him.

"We've long been on patrol, and I'm spoiling more for a fire and feast than another bloodletting. Were you a Beregosi dog, I'd flay you where you stood... but for a man of the Aulbards, perhaps I can make an exception."

A shout echoes out behind him from one of the mounted men; a man with a short-cropped brown beard and a leather helm.

"But what about our scouts? Rotham and Surren and Morender! They cut 'em down! We can't let-"

But the man is silenced as Feregus turns round in his saddle, the color draining from the interruptors face. Feregus lingers for a moment, and then turns back around.

"The bargain is as such. You will lay down your weapons, follow us back to our camp in the Croals, and will accompany us in a wagon to Kethuna. I certify safe passage, free of bonds or harm, and you may share in our meals."

He clears his throat.

"In return, you will submit to questioning at Kethuna before continuing on your quest. There's trouble in the Rime of late, perhaps you can even score a bounty from the konstable."

Here, he looks purposefully at you.

"But recall this, cleric. If Feregus performs this kindness for you and your companions, you are indebted to me. When Feregus calls, you come. When I need your blade, you provide. Is this understood?"

For emphasis, the men behind him raise their crossbows again, training their sights upon the errant group of travellers.

======================|

Amon stewed in his bitterness while the lead man flapped his gums.  Amon looked back at the wreckage and saw something there that he hadn't seen during the confusion...  Coyote's body, broken and lifeless, lay beneath the remains of the cart.  His friend was dead, and he hadn't even noticed...  How could he not have noticed??

It was because these men were hounding them.  Distracting them.  Keeping them of balance.  Amon suddenly felt a very deep loathing for the men hunting them.  And for the pompous way their leader waved his jaw.  Amon looked back at Rholf.  The barbarian was still committed to the ploy.  Dammit, if they did not act quickly, Rholf was going to freeze to death!

"But recall this, cleric. If Feregus performs this kindness for you and your companions, you are indebted to me. When Feregus calls, you come. When I need your blade, you provide. Is this understood?"  The lead man said.  Hearing his words, Amon was filled with blazing contempt for the arrogant man. 'I will be no one's dog.' Amon thought to himself.  From where he hide, unseen in the forest, Amon slowly drew a second arrow and stuck it in the snow at his feet, where he could reach it more quickly.  Amon could not see their leader, for the trees blocked his sight, but there were five easy targets within his view.  Amon drew his arrow and sighted in on the nearest man.  He took careful aim.  He estimated he would have two shots before he lost the advantage of surprise.  He wasn't going to waste them...

Soft cooing of snow speckled morning doves rose out of the trees, no longer drowned by the tensions that threatened to plunge the clearing nestled just beyond the Valkury-Ambrosy boarder, into chaos and further bloodshed.

Xander plotted through the trees parallel to the two party's diplomatic tribunal, slithering like a snake, his clandestine operations threatening the tenuous peace.

From where he slunk Xander could hear the tones had tempered, sharp fearful commands, and responded pleas falling into understanding and deal brokering. The odd words broke through.

"... Safe passage ... camp in the Croals..."  

Tiberius had calmed the fevered pitch of Valkurians, but at what cost wasn't clear from the deep snow where Xander moved.

What was clear was all men and woman gathered were caught in a generations old conflict that was more tradition then sense. Hate, which benefited no men... men that were one day brothers. What would drive men to hate?

The black clad assassin pushed his position further into the Valkurian midst. Quieting the somber thoughts of a softer self.

Rholf remained behind the tree, contemplating on things that barbarians often do. He was surprised by the sudden appearance of Freya at his side. Absentmindedly, he removed his thick cloak and covered her with it. "Men will die this morning, you can be sure of it," he whispered to her.

The barbarian checked his weapon, looked upon his dagger. "I will carve your heart from your chest, Valkurian." He stood at the ready, wondering what his next move would be. Charge straight forward or follow along the rocky wall and blend in as best he could? His mind wandered to Xander, had the halfling made it to their horses yet? Amon was still in the plan, he had to be. If Rholf was the only one to act, it would be short-lived assault.

____
Actions:

Rholf will most likely sneak along the rocky wall.
Stealth Roll= d20+1= 20

Syrillian sighed as he listened to this man Feregus talk, the way his tone seemed to hold an air of authority. "Authority my ass." Syrillian thought he looked to the others around him. He didnt wish to see them harmed and he wasnt sure whether or not this man Feregus would be noble enough to do as he said. He shook his head at the thought of being on a leash able to be called upon on a whim. No, he may have been a sellsword but he wasnt a pet.

"The Mighty Feregus EH?" Syrillian called out from behind his shelter. "You speak as if you have almighty authority but really all you have are some crossbows." He let his words carry before continuing.

"Arrows and blades are cheap. Whats your life worth?" The grip on his daggers had began to tighten. "How about we settle this like men? You leave, gather up the remains of your 3 men and leave and we'll go on our way." he hoped he could buy the others some more time, hopefully keeping the valkurians preoccupied.

"There Are Worse Things in Life Than Shame. The Sting Fades. Death is Forever.”

--------------------------------
Intimidate 16

Placing Freya's fate in the hands of strangers such as these was not something Tiberius was comfortable with. He glanced left and right, observing their numbers once again. The cadre of mercenaries he traveled with were heavily outnumbered. Combat would surely lead to death or subjugation. He would have little say in which, and would be unable to protect his love. The safer path was clear, but the choice was not his alone. From behind his shield, he called out to his companions. "What say you, fellows?"

[Total Defense]

Amon was silent as the grave as he locked eyes on his target.  He drew the bow string back slowly so as not to make the string creak any more than necessary.  A moment of quiet had broken across the snowy landscape before being broken by Syrillian, if Amon's ears weren't deceiving him.

"There Are Worse Things in Life Than Shame. The Sting Fades. Death is Forever.” Syrillian called out.

That was true.  Amon thought.  Although at this particular moment, Death was not only eternal, but, very shortly, inevitable.  Amon only vaguely heard another voice yell out looking for support from his companions, but Amon was no longer listening.  Rholf would freeze to death if they waited much longer, and it seemed that at least one other of his party agreed with Amon that these men could not be trusted.  Amon stared intently at the man at scant 35 feet away, and loosed his first arrow.

The arrow's flight struck home, planting itself in the man's right eye.  He didn't even have time to scream.  It was a stroke of good fortune, for his comrades would not notice until the body toppled to the ground.  Amon quickly snatched up the arrow that he had readied from the snow.  His next shot would be rushed, so as not to waste the element of surprise, so he looked quickly around the soon-to-be battlefield, spotting the most lightly armored man in the enemy ranks.  Amon drew the second arrow and fired on the man.  Amon had been aiming for the man's eye, but he didn't have time to aim completely.  The arrow fell short and pierced the man's throat.  He couldn't scream, but there was no way his thrashing would not be noticed. The man swiped limply at the arrow in his neck, before his eyes glazed over, and he fell to the ground...

Amon hoped everyone was ready for war.  The first shots had been fired, and the battle was joined.

Rholf had left Freya with his cloak and skulked along the rocky passage like a wolf stalking a ripe hare. He shambled past Syrillian and arrived at the cart. It provided cover from the Valkurian cowards and their feeble crossbows. "Need to close in on the man that haggled with Tiberius and cut his heart from his chest and crush it in my hand while the life leaves his eyes."

The barbarian heard the familiar whistle of arrows. They cut through the air with a soft whistle until they struck their targets. The recognizable death throes made Rholf smile.

"Valkurian in the common-tongue is 'Easy-Kill!'" roared the barbarian. "Ride home to suckle your mama sow's teat! Or die by our hands!" threatened Rholf. He was gambling. "Enrage them and make them rush in close, then punish them."

_________
Actions:

Rholf moves to the cart to be closer to the Valkurians.
Rholf tries to Intimidate. d20+5= 23

Xander moved to the edge dense foliage of the conifers that lined the snowy pass,  a line of mounted  Valkurian positioned to his left.

The dark clad figure drew a long breath in past chilled nostrils as he considered his next move. The air was biting, and still, muted in the way that winter winds were, refusing to carry any but the most insistive of scents.   Only the smell fresh conifers and the odor of moistened fabric that covered his face were available to nose. stepping out of the tree line would mean risking being spotted.

Soft thwipping sounds, like two flaps of a raven's wings touched Xanders ears, then a cry of battle shook the very ground.  Rholf had risen.

By the sound of the bellow, the fierce warrior had already claimed a life.  so much death. Amon's arrows were joined by a flock of emerald bellied crows, shaken from their treetop roosts by the eruption of hostility, they would return for the flesh of the fallen. A wave of nausea and hesitation welled up in the halfling's guts.

The black figure steeled himself, stepping deeper into the role of a death dealer. Swallowing fear he darted out of the treeline toward nearest mount Valkurian (A6)

10+6 stealth
vs Perception
A6 3  FAIL,  A8 1 FAIL, A3 4 FAIL

Xanders advance went unnoticed. he closed the distance briskly between himself and the mounted man.  He vaulted himself in the air at the Valkurian, letting out the growling snarl of a Wild Attacking Bandersnatch!

Ack-ack-Ack-ackaWOOOO-ack-Ack-ack


========================================

Vaulting attack on A6 HIT   (please advise damage )
Xander attempts to spook the horses with his wild bandersnatch call

Syrillian had waited for a response yet all he heard was the thump of bodies hitting the ground. The common faint *Thwipp* of a bow string sent a smile across his face. Peeking over his left side he saw the man he had heard hit the ground. A arrow stuck out from his neck, a fatal shot. Turning back again he noticed Rholf had joined him as he shuffled past to stand behind the wagon. He laughed as Rholf sent out his threats and smiled.

"Two down!" Syrillian howled as he prepared himself the anticipation of the battle to come made his heart rush. Then came the sounds of what sounded like a dying animal "What the?" he thought before pausing. Looking over to Rholf he held his blade up. "They should have took my offer." he held tight his position he didn't wanted to be fired on unceremoniously, he hoped the dying comrades would set them jumbled. "Fall into the spiders web." He whispered.

The Valkurians drop into the snow like bags of wet wheat, their cadre of warriors taking a moment to process the incredulous assault from the man in the tree.

Simultaneously on their eastern front, a mounted warrior collapses to the ground under the surprise attack of Xander, the lithe assassin cleanly removing him from his saddle as the horse kicks up in the air!

“What?” you can hear Feregus, the leader, utter in amazement. And then, Rholf’s verbal assault as he and Syrillian sidle in along the wagon and wait for the assault.

“…or die by our hands!”…

Feregus stares at the wagon, gritting his teeth beneath his black beard and drawing a steel longsword from his back. (Intimidation success)

“KILL THEM!” he screeches in blind rage, charging into battle.

(…)

Xander looks up from the snow, watching as another rider from the western flank charges through the snow. His steed kicks up the white powder, and Xander can see the man pull his crossbow up to loose a bolt!

(A5 vs. Xander (Mounted @ full speed, -4)
(Miss)

The assassin turns aside avoiding the bolt as it sails harmlessly past him. The assassin turns his attention to the prone soldier beneath him…

(…)

Rholf watches in satisfaction as Feregus barrels down on his location, riders fanning out around the wreckage of the wagon in dire pursuit of the two melee fighters.

“You’re mine!” seethes Feregus, arriving on the other side of the wagon just in time for Rholf’s retaliation…

Amon watches on as one of the rider’s gleans his location, taking aim and firing at the sniper!

(A3 vs. Amon, +4 cover vs the ranged attack.)
(Miss!)

Amon grins as the bolt embeds itself in the branches, causing no harm.

Meanwhile, the other mounted warriors take aim at the wagon, firing off a salvo of haphazard shots in haste!

(A3 and A4 vs. Rholf. -4 for full movement, -2 for rholf cover)
(Miss and miss!)

(A8 vs. Syrillian. -4 for full movement, -4 for firing through heavy wood)
(Miss)

Feregus glares into Rholf’s eyes, as crossbow bolts rain down from all sides…

================

OK guys, lucky round based on your location and cover. Theyre almost in position now though…best beware.

'Tantorus, grant me the strength to protect your child from harm at the hands of these men,' Tiberius prayed. He pushes himself forward through the deep snow. Turning his head, he spoke over his shoulder, "Stay behind the trees, my Freya."

He could see rage in the eyes of the enemy, fueling their vengeful intent. Were it that he and Freya were travelling alone, they may have been able to pass in peace. He would not let that thought linger, however, for it was clear now that such a distraction could cost him everything.

He moved to Rholf's left, his shield still before him, covering him from any volley of bolts and arrows. He moved his free hand to the holy symbol around his neck, caressing it between his finger and thumb. The divine strength of his god flowed through him, the aura pulsing out from his body as his eyes glowed with a subtle radiance.

[Rholf, Tiberius, and Freya all roll 1d6 heal.]

Amon had only a moment to indulge in his contribution to the battle before the enemy quickly started closing in on him. Now there were four of the enemy's number practically within spitting distance. Unless he put some distance between them and himself, he would find the mysteries of the great beyond much less mysterious as he learned the answers from the other side of the veil.

Amon ran from the cover of the trees to take cover at the wagon. With a companion or two at his back, he had far less reason to dread the enemy closing in on him. Amon took cover behind the remains of the wagon and fired a shot at the nearest of his pursuers. His arrow missed the man's heart, but struck the soldier in the shoulder. Less impact than he would have hoped, but hopefully it would give their pursuers pause.

[Amon fires at A7. Hit. 5 Damage.]

Syrillian let the familiar noises of battle rage around him, Feregus had began to close in just as they wanted him too; however they needed to get the men off of their horses. Looking over to Rholf he pointed at the enemies lead man. "Take the big mouth." before turning to meet the rider that had shot at him earlier. Instantly Syrillian made a beeline toward the man "Valkurian Filth!" he roared as he brought both of his daggers up.

The sudden dash must have caught the man off guard for both daggers met their mark. Slicing into the man both penetrated his armor and ran across his mid section. The momentum from Syrillians run sent the blades slicing clean through. The blood sprayed from the mans belly onto the horses neck. The screams of pain came next as the man had been able to cling to life clenching onto the fresh cut wounds.

--------------
Attacking A8
18+7=25
16+7=23
Damage
2+5=7
4+3=7

Rholf felt the favor a god he didn't believe in. His wounds had mended and turned to dull aches. The call of the lead Valkurian and his approach to the wagon had worked, much to the barbarian's surprise. Rholf's blood pressure and adrenaline increased and he seemed to grow a couple inches taller. The ash haft in his hands felt rough, and Mountainfall called for the devastation of Valkurians.

The barbarian dashed around the wagon and pinned the Valkurian's position against the wagon. Either the man would die or he would. There was no escape for the Valkurian. "Raaargh!" growled Rholf. He seemed more fury than man. Mountainfall was raised and Rholf brought it down on his foe with all his might!

_______________
Actions

Rholf Rages.
Rholf circles about and attacks Feregus.
Rholf used 2 pts in Stamina Pool to assist hit.

d20+9+2= 28
2d6+9= 15

Feregus spits blood, his eyes burning as Rholf's strikes steal breath and break bone from the Valkurian.

"DOG!" he sputters, swinging his longsword out in a still-masterful strike, as his boots drag through the snow in agony.

(Feregus vs. Rholf, miss, miss)

The barbarian easily parries the blows aside, closing in deeper for the kill.

*WHISSSSH*

The sudden loosing of a bolt from the north causes him pause, as the mounted rider sails past upon the hill firing down on the rampaging Rholf.

(A5 vs Rholf, miss)

The bolt goes wide, embedding in the wagon behind him. On his flank, another of the Valkurians appears at the aid of his leader, face obscured by a chain coif, and a wicked looking falchion baring down through the air!

(A1 vs. Rholf, hit! 6 damage to Rholf)

The blade cuts into the barbarian, blood running down his arm as he juggles the flanking assailants...

(...)

Syrillian finds himself in a similar situtation, as another of the Valkurians rises out of the snow and slips in behind him with daggers brandished...
(A6 rises from prone and moves)

Before him, his combatant leaps from the back of his horse and brings his longsword down upon Syrillian as the beast rides off!

(A8 vs. Syrillian, miss)

The lithe man avoids the blow easily, preparing his counter..

(...)

Tiberius watches on as one of the Valkurians descends on Xander.

*SSSHOOWSH*

The Cleric is startled as another bolt is loosed at him from the west!

(A4 vs. Tiberius, miss)

He keeps his head down, watching it sail over him and into the snow...

(...)

Xander nearly bites his tongue as his opponent, a tall man with an oiled moustache, brings a long polearm to bare in their combat. The bardiche swings through the air, threatening the lithe assassin with its barbarous strike!

(A7 vs. Xander, miss!)

The man falters in the snow, the bardiche whistling over him through the air....!

(.......)

Syrillian alerts himself to the sound of crunching boots behind him. Nearly he side steps the blow from the man who was on horse back. Both men seemed worse for wear and uncertain of themselves. The bloodloss had began to drain the color from his first victims face and the other looked as if he had taken a nasty fall. Syrillian held his blades out as he switched stances anticipating their strikes.

"You guys should have taken my advice." He said as he dragged in long cold breathes. He wanted this to end quickly for the others might have needed him. "Alright boys. Times up."

Syrillian pivoted on his heel bringing his blade into Sebabel's neck. Forcefully Syrillian jerked his dagger free sending a sickening squelch and most of the mans wind pipe with it. Before his body had began to drop Syrillian brought his right hand round, Festoon had not been quick on the draw and thus so had caught the blade with his right temple.

Festoon eyes glazed over as his body began to go limp. Behind Syrillian Sebabels body fell into the frozen waste. With a forceful pull Syrillian wrenched free his blade letting Festoon fall lifeless to the floor. "Whatever you believed in I hope it was real." he finished before sighing an exhale. "Damned cold." He growled as he turned to where the rest had been battling. He took a step foward before looking around, one man had been left upon horse back in the enemies back ranks. Syrillian snarled as he turned towards him.

"You!" He roared as he pointed his dagger at the man challenging him. "Come fight like a man!"

----------------------------------------------------------
Attack vs A6 was a critical confirmed 13 damage

Attack vs A8 did 6 damage

Calling out A5 Arrun

Amon looked through the battlefield, seeing where he could do the most good. Rholf had two enemies on him, but the barbarian seemed to be holding his own quite well. Xander likewise faced down an opponent, but did not seem to be outmatched. Amon looked to the others amongst their foes. The crossbowmen could become a problem, so that was where Amon would focus his efforts. There was one man laying face down in the snow, it would take him a few second at least to regain his feet, so Amon would not waste time on him just yet, but there was another nearby that warranted attention.

Amon drew an arrow and aimed at the man when a bolt that had missed Rholf zipped past Amon's ear. Amon jerked on reflex, loosing the arrow and causing his shot to go wide. Damn. His elation at making such a heavy initial impact on the battle was quickly waning...

(Amon attacks A4: Miss)

The bolt sailing over his head turned his attention to the mounted crossbowmen.  Amon's focus was already there as he loosed an arrow that missed its mark.  Tiberius kept his holy symbol between his fingers as he continued to pray, "Guide his shot, my lord."  He stepped toward Amon and let go of his symbol.  The radiant glow moving from the amulet to his fingers as they reached out for the elf.  He touched Amon's shoulder, and the glow quickly spread over his cloak before fading.

[Guidance: Amon +1 to next attack.]

Tiberius turned and retraced his steps through the snow to return to Freya's side, standing between the mounted men and the tree she hugged for cover.  "The Valkur are outmatched by our Bergosi entourage.  Stay in cover, my Freya, and Tantorus will see us through this."  He pivoted and brought his shield up, readying for the next volley.

The barbarian felt the leg give away under Mountainfall's impact. Feregus was a hearty man, but even he was weak under the mountain. Rholf was satisfied with smashing of the Valkurian. He half twisted and kicked at Feregus while lifting Mountainfall once again. The rough haft of his weapon slid between his fingers as he built momentum for the final blow.

One of Feregus's lackeys had taken a cheap shot at the barbarian. The blade dug deep, but Rholf shrugged off the cut and continued his swing toward Feregus. The barbarian glanced in the direction of his second assailant. Rholf was annoyed. "There's plenty left for you," he warned falchion wielding man. Mountainfall rushed toward Feregus with great intention.

________
Actions

Rholf attacks Feregus.
Rholf warns the second assailant.
May the odds be in my favor.

d20+9+2= 5+11= 16
2d6+7= 8+7= 15

A mop of slick hair bobbed up and down over the peak of the chestnut horse's back. Xander peaked over the crest of his cozened mount.

The angry face of a over-groomed mustached man glared back thrusting his glaive vivaciously, Xander drew his own curved steel to meet the aggressor, frost falling from the hilt, floating silently in the din of battle.

Xander batted the polearm back, the steed still between them. Xander was trying to keep the man at bay, urging his mount back as the two tangled in clumsy melee over the beast. He scored a hit almost by accident, biting against the slick mans shoulder, the keen scimitar cutting through the boiled leathers

=======
1d6+4 4dmg
Xander backs the horse up 5 feet.

Freya licks her lips, swollen from Tiberius’ kiss and cracking from the icy wind. Her frail body sags against the tree as she watches the men battle with the Vulkurians. Tears stream down her face, turning to icicles on her skin as she helplessly watches the battle.

“Is this real? What is real… what is…” she mumbles to herself, rocking back and forth as she searches for Tiberius. The cloak that the barbarian gave her was thick and warm but smelled like the stables of Aulbard on a hot afternoon.

Tiberius appears before her suddenly and she snaps to.
“Stay behind the tree.”

The fierceness of his features as he speaks accentuates the jagged scar on his face. She longs to stroke her fingers over the mark, letting her kisses linger along the skin as she traces that line with her frostbitten lips. Begging for heat, starving for him.

She nods at him weakly but he’s moved away from her once more. A piece of her heart runs off, she fears, chasing his end.

After escaping the nightmare of a very real past, Freya vows to take her own life before being taken captive by these men or worse, dragged back to Aulburd to be tortured and publicly drowned to death. Once more. Arrows zoom through the air as the men with her party advance. She frantically searches for Tiberius as cries of battle fill the air, but she cannot make him out and panic rises in her gut.

She searches the pockets of the Rholf’s cloak for a weapon to take to her veins when the time comes. “Surely the time will come,” she whispers through her tears.

Finding the pockets empty, she begins to pray. Underneath the cloak she wears little more than a ripped translucent undergarment, her icy fingers work over the lines of the ruins which had stopped searing her skin ever since she returned from the past that kept her locked inside her mind by the will of her father.

She deciphers the message currently on her skin. “Fight with your Light.” Her eyes widen and she scrambles to her knees, bowing her head in reverence.

“My master, my lord, my God, sweet Tantorous,” she chokes out, her body shaking with the rumbles of Godliness as he immediately enters her body, roughly taking her as his vessel.

“I beg for you to show me your light. End this battle. Use my body as your weapon. Save him,” she commands. “You promised you’d let me save him!” she roars, her lips curving into a snarl.

Her body rises then, her feet leaving the earth as the cloak falls to the ground, 5 feet bellow her. Still hidden by the branches of the tall tree, her naked body is fully exposed as she arches her back in shock. Heat pours over her skin as light shoots out of every pore. There was no need to command the spell, but rather to allow it to flow through her in continuous waves of heady pleasure. The light gathers momentum, swirling around her body as she begins to spin. Faster and faster, whipping up momentum until the world was full of nothing but His light, drowning out the cries of men chasing their last breath.

All at once a bursts of flashing white lightening bolts shoot from her quivering body, His Divine Light whipping through the air around the entire melee. Tantorous’ deep rumbling masculine voice is torn from her throat, booming throughout all of the foothills. “Put down your weapons! Bow down before my greatness and beg for mercy.”

She gasps in one last breath before her body is dropped to the ground behind the tree with a painful thud, abandoned of Him.

Her eyes are open now and she makes something out in the snow. Just what she’s been looking for. “Fight with your light,” she whispers out loud, just as her fingers reach out, wrapping around the sharp end of one of the enemies missed arrows to keep for herself.

....................................................................

[Cast Dancing Lights as part of Intimidation Roll.]
[Intimidate 16]
[Stealth 12]

Lights dance translucently across the clearing, emanating from Freya like the great cascades of the north. The orbs glisten off of blades and blood as the fellowship battle with the Valkurians in a bitter fight.

Bits of Feregus' brain drip from the tip of Mountainfall as Rholf turns to face his adjacent aggressor. The man is military-bred, clearly - for he does not lose his knees or his resolve as his commanding officer falls.

"Valkur avenges." the man mutters, vitriol in his whisper.

(A1 vs. Rholf, miss)
(seriously wtf.)

The blade goes sailing past the barbarians face as he turns to apply his own form of vengeance...

(...)

To the west, the two Valkurians on the flank stare rigidly at Xander, evaluating the situation. They pull hard on the reins of their horses, levelling crossbows and firing expertly at the man -

(A3 and A4 vs. Xander, miss and miss!)
(This is seriously retarded)

(...)

Ahead of him, the man with the Bardiche flails in the snow like a whirlwind, kicking up white powder around him. With an ear-piercing scream he charges towards Xander's mount, levelling the weapon at the beast -

(A7 vs. Xander's horse - hit!)
(Fatal damage)

The horse buckles in shock, blood spurting from its side as it collapses under the horrific blow! The polearm buries in its flank, the Valkurian drawing steel from his side as he charges toward the assassin!

(Xander, need a DC13 DEX check or take 1d10 damage under the horse and become prone!)

(...)

To the north, the final Valkurian lays low in his saddle, levelling his weapon at Syrillian....

The bolt flies...

(A5 vs. Syrillian... miss)!

...sailing past his head.

=======

Amon had to shake the adrenaline out of his firing hand before drawing another arrow. He took as quick a glance around the battlefield as he dared. The enemy was falling left and right, and it looked to Amon's eye that the only wounds his allies had taken were from the fall off the cliff. Amon did not trust that fate was kind enough to let this good fortune go unanswered, so he refused to let his guard down...

He felt a hand on his shoulder, and a gentle warmth pulse through him. In a moment he felt his eyes were noticeably sharper. He turned to see that Tiberus had cast some kind of magic upon Amon that made him feel... sharper. Amon nodded to the man in gratitude and felt his frustrations at the man for leaving Rholf lying in the snow abate somewhat.

Amon turned to the enemy. One was still on the ground, so Amon turned his attention to the man that was still standing. Amon drew his arrow and let fly upon the man. Amon's arrow struck home, piercing the man's thigh, but barely. Had it not been for the benefit of the additional focus of Tiberius's spell, the shot surely would have missed, and Amon felt his anger at the man all but disappear.

Amon looked at the man standing thirty feet from Rholf. There was no one to the man's rear. If any of their enemy were going to rabbit, it would be him. Amon just hoped he would be able to bring the man down if he decided to run...

-------------------
Amon attacks A4: Hit. 7 Damage.

The animal shuddered as the the mustachioed man's pole-arm slid down the flank of the animal.

The steed's globe-like eyes expanded to impossible proportion, suddenly realizing it's on mortality.  A horse is majestic creature, such that a horse isn't killed, it is destroyed. Like of work portrait , carefully painted my the hand of a master torn asunder or statue of hewn from alabaster marble reduced to rubble.

The animal jerked into motion, carrying the ashen clad figure with it. Xander gripped the saddle leathers pulling him self atop the steed.Rather than stop the animals panicked gallop Xander's strong grip on the reigns tried to temper it's charge.

The panic in the animal was palpable contagious even, Xander feared for his own life, as bolts one after another flew by him.

The beast seemed to calm at the riders guidance, Xander let go of the reigns guiding the creature only with his knees and drew his twin blades, setting his sights on Hieu(a4), Crossbow still in hand, two volleys hence.

A kind of fugue-state of self preservation took over and the dark clad halfling held no mercy in that moment. Xander and his bleeding mount's charge passed the Valkurian,punishing them with frost bitten blades.

=========================================
Xander charges -2 ac on next round +2 to hit
a4 takes 7 damage being stuck by charge with scimitar  Must save a ride dc of 15 or be dismounted

Syrillian didn't so much as flinch as the bolt flew past his head and sailed into the unknown behind him.

"Coward." He muttered as he started his approach quickly gaining up speed. "your'e coming off that horse one way or another." Syrillian thought as he charged his way towards Arrun. The slick pavement underneath would be troublesome but he hoped for the best.
------------------------------------------------------------------
jump check

6-1=5

Strength Check

17+6=23

'Glory be to your name, my Lord.'  Tiberius prayed while Freya's radiant light crackled as it crawled through the trees.  His attention was over his shield, eyes focusing on the archers where Xander drove his steed and cold steal into melee.  The other archer stood below his panic struck horse, desperately trying to pull the string back on his crossbow for another volley.  A quick glance across the field told a story of a battle quickly drawing to a close.  He saw few threats left.

Tiberius pushed through the snow, approaching the man and his bucking horse with his shield up and ready to block the man's bolt should he fire.  He reached for the reins of the horse and pulled down as he tried to calm it, "Whoa there.  You're ok.  Whoa."  He looked back to the man, still covered in snow from his fall.  "There is no shame in surrender.  Drop your weapon, cooperate, and I will see that your life is spared."

[Move to A3 and attempt to calm his horse as well as negotiate A3's surrender]
[Handel Animal 12]
[Diplomacy 25]

"You will not be avenging anything in this life," snarled Rholf, while removing the carcass from Mountainfall. The barbarian had smashed the one called Feregus with aplomb. He now turned to the man that had whispered his threat like cub to a wolf.

Mountainfall glistened with a mix of crimson gore and powdery snow. The menacing weapon and barbarian seemed to cast a shadow of death over the Valkurian pawn. A low growl came from Rholf as he dropped the head of Mountainfall low and to the side. He brought his weapon streaking upward, hoping to crush the Valkurian's sternum and lifting him from his feet.

___________
Actions:
Rholf attacks the whispering Valkurian.
Rage rounds remaining: 3.
d20+9+2= 14; Hit! (barely, barely)
2d6+8= 11

Before Tiberius, the red spattered snow is crunched and compacted beneath the stumbling footfalls of the horse. The beast kicks wildly, Tiberius' words echoing out even as his shield is battered by the hooves of the horse!

(Handle animal, failed. Horse kicks Tiberius - DC15 STR check to remain standing, or fall prone.)

The man stares down the sights of his weapon, but lowers it suddenly. (Diplomacy)

"Tantorus..." mutters the man, seeming unsure as to whether he should loose his bolt or not. He looks at his fellows beyond, watching them fight bitterly in the snow.

The soldier turns his gaze back to Tiberius. "We retreat upon penalty of death, cleric. There can be no retreat."

He looks uncertain, and uncomfortable. But does not move to raise his weapon again...yet.

(...)

The warrior tussling in the snow with Rholf stares murderously at the man, his uneven teeth and unshaven face grimacing ghoulishly.

"You may crush my bones, barbarian. But I won't die until my sword finds your belly..."

He lurches forward, flourishing his blade expertly-

(A1 vs. Rholf, miss!)

The barbarian turns it aside effortlessly.

(...)

Syrillian collides in the air with his target, crashing against the armored foe and driving him off his mount in the inertia.

(Jump check, failed) (STR check passed)

Syrillian feels his knee crack hard against the saddle, and in a painful lurch his leg is snared in the stirrup!

*WHAM*

He slams into the side of the horse upside-down, his leg bound in the strap on the other side.

*WHAM*

Next to him, the rider he just collided with suffers the same fate!

They stare at each other, upside down. The rider, his crossbow fallen, goes for his knife, and drops it as the horse jerks forward suddenly and begins a terrified gallop down into the frostbitten valley!

(Syrillian and A5 are hanging upside down off the horse side-by-side, as it gallops ferociously to the east! DC 20 DEX to free yourself by untangling your leg, but you provoke an Attack of Opportunity if you do so. The horse is off-balance and galloping down an icy slope...think about some other potential dangers here -4 penalty to all attacks unless you pass a DC15 Dex check as you're upside down)

(...)

"Fuck!"

Amon hears the shout from one of the Valkurians, who stumbles through the snow towards him!

(A7 charging Amon)

"Come HERE you fucking coward, and fight in a melee like a man!"

He's on top of you, swinging a mighty bardiche-

(6 damage to Amon)

*CRACK* It collides with your armor, slicing into flesh and bone!

====================

Strength check -1

The member 'Tiberius' has done the following action : Roll Dice

---

'D20' : 8

The barbarian threw a feint at the Valkurian, causing the man to overextend. The man's sword clanged harmlessly off the haft of Mountainfall. The Valkurian's midsection was exposed. The soft tissue would seemingly liquefy when struck. With any luck, Rholf would fold the man in half where he stood, shattering his spine. Mountainfall snuck below the Valkurian's sword arm and found a home in the man's midsection.

Rholf spun with Mountainfall and smashed the man across his shoulder blades. The sickening crunch and snap of the man's spine echoed off the rocks and trees. The Valkurian stumbled and crumpled forward onto the snow covered ground, looking like a wet rag wearing boots.

Valkurian Scum wrote:

"Come HERE you fucking coward, and fight in a melee like a man!"

The barbarian heard the man call out from behind the wagon. Rholf answered, "Be right there cur!" He stormed around the wagon and flanked the Valkurian that made the threat. He did not know that the Valkurian was speaking with Amon.
_________
Actions:
Rholf attacks the Valkurian.
If successful, Rholf will then circle the cart and flank A7.
d20+9+2= 11+11= 22, Hit!
2d6+8= 8+8= 16 Damage!

Amon felt his heart skip a beat. He was not well suited for melee, especially considering he was lightly armored so that he could fire his bow more easily. The soldier charged at Amon in a thoughtless bull rush. Amon tried to backpedal away, to draw an arrow on the advancing enemy, but it was too late. In the soldier's mindless charge, he closed the distance between them too quickly. Before he knew it, Amon was on the ground, pinned beneath the enemy soldier with a blade piercing his chest. Amon couldn't help but cry out. He was helpless. He couldn't draw an arrow, nor his dagger. Was this going to be the end? Was he going to die in the snowy north, far away from his home Summer Isles?

Rholf came thundering around the wagon. It looked like the barbarian hadn't noticed Amon was pinned beneath the soldier.

"Rholf! A last minute daring rescue would not go amiss!" Amon yelled to his towering ally.

"Hoof!" Tiberius felt his shield press hard against the front of his body as the horse kicked him over. He slammed down on the ground hard, dangerously prone beneath the restless animal and the Valkurian crossbowman.

He kept his shield held between the horse and his head as he pushed himself up into a squat with his free hand. He tried to continue reasoning with the armed man as he rose to his feet. "Surrender is not retreat. Submit so that I may save your life."

[Provoke attack of opportunity]
[Diplomacy: Nat 20: 30 total]

Xander slips out of sight in the fray, melting into the shadows.
=====================
Bluff to re-enter stealth 15 vs 8.

Syrillian felt the earth give beneath his feet as he lost grip and half slipped half jumped. In a series of events Syrillian found himself hurled over the side of the horse, foot snared in the saddle with his enemy receiving the same fate. Syrillian watched as Arrun dropped his knife as the horse began a frantic gallop. "Dammit. Syrillian thinks as he fumbles around trying to position himself. in the commotion he had lost one of his daggers and reached for another on his person. Syrillian began to realize what his options were. "Either kill the horse, this coward or attempt to cut myself free." the horse lurched as its hooves scrapped against the ice. There wouldn't be much time and if he killed the horse it was likely to land on them, if he killed the Valkurian he would just be dead weight. looking up he could see his trapped foot as it pulled up and over from the strap. "This will either be amazing or really painful." he thought to himself as he blocked blows from the caught up rider. Looking for an opening Syrillian lifted himself as far as he could and slashed at the strap that had trapped him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------

Slashing at his binds in hope of escape

10 and 21 to hit critical confirm was an 11

First was 8 damage if successful, the second 5 (x2 if critical successful)

Syrillian's neck rattles violently against the saddle as the horse gallops across the snow. The white powder kicks up in a mist that obscures the face of his aggressor, the man trying to steady himself as the beast lurches to and fro.

Syrillian swipes out with his sword, hearing the definitive sound of the rope cutting - with a violent jerk, he drops like dead weight from atop the animal. The world spins as he falls, contorting in the air and landing in the icy snow...

(Syrillian, 2d8 damage, Dex save 15 to halve)

Beyond him, the horse rides off into the mountain pass with the soldier lashed to its sides screaming in terror and agony.

(...)


Xander disappears into the shadows as the two remaining Valkurians stare at Tiberius, slowly lowering their weapons. In this cold and dismal pass littered with corpses and the fleeing horses, the clerics words echo out as truth amidst futility.

"Fuck." says one under his breath, a bushy blond beard covered in blood and snow adorning his face. He drops his bardiche, holding his hands up high. The other follows suit.

Silence for a moment.

"Well, what of it then? Are we prisoners?"

===========