As Sten looks up at Serpent-Tongue, wondering just why the rider’s mouth was stained green, he sees the blackcloaked leader give an almost imperceptible shrug, his shoulders slumping a little.
Lucky is spurred into action as he sees some of the cultists take the battle in hand, drawing their swords. Lucky races to the nearest and swipes at him, but sadly misses.
Calder hops his daddy armour and shield protect him, as he joins Lucky to the front, taking another black-clad ruffian into combat. He swings a mighty blow, but the rapscallion darts out the way. Calder notices as he moves just how muddy the fellow is.
Laila just stared at the folks blocking the road in disgust, " Well, is one of you cowards going to come at me or nej?" She bit the inside of her cheek and spat blood onto the ground in challenge. Two of them took her at her word and ran towards the frothing-mouthed maiden. She hit at one with her seax, but the cur blocked the blow.
“What are you doing there, little man?” hissed Serpent-Tongue to Sten. “Are you that eager to join me that you race to my embrace?” Serpent-Tongue shifts in his seat, moving closer to Sten. Sten smells the rankness coming off Serpent-Tongue, his breath venomous.
Godric looses an arrow towards the men moving forward, yet it misses, sweeping past a black hood.
Bretwald is incensed at the foulness he sees before him, and steps into the fray, swinging his staff left and right about him. That is to no avail. Perhaps this is not his forte.
You all work out what Jharak’s forte is. His fingers tracing wyrd sigils in the air, he shouts “For our lady. All must serve her.” A bolt of fire singes through the air, hitting Bretwald. The priest drops to the ground, rolling to stop his robes being set aflame. The tubby sorcerer hisses at you, the once amiable look upon his face gone, replaced with sheer hate!
Sten grabs the rim of his shield and attempts to lever it on Serpent-Tongue’s saddle to force him to the ground. He levers it successfully, pushing Serpent-Tongue down. With cat-like grace, he manages to arrest his fall a little, but crouches on the ground (rather than rolling on the floor). The whimsical look on his face is gone, now his mouth has a sneer on it as well as green spittle frothing his mouth.
You’re all astounded by the sheer ineptitude of the blackclad gang as they fail to land hits upon you. Apart from Calder whose daddy armour isn’t up to the task set it. Yet his shield is true, and blocks the blow.
Inexplicably, the watchers in the woods make no move towards any of you, merely lurking by, hid in vegetation. What doth transpire here?
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