Looking for Bandits - Part 1 (Glodthor)

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Glade 65, 121

Areya still couldn't believe her luck, as she lugged along the road with the other Dead Legionnaires and their accompanying Sky Guards. It was her first time being allowed to go on patrol outside of Mistreach Keep and the Warrens. She didn't know how she'd been selected, she heard it was randomized, though there were whispers that those in charge were open to the occasional bribe, or other type of influence. But Areya had never had anything worth such influence, so it must be at least somewhat random.

She was loving every moment of it. The air smelled clean, not like the stale air of her the Conscripts section of the keep. It was body odor, torch smoke, piss, and shit down there. The Sky Guard did make them clean down there regularly but still, that many people in such a confined space, there was only so much you could do.

Jericho and Lydela were also Conscripts that had been chosen. Jericho apparently got to come topside rather often, and it was Lydela's first time since she came in a season ago. Jericho was walking backwards, smiling at the two women, "Y'all look much nicer in the sunlight. Positively glowing." Lydela snorted loudly, "Well you look like you've never seen the sun in your life."

Jericho's hands clutched at his chest playfully, "Oh! You wound me madam."

A broad smile crossed his face as he turned back around as the unit continued marching along the road. Areya's eyes were looking at all the shops and homes and windows and people she hadn't seen in a year. People were staring, seeing the collars and bracers that labeled the three of them as Conscripts. Areya reached up and scratched at the collar, as they approached the city gates. The Sky Guard went over to speak with the guards there at the gate.

The Conscripts loitered near the wall, as their commanding Sky Guard walked over to them. "Get comfortable, we're going to wait for an hour or so. Apparently with the rise of the bandits not yet caught, we're going to be escorting anyone who wishes to go to the Crystal Forest with us. Some of them should be along shortly. Don't cause any trouble."

It would take three or four days to get to the Crystal Forest from here, and bandits had been raiding caravans more frequently now. So it was their job now to first escort civilians to the Crystal Settlements, followed by trying to find the bandits. Areya moved to the outside of the large gate, pulling her pack off, sitting down against the stone wall, her pack between her knees, leaning against it. She stayed sitting there, watching people coming and going from the city, heading along the road. One hand reached down, clutching at the grass, closing her eyes, and savoring the feel. It had been so long.

She sat there, sun on her face, wind in her hair, eyes closed, hand clutching the grass, as the first genuine grin in almost a year crossed her face.

[Glodthor Kathos]

Any job out of town was immediately a better job than one in town the Mortallen thought as he tromped towards the city gates. He'd found work in town with a local lumber mill, and they had had a request for exotic lumber come in. Overhearing the foreman discuss a need to dispatch a few loggers to the crystal forest. He volunteered to be one such logger and was quickly given the go ahead. Kalzasi was fine he supposed for city bound smaller folk, for his part it made him claustrophobic, a novel experience for someone who'd grown up inside a mountain.

Relaxing as he approached the edge of the city and the traffic became less and less Glodthor let out a relieved sigh. Strapped to his back he had his hefty lumber ax, his most invaluable tool and weapon, the two headed ax held one blade honed regularly to hold a sharp blade, the opposite side blunted for stripping branches from felled trees. The fact that it doubled as a handy weapon in a pinch making it all the more invaluable in the utilitarian Mortallen's mind.

As he approached the wall he spotted a small group of the cities soldiers, an escort the city was providing in a time of high banditry he'd heard. Nodding to the soldiers the giant found himself unsure of what exactly to say or to whom to say it too. The soldiers were of two makes, a design he'd not seen elsewhere. Those with shined armor and polished boots and an air of authority about them. Then the ragtag soldiers in chains, whose makes were wildly more varied tho most of them carried a grim countenance about them. A death sentence in the guise of service he'd seen it pinned somewhere in the city.

Approaching the group of soldiers it became inevitable that one's eyes lit upon him. The first of the skyguard bumped the shoulder of the one next him and eventually the majority of the soldiers watched what little approach he had. He wasn't unaware of the novelty of his size. Even in a city with a prevalent race of large winged individuals he was a head above the tallest of them and the attention it attracted. This was little helped by his lack of use of common and little interest in perfecting it. So when Glodthor finally did speak to the group his words came out chopped and chewed through what sounded like a sounded like a fine layer of gravel in the Mortallen's throat.

“You, escorting to the forest yes?”

He said to nobody in the group in particular his eyes searching the group with the tired air of a worker waiting on a job.

[Nok]

Glade 65th, 121. Northern Wilds

“Of corsse, mah fwend--”

Nok cut himself off, realizing that Glodthor was not speaking to him but rather to the guards. The Grackle acted like he had not tried to answer and took up a confident stance, at a distance, beside his giant companion. He surveyed the area and nodded.

“Dey've kleened up da paff since I last went dis way. A gud sign”, Nok said, rubbing his chin through his scarf. He said this to himself, as though in deep thought, so that any who overheard him might think he was reflecting on some knowledge he actually possessed.

It had been easy to give this trusting stranger the impression that he was a Kalzasi native because, to a degree, he was.The streets of Kalzasi in many ways mirrored the Midden Waterways and following them might give any outsider the impression of knowing one's way around. It wasn't until Nok claimed to be savvy to the wilderness around Kalzasi that he was truly beyond his depth, but at that point he was so invested in the role of Glodthor's guide that he'd feel some guilt to leave him on his own.

The yielding earth under his boots was an odd sensation, the lush grass quite different than the damp stone floors to which he was accustomed. The sky, now clear of the city, seemed all the more vast and endless. The sight made him dizzy and he shifted his attention to the trees ahead which grew ever denser in the distance. Nok nervously picked at the leaves that made up the hair of his disguise, trying his best to appear more contemplative than anxious. It was then that he realized their trip would take far longer than he initially assumed and he wondered how long it would be until he'd be back home. He glanced up at Glodthor as casually as one can when bending their entire body backwards. The Moratallen seemed to be in his element outside the city, but Nok could tell that speaking was still uncomfortable for him. The Grackle sympathized with this all too well.

Among the Sky Guards he spotted a group of Legionnaire Conscripts and grimaced. More Legionnaires, he reflected with some disdain. Nok thought that at the very least he would be rid of them on the surface. This bunch, however, was somehow different. They were almost vibrant, dazzled by the light of day with stunned smiles on their faces. One woman seemed completely enraptured by the moment, lost to whatever sentiment she found in the grass clutched tightly in her hand. Nok decided that these soldiers must have been underground for a very long time.

Something about their presence here unsettled him. Their sentence was an ongoing suicide mission, they were fodder to be thrown in the way of dangers too foul for any respectable guardsman to suffer. That was how he understood it. Nok looked back at the trees in the distance, focusing on the darkness beneath the canopy and morbidly wondered what could be hiding in the shadows.

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It wasn't too long until the Sky Guard Lieutenant in charge let loose a shrill whistle, "Let's go, we can make camp in time for a meal before nightfall. Dawdlers get left behind." Areya opened her eyes, her smile disappearing. And with it, a tuft of grass disappeared into the depths of one of her belt pouches. Looking over as the Sky Guards took their spots, two at front, two at rear, she saw a most amusing companionship. There was a man, one of few that she actually had to look to see his tired, slightly frustrated face. Meanwhile, his companion seemed to barely come to her waist.

Still in such a good mood at having been allowed to come topside, she shouldered her pack, quickly checking that all her gear was attached within reach, looking back at where she'd sat, ensuring nothing had been left behind. She then approached the pair, smiling softly, "Would you all mind if I walked with you?" Her eyes glittered a bit hopefully with asking this question. It was odd, when she was down below, she was never the sort of person to be considered sociable. She usually kept to herself, as many of the Legionnaires did. It was both a survival technique and a coping mechanism. People down there died too often to ever bother getting attached.

But she wasn't down below, so she wasn't that person anymore. She wasn't that creature anymore. Jericho and Lydela walked past them, "Shit mate, you're a biggun'. I doubt ya need me protectin' ya." Lydela, meanwhile, gave a glare at the Grackle, giving an obvious, wide berth as she walked out around him, slipping her hands into her pockets. Ignoring her compatriots, "I'm..." and she paused. She looked around, seeing that her fellow Legionnaires and the Sky Guards were not in earshot, and she decided that if she was someone else topside, she'd need a new name. "Call me Rey."

And with that, the procession began to move, following the path toward the nearest trees. She'd been told the first day would be south through the woods, following the river, a day or two toward Shemashk through denser forest, then a day north through the most dense forest to reach the Crystal Forest. Areya had personally thought that they had an easy job, quite unlikely they'd find the bandits so close to both the main city and a nearby settlement. That was awful risky. "So what brings you two on this trek?" As they walked, Areya's face was always slightly turned to receive more of the natural sunlight, but her eyes were constantly scanning the world around them. She wasn't a forest tracker. She wasn't even really a tracker down below, so she didn't know what it was she was looking for, but she never stopped looking.

She may not have had a choice in becoming a Legionnaire, but she was going to do her best at it, if only to not be the latest person with no friends to die, alone and forgotten.

[Glodthor Kathos]

After getting the affirmation that this was indeed was where he actually needed did the half giant take time to address his “guide”. He often nodded or grunted in affirmation to the Nok's ramblings and periodic factlets. Appreciating his companions general acceptance of his mute nature. They waited perhaps a total of an hours half before the seeming commander of the party informed them it was time to leave.


Standing with his companion whose short steps he found himself accommodating for an idea appeared in his head that might satisfy his companions ego and allow himself to not have to worry about his pace on a trek. He would however wait before they had left the city to try his idea. With that thought stowed Glodthor set off in tow of the company.

"Would you all mind if I walked with you?"

Startled from his thoughts by the presence of one of the cities famous slave soldiers the Moratallen nodded in acquiescence to the request and sounded and an affirmative. “Suit yourself”. Accepting the company he briefly wondered what it is they could want beyond company as so many did. Their exclamation about his size drew a tired smile from his lips. The soldier introduced themselves as Rey and seemed at least genuine about their desire to just appreciate the company, it made the Moratallen ponder the grimness of their previous deployment.

“I am called Glodthor, Well met Rey” the Half giant rumbled before reaching out a tankard swallowing hand to shake. “If all is well, no one will protect anyone” he responded to her deprecation. He wasn't a tactician the giant knew well enough that numbers were often far more important than personal skill when it came to bandits. When asked as to his reason for going on the trek he gestured towards the large ax holstered across his back.

“I am hoping to..... retrieve rare lumber craftsmen to make rich man ill earned furniture.” The mortallen grinned. He lacked eloquence in the common tongue but hoped his point was gotten across. “Am also personal collector... of rare hides.” The giant had given up being tanner as being his life's work but the hobby had stuck with him. The idea of slaying worthy beasts whose flesh he might drape himself in appealed to the would be mountain king. "Moreso... I am first to leave Kathos mountain in nine generation of clan, Want to make world remember name Kathos." As he spoke his chest swelled with pride and imagery of conquest swam in his head.

[Nok]

Glade 65th, 121. Northern Wilds

The sour look from one of the female Legionnaires did not go unnoticed by Nok, her eyes sizing him up as she stuffed her hands into her threadbare pockets. He sniffed and looked back at her with feigned indifference as he tipped his hat from under his hood in an obligatory gesture of goodwill. Internally, however, he seethed from the offense and momentarily fretted whether she had seen through him. The credibility of a prisoner was surely worthless, but the idea that his disguise was as flimsy as he feared was somewhat disheartening. Regardless, he took pride in the gracious way he had responded to such rudeness and he assured himself that an easy attitude could compensate well enough for any faults in his appearance.

The other woman was much more friendly, but no more trustworthy. Conscripts were desperate, always desperate, either to escape their death or whatever haunted them in life. The miserable souls who had managed to defect skulked the Midden like ghouls, doing whatever wretched act to survive. It was no coincidence that more goods, animals, and Grackle children tended to disappear when a new defector became known in Hahseu. While the laws of Kalzasi meant little below the surface, there were still ways of doing things and people who expected others to honor those ways. Defectors never seemed to respect that, but luckily this meant they didn't bother anyone for long.

Still, he had a role to play; Such bitterness was unbecoming for a generous soul such as Enoko Carabas. He took a moment to appreciate the simplicity of her name.

“An' I am Nok. Verry nyce ta meet ya, Rey”

He was tempted to recite the full glory of his new alias, but decided against it. This woman might be sentenced to an early death but he wanted to keep all lose ends to a minimum, at least until he could get some weight to this name.

Glodthor stumbled with his words, as usual, but his confident mood was apparent. Nok chuckled at his quaint attempt at a joke, mostly in amusement at the awkwardness of it but also that it might seem funnier to others. Nok was a good friend like that, Nok noted to himself.

“I am heeyah az uh guyde ta Glodfor. Kalzahzi propah iz mah spe-shee-awlty, but I haff travuled da Norfern Wyldes an' da Crisstall Fohrest, long ago doe it may be, an' I foughtt I cood beya sum suhviss."

Nok listened to his companion wax on.“Want to make world remember name Kathos”. The motives of his Half-Giant companion mystified him, so vague and lofty, but he was not one about to underestimate an intrepid young man venturing out into a brave new world. Too many stories of heroes began with such and too many people doubted them, often to their own poetic demise. Those that supported young heroes, however, became heroes in their own right, along with all of the fortune and glory that comes with it. It was better, and more interesting, to play along.

Mountains rose and trees grew thicker as they traveled along the path to Shemashk. The tracks of boots and animals gave Nok some small sense of civilization and he took comfort that there seemed to be just as many going to the city than from it. A good omen, perhaps, for their own return.

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It wasn't often that Areya truly was made to feel small, but as she shook Glodthor's mountain sized hand, she did feel tiny. And a small part of her liked that, and she gripped his hand back firmly, a just the lightest tease of a smile in the left corner of her mouth. And it became a near grin as she listened to him speak further. She could see the pride in him, pride she herself did not carry. He knew what he wanted.

And she only knew what she didn't want. She didn't want to die in the Warrens.

"I look forward to traveling with you, Glodthor Kathos."

Turning to the small one called Nok, she found herself slipping into her old self, back when she was simply the assistant to a shopkeeper. She nodded her head lightly, a small grin given, "And to you, Nok." She enjoyed hearing Nok speak as well. His accent was not one she knew, so she assumed him to be from foreign lands. Well traveled.

Unlike herself, she'd never even left Kalzasi. This was her first time leaving the city, not that she would share that information. Part of being a conscript was protecting all aspects of oneself. And so, the lighter mood that had been lifted by this time in the sun, the slippage back to her old self, faded. The mask of the conscript was put back on.

"Let's go."

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As the sun was beginning to set, camp was being set up. The first day's march was the easiest of them, and it was known that it would be harder as they delved into the forest. Areya stood in line at the Mess Cart. The Sky Guards and other citizens were given deer and wild fowl, root vegetables and wild greens, and fruit found here. Areya, and the other two conscripts, were given some sort of boiled grain with the cartilaginous and burnt pieces from the bottom of the meat pans as seasoning. Compared to normal, this was an astounding meal. Areya didn't bother to glare back at the civilian running the Mess Cart, she knew this was how things were to be.

As she was walking toward one of the campfires, until the Lieutenant showed up, "I'm going to need you to pull a double watch tonight." He grinned toothily, "That lass, with the black hair, the one selling wine wants me to... uh... taste her wares. See if the Guard would like to start buying them." He licked his lips, "I'd hate for her to not get a fair shake at that."

He gave her directions to where she'd have to keep watch, and then he turned on his heels for his 'wine tasting'. He paused, hollering over his shoulder, "Ain't no one supposed to be leaving camp tonight, not with them bandits about. We don't need a hostage rescue on our plates either." Areya sighed silently, and started walking out to the far edge of the camp. She found the tree, tucked behind a bush just off a game path that was to be her vantage. It gave her some cover while being able to view the path fairly without obstruction.

And she sat there, eyes locked forward, spooning the burnt meat flavored gruel quietly into her mouth. Her mind wandered a bit as she sat there, wondering if she could try to flee now. She had heard some other conscripts saying they'd try and make a run for Zaichaer if they could get topside. But Areya knew not the way, knew nothing of this distant land, and she only had a year left to go. She'd made it this far. Maybe she could be set free.

But what would freedom look like here? Would she still get the worst of the scraps of food? Would she get the dirty looks? Turned away? What would, what should life after the Deeps look like?

Once her meal was finished, she set the dish off to the side and out of her way, holding one of her tomahawks now in her lap. She leaned back against the tree, her dark eyes ever watching, as she forced herself to keep her tears in. What would it take for her to have the convictions of Glodthor? Or the worldly experience of Nok? She was just a throwaway weapon.

Would she always be?

[Glodthor Kathos]

Glodthor's lips curled up as they set out in spite of himself. It was humorous he thought, to be guarded by someone so meek and guided by someone who knew not where they were. He was content for the mere presence of companions, something his travels had lacked for some time. Not that the stalwart half giant would ever admit to such feelings. He was not one who was able to fill the hours with conversation, tho he appreciated the presence of those who could. For Nok's part he was especially competent in the avenue of spewing sounds that broke the monotony of his journey. He had proved useful beyond that in some capacities so the giant had accepted his odd companionship.

Nodding to Rey as they set out Glodthor shifted the weight of his pack as comfortably as he could and began the long trek towards their crystalline destination. The pace his "guards" set was an easy walk for him to tromp along with. His height made it so none of his companions ever blocked his ability to watch for the supposed bandits that were lurking in the hills of these parts. As he walked he wondered what shifts their would be in the geography. This would be the furthest he'd ever traveled away from the protective embrace of mountain ranges.


~__________________________________________________________~

As the days march ended and camp was made the Morattallen pitched his own large tent made from many stitched together hides before noting the more common smaller canvas tents the military types used. Looking to Nok the half giant dropped a spare bedroll he'd brought with him for his guide. "My tent have space if want" He grunted before tromping off to help assist build the camp fires. Reaching into trees and casually ripping deadwood from them he quickly prepared several piles of kindling before the suns last rays fell and the sky succumbed to the great black cloak of night. Soon the only light would be the fires moon and the holes in the night cloth that let the sun through. For a while the giant sat next to the cookfires wordlessly enjoying the presence of life around him, the giant for his part found the culture of the foreigners intriguing and took chances to drink in the way the different people lived. Silently approving or condemning the things he witnessed about him and in many ways finding himself missing his clan. Glodthor distracted himself as best he could when his thoughts soured by producing a whetstone from his pocket and sharpening his ax to as sharp as he could hone it.

When the night had cooled and most but those on watch began to crawl into their various tents the giant stood and strode towards the nearest copse of trees to relieve himself. As the giant flooded the landscape before him he threw his head back and let out a hearty sigh of relief that only a long day of holding ones bladder for a long and finally releasing it can provide. It was in this moment that he felt a very solid impact to his torso, looking down the half giant was puzzled to discover that he had the business end of a hatchet embedded in his chest. It stung but that was the extent of the damage. His eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the dark from the firelight but he thought he heard a muttered curse somewhere in the darkness ahead of him. Grinning the Moratallen knew for once exactly what to say and do.

"TOO ARMS!!" He bellowed into the night sky and charged the direction the weapon had been thrown from. crashing through underbrush. If he'd had been able to see he would know that he was about to be largely outnumbered, and that one of his foes was to be another moratallen. For the moment, all he knew was that he had every intent to show them how to really use an ax. Howling as he pulled his own beastly weapon from his back the giant smiled knowing this was his purpose.

[Nok]

Glade 65th, 121, Northern Wilds.

Glodthor's tent might as well be a proper house from the sheer size of it. It was clear that the Moratallen was quite prepared for their journey, but Nok, however, was not. Before, he had considered the giant's and the rest of the party's gear to be excessive but he now realized that he was going to need more than a light backpack and blanket if he wanted to be comfortable on this trip. The surface world was so much larger than he had expected. He remembered what he had told his parents before he left for the Crystal Forest. A day at most, he promised, but now it was quite clear that it would be far longer than that. The adolescent Grackle cringed at what would happen when he finally returned, already feeling the blows to his head.

These reflections were interrupted by Glodthor's gravelly voice offering him use of his tent for the night. Such luck. The Grackle made a mental note to thank Vhexur in his prayers that night. Nok gazed at Glodthor's tent, nodding as though in appraisal of his companion's work and trying hard not to betray his immense relief at such an offer.

“Yesh, yesh, I fink I wihl tayk yew up on dat. Thyank yew, Glodfor. Hoep-fuh-ly I won't tayk up too mucha yo spayse”. He chuckled quaintly at his own joke

Nok gathered his pack and was about to retire when the smell of food caught his attention. Fighting against the blisters on his feet, he hobbled into line and was treated with a well-rounded meal the likes of which he had never seen. So many colors, so many fragrances. His mouth watered. He considered joining the others for dinner around the campfire and touched the scarf covering his mouth. It would be too cumbersome to try to eat while keeping his face concealed. Wishing he could join their company, he sadly retreated into Glodthor's tent to protect his identity as he ate.

The rich variety of the new and exciting foods distracted him from his lonliness and he made quick work of his meal, ravenously eating the cheap wooden plate to savor the juices after the rest was gone. Exhaustion snuffed out any shame he might have had in his gluttony and he fell back onto the wide bedroll, quickly falling into a dead sleep. Unfortunately, this peaceful rest did not last as a voice like a raging beast bellowed through the night air, jolting him awake in a panic.

Nok sat up clenched his bed sheet, listening in abject terror at the sounds of combat outside the tent. A cacophony of clashing and shrieks, of bodies striking bodies and bodies hitting the ground, all of it so unnervingly close. He held his breath, hoping that the conflict would pass him unnoticed. This hope was dashed apart as the flaps of the tent were whipped open and his eyes met those of a familiar set.

This Grackle was different from the ones in Hahseu. His skin was a vibrant bronze tinged with green, rich from the sun, and he wore a set of well used leather armor. Eyes mad with violence shone nearly as bright as a wicked dagger in his hand. It glimmered faintly in the light from the campfire, a light that appeared to be spreading.

“Pretty big tent, wouldn't you say, brother?”, the bandit addressed him in Goblish “Didn't think I'd run into a pale little shit out here. You and the rest of 'em still cringing like dogs under Kalzasi?!”

He snickered and slashed his dagger through the air, making Nok jump to his feet. He staggered back, fidgeting with his hood out of habit. Sleeping in his disguise had been a precaution that meant little in the heat of battle, but dropping it now be unwise if his companions happened on him.

The bandit's face twisted in confusion, “What the fuck are you wearing? What is all this?!”

“Styand byaak, vyluh creetah, wutevah yew awh!”, Nok announced, holding out his hands as if to strike. “I am Enoko Carabas, Fay'eyfa-lan mage. Mah powahs awh nawt ones wiff which yew shood try-fuhl.”

His opponent broke his stance and stood in stunned silence before doubling over, wheezing.

“Dirtfucker! You think I'm an idiot?! Who are you trying to fool?! Stop being a little shit and speak right!”, His mocking tone turned wrathful and he swiped his dagger at Nok's feet, neatly slicing the bedding to show the keen edge of his weapon.

“S-so be it--”, With a florish Nok produced an illusionary dagger, identical to his foe's but glowing white hot, though in appearance only. He manifested it from his sleeve with a shower of sparks in an intimidating display of power.

“Let dis be—ouwh fy-nal battuh”.

Nok hoped that this bravado would be enough to repel his foe, but his stomach dropped as he watched the surprised glint in the other Grackle's eyes turn into frenzied elation. With a shrill cry, the bandit lunged at him, dagger poised to pierce through his heart.

[Reviewer]

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Time Stamp

An unexpected sound disturbed Areya and her melancholy. It sounded like a babbling brook had suddenly come to life. She twisted and turned her head to find the source, peering through the bushes to see Glodthor relieving himself. Her eyes grew wide. She'd never seen a Mortallen naked before and the appendage he was holding looked deadly. Thankfully her wandering eyes were quickly averted upwards at the sound of the thud against his chest. She saw a tomahawk embedded there, much like her own that was in her hand currently. She was about to sound the alarm, her only real job here, but was cut short by the Mortallen's deep bellowing. She watched as he began charging forward, forgetting to put away his... thing. It slapped loudly against his thighs as he charged, a sound she'd never forget.

Areya's survival instincts from below kicked in, as they always did, and they trumped her second instinct of her duty. Bandits were attacking from the dark, boldly ambushing a protected caravan. They were confident or desperate. Either way, they were dangerous. She was certainly no Glodthor, and was not about to scream while charging into the glory of battle.

Instead, Areya was slow to move, rising to a low crouch. She listened hearing the screams as the bandits surprised, and were surprised, small skirmishes popping up all along the edges of the camp. She would have to fight, unless she wished to be further punished as a deserter. She chose to follow after Glodthor, but in her own way. She moved quietly, staying off the main paths, skirting around bushes, able to easily follow the loud sounds of the giant man.

She watched as he burst through a small clearing, where two elves were guarding a whole cadre of horses. Areya circled out wide, still moving slow, maintaining her stealth as she watched one elf draw a cutlass, the other a small crossbow. The cutlass wielder nervously advanced on the Mortallen that was clearly brandishing more than just the axe in his hand. The other began unloading bolts, aimed at Glodthor's face. Areya knew her target. She slunk out of the shadows, tomahawk in hand.

She moved slow, careful, knowing that Glodthor would certainly keep their attention. She just hoped he wasn't blinded before she got to the archer. She gave the horses a wide berth, but they still seemed to be agitated by her presence, stamping and snorting and threatening to give away her exposed position. She had to make a decision and fast, she wasn't sure she could get close enough on sneaking alone. So she stopped, and raised her tomahawk over her shoulder.

She whipped it forward, aimed at the closest horse. The shaft of the tomahawk bounced off the horse's rump, and the beast startled loudly, rearing up. As the ranger turned to look back at it, Areya was charging forward, drawing her other tomahawk out. By the time he noticed her coming, her axe bit deep into where his shoulder met his neck. The crossbow dropped from his grasp, and Areya tried to yank her axe free. As she tugged, the man howled in pain and reached out with his good arm, grabbing her by the hair. The two were in a tug of war, trying to pull the other.

Areya's axe slipped out of the wound it had created, but the tug had given her so much momentum it sent her spinning down to her knees. The man was sent backwards the other way but he still had a hold of her hair and she screamed as he pulled even harder as he fell. Areya brought her axe up, chopping at the offending limb, and fell backwards as she felt the pressure relent. She quickly got to her feet, feeling a weight still on her hair. She reached back, finding the man's severed hand still clenching it tight. Her eyes were on the man who was moaning in pain, clutching at his nub now.

Areya yanked the hand out of her hair and threw the offensive hand at the man, watching it land a few feet from him. She stomped over to him, and he raised both arms up in defense. She sank the axe between his eyes, yanking it free, looking to see how Glodthor was faring.

Then a loud roar and the snapping of trees filled the area as a very large, extremely buxom female Mortallen, wielding a nasty looking, huge spiked club, wearing an eyepatch and leathers, entered the clearing.