Walking Down a Sunlit Path

Alex nodded grimly to Avera as he passed the cooling bodies of the sentires. He didn't like the idea of killing an enemy without giving them a chance to flee, or fight back, but sometimes paragmatism took priority. He surveyed the scene and quickly picked out the prisioners, as well as the more alert and therefore, more immediately dangerous, bandits. "Neeshka," he whispered, outlining his rubimentry plan, "Get to the women. Wait for our signal, then cut their bonds and get them out."
The Tiefling nodded, drawing her blade, "What's the signal?"
Alex smirked and shrugged, "A big and flashy distracton. I'll think of something."
Neeshka slipped away, making less noise than a shadow, a slightly worried look on her face; she had a feeling the cleric was going to do something stupid, but she couldn't figure out exactly what.

Alex muttered a prayer, a little longer than his other ones under his breath and looked to Avera, as he felt its strength suffuse his limbs, "You ready? Cover your eyes; I'll try and dazzle the archers and armed ones." He uttered another prayer and reached out his left hand, drawing his sword with his right. A sudden light, bright as the sun, errupted from his outstretched fingers, harmless in itself, but sending spots and coloured lights dancing and popping in the bandit's eyes. Amid cries of shock and pain, Alex dashed forward, bellowing an dedication to his god. The first prayer he had uttered, had filled him with a small measure of Lathander's strength and warded his body against blows. An axe rebounded from a sudden flash of yellow light, a good six inches from Alex's body as he swept his sword from a boiled leather chestpiece like it was made of paper. The benediction would only last a short time, however, so he went to with a will, hacking and causing mayhem, trusting Avera to back him up, as Neeshka got the prisioners away. It wasn't the best plan, but if they had tried anything else, they would have put the women at risk.

Neeshka shook her head in disbelief at Alex's rash charge. She had thought the man had more sense than that! Still, it was a brave move and gave her just the opening she needed. She slipped from behind a tent and dashed for the enclosure, wiping her sword through a bandit's throat, as he stood, shaking his head and trying to clear his eyes. She skidded onto her knees near the women and immediately started slicing through their bonds, the rope parting easily before the charmed steel. "Come on!" she cried, tugging one woman's hand, after they were all free, "We've got to get you out of here! They'll notice you're free sooner or later!"
To her exasperated astonishment, the women drew back into a tight huddle away from her, "Get away from us, daemon-girl!" one called, shaking in fear. "I'd rather take my chances with the bandits!" claimed another, with a tear-stained face and a ragged, torn dress.
Neeshka snarled, revealing her white, but humanly straight teeth, "We don't have TIME for this!" she snapped, "I'm offering to help you, against my better judgement, because the holy boy asked me to and you've got the gall to throw it in my face?!" She suddenly noticed that the sixth woman, the one who had glared, rather than shrank away like a coward when she was tied up, was missing. Turning, Neeshka's heart leapt into her mouth as she saw the woman snatch a spear from the hand of the guard the Tiefling had killed and charge into the fray. Neeshka swore explosively and, with one last, disgusted look back at the rest of the prisioners, chased after the one with a death wish. The way was mostly clear, after all; they could probably get out safe. If they wanted to run the risk of getting caught and killed because they wouldn't trust her, that was their problem, but Alex wouldn't forgive her if she just let one get herself killed.

The man was good, knowing what to do and how to go about it. It was nice to have someone else take charge for once. Since Cairan had disappeared it was Avera making all the decisions, once again, and she had never wanted to be in that position again. But with Alex taking charge it was a bit of a challenge to keep silent but the tiny one bit her tongue and let things go. It was a good feeling to relax hold for once and just follow up.

It was even more fortuitous that Alex's ideas were that of which she would have been compelled to use herself. They did not have much time and the only way to go about this was to rush headlong into the camp creating a diversion for everyone to become bewildered hoping that the fighters, or at least some thereof, were not as experienced as they could be.

Avera took a stance, her musical bow in hand as she readied herself for the upcoming fray. She waited calmly until Alex gave the word then sang a song of mind fog upon the enemies. That would cloud their judgment and make it that much easier to pluck them off.

As soon as Alex made his move and rushed into the camp she started shooting, first at the one she noticed as being a mage. Pluck him off. There we go. Double arrows work so well with things like this.

As she shot at opponents who were getting too close to doing much to her friends, and this weirdo who had run into the fight, she heard a howl and her eyes lit up to see an extra large dire wolf rush into the camp, ripping apart the larger and much more vicious of opponents.

The animal did not go anywhere near the women who were hiding, the woman who was fighting with their group or even their group. It only fought the bandits, ruthlessly taking down those that would take more time for the others to subdue.

Neeshka looked over from her fighting in shock and chanced a quick glance at Avera while going between two foes. Avera first smiled then gave her a signal with a nod to leave the animal be.

As they fight they notice that someone had made a signal call, bringing in reinforcements from the woods. The women hide and stay out of the way as bandits come in from all sides, making everyone have to fight melee at which point Avera changes over to her whip and fire mace, manically fighting like a tiny wildcat.

About an hour earlier, somewhere else in the forest...

The remaining bandit of the group of three was sitting on the soil, his back to a tree. Both of his legs were broken, his right arm, severely burned, was hanging to his side, unusable.
One corpse laid on the ground, not far away, so calcined it seemed to be a pile of coal shaped like a human body. The last of the bandit had fled, leaving behind his shield and weapon, glad to have been spared.
Zabrard, a satisfied smile on his lips, was still leaning over the agonising bandit, even though their little "discussion" had ended a few seconds ago. He stood up, sweeping a mixture of dirt and blood off his hands :
"Well, thanks you for your cooperation. I am sure your little friends, there, will have more to offer than just a bit of blood and one minute of fun."
The bandit glared at him, grasping for air to fill his lungs. His pride obviously did not leak away along with his blood.
"You'll find only death, there" he spat the words "There are dozens of them."
Zabrard arched an eyebrow (higher than they naturally are, that is) :
"Why, of course I *will* find death there. I bring it along with me wherever I go."
The bandit let out a snort.
"Fine. Just go away, already. I don't want to have your damned face in front of me when I die."
The warlock shook his head, his smile widening.
"You shall not die. Not now." He stuck his finger in one of the man's many wounds, wetting his nail with blood, and started drawing a symbol on the bandit's forehead. "Instead, I offer you a last, one-way, trip home. The home of evil souls, of course."

The bandit frowned a bit, no quite understanding what he meant. He was too exhausted to even move, and wasn't sure he had any damn left to give him. When the pentacle was finished, Zabrard whispered something in a strange language, and then pressed in the middle of the figure with his right thumb.
The blood used for the ritual drawing started to glow. Light, then heat. The tiefling was already on his way to the encampment when the bandit started screaming out loud from the pain, as the symbol began to carve itself through his skull, sending his soul to one of the Nine Hells.



Now, near the bandits' camp...

Zabrard had accelerated his pace when he heard the sound of battle echoing in the distance, and was almost running when he came across an odd group of women. Their clothes were reduced to a few strips of cloth covering their bodies, and were obviously hiding from the fight that was taking place in the camp, now a hundred metres away. They didn't look too pleased to encounter yet again another tiefling, and an awkward silence fell for a few seconds over the group and the man, as they both were staring at each other, waiting for one to make the first move. Without warning, the warlock's eyes widened in a hateful glare, in an abrupt fit of anger, as he yelled loud enough for anyone to hear,

"What in the Hells are you looking at ?!"

With a swift motion of his hand, he summoned a thin tongue of hellfire that struck the women, superficially burning their skins. This sudden attack and pain woke them up very quickly, and a second later, they were trying to find themselves another hideout in the woods. Zabrard shook his head, muttering something about the people being really weird in the surroundings. He then turned his eyes to the raging fight and started to run, one more time, charging head-on the encampment, his sword drawn out, his left hand ready to unleash some fireworks, and a wide grin on his face.

He chose his angle of attack so as to be as far as possible from the dire wolf that had rushed into the battle. When he reached the camp, right in the back of incoming reinforcements, he first came across the tents and immediately set them on fire. Sure, it helped adding to the confusion of the fight, but basically Zabrard just enjoyed setting tents on fire. It's a hobby like many others.

"Tally-Ho !" He shouted, as he literally jumped into the melee.
His fighting technique was, as expected from someone as massive, anything but gracious : it mostly consisted in destabilizing his opponents with brutal swings from his sword, and then setting them on fire through spells that could be cast very quickly. When he had the feeling he was being flanked, he would also set up a firewall to cover his blindspots, but beside that, it was a basic fighting spree, just trying to spare what did not look like a bandit.

Fox will be assumed to have run off so posting order can continue without her.

Someone yelled at the women making the tiny fighter snarl. It was probably one of the bandits and that made her eyes flash dangerously. She gave up shooting for the time being and fought like a wild thing, moving among the fighters with an ease only a Halfling could pull off. Sometimes it was like she hid and that there were more than one of her but that was her music making it distorted for anyone to see what was actually going on. When she could she would stop and shoot arrows at bandits then get back into melee fighting as opponents came too close. After some time there were few left so she went off to the side to shoot instead of fighting in melee combat.

Once the bandits were all dead the dire wolf walked over to Avera, head bowed as if it were ashamed.

Avera and the dire wolf looked into each other's eyes for a long while as Neeshka stood closer to Alex, holding his arm and watching the animal and friend with concern not knowing what was going on or if she should be worried. Was this ... what was this?

"Tiefling." Avera suddenly called out as the dire wolf sat beside her. She had a lot of blood all over her, a complication to being so small that everything dropped onto a person, "I see you are a determined fighter." She moved forward a couple of feet, enough to be at a comfortable distance to look up without straining her neck too much, "Is this a pleasure to have been fighting by your side or something else?"

((In the words of Dhaegun, "So many years ago today..." Or at least that's how long it feels since I last posted! Time to get back in action!))

The last of the bandits fell to Alex, as knocked his sword aside with the flat of his hand, letting Lathander's protection take the blow and plunged his own blade into the thief's stomach, angling the blade up and pushing, cutting into the lungs. The man dropped, unable to even make a sound and not a moment too soon, as Alex felt the blessings he had called down drain away from him, he slumped slightly, suddenly drained and tired. He glanced over at Avera and felt his stomach churn a little at the sight of the pleasant halfling covered in blood and gore from head to toe. He shook his head and looked down at himself, making a mental note to take a bath soon and clean the blood off his breastplate, before it rusted. A quick examination revealed none of it as his however and he breathed a small prayer of thanks to the Morninglord for his aid. He'd tried not to show it, but throughout the fight, he had been terrified; until only a scant few days ago, he ad never had to raise his hand in anger and yet here he stood, having just helped wipe out an entire camp of murderers and thieves. He wasn't sure if he should feel elated or horrified.

He felt a touch on his arm and whipped his head around to see Neeshka's slender fingers. He gently clasped a hand over hers, giving a silent nod of thanks. He'd been on the verge of freaking out, before her hand had grounded him. He followed her concerned gaze and looked over the huge dire wolf, as it sat next to Avera. Surprisingly, he found he wasn't alarmed by its presence. Avera was a ranger, one at peace with the beasts of the wild. If she had allowed it to get so close, it was clearly a friend. The new Tiefing however, he did not feel so at ease about. It was odd, but something about his presence rubbed Alex the wrong way, even before he spoke. He shook himself mentaly, reminding himself not to be prejudiced; after all, Neeshka was right beside him and he felt no such instinctive aversion to her. In fact... He wasn't sure what he felt about Neeshka. He locked that thought away for another time; a blood-soaked battlefield was certainly not the time, nor place.

...And a last eldricht blast, striking hard on his chest, threw the bandit on the ground, where he finally decided to die.
Shaking his left hand in the air, in an attempt to cool it after the volley of spells he had released during the battle, the warlock rose up his head to realize that the last few bandits were busy trying to survive in their fights against the small group of adventurers (or whatever they might be).
Disappointed to see that his fight had already ended, he took a few strides away, to a point he had noticed earlier. A few meters away from there, left miraculously intact, a piece of meat was waiting over the still warm remains of a bonfire. Zabrard figured it must be chicken, seeing as he had accidentally stepped on one (no longer alive, by then) in the confusion of the battle. The last fights ended, a few seconds after his, as he took the skewer in his left hand (the right one still holding the blood-stained sword), and took a first bite in the roasted flesh.
Definitely chicken. He had not eaten for over a day, and the meat was a real delight.

“Tiefling.” He heard.

He turned around to face the halfling, and instinctively moved his right foot back into position, ready to move at the first sign of hostility. She did not look like she wanted to fight any further, but he had seen her form jumping from one spot to another, amid the battle, fighting at least as wildly as he did (with more grace and much less noise, of course). She was a force to be reckoned with, and the blood that covered her was there to prove it : it was not hers.
Thinking of blood... Zabrard mentally checked his wounds : he remembered he had a few cuts on his shoulders and on his left leg, nothing serious, but he also remembered he had two arrows in his back. He made a mental note to take care of them as soon as possible. Not that it was painful : his armor had taken away most of the arrow's momentum as they struck and the skin on his back had grown thick as leather, but he just thought how stupid he must look like with two arrows stuck like this.
His eyes briefly set on the dire wolf, behind the woman. It seemed almost friendly to the halfling. So, what, that woman was a ranger ? (She certainly did not look like a druid) That would explain how the group managed to find the camp before him. Or maybe that was something else.
Then he noticed the other two. The young man did not seem quite at ease; his sword, bathing in blood, proved that his fight, too, had been a fierce one. There was something not quite right about this one, Zabrard thought. When their eyes met, he frowned with a flash of anger in his pupils. Cleric. That's what wasn't right about him ! Even from where he stood, the tiefling could smell the stench of his deity, probably one those do-gooders like Tyr, Helm, Lathander or Illmater, he thought to himself. The woman beside him, however, was much more... interesting. Too bad he did not have time to study her case in detail, it would have been his pleasure to find out what secrets were hidden in her blood. Zabrard knew, by experience, that every tiefling has something to hide, at least the reasons of his own existence. But he didn't remember he had actually *seen* her in the battle. Which was probably not good.

"I see you are a determined fighter. Is this a pleasure to have been fighting by your side or something else?"

"A pleasure ?" He arched an eyebrow. His voice carried some contempt with it, as his standing did. "I've been tracking down these men for almost three days, now, and now that I finally come to strike the final blow and engage in an epic battle, I find the fight halfway ended !"
Zabrard violently shoved his pointy teeth in the piece of meat, taking another bite.
"*nom nom* I bet you'll want *nom nom* to share the loot, *nom nom* won't you !"
He sighed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes (yep, all that at once !). He relaxed a bit, obviously calmed down by the meat filling his stomach.
"Well..." he said with a shrug "At least I have chicken."


((Bonus points if you understood that last reference ))

Avera did not even look to the side as the dire wolf was doing so, watching Alex and Neeshka. They were ok but the little woman could guess that both Alex and this new, wild tiefling were likely not enjoying the sight and feel of the other. This red man was much more of an infernal type and that would grate on Alex just as Alex's holiness would make the tiefling feel uncomfortable and probably even antagonistic, if her senses were right.

"A pleasure ?"

There was contempt along with an arch of the brow which made the halfling smirk.

"I've been tracking down these men for almost three days, now, and now that I finally come to strike the final blow and engage in an epic battle, I find the fight halfway ended !"

So that was it. The smirk widened as she watched the man bite hard into the chicken as if he were taking out his anger on that simple piece of meat. He probably was for that matter but it didn't bother her. Some people had bad tempers and the little red head was one who had been many times easily accused, rightfully too, of having a nasty reaction to some things.

"*nom nom* I bet you'll want *nom nom* to share the loot, *nom nom* won't you ! Well... at least I have chicken."

That was when she laughed. The dire wolf beside her made a sound like a rough, Dwarven chuckle and continued to do so as long as Avera did. She leaned against the animal, almost disappearing into his neck fur the pushed against his leg and slapped him. The wolf looked down at her as both stopped their amused sounds.

"Took me about four hours." She stated evenly as she got closer to the tiefling. The dire wolf got up, eyeing the man and walking just behind the small woman and to the side, "You did pretty good mind you. The only one I know of who would have tracked this group faster than me is ... hmmm..."

Avera looked up at the wolf then nodded, "Somewhere else right now. Anyway, about that loot ... Neeshka can have some jewelry and the rest you can take. There's a lot in those tents over there." She pointed to a couple tents.

"How are you two doing over there, Alex? Nees?" She glanced over at the other two.

"Come it's healing time. Let me remove those arrows and heal your wounds, Mister Tiefling. What is your favorite song?"

((WOOT my Alex is back and no I don't know where that statement comes from Zabrad but I know it ... I mean I can't remember where I know it from - addition - Leeroy Jenkins. I had to look it up on Wiki. Interesting getting famous by getting your WOW group demolished LOL ))

"How are you two doing over there, Alex? Nees?"

"I'm fine over here. Llathander's blessings kept me safe from harm. How about you, Neeshka?"

"Oh I'm just peachy. They couldn't even lay a finger on me. What, don't tell me you were worried, holy boy?" Neeshka laughed, almost mocking as she did so, but not enough to be insulting. It somehow fit her like a glove.

Alex nodded, cleaning his sword and sheathing it, his head low to hide the slight flush on his cheeks. "Is that a crime now, not that you'd be one to talk," he teased back, determined to give as good as he got, "You go ahead and see what's there; I'll help Avera heal our new friend..."

For a moment before she turned away, excited at the prospect of treasure, Neeshka looked a little hurt and Alex wondered if he'd gone too far, before she vanished into one of the tents and started rooting around. Alex crossed over to the new Tiefling and to Avera, helping prepare the wounds. "Hold still; this shouldn't take long." He started reciting the words of a prayer to his god, asking Lathander to close the tiefling's wounds and restore lost blood.

Well, now what?

That was what Carhelka's eyes meant, or so Calliara thought while shrugging, looking back at her companion. Like hell she knew. Those bandits were dead, and that made her promise a bit difficult to fulfill, but also made things easier for her. The half elf shrugged again, thinking.

Carhelka nudged her leg with her nose, whimpering a bit, and the archer sighed and brushed the wolf's head with the back of her gloved hand. Looking down at her, Calliara smiled brightly. Carhelka snorted. Her crazy pup was going to do something irresponsible again for sure.

Standing up from where she had been hiding, a bit far from the camp and with the wind to her so her smell wouldn't get in her way to meet these new and interesting people, the First Arrow walked casually into camp, eyeing curiously the death bodies here and there, and then the people standing there, with her childish, chirpy smirk.

''Well it seems you had a great party in here. I'm so sad I'm late to enjoy it. May I give you my thanks for killing these greedy bastards for me?''

"Took me about four hours. You did pretty good mind you. The only one I know of who would have tracked this group faster than me is ... hmmm... Somewhere else right now. Anyway, about that loot ... Neeshka can have some jewelry and the rest you can take. There's a lot in those tents over there."

Distracted by the food in his hand, Zabrard paid little attention to the halfling's words ; only the last ones triggered a mechanical reaction, rolling his eyes, and mumbling something along the line : "Sure. Women always get the jewlery."

Wait. Four hours ?

Zabrard frowned a little.

That's about more than the time it takes to get here from the nearest road. Well, obviously the little woman was a ranger of some sort, so she would be moving faster than anybody else in the forest. But what about the two others ? The cleric certainly didn't look like a worshipper of some of the woodland's deities, so the group had to move, at best, as fast as he could. So, they were already in the forest when they began to track the bandits ?

"Come it's healing time. Let me remove those arrows and heal your wounds, Mister Tiefling. What is your favorite song?"

The ranger's words brought the warlock back to reality. Ignoring the request for a song, he reluctantly turned his back to the halfling ; it wasn't part of his habits, but since they were accompanied by such a cleric, he figured they wouldn't be prone to stabbing him in the back without warning. It would take more than that, anyway. But while the arrows were being removed, he resumed thinking.

That leads to another question : if such is the case, what were they doing in the forest ? Travelling the roads isn't really safe, but travelling through the woods is quite tricky. Maybe an escort party, but for whom ? And why in the Hells would anybody track bandits to their encampment for four hours, and then launch a full frontal assault on it, while it would be so much easier to just carry on ? Whoever they were, they must have had some interest in the routing of these thiefs. And loot didn't seem to be it. Then what ?

He was woken up of his thinking when he felt the temperature in front of him dramatically rising up. Zabrard instinctively looked down to the bronze plate covering his heart. He didn't see the cleric walking towards him, as he prepared to heal the severe scratch left on his back by a not-too-friendly dagger ; but now that the god-blessed man had gotten closer, the artifact on the warlock's chest began to react to his presence, radiating an infernal heat.
As long as he had his back turned, the heat only affected the empty space in front of him ; but when he heard the cleric starting to recite his prayer, Zabrard turned around, causing temperature to rise, now around both the halfling and the human. The plate's reaction to such a casual prayer was noticeable, yet largely bearable.

"I would advise you reconsidered this prayer, young man." The warlock said with a smirk. His thinking had taken away some of his anger, leaving an hint of irony instead. "Not that I do not admire your willingness to heal the wounds of a complete stranger, but they'll heal soon enough by themselves."
He turned his head to the halfling and nodded "Thank you for getting those stupid arrows away from me, and not trying to stab me in the back in the process."

"Now if you'll excuse me," he tossed the now bare chicken bone on the ground "I have to check if those worthless scumbags have left anything useful behind them."

On this, Zabrard walked to one of the tents, carefully avoiding to get anywhere near the tiefling woman. He scanned the ground on his way trusting his senses to point him to any valuable magical object, but felt nothing remarkable : the bandits' weapons were of poor quality and had, at best, a minor enchantment. Nothing interesting. The warlock had little hope to find anything worth here, but he couldn't just give up now. As he crossed the doorstep of a half-burned-down tent, he heard the voice of another woman entering the camp. He let out an upset sigh, sounding somewhat like a bull scratching the ground, as he grumbled to himself :

"Yeah right, a party. That's exactly what it's starting to look like. Why can't I just chase down a few bandits without attracting all the loonies of the country ? By the Nine !"

Shaking his head in disbelief, he set out to turn the remains of the tent upside-down, forcing chests open, briefly examining every item he came across.