Rolling Excursion into the Land of Cheese

[GodOfCheese]

The Attack on the Barn Begins

As Chloe finishes her prayer, she nods to Davron and the two take up firing positions. Davron draws his bow back while Chloe aims, each training on one of the four guards. He exhales slowly, preparing to loose his arrow.

Without warning, the man next to his intended target is transfixed by a crossbow bolt. The stubby projectile embeds itself in the shoddy wood of the barn with a soft crunch, and the guard’s neck sprays thick, black slime. His body sags against the wall and is held up for a moment by the deadly instrument, but then the slug’s flesh rends, disgorging more chunky fluids as the body tears away from the bolt and flops to the ground.

Davron releases his arrow, which flies true, even as his victim turns to scan the area for his attackers. The shaft pierces his stomach, evoking another black shower. The man staggers, but does not fall. Davron fits another arrow, impressed by Chloe’s skill in felling the first man.

A split second later, Davron hears the short spang of Chloe’s crossbow firing again. This bolt strikes the man Davron just shot, but in the leg. This makes a splintery crack-sound that the two can hear even at their distance as the bone shatters. This time, the man does fall—not dead, but certainly bereft of a functioning leg. Chloe wastes no time, and Davron now hears the clicks and ratchet-noises of her reloading.

“Nice shots!” Davron exclaims under his breath, training on the third man. “Both of them!” He releases the next arrow, but the third slug evades it, having now spotted them.

“Thanks,” Chloe mutters quizzically, “but I’ve only fired once...?”

One of the two remaining slugs takes up a defensive posture, and the other silently turns his back to try and force the door open. The door is blocked by the prone form of the disabled slug, who is now trying to drag himself out of that predicament without success. The door remains blocked, and the man on the door suddenly sprouts two arrows and is enveloped in a momentary green aura before he staggers to the floor.

A third arrow punches into the remaining slug’s lower chest, between the tough surfaces of his cured leather armor. A similar, dim green flash issues from the slug’s body and chunky black slug-fluids stream from his wound, dribbling over the arrowshaft and its feathers. The slug raises its sword, though it’s not facing Davron and Chloe, and effects what appears to be a half-hearted charge somewhere to their left before being cut down by another crossbow bolt.

Davron leans out into the stone street warily, seeking the slug’s intended target. A ways across the stone-laden avenue is an adjoining alley. And out of that alley steps Effrem, smiling and carrying his enchanted bow* calmly, followed closely by Andrew, who is pointing a crossbow in Davron’s general direction.

“Effrem, you’re alive!” Chloe exclaims. She stops short of rushing over to hug him, reminded of the still-living slug with the ruined leg.

Effrem’s smile broadens, happy that Chloe hadn’t been eaten by slugs. “Same to you, old friend.” His eyes dart between Davron and Chloe, studying them. Gesturing to Andrew, who is still brandishing the crossbow, he mutters under his breath, “Have you known the slugs to attack one another?”

“It could be a trick,” is Andrew’s response, still keeping the crossbow casually at the ready. “We should be cautious. Remember what I said...”

“Andrew,” Effrem replies, “they didn’t know we were here. They wouldn’t have weakened their own numbers just in case you or I happened by... it’s just coincidence.”

Andrew’s eyes narrow. “There’s no such thing as coincidence.”

Effrem seems to consider this. He jogs over to the barn, where Davron and Chloe are already walking carefully, their eyes on the door for reinforcements. “Where’s Zara?” he asks.

Davron points to the door. “In there, I think.”

Chloe’s head fakes toward the slug on the ground. “They snatched her. I don’t know why.” She whispers, “We thought they’d snatched you too...”

Andrew reaches into his jacket and pulls out a wicked-looking dagger with a curved blade that doesn’t shine in the sunlight, and walks toward the flailing slug on the ground. Davron, seeing this, motions to the still-closed door with his bow. “Reinforcements will be here any moment.”

Effrem nods in agreement and throws his back calmly against the wall to the left of the door. Andrew, pocketing his dagger, is right behind him. Chloe and Davron take up positions on the other side, she with her crossbow loaded, he with blades at the ready.

Nothing happens.

---
* Effrem's weapon, as enchanted and consecrated by Chloe, is a +2 Holy Mighty Composite Longbow. To simplify game mechanics, I ruled that the holy damage inflicted by the arrows produced a visible effect on evil creatures. So, whenever it hits, the target (if evil) is momentarily bathed in a green glow.

 

[GodOfCheese]

Word of the Attack Reaches the Bad Guys

“What’s happening?” Milo demands of a much taller (human-sized) figure, who is moving as if in a hurry. The man stops, and two or three other vague silhouettes gather next to him.

“We are...” the man begins.

“...under attack.” one of the other silhouettes finishes crisply. Zara notes that the two men’s voices seem dead and emotionless, yet also lack the halting manner to which she had become accustomed from the Slug-people.

“Oh really?” the halfling asks, sounding more pleased than surprised. “How many of them?” He snickers and interrupts himself. “Wait! Let me guess... two of them? An overdressed man and a... stuffy armored woman with a strange nose*? So predictable.”

Zara’s angry eyes narrow, as if she could project her ki from them and kill Milo’s silhouette from a distance. Could discipline be enough to kill him, or would he be immune to it**?

“There are...”
“...four of them,” the two men reply.

“Oh.” Milo’s voice projects toward Zara. “Made some friends, have we?”

“They will kill you, Milo,” Zara growls. “But only if they beat me to it.”

The sorcerer snorts loudly. “We’ll see about that.” To the slugs: “Describe them?”

“One male of...”
“...elf parentage, two human...”
“...males, and one human...”
“...female.”

“I wonder who our new friends are, Zara?” Milo asks in a petulant, grating tone. To the Slugs, he asks: “What are they armed with?”


*Milo is referring to Effrem and Chloe, whose unusually pointed nose is a family trait. Milo has never met Davron or Andrew.
**Zara is Lawful Neutral. Milo was a well-played Chaotic Neutral when he was with the party. Zara hated Milo from day one, but kept her feelings to herself. Milo knew it anyway and took sadistic pleasure in clandestinely hindering Zara's efforts to be civil.

 

[GodOfCheese]

Them and Us, Them and Us...

“Really, any second now,” Davron mutters. “Reinforcements...”

Effrem shakes his head. “Were we supposed to make an appointment?”

“Effrem,” Chloe ventures absently, her mind partially focused on tuning out the whispering voices. “Do you hear anything inside?”

The archer puts his ear to the wood cautiously. “Footsteps. Lots of them... not hurried...”

“If they aren’t going to attack us,” Davron wonders, “what are they doing?”

Andrew turns his head towards the wounded Slug, who is staring at them intently. “Studying us.”

----

“...two of them carry loaded...”
“...crossbows. They appear to be...”
“...waiting for us.” Both slugs twitch a bit.

“What?” Milo asks, impatience evident in his voice. “Speak!”

“They have neutralized the...”
“...part of us left outside.”

“You are next, Milo,” Zara chides intensely. “Your blood will coat these walls when we finish with you!”

Milo’s shape seems to consider and reject this as a possibility. “I don’t think so. Gag her,” he says exasperatedly. “And bring that scroll! I think it’s time I brought in friends of my own.”

 

[GodOfCheese]

Outside...

Chloe scowls at Andrew. “Was that truly necessary? He was defenseless...!”

Andrew shrugs and wipes the chunky black slug-blood from his dagger nonchalantly.

Effrem answers for him, “Probably. I’ll fill you in later.” He gestures to the building. “Andrew, do you know this place?”

Andrew shakes his head, still cleaning the blade fastidiously. “Never been inside, but I know there’s no back door if that’s what you’re asking.”

“What about the roof?” Effrem asks, looking upward excitedly. The barn, though very tall, does not look especially sturdy.

Andrew seems surprised by this question. “What about the roof?” His eyes dart between Effrem and the front door, never straying to the roof. “Ahhhh...!”

Effrem looks at Chloe. “Do you have any cloud-walking spells today? If I could get to the roof, I could shoot arrows down inside and keep people away from the doors long enough for the rest of you to storm the place.”

Chloe shakes her head. “If I’d had Airwalk, I’d have used it for us to escape that crowd of people before, and we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Davron looks at the rickety wooden planks that form the building’s wall. In many places, those planks have twisted, lengthened, or shortened with time, and seldom fit together, assuming they did at some earlier moment. “That looks like a horrendous climb if you can do it quietly.” He favors Effrem with a questioning expression.

Effrem slings his bow, at which point Andrew breaks into a wide grin. “What?” Effrem asks. “Do you want to come too?”

The criminal shakes his head. “Not for all the loot in the world, but you go right ahead.” He gestures flamboyantly to the wall.

Effrem nods around to everyone before reaching up to find a rude handhold in the gap left between two warped planks, their surfaces frayed and flaking away. Lifting himself up, the archer eyes the surfaces above him, many of which are pocked and pitted as if they have been at points the objects of many woodpeckers’ affections. He squints and reaches for another handhold, as quietly as he can.

 

[GodOfCheese]

Meanwhile...

“Yes… hold the torch,” Milo snorts. “Don’t burn me, you fool! Hold it steady! Right there.”

Zara’s flashing eyes study the Halfling and his two unnatural attendants. Below her eyes and flared, angry nostrils bites her mouth upon a bitter, chalk-tasting fabric tied taut in her jaws. Her throat, hoarse beyond her dry lips, growls quietly as she slowly and carefully tests her bonds.

The gag is extremely tight, and as such very painful. Milo took great enjoyment in watching the slugs tie it on her. I will make him hurt equally, she vows silently, when I escape.

In the recently improved lighting conditions, Zara can see Milo much better. He appears more or less as she last saw him in the maze, though his outfit has grown even gaudier. The Halfling is leaning upon his rod like a staff and squinting at a long scroll being held before him by one of his slugs, who is kneeling. As she notes the heavy-looking broadsword at the kneeling slug’s waist, her eyes narrow in recognition.

The other slug is standing behind Milo, holding the torch down by the Halfling’s head at a specific height which the two had spent several minutes negotiating in painstaking detail. Most of this time was used by Milo berating the slug for not following his vague instructions to his satisfaction. The slug said nothing but attempted dumbly to comply. This second slug has a pair of hatchets strapped to his chest with loose, leather belts of expensive make, which match his leather shirt.

Biting the fabric in concentration, Zara works the cords at her wrists slowly, methodically. She feels their surfaces scrape her skin painfully, but both the cords and Zara’s discipline hold. Unfortunately, Zara’s captors seem quite knowledgeable about bondage. So, she tries her ankles, slowly…

 

[GodOfCheese]

Beyond the Door...

Andrew listens carefully at the door, before nodding around at the others. Davron steps in carefully next to him, blades in hand, and prepares himself to meet whatever is on the other side. The two men watch each other carefully, neither entirely trusting the other.

Behind Davron, Chloe reviews what remain of her granted powers for the day again, still not confident that she’s got anything useful prepared for this.

Davron nods to Andrew.

Andrew promptly nods back.

Davron squints, the skin between his eyebrows wrinkling unpleasantly. His lips part slightly in an ugly expression of exasperation.

Andrew holds out his arms and shrugs, shaking his head in apparent confusion. “What?” he whispers.

Davron gestures violently to the doors with his shortsword.

“You’re not expecting me to open those, are you?” Andrew whispers hastily, one eye staying on the left door.

Chloe exhales a gasp of affrontery. Davron glares and waves one blade menacingly at the criminal. His thin lips sputter incoherently, too flabbergasted for words.

“Open the door, you buffoon,” Chloe hisses icily, mystic syllables flowing into her mind as she prepares to cast.

Davron grits his teeth and Andrew, with some hesitation, reaches for the rusted iron handle, which is warped and worn by time. The frayed wood beneath the handle is stained grey-brown with minerals long since leeched from the metal above it. Andrew’s bare digits close over the handle, his palm slightly cushioned by fingerless gloves. He looks to Davron.

Davron nods exaggeratedly, and this time Andrew throws the door open violently, jumping away from it with great haste. In his (and the door’s) wake, a dozen slugs stand poised with weapons raised: morningstars, hammers, and various polearms. Davron shrieks an unintelligible battlecry and sets upon them.

Behind him, Chloe waves her hands and palms the sun-symbol at her belt. Raising it before her, she chants a few rapid syllables, gathering energy to herself. The symbol glows dimly, then flares brightly before focusing into a pale orange beam that stabs over Davron’s shoulder and into the dark room beyond him.

Several of the slugs duck, but most are caught unaware as Chloe waves the short-lived beam around their number*. Several slugs are burnt, though none of them badly. Most noticeably, though, she does manage to set several of the slugs’ clothes and hair aflame.

Davron’s swords strike out immediately against the slugs, and within moments produce a multitude of deafening clangs that are followed by ringing song as the blades echo off parrying weapons and occasionally bite into soft flesh. The ranger presses into the clot of enemies, slicing viciously and mercilessly into them. Chunky black fluid sprays out onto the street, mixed with no small amount of Davron’s own blood, for he is not alone in his skill with a blade.

Davron crouches under a slug’s outward swing, stabbing upward with his shortsword without looking. The blade hesitates a moment, then sinks in and is just as quickly withdrawn, producing a sluice of warm dampness along the warrior’s arm. Davron whirls around, the longsword in his other hand held high to deflect an overhead slash by the next-nearest slug. To his surprise, though, his adversary’s body falls back and away from him, an arrow protruding from its head.

A fading green aura around the body announces to Davron and Chloe that Effrem’s firing position on the roof is as good as they’d hoped.

* Searing Light, instance best described by Paranoia's Firing into a Crowd rule: "if a shot misses, it had to have hit somebody."

 

[GodOfCheese]

Milo's Plan and its Effects

“Many of…”
“…us have been…”
“…extinguished. Finish…”
“…the spell.”

Milo continues to chant, reading off the strange, leathery scroll in the flickering torchlight. He waves his hand dismissively behind him, obviously not needing the distraction. Zara notes this and smiles slightly. Her knowledge of magic is limited, but she has seen Chloe use scrolls enough to know that Milo’s exaggerated care isn’t normal.

His concentration falters—the scroll’s magic must be greater than his ability. She struggles with her bonds, wondering what she can do to distract him, and what the consequences might be if she does so successfully. Her ears prick up a little at the thought that she might have just heard the noise of swordplay.

Milo raises one hand, palm out, then closes his fist and makes a hasty “come-hither” gesture. The other slug watches this but says nothing. Milo’s hand then makes a scissor-like motion.


********


A dozen or so slugs back simultaneously away from Davron, weapons waving threateningly, but in obvious retreat. Davron presses forward, but a warning word from Chloe and the opacity of the shadows inside slow his advance. Distantly, Davron realizes that Chloe isn’t wearing her luminous amulet. Crunching noises above distract him for a moment, but new-formed rents in the roofing material admit shafts of welcome illumination in the dark room. Davron advances cautiously, followed by Chloe and (at a respectful distance) Andrew, who is methodically reloading his crossbow.

The slug mob retreats into the shadows, their footsteps echoing on wooden planks, but not receding very far. Davron snarls at the darkness, but stands fast, not pursuing.

Chloe waves her hands in the air, drawing upon Pelor’s sparkling power. She smiles, not having counted this granted spell among those she’d find useful. Forgive me, Radiant One, I should not have despaired. From the stylized, solar medallion in Chloe’s outstretched hand spreads a shaft of bright light. The shaft opens out immediately until it emanates from every surface of Pelor’s Symbol, issuing unhindered even through the flesh of the priestess’s hand.

The slugs, now visible through a doorway, recoil slightly from the blinding daylight streaming from Chloe’s hand. Temporarily dazzled, they shade their eyes and back away.

Chloe, seeing their reactions, loses herself momentarily in her deity’s radiance. A warmth spreads through her, from her heart out along her back, to the tips of her fingers and the small of her neck. Taking a breath, she hears herself calling to them. “Kneel! Throw down your arms and beg redemption of the light!” Her pale skin pinkens with inner warmth. “Repent! Repent your evil ways or scurry out into the shadows where you belong!”

Effrem, atop the roof, blinks in surprise at Chloe’s unexpected proselytization, but the calm warrior in him refuses to pass up the opportunity afforded by her illumination. He hustles with remarkable stealth and grace across the shaky surface and kicks off a shoddy scrap of wooden roof. The grainy plank emits a puff of dust, bits of rot, and old, rubbery tar originally used to seal it, then reveals another area from which to attack his enemies.

The archer kneels efficiently, and looses once into the opening without looking, relying only on his glimpse of the slugs’ locations before he moved to guide his arrow. His aim is true, and below, a slug’s leather-clad chest sprouts the feathery shaft of Effrem’s memory. Its skin radiates the green glitter of the arrow’s righteous wrath before the body collapses unbreathing upon the wooden floor.

 

[GodOfCheese]

Zara, Milo, and More Bondage

Zara smiles, certain now in the knowledge that she has heard Chloe’s voice. She closes her eyes, focusing her ki and concentrating. There! Bending her legs back as far as they’ll go, Zara feels the bonds on her wrists loosen slightly. Working all four limbs in careful concert, Zara verily arches over backwards so she can get enough slack to slip her left wrist free of the vicious wires.

Her eyes never stray from Milo and his slug companion, whose combined attention is focused on Milo’s spellcasting. Zara still can’t discern whether the spell is being cast correctly or not, but assumes that since the Halfling is still mumbling and reading the scroll, his mistakes (if any) must not be too significant. Mindful of Milo’s distraction, she seethes quietly, ever closer to her revenge.

Still holding it behind her back, Zara flexes her left fist experimentally and feels sensation tickle back into prickly fingers. When she’s adjusted to it, she carefully feels the contour of the wire around her wrist. Probing the loops, she finds no knot. It must be tied at my feet.

The warrior tightens her right hand, flexing her wrist muscles alternately, feeling some of her flesh harden and expand, and leaving other surfaces recessed. She methodically probes each surface, slowly turning the loops to align the bundles with soft spots on her arms. These, Zara knows, will pass the comparably thicker portions of the bonds more easily than less yielding surfaces, like her wristbones or knuckles.

An abrupt change in Milo’s speech patterns captures Zara’s attention. He takes a deep breath and waves his arms wildly, producing what at first appears to be a duplicate of himself. Zara squints and, looking again, sees a shimmering oval shape hovering in the air before Milo. The effect is very shiny, almost reflective, and is oriented like a wall-mirror suspended at a convenient height before the tiny man.

Milo speaks a single, incomprehensible word: “Eillenarthilax*.” In response the surface of the “mirror” seems to ripple and contort, darkening to blackness. At first, Zara thinks that the mirror has vanished, but realizes under further scrutiny that it’s still there. The effect is visible only because it is much darker than the surrounding air, like a hole in the darkness.

When Milo resumes speaking, it is in a language Zara realizes she can understand—the long hisses and snaps of the draconic tongue, which Zara learned during her training at the Crescent Moon monastery, so long ago:

“Mighty predator of the abyss, thy wings and spines are legend. Thy dread maw consumes armies of the brave! Thy flaming nostrils immolate the heroes of the world! I call to thee in ritual from this sufficiently dark place with a meager sacrifice: a maiden pure to whet thy infernal appetites, and the promise of many more should I thy terrible favor merit.”​

He pauses and looks Zara up and down. “You are pure, aren’t you? It seemed like a safe bet**.”

A distant hiss emanates from the darkness. Milo’s face ripples and dances slightly to Zara’s eye and he looks at the orb. He’s sweating, and Zara quickly realizes why.

It is suddenly very, very hot in the dark chamber.


* pronounced "ee-yell-enn-ARR-thih-lacks"
** Milo's implication is that Zara's looks preclude the possibility of her being anything but "pure", an insult that goes over Zara's head and also shows how little he really knows her.

 

[GodOfCheese]

Battle-Chatter

The slugs, now well-illuminated by Chloe, have mounted a fighting withdrawl to a room separate from the barn, with a much lower ceiling. There they form a defensive line while those in back (protected from the adventurers) work on something attached to the floor.

Davron advances into the doorway, his tar-dripping swords held at the ready. Chloe is right behind him, shining her holy symbol at arm’s length for additional illumination. Andrew, his back to the wall, keeps Chloe between him and the slug-front. Behind them, Effrem climbs hastily down from his perch on the roof, not bothering to be quiet this time.

Davron and the slug skirmishers trade a few feints; neither faction ready to give up the doorway to the other and enable an advance by his opponent. Simultaneously though, neither is willing to spend any time in the doorway (exposed to attack from all sides) to hold it. This minor architectural feature is simultaneously a tactical weakness and a strategic necessity.

Behind him, Effrem steps off the wall and readies his bow, rushing carefully past Andrew to train an arrow at the mob of slugs swinging and jabbing at Davron. When he reaches Chloe, he looses an arrow into the mass of bodies, being rewarded by a green flare within. With this, the slugs back away, reorganizing to put polearms between themselves and Davron to slow his pursuit.

Chloe steps in behind a winded and bleeding Davron, brandishing her Morningstar to aid him in beating back the halberds and poleaxes. “Don’t falter now, Davron, we have them on the run!”

Effrem, advancing slowly enough to carefully fire a few arrows over his two compatriots’ shoulders, is more skeptical. “I’m not so sure, Chloe.” He pauses to train on a slug who is moving fast behind and parallel to the skirmish line. With a twang of Effrem’s bowstring and an emerald flash of sanctified energy, the slug crumples over and disappears behind the wall of bodies. “This seems almost too easy. They outnumber us at least ten to one—why are they retreating?”

“It’s a trick, obviously!” calls Andrew, firing his crossbow from behind the cover of a moldy support beam. “Your friend is dead and they’re luring us into a trap! We should retreat and fight them later, when we’ve had time to form a more effective strategy!”

“No!” Chloe calls in a voice with equal parts desperate hope that Zara lives and angry disgust at Andrew’s willingness to give up so easily.

“She’s dead, woman!”

Davron parries the broad swing of a poleaxe with both swords crossed. Over his shoulder he frustratedly utters, “A little help here?” before offering a quick (but ineffective) retaliatory stab.

Chloe blinks, her attention returned to the present. “We’re not leaving without her,” she shouts angrily, “and that’s final!” Exhaling to calm herself after successfully fending off the urge to add “or her corpse” to the middle of that statement, Chloe summons Pelor into herself and heals several of Davron’s wounds. There are too many of them… eventually I’m going to drop my guard to heal him and they’ll skewer me.

Andrew’s expression is one of obvious disagreement, but he sees no reason to run (yet), so he keeps to his position behind the degraded timber.

The foursome press (or blindly chase, from Andrew’s perspective) the slugs down a tight stone tunnel covered by a trapdoor, which the slugs had previously been working to expose behind the skirmish line. Almost claustrophobically small, the shaft is a steep incline with old stairs carved into it. This architectural feature proves to be yet another strategic mixed-bag for the party’s advance, because its close quarters negate the advantage afforded by the slugs’ polearms, but also hinders Davron’s ability to parry.

The descent is made without any real blows landed by either side, with each concentrating on defense. Andrew, still hindmost in the barn, elects to remain silent.

 

[GodOfCheese]

The sound of nearby swordplay speeds Zara’s wriggling, though she remains focused enough to continue working methodically and not give in to outright haste. The slugs don’t seem to react at all. Milo risks a look over his shoulder but quickly returns to the “mirror” split seconds before an unearthly sound fills the room.

At first, the noise could be mistaken for a prolonged rasp, like the pouring of many gemstones or coins from a steel chute into a rapidly filling barrel. However, after a few moments of this, Zara recognizes variations in tone like the hissing of rough Draconic, but as if pronounced by a being who had not seen water for a hundred years. But where those hisses would normally be broken by snaps or clicks of the mandibles there is instead a crunch like iron jaws crushing old bones.

Though the reply is short, its crunch-punctuated hissing requires two full minutes to deliver: “More than this bony wretch will my favor thee cost, wyrmling.”

Milo pales noticeably, but holds his composure. A spark of inspiration crosses his face, followed quickly by a devious smile as he looks over his shoulder again. Speaking carefully and specifically, he hisses back, again in the tongue of dragonkind. “Then I thee offer the soft, pale skin of a maiden holy. Surely the flesh of a priestess fair would this offer thy interests pique?”

Zara’s eyes widen slightly at this. You are mine, she thinks as she slips her left ankle free of the loop. Not willing to risk the possibility that Milo might somehow gain the raspy creature’s “favor”, she decides to act immediately, despite being exhausted and having her right hand and foot still tethered to the chair. In preparation for the exertion of battle, though, Zara makes one compromise. She reaches carefully to her face and draws the gag from her lips.

Flexing her quadricep, Zara slowly brings her freed left foot to the floor, whose dirty stone feels cool and damp to the touch in contrast to the warm air, but fortunately not slick. Her other foot plants softly on the other side of the chair and she transfers her weight experimentally between the two, lifting the chair legs off the ground. As expected, this constrains her movements considerably.

In the gloom, Zara sees movement. The torchbearing slug’s face turns toward her. Hearing footsteps behind her, and seeing the torchbearer’s hand go for one of his hatchets, Zara erupts into motion. She hurls herself forward with a jerky burst of energy from her calves, though the thrust is cut savagely short by the wire binding her ankle.

The slug, though not off-guard, is ill-equipped to defend himself against Zara’s bizarre lunge. Twisting in the air as she moves, Zara swings the chair outward in a clumsy spiral before her free foot touches down. Balancing fully on that leg, Zara throws all her might into a vertical leap. Continuing her spin, Zara tilts off-axis and whips the chair around before the slug can draw his weapon.

Milo’s first inkling that something might be amiss is the sound of Zara’s wooden chair shattering against the slug standing behind him.