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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Sparky" data-source="post: 2938135" data-attributes="member: 13681">Oliver pulls his blades off of their sheathes strapped to Whistler's saddle. The horse is obviously distressed, it's eyes wide, ears laid back and nostrils flaring. But it's focus is on the elementals. Oliver recalls the horse's brio under saddle and remember its warhorse training. And Tatlock's mount as well. He isn't trained himself to guide a warhorse, but maybe all they need is some encouragement, "Go!" he shouts, "Hyah!""Nurthk, grab my crossbow!" The fine bow is covered in loose rubble, the arc of one arm sticking out, a bolt mounted and ready to fire, he growls, "Careful!" It's difficult to say if Oliver is warning Nurthk to be careful of hurting himself or careful of damaging the bow. It could be either with the cantankerous old man.Once the blades are drawn he moves into range of the nearest rock creature. Hooves seem to damage these, let's hope blades do as well. He girds himself mentally and moves to attack. Bolts strike and screams of pain heighten, Why? Why are we doing this? He can't spare a glance for his comrades, but hopes they will be all right when the danger has passed.OOC: die rolls forthcoming</blockquote>