Greenfield
Adventurer
***
Marcus went to tend to Seeburn's wounds. Between the battle madness and his immense size, he had been careless of danger, and so was bleeding from a dozen places.
"Be sure to leave some of those.", Penn advised. "He may want a few battle scars, and his father will need to see them, to know that Seeburn really is a warrior."
Seeburn looked up and nodded his agreement, then collapsed again to let the weariness pass.
In the mean time the others assessed the condition of the fallen. One was still breathing. A minor amount of healing magic was applied, to ensure that he'd live to see the next dawn, then his hands and feet were securely bound.
"Let's move him inside there.", Sylus suggested, indicating the small cottage that Seeburn had damaged in the battle. "That way he won't freeze to death." Then, seeing the questioning looks of the others, he elaborated. "Two escaped, and might still set the town ablaze. We need to either catch them, or be sure that they've gone. And then we have another battle running."
The prisoner and his fallen comrades were searched, in particular for hidden blades and incendiaries, and a few bits of jewelry were claimed, then the party set off.
"This gate doesn't get used much.", Sylus remarked, once they were outside. "No tracks in the snow except theirs coming in, and two more coming out." He set off after them, but within a few hundred yards he pulled up. "They're running straight home.", he said, pointing to the length of their stride, and the trailing marks their heels made in the snow. "And they can make tracks faster than I can follow them."
"Then let's get back to the city. The battle will be under way by now."
***
The companions ran along the wall, to see if there were more of the bandits, but all was quiet. It wasn't the shortest path, but it was a prudent one. Sylus, in fact, decided to stay and patrol the area, in case they had missed something. He didn't so much stand guard as go hunting.
"It's a frame of mind.", he had once explained. "Standing watch, you're waiting for the enemy to come to you. You give them the choice, and the initiative. Instead, presume that the enemy is out there, then go and hunt him. As a rabbit or fox will seek a burrow, so an enemy scout will seek a vantage point. Look in those vantage points. You hunt him, instead of letting him hunt you."
Tonight, he was hunting them.
***
The chill, heavy sea air seemed to stream off of them as they ran, as if they should see eddies and curls of it in their wake. Indeed there was a bit of mist building as they approached the waterfront. Across the way they could see three ships under siege, slogged to a halt by the thick seaweed of the shallows, enhanced by Druidic magics. Flame arrows lit the sky, and fiery tar balls arced away from the harbor defenses as the forces on the shore laid in with everything they had.
"I thought I heard there were four ships sighted.", Marcus recalled as he stared across the bay at the spectacle.
"The scouts may have miscounted.", Seeburn offered in explanation.
"No, look!", the Cleric cried, pointing off towards the headlands. There, far from the main battle, a fourth ship could be seen, a dark outline against the filtered moonlight.
The companions redoubled their efforts, sprinting up the shore line towards the enemy.
"You can't land a ship there.", Seeburn snorted in disgust. "The rocks will rip her belly out, for sure."
"Not so sure.", Nedel countered. "See, ahead of her? She has a pilot boat, sounding the way, trying to find a deeper channel."
The range to even the pilot boat would have been a challenge for Sylus himself, and the Humans in the party had to take it on faith that there was a boat at all, for both the ship and the pilot craft were running dark.
Still, the party unlimbered their bows and let fly with quarrel and bolt. They were rewarded with naught but the splashing sounds of arrows striking the sea, but somewhere within that cascade of sound, there was the solid thunk of arrow striking wood.
Cassius stood in frustration, for he carried neither bow nor sling. Penn tossed his own set to the man, and took a different course. A short song and a quick transformation and he was winged and aloft once more.
Perhaps it was the darkness or the sea breeze, the chop of the waves or the chill of the night, but this time it seemed as if he was flying through molasses. The exhilaration of first flight was gone, and now the hard reality set in: The enemy was a long way out, and he came to know the truth of the old adage: “There is no cover in the sky.”
Nedel conjured a spark of light, which he cupped in his hand lest it give the enemy a clear target, and wove it carefully into the fletchings of his bolt. Then, taking careful aim towards the creak of oars in the darkness, he let fly.
"Thunk!", went the arrow, and suddenly the scene was lit. The pilot boat held seven, six on the oars and one with a fathoming pole to probe the bottom as they crept in. Surprisingly, all were Halflings, an odd choice for boatmen.
The next volley of arrows struck true, and with a cry the man on the bow fell into the water. He struggled for a moment against the chill waters only to be forced under by the boat as it rode right over him.
The poor boatmen were in a terrible spot, for if they tried to return fire then they would make no headway, and the range was as long for them as it was for the shore defenses. They elected to keep rowing, though they no longer knew if the course they set was one the ship could follow.
Then, oddly, the wind shifted. It had been coming off the sea to the west, but now curled around and was headed directly south, into the teeth of the ship. Companions looked around and spied First with a few of the Centaur deemed too young for the main battle. He held a scroll in one hand, and his other angled as if to guide the wind that slid along his exposed palms. He smiled at them, but held his pose and his concentration.
Penn found the sudden shift disconcerting, and he almost tumbled when the new breeze took the bite off the edge of his wings, but he quickly recovered and rode the wind outward, faster than before.
There was a splatter as of rain as flights of arrows fell into the surf, the headwind now resisting Halfling short bows from the dark vessel as solidly as it folded their sails back.
The exchange continued for what seemed like an eternity, as the Companions slowly managed to score against the oarsmen, and the archers on the trailing ship tried to reach the shore with their own return fire.
One oarsman finally dropped his oar completely and took up his shield for cover.
Then Penn was over head, looking down onto the bobbing longboat. A small vial dropped from his hand, to strike amidships. It blossomed orange and yellow upon impact, and soon the small craft was awash in flames as the ancient Greek formulation did what it was intended to do.
Whether the craft made it to shore now or not was irrelevant. Her mission as done, her purpose thwarted. The flames were simply putting that mission out of its misery.
[FONT="]***
The men in the small craft were now fully occupied in fighting the flames, and several either jumped or fell overboard during the turmoil.
Suddenly there was a bright detonation as something in the craft succumbed to the flames, and the remaining oarsmen were forced to abandon the craft. They had been carrying incendiaries of their own.
"Hold fire!", called Seeburn, as he shucked off his heavy hauberk. He could see the Halflings struggling in the bay, trying to shed armor while keeping afloat, and succeeding at neither.
Seeing that they were too far to throw a line to, he gritted his teeth and plunged into the icy water.
It was a solid shock to his system, and for a moment he had a hard time taking a breath. Then he began to stroke, and moved towards the nearest swimmer. The little fellow may have been an enemy a few moments ago, but now he was a sailor in distress, and no one raised by the sea side could abandon such a man.
The closer one was struggling, but making headway, and the companions on shore began to shout encouragement.
Though it was a short swim, it had been a long night, and the cold water was quickly turning Seeburn's limbs to lead, yet he pressed on.
Cassius stood on the shore in indecision. He hadn't been raised by the sea, and wasn't as good a swimmer as Seeburn. He knew in his head that he would do little good in the water, but his heart thought different.
Imagina saw his pain and offered a solution. "Gentle Warmth", she intoned, granting the dark warrior some protection against the chill of the waters. "Go get him.", she said.
Marcus offered him a line to carry, and the decision was made. Casting off whatever heavy gear he could, he leaped into the surf, swimming strongly towards the injured boatman.
[/FONT]
Marcus went to tend to Seeburn's wounds. Between the battle madness and his immense size, he had been careless of danger, and so was bleeding from a dozen places.
"Be sure to leave some of those.", Penn advised. "He may want a few battle scars, and his father will need to see them, to know that Seeburn really is a warrior."
Seeburn looked up and nodded his agreement, then collapsed again to let the weariness pass.
In the mean time the others assessed the condition of the fallen. One was still breathing. A minor amount of healing magic was applied, to ensure that he'd live to see the next dawn, then his hands and feet were securely bound.
"Let's move him inside there.", Sylus suggested, indicating the small cottage that Seeburn had damaged in the battle. "That way he won't freeze to death." Then, seeing the questioning looks of the others, he elaborated. "Two escaped, and might still set the town ablaze. We need to either catch them, or be sure that they've gone. And then we have another battle running."
The prisoner and his fallen comrades were searched, in particular for hidden blades and incendiaries, and a few bits of jewelry were claimed, then the party set off.
"This gate doesn't get used much.", Sylus remarked, once they were outside. "No tracks in the snow except theirs coming in, and two more coming out." He set off after them, but within a few hundred yards he pulled up. "They're running straight home.", he said, pointing to the length of their stride, and the trailing marks their heels made in the snow. "And they can make tracks faster than I can follow them."
"Then let's get back to the city. The battle will be under way by now."
***
The companions ran along the wall, to see if there were more of the bandits, but all was quiet. It wasn't the shortest path, but it was a prudent one. Sylus, in fact, decided to stay and patrol the area, in case they had missed something. He didn't so much stand guard as go hunting.
"It's a frame of mind.", he had once explained. "Standing watch, you're waiting for the enemy to come to you. You give them the choice, and the initiative. Instead, presume that the enemy is out there, then go and hunt him. As a rabbit or fox will seek a burrow, so an enemy scout will seek a vantage point. Look in those vantage points. You hunt him, instead of letting him hunt you."
Tonight, he was hunting them.
***
The chill, heavy sea air seemed to stream off of them as they ran, as if they should see eddies and curls of it in their wake. Indeed there was a bit of mist building as they approached the waterfront. Across the way they could see three ships under siege, slogged to a halt by the thick seaweed of the shallows, enhanced by Druidic magics. Flame arrows lit the sky, and fiery tar balls arced away from the harbor defenses as the forces on the shore laid in with everything they had.
"I thought I heard there were four ships sighted.", Marcus recalled as he stared across the bay at the spectacle.
"The scouts may have miscounted.", Seeburn offered in explanation.
"No, look!", the Cleric cried, pointing off towards the headlands. There, far from the main battle, a fourth ship could be seen, a dark outline against the filtered moonlight.
The companions redoubled their efforts, sprinting up the shore line towards the enemy.
"You can't land a ship there.", Seeburn snorted in disgust. "The rocks will rip her belly out, for sure."
"Not so sure.", Nedel countered. "See, ahead of her? She has a pilot boat, sounding the way, trying to find a deeper channel."
The range to even the pilot boat would have been a challenge for Sylus himself, and the Humans in the party had to take it on faith that there was a boat at all, for both the ship and the pilot craft were running dark.
Still, the party unlimbered their bows and let fly with quarrel and bolt. They were rewarded with naught but the splashing sounds of arrows striking the sea, but somewhere within that cascade of sound, there was the solid thunk of arrow striking wood.
Cassius stood in frustration, for he carried neither bow nor sling. Penn tossed his own set to the man, and took a different course. A short song and a quick transformation and he was winged and aloft once more.
Perhaps it was the darkness or the sea breeze, the chop of the waves or the chill of the night, but this time it seemed as if he was flying through molasses. The exhilaration of first flight was gone, and now the hard reality set in: The enemy was a long way out, and he came to know the truth of the old adage: “There is no cover in the sky.”
Nedel conjured a spark of light, which he cupped in his hand lest it give the enemy a clear target, and wove it carefully into the fletchings of his bolt. Then, taking careful aim towards the creak of oars in the darkness, he let fly.
"Thunk!", went the arrow, and suddenly the scene was lit. The pilot boat held seven, six on the oars and one with a fathoming pole to probe the bottom as they crept in. Surprisingly, all were Halflings, an odd choice for boatmen.
The next volley of arrows struck true, and with a cry the man on the bow fell into the water. He struggled for a moment against the chill waters only to be forced under by the boat as it rode right over him.
The poor boatmen were in a terrible spot, for if they tried to return fire then they would make no headway, and the range was as long for them as it was for the shore defenses. They elected to keep rowing, though they no longer knew if the course they set was one the ship could follow.
Then, oddly, the wind shifted. It had been coming off the sea to the west, but now curled around and was headed directly south, into the teeth of the ship. Companions looked around and spied First with a few of the Centaur deemed too young for the main battle. He held a scroll in one hand, and his other angled as if to guide the wind that slid along his exposed palms. He smiled at them, but held his pose and his concentration.
Penn found the sudden shift disconcerting, and he almost tumbled when the new breeze took the bite off the edge of his wings, but he quickly recovered and rode the wind outward, faster than before.
There was a splatter as of rain as flights of arrows fell into the surf, the headwind now resisting Halfling short bows from the dark vessel as solidly as it folded their sails back.
The exchange continued for what seemed like an eternity, as the Companions slowly managed to score against the oarsmen, and the archers on the trailing ship tried to reach the shore with their own return fire.
One oarsman finally dropped his oar completely and took up his shield for cover.
Then Penn was over head, looking down onto the bobbing longboat. A small vial dropped from his hand, to strike amidships. It blossomed orange and yellow upon impact, and soon the small craft was awash in flames as the ancient Greek formulation did what it was intended to do.
Whether the craft made it to shore now or not was irrelevant. Her mission as done, her purpose thwarted. The flames were simply putting that mission out of its misery.
[FONT="]***
The men in the small craft were now fully occupied in fighting the flames, and several either jumped or fell overboard during the turmoil.
Suddenly there was a bright detonation as something in the craft succumbed to the flames, and the remaining oarsmen were forced to abandon the craft. They had been carrying incendiaries of their own.
"Hold fire!", called Seeburn, as he shucked off his heavy hauberk. He could see the Halflings struggling in the bay, trying to shed armor while keeping afloat, and succeeding at neither.
Seeing that they were too far to throw a line to, he gritted his teeth and plunged into the icy water.
It was a solid shock to his system, and for a moment he had a hard time taking a breath. Then he began to stroke, and moved towards the nearest swimmer. The little fellow may have been an enemy a few moments ago, but now he was a sailor in distress, and no one raised by the sea side could abandon such a man.
The closer one was struggling, but making headway, and the companions on shore began to shout encouragement.
Though it was a short swim, it had been a long night, and the cold water was quickly turning Seeburn's limbs to lead, yet he pressed on.
Cassius stood on the shore in indecision. He hadn't been raised by the sea, and wasn't as good a swimmer as Seeburn. He knew in his head that he would do little good in the water, but his heart thought different.
Imagina saw his pain and offered a solution. "Gentle Warmth", she intoned, granting the dark warrior some protection against the chill of the waters. "Go get him.", she said.
Marcus offered him a line to carry, and the decision was made. Casting off whatever heavy gear he could, he leaped into the surf, swimming strongly towards the injured boatman.
[/FONT]