Tarowyn's arrows lodge in the side of the horse's neck. The animal screaches in pain before keeling over on its side, bringing Kravik down with it in a hard impact on the ground. The poor creature thrashes around, bleeding, before falling silent and limp.
As the party immediatly falls into bickering conscerning Tarowyn's attack, Sir Kravik, with relative grace, slowly picks himself off the ground, brushing the dirt off his armor.
The scouts too don't take immediate action, still stunned by Kravik's presense, but also by the back and forth of their commanders. But eventually, they act, and lead by Norri, escort both Tarowyn and Whitney, guised in common dress but still feisty, back to the main column; they do make sure to keep a decent distance from the elf though.
As a remaining scout scurries up the hill at Bhartus' directive, Kravik gives a quick cold glance to his fallen stead, before stepping before approaching the remaining two members of the Fist, a smile strangly still present, "I never thought fI wouldn't fault the elf too greatly; through they are usually able to supress such tendencies for a bit of gold, their kind has no appreciation of honor; the gods never completed them..an orphaned race... I'm only thankful that I decided not to carry my weapon, otherwise I fear I would have been made the hypocrite." He laughs at that before falling silent, "You have my thanks for the intervention, D'orite. I promise to make both your deaths good ones, " looking to Jericho then to Bhartus and back again, " even if our greenskin allies wish otherwise."
Norri, Whitney, and Tarowyn: you return to the camp only be greeted by suspicious stares from the knights and anxious whispers and murmers rising from the ranks of infantry. One addresses Tarowyn directly, some degree of spite in his voice, "Something amiss, 'Commander'?"
ooc: yeah, I think we can all forget about that moral bonus you earned ealier.
