Kull's 3rd Report - Part 2
The smugglers surged forward out of the mist. The impact of the charge drove several of the others back against the rail. Perhaps, had the enemy been able to see their targets when they advanced, some of my companions would have been swept into the sea.
As the shape of the first smuggler appeared in the mist, I smashed him to the deck with my flail. More smugglers approached, however, leaping over the body as they came. Here the mist played us false, for the quick death of their predecessor might have given them pause, had they seen it.
The battle fragmented. I could hear the cries and curses of the others, fighting around me, but had neither time to answer, nor eyes that could pierce the mist to see. One of the two I faced was obviously the more skilled, wielding both cutlass and sailor's hook with deft ability. I focussed my attention on this greater threat, and we traded blows, while I fended off his companion's efforts with the buckler on my left arm.
He was skilled, this one: his blade came fast, again and again, and I soon bled from several minor cuts. But he lacked my strength, and I twice drove my flail through his guard, my blows shaking him to his bones. It was as fine a match as I have ever seen in the training yards; speed matched against power, while the deck grew slick with our blood.
And in the end, it was the blood that decided the day. He lunged forward, trying to come inside my guard, and his feet slipped on the wet boards. Off balance, he was for a moment at my mercy: I showed him none. He fell to the deck, his spine shattered by my blow.
Now facing only a lesser opponent, and with the mist thinning as the druid's magic expired, I had a chance to take stock of the others. On my right, I saw Zalich fumble a spell, frowning with a mild irritation as he did so. Though he fought alone, he did not seem pressed: only two of the lesser warrior faced him, and neither seemed able to penetrate a faint blue shield that flickered between them and the halfling. Meanwhile, on my left, the druid and Julianne battled a knot of smugglers, who were led by the finely-dressed figure of their captain. Seeing that Troilan was - as usual - already unconscious, I decided that this was the more pressing fight, and went to their aid, pausing only long enough to invoke an orison of healing upon the fallen woman.
Felling one of the smugglers, I moved into the gap his fall had made, stepping ride into the midst of the melee. There, Julianne faced the smuggler captain. Before now, I had counted the woman's greatest asset to be her silence; a welcome change from the constant chatter of the other female; but I have seen now that she has a genuine skill with the blade, for she was holding off the best of our adversaries.
To simply hold is not enough, however. Hextor demands more: He demands victory, and I meant to have it. Ignoring the lesser enemies that swirled around me, I smashed my flail into the captain's shoulder, sending his blade clattering to the deck. He turned, snatching up the fallen weapon with his other hand, and slashed across my chest, adding another wound to those I had already suffered.
His men also struck at me, and I felt fresh cuts on my arm and left leg, but nothing would deny me: I feinted with my flail, and as he swept his blade to parry, I stepped closer to the captain and drove my fist into the pit of his throat. The spikes of my gauntlet tore open his flesh, and for a moment he hung there, his wide eyes staring into mine, before his head tilted back and his corpse slid from my hand.
For a moment, the enemy wavered, but then their mage cast another spell, two bright darts of energy flying through the air to slam into Julianne's chest. Already injured by the captain, she fell to this wound, and the remaining smugglers surged forward in one last attack. I slew one, but a second found a gap in my armour, scoring the flesh across my ribs. At last, the culmination of my injuries overcame me, and I fell, slipping into darkness.