-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* Myrrish Camp *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

   Soldiers. Ferriers. More soldiers. Cooks. Cavalrymen (and cavalrywomen). Healers. Officers. All these and more bustle through the neatly-pitched sea of tents that make up the Myrrish camp, no matter the time of day or night. At night, firelight flickers off the tents and lengthens peoples' shadows.

An herbal scent comes from a large group of tents off to the side, nearest the front lines--these tents an an appropriated farmhouse make up the field hospital, where the wounded are brought. A neat graveyard stands behind the field hospital--a few men are almost always on duty digging new graves.

Nearby, an entire (albeit quite small) town has been appropriated for officer's quarters and Myrrish war business--the smithy in particular is certainly making money. The only tavern in the tiny town, the Blushing Rosalia, is something of a gathering place for officers and adventurers.

It's Korday, Bernfleur 09 18:08:08 1006. The full moon isn't up. The tide is high and ebbing.

The sky is cloudy grey, and nothing casts a shadow. The southwest wind is mild.

Stretch. Darshan stretches there in the cold weather, from head to tail and tail to head. The armor groans, creaking as it's already placed, already worn like someone'd slip into their housecoat on first waking. The sith blinks sleepily at the sky, and stretches again, yawning hugely with a long, low maw sound and brief flash of draconian teeth. "Praise the SUN!" he roars, and earns a few looks. Namely, that he's just now getting up.

Ceres has arrived.

"I imagine soon enough we'll all find out just how good we are at using our skills in battle." Xander says, ponderously. He shakes his head, probably thinking about those mages he's training. And then there's Darshan, praising the sun. "Greetings, paladin." the warmage says, without even really seeing him, seeing it's mostly his back turned to the Sith-makar. He's quite impressive that way!

Stretch. Darshan stretches there in the cold weather, from head to tail and tail to head. The armor groans, creaking as it's already placed, already worn like someone'd slip into their housecoat on first waking. The sith blinks sleepily at the sky, and stretches again, yawning hugely with a long, low maw sound and brief flash of draconian teeth. "Praise the SUN!" he roars, and earns a few looks. Namely, that he's just now getting up. (repose for Ceres! ...previous to Xander)

"Gods...it's too damn cold to sleep at night," the sith rubs, scratches at scales at the back of his head, pulls his claws around when some of them come off. Dryscales, spring shedding. They look dark, semi-translucent, and he flicks them away, and as he does, the pieces crackle like paper. "And I traveled all mrm, day yesterday. Srassha isn't speaking to me just now," humor, still and low, flashes there in the sith's eyes and with it comes a half-smile, but a genuine one. "Chasing demons today, Magus? And evening, artificer. How comes the saddle?"

"Depends what you define as 'demons'." Xander replies with a small smirk on his lips, turning to offer the lizardman a pleasant nod. The thumb of his free hand hooks into his belt. The other still holds the metal rod. "You look well enough. Perhaps you'd like to help me on the morrow? I am to give my students rudimentary training with melee weaponry." Poor little mages, being forced to learn to wave sticks and swords. How crude!

Ceres is one of those who've trickled in from Alexandria, not part of any one group. Given the evening hour, she's wandering the lines of tents, singing softly as she meanders, not going to any one particular ballad, but stringing together notes in an almost humming sort of voice. The familiar form of Darshan has her changing direction slightly, in no hurry to any destination, including the sith'maker.

The sith blinks once--it's a slow measure, like the turning over of a rock. "One mrm, supposes. Daggers? Polearms? Staffs?" he stretches again, and finds a boulder to lean against, and lift a booted foot--to check the armor there, the creases and joints. He takes out a small brush from his belt. "Mrm, evening," he says as Ceres nears, and looks up that way. To Xander, but not excluding Ceres, "Seems like there's alot of people we know here. The Call must have reached most everyone."

Chiddle puts the field projector back onto his belt, then, and looks up towards the Sith'makar as he adresses him. "Ah, goes well enough. It's a little harder to work out here in the camps but It'll be done before the month is through."

"Quarterstaves and small blades such as daggers, indeed. And for the more keen, longswords, though I doubt there will be many." Xander replies, tapping his side, where a longsword is indeed sheathed. It's of quite fine make, not at all one of the ordinary, run-of-the-mill blades that are all over the place. He follows Darshan's look, nodding a greeting to Ceres when she approaches.

Whirlpool has arrived.

Ceres finally comes to a stop, and offers a slight bow to the gathered folks, "Good evening, all. I am actually rather glad to recognize faces, given the number of people gathered.." a glance given at the gathering of white tents, among all the buildings.

"It's good to see you," Darshan says wryly, leaning back and grabbing hold of the heel of his boot. Yanks it hard so the heel lies against the knee. For a few moments, he doesn't look that steady. "I didn't expect to see that many I knew, but praise Daeus. He must have a reason for it. Now...Polearms? You're sure? They block as well as jab, and someone wouldn't need to get as cl--" he breaks off as Darshan looks at the place where the students were practicing. Wry, "You don't wear armor. /I/ do. I'd prefer all of you away from the front line as much as possible." The eyes shine briefly, and he looks to Chiddle, nodding. Looks relieved. "Thank the gods...she's still mrm, pissed at me. I'll just hope a new saddle will help her get over it. How'd the fitting go this morning?" for the saddle, meaning.

Chiddle beams, "She only bit me once, and barely hard enough to draw blood." Chiddle says to Darshan then, showing a part of his forarm that was neatly bandaged. When glancing towards the mage, he says, "You should outfgit them all with crossbows. Or guns. Or rayguns. In fact, I happen to know a very good supplier for combat-tested rayguns."

"That's the general idea, of course, paladin. But things do not always go as planned - it always pays to have a backup." says Xander to Darshan. Then, a glance to Ceres, and back to the lizardman. "Care to introduce us, sith, or shall I take it upon myself?" They've not been introduced yet, of course.

Ceres tilts her head at Xander then offers a quick smile, "No need for either, I would think; I am Ceres N'ayushi, of Mythwood." She keeps it short and sweet, for the time being, adding, "Here to offer both bow and voice to our cause here." Okay, so not quite so short and sweet.

"A pleasure to meet you, then, m'lady. I am Sir Xander Blackrose, Warmage of the Circle." Xander says, dipping into quite an elegant bow for Ceres. He leaves it at that, himself. The title of warmage is quite enough for one to tell where his expertise lies. Then, to Chiddle: "Outside of melee, a crossbow does well enough, but once the enemy comes close enough and magic fails, that won't cut it either. Hence, it is quite useful to be able to at least defend oneself with the use of a melee weapon."

Chiddle nods his head, "And that's why I have my handy Cudgel." he says to Xander then and nods his head, of course, if a Mage is getting into melee combat, he's probably doing something wrong." he offers. "You could equip them with tanglefoot bags."

Laughter, "Oh gods...one's apologies, artificer. I'm mrm, sorry for the nip. Let me know if there's anything I can do over it." The sith grabs his booted heel, and the tool at his belt, and--it looks like a hoof pick, that bent metal instrument used to clean out grime and rocks from a horse's foot. He sets the metal pick underneath the overlaping iron sheets, and begins to work it in. "Mages? With guns?" he asks after a moment. "You make them, don't you, Chiddle?"

"I have found both tangleroots and the longbow to be quite helpful - the first to allow time to back up behind all the other people.." Ceres admits with a smile, then adding, "A pleasure to meet you, Warmage."

Chiddle says, "Why not mages with guns? Everyone should have a pistol. I hear they're quite easy to use though... I have to admit I haven't tried myself." Chiddle says to the other then, and shakes his head a bit, "not that it matters- I'm sure that goblin merchant was being honest. After all, he was a gun salesman so who would know more about them hm?" he continues. Guillible? Yeah, his picture right there in the dictionary. "And, it's really no big deal at all, I've had worse." He explains to Darshan about the bite. "In fact, after landing in one particular noble's gorounds on one of my flights, she set her kobold guards on me! of course, i was still buried to the waist in snow at the time..."

"If it can be afforded, of course." Xander says, nods. "But such things are quite expensive when they are required in such high number. We shall see. But for now, it is training. It'll keep them on their toes as well, keep them having something to do - keep their mind off fear and nervousness." he notes. And then, just for Chiddle, he pulls out his very own pistol, a stylish, one-barrel weapon and spins it effortlessly in one hand. "Harder to master than you think." he says, grins.

Darshan shoves the metal pick in, fishing around with the look of consternation one usually reserves for hiding a fart in public places. The buildup, the worry, the tearing of eyes, the furtive look around to see if anyone's noticing or listening who would notice that...unique noise. ...all that's missing are the teary eyes. Sith simply don't have them. He jabs the tool here and there, fishing for something. "I mrm, wonder at it. It's not something I have used--it sometimes penetrates armor, though," he adds, and oh does he sound irritated. "...really," at the latter. "I imagine it was very difficult to run," somewhat mildly, but amused. He looks over at Ceres, curiously. Then the pistol. He looks surprised.

Bannon has arrived.

Darshan shoves the metal pick in, fishing around with the look of consternation one usually reserves for hiding a fart in public places. The buildup, the worry, the tearing of eyes, the furtive look around to see if anyone's noticing or listening who would notice that...unique noise. ...all that's missing are the teary eyes. Sith simply don't have them. He jabs the tool here and there, fishing for something. "I mrm, wonder at it. It's not something I have used--it sometimes penetrates armor, though," he adds, and oh does he sound irritated. "...really," at the latter. "I imagine it was very difficult to run," somewhat mildly, but amused. He looks over at Ceres, curiously. Then the pistol. He looks surprised. (repose for Bannon)

Ceres doesn't have, alas, anything to add to that, and just settles in to the swapping of information (and sometimes tales) between the others, keeping an eye on the various going-ons, with evident curiousity. Clearly, she's never been one for horse-care or using pistols, such as the one Xander's spinning to show Chiddle.

Chiddle eyes the pistol carefully, "Hrm... custom make?" he asks then, as he examines it, "Goblin Artifice or Conventional style?" He asks then as he examines the device.

Xander makes certain the safety latch is firmly in place before offering the gun to Chiddle for examination. "It is quite conventionally made, no artifice involved. Be careful with it, please." PANIC. GNOME WITH GUN.

The pistol, oh he eyes it. Eyes it, then wriggles the pick around more, grunting finally in satisfaction and surprise and--maneuver, a maneuver involving an awkward scrape of metal on stone, an awkward rearranging of a sith'makar form, to get--a better angle. The tongue, blue-black, shoves out the side of his mouth, "Mrm..." he says, then. And eyes the pistol more. "How long have you mrm, had that, magus?"

The clack-clack of hooves pounding the ground is the first indication of the approaching rider. The rider is resplendent in highly-polished armor, with the conical cap over his head shining like a beacon. He's pushing his horse hard as he approaches the group, only pulling up at the last moment to bring his horse to a quick halt. It's so fast that the usually perfectly held lance in his right hand wobbles slightly, becoming right quickly. The horse turns as it stops, beginning a whirlwind of spinning that threatens to unhorse the rider before it finally rears up on its hind legs and kicks at the air. When it settles down, the rider atop of it stares at the back of the horses head before he looks towards the others, "Am I late for the war yet?"

Chiddle turns the gun over in his hands a few times, examining the craftmanship and then nodding a little, "Well, it seems like a finelyc rafted gun. Still... maybe I could tweak it a little bit. See if I can attach a resonation matrix generator and a hydro-stabilization gear mechanism..." he starts to trail off with his technobabble

Ceres blinks up at the human on the horse, then asks, "Did you apply adhesive to the saddle, good sir?" Because, see, he's still there. Of course, she's then shaking her head, "Not that I am knowing - if so, the rest of us have as well."

There appears to be a slight commotion near one of the supply tents. Some soldiers appear to be getting control of a small figure. Perhaps a gnome or a goblin is on the loose!

 Actually, instead, they appear to now be carrying out a small girl -- a blonde one in a dirty dress. She's covered in mud -- but some may recognize her -- after all, more than one person present has met Lady Ganesa of House Mandara, after all.

 "Let go of me!" She kicks a guard in the knee, "I am of noble birth!"

 "Sure," says a soldier, doubting her tale.

 "I'll have Lady Sandiel blow you up!" she announces, prissily.

 "Sure," says the guard, enduring another kick to the knee.

 "There was a GOBLIN in there! I saw him!"

 "Sure," says the soldier, enduring another kick to the knee.

 "DARSHAAAAAN," yells the little girl.

Xander instinctively leans back as the rider's lance swishes all over the place with the horse's movements. At least he didn't have to duck it! "No, you are just in time, I should say." the mage says, carefully. The pistol is retrieved from Chiddle, also carefully, to prevent him from turning it into a flamethrower, nuclear device or a kitchen appliance. Depending on his mood. And then... "Oh no." says Xander, at hearing Ganesa. Oh boy.

Horses of course, of course, of course. And Darshan's own mount is sitting off a ways, sulking. Giving him the evil eye, and limping...she limps obviously, where he can see. Exaggerates it, with slow, painful movements. He looks over that way, and then up at the clipclop of hooves. "Templar!" he roars, a hand to either side of the muzzle, and the foot goes down for balance--and. The eyes go wide. A stunned, 'what an idiot I am' expression blossoms over reptilian features. There definitely was a rock in the boot. And he just jammed it into his--

Oh. And then his day gets BETTER. Does the sith'makar whimper? Yes, yes he does. "Please, god, sweet Daeus. May I always walk in your shadow...and may that be a figment of my imagination. An illusion from travel."

Thyrson has arrived.

Bannon grins towards Xander and then turns in the saddle to look towards the commotion. He wheels the horse around and puts the spurs to the beast, riding towards the soldiers. He steers the horse around the soldiers and brings it to a reign, "Halt. I'm Novus Bannon Devaros of the Templars of the Holy Sword." He raises the lance and gestures with a finger, "What are you doing with the girl." His head turns towards the others and he tosses his head to the side in a rather manly 'come hither' motion.

"... Master Darshan, I think that small little person is calling for you...." she starts to say, then trails off, before offering a faint sigh, tilting her head to watch the lancer rescue the little girl. How.. ballad-like!

Thyrson comes out of the Blushing Rosalia, having just taken a warm meal -- always a pure joy near the front. He glances up at the sky, watching it for a moment, before the sound of yelling gets his attention.

OWowowowowOWowOwoWowOWOWOW. He limps. With the rock in his metal boot. It's still there. And he limps with it, Darshan does, and limps over to where the grubby, small child sits with her new goblin 'guardians.' Pulls up next to Banner. "..." he looks at her. At the goblins. At Ganesa. There's more silence. And then even a paladin has to snap, "What the FUCK are you doing here??"

"Darshaaaaaaaan," continues the little girl, wailing for him. "There was a GOBLIN in the tent," she announces, firmly, as if this excuses her not answering Darshan's other question. Then she adds, "I'm telling Auntie about your potty mouth," she sniffs.

 She opens her mouth to say something else when.... FOOMPF.

 The supply tent thart she was just dragged out of by the guards promptly explodes into flames.

"...I thought she was fibbing," says a soldier.

 "Mandaras do not *fib*," says Ganesa, still prissily.

"Language." Xander chides Darshan. He must've got it from Sandy. The mage just lets the paladin handle it, however, reaching into his coat to retrieve his cigarette case, to more comfortably watch the show, as it were!

And then there's a bit more show than Xander was looking for. "The hell?!" he says. "GET WATER!" he bellows, then.

"SHit!" Thyrson curses, as the flames erupt. Then he promptly turns around, and heads into the inn calling for buckets and water. Because they'll have that, right. Right?

Ceres stands up, and moves to one side, "Is anyone hurt? What was in that tent to cause such an explosion?" Or used to cause that explosion. Not minding the fact that if the squalling young-one is right, there /was/ someone causing the lightshow, the elf heads towards the fire, rather than away.

"They do /not/. And your aunt will /not/ be upset with one's mouth. She is going to be /very/ upset that you. Are. Here. In. The. FIRST PLACE!" Oh, he's roiling mad. He's scared, too, and the gesture's angry when he starts to wave the guards away, and--makes a grab for Ganesa, instead. Hauls her by the shoulder over next to him. "This is a war zone, miss," furious. "You can be hurt. You could be killed. /What/ are you doing here??" Reasonable he is. Barely. His youngest charge, an eight year old girl, the scion of the Mandara line, found herself in the middle of the war zone. As a stow-away.

Bannon's horse almost spooks out from beneath him, yet he is quick to settle the beast and issue an order to the soldiers as the tent explodes, "No! Drop the girl and do it now! Get to work on that fire!" He then says to the girl, "Get over here. Everyone stay clear of the fire! I'm going to inform the watch commander." He turns the horse around and cracks the reigns, taking off towards the command tent to inform the watch.

Chiddle blinks and looks towards the flaming tent. "Damn goblins!" he says then, and pulls his crossbow out, loading it up, and holding it in one hand while his other, right hand, reaches for the raygun at the other side, as he makes his way towards the tent.

"Xander," says Ganesa, still not-so-deftly avoiding Darshan's demanding questions of her, "You can put out the fire with your spells!!" Mages are HERS TO COMMAND. "And get the goblin! I bet he set fire to the tent!" She bounces up and down a little.

 "Girl probably did ith erself," says the soldier, giving Darshan a dirty look. 

 "I DID NOT!" She promptly stomps on the soldier's foot, who yelps.

 The watch commander is quickly informed by Bannon, and Xander and Thyrson are enough to jog the rather disorganized and surprised people in the Rosalia and in the camp itself into action long enough to begin working to control the rapidly spreading blaze (which is threatening to jump from the now enflamed tent to others nearby) to give the Watch Commander enough time to begin organizing a more proper bucket brigade.

 The Watch Commander, Brian Weathers, is less than pleased with what's going on here and he swears up a storm when Bannon relates the news to him. "Fetch the Quartermaster," he tells a soldier, "find out what was in that tent! Holy hells, someone's head is gonna roll."

Thyrson joins a bucket brigade, content to sling water, be one of the many contributing.

"...Bannon," tense. Darshan grabs hold of the child, and clamps her under his arm. In place of a sword. "If I place a blessing on you--oh, screw it," and he drops a clawed hand on Bannon's shoulder, and closes his eyes. After moments, the breath of Daeus surges forward, covering the man in brief, warm brightness before fading away. The fire in front of him fades, looks less threatening all of the sudden. "Someone could be in--" And then Ganesa's commanding the mages. Oh gods. He just stops talking.

Bannon arrives long enough to hear what Darshan has to say. When he is blessed, his eyes widen and he turns the horse towards the tent. He spurs it closer, then turns it to run past the door. As he nears, he tosses his shield and lance and executes a quick dismount off the back end of the horse. He hits the ground running and then pushes past the door of the tent and into the fire.

Xander himself aids the bucket brigade, not one to sit idly by as supplies burn. "Isis. What can you tell me?" he speaks to his sleeve as he does, and a little forked tongue flicks out of his sleeve, sampling the air. He's not making it rain or turning into a dragon or anything. He's such a partypooper.

Ceres ends up towards the front of one of the firelines, by virtue of the fact she was heading towards the tent when Bannon made his charge - causing more sighing from the bard - and the lines formed. After a pass of the buckets or two, the elf starts to sing, well, chant a bit, matching the rhythm to the motion, helping herself out if no-one else.

Chiddle sees that Hero McHeroson is jumping into the fires, and then hooks both his raygun and crossbow onto his belt, so that he can help out with the fire-line. But not before seriously contemplating trying to blast the flames with rays of ice.

"Did that guy just run into the fire?" says a soldier.

 "Yep."

 "This is going to be a long campaign, isn't it it."

 "Yep."

 Soldiers, always with the dry humor. The tent continues to burn, though the flames are getting more controlled thanks to the efforts of the soldiers and all of those assisting them in trying to bring it under control. At least it isn't *spreading*, right? Excellent news!

"Xaaaander," glares Ganes at the wizard, clearly expecting him to, well.. do something magical!

Darshan clamps onto the little girl. He feels useless. Could feel useless, except if he lets her go...she has that Look in her eyes. She's going to command the world. She's going to take on Kinnevack barehanded, riding into glorious battle to do it. And somehow, she'll have a dragon. She kicks him. He holds on tighter. "Is anyone in there??" he roars to Bannon. Kicking, elbowing little girl!

"Be quiet, Ganesa." Xander says, for the first time saying something even remotely negative to the girl. It isn't outright harsh nor rude, just a statement. "Knight! Talk to us!" he calls to Bannon, stepping out of the bucket chain momentarily and allowing another to fill the gap, coiling like a snake ready to strike as he waits for any word back.

Thyrson looks up, and closes the line behind him. He winces, and starts forwards, ready to provide spot fire supression! Just not large-scale fire supression!

Bannon shouts from within the tent, "I'm working on it!" He reaches up to cover his mouth, looking around frantically. While he's protected from the fire, the smoke is clearly a threat to both his lungs and his vision. He looks around quickly and then turns back towards the flap of the tent and runs towards it. When he breaches the tent flap, he dives (well, flops) through it and hits the ground rolling. He stops, laying flat on his back and sucking down fresh oxygen, managing to get out, "Clear!"

Ceres continues to pass along the buckets, keeping the chant going for her own good at least, until Bannon comes flopping out, "Did you see what was inside the tent, m'lord?" she breaks off enough to ask.

Thyrson incants quickly, trying to safeguard Bannon's... rush, with the quick application of a glacier-blue line of frost that springs from his outstretched fingers. It quickly winks out, but in its wake, the fire is reduced, if only for a short time!

Between the quick thinking of various more experienced heroes and the dogged determination of the soldiers here in the Myrrish camp, the fire is gradually being brought under control -- though it seems to be slow to go out despite the rather large amounts of water being tossed onto it. Steam is going in all directions.

 Brian Weathers (no relation!) makes his way towards the tent, grunting, "So what's this about a girl?" He asks, eyeing Ganesa for a moment before saying to Bannon, "What did you see in there? Hope we can salvage some of those supplies.." A grimace.

Darshan slumps. Roller-coaster relief and emotion. "Thank Daeus. ...thank Althea," he adds, reopening his eyes. And then, there's an officer of the law standing there. He looks at him almost funnily, and then starts to laugh. Because really...it's too much. It's way too much.

Bannon pushes himself up to his feet, his eyes locking on Darshan, "Check your little girl for a knife. There was a slit in the back. Either the size of an eight year old... or a goblin." He looks scathingly towards the soldier and addresses the watch captain, "Do you have scouts out there looking for this goblin or were you so quick to attribute arson with a fiery explosion to an eight year old?" He leans forward, placing his hands on his knees while looking towards Ceres, "I did. Just the slit and supplies. Am I missing an eyebrow?" He reaches up, feeling at his forehead. He then looks towards the quartermaster, "The fire was set on purpose."

That stops the laughter.

"She is from Alexandria... probably came here as a stowaway on an airship. She's mischievous, but not enough to intentionally start a fire." Xander says as he approaches the Watch Commander. "Ganesa." he addresses the girl, gentle, crouching down to be at eye level. "This is important. You said you saw a goblin in there. Did you?" he asks her.

Chiddle continues handing pales of water along, though his attention drifts over towards the discussion of goblins. After all, Gnomes are infamous for their dislike of goblinoids.

Thyrson turns to listen carefully, intent on Ganesa, as well.

Ceres is easily distracted too. The chant falls off, but that doesn't stop her moving. Just...er.. not paying attention. Which may be why the buckets always end up a little less full, now, as they pass out of her hands.

"Ganesa," Darshan sounds numb. And shuts it. He looks at the little girl, and at Xander. Oh, good. Someone's talking. Someone who can string two sentences together right now. Not him. No, the sith just...just...'too much' about describes it. He looks at the rest numbly.

And with all eyes suddenly on her, Ganesa suddenly seems very shy. Casually, she steps around so that she is *behind* Darshan. Tears begin to well up in her eyes. ".. I didn't do it!" Still, though, a soldier approaches Darshan and one of them says, ".. I need to search her, sir, just to be sure. I'm sure she didn't do it."

 The little girl protests, "It was the goblin!"

 "What did this goblin look like?"

 "Well, he was small. And green! With big ears! And yellow eyes!"

Ceres tilts her head, then calls out, "Was he wearing nice clothings?" Hey, the witness is a girl, and it's something she'd probably notice...

Bannon looks between Darshan and Ganesa, moving towards Darshan and lifting a hand towards the otherwise stunned sith'makar. The hand balls up into a sideways fist, coming down and bonking him with a slight crash of metal gauntlet on metal helmet, "Wake up and contribute. Help with your girl." He then turns, raising a single finger towards the soldier, "Wait." That was not a request. He then turns towards Genasa, "Don't hide behind him. If you feel you are old enough to issue orders as I heard you doing, you are old enough to follow a process that is for the greater good of your nation and your allies. Stand forth, Genasa and show this man that you do not have a knife."

Xander extends a hand for Ganesa, friendly, still in a crouch. "Don't be afraid. The paladin and I are here to protect you, after all." the mage says. It's so the soldiers can follow their protocol, but no harassing little girls. "Yes, could you describe what he was wearing for me? Anything interesting?"

Thyrson considers Bannon for a moment, head tilting. He looks over at Ganesa, and asks: "Did he have a knife?"

"No sir," says Ganesa to Thyrson and Bannon, "He didn't have a knife. I didn't see a knife, anyway! I just saw him go in the tent and followed him and then he was gone! And then the soldiers saw me." She steps forward, chin up bravely, to be searched. She is gingerly examined by the soldier, who shakes his head at the others. "No knife."

 "..then we have a saboteur still on the loose. The camp is already on alert, but I'll spread the word. A green goblin with yellow eyes." A pause, glancing back and forth. "Get to work! Find that goblin! Track him down! Bring out the hounds. We'll send out posses." He smiles. Oh yes. He smiles. Gives the gathered Alexnadrians a look. "Well, looks like you're going to be finding a goblin."

Darshan snarls at Bannon when the man does that. It's a natural reaction, but one that doesn't leave him in the best of expressions when looks back at the guardsman. "...I..." and the voice's hoarse. It takes him a moment to shake himself. To straighten. "The House will allow the search," he says, finally, coming to. "It will be conducted privately, and by a female attendant with only myself in residence. I understand that is proper," he looks at the guard again. He doesn't understand, exactly, that it is, but it'd better be, the look says. Since Ganesa'd already given the OK. He's just...being a guardian. Altering those terms to keep her safer. She's a kid!

Now that the fire is under controll, Chiddle seperates himself from the bucket line, and then pulls a long thin brass whistle from his pocket. He blows on it, producing no sound at all. But after a few, long moments, he blows it again. And then a lollopping, great beast of a dog comes bursting out of chiddle's tent, and tackles him right to the ground, licking the gnome's face. Of course, being an artificer, being tackled to the ground means small screws, btis of metal, lenses, and tobacco fly everywhere.

"Hm. Not a whole lot to work on." Xander says, standing up. He nods to the little girl, too. "Thank you. If you remember anything about his clothing, body shape, distinctive marks or equipment, let us know." The mage turns away, then. "It is going to be a mess to search for a fairly nondescript goblin." he tells the others, very quietly.

Thyrson stretches out his arms, and glances at Ganesa. "So, how did he cut the tent, then?"

Bannon nods to Darshan and then addresses Genasa, "Thank you, Lady Genasa. Sometimes, we as nobles must submit to certain indignities in times of war if it furthers the greater good of our people. I'm very proud of you, and you did your house proud." He shoots a grin at Darshan and adds, "You do well by her, Sunblade." He then turns, emitting a loud whistle and shouting, "Charir! Get back here!" The horse that had wondered off while Bannon was in the fiery tent now begins to trot back towards him. When the horse arrives, Bannon takes him by the reins and turns back to the rest, "It's the Myrrish camp. No goblins should be around here anyway." To Thyrson, he adds, "Lady Genasa is eight years old. Not a trained observer. The dagger could have been hidden away after it cut the hole."

Ceres waits for the bucket to pass, then steps out of the line to make her way over, nodding thoughtfully, "Or it could be cleverly hidden in some matter.." she adds.

Thyrson's smile is bland, as he looks at Bannon. "It is still a good question, is it not?" The skin around his eyes crinkles a little. "Now. How are you going to find the goblin?"

"Actually, there are quite a few goblins with us. Engineers, mostly." Xander informs Bannon. He didn't think it'd be THAT easy, did it? "Yellow eyes, however. Might be a start." Not all of them have yellow eyes, right? RIGHT?!

Darshan holds onto the small child, a hand on her shoulder. He looks to be...well. Quiet breaths calm a person down. Meditation. Today's been a roller coaster, and it's not over yet. "I...thank you, Templar. I'm...not in the best of states right now. If you will--we'll go attend to that. Lady Ganesa, we are going into a tent in a moment. There will be a female guardswoman there. She will mrm, search your pockets, and prove for the court that you never had the knife." The words are slow, quiet, but...blunt. There's no point in lying to the child. He shakes his head at the other questions--he just doesn't know.

"The scent of him might still be in the area." Xander says, eyeing Chiddle's dog. "Can it track by scent?" he inquires of the artificer. Then, to Darshan, a whisper only for the lizardman's ears: "Leave her somewhere safe. The goblin might have seen her, like she saw him, and may come back for her." he cautions.

Bannon frowns, "I wasn't told we had a company of goblin engineers with us..." He then shrugs, "Alright. Let's coordinate with the watch and work out a search pattern. We can wait for the goblin to attempt to make an escape from the camp. He or she should be the only one trying to get OUT of the camp then." He then smiles towards Thyrson, "It was a perfectly worthy question. I certainly wasn't trying to say it wasn't." He then nods to Darshan, "Not a problem. Just remember... Don't let them treat her as if she is on trial. She isn't." He then turns towards the chief of the watch, "Can you spare men for the search?"

Thyrson steps back, arms folding across his chest. He glances around, then slips back into the inn. After all, if there're going to be goblin hunting, he'll need something to tide him over!

Chiddle finally squirms his way out from under the canine, and then wrestles him into a sitting position, before climbing atop the dog, and sitting in the saddle on his back. He's a riding dog. "Well, his nose is as strong as any dog's, and he's got combat training. So... maybe? probably."

 

Ceres moves towards the small group, and suggests to Darshan, "Perhaps a small meal could be brought to the small Lady after the conversation? With pie, perhaps?" she adds with a bit of a smile towards the little girl. Then, to Bannon, tilts her head up at the taller human, "You have come to lend your arm to our cause then, M'lord? I hope we have not pulled you from anything more important?"

Darshan nods, abruptly, and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Gods...and the world was mrm, perfect when I woke up this morning," wryly. He keeps tight hold of the child. And it's a moment before he register's the elf's tender words. And blinks, senses flooding back from that other-where they'd been. "Something to eat..." he lets the words fade, like there'd been something else he'd been going to say. He shakes his head. "We could all use it, Ceres. I think. We don't know how late the hunt will be, tonight." The tail flickers, drooping at its tip.

"Keep people away from the tent once the fire has been entirely put out. We do not want more scents and footsteps mingling with those there. It shall be hard enough without." Xander speaks, going himself about indeed, keeping a nice radius clear around the tent so they may see if any clues can be found after it has been extinguished. He looks at what remains of the tent, ponderous. "The fire gave quite the resistance. It could be something inside the tent, or it could be something the perpetrator used to enhance the flames." he notes to his companions.

Bannon turns, looking towards Ceres with a smile, "I came to lend both arms actually." He then raises a hand, "Please, outside of my homelands I am a representative of the Templars of the Holy Sword. If you must address me by some title, please use Novus." He then frowns slightly, "Perhaps we can arrange for a meal before we set out. I... think... we have a little time before the trail goes cold. Unless the goblin has a mount, we should be able to overtake them in spite of a meal." He then considers it for a moment and then adds, "The rest of us should arrange for food we can eat from horseback."

Darshan goes with the female guard, towards one of the tents. He moves tiredly underneath all that armor, a hand taken hold of Ganesa's tiny shoulder, aims to keep her from running away. There will be no kicking Kinnevack in the face, today, miss.

Thyrson has disconnected.

Xander turns to look up at Bannon, nods. "Put your horse to good use, sir. Go and procure us a tracking hound if you can, please. We shall search for clues here." the mage says. Then, to Darshan, Ceres, and Chiddle: "If you believe you can lend me a hand, do. But be careful not to disturb anything."

Ceres tilts her head, "Then Novus, as you wish," to Bannon, before nodding to Xander and moving towards him. "I have some small skills in observation. Where do you want me?"

"Come with me, then. Be very careful of where you step and pay close attention not to erase any tracks." Xander says, moving to conduct a thorough search with Ceres helping, should she feel so inclined.

Thyrson has connected.

"Xander," says Ganesa, pausing for a moment as all this is going on, "It is almost time for cookies. May I go home now, please?" She's giving him a look. This is while Darshan is frantically trying to find a sitter for her.

In the meantime, between Bannon and Darshan's hunt, a group of men with bloodhoudns can be found, and they seem willing to combine forces with a little bit of help. "Right, then. We'll bring Jose and the Hounds up right away." And so they do. It doesn't take long before one of the snuffling hounds seemsto've caught on to something by the end of the tent where the flap was cut open. "This way!"

"You will, my dear, you will. As soon as this is over." Xander promises Ganesa. "Here." he says, letting Isis (whom Ganesa has already met, handled, and talked about Girl Things to) slide off his arm and into Ganesa's hands. "Keep her with you. Keep her safe, and she'll keep you safe. I'll come back for you both." Then, to Darshan: "Make certain she's got someone to keep an eye on her, then follow us!", before running off after the hounds.

Darshan shakes his head, and turns around to look at the child. A long look. "I'd take you with me." He pauses. "But the last thing I..." and the words fade away. They fade away and he stares hard at the child. He looks over at Srassha, and over at the child again. "No..." distinctly, "You're coming with me."

Thyrson slips out of the inn, and forms up with the search crew. He waits, hands clasping at the small of his back.

Ceres tilts her head, then asks Darshan, "Because once an adventure starts, cookies have to wait until afterwards?" she murmurs, in sotto voce, before going to follow the others.

Bannon retrieves his lance and shield before mounting up. He spurs Charir into a run, following after the hounds. He stays adroitly after them, only stopping for a moment to grin towards Ceres and shake his head, "Of course not. Cookies are great trail rations."

Whirlpool has left.

Whirlpool has arrived.

Whirlpool has left.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--<* The Front Lines *>=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

   This is a hilly area on the outskirts of southern Sendor. Bludguni and Myrrish troops face each other across a wide valley. With the spring thaw, the entire valley has been churned into a disgusting, bloody mud by the two armies. Bludguni forces currently hold the pass and the high ground, and are camped behind the hills. The Myrddion army is camped a little distance away, by a stream fed from a different, cleaner valley without a handy pass. Up near the head of the valley, the Bludgun army has left behind a huge mass grave that is said to be haunted.

Near the Myrrish camp, far away from the actual front lines as to be considered fairly 'safe' at the moment, is the de-facto command center and entertainment establishment in the area, a tavern called the Blushing Rosalia. It's somewhat the worse for wear, but the many officers and adventurers in the army provide the owners with a steady supply of coin.

Not far from the Blushing Rosalia are the numerous tents that make up the field hospital, where the wounded are brought back to be healed. The air near those tents smells of whiskey and herbal poultices.

Xander has arrived.

Ceres has arrived.

Thyrson has arrived.

And then Chiddle volunteers. Darshan's mouth works, and he nods at that. He can't help it if a sense of DEAD and FOREBODING overcomes him at the thought of leaving Ganesa there with the artificer. Maybe he'll take up drinking. It helped Sandy. Regardless, he's on the road soon enough.

Bannon has arrived.

Really, you can only go as fast as the dogs.

All of you have horses, but the *dogs* determine the upper limit of the speed of your movement. The Hounds have a scent, though, and begin racing along, howling noisily as Bloodhounds are wont to do. It gets better, of course, as it appears to be taking you towards *the front lines*.

Srassha's still mad at him. Oh, Darshan's day gets better. She bumps and thumps along the trail, her every move a protest against more travel. The twitch of tail, the toss of head--it all combines in unison. He holds onto the saddle horn, the single rein in a clenched hand that protests against the bumps, but not as much as his back hide will. It's that rein he tugs on when they, "...the front lines," finally. Flatly. "Let's stick mrm, close. We don't know what's out here. It could be a..." well. You don't say that. Because then it always is.

Meanwhile, back at the camp: "Wow! That really works?" A pause. "What's a gnomifier?" Ganesa asks with big eyes.

You are quickly allowed to pass by the guards who do see and stop you once the nature of your mission is explained, Other hunting parties are also out searching, of course, and word has quickly spread of the attempted sabotage.

You dare into the front lines under the cover of dark.

Xander urges his horse to the speed it can take what with having two people on its back. Still, a horse is a much faster animal than a hound, even when the hounds are rushing at full speed, and even encumbered it can match them. Obsidian, the all-black mare, is the perfect choice for this mission. The calm horse, darker than shadow, goes onwards... but behind Srassha and Bannon's noble steed, keeping to the middle of the group where his unarmored self and Ceres are safe. Because good god, he doesn't want to be the first to fall into things. He keeps his eyes on the hounds - they'll be able to jump obstacles and circumvent traps. Or at least will fall into them first.

By now, Srassha has the idea. The swift's stopped fighting, now. Her head pulls forward, and she stretches out. Stretches her legs, and picks up pace with the hounds. Somewhere, she finds a second wind, and it's at that point Darshan can start to feel just how badly he's going to hurt tomorrow. He keeps her to the other side of Ceres and Xander, matching Bannon pace for pace.

Ceres keeps an eye out from her perch behind Xander, keeping a good grip, just in case. Eyes flicker out on the wave of people and animals, trying to keep a sense of what's going on around them, and ahead.

Thyrson rides along. Carefully. He's spending most of the time trying to stay on the horse, in the night, in the dark.

Bannon continues to ride on the trail of the hounds, his eyes scanning the distance as he does so. He calls back to the rest, "Keep your eyes open. We're nearing what I'm told are the front lines. They've been very volatile since the arrival of the Myrrish and even moreso upon the arrival of the Alexandros contingent. Be wary of patrols!" He lowers his lance just a little, keeping up with the hounds as best as his swift warhorse will carry him.

What Bannon says is true. In the distance, you can see the torchlights and campfires of the BLudgunni lines.. so many of them! But still, it would appear your quarry is making a swift run across the field to the enemy lines, or at least trying to. You're sure to be closing in on him now -- indeed, you can hear somethin up ahead of you -- beyond a series of bouldes and trenches dug into th efightin here.

The hunt's on. Srassha lengthens her neck, moving forward by scent, by smell, and following the bay of the hounds. She looks like she belongs there, and as Darshan leans over her neck, maybe he does, too. He lets her take the lead, lets her pick her own path. She knows her own footing better than he does.

"Good gods, I hope they do not see us..." Xander mutters, ducking low against the horse's neck. He waves a hand, gentle words of magic washing over him and the group, as the world seems to slow down for them - but in reality, the world has remained unchanged, they are instead boosted by the spell's energies to greater swiftness.

Ceres for once doesn't have anything to say. Possibly due to the fact that they are running towards the enemy lines, in the dark, with no idea what's waiting for them, besides lots of ogres. Or maybe it's because she's drafting up a ballad to celebrate the great deads they'll no doubt be doing later on this evening.

"I'm sorry about this, girl," the sith says, voice pitched low. "Mrm...but we have a saboteur. There's some ditches up ahead. We'll need to get over them. I'm going to need you to jump, and take me with you," quietly, he walks her through it underneath the footbeats, hoofbeats, her own clawbeats. The raptor blinks as her speed increases, and would lunge if he didn't prevent her.

Bannon blinks as the world slows down around him. He lowers himself in the saddle, keeping the tip of the lance just high enough to ensure the safety of his party. His eyes squint versus the darkness, preparing to jump the shadowy chasm of the trench just up ahead.

And in closer you get to the trenches. Finally, you move around to the side of one of the blocking boulders and you can see a goblin with a pair of Hobgoblins standing over him. They appear to be talking. Something else is odd here -- very odd. There appears to be a large... bucket sitting between the three of them. That's the best way to describe it. A very, very large bucket.

Thyrson follows, still trying to stay on the horse, even if the world is passing at a perceptually altered rate. He squints towards the bucket.

And that--Darshan pats her neck and grips hold of the saddle as Srassha prepares to lunge. She's in The Hunt, now, that primitive place swifts go that bays with the hounds and harries prey. He couldn't stop her if he'd wanted. Maybe he doesn't want. But, he directs her, and him, towards one of the hobgoblins.

"Leave the horse. She will become unsettled by combat." Xander hisses to Ceres, hopping off the black steed's back and preparing to engage in, indeed, combat!

Ceres nods once, and slides off the other side of the horse, preparing to pull out her bow.

Xander's hands twirl once again, faster than the eye can see due to the hastening spell. And then, the magus vanishes entirely, as if he never were. The keenest ear can hear his footsteps as he moves away, slightly, from the group - if the hobs fling that bucket their way and something nasty turns out to be in it, he doesn't wanna be in its way. The black mare, left without the guide of a rider, trots all too calmly away from what will, presumably, soon become a skirmish.

"We'd best hurry if we're going to get back before the dogs catch up."

"Agreed. I thought I'd shaken them, but someone must've seen me on the way out,' says the goblin, shaking his head.

"But it was a success -- you got the papers we need."

"Yes. NOW GET ME OUT OF HERE," an angry hiss.

"Right, in the bucket you go.."

And just as teh goblin is getting put in the bucket, well, you arrive. CLoser. CLose enough to hear that and put to rest any doubts as to what the case is here.

The Hobgoblins blink, drawing their swords and readying themselves. The two of them are nearly indentical. They must be twins, actually, as the only difference is in the scars they bear.

The Goblin, on the other hand, does fit the rather generic description given by Ganesa. In fact, one might say he's TOO generic to actually be generic.

Thyrson slides down from his horse, landing carefully in the darkness. His knees flex, and he reluctantly lets go of the horse's reins, this close to the line.

Bannon has connected.

Ceres, as Xander fades from sight, strings up her bow and makes her way up onto a boulder, the better to give ranged support, she hopes.

Upon the acquisition of a target, Bannon lifts his lance lightly. The trench is coming up. When the horse approaches, Bannon kneads him in the sides, sending him into a jump that carries them over the trench. When they land, the lance comes down and he spurs the horse into a charge. However, the galloping sends the lance off target and he sails past the hobgoblin in a blur of motion.

Thyrson spits arcane words, gutteral and harsh. Light gathers around his hands, blue-white and stark in the darkness. Three darts lance out, taking the energy and blasting stuttered, charred holes in the goblin's tunic.

Srassha breaks through the line, it's heroic, it's dashing! Her legs stretch, her neck stretches forward, and then--then it happens. Her neck jerks to the side. She remembers. Someone rode her all day. She's damn hungry. She jerks to the side, diving for a rabbit that just ran into the bushes.

"..Run! Go! Get to the bucket!" says one of the Hobgoblins to the Goblin, who does not need to be told twice. He hops into the bucket, squealing like a little girl as the attack begins and a horseman comes sailing past them and a lizardman on a giant LIZARD that looks HUNGRY is coming straight for him. Into the bucket he goes.

The two hobs leap into the trenches, seeming intent on getting out of the way and trying to at least make themselves a little less easy targets.

But in the meantime, something else happens. A distinct, faint buzzing sound becomes audible to everyone as the bucket starts to be lifted up into the air by *something*.

That something is a -now visible- airship. That wasn't there before. It's nearly utterly silent, too. And there it is, hovering above you -- a slender, black vessel.

The unseen Xander speaks, flickering motes surging into the world from some place beyond. They gather, swirl, dance and then suddenly create a shape, a ghostly hand - claw, more like, not unlike a dragon's. It reaches into the bucket and picks the flailing goblin up by the feet effortlessly, dangling him as it removes him from the bucket. "We could use him alive." Xander cautions his companions.

Words of magic can be heard being spoken clearly from above you. Someone? Just cast a spell up there. And then *another* set of magical words get intoned thereafter by a *second*, more feminine voice -- a dark green glow coming from above as well, briefly and dully visible to all of you -- but too dark to really catch the attention of those on the front lines, unfortunately!

Bannon turns his head to follow the target of his missed charge, watching the hobgoblin run towards the trenches. He pulls his horse into a long and lazy turn, moving back towards the trench with his lance held aloft. He shadows the edge of the trench, quickly overtaking the hobgoblin. He lowers his lance lower then the combat instructors in the Dragon Army ever told him to, thrusting out and piercing the hobgoblin.

Thyrson gathers more energy around his hands, and sends it lancing in at the hobgoblin in the trench, battering around its head and neck.

Ceres takes advantage of the chaos in the trench to take aim on the hobo off to the side. Breath in, breath out, and at the same time.... release. The first arrow flies true and makes a meaty thunk when hitting. The other just makes a tuneful sound as it flies past.

The Hobs, in the meantime, are scurrying through the trenches. One, that is, rushes over to assist his brother. Soon enough, Bannon has *two* striking at him. Only one of them scores a hit against his side on his horse and both are now trying to move to flank him, having gotten back out of the trench -- since the horseman can reach them both there, after all, and they have help on the way. Indeed, it's true -- you can see men lining up atop to begin to descend, somehow, to assist these spies.

"Go--Srassha!" the two of them fight, rider and mount, Srassha chomping at the bit before she gets turned around. She HUFFs, lashing her tail, 'See? See??' she says, still angry about that morning. He heels her, and the two--somehow--end up towards the goblin. He aims her at the bucket, kicking it out of the way, and its clattering's the background to the sound of the sword brought down ontop the goblin's head. "...this has been..." he doesn't even say it. It's like tempting fate.

Xander jogs away from the ship, glancing up. "Blast. They're nowhere in sight. SVARSHAN, TO ME." he speaks, watching the ship's railing like a hawk. The spectral hand flexes.

Bannon brings his horse to a stop as the hobgoblins surround him. He grins with a predator's smile as he proceeds to go to work. He wheels the horse around and trots it out for a moment. When he turns around, his lance is at the ready. He swings it with superhuman speed, stabbing the first hobgoblin yet again before he turns around and takes name at the next one. He swings and misses as his horse rears up on two legs and misses a hoof sent for a hobgoblin.

More words of magic -- both deep and sonorous an invocation to Maugrim. Maugrim? Oh yes. *That* Maugrim. And? Words of the arcane. They both are said. Up above you, a distinctly plate armored figure begins to descend from the airship, walking on the air as if it was as solid as can be. On the other hand, Xander's Bullrush seems to've bought you some time. Several men are knocked flying off the ship, resulting in only *some* of the men making it down on lines to assist in the battle here.

Thyrson spits words once more, sending more arrows of energy stitching into the hobgoblin's back. The energy knocks him down, blood leaking from every (visible) orifice.

Ceres takes a deep breath, and this time, before taking an aim, starts to sing. It starts out quiet, in an elven tongue with a decided martial tone to the way she bites off the words, leading upward in volume, but no-where near shouting, as she doesn't want to inspire all the folks back at the camp. As she starts to focus in on what she's trying to do, she aims, and releases, twice in quick succession, this time both making meaty thunking sounds.

"My brother has fallen?!" The Hobgolin is shocked and enraged. So enraged is he that he brings his short blade up and *stabs* it directly into Bannon's side, driving it in hard and actually seriously wounding the man! He backs away a step, trying to avoid eating a kick in the face from the horse.

And then she is there. Clad in furs due to the still somewhat rainy and cold weather of this area, the Shadow Elven woman floats in the air about twenty feet above Xander, a scroll in hand. She smiles down at him, gives him a pithy little wave, recites the scroll and then... Xander vanishes. He's just *gone*. Completely gone.

"I do so love to keep one of these handy. My master always reccomended it," she says, as the scroll in hand dissipates into thousands of sparking little embers.

"YOU!" Darshan's head whips up and a grin comes with it. A vicious, reptilian grin. "You won't believe the day I've had," he says almost conversationally. "But seeing you here makes it so much damn better. MAUGRIM! DAEUS CHALLENGES YOU! DRAW YOUR SWORD AND GET ON THE BATTLEFIELD!" he draws blade, and it shines brilliant, brilliantly bright, and he points to the ground in front of him. "The laws of challenge, Maugrimite. Get on the ground, and draw Maugrim's knife. Unless you're afraid of the King's servant."

"Oh my," says the girl when Darshan bellows his challenge to her companion. "Well, what are you waiting for? Oblige him."

The cleric, in the meantime, drops the last several stories to the ground near the fallen goblin, bends down, and pulls a sheaf of papers from his satchel then straightens up. He draws a bloodied waraxe from across his back and smiles at Darshan, his face covered in tattoos. "I am Rimun," he says, "and I am your death, paladin."

In the meantime, several more soldiers descend, joining the battle and getting prepared for it, prepared to engage the brave souls here with their bucklers and shortswords. They're all lightly armored, made for speedy movement. Goblins. More goblins.

Xander looks up at the magess, smirking at her. "Ah. At last, my quarry. So, shall we dance?" he says. Of course, it's not too long before she very stylishly wipes that smirk right off his face. His eyes widen. "Oh shi--" POOF. Well. That was anticlimactic.

Bannon releases a yelp as he is stabbed in the side by the hobgoblin, wheeling his horse around in a reaction to the stab. He gushes blood from his side but presses on versus the goblin. In an effort of sheer willpower, he lifts the lance up and strikes not once, but twice! The first goes wide, but the second strike impales the hobgoblin deeply upon the lance. Bannon stares down the weapon at the dead or dying hobgoblin, and growls, "See you in hell!" With a hurl, Bannon lifts the lance up, flinging it as hard as he can to send the dead body of the hobgoblin sailing over his own head. He turns with clenched teeth, looking over the battlefield before he simply leans forward on the pommel of his horse. Down, but not defeated...

"Take a left... no. No, no. Damned be it, this place looks the bloody same at every turn!", echoes in a force plane somewhere far, far away.

Thyrson plucks a wand from his belt, and spits a command word. A plume of flame washes out in front of him, washing over the heavily armoured Maugrimite. While it does little more than singe his eyebrows and trim his nose-hairs abruptly, it also sets the papers in his hands alight. Like, really alight. Like, how-do-you-like-your-new-torch-sir alight.

Ceres doesn't swear, but her expression sounds like it could have some words inserted. And replaced. Then, she's sliding down the boulder and darting across the opening to Bannon and the horse. The potion is opened with her teeth, and then she's pouring it down his throat. She'd offer encouragement, but she's holding on to her singing as best she can.

Bannon's eyes blink open as the cure potions works its magic on him. He smiles to her and nods his head, taking a moment to look back around the battlefield, "We need to end this and get out of here." He then pauses, tilting his head, "I really like that song, by the way." He winks and then turns, spurring his horse. He tucks the lance under his arm and scouts for a target. He makes tracks for one of the many goblins he sees, lowing his lance and crouching into the back of his horse. With perfect precision, the lance smacks dead on into the goblin, killing it instantly. The hit stops him however, and he makes quick work of clearing his lance.

"This has been a shitty, horrible, no good, very bad..." and as the sword collides, the battlefield explodes. Daeus' blade collides into Maugrim's symbol, shattering it with bright, proud brilliance against the cleric's side. "BRILLIANT day. ...and Rimun?" Darshan adds, leaning. He whispers, "HAIL TO THE KING!!!" Srassha yanks at the rein, tossing her proud, raptor head. A long, sticky rope of drool falls on the man's shoes. /Daeusite/ drool.

The smug looking wizardess just sort of hangs back looking, well, smug. She floats there above the battle scene, seeming entirely pleased right up until Thyrson flambeaus the papers. Then she casts the man an annoyed look. "*Another would be wizard? Bah. This is aggrivating. And smooth move, Riman, you just lost the documents. Way to go there, Jacko." She sighs.

And then there is a flash of light and the smashing of a Maugrimite holy symbol and Daeusiet drool. Riman looks annoyed. VEry annoyed. "You... you.. YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!" And then he swings his axe...

But he's too enraged to strike the Dauesite, flailing wildly in an angry, rabid way that says that the attack had exactly the intended effect. At least he forgot all about Thyrson's setting the papers on fire.

Which, incidentally, made him instinctively drop them.

The goblins spread out in pairs. Well, they would've been pairs until Bannon skewed one. Two go after Bannon, one of which strikes him very lightly. Two more leap after Ceres, wounding her *severely* with a vicious looking, cruel longsword into the side. And Thyrson has new friends as well, trying to keep him busy as well. There's a fanatical gleam in their eyes. All of them appear quite willing to die here.

"So if I take into account the probabilities of it being shaped in a Vardusson-Lee pattern, it should mean... yes! A-ha!" Xander moves in a jog, around one corner, another, and then very nearly smacks facefirst into a translucent wall. There's a howl of fury that echoes through the shimmering halls. Just like the old stories say, angry monsters in labyrinths.

Thyrson draws his greatsword, as he's rushed, twisting away from the blades of his assailant, before he gets behind his sword and a measure of safety. He increases the measure of safety by striking the goblin with a horizontal blow, shearing off its lower jaw and part of its neck. It dies, quickly, and Thyrson starts edging back towards their horses.

Ceres is a bard, not a fighter! As blood starts to stain her garments, the elf immediately withdraws from the two goblins on her, and retreats towards Darshan, going for that utility bag on the raptor. Pulling out the wand, she mutters, "Let me know what is owed, later.." as she moves with the animal, to avoid trampling.

"..ragah! SHUT UP! I WILL HAVE YOUR FILTHY HEAD, SLAVE!" He roars at Darshan, trying to take said head with wild swinging motions. It doesn't work. Injured now, welll... the painm isn't helping his clarity of mind.

The Sorceress, on the other hand, just rolls her eyes and says, "..gods, you're an idiot. Do I have to do everything myself?" Then she notices the goblins and their dwindling numbers. And the papes on fire. "Oh bother. Come on. Let's go." She grabs the cleric by the shoulder and then.. teleports. Away. Back to the ship.

The goblins begin to back away a little. JAvelins are now in use. Two of them hit Ceres, near Darshan, wounding her severely. Another one? Strikes Thyrson. The goblins then back away a little more, regrouping as the airship above them begins to... depart? That's right. It's leaving. Leaving -them-. They don't seem to mind, though.

"No. No. Be one with the Sea. Think like it does." Xander mutters to himself. He closes his eyes, stepping slowly, but purposefully, though the labyrinth, and escaping its confines with relative ease. "Now." he speaks, as he reappears, "Where were w--" His words cut off as he opens his eyes to see... nothing. He SNARLS up at the ship.

Bannon tosses the lance aside as he becomes fully involved with the goblin horde, drawing his longsword instead. He growls as he begins slashing down at the next goblin to approach him. He slices twice, leaving two gaping holes in his victim. He then kicks the horse lightly, causing it to rear up and delivery a smashing hoof blow and then a quick nip. The goblin falls in a heaping pile of crap.

It is perhaps fortunate that Ceres wears a rusty red-brown. The amount of blood she's shedding blends in quite well, except when it goes past the vest, into the shirt and trous. By this point, the song is really quite quite thready, as she grips the wand in a slippery hand almost ready to loose it at any given moment. No surprise, she uses it on herself, first. Immediately, she looks like a Grey Elf again, and not a Ghost Elf. Important difference. One sings, the other wails.

Thyrson keeps falling back, letting the goblins chase him. He kills them just as efficiently. This one, he just thrusts through the chest.

Bannon moves on to the next goblin with military efficiency, turning his horse towards the next goblin. He slashes down with his sword, spinning his horse away from the next goblin and touching his horse in a different part of the body. As a trained reaction, the horse's rear hoof pops out, impacting into the goblin and leaving yet another dead goblin in the warrior's wake.

Timestop dropped by Whirlpool at Fri Apr 10 05:55:00 2009 has left.

"Mighty Ramun!" Darshan yells, a hand to either side. The yell echoes over the bloody field, and the paladin, well...he doesn't know what to think, but he looks...at peace, now. That sort of floating feeling of sublime happiness that only comes from ripping into a Maugrimite or two. It suffuses his whole form, like the warmth on a summer's day. Also, he hits a goblin. But that's just a side event, really.

"Touché, my dear. Until we meet again." Xander calls to the departing ship once he's done snarling, apparently acknowleding the sorceress' victory over him... for now. Of course, he's undoubtedly plotting horrible vengeance, but.

Meanwhile, back at the camp, Ganesa demands cookies.

And gets them, of course.

The airship above you begins to shimer and then *vanishes from sight* all together. Just like it was never there. Worse still, lights are being shined onto the battlefield from the Bludgunni lines.

You may want to start retreating now. Also, the Myrrish soldiers and the dogs? They're *running* back to their front lines. They have been.

Thyrson turns, runs back to the horses in sort order.

Ceres turns, and as she hurries back to the horses, calls out, "I have Darshan's wand. Anyone needing the assistance of it?"

"Forget the wand. We must leave." Xander says. Two fingers lift to the sides of his mouth and he whistles sharply, causing Obsidian to obediently trot to him. He hops into the saddle, extending a hand for Ceres. "Grab any prisoners you can and let us be gone!" he instructs the rest.

Bannon turns, looking towards the line of Bludguni and soldiers as he resheathes his sword and calling out, "We've got Bludguni on our heels. It's time for us to go." He then shakes his head to Ceres, "When we get back to the camp." He turns his horse, spurring it on but leaning to hang sideways in the saddle. He retrieves his lance and rights himself on the horse, turning towards camp.

Darshan turns around, and the--oh. That wipes the smile right off his face. "Ceres! We should talk about sonnets!" he calls over, and then adds, "But later!" because now it's time to run. Srassha's never going to forgive him. Ever.

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