Cutter, while amused by the noble slapfighting, is anxious to get to business. “M’lords, this ain’t really the time. Faramond”, to Henry, “I’ll circle 'round back with you.”
*Choke returns from tying the animals off a good distance away. He has his spear in hand and listens quietly as the group discusses its plan. The old man will likely stay behind and only engage if things go south for the main group unless instructed otherwise.
Naimar and Walter slip forward in the dark, the former about twenty yards ahead of the latter.
Henry, Baldur and Cutter begin skirting around the edge of the valley, carefully picking their way through the rocks.
Cyrus, Hrothgar, Sohanux and Choke take up position at Cutter’s old spot. Hrothgar has his crossbow ready and Sohanux has her bow.*
Pre-encounter
[spoiler]Henry, Baldur and Cutter manage to get within about fifty yards of the camp’s far side undetected. From their distance they can make out individuals in the camp; four are indeed laying down as Naimar said; one of them is a woman wearing a blue silken dress. Two more are sitting up and having a conversation which none of the group can make out. One of the two is a large musclebound woman.
Naimar and Walter get within about thirty yards and can make out everything that the above group could, but Naimar takes a misstep and sends some rocks tumbling down the slope.
The two at the camp stop their conversation and look over into the darkness at the source of the noise. The woman rises and rips a torch from the ground, holding it aloft in the air as she peers towards Naimar and Walter, eyes squinted. The hedgemage freezes and stifles his breath.
The woman says something to her companion before venturing beyond the camp, torch still held high as she scours the area. Naimar tries to quietly withdraw but he’s unable to do so in time and he enters the field of the torchlight. It takes the woman a moment to realize what she’s seeing but she suddenly yelps in surprise and reaches for the short sword on her belt.[/spoiler]
Surprise Round
[spoiler]Naimar curses and lets loose his prepared arrow at her, scoring a blow in her neck. She grabs at her throat and topples over with a brief, gurgling cry.
Baldur looses an arrow at the remaining waking member of the camp but misses.
Cutter breaks into jog. Despite his girth he moves quite quickly. Henry follows as best he can in the dark.
Hrothgar and Sohanux both fire their weapons down the valley towards the camp. One of the sleeping people is struck in the chest and lets out a loud cry. It’s impossible to tell at the moment who fired the scoring shot.
Cyrus moves out of cover and starts making his way down the slope towards the camp.
Walter, seeing that the group is fully committed, curses and loads an arrow into his longbow and slowly pulls back the string, lining up a shot.
Round One
Henry and Cutter move towards the camp, breaking into a jog.
One of the sleeping campers, a man in a muddy red tabard, awakens and shouts to the others, drawing a longsword.
Naimar loads a second arrow and fires into the camp, missing.
The musclebound woman’s initial companion draws his short sword and charges into the darkness at Naimar.
Hrothgar tosses aside his crossbow and slides down the slope of the valley, axe in hand.
Cyrus reaches Walter’s position, still running towards the camp.
Another of the sleeping campers, a man wearing sackcloth, rises, wielding a club.
Walter fires his bow into the camp, missing.
Sohanux loads her bow and fires another arrow into the camp, missing.
The third uninjured sleeping camper, the woman in the dress, cowers with her hands over her head, crying out in a panic.
Baldur fires an arrow into the camp, striking the man in the tabard in the back and sending him collapsing into a heap near the campfire.[/spoiler]
Round Two
[spoiler]Cyrus passes Naimar.
The man charging Naimar switches targets and slashes at Cyrus, his short sword ringing off of Cyrus’ mail.
Walter tosses his bow aside and draws his longsword, running towards Cyrus’ attacker.
Cutter arrives at the camp and comes up behind the spear-wielding man, one hand reaching around and clamping over his mouth, the other driving his short sword into the man’s side.
The man with the club panics and makes a run for the horses.
Henry intercepts him and scores a blow across his face with his longsword.
Hrothgar arrives at Walter’s position.
Naimar keeps his bow in hand and circles around for a better shot.
Sohanux can’t get a clear shot among the melee and so waits with an arrow drawn.
Baldur draws his short sword and runs to be at his brother’s side.[/spoiler]
Round Three
Cyrus swings at his attacker, slashing through the cheap sackcloth and opening his belly.The combat ends.
The night air is filled with the unnerving cries of the dying. At Cyrus’ feet is a dying man in sackcloth clothing with the contents of his belly spilling out into the gravel. His short sword has tumbled down the slope towards the camp. A few yards downhill is the musclebound woman in sackcloth clothing who took an arrow to the throat. She’s been killed outright, her weapon a few feet away from her.
To the north of the camp is the man in sackcloth with a club. The longsword blow he took to the face killed him outright.
In the camp is the man in the tabard. Beneath it he wore a fine boiled leather jerkin which failed to stop the arrow, which caught him in the back and fully penetrated and is protruding out his front. A few feet beside him is the one hit in his sleep; he’s wearing sackcloth like the others and has an arrow in his chest. By his throaty gurgles it seems it hit a lung. He has a short sword on his belt.
The second woman and the man with the spear are the only ones not either dead or soon to be dead.
The party picks its way through the carnage towards the camp. There Cutter is walking alongside his victim as he desperately attempts to drag himself towards his weapon, blood seeping from his side as he goes. “We got a live one here, Faramonds.”
The woman, now on her knees, glares at the group as they surround the camp. She is very beautiful, with jet black hair and pale green eyes. Her fine clothing identifies her clearly as a noble. “Faramond? You’re a long way from home, province trash[sup]1[/sup].”
1 - Province trash is a common insult to nobles living in either the Northern or Eastern Provinces, who are perceived as hillbillies by nobles in the Bunic mainland.