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Mandrake, Elsbeth, Smilo, Rolf, Callum, Flea, Edgar All except Edgar are swept away with the hunt, you are running faster than you ever have before and when you get to the edge of the swamp - you plunge on , still caught up in the wonder of running with the pack. You realise what you are about to do, but just can't stop your self, but your feet don't even get wet, and before you know it you are running across the surface of the water. And the chase still goes on, across dips and hills, through gorse and heather - you still keep running unhindered. Running faster and faster, the horn blaring occasionally - but not getting out of breath at all. Around you the hounds run, licks of green flame still issuing from their mouths and feet- for ever pressing forward as fast as you can go. The huntsman himself running along behind still brandishing his spear and winding his horn. But apart from the horn, it is silent you can't hear the normal noises of the night - you can't hear the hounds baying and growling, even though you can see them trying too. You can't even hear your companions - all you can do is run and wonder in the feeling of speed and exhilaration….. And then in the distance and closing rapidly, there is a light - which as you approach resolves itself into a camp fire. A camp fire with many figures around it, and as you finally close with the fire you realise that they are dogheads - dogheads that have just been disturbed by the horn, dogheads that are as unprepared as you were a few minutes ago... And then you are amongst them, and the pack stops running, and starts leaping to attack the dogheads. But the attacks are silent and seem to never quite hit, still the dogheads are trying to defend them selves from the hounds - and the huntsman stands watching. And you find yourselves, weapons in hand, in the midst of the dogheads ... --- Edgar, starting a split second after the others flies up and towards the pack, but never seems to catch up with them. Flying at top speed he can just keep the pack in sight, and arrives at the doghead camp a little while after the others ... ------------------------------------------------------- OOC Unprepared Dogheads are AC10 |
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Running effortlessly among the stunted trees, the muddy ground littered with scummed water, nothing could bar Rolfs league gulping pace. And all the while, the glorious thrill of the hunt fills his limbs with exuberant vigor. As they crash into the doghead camp, Rolf gives a cry of exaultation. Dropping his beloved bow and arrows to the side, he takes his sword in both hands. Charging at the first of the dogheads, he swings. The huge blade crashes at the doghead, beating aside it's pathetic and half ready defense. The blade slices a shallow, but long cut across the beasts torso, from it's left shoulder angling down towards it's right side. Rolf crows his victory into the night. |
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Snarling at Rolf for getting to the fight before him as he leaps past, Callum brings his huge sword overhead in a crushing blow to the top of a doghead skull which crunches it's way down to the beasts' midriff. Howling exultantly, Callum rips his sword from the dying doghead and with a feral gleam in his eyes, looks around to see if there is an obvious chieftain. In the shadowy firelight, it almost looks as though the huge mans' muscles are rippling and expanding under his skin. OOC: 16 points of damage |
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Elsbeth, her aches forgotten, screams a piercing war cry as they enter the camp. She charges into the fray, her eyes wild, slashing a doghead across the stomach. A splash of blood stains her face and clothes, momentarily blinding her. Breathing heavily, she hefts her scimitar again. (5 points damage) |
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To say the dogheads were unprepared is an undestatement. Not only that, they are terrified of the spectral hounds spewing freen flashing flames, that are attacking them. One doghead, who seem slightly larger and more prepared than the rest, is tryin to organise them. But the rest are still batting ineffectively at the hounds..... Jesse is laying about himself with abandon, a short sword in one hand and a long sword in the other. One doghead already lies dead at his feet ribs severed by the long sword, a second lies dieing at his feet skewered by the short sword. Rethe attacks, and wounds, another - but somewhat more sedately - and even Flea has a dagger stuck into the leg of a dog head. ------------------------- OOC: First round is surprise - and you have inititive on the second round - so please attack again,if you feel like it :) BTW: don't forget these are large creatures :) |
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Callum's doghead is dead ..... |
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Attack |
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Smilo darts out from under some brush and rams his dirk into the midriff of one fleeing gnoll. OOC: 6 points |
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Elsbeth shakes the hair from her eyes and thrusts wildly at the doghead before her. Her foot slips on the uncertain footing and she misses wildly, falling to her knees. As quickly, she scrambles up, ready to attack again. |
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OOC: My damage roll earlier was for small/medium sized creatures. John's being nice enough to let me re-roll the damage. Good thing, too. Even Smilo's dirk did more damage than Rolf's bastard sword. And hey, it was well worth it considering the damage done is a awe inspiring 6 as opposed to the pathetically challenging 4 of before. Rolf, seeing his foe still before him, the thrill of the hunt still burning through his veins, he swings the large blade in another, more deadly arc [OOC: damage of 13, based on Callum's result, I'm guessing a combined damage of 19 is enough to put the doghead out of my misery], seeing blood spurt as his blade sinks deep in the dogheads side. Again, a cry of triumph tears its way from his throat as the doghead slumps to the swamp muck. Spinning, Rolf looks for another doghead upon which to let his steel fall. |
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Arriving on the scene late, Edgar alights upon a high branch to rest his tired wings and see what all the ruckus is about ... What he sees appalls him. Under no illusions about the nature of those with whom he had so recently joined, he finds this sudden unearthly glee in the slaughter of even such fell creatures as the dogheads a stark contrast to their more usual demeanour. True, the two-legs had no qualms about killing, but they also had compassion. This ... blood frenzy ... Edgar shakes his head. "This is not natural," he muses to himself, hunching his feathered body further into the safety of the branches. |
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Callum singles out the apparent leader and even as he leaps towards him the Celts' body grows and distorts, bulging with huge muscles, joints bending in unnatural directions and sparks like lightning running all over his body. His mouth splits into a savage grin, literally from ear to ear and his eyes roll back in his head, the whites shining with an unnatural gleam. Swinging his massive claidh-mhor round and down he smashes it into the shoulder of the creature, the weight of the great sword smashing it down. OOC: 16 points of damage |
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Thoughts snapped at Mandrake as he ran, hounds at the heals of a fleeing man. How could he keep up with them all, he a short gnome? This was soon brushed away in the thrill, it didn't matter, what did matter was that he could. This thought fell back into the pack and a new leader replaced it; who or what were these visages? What matter, they ran and they accepted him into their numbers. This thought was then overtaken, to where did they run though? To where the chase took them of course, is that not where any hunt goes? Then the water was before him and a yelp of glee one though leap and almost bit to the flesh of his heal, you must stop now! But they do not stop, look, the chase continues. And so it did, Mandrake given over to the sensations, any doubts left yapping at the waters edge soon fading to nothing. Ahead, a glow, a fire. Closer and the figures of things about the fire became clearer, humanoid figures, dogheads! There was no feeling of fear though, just a lust for blood, a knowing that the chase was run and that the hunt had reached it's climax. Mandrake was as a hunting animal now, no thoughts of safety, of standing of and using sling or magic, he ran straight for the closest doghead. His short-sword was already in his hand, but he didn't know when he had drawn it, he didn't care. OOC: sorry guys, I was away for the weekend from Friday. I'll post the outcome of the attacks as soon as I get home tonight and can read some rules. Mean time, please don't wait for Mandrake ;-) |
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