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Old 01-03-2007, 11:33 PM   #312
Child of the 7th Age
Spirit of the Lonely Star
 
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The attack:

Urlok’s post

Urlok swung his horse about on the rocky ledge and brought her to a halt, staring down on the grove where the slavers had begun their charge. The older man had no idea where his Captain was. A few minutes before, six of the band, almost half of those left who were capable of fighting, had come galloping up to him with garbled accounts of what they had seen. Speaking in fearful voices, the men described a gigantic flying creature that had charged down on the plain not far from where they were standing. One of the men had claimed to hear the shrieks and roars of three comrades obviously under desperate attack, and that one of those despairing voices had belonged to Imak.

Urlok did not know what to make of this. He was a stolid man, experienced and battle hardened, little given to imagination or flights of fancy. In all the years he had fought, he had never seen or heard of any such gigantic flying beast, other than those in the faerie stories that were told to children around winter fireplaces. Even glimpsing this great creature from a distance, his men had been terrified and shaking, fearful that the creature would descend on their heads and strike again. Urlok had roared back at his fellow slavers, telling them to stiffen their backbones and to keep their minds on what they were doing, promising that, if he heard any more about flying beasts, he would personally separate their shoulders from their heads. He had said this in such a way that his men had backed off and begun to regroup for the battle charge.

Urlok knew nothing of dragons or myths, but he did know about fighting, possibly more than Imak. With the Captain nowhere in sight, he had stepped to the front and barked out orders to the men who were returning to the grove in twos and threes. Within a short time, he had managed to organize them, so they were now charging forward into the grove. Despite heavy losses among the slavers, Urlok felt that his band had a decent change of prevailing and dragging off any number of women and children back to Nurn in exchange for gold and silver. He still had twelve stout fighters, all experienced in battle. Although relatively few of the defenders of the camp had been slaughtered, great numbers of them were wounded and totally unfit to fight. Moreover, there were many women and children who, while whole bodied, had no knowledge of fighting. Altogether, Urlok guessed that the slaves possessed no more than fifteen to eighteen fighters who could put up a fierce resistance. Moreover, most of the enemy were on foot, while most of his own band still had their horses. The odds, then, were not bad. With that consoling thought in mind, Urlok kicked at his horse’s flanks and urged him down the rocky slope, his sword draw from its scabbard.

******************

Save: Lindir describes the action

Lindir, Gretl, and Wulf raced into the grove a few moments after the slavers' attack had begun in earnest. Aiwendil bustled over to the elf's side and hurried him off to the sheltered cove where Athwen was attempting to care for the injured. It was the one place that was still well protected and they could talk in relative peace.

Aiwendil blurted out a quick report, trying to give Lindir an accounting of what had happened in the course of battle. "It has been hard...very hard. The freed slaves report many losses. Reagonn, Syth, Zaki, Erlech, and Joshwen have all fallen. Others too....more than I can name. And there are others we have not seen, a number of those who were on horseback.....Darren, Korden, amd Ayce. Whether they live or die, we do not know. Many too are wounded. Too many for Athwen to tend easily. Hadith has been brought in with injuries, and Adnan too. Athwen has gotten some of the women to help her."

Lindir glanced over and saw Johari kneeling beside the wounded Hadith. He could also make out Azhar and two other young women helping to care for those who lay wounded, "Azhar is safe then? I'd heard a garbled account that she had fallen to the enemy."

Aiwendil shook his head, "No, she was brought back safe here, but not before a serious scuffle. She went out searching for the lost child Tom. She managed to find him alive but in the hands of several slavers. Rôg rescued them both and did us a service. He took out two of the slavers on his own and injured Imak severely. The man has lost his hand and should not bother us again today."

Lindir raised one eyebrow but said nothing. Glancing up, he saw Dorran dismount from his horse, carrying Fewerth in his arms. The Rider lay the injured man in front of Athwen, explaining that he had been trampled by a horse, and then went off to collect another man who had been wounded. Aiwendil's eyes met Lindir's and , despite the hard surroundings, saw a look of relief. "They both made it back then. I feared for their safety."

"Yes, Athwen told me that Dorran's head wound is bleeding again and, like so many, he can not ride out to fight. But he insists on helping with the injured and bringing those in who need attention. And if this part of the grove is breached, he will fight, wound or not."

Lindir nodded and glanced around. He could see Khamir and Nasim fighting doggedly in the thick of battle. Beloan had also joined them. But others, too many, were missing.

Lindir prodded, "Where is Shae and Kwell?" I do not see either of them. Indeed, I thought Kwell was to be placed in charge of the older children in the grove, but I only see Grwell, standing there beside Rôg. Kwell was at the trench, I know, although he was supposed to be here. But since then I have not seen him. And the woman? Where is she?"

Aiwendil shook his head and hastily replied, "I have no news of Kwell or Shae. I have seen neither since the battle began. But there is one more thing I must show you."

Aiwendil walked gently over to the Dwarf and knelt down on the ground. "Vrór." he said simply.

Lindir slipped to his knees and put his hand on the dwarf's chest. The breaths came slow and halting.

Lindir shook his head and spoke, "This is the hardest, the hardest of all." At that moment he glimpsed one more friend trying to stay alive in dangerous surroundings. A large horse was prancing and snorting on the outskirts of the grove with two fighters precariously mounted on his back. Carl was in the front and was having some difficulty guiding the animal while Dirrand was hacking wildly in all directions with a large sword. They were faced by three slavers, the first tall and heavy wielding a battle axe and the second a much smaller fellow who darted in and out with a small slashing knife. In the distance, just approaching them, was a man whom Lindir knew to be one of Imak's most trusted henchmen. He had riden down the hill and was charging straight for the beleaguered pair.....

Hastily, Lindir stood up, "I must go. Carl needs my help and I can do nothing for my good friend here. We will have to leave that to Athwen and to the ancestors of the Dwarfs whom they say look after their own. Aiwendil, hold the grove. So far the women and children are safe. We must keep that so." Then Lindir turned and sprinted down to where Carl and Dirnan were fighting.

Last edited by Child of the 7th Age; 01-08-2007 at 03:02 AM.
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