Private Tales A Grudge to Bear

[Hector]

​

Hector waited in ambush, his forest painted armor dulling the light that did strike its surface. He tried to still his breathing, felt his heart want to quicken.

They had worked out a sign, as they shoveled boiled oats and roasted nuts down in the pre-dawn light. A handfull of berries too, chilled by morning's frost. The young half-elf had forraged them when his mind cracked to wake. And he stirred from the twined warmth he had found with Lorinna, careful to let her rest.

The call of an allirian jay, that would be their sign to strike, for the little birds weren't so far east, this deep into winter. Hector mimicked the creature for the others to hear, his hands cupped over his mouth as he played the instrument of wyld magick.

Duannin had grunt at the suggestion. "Usually, just takes the first bolt through their skulls to get an ambush goin proper," he shrugged. "But aye, I'll listen for the sound,"

That was hours ago. Seemed like a lifetime ago. Warmth shared in the night, turned to cold dreadful reality.

There was the snap of twigs, the rustle of movement. Hector's eyes glanced up, his helm's visor still up. He brought his hands to his lips once more, cupped as fingers fluttered.

So sang the allirian jay. So started the ambush against the hobgoblins. With the crack of one felled tree set to fall as the ropes that held it up came undone with the swift chop of a hatchet. Dpwn came the tree, crushed two at the rear and sealed their retreat.

The hobgoblin band screeched and shout as they tried to form loose ranks. A bolt from the bushes punched through one skull, just wide of the loudest foe. "Scatter! Scatter!" the one with ashen paint smeared across the bridge of his nose shouted. "Ambush, in the trees!"

Hector had counted six before they broke away, and grabbed up his spear.

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

Lorinna stayed quite still. She had a black tabard on and a cloak loosely thrown over her shoulders. She stood in shadow, trying everything to keep her armour from reflecting a shard of light and giving them away.

Leaning gently on a tree for so long with her own thoughts gave her a lot to think about. At times she felt a slight panic for what had happened, imagining that her peers, her family or even Hector would judge her for her behaviour. At other times she had to draw her attention from the heat that rose as she entertained recent memories.

She almost missed the bird call. Lorinna dropped the cloak and turned into the open space. Her sword picked from its resting position against the tree.

Lorinna tried to keep a mental note of where the dwarven ranger was. Close up, even her expensive plate would be punctured by a bolt from that heavy crossbow.

The hobgoblin rusher her way jumped at her. It wasn't the worst plan, to try and knock an armoured foe to the floor. Lorinna angled her shoulders to avoid taking its full weight through its knees in her chest. She stumbled back, but kept her focus.

As the hogbolin rolled back to its feet her sword came down. Not a clean blow, but the crack as its collarbone snapped under the impact rang out.

 

[Hector]

They had formed a three pointed snare. Hector at the rear, to cut their escape, Lorinna and Duannin to the front in a flat line.

Least, that's what Hector tried to remember as he stalked through the brush. Six. Six. He had counted six and saw them break forward, toward the others. He kept the image of them in his mind. Imagined how they might have spread, like embers in the wind. Drawn to energy and the swirl of battle heat.

His breath was heavy and hot in his helm, his ears on fire with all the sounds that snapped and cracked and clanged with action. He heard his foe before he saw them. The ragged breath and scared whimpers filled with cold and electric panic. Hector reworked the grip on his spear, readied for the thrust.

A loud crack slammed against the side of his helm with a sharp ring that shook him down to his core, his whole mind seared white as he stumble stepped and the inside of his skull rang.

He caught his footing as a large hobgoblin bulled toward him with cruel rusted mace raised high. Hector bent his knees, shuffle stepped back as he turned toward the impact he had felt, shield raised as his eyes refocused.

Down came the head of a cruel and heavy mace. The blunt force from the full bodied swing splintered some of the wood, but Hector had stayed strong, stayed tracking his foe as he had so many times before.

In too close for the spear, he let go and rammed leading with the hard steel boss. The large hobgoblin stumbled back, and in the space hector drew his short sword, opened his guard and hacked off one of the goblins arms with hard slash.

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

She watched Hector set his spear. Her peripheral vision wasn't perfect in the bascinet when she was being knocked about. Against a group of lightly armoured hobgoblins she thought the weapon was more effective than a sword. Her own father's words came back to her.

A spear is a weapon fit only for peasants. You use a sword. A mark of standing. Unless you face someone in armour. Then taking a poleaxe to them comes above wielding an elegant weapon.

The hobgoblin before her tried to run, but she swung again. It rolled across the ground, bleeding out and screeching in pain. That was a difference between her and her father. He had always made it sound like killing was a great sport. She would have put it down quickly, but two sounds drew her attention.

First she heard more rushing her way. Second came the sound of a mace against Hector's helm. That would hurt, no matter if the steel held its shape.

She glanced his way. He was moving forwards and right now she was in no position to help.

"There ain't many of em!" came a shout from somewhere.

 

[Hector]

Viscera sprayed in pumps and spurts. Out from the hose or the hobgoblins shortened arm. The detached limb still held on to it's mace and the hobgoblin still stood. Still held on to his mace with one arm.

Hector's head still rang sharp. His vision blurred some. The one armed hobgoblin tried to come again. Wider. Sloppier. A backstep from Hector, well behind shield, a thrust with his sword saw tip run through ribs.

A pull to free the blade saw it snagged in bone. Hector could feel the man's life leaving him. Could feel him struggling on. The squire kicked him off with a grunt. Saw Lorinna had felled another.

Two down, four-

His stomach turned from the bright ringing in his head as he marched toward Lorinna. His balance wobbled.

Two more sprang from the brush, converging on Lorinna. One with spear, the other with long knife and hatchet.

"Lori!" Hector shout as he closed his own eyes and dug into the flame of his mind. "Eyes shut!"

A crossbow bolt flit by with whistling threat, wide of it's mark.

Hector gathered his magicks and thrust his sword up in the air, pointing to the spot above her head.

A sizzling white flame crackled there in the air, and spat fat white sparks from its searing form. It ate the air around it, burst into a sphere of blinding bright light.

Something bulled Hector from the side, and knocked him onto the ground with a crunch.

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

"Ah shit," she muttered.

Even being around all the magic she still did not trust it. Not even in Hector's hands. Lorinna dropped to one knee and brought one hand across the slits in her helm.

She felt the wave of heat, saw the light through her fingers. It passed and she stood back up.

Two hogbolins were screeching and covering their eyes.

Hector was down.

She had to make a snap decision. She didn't fear the one with the spear, the one with the long knife that could get under the plates of her armour or through the eye slits was a danger.

Lorinna broke into a run. Expensive, perfectly forged and shaped plate barely slowing her. A side swipe gutted a hobgoblin.

"Oi!" She shouted at the Hobgoblin trying to stamp on Hector's neck. She only needed a few moments to close the distance.

 

[Hector]

Crossbow arms snapped forward, the mechanics of their machinery clicked with cold and effecient power. The bolt flew true and ran through the spear wielder's chest.

Duannin whooped. "Come now, treeling knights! Don't be done in by such rabble!" he spat.

On the ground, Hector felt his head spinning. The blunt blow from the mace against his helm had rattled him, left him disoriented.

It was harder to breath. But he moved anyway. All the drills they had run helped him move without thinking. Hand still tight around his sword, he turned with a lashing cut that ended with his sword on line, a crack from a blunt force saw the weapon bat away hard, his hand stinging harsh even through the defense of his gauntlet.

A swift kick put Hector flat on his back, a heel pressed down on his armored chest, his bevor the only thing that kept his neck from being crushed as hooked toenails and spurred heel kept tight grip. The hobgoblins eyes looked for the killing blow, its Warhammer held in both hands.

Hector bashed at the things legs with gauntleted fist, but this hobgoblin was different. Steady and sure.

"Oi!" Came a shout.

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

Lorinna charged on. She expected to see the hobgoblin to either ignore her or react with surprise. He didn't.

Hector was given another strike with the butt of the warhammer and the hobgoblin smoothly backed away and readied its stance.

Lorinna, too, slowed. This one knew how to fight. She stepped past Hector, both hands up at chest height. The point of her sword was aimed at the hobgoblin. It gave ground slowly and carefully, keeping the warhammer high. It was appraising her armour, looking for where to strike. In return, it knew that she had taken a defensive posture and that he was less protected from her sword.

"Hector?" she said quietly.

Lori didn't cross her legs as she moved to her left. The hobgoblin switched his grip in response.

Who the fuck trained this thing to fight?

She knew that there shouldn't have been any difference between how she felt today and yesterday, but she did. It took some self control to hold her nerve, not knowing whether Hector was just disorientated and about to get back up or was in serious trouble.

 

[Hector]

Another strike caused the ringing in his ears to grow all the louder. The bright disorienting pops of light that bubbled in the darkness of his helm made him feel sick. Made it hard to breath.

Hector?

His head was spinning. But he had to stand. "Eyes on him, Lori, ready" he said through gritted teeth as he worked on finding his wind. "The ranger," he said under breath.

From the brush came the click of Duannin's crossbow. The mechanical grind of gears moving, the crunch of momentum come to forceful stop. The bolt struck forward.

Hector seized the moment to scramble back up, body twisting and turning to put his feet under him, get up into a kneel.

The boss goblin picked its target. Stutter stepped its way forward at an irregular angle as the bolt missed its mark.

There was a clash. Harsh pangs of steel as guards were tested and angles fought for. Bleers of red that sizzled and struck at the corners of Hector's eyes, and the ground beneath him felt tilt and wobble. He was next to useless. Felt it as he tried to will strength to his legs, the shake and want to crash back to the ground threatened, with a twist in his gut.

Lori and the goblin came apart.

Breath, breath. Trust her.

Hector's hands came together at his chest. One aching and flared with dull throbs where the hammer had smacked, the other shaking from the stress. He drew in breath. Drew in the magick of life. Tended to his own hurts with healing warmth. Felt the ground slowly start to stabilize beneath him.

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

Lorinna had to wonder if the goblin had lived long enough to learn how to fight properly, or if there was the equivalent of what she would call 'classical teachings' among their kind.

Months of lessons in the forms had been brutal and exhausting. To find out that they weren't even battle ready had been demoralising. What Lorinna had been taught was the muscle memory of some key movements in all that time, but a real spar had been different.

Don't telegraph that strike as its written in Hiarees' treaties. No, I know that is what the diagram shows but no one really fights like that...

The hobgoblin fought as if he had studied how to fight as well as putting it into practise.

Lorinna backed up. She'd taken a few glancing blows with enough venom to really hurt through her armour. She suspected if they had to keep going that it would be a tired mistake that decided the victor .

"Steady yourself Hector, I'm alright," she said.


Time and allies were on her side. She didn't want the dwarf to miss another bolt or for Hector to charge back in before his head was straight and take a fatal blow.

She thrust forwards, forcing the hobgoblin to give some ground. He reacted by tilted just beyond her reach and then snapping the hammer around to skim off her breastplate.

He wasn't tiring yet.

 

[Hector]

Steady yourself Hector, I'm alright

It was in Hector's ears. The ringing. A sharp chime that did not soften. That kept the space about them in blur. Uneven. He grit his teeth. The feel of his muscles come tight as his jaw clenched. It helped him find some iron in him. Rigidity in his neck that diffused down his spine. And into his core.

The buzz softened, though the harsh pangs of clashed steel only brought it back to biting focus in his mind. Only made the muscles in his neck and his core strain the more. Too tight. Tense.

When the hammer clanged against Lori's breastplate, he near leapt up, his legs tried to drive his weight off the ground, and forward. But a sudden dizziness as he lifted up had him pause. Felt the shortness of his breath. The healing flame had burned away some of the unsteadiness, but more of it still swam about his head.

A liability. He would be nothing more than a burden right now if he tried to engage. He could see that still. Cloudy as his mind felt.

But he needn't wield a blade to aide his counterpart.

He shut his eyes. Found his mind's fire once more. Felt it's heat spread across the earth beneath him. Could feel the harsh clatter and pings of weapons and armor. Made duller by the crackle and his of magick flame.

His perception of time distorted further. Like light bent about the golden tongues of a camp fire.

The goblin was unfamiliar to him. Their sounds. The beat of their gate. Not something he could trace through the haze of a bruised mind. Lorinna though. He could hear her. Feel the shift of her weight transfer through the ground as his magicks pooled out from his central locus. The eminant point of the magick he spread across the field.

Lorinna might have felt lit. Similar to the warmth he had shared with her the night before. A simple cantrip then, now burned hotter. A fire of life that would give fuel for her muscles to burn hotter and faster and with more wrath.

He could not help her with steel, in this moment, but he could help her with his magick.

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

Lorinna took slow steps back, trying to gauge the Hobgoblin's next strike. He had to be thinking of running, but knew he couldn't turn his back on her.

She gave a thought to lowering the tip of her sword and letting him run. She didn't know if he would understand the gesture. He also seemed like he would be capable of going and rousing more support to come back and exact revenge.

Lorinna feinted and then held her ground. For a few moments she thought Hector's magic was just a result of the exertion. Her body a furnace inside the armour. It was the same as last night, that first touch of his magic. She had to keep her kind anchored in the moment, the sensation trying to draw it away.

Lorinna stepped forwards. She felt the strength flow through her as she moved into a straightforward offensive routine. It wasn't the skill that pushed her on, it was the ferocity of each strike. Her blade snapping back and forth, the scattato rhythm of the goblin using the wooden haft of his weapon to block the sword.

In the end it was his own ability to read the fight that was his undoing. Three downward strikes that cut into the wooden handle and she made a barely perceptible shift of footing that made him think was was going low. He started to lower the hammer and Lorinna's sword came down again.

Her blade struck the wood but there was little resistance. It kept falling and bit down into his shoulder just outside his neck.

Lorrina took her left hand from the sword, took the pointed knife from her belt and drive it into the goblins heart.

 

[Hector]

Keep the connection. Clear. Clean. Proper fuel. Proper flow.

Hector kept his mind clear as he could. Through the harsh pangs of combat. Through the stress of his own injury. His heart wanting to jump. To race and skip a bit. He needed to control it. Temper it. He felt Lorinna burning up. The flame of her life blazing with defiance. With work and energy. With strength.

He had to keep the energies flowing. Smooth. With a rhythm to match her own. Their spirits tangled. The fire in her veins tied to the fire in his. Too much, and he could feel her thinking. Doubting. Sensing too much.

No. She was strong all her own. He was just there to help. To add his strength to hers. Keep her fire lit and fueled. Burning clean. Burning hot and easy like a well fed forge. So ready to do the work.

The last strikes rang out, and in the blaze of gold and white and red, he saw the spray of cold black. Blood spilt across the earth, and Hector opened his eyes wide. His breath steady, but quickened. Lorinna had won.

"Oy, get the cart ye rowdy acorns, and lets bugger off!" Duannin alerted as he broke through the brush. "Way to keep yer cool lass," he said with a grin, his eyes narrowed as he looked at Hector. "Good job not dyin,"

Hector slapped up his visor, turned, and puked out his breakfast with a sick squelch.

Duannin's squint narrowed. "He always like that?" he asked, and shook his head, walked over to the young man and helped him up. "Up now, no time to waste," Hector leaned on him, felt the ground beneath him still uneven, and his head buzz.

They loaded onto the cart, and knowing the price of good kit, Duannin made sure to at least grab up Hector's sword, and handed it to the young elf before he scrambled up with the goodies, rest his fine machine-work crossbow on the railing of the wagon walls, and smirked.

"Big lass, ye take the reigns and get us the hell out of here,"

Yipping and howling could be heard in the distance, and the howl of wolves.

Duannin grinned. "They got some bloody wolf riders do they?" He slapped Hector on the back. "You can use that fire of yours for more than just sparkly lights, yeah?" he laughed. "Let's go, let's go!" he called back to Lori.

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

"Keep an eye on Hector!" She called back, lifting her visor.

She needed to breath, needed more air in her lungs. Her limbs were aching from the exertion. With the magic she had pushed herself to, and just beyond, her limit.

Lorinna got them moving, turning to look over her shoulder.

"He took several blows to the head. He might just pass out any time," she said. The explanation came with a look that showed the dwarf how any claims of weakness would be taken.

They were in no place to speed away. The horse was barely pulling them away beyond walking pace. They might have been able to set a trap and another ambush of they had been tracked, but wolf riders were another matter.

"Didn't see any fucking wolves with the group," she muttered to herself. Which meant they might have been following a parallel path to avoid leaving tracks mixed in with the small caravan.

"On the right!" She shouted.

 

[Hector]

The dwarf grunted a laugh, but thought better than to speak to his humor. "Just take us out, fast and true, Lass, and we'll get the elf what he needs!" the cart rattled and shook to motion.

Hector was leaned up against the railing, sandwiched between the goods and the wooden wall. His head lazy as it lilted and shook with the erratic motion of the wagon as it picked up speed. Each bump and knock seemed to stirr up the white fuzz behind his eyes. Keep the world tilted and spinning.

He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. Off the earth, his connection to the leylines, and magick of the world was weaker. More turbulent. He grit his teeth.

On the right!

Wolves smashed through the brush, large and scraggly, the big beasts looked near as big as the horse.

And the smell of them. The horse grew harder to control.

"I gotcha now, ye damn mongril mounter!" the trigger squeezed, the metal work cranked and shift to wicked snap that let loose bolt.

It punched into one wolf's side, just behind the forelimb and the beast yelp-whined. Stride broken, it crashed with rider in tow.

Another rider crashed through on the opposite flank, heading straight for them.

"Oh, ye bloody overgrown rat!" the dwarf cursed as the wolf sprint up their dusty trail, his hands fixing a bayonet under the run of his weapon. "Come on and take it!" he rushed to the tail of the gate. A bounce from the wagon as it rushed on with momentum.

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

She didn't knew if the dwarf carried courage or rage to bring about his attitude. Lorinna had thought any reinforcements would have come on foot. A slow pursuit not a mad chase.

She knew what Hector needed. They fought with mace and hammer in full plate often on the practise grounds. He needed rest and sleep.

Duannin rushed to the back of the wagon, but that left her with a wolf rider in her peripheral vision. The animals had a difficult gait to ride out and the goblin clutched a poorly balanced spear. The pair were still a danger to the horse.

Lorinna drew the knife from her belt. Twisting at the waist she feigned throwing it at the hobgoblin. He yanked on the wolf's fur, turning back into the treeline.

It was fortunate, as she expected she would have missed if she had actually tried to throw the knife at the rider.

 

[Hector]

The dwarf ate shit. Crossbow dropped as he hit the wagon floor hard, the weapon near spun off the wagon. Wide eyed, Duannan grasped for it desperately, some blood running down his nose from the hard smack against the wagon.

The wolf and its rider leapt up, fore claws raking the dwarf as maw snarled and snapped and the hobgoblin rider stabbed down with short spear.

A red-golden flame sizzled to life, spitting sparks as the sphere of fire came into being, turned long into sword's blade.

Hector, wide eyed with pupils ablaze, let out steaming breath. His lips dry and his outstretched hand shaking from more than just the wagon. His clutched hand held the sword aloft in the air, it kept pace with them, a golden streak trailing behind them as embers sizzled in comet's tail.

The dwarf kicked and shout, and the wolf snarled and snapped and Hector could but see the blazing fire in his eyes. Each life before him white and hot. His spell red.

He brought his flexed and pointed fingers to the wolf and its rider, and the blade of fire struck down with a searing crack.

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

Lorinna started wrapping the reigns around part of the seat. At this point it didn't matter how fast they went, the wolves would keep up with them.

She heard the sharp yelp, turned to see a hobgoblin tumble from the back of a burning wolf.

"Hector we need..."

Lorinna had stood up, grabbing her sword. The rider she had made flinch returned. The wolf launching from a boulder to their right.

She flattened herself down. The light vanishing as it passed over the cart. It snarled and bit, but missed.

As Lorinna stood once more she heard the twang of a bowstrings. An arrow struck her above the breast. It glanced off the armour but sent her stumbling back.

The horse slowed to a trot, leaving them on an island of the wagon, surrounded by three riders circling them.

 

[Hector]

Each breath that came from Hector's mouth burned, deeper and deeper into his flesh. His mouth was dry, his tongue felt more and more like dry dirt turning to stone with each moment that passed. His body steamed, and his armor trapped it all inside.

The world around him as cold and blue. The flickers of his fire as the wolf fell away in pained howl, his spell, he could still feel it, see it, dark and angry red swirling across the white heat of the wolf and its rider. His hand still out and holding on to it as he breathed and breathed. He pulled the flame up, and the swirl of fire reformed.

Smaller, lesser. A sword still, it hung over their cart, sailing like flat bodied, its shape turned to that of a bird's. Long beaked and proud feathered as embers and flame streaked behind it in bleeding tail.

Duanin was scraped and bloodied. The odd angles, the bounce of the wagon, all had caused the scrape of claw and stab of spear to go wide, to turn shallow. Ugly and long scars, yes. But nothing that would keep him from carrying on in the moment.

The ranger, crossbow clutched in his arms as if it were a babe, drew up to a knee as the wolves ran round them, and his hand grabbed up one of the last bolts that were still littered about the scramble.

"Take me fuckin mates, for what?" he grumbled and growled. "For some fuckin toys, you bastards?!" The crossbow clanked ready. Arms locked back with killer tension.

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

"Shit."

The singing and drinking had not been typical for dwarven kind after all. He had been in mourning, or busy nursing his grudge.

She quickly appraised the situation. Nothing Duannin had done had compromised them. He still had some sense. The horse dutifully trotted on, but the wolves could easily lope past and around them. The cart was still her best position to defend.

"Take your time with each shot," she cautioned. They didn't have an endless supply of bolts, but she was better armoured against a missile than a wolf.

She stood protectively beside Hector. He still manipulated his magic, despite clearly not being ready for battle. Soon he might not have a choice.

"Which looks like the leader?" She muttered, twisting on the spot, sword held upwards and ready to defend herself.

 

[Hector]

The mounted archer let fly, and his arrow twifted through the sky, pinged off of the round plane of Hector's helm, and spat off. The harsh sound rattled him all the more, his flame spell flickered some, wavered, but he grit his teeth and clenched his hand into a fist. The winged fire burned bright again. Burned hotter above them.

Again, betwixt the gate of his wild wolf, the hobgoblin bowman knocked arrow and pulled strong his bow. Duannin turned, too rabid to heed Lorinna's warning. "Ye aint taken these acorns too!" he squeezed the trigger, and the bolt struck out, a hair shy from the archer who loosed in turn. Arrow plunked against Hector's shoulder this time, stuck in between a gap, shallow, but pointed and painful as it dug into his muscle.

The fire bird seared towards the archer, and crashed full into its chest, flames errupting in a hungry wash across the wolf's oily pelt. The beast crashed to the earth as it yowled in pain.

With the ward of fire spent, the other two riders kicked their wolves to action. A pincer attack. One wolf ran up a raise in the terrain and leapt over the side of the wagon. It crashed full onto Hector, bulling him flat onto his stomach with great paws and bulk, and in a rapid scramble its jaws gnashed at the armor of his helm as it tried to find his neck.

The other wolf went for Lorinna.

Duanin roared and rammed his bayonet into the side of the Wolf that mauled at Hector. The beast yelped and whined and threw a snapping bite towards the dwarf who fell back, fingers found crossbow bolt beneath them, clutched it tight as the wounded wolf limped forth, its rider held their spear aloft, and looked for the right spot to jab the head down.

A pair of gauntleted hands grabbed round the goblin and yanked him down from his saddle with hard twist. Duannin bulled toward the wounded wolf and stabbed the bolt clean in its eye as Hector howled in blood boiled agony, and bludgeoned the rider to death with hammering armored fist. He could hardly see past the blinding white, or hear past the sharp ringing between his ears.

But he wasn't dying here.

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

She hoped Hector had enough layers of clothing and muscle that the arrow had not struck bone. They had all heard a tale of someone having an arrow pulled out and how unpleasant it was.

Flames roared outwards. Lorinna had hoped that the other two would have fled, but they instead took their chance and drove their mounts on.

She clutched her sword in both hands, one at the handle and another halfway up the blade. She used it more like a shield to stop the wolf getting her torso into its jaws.

She was still thrown from her feet, hitting the ground hard. The head of a spear struck the wood and then her shoulder. The wolf turned its head. Lorinna gasped as she was afforded a view of the inside of the wolf's maw.

She thrust out with the edge of her blade as its teeth clamped down around her armour. It was her layers of padding, not the steel, that kept the bite force painful rather than an absolute agony.

Her blade reached the back of the wolf's mouth, cutting into soft skin on each side. They remained there, locked together, as the goblin dismounted to try and finish Lorinna with a knife.

 

[Hector]

Duannin roared hot chellenge as he stabbed and stabbed at the wolf, who with its dying strength gnashed at his arm, crushed hard against leather bracers to the point of bone breaking underneath. Red ran in rivulets and gushes and spatters as all the wagon riders fought for survival.

Another crack and crash. Growls and yelps as teeth rattled against steel plate, and the tell tale *crunch* of giving armor sounded out, horrid to his ears.

With stars in his eyes, and ringing pitch between his ears, Hector saw the the wolf locked with Lori, saw the rider draw his long cruel knife.

He clenched his teeth and broke forward from his low stance, and speared into the goblin, ripping him off his feet and bulling over the edge of the wagon with a hard clatter crack and roll as he tumbled in the brush.

"Oy! That crazy elf!" the dwarf shouted out, the wolf he had locked with dead, he picked up his crossbow, bayonet still fixed in, and spiked the wolf Lori fought with for good measure, right where skull met spine. The beast went limp.

And the bloodied dwarf grabbed up the reins of the horse to pull it to a stop.

Blood pooled around the bag of loot and dripped out the backend of the wagon as clouds of dust swirled about the halted wheels. "You alright, big lass?"

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

"Yes," she grunted.

Her sword was clutched to her breastplate. She placed one hand on the ground and rolled onto her side.

Her armour was intact, but there wasn't a part of her that didn't hurt. She was barely able to roll onto one knee.

Damn the dwarve's stubborn constitution.

"Hector," she coughed. "Get after Hector!"

 

[Hector]

Duannin grunt, and gave a nod before he hopped off the wagon, his bayoneted crossbow, and one last stray bolt in tow.

In the thrushes, Hector stirred. His head rolled lazily side to side as the ringing between his ears kept it's eerie drone. His arm stung something sharp and pulsing and stuck about his shoulder.

The world was spinning. Even with his eyes closed, he felt his head swimming as it tried to make up from down. He tried to get up. Felt equilibrium tilt to one side. Felt his stomach lurch.

A sound beside him, a rustle. A rush.

Hector turned to face it with a dogged rage, swung a wild fist as he threw his weight around.

"Woah now!" The dwarf called out, and raised his purple and swollen hand up to caution the squire. "Friend, friend!" He warned.

Hector's shoulders rose and fell with heavy pants, and he could not sit up without sway and swirl.

Duannin peered around, poked past branch and growth. Saw a trail of broken stalk and twig. "Looks like ee made off," he let out, and moved to Hector's side as he slung his crossbow. "Come on, stay with me, else the big lass might have me head if you lose your lights."

"Lori," the squire croaked.

Duannin nodded. "Aye," he grunt as he hefted up his weight. "Lori,"

They slowly shuffled back to the wagon.