Battle for Seedorf - CLOSED

(This is just going to be to post the related rp that happens(-ed) with this plot for people to enjoy. )

Part1

The Nachtwald. A place of danger and mystery. Darkness looms at every turn, and strange creatures wander, seemingly unchecked. The dark forest possesses many facets; some known, some secret, and some long forgotten. Those who remember, dread every memory, every waking nightmare they face. Your mind plays tricks when you step beyond the path. Things you see out of the corner of your eye, disappear when you try and see them full on. They say that there are places in this world, places that have a direct connection to the feywild, and the darkness beneath. Where faeries are playful, and lead you to death. Where the most innocent flower may very well be a trap, and you find yourself eaten alive.

Strange noises echo from the depths of these deceptive woods, where spirits roam and grigs play. The cracking of trees, the steady, heavy thrum of footsteps. There, movement in the brush! A single, but brief glimpse of something silver, darting away from your peripheral vision, and when you twist to look, it is gone. Today, the trees have eyes. Dark hollows of anguish and misery, seeking prey. Today, there is a sound unlike any that has been heard, in many a year. Drums of war beat, echoing ever closer, and with every pause in the drums, the sound of those heavy footsteps advancing becomes ever more clear. Beyond the line of trees, large dark shadows move. But these are not the shadow of one's mind playing tricks, to draw you into the woods and forever be lost. No, this is something all too real. All too terrifying.

Boys, no older than sixteen, come bursting from the path, screaming, with a horrified look etched upon their faces. But one is missing. As they turn back to see where their friend has gotten to, hoping he can catch up, there is another loud snap, and the boy who was lagging behind comes flying through the trees, his body a limp mess of broken bone. The horror in their faces deepen as their friend lands on the cobbles in a distorted heap. A grunt catches their attention, and eyes raise higher, and there, twenty feet high and not ten feet from them, just beyond the treeline.. a disfigured face, flesh a leathery texture, a disgustingly sickening shade of purple, teeth yellow and rotted, and a gaze of hunger, and lust to see blood.

{Quintus`Durai} The recently demoted guard had had a trying day. The morning since the crack of dawn he had been put through his paces by his new superiors, which involved running laps, shovelling out the stables, and moving bags of oats back and forth across the yard. Though as was predictable, he had taken the punishment with a stoic reserve and did not complain once; not even when the calloused and weathered skin of his palms tore away from such indiscriminate toil. Once he had finished his patrol, much to the chagrin of a Corporal (one he had been berating just a week before), he made quick time for his home and the comfort of some well deserved solitude. It was shortly after he finished applying bandages to his hands, and just as he began work on a carving made from something that might've at one point been bone did he glance up towards his open window. There upon the wind, carried across the distance was a scream, and then another, until it was a horrible chorus of fear and agony. He dropped his carving and moved to the window and listened. The direction of the wind told him all he needed to know. Trouble was brewing, and the cauldron was the Nachtwald.

Lord`Haar would sit in the sanctuary of the chapel, meditating on what was coming. He was already clad in full battle raiment, a battered but ornate suit of armor that had served him through many battles. It would seem the screams and sinister motives of the Nachtwald would fall upon deafened ears as panicking villagers and acolytes hurried about, seeking safety from the coming storm. His eyes would open and he would reach forward, picking up a heavy helmet and placing it upon his head before rising. He would walk past the cowering masses to the outside of the cathedral and look towards the 'wald.

{Quintus`Durai} Minutes later he was saddled upon his tawny mare, and in full gallop towards the barracks. His perfectly pressed coat not even buttoned, his Shashka rattling loudly at his side. He dug his spurs into the horses flank, and rode the beast harder. The wind carried an ill omen upon it, and he was not one to ignore such flagrant warnings. Perhaps there was still time to raise the alarm, and move some of the townspeople behind the strong and sturdy walls of the guards barracks. He reigned the mare to a sudden stop, having spotted a patrol, the animal screeched and slid across the cobbles. He pointed to the first guard he saw and ordered the man to make for the town gates, and to raise the alarm. The hell with the consequences. He would likely hang if he was wrong, but that was a chance he was willing to take. They may have taken his commission, but by the gods they would not take from him his sense of duty.

{Konstantin} The past week had been exquisitely boring for Konstantin Sobolev, horse fancier, dashing but mildly rheumatic rogue and international man of trench leisure. Around him, Seedorf had been buzzing with rumours, gossip and speculation. Some of the more sensible people had decided to go visit with relatives in far off towns, claiming at the gate that they really did need a cart laden with furniture to go to their cousin's weather, because 'Millie don't own enough chairs, boss'. Konstantin inwardly cheered them on. Good for them. He himself had scrupulously been avoiding getting caught up in the general anxiety. It had been easier than he thought, mainly because he couldn't bring himself to care. They'd had excellent lamb chops at the inn that week, courtesy of some farmer who really knew how to fatten his herd up nicely, and there may have been one or two dancing girls. Konstantin was watching the goings-on in the market, the end of the day's business nearing fast. He liked seeing people going about their affairs, liked to listen to the stallholders' inventive cries and the fishwifes' colourful swearing. The short steppe warrior was hogging a bench, his legs sprawled on it, and eating a leg of chicken. You didn't survive popping from war to war for over twenty-five years without learning to trust your instincts. And you didn't survive with all your limbs generally intact without having some pretty damn good instincts. Konstantin stopped chewing and narrowed his already slanted eyes to blue slits. He looked around him and judged everything to look fine. But something was off.

{Konstantin} Godsdamnit," Konstantin mumbled. "And I was going to try the brunette today."

The smaller trees seperating Seedorf from the 'Wald began to twist and sway of their own volition, untouched by breeze of hand of man. They took shape, little by little, bending in upon themselves. Wide boughs began to twist and drop, settling into vaguely human shapes. Leaves of hair, bodies vaguely humanoid, wrenching their rooted feet from the ground to step forward. Darting masses of silvery skin danced among the dryads as they began to march, heralded by the grunted commands of that purple face. The boys turned away from their friend and ran for someplace safe, as the alarm bells rang out, echoing across the town. The larger trees bent aside, offering passage for something, or somethings much larger, those heavy footfalls trampling whatever was in their path, and echoing their warning to all who could hear.

Nadia Faun had been raised in the Nachtwald.. by the very forest that everyone feared so. Empathetic to the forest was one of her downfalls..one of the things that made Seedorf hate the little moon-lit, silvery haired nymph. Anger had begun early this morning and soon had turned to utter hatred and desire for wreckage. Nadia was moving along the edges of the Nachtwald at a pace slow enough that she could look ahead of her for signs of this corruption she had been prey to all day. In the very back of her mind, where her sane thoughts were hidden..she found herself thankful that Thomas would not see her like this; with hate in her heart and the need to cause pain in her eyes.

{Quintus`Durai} He wheeled his horse about once he arrived at the yard of the barracks. "You men, man the siege-engines." He wheeled his horse again. "Archers, to the walls." Again. "You men, assist the townsfolk, man the gates!" He drew his shashka. "Corporal! Get your men and mount up. We shall charge the field to give Seedorf more time." The magic in the air buzzed like the electricty of a storm. The Nachtwald had belched forth something dangerous, something sinister, something that would be the end of them all. The guards followed his orders without question. Though he had been demoted, the sting of Durai's words were still to sharp and fresh of the memory to even question or spark debate. He twisted the reigns about his hand, and spun his tawny mare around. "For Seedorf!" He cried as he dug his spurs into the animal beneath him, urging it forward, the Corporal and the other guards who had mounted drew their shashka's and echoed his cry and followed him out towards the approaching onslaught.

{Konstantin} The Duke's army? No - if an invasion fleet had been spotted, it would be days yet before any siege would begin in earnest. Konstantin stuck out his tongue and closed his eyes. No, the air had the tinny taste that usually indicated that something bad was going to happen - fast. The promise of spilled blood. The bells. Without thinking, Konstantin dropped the half-eaten chicken leg and started to run towards the inn. Whatever was going to happen, he'd feel a lot safer if he was armed with more than a rather blunt knife. And in a flash, it came to him. Trees. It had to be those fucking trees. His eyes rolled up in their sockets while he ran and he emitted a groan. Get his saber. Get his bow. Get his horse. And what then? All around him, the people of Seedorf were scrambling for the safety of their homes, a mass of screaming, shouting and weeping people. Guards were trying to work their way against the flow of the crowd, the shine of their helmets visible left and right against a background of heads.

Lord`Haar would glance over to what was happening in the Wald -- there were parts that rose over the 'dorf, that were easy to observe from his vantage point. And yes, this was a certainly bad thing. Haar would reach into a pouch and pull out a rolled cigarette and flick his fingers to light it. He would take a single drag and let the smoke flow from his nose. People would run past him in a panic, as he waded against the crowd. Whatever reason, they just parted in front of him -- though running into a war-hardened veteran wearing almost one hundred pounds -- yes, heavy raiments weighed that much -- would likely result in hurt. For them. Discretion being the better part of valor on their part. He would reach to his side, and draw his sword -- a long slender blade, sharpened to a splitting point and edges that could filet meat with ease.

{Konstantin} A large draftsman stood between Konstantin and the inn's doors. Unceremoniously, Konstantin elbowed him in the face. The man grabbed his nose with both his hands and backed away. "Needs must," Konstantin said to him breathlessly, and pushed through the doors. Seconds later, he was bounding up the stairs.

A gutteral roar echoed through as the beasts erupted from the darkness of the forest. The larger beasts numbered two, disfigured and horrendous to look upon. Their purple flesh was bare save for the animal skins that passed for loincloths, which concealed just enough. One carried a huge blade, a greatsword thrice the size of a man in height; The other, wrenched a tree from the ground, roots and soil still clinging for one last breath of life. Behind them, four more beasts, hovering around 14 to 16 feet in height. Their single eyes narrowed in dangerous, hungry glares as their armored bodies took position in front of the formorian masters. Forward, the dryads marched en masse, with the foot tall silvery bodies darting in and out between their legs, rushing like a wave towards the horsemen. Wicked fae, baring wicked, sharp blades, and speed to cause damage before one even knew they were sliced.

Lord`Haar would see the larger figures and curse under his breath before taking another slow drag from the cigarette... "Elyndhor's Gaze... Formorians..." The Dark Fey were problematic in the best of times. When they were organized and decided to come out as a force, they were even worse. Dealings with these creatures were not going to be easy. He would reply with a gutteral roar of his own -- centuries, if not millenia, of Teutonic bloodlust echoed out of his throat.

{Konstantin} One of the inn's second floor windows shattered. A piercing whistle sounded through the hole, rising even above the din of dozens of panic-stricken, fleeing people down in the street. There was a brief pause. Then, a second whistle. In the inn's stable, a box door was kicked from its hinges. Konstantin's sturdy pony galloped across the cobblestones. You didn't have to be a large man in scary armour to displace a crowd - being an angry-looking pony also worked. The mare came to a stop in front of the inn. There was a bloodcurdling cry as a shape detached itself from the broken window and fell towards the street below. Konstantin landed on the pony's back with a thud that forced the breath from his lungs and made him go cross-eyed with pain. "Aggh!" he exclaimed heroically, followed by: "I'm getting too old for this fucking shit." When he had sufficiently recovered to no longer see everything double, he dug his boots into the pony's flanks and made for the main gate.

{Quintus`Durai} The rush of the wind, deafening, a calm and unnatural silence, the preamble that lead to greater things. The cries of glory of the sixteen guards who had managed to mount and charge out with Durai to give the town more time to prepare proper defenses, were as a thunderous bulk head of clouds. The release of the vacuum destroyed the unnatural silence, as the crush of horseflesh came across the dryads and the quicklings. They seemed for a moment invincible as they rode towards the disfigured giants, until the crush of bodies seemed ready to overwhelm and with a horrible scream (one could hardly tell the difference from that of a horse or man) a guard went down in a tumble - his horse rolling over him as a surge of quicklings tripped and consumed. Then with a sudden ferocious finality, the swing of a tree wield as a club crushed four more of his men. "Stay with me men!" He called back, his shashka slashing at the calves of the cyclopean horrors as they rode thicker into the tide.

Lord`Haar would stride out of the main gate behind the tide of rushing guards and soldiers. He was a war machine in his own right. Several quicklings tried to rush past him, into the town before he waved his hand and sent them reeling in a shock wave, flattened to the ground and crushed under the immense pressure. He turned his gaze toward the cyclopses and fomorian giants. Quicklings, they were insignificant, weak beats. More cannon fodder than anything else, but those... well, the giants and the dryads would pose a greater threat.

{Konstantin} Why didn't he just take the stairs? He should've taken the stairs. It wasn't like it hadn't taken his mare so little time to escape from her box that he couldn't have taken the stairs. On the whole, leaping from the window like he had was not something Konstantin would tell future generations about. If there would still be any. As he rode on in a canter, using the pony's bulk to bluntly push the public out of the way while making sure he didn't trample them too excessively, Konstantin fiddled with a piece of wax paper that had been wrapped around the head of an arrow. Trees, trees.... He knew preparing would one day come in handy. When he came upon the walls, the carnage was immediately evident. The air was hazy with smoke and the shouts of metal-clad men. The gates were open. Konstantin took everything in. There must be a sortie going on, further afield, an attempt to stem the tide. But the tide of what? Against his better judgement, he rode through the gate and laid eyes on the battle. 'Oh shit', he thought.

{Nadia`Faun} Her black eyes widened at the sight of the quicklings and other equally as displeasing figures.. The Nacht was disturbed, she could feel it in the way her heart raced to a different tune.. the luring melody was not so luring now. No, it sounded like angry drums and Nadia had to reach up to physically cover her ears to try and get away from the noise in her head. Part of her wanted to aid Seedorf and the other part wanted to climb into one of those unchanged trees and watch her Nachtwald destroy the people. All of the people - all of the folks who wanted to string her up and burn her alive for being a nymph of the forest. A child of the Nachtwald. Torn between the two, she grasped a branch between her fingers and climbed up into the unharmed tree. In either decision, this would give her a better view.

The dryads stopped in their tracks, even as some fell, others marched to take their place. Leafy hands rose, moving, weaving. And the earth magic they had to draw from? The dark and twisted nature of the Nacht. As spells began to take shape, the roar of the cyclopses would drown out the thundering hooves of horsemen. One giant axe swung around and came crashing down, cleaving one guard and his steed in two. The sound was terrible, the result even worse, as momentum carried the halves forward and then fell to the ground in a sickening heap. The larger of the two Formorians raised that giant blade skyward, and sounded out the incomprehensible battle cry again, which rumbled through the air. Quicklings cackled with glee, paying no mind to fallen kin as they sought blood and victory. One meant a meal, the other meant little, but the masters said it was to be.

{Quintus`Durai} The blade of his shashka snapped and twisted away with the high pitched whine of sundered metal, he dropped the remaining half; now useless for an endeavor such as this. Only ten remained of the original sixteen that had taken the field with him. Not bad when all things were consi- abrupt movement caught his eye. The flying form of a horse and rider kicked by a cyclops, sending both mount and rider to their doom. He squeezed the reigns tight, and with a slight jerk deviated from course; the nine behind following in precise formation. He held his right hand out, a crackle of electrical current jumping across his fingers. He shouted a command for his men to focus on the nearest axe wielding cyclops, as he rode in close, an white hot arc of lightning jumping from his hand towards the giant monocular beast.

{Konstantin} These lands were mad. Why would anyone want to live in a place where a whole forest seemingly just upped and flung itself at you? Konstantin had never been one for enjoying natural beauty that didn't mainly consist of endless plains of grass, and that was even without it actively trying to kill him. His amulet suddenly flared up, glowing with a heat that started to singe the hairs on his chest. Yeah, he thought gloomily, there it was. Fucking -magic-. "Give me that," he snarled at a nervous-looking guard who looked about twelve years-old. He pulled the boy's burning torch out of his fingers. He was going to regret this. He knew he was going to regret this. If he survived this, his morning meal would be made up of gruel and regrets. Konstantin bit the inside of his cheek. But somewhere in the town behind him lived a woman with red hair and her young daughter. And he was damned if he was going to let them be eaten by a tree. "I'm extremely unhappy about this!" Konstantin roared as he kicked the pony into gear. "I'm very pissed off about this whole thing!" As a battle-cry, it left a few things to be desired. But he really meant it.

Lord`Haar would turn and look at one of the cyclopses and lunge forward, swinging his blade towards the achilles heel of the beast. He was surprisingly fast in the armor -- which seemed to be reacting to the very presence of the Nachtwald by emanating a blue glow that kept the creeping darkness away from him; but also made him a more copious target for the monsters that were assaulting the city. He looked calm and poised, as if he had seen a situation like this a thousand times before and it help no terrors or surpises for him.

Above, the sky rumbled as the twisted energy of the Nacht fueled the dryads' magic. Dark clouds began to gather, swirling, roiling amongst themselves as if the very sky was being boiled. Lightning crackled, and the thunder sang out in its chaotic cacaphony. As the lightning began to arc from the clouds and strike the earth, it met cobblestone, wall, home. It met treetops and set them ablaze. And the sky began to open up, the sound of rain approaching making itself abundantly clear. But the rain stung flesh. It burned and it sizzled as it came pouring down. This, amongst the lightning, and it served to infuriate the larger beasts, and forced the smaller quicklings to strive to speed up their strikes. One cyclops, as its axe rose, was struck by Quintus' bolt and shuddered, smoke rising from the top of its head. Its last breath came free, and it toppled to the ground, falling atop a prone horseman whose steed tripped in the fight. The other roared at Haar in challenge as it twisted to engage him, only to feel blood pour from an open wound, and it fell to a knee, crying out in a gutteral, angry sound as it swung after the priest. The quicklings turned back to continue the assault on the defenders, forgetting the town for the time being.

Part 2

Lord`Haar would attempt to leap over the swing of the cyclops, only to get knocked back a bit. He gasped in mild pain and gripped onto the cyclops's hand, almost as if trying to mount onto the beast's arm and scale up the creature. A quickling would charge him, only to be rebuked once again and sent flying into a sprig of a tree, shattering the tree and splitting the monster's back in half.

Konstantin had never fought trees before. Some of the creatures that he was nearing rapidly probably weren't technically trees, but it was pretty bloody clear that they were in league with the bastards. He calmly steered his mare to a small copse of grass about a hundred meters from the first ranks of fighting men and tree-related creatures. "Yashga," he told the pony as he slid down from her back and gave her a pat. It meant as much as 'stay' but suggested promise of prime barley at some point in the future. The mare snorted and turned her madly revolving horse-eyes on the entangled masses of the fighting and the dying. Konstantin moved fast but with obvious reluctance through the routines. He rammed the torch into the soil and unhooked two quivers of arrows from the mare's saddle, laying them down beside it and undoing the leather lacing. Only then did he take up his curved composite bow and moved his head left and right to loosen his shoulder muscles. With precise, mechanical movements, Konstantin picked up an arrow, pulled the wax paper off it and waved the head through the torch. It ignited with a fierce his, bright blue flames springing to life. The steppe warrior notched the arrow, drew, and loosed. Within a short time, he was sending arrow after arrow into the mass of assorted tree-collaborators.

{Quintus`Durai} The cheer went up as the cyclops teetered and then toppled, a victory, albeit once laced with bitterness as it's huge bulk crushed a guard doing his best to disentangle himself from his own steed. He shook his fist in triumph. "Seedorf!" He cried to rally the men, before spinning his tawny mare and leading his column of now eight towards one of the ugly formorian giants. He directed the men to focus their attacks onto the giant, in hopes of confusing it and redirecting it's attention away from the town of Seedorf and unto the remaining mounted guards. He began to concentrate on his next spell as they neared the purple giant.

The dryads began to shriek as flaming arrows began to strike them, setting their leafy bodies ablaze. Their spell started to falter as one by one their attentions turned away from the spell to self preservation. The storm began to lose intensity, though the lightning and burning rain was no less dangerous than if the storm was at full force. The cyclops followed Haar with its one eye, and brought its other hand around to try and crush him as the man was briefly indisposed with the Quickling. Two cyclopses remained, and started to charge forward at the approaching guardsmen, their axes high. There was, barely heard, the sing of a bolt sailing through the air. At 300 yards, the bolt pierces the eye of the second cyclops that was advancing on the guards, straight through and into the brain. Its whole body twitched violently, and fell backwards without a sound. A voice called out in the distance, "That's why I use a scope! Hah!" Roaring in rage, the Formorian wielding the tree rushed forward in a lumbering pace, swinging the tree around as a club and sweeping it low as it charged the approaching guardsmen.

{Konstantin} In the sweating, bleeding, sap-seeping mass, one of Konstantin's arrows penetrated the leg of a trollish-looking thing covered in moss and went on to impale the shoulder of a dryad, effectively pinning the two together. From these inauspicious beginnings would grow a love that would eventually produce a rather ugly creature that went on to invent a rudimentary form of velcro. If Konstantin had known, he probably wouldn't have approved. But it just goes to show that battles aren't all bad.

Lord`Haar would deftly maneuver out of the way of the Cyclops fist and leap onto his shoulder, drawing his sword around and slicing at the beast's eye. His intent was first to blind the creature and then slit its throat. Again, he was moving rather quickly for someone laden with heavy armor, and as he got closer to the various creatures, his armor glowed brighter, likely drawing some of the the attention of the dark fey away from the guards.

{Quintus`Durai} The guards fanned outwards, melting out of formation it seemed at the sudden thrashing of the Fomorian tree-club. Slashing shashka's and short burts of peppered archery. The horse manuever had the effect of water striking at a stone, forming around it, and weathering it slowly. The manuever came across as nearly flawless, until the tree-for-a-club struck one of the guardsmen and sent the horse tumbling away. The suddeness of the strike caused another mount to shriek and panic, suddenly deviating sharply despite the protests of it's rider, and crashed heavily into the guard that rode along side of him. Quintus cursed loudly as he steered his horse around the carnage, doing his best to coach the tawny mount through the absolute terror the poor beast must have been feeling. He leaned in the saddle as he passed by the Formorian's legs, stretching out his hand, his fingers tipped with pulsating green liquid - he grabbed towards the monstrous ankle as he rode between the giants legs.

{Nadia`Faun} Her tiny hands curled tightly into the branch as she stared wide-eyed out of the forest and towards the fighting. The tree that she called her perch seemed to move and bend until branches and what were left of leaves had come above her to make a tiny roof - keeping her dry. The child of the 'Wald did not move to assist Seedorf, nor did she move to assist the corruption that was born of the Nachtwald. She simply watched.. wide-eyed and awed.

{Konstantin} Out near the edge of the Wald and away from the raging battle, a disoriented quickling tramped through the underbrush. It wasn't entirely sure what had gone wrong with its initial mad charge, but there seemed to be rather a lack of fleshy things to maul around those parts. Suddenly, it stumbled upon a white squirrel that sat on top of a half-rotten log, casually eating a nut. The squirrel aimed two beady, magenta eyes at the quickling and the two creatures stared at each other. The quickling moved first. There was a deafening blast accompanied by a flash of blue light. The squirrel looked impassively at the quickling, most of which had tumbled down to the ground. There really was no telling where its head had gone. "May rabid jackals make passionate love to your wretched remains," the squirrel said spitefully. "Couldn't you see I was -eating-?"

"Let me up on your shoulders, hey?" Alexis appeared, seeming from nowhere, dressed in her uniform and soaked. She did not even have time to explain where she had been, but she figured no one would worry over it too much until the various attacking things were dead. Standing on the shoulder of a commrad, somewhat against his will, she took stock...counting...counting...dryads...yes. She began hopping from shoulder to shoulder of the charging guards, stepping on a horse rump here, a soldier knee there, until she was close enough to leap for Quintus. She needed to be moving, and frankly, he was the only rider she could trust. "Keep riding, I am at your ba-" She fumbled slightly, slipping on the wet hide, her legs kicking out as she caught her balance and grasping the saddle with her gloved hand.

The dryads cried out as the continued assault of fiery arrows rained down upon them, waving their arms to try and extinguish flame. Some were still able to continue to cast, drawing that same dark natural energy from the 'Wald, to bend and shape it at their will. The storm continued to die out, though the wind began to pick up. Leaves and debris started to get lifted and whipped around in a quickening spiral, and then flung out at the Seedorf defenders, a rather large piece of cobblestone spinning through the air at Konstantin. The cyclops that remained on it's two feet turned its attention to its fallen kin who was being struck by Haar. Blinded, it flailed about miserably trying to bat the priest away, and its monoptic comrade was rushing forth, axe coming up high. Its final step forward, the axe came crashing down at Haar, belting out a bestial battle cry. The tree-wielding Formorian let out a yelp as acid began to eat away at its flesh. It shrieked in sheer, psychotic anger and brought the tree around, swinging it at Quintus and now Alexis, stumbling forward on a now injured leg to follow their path. There was a small mass of Quicklings that managed to sneak through the fight and charge into the town, but they were met by a flash as flames erupted from a ceramic-tipped bolt, and consumed the small number of dark fae, burning them to cinders.

Lord`Haar would leap away from the axe, landing roughly in the underbrush below. He grunted as the wind was knocked out of him and his sword flew from his hand. He landed hard and the wrong way, but the timing was so that the cyclops likely decapitated his friend or some other equally hideous and gory fate. He would scrambled to his feet, and roar, at least wheeze in defiance, before trying to scoot away from the second axe wielding giant. Yes, he was powerful and adept at combat, but one of them was going to come crashing down soon and he wanted to be nowhere near that.

{Quintus`Durai} The balance of his horse disappeared, the sudden extra weight added to his mount caused the animal to falter. Quintus thought he heard someone call out to him from just over his shoulder, he almost turned to look - his horse tripped and with a sudden alacrity, the control he felt he had exerted over the battle disappeared. He saw the ground rushing up towards him and he braced for impact. The impact never arrived of course as the tree-club of the Formorian struck the flank of his tawny mare as the velocity of the animal came to an abrupt halt. The animal screamed and went sailing off to the side, striking another of the mounted guards and crushing the man and mount. Quintus felt a sudden sense of vertigo, and then it all disappeared from view.

{Konstantin} The dull ache in his shoulders and arms was like an old friend. Konstantin's mind was clear, all thoughts forced to brood behind a wall somewhere while he got on with the business of war. The routine was simple: he picked a target, loosed an arrow and then picked a new target. Every archer learned that it was useless to see if your arrows hit or not during a large battle - if you had been trained well enough, they would. In between shots, Konstantin tried to keep an eye on the shifting lines. If the front would come too close, he'd have to abandon the copse and relocate. A blast of lightning struck a patch of dirt somewhere behind him, spraying him with clumps of earth. The amulet on his chest immediately added some blisters to the skin beneath it. Konstantin gritted his teeth and swore but kept on loosing. Guard archers had spotted his position and were starting to join him there. Konstantin flinched when a large stone sailed a mere foot past him at blinding speed. Two of the guardsmen weren't so lucky. And neither was... Konstantin's mouth dropped open and he looked at the battered mass of flesh that was all that remained of his faithful steppe mare. ".. nnghh.. grrghh... THAT IS THE FUCKING LIMIT!" Like a vengeful god from the myths, Konstantin flung his bow aside, strode over to the erstwhile mare and managed to extract his scabbarded shashka. He wiped the bits of horse off it on a trouser leg and drew the saber before purposefully striding down from the copse.

{Alexis^Winter} Well, she had not intended the horse to a..falter...be..get batted toward third base. Holy hell. The caster's arms pinwheeled as she was tossed to the side, skidding across the muddy ground into the last place she needed to be, underneath the tree wielding beast. She winced up at the Formorian, seeing more of the creature than she ever wanted to...but no time for that now! Alexis ripped off her glove, while her other hand dug into her cloak, down her leg, searching for the dagger she kept in her boot. Ugh...her shoulder was dislocated for sure, the pain was blinding, and she was beginning to bleed into the mud...and that is what she was after, her own sap-like blood. Step one...she raised her short bladed dagger, driving it downtoward the creatures enormous foot. "Come on, Luck."

As the axe cleaved through its comrade, the last cyclops let out a bellowing, furious roar. It tried to pull the weapon free, but it had become wedged between armor and bone and was stuck fast. Its grunts echoed as it tugged at the weapon, trying to break it free so it could whirl on the priest and pursue, but to no avail. For the moment, it was wedged in so tightly, even a storm giant would have trouble dislodging the weapon. The number of Quicklings had decreased tremendously, and those that remained decided the best course of action would be to beat a hasty retreat, much to the anger of the Formorian leader as they passed beneath its feet. Its disfigured face contorted into something of sheer terror, as it hefted its greatsword and charged towards the gates. It let out a cry, but this time some of the words were distinctly common, and easiest to pick out of them all was, "....Duke Caldwell!" Its heavy footsteps shook the ground as it charged for the gate. The other, wielding the tree-club, shrieked and looked down at its rather large and disgusting foot, only to see the woman beneath it. Lips parted in a sickening grin, and it lifted its foot up high, positioning it over her so that it might step down and crush her, laughing despite the throbbing pain in its foot from the jab. Those dryads that were not burnt or lay burning, continued to weave their dark magics from the 'Wald, debris still whipping about the field of battle. There were few left, but even so few, they had the ability to cause much damage.

{Konstantin} When he wasn't on horseback, there was nothing graceful or elegant about the way Konstantin fought. During his long military career, the man from the Grass had acquired a few vital skills that had made him an example of the non-commissioned officer as a force of nature. And now he got to apply those skills to nature. Firstly, Konstantin possessed the ability to be where the enemy's weapons weren't. He didn't salto or jump around like an Elf with horseradish up its arse - instead, he seemed to pop up at different places in the fracas without any clear indication as to how he'd gotten there. Secondly, he fought dirty. This didn't just mean kneeing people - or what passed for them - in the groin. No, it included a dazzling array of tricks picked up in many different lands and on many different continents, such as (but not limited to): beating a quickling with its own arm-like appendage, setting fire to a dryad's wavy green locks and confounding a black monstrosity with a gaping maw full of razorsharp teeth by dancing a passable jig and then stabbing it in the eye. "I fucking loved that pony," Konstantin snarled, side-stepping a swipe by a nasty-looking talon and kicking the creature it belonged to in the shins - or what passed for them. "And I fucking hate trees. Guess what that means?" He brought his sabre's blade down hard on the creature's exposed neck. "It means you're shit out of luck."

{Quintus`Durai} The rain pounded and berated him, blood trickled down into his eyes and that made it difficult to see. The sudden vertigo had caused him in a panic to activate a dweomer he had spent many weeks workin g on. It felt like a waste, but what it had gained him seemed to make up for the loss of the costly enchantment. He clung ferociously to the charging Formorian leader, digging his acid laden fingers into the creatures thick, rubbery, purple hide, anything to find to purchase. He extended his mangled left hand upwards to the storm, a crackle of electricty hopped between his fingers. The concussive boom that errupted from the sky bordered on a pain inducing sonic boom as the violent erruption of lightning streaked downwards and struck Durai's outstretched hand; conducting the electricty through his body towards the Formorian leader.

Lord`Haar would move quickly to a place that was just out of the cyclops' reach before leaping at the beast, blade called to his hand and throwing himself towards the beast-man's eye, trying to impale him through the brain. He would assist with the Fomorians in a moment, but right now, he had to get this damned one-eyed bugger off of him. The rain stung, even through his armor, its dark energies causing burning into his skin. Oh man, he was going to have a nasty rash tomorrow.

{Alexis^Winter} "Oh! Mother Luck...here..whoa!" The woman could not help but call out as she felt herself being lifted at a a rate of speed that made her rather uncomfortable. The hand that had been digging in her seeping wound flew toward her mouth and she spit on it hastily before slickening her fingers with what had become a glossy paste. The woman peered over her shoulder as the world came rushing toward her and she squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her teeth, and shoved her hand into tree wielder's wound. "Blood meets blood, you are mine and I command you. Ack! DON'T SQUASH ME!"

{Konstantin} Konstantin flashed his most charming grin. "This is all a big misunderstanding," he said. The six dryads who had managed to surround him didn't seem to agree. "Come morning, we'll look back on this and, oh, how we'll laugh," he said. His eye caught the item he was holding in his left hand and he swallowed. "This isn't what it looks like, alright?" he said. The dryads regarded him impassively as he dropped the head of their sister like a hot potato.

The final cyclops shrieked, swinging a hand at Haar, but as the blade penetrated the back of its eye and pierced skull and brain, it began to lose control over its limbs, and began to falter, and then topple backwards onto its dead kin. The tree-club Formorian blinked its mismatched eyes once, twice, and then stood there with a shaky balance, foot still halfway up in the air. But it had stopped, and looked down at Alexis as if it was awaiting a command. The other continued it's lumbering run towards the gates, but the storm created by the dryads earlier, despite it beginning to die out, provided the charge for Quintus' spell to form, and leaped through into the massive purple leader. It shuddered and faltered, smoke billowing from its eyes, its ears, the top of its head. But, its determination was to continue, even though its mind was wracked with pain from the strike, and began to slow, staggering forward with the massive blade coming to drag behind it on the cobblestones.

Part 3

Lord`Haar would jump from the cyclops and land evenly on the ground -- he was panting and out of breath, but he would run towards the front gate of the town, ready to try to take down the purple giant.

{Quintus`Durai} The smell of cooked flesh permeated his senses, it made his mouth water. The vague feeling of hunger that pricked at his stomach though disappeared almost instantly as the world came back into focus and he realized that the smell that predominated his nasal cavities currently was the smell of his own hand - the tips of his remaining fingers were charred black and he could see the superheated white of bone beneath. The threat of unconciousness loomed suddenly, but luckily the sudden tug on his stomach which caused him to vomit erased any possibility of that. He held tightly to the slowing Formorian, the hole he had managed to gouge with his acid-tipped fingers of his right hand having provided excellent purchase, the giant slower and less volatile by this point.

{Alexis^Winter} "Thank you, My Luck, I'll shall never curse you again." She muttered quietly before swinging herself to the animal's other leg, riding it down to safety. The group of dryads surrounding Kon caught her attention and she pointed a gloved finger at them. "I need all those dead, but gingerly...there is a person in the middle that needs keeping alive. *pause* for now." She dropped her hand to the elbow of her wounded shoulder, trying to cover the broken flesh with her cape. The pain was nearly blinding, especially on top of the events from the previous day. Yes, she needed the Formorian to do the hurting for her. "And when you're done, after that Formorian. And watch your step you brute, no squashing anything humanoid!"

{Konstantin} Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks! All his routes of retreat had been closed off by completely mental-looking green broads who had probably not enjoyed watching him saw the head off one of them and spend a few minutes holding it up and shouting at it. Never fight when you're really angry. Yeah, this was a -fantastic- moment to remember that one. One of the dryads raised a claw and sent a swirling, noxious green cloud at him. Konstantin was hit in the chest and went down. His amulet creaked loudly as it absorbed the magical energy and turned part of it into heat. The pain was extremely unpleasant and Konstantin could smell his own burning flesh. The dryads had the decency to look surprised when he clambered back to his feet, using his sabre as a crutch. "Now," Konstantin declared, "it's my turn to do magic. Only fair, no?" He scraped his throat and extended his left hand, raising it towards the sky. The dryads, torn between simply jumping him and wanting to see what he'd do next, craned their necks to follow the line indicated by his pointing finger. The shashka took the heads of two of them in a swipe that drew a ribbon of sap through the air. Konstantin thwirled around, took the arm of a third dryad and rolled under a talon that had been on the way to make him a terminally shorter man. He jumped nimbly to his feet, ignoring the ominous sounds his knees issued in the process, and faced the two remaining creatures. "Abracadabra," he said.

[color=violet]The controlled formorian roared and then went running towards Konstantin and the dryads, the tree coming up and around to knock the remaining two dryads away from Konstantin with such force that they were probably dead before they knew what hit them. It then raised its head, staring dumbly after the slow moving leader, and began to head in its direction, as said leader continued forward, slowing down step by step. It's charge was now little more than a canter in speed by comparison, if that. Its eyes were heavy, and it eventually lost grip on the giant blade it once wielded so proudly.

{Konstantin} "Woah," Konstantin said rather lamely when his two foes were rather abruptly turned into projectiles that shed bits as they hurled through the air. The man from the Grass lowered his blade and stared at the gigantic monster and the woman hanging from it with a dumb look on his face. "Er, thanks," he called up.

{Quintus`Durai} He still clung desperately to the back of the Formorian. There was little he could do. He had no ready spell at hand to levitate or teleport to safety, or something suitable that would absorb the impact from falling from such a high drop. He could only hope as he wavered from the general sensation of pain that threatened to overhwhelm him at any moment, was that the damnable creature would fall forward on it's fat face - instead of say backwards and ontop of him.

The battlefield was littered with dead and dying horses and guards and some random Seedorf citizens that had rushed out to help in any way they could. Healers from the barracks began to move out into the field to assist whomever they could, but the odds for some were bad. Besides the human bodies scattered about, there were dryad corpses, quickling corpses, and those four hulking cyclopses in the backfield. But now, their bodies were still, and eyes dim. The controlled Formorian began to pick up its pace, charging its former leader. The tree-club came up high over its head in both hands as it began to close the distance quickly. At the barracks, those guards that had not gone out in the first wave were manning siege weapons to turn them on the beasts. But the fight was so quick and brutal, and so immediately confusing, not one had been fired to keep from injuring their own. Devon had itched to get in the midst of the fight, but he let Durai take command of the charge, and despite the losses, the man had done well. Devon stayed behind to command those at the ballistae, unfortunate that they never got the chance to fire.

{Alexis^Winter} "My pleasure." She called down to Konstantin, and unfortunately the Formorian tried to repeat her...which was...just sort of ugly to hear. "Be quiet." She offered to the beast, using her good arm to hoist herself further up. Something glittering on the leader caught her attention, just as she was preparing to enjoy the crunching, gushing, squishing sounds of victory. Alexis craned her neck and squinted her eyes hard...harder...and then... "Wait! Waitwaitwait!" She dug both of her heels into the Formorian's tough skin. "There is a humanoid on there...peel him off and then make with the smashing, yes? Of course yes, good boy."

{Quintus`Durai} He caught side of the lumbering hulk. "Oh damn." He considered his options, and decided that one was simply the best choice of the two he was left to take. He shut his eyes, and let go of the Formorian. He felt for a moment the rush of the wind press against him as he twisted limply through the air; and then with a sickening crack he struck the ground. His cry of pain was abruptly terminated by the fact that at long last he succumbed to unconciousness. The seven remaining riders that still lived to survey the field that had rode out with Quintus, were charging about and riding down what few dryads and quicklings remained and that could not lurk back to the Nachtwald quickly enough.

{Konstantin} Despite the sporadic fighting that was still going on that and included the extremely strange ballet of two people clinging to two hulking monstrosities, the general state of the field told Konstantin that a phase of the battle had commenced that would've been his favourite one if they'd been fighting other humans: the mopping-up. The forces of trees and other disgustingly natural phenomena were in disarray - not knowing whether to continue fighting or flee, their lines shattered. Normally, Konstantin would now have a casual stroll around to see if any of the corpses had nice boots that would fit him. In this case, he wasn't sure there was -anything- he wanted to make out of bark. He casually stomped down on a twitching quickling until it stopped moving, watching the tree-toting monster lumbering away from him and heading towards another one of the things. "Oh boy," he mumbled to himself in one of those rare missed chances to use obscenities as he saw it breaking into a charge. "That should be interesting."

As Quintus let go, the formorian continued its charge unhindered. As it reached the once-leader, it began to swing repeatedly. The tree hit the other again and again in rapid, but very powerful strikes. So hard that they might likely shake Alexis loose from her perch. The one that had led this entire charge was being beaten to the ground, thick dark blood flying around as it was cast off from each successive blow. The controlled beast continued, pouring some unknown rage into the attack, blood flying all over it as well. Thankfully for Quintus, he had fallen off far enough back that he was out of harm's way.

((After which, there was a good deal of smashing done by the Formorian before Alexis had it march into the Nachtwalk and explode itself. Injured guardsmen were hauled off to the infirmary to be seen to, and those dead were collected to be buried. The bodies of the feywild creatures were gathered and burned, the following day.))

Part 4

{Rabbit-DM} It had been unseasonably warm in Seedorf for two days hence, and thrice it had occurred again. Just as it had prior, as soon as the sun dropped below the line on the horizon. The air became frigid and chill. The warm air became mist, and mist became fog. Thick and soupy it rolled and broiled across the water, climbing across the docks and invading the wharfs one nook and cranny at a time. The sky overhead and become embroiled with clouds, and slivers of moonlight shot through and punctuated small areas with silver light. The silence of the night was like a cemetery, not a soul stirred, not even those men on watch. To break the silence with idle chatter would have been anathema (less of course you were a Captain), the only sound that pervaded the docks was the gentle lapping of wave action striking the banks of the river, and the creak of wood as ships swayed in their mooring lines and rubbed against the docks.

{Rabbit-DM} The silence would have continued unabated, except that the air took on a significantly more unnatural flavour, and soon the chill of the night became like ice. The rolling fog left a slick sheen of ice crystals upon all that it touched. Deep in the distance, thunder rumbled, perhaps a storm would favour the town tonight and wash away the fog. The silence settled once more, and again only the sound of creaking ships impressed upon all those that listened. Creaking ships, fluttering cloth, rubbed lines, and the gentle clack-swish-clack. The strange sound was gone as nearly as quickly as it had arrived. It seemed as if the night would prove to be all bluster, and nothing more. Those on watch, breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Then a shot - the crack of a flintlock - a pitched scream of death - a splash - and then just like that a ship down the line; a simple flat bottomed cutter burst into flame, the oil, tar, and the sails devoured hungrily by the fire. Clack-swish-clack. Silent as mice, men began to board every ship in port. Each brandishing sabre, pistol, and torch!

{Merik`Blackwater} "Oi!" Merik whirled at the sound of the shot, looking at Mason, who was staring back at him. "Raiders!" Merik grabbed the ropes and pulled himself up on the railing with one hand, the other pulling the blade from its sheath. "And it's not me this time! That pisses me off!" The forked tongue flickered irritably, as Mason began ringing the ship's bell to alert the rest of the crew. "Weapons! Repel all boarders!" The ship's hold emptied like an ants' nest, angry crewmen moving to defend the ship, and Merik followed suit. Coward he was not, even though he liked to leap and jump about in a fight, this was his ship, and it was -not- going down! One man continued to ring the bell, hoping to get the attention of other ship crews near.

Marteen was perhaps the only crew member who was not pacing, or stiring, or making any sort of sounds at all. No, Marteen was still as death in the fog, all the micro hairs on her body standing on end. It was a feeling she did not like..not at all. She balanced on the polished railing, staring into that fog with half lidded seafoam eyes, a little sore with herself for not passing on Nateela's message. She had simply run out of time. Between her teeth she inhaled slowly, tasting the mist on her tongue, tasting the prickle and heat of a swirling disaster. Both slender arms were folded over her knees, left bare without her jacket. The elemental's arms were covered ink 'sleeves', tattoo upon tattoo...swirling black and blue with crisp white crests that crawled back over her shoulders which were left bare by her vest. She would have remained there until the mist broke, hoping that the waves's whisper was a lie...the promise of doom nothing but deception. The explosion caused her eyes to close fully, a ripple of goosebumps passing over her skin. "Oh hell..." she muttered, opening her eyes just in time to see someone else staring into them...a boarder. The elemental froze for a moment, utterly startled, and then she felt the man's lungs begin to fill with water. It was unintentional, and she hoped they were all too busy to notice. "Protect our Lady!" Marteen barked, scrambling to her feet, grasping her staff.

{Rabbit-DM} The pitched sound of battle sprang up all over the docks and wharfs, some watchmen were overwhelmed, and those whose crews were not as well prepared as some of the more unsavory blokes in port, watched as they sank below the water as their ships burst into flame. Screams, the clash of steel, fired shots. It echoed ferociously for a few minutes, until at least the warning bells of Seedorf began to ring in their iron clarity. Upon the Zhai, those boarding immdietly set to attacking. Though an apparent ruse as some of the obvious invaders made for the rigging - lit torches in hand. The first cutter set a flame suddenly exploded as the few small kegs of powder kept on board were licked by the fire and emblazened.

{Arnie_Wieczowski} Hand-holding was dangerous. In the intricate traditional dance of courting and betrothal suffered through by the younger members of Arnie's social class, engagements were forged in the meetings of two clammy palms. They could just as easily be broken. Arnie himself had been engaged to marry twenty-seven times. In this milieu, furtive glances and muffled giggles were considered borderline raunchy. Yes, Arnie had known from the age of twelve that hand-holding was dangerous. And knowing that to be a true fact, he had that night shot up straight in bed, soaked with his own cold sweat, on more than one occasion, and he had thought: Then what about bosom-holding? Oh dear gods. Eventually, after once again waking to find darkness on the other side of his bedroom, he dejectedly got dressed and awoke his valet to pull the front door shut behind him. With his hands in the pockets of the oil coat that had been intended for a man with broader shoulders, Arnold Wieczowski, Esq., started out on a walk without any particular destination. Because all of Seedorf's dark, deserted streets led either in the direction of the gates or the docks, and the gates would be closed, Arnie found himself sauntering over the quayside. He liked the sea, albeit with a faint sense of dread. The salty air, the sound the ships made as they bobbed and tugged on their moorings, the sound of shots, the armed attackers bearing torches... Arnie froze.

{Merik`Blackwater} "Do NOT let them set fire to the rigging! We're overloaded!" And that was a bad, bad thing. They had prepared the ship for battle, and that meant a hell of a lot of powder. Merik rushed forward with his crewmen towards the main throng of boarders, while his more acrobatic crew went to intercept those moving for the rigging. And an angry Ananasi was a very bad thing to face, especially when it took the form of a man-spider brandishing several swords. "Leave nothing but corpses to be collected, men!" "Aye Cap'n!" Came the rousing reply, as swords clashed in the rush. And Merik was in the front, kicking and swinging to clear a path.

{Marteen} Desiree was screaming orders, and the men were obeying, which left Marteen to lead the fray. For the most part, the elemental hid her abilities from the crew, and if she used...it was completely under cover. This was no exception. As she charged elbow to elbow with the other crew members, she directed the condensation in the air to collect around the torches, to dampen the wick and smother the flames. The woman screamed as she gauged at the boarders with her spear, trying desperately to catch them before they actually set foot on deck.

{Rabbit-DM} "Blaaaackwaaateeer!" Cried a voice that sounded like lead scraped through hot coals. The tall lanky pirate - garbed in a rediculous feathered hat, long coat, sashes, and his very own set of iron teeth - growled at Captain Merik. "I come for ye laaaad! Hahahahaha. Kill 'em boys, tonight we end the reign of Merik Blackwater!" The ferocious pirate Captain cried out his charging cheer and set forth to do battle with the Yuan-ti. Meanwhile, the battle in the riggings became as violent and as pitched as one could imagine; men fell screaming to their death as they attempted to fence their way past the spider creature that blocked their upward movement. Several of those men swung their lit torches at the Ananasi, while two others dropped their sabres and pulled their pistols and fired point-blank at the creature. Those on Desiree's and Marteen's ship parried and thrusted their way forward - though at the resistance of Marteen their attempts to burn the ship began flag and fail.

{Arnie_Wieczowski} Murder... willful destruction of property. Everything Arnie was witnessing was HIGHLY ILLEGAL. He instrictively dropped into a half-crouch scuttled rapidly over to the brick wall of a warehouse on the other side of the quay road and pressed his back against it. The... view... would be... yes, it would be much better from here. Oversight. Being able to keep a clear head was expected of an Officer of the Court. A few meters to his right, a guard's boots skidded over the flagstones. Three barely visible shapes detached themselves from the shadows and shot after the figure of the fleeing guard. Arnie watched with his mouth open as they seemingly overtook the guard and engulfed him in the brief moment before they vanished from sight. He didn't know what to do! Arnie never carried arms, except for a decorative small-sword that was dug out of a wardrobe for special occasions and that wouldn't be able to cut a hole in a gap. Whenever he got into a scrap with Danny Croyden, Esq., Arnie tended to simply swing for him with the first item at hand, which was usually an ancient book of law. The young Attorney felt bile rising to the back of his throat as he crawled towards a stack of crates and was rewarded with a better view of the fighting, ships' decks illuminated by the torches of the invaders, blades glinting as they caught and reflected the light. I must observe and record, Arnie thought dutifully, although what he really wanted to do was run away, go home and have his valet prepare him a stiff drink. In case I have to provide aid with the identification of the alleged marauders (chapter IV, article XII B of 'Johnston's Judicial Lexicon'). And if I overhear them discussing their place of residence, we will know where to send the subpoenas.

{Merik`Blackwater} "Son of a bitch. Iron-Ass?! I'm going to make you captain -no-tooth all over again!" Merik hissed and shoved his blade through one of the boarders that was in front of him, pointing his blade at Garek. "Come for me then, you and your rediculous hat!" Merik called out over the yelling of the two crews doing battle on the deck of his ship. The Ananasi shrieked and -burst- into thousands of spiders, which then fell on the two that shot it. Lots of little poisonous fangs biting at flesh to inject the debilitating toxins. Merik grunted, and kicked some raider in the face that strayed too close to him perched on the railing. Mason was another who decided to drop his human guise, and the large mokole was whipping that scaly tail about to knock raiders to the deck and overwhelm them.

Marteen grunted as the fighting got closer, opting to arm her left hand with a curved dagger. The men formed a wall with the first mate at its center, attempting to press the invaders back. Marteen nodded with satisfaction as the fire began to die away, though it only resolved a small part of their problem. The crew were beginning to sustain damage, injuries of the worst kind, but Des would give them no rest, and Marteen would pull them up by their shirts. "Do not lay down for these bastards! FIGHT!"

{Rabbit-DM} Garek Irontooth slashed at Merik with his sabre, lunge, parry, thrust, riposte! Then he stepped back and with his free hand drew out his flintlock and fired a shot at Merik - and if the damnable Yuan-ti still managed to survive. He lunged forward and started all over again. The excellent form of the fencing pirate was matched only by his desire to cheat and fight dirty. He threw his empty flintlock at Merik and with another thrust laughed like a crazed fool. Another ship four docks down, a small single masted sloop burst into flame as fire spread across it's downed sailed and surged along it's mainmast throughout the rigging. The pirates kept surging towards Marteen and her men, as if propelled forward by unnatural forces - a cackle arose into the night. The private wizard of Garek Irontooth, floated upwards into the air. He pointed a bony finger that protruded out from beneath his sanguine robes and a twisting tornado of ice and cold harpooned towards Marteen and her band. Meanwhile, a scurvy duo had wandered away came perilously close to the hiding spot of one Arnie Wieczowski Esq, Attourney at Sea.

{Merik`Blackwater} "Gargh!" Merik grabbed his upper arm, and switched the blade to his other hand. He wasn't about to back down, especially from a man who had metal teeth in his mouth. Twisting sidelong, he pointed the weapon at Garek, lips twisting into a little grin, and those serpentine eyes narrowed. "I'll make sure you're buried in an iron casket..." Mok wasn't avoiding the fight either, the big blue Ogrillon had made good on his promise to rip -someone- in half finally. And the scream from the raider was possibly one of the most horrible things, followed by the squelching sound as both halves hit the deck. Which was followed by the thunderous BOOM of Mok's flintlock... hand cannon as it knocked someone else straight through the rail and into the water below. The Ananasi regrouped and began to push the raiders down the rigging right into the waiting claws of the lupine that was climbing towards them. His crew wasn't without some losses and damage to themselves, though the shifting breeds were faring a good shade better than a bunch of rotten, scurvy-ridden humans.

{Arnie_Wieczowski} The salt laughed raucously. He had one eye and an equal number of teeth, and both he and his comrade - a large bruiser of a man with a face like a battered ball of mince and two piggy little eyes - sported that past summer's big hit in naval cosmetics: generous splashes of Eau de Bilge. They had Arnie up against the wall of the warehouse again, and this time the young man was pressing his back against the bricks so hard that it looked as if he wanted to crawl into it. Which happened to be exactly what he wanted to do. Getting away from the razorsharp rapiers whose points were hovering an inch away from his chest seemed a rather urgent concern. "I's gonna enjoy slicin' you up," the one-eyed pirate said in a lascivious tone that would have forever seen him banned from working with children had there existed a registry. Because his friend was large, dumb and ugly, the laws of narrative had inevitably dictated that he should be small, ratty and the brains of their operation. "Um," said Arnie, unable to tear his panic-stricken gaze away from the two glinting weapons with which the cutting that had been mentioned would probably be carried out. "I hope you do realize that a skillful attorney would easily be able to construe that remark as evidence that my death was murder with intent, instead of manslaughter." They seemed less than phased by this.

{Marteen} "Grah!" It was non stop, and the men were beginning to tire. Hell, she was beginning to tire, but they refused to be crushed by the onslaught. Things were turning, but not in the favor of the crew which meant that she would need a little intervention. "We need help, mother." She needed two things, but managing both would wear her down utterly, and they still needed her steady on the spear. There was a deep breath taken as she retreated a couple of steps into the shadows, her eyes losing focus a bit as she tried to affect the sway of the boat...the sway of the water beneath them. All they needed was a good wave...just enough to wash the men off the edge...those climbing up from the water. And hopefully...hopefully the spray would smother a a few of the flames on Merik's boat as well.

{Rabbit-DM} The pirate Captain, Garek Irontooth brought his sabre up to block a swipe from the Yuan-ti, Merik. He growled and for a moment, allowed the crossed blades to rest upon each other, a blade pushing war. Then at last he pushed back with a surge of strength. "Arrr!" He growled. He shimmied backwards, putting distance between himself and the skilled Merik. "I'll have ye yet Blackwater!" He crouched down and scooped up an errant torch. He tossed it towards the foresail, bunched and slack - where it landed and flickered, sputtering until the sail slowly began to catch. "Fight me now as yer precious ship buuuuurrrns! Hahahaha! I'll 'ave th'rest of them a'fore the night be through, Blaaaackwaaater!" He cackled with murderous intent and charged forward again. Those sailors still fighting in the rigging, were suddenly knocked free as a wave struck the side of the moored Zhai, toppling them into the pitch black river with a scream. The pirates grew fewer on Marteen's end, some of them washed away, some of them simply dead. The private wizard of Garek Irontooth cursed at his poor aim, and summoned another twisting cone of ice and sleet and sent it whirling towards Marteen and the few men that still fought bravely against the invaders.

{Merik`Blackwater} "A sacrifice to Nateela to see you dead! And you call yourself a pirate." He rushed forward to meet Garek's charge, but at the last second dropped and slid on his knee, popping the flintlock from behind his back into hand and brought it around. Click, click, boom! As he brought it forward to face Garek's midsection, the trigger was pulled and the weapon fired, and then he was scooping the sword back up with his good hand, leaving the pistol lay on the deck to bring it around in a close slash at the thigh of his nemesis. "You'll never be as good as I am, Garek. Your name's not even all that terrifying!" Merik hissed, lips caught in a smile. Mok, not busy with shooting or ripping someone in half, turned his attention on Garek's wizard. His spells weren't the strongest, but the man was occupied, so he drew on what he could think of, and a burst of ice flew from his large blue hands at the wizard. Merik's crew was getting tired, but the wave helped to clear some of the deck, and the sudden change in numbers gave them a renewed burst of adrenaline, charging towards the remaining raiders.

Part 5

{Marteen} "Thank you, Mother." She muttered while running one of the lagging pirate through till her fist met his skin, bracer shoved against the man's wrist to keep him from shoving a blade into her throat. It was easier to just dodge under his arm and release her spear, grasping the opposite end, pulling it through the man, letting him fall. Well, unfortunately he did not fall, he just dangled off the edge. Soaked to the bone...the dampness worked to restore her energy...to draw her closer to her next manipulation before...of course, she was bombarded by ice. "Fuck!" She sneered as the sharp pieces drove into her skin, making her cry out, eyes climbing skyward. "Someone set that fucking wizard on FIRE!" She raged, tearing the handkerchief from her hair, using it to dab at her cheek as she stepped on the back of a pirate, yanking her spear free. The elemental's attention was torn, especially as Desiree started screaming for her to help Merik's ship which was...smoldering. Tick-tock-tick-tock...shit! She lobbed her spear at the wizard, and then started jogging toward the Merik's ship...thinking the condensation down, forcing the moisture to crash together. "Please...could we have a little rain?"

{Rabbit-DM} The pirate Captain Garek grunted as the ball of iron tore through his guts. He screamed his rage and parried the slash at his thigh, his free hand caught Merik's sword hand and with a yank he pulled the Yuan-ti towards him and then with what could only be the work of madness, bit at the half-bloods arm with his iron teeth. The wizard cackled and prepared to fire another blast of cold at Marteen and the ship, forced quickly as a spear came sailing his way to conjure forth a shield - deflecting it into the dark water. "Fooooolish little bit-" His cocky comment cut short as the burst of ice skewered him through the side. He coughed, once, twice, and then vomitted blood. He slowly began to sank towards the river, until the magic gave out completely and he plumeted and disappeared with a splash.

{Merik`Blackwater} "Agghh! That DOES it!" Merik yelled as the iron teeth tore into his arm, forcing the sword to drop. With a grunt, Merik brought his head forward to slam his forehead against the bridge of Garek's nose when the man raises his head. "Anyone tell you you're fucking crazy?" Merik's jaw distended as the fangs came down from inside his mouth, and putting his injuries aside, he grabbed Garek's shoulders and went to sink the fangs into the mans throat and pump him full of toxins. Half his crew began to work on a bucket brigade to put out the fires on the sail and rigging as the clouds began to gather, drawing from the fog. Just a little rain, Nateela could grant that, even though she would not directly interfere. Not in this. Mok, finished with the wizard and making sure he sank beneath the waves, turned back to the remaining raiders on the deck and let out a roar, running at them after picking up hs pipe, swinging it like a club. Since it was carved from some large beast's tusk, yeah. A five foot long smoking pipe made out of ivory was going to be painful.

{Arnie_Wieczowski} Death was on the cards for Arnold Broderick Wieczowski. In the split second between seeing direct violent intent appearing in the three eyes of the pirates before him and the moment where their rapiers would start cutting his flesh, Arnie was surprised by his last thoughts. He'd heard that when you were about to die, your life would flash by behind your eyes. As it turned out, the story proved to be true. There was a small red-haired boy of about four years, lost in a cavernous hallway and crying uncontrollably until a large mustache in the sky appeared from his father's study and summoned the boy's nanny. Being taken away and spanked mercilessly for having made himself heard. That same boy, years later, on the ground in a circle of other boys dressed in boarding school uniforms, trying to guard his head with his hands. A quick succession of pale girls with button noses and universally scowling expressions on their faces. And, surprisingly, someone he'd only met the night before, albeit more intimately than any of the button-nosed heiresses. He wondered if they had gotten engaged. He wondered if she'd cry for him. He wondered if she used a special ointment to keep the skin of her, uh, lady cantaloupes so smooth. The ratty pirate drew back his sword-arm and was about to strike when he gave a whimper of confusion and looked down at the silver tip that had appeared from his chest amidst a rapidly growing, sticky stain. It disappeared and he sagged to his knees. His large, brutish friend spun around, rapier raised. There was a sound like a slab of meat repeatedly being rammed against a wall. The large pirate stood still as a statue for a second and then keeled over, hitting the ground with a loud, dry thud. A small and stocky man in an impeccable black four-piece costume leaned down and calmly, almost gingerly wiped the folded, silver-tipped umbrella he was holding on the dirty shirt of what had formerly been the ratty pirate. The man was wearing a bowler hat and had a stolid expression on his face. "Ah," he said. "Begging your indulgence, sir seemed to have forgotten his scarf." He produced a a red woolen scarf from somewhere in his long coat and presented it to Arnie. "I thought I had better come and find you, sir, to ensure that you would not risk falling ill." Arnie gaped at him and eventually managed to get out: "Thank you, Witherspoon." His valet nodded benificiently at him.

{Rabbit-DM} "Yaaarrr!" Garek brought the butt of his sword down at Marek's head, with the hope of jostling hims free. It was time to start extricating himself from this mess. He cackled with glee at the smoldering Zhai. The Captain snarled, the few pirates remaining began to jump overboard, swimming to nearby longboats, and dragging themselves and injured comrades into the crafts. He smiled and punched the butt of his sabre again, and again, and again at the biting Marek - until of course the explosion from across the river stole his attention. Dried grains and corns were a damnable thing, wet they could be used to build houses and bricks, but once dried they became as flammable and explosive as black powder. The grain silos across the river, exploded one by one, as flames ate up the precious winter storage. "T'arr. Well Marek, been fun wastin' ye time lad. Tis' time fer me t'go." He punched again. He looked over the railing, spotting his awaiting longboat - filled with pirates, and two figures (one slightly smaller then the other) and both bound and covered by hoods made of sacking material. "Tis time t'go indeed!" The pirates from Marteen's ship began to bail overboard as well, now that their wizard had been killed and no longer provided the saftey of spellwork.

{Marteen} When the wizard went down, the woman nearly gave him the finger, but she was busy balancing on the slick railing, wishing she had taken off her boots. When the rain started to patter, she closed her eyes for a moment. "Again...I am greatful." When she saw the pirates began to jump ship, she peered down into the blackness and willed the waves to stir again, hoping that the churning would send the weaker swimmers or the injured to Nateela, and the spray would put out more of the fires on Merik's ship. "Chase them down! Kill those retreating! Leave no SURVIVORS!" She snapped, judging the space between the ships, wanting to leap onto Meriks and help with the fires. "Take care of the wounded!"

"Son of a bitch!" As the grain silos exploded in flames, Merik cursed some more and ran after the eagerly departing captain. Whomever the raiders had bound and in sacks wasn't much his concern, but that damn pirate was. "Wait till I get the 'Bringer's guns on you. I hope your mouth rusts!" Merik's face was bleeding, and so was someplace on his head. Not to mention both arms were cut and bitten. The pain didn't quite register at the moment as he rushed after Garek hoping to get him one last time before the man jumped. In the water, Varash, Merik's wereshark navigator, was circling and going after whomever was in the water. The bucket brigade was still moving as fast as they could, and the rains helped, but Mason pointed across the river. "They're burning the grain!" Not that much could be done, by the time any of them got across, the silos would be smouldering char and ash.

{Rabbit-DM} The pirate Captain cackled wildly as he leapt over board, and cut through the water like a dart. He kicked one of his own men towards the were-shark as he climbed in. The men in the longboats took out their pistols, and began to fire in the water, some reloaded, and some rowed - and by some enchantment the boats began to spirit away across the water with unerring speed; the rising waves slowing them some but merely causing them to fly across the crests. The keel of each longboat crashing heavily, and soaring forward again. Garek cackled into the night as what appeared to be barely half of his invading force made off down the river into the black night. "I'll be back for yoooooou Blackwateeeer!" He fired a shot into the air from a flintlock stolen from one of his men, and then they began to fade from view as the fog closed in about them. The light made from the silo's continued to blaze brighter and brighter, as adjacent buildings began to catch. The same was true for the dockside portion of Seedorf, as docks and wharves themselves began to burn from all the cutters and sloops that managed to be set ablaze by Garek and his men. Though with each passing moment, the sputtering rain and the unnatural wave action created in the river by Marteen caused more and more of the dock fire to be quenched - and those burnt out husky hulls of ships began to sink below the churning water.

{Merik`Blackwater} Merik sank against the railing, spitting blood onto the deck of his ship, while his crew continued to toss water onto the sails and rigging, and parts of the deck. But at least the fires were beginning to go out. People on the east side of the river were doing what they could to assist with quenching the flames that were once grain silos and adjacent buildings. Mok came over and hefted Merik up to his feet, "Cap'n?" Merik shook his head, "Help see to the injured and assess the damage. We'll get him, but not today." He huffed and spit another mouthful of blood to the deck, turning to watch dockworkers, guardsmen, and some citizens helping to put out what flames remained on the docks.

Marteen was climbing into the burning rigging...which likely made her look like a mad woman, the handle of a bucket locked in her teeth. No, she would not need the water persay, but it would make the saturated flames seem more believeable. The woman was soaked, taking a moment to brush the clinging hair from her eyes, her face, out of her mouth. "Come on." She paused a moment, swallowing, considering the thought of being tangled in the rigging after this was all over...it was not attractive, but she would survive it...wouldn't it? The silos caught her eye, but she could not save it all...not today. The ship came first. She focused the water, targeted the rain, saturating the flames. "Out you go. Please don't..."

Merik watched Marteen scale the rigging with the bucket, pretty confident she could handle that. After all, Mistress Splash-a-lot had a distinct advantage up there. Merik refused immediate medical help from anyone who approached him, indicating that the rest of his crew be dealt with first. He paced back and forth next to the railing, peering angrily into the fog. Every so often he'd glance around at the slowly dwindling fires and find something to kick. "Son of a bitch. Fucker. Son of a bitch!" He punched the railing and yelped when it sent pain shooting through his arm. "FUCK!"

{Marteen} When the fires were out, Marteen wilted against the rigging, arms tangled in the ropes, foot sliding free of one boot. The woman blinked slowly and thought about her life....or at least the last few hours of it. Hm...drinking...drinking...whoring...drinking...fighting...yeah, she could die now, that would be alright. But alas, she was not going to die...just dangle upside down, looking a hot mess, bleeding. The woman lifted her head slowly...slowly...peering down at her breasts...making sure the melons were still properly caged. "Out...standing." And then she stared blankly at the silos, letting the rain patter across her skin...thinking she might sleep a while...but what good would that really do. The stupid butchers would probably use her to make spaghetti sauce, instead of thanking her for dousing their fires.

((after which, lots of drowning, near-drowning, some vomitting on boots, and other various and sundry activities.))