| Fight the Real Enemy! | |
| Don't Drop the Soap, Silus! |
|
The Bishop is howling with anger, you all can hear, and he bellows "Retrieve those held. Only kill them if you have to. They shall lead me to their friends. Every one of them will die!" The functionary runs over to the wall of the building and feels around on it, evidently pushing something, and part of the wall slides open. The Genoese are down from their perch in a hurry. One remains in each window as the other four (the two from the skyway join the two from the building) stand around the weeds, with their deadly crossbows pointed at Ullar, Silus, and Krige. The group outside the hedge can see all this through the burning remains. None relish attempting to go back in there, though, and facing another wave of those hammerlike quarrels. Also, you notice that they carry short thrusting swords at their belts, and from their manner, you believe they know how to use them as well. The other African guard is still hanging motionless in the spell's effect. The Bishop then walks out the secret panel, waving his hand, and the weeds collapse back into dirt. None of those in the clearing have yet noticed that the group outside the exit hasn't left yet, but they surely will, as the gap between the hedges is growing quickly as a result of the fire. "You might as well kill me now," Silus spits out defiantly as he looks up at the crossbowmen above him. "I'm never going to tell you anything, no matter how hard you might try, so save your breath. You're just wasting your time." He continues to pray to his god for redemption as he grimaces from the extent of his wounds. The Bishop mutters a few phrases before Silus, Ullar, or Krige can react, and they are held motionless. The Genoese quickly tie them up and drag them into the building, followed by the functionary, shaking his head. The group sees them vanish as the secret door snaps solidly back into place, leaving the remaining African guard standing in the clearing. Then briefly the crossbowmen are rejoined by their former partners, and four quarrels come sailing out into the clearing. Two thud into the naked man's chest and shoulder solidly, but the third smashes into this face, and he falls to the ground, bits of brain and blood spattering as he falls. Then there is silence. Outside the clearing.... Having tended to the injured the best he can, Urak-gor spares a worried glance for the injured Matteo. If only I were further along in my studies, he thinks tiredly, his gaze taking in the other injured before dropping to the tattoos on his arms. Speaker-with-Storms could have defeated the Bishop and healed everyone in the bargain, he sighs, before drawing himself back up. Speaker is not here, and Urak is not one to let regret bind his actions. Rhune looks around at those are with her. She smiles weakly at them. Looking at the burning hedge, "We can not do anything for Silus, Ullar and Krige right now. I don't think I could draw my sword let alone fight. And if we don't move now they will know we are still here. I say that we try to move to better cover for now. If we can watch and see where they take the others, perhaps after we have rested and healed some more we can mount a rescue for them. Besides I would like to see what this blue tube is and what it has to do with, if anything, the cult." she stands swaying weakly. she wipes some blood from her face and neck and then holds her hand out to Marika. If Marika takes her hand she helps her to stand and putting her arm around her will lead the crippled girl away. Hoping that the others will follow her. As of right now she does not know where to go as she does not know the city. She just wants to get to nearest available cover before the hedge burns enough for the Bishop to see them. "Thanks," murmers Marika. With Rhune's help, she manages to climb to her feet, although she nearly drags the exhausted elf to the ground in the process. Marika experimentally places a bit of weight on her injured leg, but bites back a cry of pain and steadies herself with an arm around the smaller woman's shoulder. Tears well up in her eyes as she gazes back into the courtyard, realizing that she and her battered comrades are powerless to help their three trapped friends. Four friends, she corrects herself, remembering the surviving African. He and his fallen brother had proved the most brave and resourceful of us all, thwarting the Bishop's intentions via the mere slivers of free will that his foul magic had left them. Matteo nodded sadly, "I'm afraid I must agree with the lady.", he said quietly pointing at Marika. "We are in no shape to do anything more than get ourselves killed. Let us move from here, quickly and quietly. Our hiding spot here is rapidly disappearing." Picking up the body of Sam once again, Matteo checked Sams life signs and began limping towards the nearest corner, using all his training to try to ignore the pain of the bolt through hes thigh. Matteo knew from experience that the worst part about his wound would be the removing of the bolt. He'd have to leave it in until he could tend to it in relative safety. "Anyone able to, help carry the injured. We leave no one else behind for those butchers." Marika sighs. "This is not the end," she whispers in promise to those left behind. Rhune grunts a little as Marika leans on to her. The taller woman will notice that Rhune is very small and wiry. She waits for a moment to hear the other's responses before beginning to move off after the limping man carrying Sam. She just barely hears her whisper of promise. "yes this is not over yet" she utters in response Matteo by now has managed to hoist Sam's limp form over his shoulders. Marika looks down at the comatose Azif, then hopefully up at Urak-gor and the bronze-skinned outlander. "Can you carry him?" she asks them both. "I will do my best," Urak offers, wincing in sympathy for the injured man as he attempts to shift him into a fireman's carry, "I cannot go too far or too quickly with him, however." Marika chuckles ironically despite the dismal siutation. "None of us can go too far or too quickly, period," she tells Urak as she hobbles alongside him, still supported by Rhune. In a more serious voice, she continues, "Thank you for getting me out of that courtyard, Urak. You placed yourself in grave danger, to help a stranger whose people have never been friends to your own. I am grateful for your bravery; it brings honor to you, your teacher and all your people." Her smile of gratitude suddenly becomes a grimace as she accidentally bumps her shattered kneecap against Rhune's scabbard. She falls silent then, all her concentration on staying upright without placing too much weight on the weary elf maiden's shoulders. Rhune nearly falls under the increase weight but manages at the last minute to stay upright. She quickly shifts her scabbard, pulling it around to her other side. "Are you alright now? Can you walk some more or should we just here for a minute?" she asks concern evident in her voice for the young woman. "Argk. Thanks. I'm fine. My fault; wasn't paying attention," winces Marika, picking up her pace a bit in anticipation of reaching the corner, and getting out of their enemies' direct line of sight. "Wish we knew which way that poet went. She seemed like a local; I bet she knows better hiding places than we do." "hmmm. . . don't know. We will just have to find some place close. I would like to see what that bishop does with the others. See if they leave the forum and if so which way they go." Rhune replies as she continues to help the injuired woman along. She feels very faint at the moment, but she is determined to get to someplace that is relativly safe. Agreeing completely with Matteo, Urak strides as quickly as possible after his friend, grunting with the added weight of the fallen warrior. Feeling distinctly out of sorts in the now-hostile city, he sticks close to the Squire, hoping to put as many buildings as possible between the small party and the malevolent Bishop. Matteo looked the group over, and his mind finally registered what bothered him about the encounter. "You.", he said pointing at the big Kenshiro. "Where did you come from? You weren't with us until the wall of flame disappeared. Then you suddenly appeared there. Are you some sort of mage?" Kenishiro, rubbing his arms looked at Matteo. "Nani? Mage?" Kenishiro grabbed for his dictionary, but found it wasn't there. His face looked panicked as he looked around. He lost it! He lost the book, the only thing that allowed him to speak to the western barbarians! And after getting toasted too. It was a miracle he was alive. He turned to Matteo and released a firm spurt of Japanese over him. Then he realized something that his dazed and scorched state had made him forget. He turned down to look at Asif and Guiseppe, worried. Kenishiro sees the dismaying condition of both men. The old man is burnt to the bone and clearly dead, and Asif is badly burned and in terrible condition, currently being hoisted by Urak. His fine robes have burned off of him, leaving only remains of his underclothing. You note that his robes concealed various small metal plates, some sort of protection. They do so no longer. His hair and beard are quite singed as well. Asif 90% delerious with the pain of his wounds, struggles to focus his eyes upon his soroundings. His left eye half open sights the tall foreigner with who he spoke prior to all the carnage. A man akin to him, lost in a foreign land. For the benifit of his obvious concern, a weak smile crosses the lips of Asif. A smile forged only from his utmost will and determination. Kenishiro smiles slightly as Asif smiles at him. This man was so much like Hiroshi, he wouldn't give up either. Suppressing a groan of pain, the large asian bends down and pulls Asif up. His teeth grit and he immediatly starts sweating, but he stands. He slowly takes his first step, trying to support Asif withouth scraping any of his own burnmarks. He looks around at the group, hoping someone will tell him something, tell him where it's safe to rest. Asif struggles to maintain his balance, but with stumbling steps begins to move forward. Remembering through the wave of pain coursing through him, that his tongue is foreign to these people, he speaks slowly in italian. "May the great Aten, his Djinn and his prophets bless you all. The son of Mansour al Farouk shall not forget this debt." The group gathers themselves up, and a more battered and bruised group none of you has ever seen. The hedge still flaming behind them, they limp and hobble down the path that leads back to town. OOC: At this point, it is worth mentioning that this estate is somewhat outside Florence, which is not at this point a gated city, but has plenty of estates and peasant homes outside the central part, which is walled and manned. It is interesting to note, however, that at least half the population seems to live outside the walled part, as the city seems to have sprawled out over quite some distance. This forum seems to be part of a large landed estate some distance outside the city, as you can see the guard building the Genoese were in seems to be an outbuilding of a large manor home up on a hill. It is a magnificent mansion, with Roman pillars and marble, though it is exposed on the hill away from the city and it's defenders. Whoever lives there is obviously both wealthy and confident. As you leave, the smoke rising up behind you can be seen leaving quite a nasty trail. Surely it will attract official attention very soon, but there is nothing that can be done at this point. Those of you that spent the night in Florence last night remember the walk out here as rather long, along a path that seems rarely trod, leaving in a roundabout way from the eastern gate on the main road, then perhaps half a mile down cutting onto a small byway that led to the north and the hills to the northeast of town. It was a wearying walk then, and promises to be much worse now. There is little to no habitation out in this area, with the surrounding villagers largely camped out in Outer Florence to the west side. The eastern gate is well-guarded, you remember by more of the nasty Genoese and Swiss pikemen, who seem a rather popular combination in this part of the world. You also remember a natty halfling scribe, speaking each of your languages with ease who cleared you to exit town and head down the path. The other gates were not so well documented, particularly not when you leave. However, you observe there are several other estates among the hills, and note that these rich men probably treasure their privacy. Now, looking down upon the eastern gate perhaps as much as a mile away, you note that there is some activity there. The sharp-eyed among you notes the flash of red as several horsemen emerge from the gate and begin heading down the main road at a rapid pace. Matteo notes that the red denotes the Bishop's guards most likely, and recommends that you not be around for them to run into. Fortunately, the area around the trail is littered with stands of trees and bush. However, you all note that the many footsteps and bits of blood leading back to the clearing will mark you out rather easily if anyone is looking. The sun is slowly heading down it's western arc, but you are some hours yet away from evening and it's concealing darkness. |
||
| The Plight of the Captured | The Main Group |
| Back | |
| Back to Main | |
| Benjamin Lomax |
|
This page was last updated on 20 January 2001 |