Fight the Real Enemy!
	Escape? Perhaps Not, pt. II

As the terribly injured Silus sees the roots binding Ullar firmly to the ground, stopping his from moving, he shouts down at him: "You fool, I told you that I would only slow you down." Ullar snaps at Silus: "Oh.. shut up! Do you really think I could leave you here? I've seen what happened to people who fall to the victim of the Church and I can assure you that it is not a pleasent sight!" He looks up at the crossbowmen and splutters: "Now we are both going to die." Ullar points at the door, at where he stood before and says: "It wouldn't make that much of a difference." "Now quit whining and tell me if you have a dagger or something else which is fairly sharp. I only have my two-handed with me, and that's not really going to help I'm afraid" Silus does indeed stop whining upon Ullar's instructions: "N-no," he mutters feebly, his face locked in a grimace from the pain pulsing through his body. "My Lord does not allow me to spill blood. There's a mace strapped to my back beneath my robes, but I doubt that it is going to be a great deal of use to either of us under the circumstances." "Hmm.." replies Ullar. "No, that's not really going to help." "I didn't think it would," Silus groans. "It's only really good for smiting those who takes the Lord's name in vain and banging nails into bits of wood." However, as Ullar has nothing else with him he unstraps his bastard sword from his back, and moves Silus away from him, so that he can cut as a maniac at the growing roots surrounding him. Ullar looks around, seeing at which side the roots are growing the least fast. He then gestures to Silus and says: "I'm going to cut our way out _that_ way. It's a long shot, but if I succeed in creating some kind of space for you to crawl/walk/run out, please don't hesitate and make a run for it. It might be our last chance to survive this disaster!" "I can't," Silus replies feebly. "My leg feels like I'm paralyzed. Just leave me here to die and save yourself." Ullar unfortunately could not do that even if he wanted to, as he is firmly grasped by the roots. He is able to draw his greatsword, but only random flailing is possible, and that gets him no closer to escape. The Bishop is just out of range of any attacks, as all you can see is his high hat peeking from the opening in the building. The last crossbowman on the skywalk is frantically reloading, laying on his back on the walk. He will be a non-target until he attempts to take another shot. The functionary has also been seized by the spell, as has the lone black-robed man who took a stab at Silus. He struggles vainly. Meanwhile, the functionary comes to his senses and grabs a cross from his neck, raising it high and yelling at the Africans some gibberish you recognize as the language the colorfully dressed foreigner spoke earlier. Didn't appear to be such a polite message, though, as the Africans turn toward the group and raise their tulwars with deadly intent. With a sudden sinking feeling, Marika realizes that she had seen the functionary speak the Africans' language once before, then forgotten the fact in the confusion. She curses herself softly but angrily. Sam, the only one close enough to hear her, looks up, surprised and a little impressed that the pious young woman knows such words at all. "This way!" Marika yells to Sam, Matteo, and Urak-gor, and takes off running directly toward the building on the north side of the clearing, skirting the west edge of the writhing mass of vines. As she runs, she shouts an improbably fierce battle cry, and hurls her rock in the general direction of the crossbowmen in the windows. She dashes across the northwest edge of the clearing, keeping herself clear of the vines and hurling a rock at the building's window. It crashes against the wall some ten feet low and to the right, a truly terrible shot, and does not at all distract the men. Matteo looks to Urak with a grin. "Well, brother. I am out of thoughts. It is time to put our lives in the hands of your Spirits and my Gods. If we, truely, do their blessing then they will see us through. I do feel that they won't let us off without a bit of learning here." Urak offers a tight grin back at the friendly human, and gives the African guards his most impressive bellow. Unfortunately, circumstances do not allow him to follow up on his display of Urkish courage, and he turns tail and takes off after Matteo. The guards actually smile at this. Odd reaction. Upon seeing the entangle take effect, Matteo quickly changes his plans. "Rushing out to aid them is not possible. Lets see if we can get around the far side of them." Motioning to Urak, Matteo crouches low and begins zig-zagging left from the doorway, (Opposite from where the mass of crossbowmen aim at Krige and company.) Matteo looks for any doorways that might lead into the building that the catwalk connects to. Unfortunately, there is no access to the building from this side other than the windows some twenty feet off the ground. Matteo makes the dash across the clearing just behind Marika. Sam and Urak-gor, seeing the rest of the group taking off, also head after them toward the northern building. The crossbowmen, seeing new targets, realign their aims toward those running across the clearing. The one remaining on the bridge sizes up the small target of Sam and lets fly, the bolt uncannily following Sam's quick feet and skating by him, just drawing blood from his right side as it flies by. The wound is small but a bleeder. The four at the windows take aim at all three men, for some reason leaving Marika untouched. Sam is targetted again, and again with deadly accuracy, this one whizzing by his skull to the left. Reaching upward, he feels the blood pouring down onto his cheek and begins feeling rather weak. The uncanny accuracy of the Genoese, who appear to be well-deserving of their reputations as marksmen of the highest caliber, continues as Matteo also receives a blow, the bolt smashing into his left foot. While not as nasty as Silus' wound, it's quite painful. The other two at the window target Urak-gor, but the spirits of the People must be with him. One bolt hits behind his running feet, and the other glances off his leathers. No time to rest, though, as the massive Africans, waving their tulwars, are hot in pursuit. Teague, seeing the party's bad condition, turns and runs out the exit to the clearing, disappearing from sight.

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	Benjamin Lomax

This page was last updated on 20 January 2001