"Never!" Silus shouts defiantly. "I would rather die a martyr to those who resist your Unholy agenda than live as one of your mindless followers, so try your hardest, Satan in Bishop's clothing."

Silus then begins to chant a prayer to his god to protect him from the Bishop's vileness.

For the moment, Silus' prayer is answered by noone offering him harm, but it is doubtful that will continue for too long. For now, the enemy is occupied with the more active members.

Meanwhile, the unconscious Rhune rolls over a bit and grabs a leaf from one of the grasping vines, drawing it into her mouth and sucking it. It appears to be rather satisfying, as she smiles and continues.

Ullar, while doing the best he can in cutting himself and Silus lose from the roots, smiles at Silus. "Go tell them, Silus!" He then adds:

"I will NEVER surrender myself to those who slaughter in the name of a God!". Wiping the sweat of his face, he continues to swing his sword around at the roots, and continuing his argument, although he is not directly talking to the bisshop anymore. Speaking while he fights for his, Silus, Rhunes and Kriges survival makes him feel even more committed to his task. Or was it the 'blessing' of Marika her God Minerva which gives the warrior a feeling of exceptional importance?!

"Those who only dare to fight in unequal situation will never know the honor of a fair victory! Power to the people!" Ullar shouts out loud.

Unfortunately, the great sword is a poor tool to cut the grasping weeds, and Ullar makes little, if any progress.

Meanwhile, their words seem to have incited the bishop, who angrily yells, "Kill those in the bush. They cannot dodge. The others cannot escape." Two of the crossbowmen from the window comply with the order, sending bolts Silus and Ullar's way. The one targetting Ullar is on target, but glances off the ring on his left shoulder and leaving him undamaged. The other shot, however, misses the crippled Priest and horrifyingly targets the supine Rhune, thudding into the ground near her head. She groggily opens her eyes and moves her head away from the bolt, raising it up. Then she notices that the bolt was too close for comfort, as there is a fine red line along her left temple, but it isn't bleeding too badly. The other injuries don't hurt as bad as she remembered before falling either. Looking up, she notices that she is the only one among the four that have not been captured by the weeds, though it will surely be tough going getting out of the area. As she is noticing that, another bolt comes flying through the weeds, fired at some range by the crossbowman on the bridge. It never penetrates the tangled roots, however, stopping some ten feet short of the group. The group notices, however, that the fellow who fell to Matteo's spell has now risen back to his feet and is calmly reloading his weapon.

Marika hesitates a half-step and almost trips over her long cloak when the wall of flame springs up before the exit, but she rights herself and keeps running. She ignores the Bishop's blustering threats, except to silently thank Minerva that the man is so pompous and long-winded...as long as he's talking, she thinks with a grim smile, he's not casting more spells. She reaches the edge of the building, where the hedge begins, and glances back over her shoulder. Sam, Mateo, and Urak-gor are following not far behind her, with the two charmed Africans in disconcertingly close pursuit. "Maybe the girl can throw us a rope," she calls back to the others, although inwardly she imagines that Teague has enough sense to be blocks away by now... She also throws a glance to the right, where four figures are struggling against the vines holding them, but is bereft of ideas on how to help them.

As she is engaged in thought, Marika feels a bolt from one of the window crossbows slice by her right side, creasing her stomach. She feels some pain, but not enough to stop her from running. In fact, it adds considerable pace to her feet.

Sam, running alongside Marika for dear life, is once again targeted. His lack of armor seems to make him an easy target for the archers, who once again manage to nail him. This shot crashes into his right shoulder from behind and knocks him to the ground, from which he does not rise. Marika can see that his wounds continue to bleed and he is in some danger lying there. Unfortunately, the more pressing danger of the guards following her pushes her to leave him for the moment.

As she turns to face forward again, Marika yelps and flinches aside just in time to keep a stray branch of the hedge from striking her eyes. It rakes across her left cheek instead, its thorns leaving a row of bleeding scratches, and leaving her to wonder whether anyone could climb this hedge without being cut to ribbons, even if Teague WERE to toss a rope over it.

His mind racing frantically in the seconds since the wall of flames errupted in front of them, Urak skids to a halt near the intersection of flame and hedge. Glancing hopefully at Matteo for suggestions, he notices the Squire's wounds. This did not look good. A quick glance backwards showed the African guards in hot pursuit, their tulwars gleaming in the firelight's glare. No, this did not look good at all. Grunish-za-thel, of father of our people, lend us your protection as you lent your protection to the forging of the Urk-ste-khalid-kor many years ago. Protect this man beside me who has pledged to aid the People. I ask this not in my name, but in the name of Chieftan, and Speaker, and Headwife, and all the Urk down to little Jurna-yi. This mission, the mission of your People, begs this of you, he prays silently, lowering his bow. The weapon would not serve him against the charging Africans. Confident in the wardenship of the Five Protectors, and mindful that captivity did not neccesarily mean failure, Urak backs up against the hedge, and plays dumb.

One of the Africans slows down his running and raises his tulwar, "Orch!" He grates and he brings it down upon Urak. However, the tusked fellow proves canny, ducking at the last moment to avoid decapitation.

OOC: Urak does not have a weapon readied to defend himself with. I will assume that he would draw one at this point.

Urak raises his staff, boldly standing his ground against the larger and fiercer foe.

Marika lowers her head and cuts across the eastern edge of the clearing, toward the shimmering inferno that was until recently the exit...even at a distance, the heat is intense, and her hopes of surviving a desperate dive through the flames to the street outside fade to nothing. She dares another glance backwards. The crossbowmen are reloading again, but skilled as they are, it will be no trivial task to hit moving targets at this distance. The African guards, on the other hand, suffer from no such inconvenience. They're so close now that she can see they aren't even winded by the chase, and their serene, implacable expressions frighten her more than any amount of battle rage. Their minds are so far gone that they'll cut us to pieces without feeling a thing, she thinks, just because that thrice-damned little man gave the word.

Marika sees that one has peeled off to deal with Urak (and, I would assume, Matteo), thus she is being pursued by one man now, who runs right past Sam's bleeding body.

Then a desperate hope arises in her mind...perhaps that blind obedience can be turned to our advantage. Marika had been running slightly ahead of Urak-gor and Mateo; now she drops back two paces and, without breaking stride, gives a fierce shout and flings her staff backwards at the legs of the pursuers. In theory, she might manage to tangle their legs and trip them, but her more realistic hope is simply to get their attention. Then, with the greatest burst of speed she can muster, Marika banks right and sprints along the edge of the patch of magical vines, hoping that the ensorcelled guards, following to the letter their orders to pursue the unbelievers, will run straight toward her across the entangling growths.

The staff shot is on the mark, and the guard stumbles a bit, though he appears unhurt. It does allow Marika time to sprint around the entanglement. As the African regains his footing, he smiles at Marika's tactic, and runs headlong into the vines, which wrap themselves around him. Still smiling, he looks at the fuctionary and shrugs his shoulders. He does not attempt to break free.

At the door the forum, the old man continues to prod and poke Kenishiro and Asif to move forward, urging them around the south side of the clearing. With the Bishop's loud voice in the air, noone hears them clumsily walking there, and certainly no one sees them. However, the wall of fire blocks their escape as well.

Kenishiro gasps as he walks forward, by now completely and utterly baffled. They didn't have things like this in the old east. As he walked as silently as he could towards the firewall, he cursed in Japanese. Silently when the old man poked him savagely in the ribs. Standing before the temperamental wall blocking their exit, Kenishiro adressed their invisible saviour. "Exit stopped.... next?"