Fear reached done its icy hand and took hold of Paul's spine. The clumsy man fell back as Hawkflesh approached, his back splashed in the mud.

Lenri Kept his distance, a knife little match for a longsword. "Grab yer spear Paul, this lagger ain't so soft," his voice barely carried over the downpour, his steps measured, his eyes keen, he circled about the red-cloak, sure to mind the terrain between them.

Paul stumbled and slip as he tried to go for his spear.

All the while the blade of broadsword grass sat upon the puddle. The carved scrawl of old Shroud script traced with blue light. The little holes therein the span of green drank up the rain and puddle all the same. Shook and hummed against the water it sank so slowly under.

All the puddle glowed bright. Hummed. Spat out a gob of bright blue that swam its way up into the sky like a fish, furious to get up stream. With a pop. The blue light sparked high above the bandit encampment.
 
The light flashed and Hawkflesh moved, fast and precise, even in the rain, he sent the handle of his longsword in a long sweeping arc down onto the back of the human Paul, hammering him into the ground to prevent him getting up.
Flipping back he then faced Lenri and lunged at him, the surprise lasted only a moment but it was long enough try and bridge the gap.

He spared no thought for the others. They had their job to do and he would leave it to them. Hawkflesh was to occupy the humans and try not to kill them.

"DROP IT!"
He barked, in a voice that cut through the sound of rain like piano wire.
 
Lenri grit his teeth, the knife still firm in his hand as thought on what came next. Paul moaned and rolled on the ground, stunned by the hard blow to his chest. Lenri's eyes flit to treeline, to the shrubs.

From the bushes, a pair of brigands watched, as the rain poured all around them.

An arrow knocked upon a bow. Elven eyes trained on the swordsman.

A furry hand, red sleeves, moved to still the weapon. Words exchanged, lost to the sound of pitter patter against the leaves and the wet earth. The brigands slunk away.


Lenri let the knife go. It's weight splashed against the mud.

From the direction in which Hawkflesh had arrived, came the sound of fast movement through the brush.

Those droplets of blue shrouded light, still misted over the camp. Mixed and mingled with the drops of rain, sang soft songs and pang soft glows.
 
"Good lad, now on your knees and plant that forehead into the mud. I see your eyes again and I'll be the last thing you..."

It was faint in the rain but something moved unlike it should have, as if an especially heavy thing had fallen from a tree.
Hawkflesh spun but saw nothing, he was too late. The sweet song of the rain was all that could be heard now through the blue mist.

"Bollocks!"

Where were the folk? Damnit he had dropped the leaf in water, was the light show all there was to it? He tried to still himself, as a warrior he had close to a century of experience and this was not the first time someone had gotten the drop on him. He just had to focus, watch and listen.
Though not gifted with any magic an elf he remained with senses sharp as a cat.

Water pooled at his feet where his weight drove his boots down into the earth, the sensation was as if the very world sought to swallow him. Adjusting his stance he called out.

"Surrender, you are surrounded."
The rain made his hair cling to his face in dark streaking webs and the water that ran down in clear rivers tried to collect in his mouth as he spoke, making each word come out like the spit fueled ravings of a madman.

@Mirani
 
"A bold bluff, knife ear!" came a brash voice from the brush. "But its we who've got an arrow trained on yer chest, and a blade ready for yer heart!"
A rustle. Fast in the reeds. Sound dampened by the rain. Whilst the glitter of the shimmering water droplets still hung in the air about Hawkflesh and his captives.
Lenri still had his face in the mud whilst Paul stared wide eyed at the red cloaked swordsman. Lenri's eyes looked to the knife, not so far from where he knelt.
An arrow was loosed from the brush. It went wide and struck the mud near Hawkflesh's foot.
"Next one wont miss!" the voice came clear through.

The water droplets suspended in the air glowed vibrant in one direction. Seemed to stir with each word. Whilst the rest hung in their suspended. "Now, you lay that blade of yours down, bounty hunter!"
 
*Bounty hunter?*
By far not the worst thing he had ever been called yet it stung all the same.

"Shit."
His voice barely more than a sigh he let his sword plop down into the mud and raise his scrawny arms to the weeping sky. The rain felt colder now that he was the one being threatened.

Whoever had the arrow on him was good, good enough to get him if he tried to get to cover but now he knew which direction they were coming from and that was something at least.

"Look, I don't care who you are I was paid to find someone. I'm looking for a bandit. Maybe you've seen him. Red fur, bushy tail, got a thing for acorn cakes?"

The toe of his foot slid under his swords blade on the ground. Mud always made this trick harder.

"Buck teeth, bad breath, terrible dresser. Honestly you can't miss him."

By now he was soaked through and wondering if he could remember what dryness was. The folk were taking their time, that was for certain.

Hawkflesh had to trust that they would appear and soon else he'd get cuffed from the men he'd bested in revenge and he did not want to go through that.

@Mirani
 
A sharp laugh came from the brush.

"Shut yer gob, hunter!"

The droplets of water suspended in the air glowed gentle in the direction of the voice once more.

"Now we are going to-"

A croak.

Like a swarm of moonlantern flies, the shroudwoven water glowed all at once.

Lenri, on the ground, snatched for his dagger. Whole body set to coil and twist around to strike at the swordsman. Paul's eyes went so wide they seemed about to pop from his skull.

Fingers loosed about bowstring. Arrow let fly.

A croak.

The swarm of shroudlit rain willed towards the arrow. A shield of water formed and caught the arrow in it's mass. Swirled about it and stopped it dead in its tracks.
 
Mud flew up as Hawkflesh kicked his sword up into his hands again all too slow to even try to stop the arrow before the magic enchanting the rain did. He reminded himself to thank the Weaver when this was over.

The sound of Lenri got him turning and again he was too late to face the large man as Lenri set up on him. In this desperate grapple his sword was more limitation than tool but it was keeping the larger man from crushing him in a struggle that was more awkward looking than anything from the outside as both men, hands on wrists, wrestled each other first to kneeling positions the then toppling over to the ground covering themselves in mud grunting as they slipped over each other.

@Mirani
 
A curse and a hiss from the bushes.

1734375753902.webpThe spring of a red cloak and the silver flash of a blade come loose from its sheath. Short steps saw the brigand on line toward Hawkflesh. The blew spectrum of shrouded water trembled and shook. Darted towards the Redcloak and whallopped against his wrist and shoulders.

Another small body sprang from the treeline with club in hand, a fierce shout that broke over the din of the rainfall and the mud. Mirani blood a boil, swung her make-shift weapon at the Stoatlin swordsman.

Encumbered by the water, the brigand grit his teeth and worked his blade to parry the strength out of the club blow. His second cut a near miss as mudslicked boots slipped in the wet.

An orb of water splashed against the red cloak's hood and he cursed beneath his breath.
 
Meanwhile, caked in mud and barely recognisable, Hawkflesh wrestled with the human Lenri. Embarrassing grunts and wet flops were graciously drowned out by the rains pelting.

Then Hawkflesh, tired of this nonsense invoked his winning strategy. In any test of combat the winner is not always the faster or the stronger or even the more skilled, it is the one who does what the other does not do first.

Hawkflesh bit Lenri's nose hard until his teeth met and tore the filthy piece of flesh and cartilage from the human's face spitting it onto the muddy wet earth.
Lenri let go, cried, screamed and tried to get away but Hawkflesh did not let him go right away. He held onto him and spat bloody spittle onto the human's face and eyes.

When he released him Lenri was all but whimpering to escape and Hawkflesh, tired and trying to spit out the four taste of the other man's flesh while searching for where he might be needed next, stood up a muddy thing in the vague shape of a person with a bloody mouth.

@Mirani
 
Twift went the blade, thwunk went the branch.

A scrape. A cut. Shallow, but the pain was sharp. A grunt. A shove. A dull thwack.

Croak that did thrum through the woods, the water wobbled and shook and shot towards the red cloak. One by one the orbs splashed against the target. Hard. With force. They knocked him off balance, if only just. Mirani saw the opportunity. Stepped forth and swung low to high. But the Stoatlin was too quick still.

Stepped aside. Turned the heavy green tree limb and thrust his broadsword. Its blade ran red as it opened a wound along her arm. Mirani grit her teeth and doubled back, but the blade was upon her. She guard against it, caught it on the strong of her makeshift weapon. It chunked in. Dug. Broke.

Her eyes went wide as the Stoatlin's arm leveled the weapon.

@Hawkflesh
 
It took four quick strides to reach the Mirani and the fuzzy little source of this scenario. He was quick and feisty but Hawkflesh was not about to duel the small thing. He was angry and cold and wet and hungry and he had just about had enough for one day.

With all his might he pulled his leg back and aimed a kick at the Stoatlin that would hopefully send it flying into next Tuesday before he could strike down Mirani.

It was only after that he remembered he made some vague promise to not kill anyone. The thought of breaking it now did not disturb him so much.

@Mirani
 
A boot swung to crack against bone. Caught the side of the brigand flush and set him to tumble across the mud.

Mirani stared a moment at her would-be-hero. Eyes wide as the rain pittered and pattered all about. Breath half stuck in her lungs. Till her brow broke and curled down toward her nose. "Took you bloody long enough, scarecrow!" she shot, her eyes found the half-risen form of their foe, and she wound back her arm and snapped her whole weight forward to throw.

The chunk-of-wood-that-had-been-her-club tumbled end over end as it hissed through the rain.

Clunk!

It knocked the swordsman right atop the head.

"Fucking-" a tilt and a whirl from the stoatlin. He plopped into the muck face first with a wet slap.

Mirani breathed easier. Rushed forward and dropped a knee onto the brigands back. "Hurry, let's tie him up!" she said. Caught the glimmer of his blade in the mire. Blinked, and pushed it away from his reach. "Grab the rope!"

@Hawkflesh
 
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"Don't start... with me... Brown eyes... I got us here."
Hawkflesh was breathing hard now. The elements and effort were beginning to wear on him so he tried not to throw Mirani a look that promised harm as he turned away from her to snatch a coil of hempen rope from the pile of hoarded loot that was stacked nearby.
With a huff he tossed it to Mirani.
"You tie him up... I'll strangle the little fluffer if I have to do it."
His voice strained into a wheeze as he finished speaking.

Bending down to rest his hands on his bent knees he took a few deep breaths and spat the taste of blood and mucus from his mouth again. It was going to be there all day, he could tell.
Gently his eyes rolled about the borders. He had not seen the other two at all. Only Mirani who had charged in to clobber the leader.

"Fuck, where's my sword?"
He asked to the open rain filled air as he noticed that at one point he had dropped it in the mud. Now he scanned his weary path to where he had bit the human's nose off. Not far from the tussle of upset earth is where it fell, half buried itself in the rainwater.
 
A croak.

Those orbs of water still suspended in the air by the weave of shroud lost their light and fell to the earth in a torrential splash.

From the brush came a snap and a grunt. An elf stumbled through the leaves and branches with their hands bound behind their back. Ice hissed and steamed as their manacles kept frozen about their wrists. Kirikin fast followed, zip this way and step that way, whilst his bushy tail swooshed behind her.

Toadokin there with a wobble-step after.

Mirani grunt as she pulled tight the rope to finish the hogtie. She looked to the others with a proud smile. "Well, look at us,"

A croak.

"Well done," Toadokin croaked.

The party made fast securing the brigands. Four in total. With all the supplies gathered a new dilemma surfaced as the rain slowed its pour.

"We can't take all the supplies back, and the prisoners," Mirani pointed out. She glanced over at the sorry lot, tied up and hurt as they were. "Scarecrow bit a chunk out of one of them for fucks sake,"

A croak.

"We came for the apples,"

Kirikin fixed his belt about his waist, and gave it some adjustments. "Bigger prize on the apples," he said matter of fact.
 
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