Argent was starting to feel a bit light headed. He was losing blood and he knew he would've been doing a lot better if the half orc hadn't knocked him off balance. Still, he would have a talk with the man later.

For now he had to try and focus on the man before them. Reaching down into the inner core of his being he refound peace. The White Blade was fast, but his team mates were crowding around him now. They needed to press on, to gain the upper hand and move out of the area before reinforcements came.

Time seemed to slow down a bit as Argent's hands formed offensive patterns which sped towards his enemy. The man was a tough opponent, and had earned the dwarf's respect. But respect or not, Argent would beat the man to death if it meant protecting these slaves.

(OOC: Trying to take a five-foot-step if it means he can flank the man with the halfling. Then attack using Flurry of Blows.)

The half orc's seething antics had done little to help the group, and had in fact caused injury to at least one other party member. Realizing this he took a step back from the fray in order to regain at least a portion of his lost self-control.

Taking advantage of the opening the White Blade did something most of the party did not expect. He disengaged from the group entirely and vanished into thin air.

(A successful Perception skill check by Argent places him on the roof tops, opposite where he just was.)

His voice echoes allong the alley way.

"Well done. It seems I have indeed found a bit of a challenge. But for now, I have stalled you long enough. It seems reinforcements have arrived."

His voice takes on a slightly mocking tone as he continues.

"I would hurry those creatures along if you intend to get them to the warehouse before the Others finish what I started."

(Argent sees him still crouched on the roof top, but despite his cocky words, he is at least taking a bit of cover from missile weapons. No one else yet notices his position, but are searching the roof tops and every dark corner in an effort to prevent him from getting the drop on the group again.)

Thiferl and Echo aren't paying any attention to the White Blade's words. The focus is instead on moving the slaves, and the new threat that is quickly gaining on them. While they are having some success, the appearance and sudden disappearance of the White Blade has the whole lot of them unnerved, so moving them is more difficult than normal. It seems obvious that they are so concerned with looking for the disappeared White Blade that they haven't noticed the Others approaching fromt he roof tops.

(At the end of this round, the slaves are about 100' from the warehouse. There is no obvious road block between them and the warehouse.)

The half-orc has decided: he will give the others cover as they run for it. He sheaths his two swords and brings out his bow (is it stringed already), knocking it with an arrow. He prepares himself to fire at any hostile that may appear by rooftop or the ally entrance they have come from.

Argent nodded to his brother. He was glad his sibling had a good, tactical mind. Steering the slaves in the right direction while he battled the magnificent foe the White Blade turned out to be was clever. He knew that Thiferl would want nothing more than to help defeat their enemy.

As their attacker suddenly disappeared and re-emerged on one of the rooftops, Argent turned to help his brother. But not before pointing directly at the White Blade and nodding a slight greeting. We will meet again it meant. He had no doubt they would.

(OOC: Agreeing to make a run for it. Let's get this part of the adventure over with. I'm curious to see what happens next.)

Trying to get a crowd to move when he was such a small voice wasn't easy. But they needed to get out of there. There destination was only one hundred feet away. Hopefully whoever hired them would have some back up waiting in case other interested parties were about.
He would use small words like, "we are almost there" and "only a little bit farther." To help encourage the slaves around him.
With Skit, himself, and his brother being of a more diminutive nature, and having just met the half-orc, he suggests to Echo to run ahead and let whoever hired them in the warehouse to know they're coming.
Once the slaves had moved 30 ft (he didn't want to accidentally heal the opposition) he once again channeled positive energy into the party. He knew a number of them had taken damage and he hoped this would keep them going for a little bit longer.
He was ready for this day to be over. This was quite the first mission for the Blue Hand, and he was thinking the 300 gp split between everybody was not going have been worth his while.
He was anxious to get back to his forge.
Hanging near the back, with his flesh shield still on his shoulder, he glances periodically over his other shoulder. He knows there were shadows on the rooftop. And White Blade did say something about not being alone. He had a couple more icicles up his sleeve to fire at approaching enemies. But he didn't want to accidentally fire on a friendly target either.

((OOC: held action to fire on White Blade should he present a target))

"What in the..."

The White Blade had suddenly dissappear and Skit was left looking around dumbfounded for a moment.

But it was only a moment. The halfling quickly gathered his wits and changed his focus to leading the freed people to their destination...

...to their destiny... came the thought, which was follow swiftly by Skit's mumbled words, "Or their doom..."

The rogue was becoming less certain about this mission the closer they moved to the warehouse. Would the slaves really be freed? Would they just be bound to new masters? What was this mission really about?

Skit looked over his shoulder at the new enemies approaching. Will we even make it? "Time to stay focused, Skit!" he said to himself as he got to the front of the group. Over his shoulder, he encouraged his "retrieved goods", "We're almost there, folks, let's move quickly! For your freedom!"

At first the crowd seemed hesitant, even resitant to moving. But when arrows and other sharp thrown objects began to rain down on them from the sky, they were suddenly and collectively struck by extreme motivation.

The urgings of the group were needed not to get them moving, but to keep them from trampling each other in their fright. Arrows continued to rain down, felling several of the slaves in the rear of the group. Apparently their previous master was of the opinion that if he couldn't have them, no one could.

Fifty feet to go.

A number of men step out of the warehouse clad in strange garb. Six of them kneel and ready their bows. The glint of the steel arrow tips glint in the moonlight as you move ever forward, hoping that they are allies, not enemies. For if enemies they be, none of you will have any chance to escape the crash between the hammer and the anvil.

Thirty feet.

The men before you release a volley of arrows. The wooden shafts streak through the air, screaming like banshees as they fly. The screams of the dying fill the air as two men, then a third fall from the rooftops to the ground below.

At a full sprint the slaves (assumably accompanied by the party) dash into the warehouse, the doors closing behind you. Six slaves have fallen (including the one carried by Thiferl) in your flight.

A man clad in well-tended studded leather appears on a balcony over looking the open area in which you now stand. He speaks in a rough, yet commanding voice.

"It's about time you delivered them. I was beginning to wonder about your competence." He takes a quick count of the remaining slaves. You see a dark look cloud his face as hte finishes. "You are six short! Their cost will be deducted from your wage, I promise you!"

He turns to the other guards in the room. "Send these mercenaries on their way and tend to the master's property."

Over a dozen guards, registering in your senses for the first time due to the chaos of your escape and the darkness of the room, step forward. Three of them usher you quickly out of the front warehouse door.

The guards employed by the merchant you just stole from are no longer visible. Apparently word had already reached them that the slaves had made it past them.

(OOC: The pay generally goes to the guild, which distributed it to you, thus you will be paid upon your return.)

After a mad rush to the warehouse they had been told to deliver these people to, and several near misses from projectiles being fired in his general direction, Echario let out a sigh of relief to finally come to the end of this horrible mission. This entire mission had been one disaster after another, and had it not been for the fact they were being paid for this, he likely would never have been involved in such a mass disaster. He couldn't help but feel a tinge of guilt in knowing that he had deceived these poor helpless slaves and had delivered them from one prison into another, but business was business, and the jingling of coins would do wonders to alleviate the guilty feelings. Not at all interested in conversing with this merchant Echo took his leave of the warehouse before the others, eager to get back to the Guild and get this day over with by getting a hot bath, a good meal, and hopefully some much needed sleep to clear his head.

All this time they had risked their lives for these poor folks, and now they were abruptly taken from their hands with a gruff remark about missing ware.

"Next time you can fetch them yourself." he told the man and walked away.

He didn't know if he was going to accept any pay for this mission. It had been a failure in his mind. A quest was supposed to be full of hardship, otherwise it wouldn't be such an endeavor. But to have its climax feel like a whip in the face was too much for the monk to handle. His brother could collect the cash if he so desired. He himself would be spending his time pondering on how to set these people free.

Without much more delay he went to Thiferl and stated: "Let's get out of here before I get the urge to punch somebody."

The group returns to the guild hall, with their new half-orc slave turned ally in tow. The atmosphere in the guild hall is filled with the comraderie most of you have grown used to. The soft light low burning lamps, and the smell of sweet meats engulf you as you enter.

"Congratulations friends." A voice all but the half-orc recognizes calls out from the dining room. "It seems you have passed Lord Azure's little test. C'mon and sit a spell. Jorin has cooked up quite a meal tonight." Those of you that are already a part of the guild recognize the man as one of the senior members. One of the Azure Blades, the more elite group of the Blue Hand. His name is Gorn if memory serves.

(Assuming the group goes in.)

"Wow Argent, don't you look like a whipped dog. Someone steal your beard?" A grin spreads across his face. "Have a drink and relax. Echo... I think you might want to get cleaned up first. The smell is a bit... off."

He continues with a few jibbing, but good natured comments before calling to the kitchen to feed the rest of you.

"So, how did it go?"

Arriving back at the guild hall Thiferl digs into the food provided for them. He didn't realize how hungry he was, this had been a long day. He would be happy to sleep tonight. He hoped he didn't have too many assignments in the coming days, he was anxious to get back to his forge, or alchemy lab. As he ate he endured the ribbing from the guild members who had not gone on the mission, but he was mostly silent, contemplative. As his mind wandered he recounted the spells he had used, and the ones he had left. A smile spread slowly across his bearded face as he realized he still had a create water spell. This meant a bath. The blood and sweat he had accumulated this day would be washed away, and he would go to bed clean. The hour or so that he had carried a dead man would be washed away like a bad memory.

((OOC: If Argent doesn't want his share of the spoils, Thiferl will grab it and not tell his brother, and at some opportune point in the future will give it back to his brother. Also, depending on how much "down time" we have, he would like to replace the tanglefoot bag he used. Preferably by making it. The rest of the time will be used in making another breastplate on the forge. I know it probably wont get finished, but maybe Argent will help, and they can sell it to other guild members for a couple extra gold pieces.))

"So, how did it go?"
"Wh-wh-where w-w-would you like us t-t-to begin, s-s-sir?" Skit stuttered. "I know I ain't sp-sp-speakin' for everyone..." the halfling looked over the group, before adding, "m-m-may not anyone else, b-b-but I ain't interested in n-n-no m-m-more slave m-m-movin'. Ain't no honour in th-th-the flesh tr-tr-trade... atleast n-n-not for me. Goes 'gainst my c-c-code, if y'know wh-wh-what I m-m-mean. It's a t-t-test I don't want t-t-to re-p-p-peat anytime soon."

The halfling was silent to let others add their thougths

"I wouldn't worry about that Skit. He usually likes to send people out on missions like this to test their loyalty to the Hand. Lesser men... err... halflings I suppose, would have given up the mission and just freed the slaves, calling it honor or 'doing what is right' when really they were betraying the Blue Hand, and the trust put in them. If I know the boss, I would expect you'll be much more content with your next mission."

Echo shrugged off the ribbing comments, knowing better than to let them get to him, after all, he was a bit of a trickster himself. Instead he only replied, with a goofy grin, "I dunno Gorn, I kinda like it, natural and musky with a hint of mint." He chuckled to himself a bit before getting right to eating, eager to finish this day the right way, with a meal and a bath before bed.

The half-orc stood to one side as the group talked about the current situation. His eyes were closed, but his ears were well open, taking it all in tow. When offered food, he passively dismisses it: cooked food was not to his taste.

As the meeting comes to an end, and all the guild members go off to do their own business, the half-orc starts to follow the robed dwarf, and silently comes up beside him.

"I," he starts, in a low, dark voice, "am Uthgar. You have gained my respect as a warrior."

If the dwarf responds, he will only get grunts of acknowledgment, but Uthgar listens to what the being has to say.