Vatta moved closer through the crowd of people and listened as the Priest spoke to the Female Elvin Warrior and smiled at another wager won; if only she had someone from which to collect these wagers. Most Priests that she had met were good natured and always jumped at the chance to help others, this one was no exception.

While Vatta had nothing against helping others, risking her life without reward was usually considered foolish. Vatta’s ears perked up hearing the Warrior woman speak; her voice stirred something in Vatta, something that compelled her to step forward when the Lady accepted Cerric told the Priest to ride with the others.

“Vedui',” Vatta says to the Lady as she reaches up with one hand and draws back her hood revealing her elfin face; she bows slightly keeping her eyes on the Lady. “Tel’Quessir are in danger?” she asks sounding concerned. Sight of the Elvin warrior has sparked a sense of loyalty in her to help protect her people if possible.

If the Lady confirms that elves are indeed in danger, Vatta will look thoughtful for a moment and then look at her and nod, “My bow and sword I offer to help if I can.”

Vatta looks over at Cerric again and smiles, “Perhaps I might be of service protecting the Priest while he heals and .. stuff.” She smirks and gives Cerric a sly wink to show she is joking, but maybe only partially.

How the strange eyes turn to Vatta and seem to comtemplate her for a moment, or was it longer. It seems that those observant orbs take in non-descript clothes, so common among those who plied their trade in the shadows. They also seemed catch the telltale hints of hidden daggers, the grayish-greenish eyes lingered at Vatta's boots and lower sleeve

"Greetings, your weapons and skills could be of use." Lorae just nods to the girl, who looked not much older that Lorae looked. It was only rarely that Lorae's years of experience were revealed in her eyes.

"Sir Cleric, and young elf, if you have horses get them quickly, we move out soon."

While they were talking the armed Militia were piling into the wagons.

ROUND 1

The Orcs cry out with glee seeming to have run their quarry up a tree. They race forward not spotting Brianna and Highnar who now bring their weapons to bear.

Brianna fires on the lead Orc (1) her first shot hits him AC 37 for 4 HP of damage (x2 pain effect)right at the apex of his legs, in his manhood, drawing him up short.

Highnar Goldblade fires his new repeating crossbow and hits AC 28 for 3 HP of damage another of the Orcs (3) in the shoulder.

Brianna quickly redraws her readied arrow and gets off a second shot on the Orc she first hit. She wanted to put him down first before changing targets. She hits Orc (1) AC 23 for 6 HP of damage in the abdomin.

The Orcs move forward though the two wounded are slowing. From the rear a voice grunts out in Orcish. For those who understand Orcish, “Dodge, you oafs.”

Brianna’s gets off her third shot and hits the same Orc in the right shoulder AC 16 for 4 HP of damage.

Logan waits for the Orcs to close to melee range and Xuor finishes his scramble up the tree and finds a firing position.

She bowed her head at the Elfin Warrior’s acceptance of her offer and smiled, “Diola lle (Thank You)” and rushes off towards the Inn where she rushes in and bellows at the owner to have the stable boy ready her mount. She rushes upstairs before he has a chance to answer, enters her room and begins to pack the few belongings not already in her saddle bags and backpack.

In minutes she is ready and rushes down the stairs and the owner tells her quickly that her horse is out front ready to go. She tosses another gold piece to the owner, “Thank you and good fortune to you.”

Rushing out the door she finds the stable boy waiting with her horse watching all the commotion in the town with wide eyes. She throws her saddle bags and backpack on her horse and ties them down to the back of her saddle. Checking her mount with a practiced eye she tightens a strap or two and then tosses the stable boy a silver piece and quickly hops into the mount.

She turns and trots her horse over to where the Elvin lady is and introduces herself to her and the Priest, “I am Vatta Silvestia.”

As she waits for everyone to be ready she straps her quiver on the right side of the saddle and lashes her bow on the left where a simple pull of one leather strap will free it for immediate use when needed.

Looking at the Priest she grins slightly and says, “Don’t worry Priest, I’ll guard your back.”

Again Lorae nods to the young elf who arrives back to where she waited and introduced herself.

"I am Lora'el'ra'marwyn'isilliri, Paladin of The Light."

Her name is like a piece of melody that one wants to hear the end of. Then there was her pronouncement of being a Paladin of The Light. (OOC Knowldege check Religion 25 or better to know you have never heard of this deity.)

He felt the breeze become a chill, as the sun exhaled it's final sigh before the night took the world into it's stranglehold. Chestnut orbs purveyed the surrounding forces of violence gathering, absorbing the surrealistic air of things far greater than one man... no matter the power beyond his flesh. Cerric's mind raced as he turned to the approaching Elven figure. He did not hear what she had said, but watched her expression, as she jestingly winked and smiled. Was this a game? Would that make him little more than a token, a piece to be pushed by fate? The hardened logic behind the façade of his face descended upon his absurdities with a righteous fury, peeling away the abstractions of his overbearing soul, and ushering in the mask of preparedness he would don for those around him. His purpose in this war would be to suffer for the weak, and burn through the night a pyre of bodies that otherwise would submit a nation, if the power were theirs to grasp.

“I am ready as I am my lady, I have yet to unpack any of my things.” He raised his hand to the mane of the Paladin’s mount, stroking presumptuous fingers through the tufts of it’s hair. When he withdrew his arm, shed hair remained between the Priest’s fingers, though, this was secretly a hope of his…

He had used the power of arcana before when summoning a mount, though, he rarely had need for the materials that other wizards required. Regardless, he pondered on the breed of his horse with the triggering matter being that of an Elven Moonstrider. There was little way to know, until he tried. Cerric closed his eyes briefly, and began humming to himself. Slowly the hum became a thundering roar, that seemed to emanate not from the man, but the clouds, as though they spoke through him. Then came impossible words, words that had no meaning - syllables of gibberish that pertained to the very fabric of the planes. They were tones and vibrations that were tied into events such as genesis, and Armageddon, Cerric had often contemplated the beauty of the harpsichord that wailed its final melody as the end of days came to consume the world. The Mystic Theurge then opened his eyes, though they had been replaced - no longer brown, but gold, with as shine like the sun. It was almost as if the fiery orb had left the world to pry itself into the very being of this man, if only for an instant, for as soon as the cants of calling ceased, so to did the glory of the Daystar within him and the orbs of light became his overly inquisitive eyes once more. The ground shook lightly, as a void in the air beside him tore apart, and then folded into itself, as if something pulled at the womb of air that surrounded them all, until finally, the ghostly vision of a horse appeared before the warmongers, who prepared for the worst, and imagined only the best.

“This will be my mount for the journey,” he said to no one in particular, watching from the corner of his eye as the summoned mount continued to materialize before their very eyes. “but do forgive my manners, I am Cerric Khalidran.”

Cerric averts his eyes from the Elven Paladin upon her horse, to the newly returned, Vatta Silvestia “If you are to be my lifeline, then I am most honoured to make your acquaintance.” Shifting his eyes from the surreptitious Vatta, so that they once again were fixated upon the prominent Elven knight, whose name was far too long to catch after only a single introduction, his gaze warily wandered to the dragon cohort that clutched gracefully upon the Paladin’s armoured shoulder. A more exotic specimen he had never encountered, as he wondered about the stage of life this particular wyrm was currently undergoing.

“ Well, don’t we all make an interesting coalition… I suppose we should be off then, and let’s hope the sun rises tomorrow!” With those last words, he begins to mount his horse, whatever brand it may have turned out to be, and prepares to ride hard through the thick of night - to where impending dread lay sitting in the depths of his stomach.

Vatta had missed the whole mount summoning of the Priest which was of no real consequences actually; she would have found the sight impressive but she had little real care for such magic. The only kind that mattered was the type that could help her and her compatriots, such as healing and those that dealt damage to their enemies. All other types just seem for show to instill a sense of awe in others about their ability.

Vatta smiled at the Priest greeting and nodded, she took a liking to him as he seemed genuinely nice and wanted to help others so his patron deity much be one of good persuasion. She didn’t know much about the gods, having little use for them herself, which is why she showed no recognition when the Lady warrior declared herself a ‘Paladin of the Light’.

She knew what a Paladin was, a holy warrior serving their gods desire, and she had met several in her time even adventured with them when the need arose. Her lack of faith in the gods often made her wonder if the Paladins were only deluding themselves with their beliefs and what they served and why; she only shrugged inwardly at the thought as it didn’t matter to her. The Paladins she had met were all stand-up and fight kind of people that you wanted by your side when things got rough, which they often did when they were around.

Vatta sat atop her horse waiting for instructions on where they were bound and what was expected of them. She had kept the hood of her cloak back as this was no time for concealment and she wanted to be able to see in all directions as she rode; it was often useful to spot trouble when it arose. She would follow the Paladins lead and be always alert and ready at a moments notice to bring her bow into play if needed.

As Cerric moved her hand away from the stallion, he was gratified to see a couple of silky white hairs in his hands. Even as he wondered what would come of conjuring a mount using the hairs, he found a large set of purple eyes fixed on him. The paladin's mount almost seemed to raise a brow, and it continued to watch him as he spoke the enchantation to summons a mount.

When all was said and done, the mount that stood before Cerric was different than any he had ever conjured. She was everything one could think of as a horse, in many ways much like the mount of the Paladin, powerful, graceful, magnificent. Her body was a deep gold dappled by bright golden spots all over her coat. White as snow, her long silken mane hung to her shoulders and her tail swept the ground. She turned her exquiste head and her large, intelligent eyes watched Cerric until he mounted. The mare's eyes were deep green tinged with blue, like matching emeralds of the finest quality. She wore a bitless bridle and a saddle all in deep emerald green.

Moments later Vatta rode up having missed the conjuring in getting her own mount and personal belongings.

Wagons and Riders moved out crossing the Ashaba River for which the town was named. It was just a short ride to the Rider's headquarters where some of the militia exited the wagons and other assembled climbed in.

From the orders being given it is easy to figure out that part of the milita and Riders would stay to protect the town and that (The Riders is the name of a group of Mistdale inhabitants that patrol the Moonsea Road. They were also instumental in turning back a 7000 strong army of Zhent warriors during the Time of Troubles.) the rest of the militia and Riders would go to aid Eventide, and set up defenses along the road to Ashbenford should any Orcs try to make for the town.

Conversations between Riders and militia reveal why a nuimber of youths of fast looking horses rode out from the Headquarters. They were to carry messages to the nearest settlemenets. Normally alarm bells could have been wrung, but the strategists of the Riders decided that would also alert the Orcs and possibly cause them to strike early.

Riders and wagons turned out on the road north. Many of the militia carried polearms as well as some other melee weapon. One wagon seemed to hold only archers, armed with crossbows and bows of all sorts.

One saving grace to all this was the rains of yesterday afternoon. The road was still damp enough to keep the dust from flying in the air. Still the wagons moved at a fast trot, slowing now and then to give the wagon horses a breather.

(OOC Time for Round 2 actions. Xuor you can fire this round.

Logan the Orcs will be in melee range by Round 3, but you can post something of your thoughts and preparations in Round 2. Who knows when one is preset that it might have some bearing on the outsome of the battle latter on.)

Vatta rode along watching all around her and studying everything, but even that could not alleviate her boredom. She could be very patient when things required her to be, such as when she had to stay in one uncomfortable position for up to an hour at a time in order to avoid detection, but the tedium of the journey was anything but exciting.

She turned to look at Cerric upon his magnificent animal, which wasn’t a nice as the Lorae’s but it was still one of the best mounts she had ever seen, and asked him, “So, Cerric…. What deity do you worship? Is he or she a healing god, or one of war, nature, ah.. Drinking…. What?”

She usually considered talk of religion to be mundane but anything was better than listening to the constant clopping of the hooves of all the mounts and draft animals. If she didn’t have some actual conversation then she just might not be able to bear this journey much longer.

Brianna stand sher ground snatch three more arrows out of her quiver. Nocking the first one wuickly and concentrating on the lead orc coming in at hear, Soo dar she had not seen that many which augered well for there side. But be prepared to win was not winning so she did not count coup on any until she put them down--permanent. Her people had fought the wild denizens of her world constantly. IT was what made them strong. Brianna had a strong sense of respect for all her training interrupted as it was. When she ended up in the forbidden Isle she had to learn a different kind of life. It made her harder and less trusting of others. Jerils devotions to her had been a god-send. A rock to cling to even though he had been much bigger and stronger than she. SHe was the learder, She was the won that won followers and was leading an army back to her own lands to reclaim her familys rights.

Then there was the whirlpool that sank her ships, and Jeril and she were the only ones saved. Saved by the Goddess she was and that was more clearly seen when she had her visions by the stream.

She snapped the first, second and third shots in quick succession at the Orc heading her way. The enemy before her would go down or she would, but she would try her best to make sure it was not her. After finishing her last shot she drops her bow and draws her swords.

Cerric turned to the soft voice alongside him, delighting in the interest presented about him, otherwise one could cut the insipid journey with a knife - although the stars were quite beautiful sparkling between the cracks of the foliage above. He turned his attention her way, and was momentarily stunned by the glamour of her amber eyes in what very little light remained, as the forest consumed much of the moons glow. Her eyes glowed like a cat, reflecting the light of the stars and the torches as if behind her lids lie mirrors, on guard to deflect any intrusive illuminations. They were almost golden in this manner, which was a very majestic combination with her silvery hair…

“I am,” he said, after regaining his bearings, “a patron of Oghma, ‘The Binder of What is Known’. He is the Lord of Knowledge, and I am a student of the world.” The priest absent-mindedly stroked the mane of his mount, who was more stunning than any creature he had summoned in his life. If he were able to keep it, he would have had to think up a name as quintessentially grand as the mare itself. “What is it exactly, that you do? You appear to have a range of weapons with you, but that says very little of your profession, even merchants are heavily guarded in these most dour of times.”

**************************************

Sleek as the night, he streamed through the air, pressing his body upon the dying thermals of the summer’s day, keeping stride with his master, even when he had to beat his wings with an exuberance that could put a hummingbird to shame. When they road fast, the journey was loathsome, and Char would need to fight against all manner of wind and dead zones alike, though when they slowed to give the wagon horses a rest, he would search out warm pockets of air to glide on with his preternatural senses, so that he might take a breather as well before the rush began anew. He glimpsed the Mystic Theurge through the trees on occasion, but left the guiding to their telepathic connection, as his eyesight was of little use in the dark, or at the very least, less useful than that of an owl’s. The battle ahead would be a dangerous one, chirped the thoughts within the tiny head of the oily black bird, he wondered how he would best serve his master. He knew that he was able to deliver touch attacks for Cerric, and if he could surprise the enemy from behind, there was a reduced chance of either of them being harmed…

Vatta’s smile lit her face brightly at the gaze of the Priest for while she knew she was beautiful by any standards she seldom saw men who seemed taken back when they looked at her. Human males seemed especially vulnerable to her beauty, she wasn’t sure but thought that they found Elvin females to be somewhat exotic and this added to the allure. While she was flattered by what she saw in his gaze when he looked at her, she was glad when he recovered himself and told her of his deity.

“Oghma, Lord of Knowledge,” She repeated thoughtfully. “I like that.. It sounds truly noble and gracious… surely the Priests of Oghma can be found among the most wise and intelligent of men,” she says sincerely.

When he asks of her profession, she chuckles and turns her head to scan the area briefly before returning to look at him. “True, everyone must arm themselves in such times,” she says as she looks ‘sdown to see the swept hilt of her bone handle rapier protruding slightly from beneath her cloak.

She sighs slightly before answering about her profession, trying to put it as elegantly as she can so as not to offend the noble priest sense of righteousness, “You might say I sell my services to those in need…I… I try to help people when I can.”

She found it difficult to talk about her profession for what could she say; that she stole things when required, that she often spied upon people and learned their secrets, or that she killed when it needed to be done, all for money.

She turned away saying nothing more, for while the Priest gave his services freely to those in need she often required payment. Oh she had done a few favors or helped out those without means to pay her, she considered those her good deeds, but most of the time what she did was illegal.

Cerric could no doubt sense that she seemed almost embarrassed by her own words as she looked everywhere but at him, as if he might see the truth in her beautiful amber eyes.

Could it be that he hit a soft spot, that the dagger of his words sliced in between the studs of her leather armour and directly to her heart? He was bemused by this intimate frailty, as if she were bashful… but he was likely reading too far into this matter. Perhaps she was ashamed of the life she led. He could find out everything about her with a few incomprehensible utterings, and the intricate weaving of his hands. The Mystic Theurge knew more about the divine than he sometimes cared to. His sleep was often restless… he would awake not knowing if his dreams were simply figments of a dreary mind, or the premonitions of days to come.

However, he rarely found merit in this brand of personal intrusion. She was no threat to him, in fact, she was to be his protector, or so she said. From what he had heard about Elven warriors, he was relieved… For how small they were, as a people, they had survived numerous encounters with the barbaric and feral denizens of the goblinoids, and the orcish tribes. He had no passion for combat, and mainly used his quarterstaff for the purpose of walking up hills, and across unlevelled terrain. This meant he was glad to have another acting as on his behalf.

“The mercenary… most noble of all vagabonds. It is they who do the work of many, for the pay of few. They leave behind all form of politics, or intertwined bias. They may live by their own rules, cutting a path in what way they see fit… In essence, it enables one to be true to themselves. The mission is not what controls them, they choose what the right job is for themselves. You are a woman of truly divine purpose!” He smiled and nodded to her, showing respect. It was a mock gesture, but the intention was to break her free of the awkwardness that Vatta felt towards him. He was not a venerable man. In fact, she was likely a hundred years older than him. This was in fact, the reason for his avoidance of Elven crushes. Cerric could not imagine the pain of growing older, as his loved one remained unnaturally young, worse still, his heart broke for the poor Elven maid watching as her loved one deteriorated before her very eyes. Beautiful amber eyes…

“You sound as though you are quite skilled. Perhaps we should discuss our tactics while the journey remains slowed.” He watched ahead, as the wagon horses slowed to a trot once again, it reminded him of his younger years, where he would be forced to pull the old farm plough. He was glad now, for his life, even if it possibly ended tonight. He doubted this fate however, Oghma had far more planned for this young lad.

He hoped.

Dragon Mistress just how many shots do I get in a round with the repeating Crossbow, I thought at least 2.
Highnar looked over the field of battle before him and was not happy with his new crossbow. Though he had hit an Orc dead on he had failed to drop him, which considering thier lack of health was very unusual to say the least.
Then he watched as Brianna fired her bow hitting the same Orc three times with her arrows and still the Orc came on.

What the hell kind of Orc's were these to take such damage and continue forward. Deciding using the crossbow against such as these Orc's was pointless he dropped it to the ground and using his new boots leaped into action.
Both his axes to hand he began swinging the moment he landed among them....
"For Moradin"!!