In the dim light of twilight, Calopee often regretted her lineage. Normally, her tiny personage was more than enough for her, and held great potential for guile and nimbleness, however she saw no better in the dark than the merest of men. To her chagrin, the shine of Seha's elven eyes provided her with the reminder that the darkness was both her biggest boon, and yet a rotten curse. As she crouched quietly, waiting for her eyes to come to terms with the new surrounding contrasts, riders began to fall upon the farmer's cottage. They came in numbers, as she had feared from the tellings of the trail that led hither. When their numbers, and obvious hostility went from probable consideration, to intrinsic knowledge, the little halfling knew she'd made the right call. Any attempt to negotiate would have ended terribly. You don't try and talk down nine horse riding thugs on a mission from an even bigger miscreant. They'd have no choice but to bite when their master raised the alarm.

Two lackeys fast approached the trio hidden in the golden stalks of wheat. They were polite enough to provide them with beacons for which to attack. How unfortunate for them, she mused, as she rummaged through her bag of stone holding for a beautifully polished masterpiece. Combat poured into the void of the night as Tristan struck out at the bandit before him. Calopee craned her neck to the side slightly, bringing her left eye to a slit while she considered the angles at play between the two thugs not five paces away.

Rubbing the stone gently between her thumb and index finger, she flexed her wrist up in front of her face, as though it were a cobra waiting to strike. Then, with a vicious flick of her wrist, let fly the stones of war. Well, one stone truly, but it would be like hitting two birds with one stone, a little trick she'd mastered quite readily, and a much harder shot than smacking two buffoons playing lookout on the lawn.

After the shot, she wasted no time awaiting the results of her assault. Instead, she faded back into the field. Perhaps she could maneuver around the side and come in for another shot in the dark.

(Calopee attempts a sneak attack on both of the bandits near the wheat field, using a precious skiprock, and takes a five foot step northeast diagonally. She will try to vanish into the field undetected.)

Relos watched the events unfold in front of him. Fortunately the bandits didn't start burning or destroying anything right from the start so he staid still, watching them ditch their disguises and reveal themselves for ordinary bandits. He listened as the leader gave them their various orders; ransack the hut, search the shed, stay with the horses. He also listened to the small talk, the disappointment of Isiah not being here for them to kill for fun, he was glad the suggestion was brought up to have them stay in town.

He waited until the two men nearest him were given their task,when out of the corner of his eye he could see the movement of wheat in the far off fields. His companions must be making their moves, so now it was time for him. He stepped out of the wheat with halberd in hand, battle ready and determined.

"Lay down your weapons now and yield..."
He looked over at the attacks and spells being cast on the enemies, and then brought his gaze back over to his two opponents.

"...Lest you suffer the same fates as your companions."

(Relos will ready an attack upon the first enemy to enter his threatened sqaures, assuming they don't yield. As he speaks he'll at will detect evil on the whole enemy group. If they don't move to attack, but don't yield, I'll charge the closets one. If they yield, I'll try to use non lethal damage to knock them out)

Night, Isiah’s Farm 
The rider’s had reached for the door of the shed, and Malachi found his hiding spot was moments away from simply being a small box with only one exit. From their vantage point in the wheat fields, three of the Favoured were afforded an ample view of just how precarious a situation their compatriot had found himself in. The interlopers hadn’t been exactly what they’d expected, but their intent had been laid bare through their words. “Burn all of it” was fairly hard to misconstrue, and though the reasons for targeting Isiah were still mysterious, none of the Fortune’s Favoured fancied the idea of having their job (and by extension their reward) lying in a pile of useless ashes.

There hadn’t been much of a signal discussed, but the Favoured seem to act as one, showing a cohesion that belied their recent formation. Tristan, unwilling to wait for Malachi to be discovered to begin the fracas, lunged out from his hiding place rapier already in hand. The rider, torch held up and back turned, presented little in the way of an elusive target, and the blow caught him easily, drawing a quick burst of blood though his leather armour turned aside the worst of it. He’d scarcely have time to realise what happened as commotion by the shed was suddenly erupting.

Though Mal had little view of the Favoured hidden away in the wheat field, his instincts were as sharp as ever, and his attack came near simultaneously with Tristan’s. Booting the shed’s door outward with a formless warcry that perhaps surprised his fellows as much as the riders he was suddenly upon, the Argent Blade stabbed out with his signature weapon, landing true but easily turned aside by the rider’s armour.

The confusion brought about by Mal served as an entrance of sorts for Relos, who emerged from the wheat in front of the riders tending the horses. As if the shouting hadn’t caused enough surprise, the sight of a half-elf clad in shining full plate emerging from a wheat field certainly brought with it a certain aura of bewilderment. Their surprise was punctuated by the unseen actions of one of their horses, who looked over at the paladin and gave an unnoticed shrug, almost as if to say “I told you so.”

"Lay down your weapons now and yield..." Relos’s statement was punctuated by the lingering echo of Malachi’s warcry, "...lest you suffer the same fates as your companions." 

The paladin’s senses tingled, the feeling of an old sensation returning to him. His senses reached out and though it took only a second, he gained a sense of the character of those that had so brazenly intruded on Isiah’s farm. Though it hardly surprised him, he doubted anyone would willingly yield this night.

Across the farm, the rider set upon by Tristan could scarcely turn to face his attacker before Calopee’s keen eyes were fixed on him. Rising up from her hiding place, which in fact still left her a few feet below any sort of visible height, she released a stone forcefully, much like she’d practiced. The stone flew unerringly through the wheat, striking the rider Tristan had marked directly in the head. The stone’s mayhem was unfinished however, and as the rider’s companion turned to see the source of the noise the stone’s bounce came to its skillful conclusion, cracking the second rider directly between the eyes. Calopee’s mischief accomplished, she stepped back into the wheat, again disappearing completely.

Sehanine, as befitted her role as a manipulator, had observed the actions her comrades had taken, preparing her own. Her fey blood brought to her mind a simple bead of force, which split apart as she directed it into the riders before her. Guided by her arcane magic, the bolts struck the already ailing riders drawing a loud cry of pain as the swift onslaught briefly ceased.

The farm quickly descended into chaos as the riders struggled to get their bearings as attackers came from all angles. Their apparent leader’s voice cut through the din as the intruders focussed themselves on those of the Favoured they could locate.

“We’ll get some killin’ after all, boys.”, the bearded man’s voice betrayed the slightest hint of joy, “Deal with these idiots!”

(OOC: Numbers in Q&A. In fact, everything in Q&A.)

Tristan felt the rapier hit home, but could seen immediately that it wasn't a deep wound. As he prepared to strike again something whistled by his ear, a sound closely followed by two thuds as the men in front of him cried out in pain.

I really am going to have to keep an eye on that halfling. She gets more interesting by the hour. He had not yet finished forming that thought when he felt his hair stand on end, a sure sign that Sehanine was spellweaving. This was confirmed a moment later as he felt, rather than saw, two arcane blasts impact on the two men.

Hoping to keep them off balance, Tristan struck again at the man in front of him.

(((OOC: Tristan attacks bandit 5 again. Let me know if I've muddled something up.)))

Rough cloth covered the man's lower face, but Mal could see a look of surprise quickly turning to a sneer. His weapon had been turned, apparently striking one of the studs in the stranger's dark leather armor. As his battle cry echoed in the distance, Malachi hoped it had not been in vain. He was trapped now, and he as much hoped the shout would bring his allies closer as he hoped it would distract his enemies.

Trapped. The word rang in his mind, but his battlewise intellect soon pushed it away. The Argent Blade stood in a doorway, facing two men. He could hold his own here, and the shadows would remain his ally. There was space, but only just enough.

He passed his sword in front of his face, a traditional salute, and vanished into the recesses of the storage shed. As he circled the tiny room, Malachi Williams drew the shadows to himself once again. They were nearly tangible now, but slippery. He had to keep moving, keep grasping at the dark to gain their benefit.

A moment later, a blade struck out of the darkness, bearing with it the power of Nightmare. The man weilding the rapier was focused now, his eyes a narrow band of steel behind the decorated mask. Malachi's blood was up for the first time since he had left Arrowhead Island. He hesitated to think of this as joy, but yes, perhaps he felt purpose.


[[OOC: Mal circles the room to gain benefit of Child of Shadow, ends in same square and strikes with Sapphire Nightmare Blade]]

Relos knew these men wouldn't back down the moment he saw them. His confirmation came back in the form of his sixth sense telling him these men weren't pure of heart or noble of mind.

Readying his halberd for an attack, Relos stared at the men he was about to put down. Did they deserve it? Probably, yeah. Would he still feel bad about it later on? Of course. Every time he killed someone he couldn't help but think of their families; Mothers, brothers, sisters, fathers, children, all these people this soul would be leaving behind. What were his motivations for turning to banditry and thieving? Maybe his own family was starving, or he was press ganged into being violent. Chances were that none of these things were the case, but as slim as it was it could still be a possibility that Relos would never be able to forget. Every stray soul that he had snuffed out would be one more blemish on his own that he would atone for in the after life.

He waited for the men to make their move, letting them have the chance to look upon the sky for one last time.

(Relos will ready a trip attack on the first one who charges him, since they go first before him in initiative. if they don't attack him, when it gets to his round he'll charge and smite. Also if his trip succeeds he'll free attack smite the guy who's on the ground.)

Moments only, the time between a pendulum's swing, before shouts of pain erupted from the thugs just beyond her. War broke out in the distance, where Mal had been laying in wait. Calopee's slightly pointed ears tingled in the faint din of the night. It was the tension in the air, the tension in her. Had they spotted her in the dark? No. That doesn't make sense. Between Tristan's mercurial strike, and Seha's pulsing arcana, nobody would be mindful of a less than three feet tall halfling throwing soundless stones. Even had they known the direction of the assault, or knew what had hit them in the first place, she already moved on.

It was time for a second strike. The same method as before, a silent shot out into the night, she recalculated her angles, her form becoming poised; deadly. A wicked flick of the wrist, and she let loose halfling war. After the shot was flung, she disengaged once more. Moving towards the edge of the wheat field, nearer to the farmer's shack. Maybe she could get a shot of on a couple more unsuspecting bandits before this battle got out of hand.

(Takes another shot at the two bandits, and attempts another duck into the fields, moving as far to the left as she can without breaching the line of concealment. )

The night had erupted into pandemonium. With the clang of steel and fierce war cries ringing in the air, it seemed almost as if they were caught up in a great battle of legend and not a tussle with some thugs over a rural wheat field. The irony was not lost on Sehanine. It seemed some would live and die for the glory of wheat.

Already Tristan spun into another attack amidst the two bandits and judging from the yelps of pain, Calopee had flung another set of stones into the air. At every pass the diminutive rogue became ever more impressive. A sly smile spread across the faery woman's lips as she pondered just what surprise the halfling would bring next.

Still smiling, Sehanine let the dark power of the night flow through her again and made ready to release an attack of her own. Between Tristan, the halfling, and herself they would make short work of the two bandits before them. Yet as her violet gaze fell on the men, their leader bellowed into the night.

"We'll get some killin' after all, boys. Deal with these idiots!" his call echoed through the night air and he did little to hide his gleeful hunger for the coming violence.

Sehanine narrowed her eyes to focus on the bearded man, silently cursing herself for hastily throwing magic into the bight before. It would have been such a pleasure to bring that arrogant fop under her will. He would have made such a good little pet. Yet the die had already been cast and it would do little good to mourn what could not be undone. Besides, the man had a desire to see pain and she would be more than happy to oblige him.

In quick answer to his call to arms, Sehanine hissed words of power concentrating the vibrating power of the night into a dark bead of force that hurtled into the man with deadly focus.

((OOC: Casts Magic Missile - targets the leader with both missiles. She will then retreat deeper into the wheat field to move away from the direct fighting))

Night, Isiah’s Farm 
The ambush had been successful in so much as the Favoured had surprised the riders, but that advantage had been spent and the heroes’ positions (with the exception of the ever hiding Calopee) had now been revealed. The leader’s command was simple; it seemed the riders were unwilling to let a little violence stop them from completing whatever task they’d been assigned at Isiah’s Farm. Sending the farmer and his boys away now seemed an excellent choice whatever the intentions of the plan had been originally, the intruders were too numerous to deal with swiftly and the farm was already descending into a state of chaos that would have not been helped by non-combatants.

Chaos was often the mantle of Tristan; though it was likely he preferred it manifest in forms other than a melee. Still, he seemed to have grasped the initiative amongst the warriors and he struck out again at his target before him. His rapier darted out through the dark, catching the man close to where he’d struck before and once more drawing a burst of blood and a cry of pain. Though visibly pained, the rider remained upright, the ambush had seemed to explicitly target him and he was visibly shaking as Tristan’s blade withdrew.

Far across the farm, Relos stood before the bandits that had previously been tending to the horses. His cry to disarm and surrender had been washed away by bearded man’s call for blood, and the pair of bandits each unsheathed a shortsword and rushed the paladin with wild abandon. Relos held his ground, holding his halberd at the ready as they approached. The first rider had just reached him when Relos reacted, bringing his halberd around in an arc and slashing the bandit across the chest, blasting himself and the bandit’s companion with a crimson spray of blood. Relos retook his defensive stance as the pair composed themselves and settled in about him, though Relos could see in their eyes they now held a great deal more respect for the threat he presented.

Back at the footpath, the bandits in front of Tristan and Sehanine finally located their attackers and drew their own shortswords, the furthest dropping his torch on the muddy path as he stepped up alongside the wheat field, searching for the enchantress that had struck him seconds before. Spotting her in the stalks he swung wildly, his blade finding plenty of wheat but no flesh as Sehanine nimbly dodged his clumsy blows. To her side, Tristan was very much her match, ducking and weaving in the stalks as the victim of his own jabs hacked about with laboured breath.

While the silent sounds of the death throes of chopped wheat filled the air, Malachi found himself hemmed in what while once had been a hiding place now seemed to potentially be his tomb. He did have the advantage of surprise, and he would have to hope superior training, and the swordsman took advantage of his new acquaintance’s unarmed state. Shifting quickly about the hut, Mal hoped to confuse his attackers with his unpredictable movement. The shadows seemed to cling to him, and just as soon as the bandits focussed on him he seemed to shift out of view.

Their disorientation provided Mal the moment he sought, and he cleared his mind for his attack. His stare focussed into on the man before him, and Malachi read him like a book. His lunge was fierce, aided by the shadow he had hid himself in, and his studied attack caught the man as his momentum carried him forward, increasing the force of the blow. The bandit’s fellow recoiled in visible horror as Malachi’s rapier ran his compatriot through, emerging from his back for a moment before Mal withdrew the blade. The struck bandit stood a second, a wet gurgle slipping from his lips before he dropped the ground in an ever expanding puddle of his own blood. The remaining bandit seemed to struggle to find his words before he was interrupted by shouting from the other side of the farmhouse.

Relos had found himself flanked, a bandit on either side eyeing him warily. His opportunistic strike had already served a display of his prowess, but the bandits had pressed on. There would be no peaceful resolution this day. Swinging low to the ground, Relos brought the blade of his halberd to the knee of the bandit to his left, not slicing with it but hooking it into the crook of the man’s leg. Pulling up with all the strength he could muster, Relos hoped to shift the man’s balance, tripping him to the ground. While the paladin’s skill in combat was formidable, this particular dirty trick seemed to be one the bandit was quite proficient in, and the man easily avoided Relo’s attempt, and in fact the half-elf was lucky to pull his halberd back up to a defensible position. The bandit’s twisting escape had nearly pulled Relos’s hafted weapon from his hand, he would have to be more careful if he tried these tricks in the future.

Back in the centre of the farm, the bearded man that was shouting the commands finally turned his attention to the ambushers that so far had already accounted for one of his men. His gaze narrowed as he spotted Tristan evading blade thrusts in the wheat field, and he lunged towards him, a long spike laden chain sliding easily from around a pommel at his waist and into his hands. Tristan barely had time to recognise the man had moved before the chain whipped out, slicing through the intervening wheat and lashing across the servant of Discq’s back while the bandit before him had kept him occupied. The spikes raked through his armour and into his flesh, the chain whipping back to its wielder before Tristan could even identify it as the source of his pain. The bearded man gave a deep laugh as he noted the blood on his chain, and his words echoed over the din of battle.

“See boys? THEY BLEED LIKE THE REST!”

His words seemed like a rallying cry, and a bandit emerged from the hut, shortsword in hand. His attention turned north, where Malachi had recently dispatched one of his company, and the man made his way towards the shed, careful to stay out of the Argent Blade’s deadly reach. The bandit that had previously been one of two to investigate the shed seemed to want nothing to do with the man that had just so deftly dropped his partner. Pulling his own blade in a more defensive stance, he hurled the torch he carried at Malachi’s shadowy form in the shed’s doorway. His fear seemed to get the better of him, and the torch fumbled out of his grasp as he released it, sending it sailing well over Mal’s shoulder and into the hut.

Any momentary relief at avoiding the flaming projectile soon faded from Mal as a crackling sound reached his ears. A swift glance over his shoulder revealed a bag of seed beginning to smoulder as the torch came to rest on it, and instants later the sack began to break out in flames. They began to spread across the dry sacks as they built in intensity, soon producing a dark smoke. Mal’s luck could hardly get any better it seemed, just when he managed to extricate himself from being cornered in a toolshed, he now found himself in a small wooden shed that was marching inexorably toward being consumed in flames.

The smoke and flame had not yet reached the wheat fields, a situation that favoured Calopee who remained concealed among the stalks. The bandits on the path had moved to confront Sehanine and Tristan, oblivious to the origins of the stone that just moments before had struck them. Withdrawing another stone from her bag, she burst from her hiding place, whipping the stone as she scurried to another location. The stone hurtled just past Tristan’s face, close enough that he could feel the breeze, before smacking the bandit square in the face. The explosion of blood as the man’s nose collapsed concealed the stone’s skillful bounce, and the bandit’s partner recoiled from the spray of blood just enough of the stone to catch him in the side of the neck. The stone’s shattered pieces fell to the ground just seconds before the bandits, the pair of them making matching *thumps* as their lifeless bodies collided with the muddy earth.

The confusion amongst the riders intensified as nearly half their number now laid dead. Eyes searched the wheat field for the source of the deadly stones but Calopee already had herself secreted away. Not even her allies, the other members of Fortune’s Favoured, could locate her, though their appreciation was by this point assured. The leader’s cry of surprise drew the final rider from Isiah’s hut, torch still aloft.

“There’s something in the f%&king fields!”, the bearded man’s cry was directed at the man who had just emerged. “FIND IT!”

The cry had just a touch of fear that hadn’t been there earlier, but the man on the hut’s stoop answered his leader’s command with a smile. With a grunt, the man hurled his torch in the direction of the bearded man’s outstretched finger. The torch sailed end over end and over the heads of the Favoured on the edge of the field, landing about ten feet northeast of Tristan’s position. The crackle began almost immediately, the dry wheat providing ample fuel. A few stalks quickly were alight, tongues of flame billowing off them, licking at the nearby wheat hungrily.

The smell of smoke and heat of the flames quickly reached Sehanine, who realised her position was no longer as safe as it had been moments before. Reacting quickly, the fey elf darted from the wheat, crossing the path and heading into the southern wheat fields. She caught a glimpse of the riders’ bearded leader as she cross the path, and she called on her natural arcane power again as she disappeared into the wheat. The two darts of force that emerged from the field sped unerringly towards the man, striking him heavily in his chest, and he gave an aggravated gaze towards the elf.

Smoke jutted upward into the sky in black columns, illuminated by the flames at its base. Three bandits were already down and nearly all the combatants found themselves on equal footing as the melee resumed.

(OOC: SEE THE Q&A FOR MORE THINGS THAN THINGS AND THINGS AND YEAH)

Another thrust, another flesh wound, thougth Tristan as he barely managed another hit on the man in front of him. Perhaps I should spend a bit more time fencing, and a bit less time playing the con.... Nah.
He shifted to the side in order to dodge an incoming blade, seeing Sehanine move similarly next to him, and for the same reason. Rivalry or not, that was cool. Maybe we shoul-
Tristan cried out, torn from his thoughts as his back exploded with pain. Turning to face the apparent leader of the group, he almost missed the precision with which Calopee dispatched the two men next to him. He readied his rapier again, a feint to keep him from noticing the ethereal copy about to be conjured at his back even as he began shouting at his men to search for the stealthy halfling.

Sadly, this plan would have to be abandoned as well. He heard the elven witch dash out of the wheat behind him. What in the world is she... Mentally trailing off, Tristan could only marvel at the stupidity of these men as a torch went sailing by, lighting up the field behind him.

While he hated taking his focus off an enemy, especially one that had already wounded him, he had no choice if he was going to save the field, the group's reputation, and possibly little Calopee. He could only hope that the leader would be sufficiently distracted between Calopee's deadly throw, Sehanine's brief appearance, and his own dying men. Moving towards the the torch and focusing inward, Tristan gestured to where the wheat was already beginning to burn, and called forth the waters of the divine.

(((OOC: Edit: After taking a 5 foot step NE, Tristan's going to cast Create Water, and then we'll both pray. Him to Discq, me too the GM.)))

The blade quivered in Malachi's hand, each heartbeat amplified along its length. It had slipped in so easily, right into the vital place between two ribs. This was the power of the nightmare blade, and it quickly drained the life of the bandit. He fell to the ground motionless, and Malachi withdrew the rapier from his chest. Blood poured thickly from the tiny hole, black in the moonlight. Before the second bandit could speak, another voice shouted over the din.

“See boys? THEY BLEED LIKE THE REST!”

One of his companions was injured, then. He gritted his teeth, wondering who it was. Before the thought could fully form, two things happened in the same moment. The bandit hurled a torch over Malachi's shoulder, and another rounded the corner of the house, sword at the ready.

Still two against one, Malachi thought. They just don't want to fight fair. He glanced back at the torch. It had landed in the worst possible place. Flames licked at a pile of dry burlap sacks, which might as well have been kindling doused in lantern oil. The shed began to fill with thick black smoke. It was no longer a question, this place was a trap.

The shadows were retreating now, but not yet gone. Mal took one last step into the recesses of the shed, collecting his advantage once more. The fire danced in his eyes as he moved through the smoke. Yes, this would do nicely. Having once more bound the slippery shadows to himself, he encircled the flame with his blade, capturing it in the groove.

The Argent Blade burst out of the shed into the cool night air. Prepared to fight, ready to let the shed burn, and mindful of his purpose, he faced down his next enemy. His cloak floated behind him, pulling with it a gout of smoke. He smirked, knowing how he must appear, a creature of flame and shadow wreathed in smoke.

Holding on to the moment, he moved to attack. With a flick of his wrist Mal gathered the fire to the tip of the rapier. Thus concentrated it became a dazzling white light dancing in the darkness. Mal twisted the blade again. Suddenly it seemed a bolt of lightning struck upward from his blade. Before the light died, Mal thrust his sword into the chest of his opponent.

Fear still filled his opponent's eyes, and Mal's met them with a cold stare. Full of malice and a little high on the moment, The Argent Blade spoke a single word.

Run. 

[[OOC: Move to gain Child of Shadow concealment, ending in the space occupied by a corpse. Initiate Blistering Flourish. Everything else is just fluff.]]

 

Relos had felt a pang of satisfaction as he bled the first opponent who moved to attack him, and also a bit of frustration as he almost was disarmed in his trip attempt.

Guess I'll have to put them down the hard way...
The thought crossed his mind as he slipped into a defensive stance, widening the space between his hands on the haft of his halberd, ready to parry and block any blows from both sides of him. He stood with either opponent on his sides for his best chance of sight, and waited for an opportunity.

(will use combat expertise to subtract 2 from my attack and add 2 to my ac, just to spite their flank bonus :p then i will attack the wounded opponent on my initiative.)

The acrid smell of the burning wheat filled the air, stinging her lungs and bringing involuntary tears to her sensitive eyes. She had run far across the way at the first scent of smoke, and although she was at a safe distance now, those flames would consume the fields and much of the surrounding land if they were not doused soon. Looking back, she felt a tiny pang of guilt at leaving Tristan to face the bearded leader alone. A primal fear had gripped Sehanine and speed her away. Fey creatures were native to the woodlands, and there was nothing more destructive to their world than a fire gone wild.

Blazing firelight reflected in her widened eyes as she took in the scene before her. Even if she could douse the flames, the fires were too far for her arcane reach. It would have to be left to another. As if in answer, Tristan's stance took on the tell tale signs of spell casting. By the direction of his gaze, it seemed he intended to do something about the fires, even if it would leave him vulnerable.

When her eyes fell on the discarded torch still burning on the road, a sly smile spread across her face at the thought of the poetry. She might not be able to do anything about the fire herself, but she could help keep her goateed rival alive long enough to douse the flames.

Reaching out, Sehanine let a bit of her magical being move toward the abandoned torch. At the moment she touched it, the torch came to life. It danced into the air and hurtled upward toward the brigand leader's head.

((OOC: Casts Mage Hand and moves the abandoned, still burning torch to attack the leader. If the leader is dead she will attack Bandit 7 with the torch. Sehanine will move so that all of this is in range if need be. If the torch is out or is picked up by someone else she will Magic Missile the leader and Bandit 7.))

Another stone thrown. Another mad dash into the safety of the standing grain. Calopee let the wheat be her shield, the night her cloak. To the edge of the wheat wall then, to assess the field of battle. Malachi, had taken one down... For a moment she was shocked! Perhaps he could put his mouth to rest upon the blades arm after all. This was good to know. The fierce screaming of the bandit leader let her know her stones had left their mark. Three down, six to go.

What to do, what to do. One of the Beards lackeys just tossed a curve ball out into left field, coming very near her prior safe haven, and the dry stalks lot up like tinder. Through the brush she noted Tristan moving towards te flame. If he was to care for the field, perhaps she had little worry for the time being. So now the question was, should she strike out at the leader? It was a tempting thought. Perhaps... If the angles added up. She prepared her assault, looking to the left, then over towards the sheds. Decisions, decisions.

(Calopee will wait and see if bandit seven moves adjacent to the bandit leader. If so she will target the both of them with a skip rock extraordinaire. If they do not close rank, she will vie for a long shot against the two men before Malachi. Either way, after her throw she will duck back into cover and head north as far as is sneakily possible. )

Night, Isiah’s Farm, Schell 
Blood had been drawn on both sides, and the situation was quite literally heating up as Fortune’s Favoured ambush had devolved into a deadly skirmish. The riders had had the numbers, but those were dwindling as the skill of the Favoured had already cut down three of the group. Their newest advantage lay in their lack of attachment to the land they fought on, and the sudden inclusion of the very real threat of a wildfire had put a chink in the heroes’ well laid plans.

Tristan’s position in the wheat field had changed drastically since he had found use of it as an ideal hiding spot. A thrown torch had ignited the dry wheat not far from him, and the riders’ bearded leader and proved an able combatant; his spiked chain leaving a bleeding gash on across the back of the young champion of Discq. Tristan’s attentions however, we not on the immediate threat the riders’ leader presented, but on the fire that had only just begun to spread. Whether his intentions of preserving Isiah’s farm were noble in the sense of protecting the downtrodden, secretive in protecting the reputation of his group or simply an act of self-preservation were debatable, but either way they left him no choice.

Ducking his way out of the leaders range, Tristan began a small prayer, seeking the help of his divine patron. Discq’s influence had imbued him with more than a sense of whimsy and trickery, and Tristan could feel the surge of divine power surge through him and over towards the flame. Instantaneously, a jet of water burst out of the nothingness above the fire, splashing down on the flames as they emitted a sudden hiss. A cloud of steam rose up revealing nothing more than a few embers hidden in the soaking ashes; the fire, at least the one in the wheat fields, had been safely extinguished.

Less safe on the other side of the clearing was Relos, finding himself sandwiched between two bandits who seemed recovered from the blow he’d dealt them seconds before. Exploiting his split attention, the bandits lunged in with their blades, each striking as Relos was forced to eye the other. Though heavily armoured, the paladin could not easily keep up with the simultaneous attacks of two seasoned backstabbers, and their blades found flesh as they snaked in through the various gaps at the joints of his platemail. Their blades now bore a deep shade of crimson as the half-elf’s blood dripped off them, though Relos could take solace in the notion that he’d suffered worse before, and had no trouble maintaining his guard.

To the north, Malachi found the shed he stood in no longer suitable as a long term plan. The fire had found ample fuel in the seed and kindling housed there, and even if he could reach the jars of liquid on the far wall, Mal doubted there was time to suppress the flames before they spread to the walls or perhaps even to himself. The smoke on the other hand, was perhaps of use to him. His mind remained focussed on the combat, his natural talents amplified by his training. He shifted about the hut once more, gathering the smoke and darkness around him as if a cloak; he ran his blade through the flames as he emerged from the hut, seeming to almost naturally carry the concealment the fire provided as he made his way over the body of the last man to test his blade. His challenge to the men in front of him was simple.

“Run.”

His blade still carried the glint of the flame on it, and his lunge brought its tip directly into the man before him, piercing his leather armor and slicing into his flesh just alongside his ribs. Not a killing blow as his last had been, but this strike had perhaps not been intended to kill. The light of the fire erupted from the tip of his blade as he struck, a bright pulse made even more startling by the darkness of the night. The flash caused much blinking and shaking of heads, as even the riders’ leader and Calopee, separated from Malachi by some distance had to quickly refocus as the light assaulted their senses. The man Malachi had struck seemed to clear his head as the pain of his wound brought him to focus, but his compatriot at his side seemed less lucky. His attention had been on the blade as it struck, and even as the darkness returned his eyes were visibly watering.

Far from the burst of light, Relos didn’t allow the sights of his companion’s battle theatrics to distract him from the very real situation he had found himself in. Widening his stance and repositioning his halberd across his body left Relos better able to defend himself from the men who flanked him, while still allowing him maneuverability. Focusing on the man he’d wounded as he’d been charged, the paladin lunged cautiously, careful not to leave himself open to either of the men around him. His blade once again found its mark, again wounding the bandit though not yet downing him. The man was shaking now though, and there was little doubt another of Relos’s blows and perhaps he would finally succumb.

Nearer the footpath, the leader of the riders focus had shifted as Malachi’s light had momentarily distracted him. Tristan’s delving deeper into the wheat to deal with the threat of the fire had removed him from the bearded man’s sight, and instead eyes the shadowy form that had emerged from the shed to the north. The man made his way to Malachi’s blank, twisting his body to put momentum behind his lash as his chain cleared the distance between the two men. Malachi proved a difficult target however, and the shadows that clung to him proved a solid boon as the chain sailed wide, digging a slender trench through the mud as the bearded man pulled it back to his grasp with a disgusted look on his face. The bandits adjacent to him proved even less capable, their attacks easily evaded by the swift swordsman. By the time they stopped for a breather, Malachi remained standing in front of them, wreathed in shadows, completely unscathed.

Throughout the whole fight, Calopee had remained hidden; darting about and striking when the opportunity presented itself. The positioning of the men around Malachi and the distraction he had provided was yet another chance for her to test her skill with her polished stones. The bearded man and his chain had already claimed a measure of blood from one of her fellows, and her focus turned to him. Whipping a stone as she had so many times before, she hesitated just a moment as she released, something she would regret as her stone flew just wide, passing by her target by mere inches. The hesitation cost her doubly as the bearded man’s gaze spun in the direction the stone had come from, and Calopee found her gaze locked with the dark haired man’s.

“THERE’S THE LIL’ S&#T”, the man’s tone was harsh, the Halfling had personally accounted for the deaths of two of his men. “THEY’VE A HALF-KIN IN THE FIELD!”

Spotted, Calopee did her best to reposition herself but it proved fruitless, her cover having been blown by a minor mistake. She made her way north but the remaining rider from inside Isiah’s hut was swiftly making his way towards her, eagerly drawing his blade as he approached. Calopee paced him and managed to stay just out of reach long enough to get ahead, though as she stopped she realised she was now face to face with the rider on the edge of the field, an evil smile on his lips and a sword in his hand.

Forgotten in the southern fields, Sehanine’s eyes swept over the area, seeking something to give her the edge. She briefly toyed with the idea of magic-ing one of the rider’s fallen torches about as a makeshift club, but as the fight’s focus had moved north the ranging seemed just beyond the capabilities of her magic. Calling to mind the familiar incantation she’d made use of previously, she dashed across the open path and back into the northern field, loosing a pair of magical bolts of force as she sprinted. She hoped her new positioning would offer her more options as the bolts connected flawlessly as ever with her targets, eliciting a familiar series of grunts as they struck.

(OOC: Q&A AGAIN)