Each step sent a throb of pain across Tristan's back. He couldn't even smile at it, as it hadn't been a trick of any sort. Maybe after all this was over.

Certain the fire was out, he spun back around, trying to get his bearings. He could still hear fighting around the south of the house. Hope that paladin's god still likes him, because we haven't time to help him presently...
He zeroed in on the leader as he ordered the attack on Calopee. Little lady finally got caught, eh? He'd have to try and do something about that. This was their first real fight, and he had no idea if the halfling was capable in close quarters or not, but double-teamed by the apparent leader and one of his flunkies was not the time to find out. Wincing again as his back flared up, he could only think Hope the witch is paying attention. Head-on is really not my style.... Ah well. When you don't have the winning hand, you bluff.
Straightening up and squaring his soldiers, Tristan brandished his rapier as he strode out of the wheat field. Seeing one of the men dangerously close to the wheatfield, Tristan thrust his rapier towards him, calling out to draw attention. "Discq's Blade, I summon you!" Turning back to the leader, he did his best to glare him down as he drew near.

Even amongst a fight for his life, his frie.. aquaintances' lives, and his burgeoning reputation, Tristan loved theatrics, and could never resist a good trick.


(((OOC: Tristan casts Spiritual weapon at bandit 7, then moves four squares west and attempts to Intimidate the leader. If he hasn't enough actions left to intimidate, just the spell and the move.)))

(((OOC: Edit: The rapier thrust is for effect. Spell was cast with free left hand.)))

Wonderful! Nice aim there, she thought to herself snidely, as her stone winged by the bearded man's face. Like it was was a homing beacon, his eyes followed the angles and then their eyes were locked. His rage was oozing from his mouth in the form of angry spittled screaming, and his dog was coming to play fetch with her. Calopee booked it upfield, hoping to lose herself once more, but alas the reach of the doggy man's legs were nearly double her own. A small perk for being human, she supposed.

In any case, this was an unpleasant circumstance, and her mind began to whir about some form of solution that would get her out of this mess. As luck would have it though, her comrade already provided her with distraction she would need. Whilst he whirled and twirled his singing sword, and cast out a sword that was a shining replica of Discq's most favored tool of war, she would quietly slink away, into the field without so much as a peep, and while he was distracted by the dancing blade, she'd try her luck with yet another stone thrown.

(A bluff check to attempt to hide from the distracted bandit. Move 10ft east into the field, and then throw a regular stone at the bandit now fighting a dancing blade.

The smoke wreathing the masked swordsman quickly dissipated in the open air. His sword had struck its mark but not as surely as he had hoped; the man remained standing.

It seemed the burst of light had attracted the attention of the bandit leader. A spiked chain lashed out of the darkness at Malachi's legs. Malachi danced out of the way, but not without noting his new situation.

He nodded at the leader. "Three against one? You flatter me, gentlemen. I shall have to even the odds a bit."

Despite his demeanor, Malachi knew he had to keep an eye on that whip. One false move could prove deadly. He disappeared into the night, only to lunge suddenly at the injured bandit moments later, and from a new angle. Malachi had dashed westward gathering shadows, and now appeared on his enemy's left.


((OOC: movement for stance, attack injured bandit, using dodge feat vs leader ))

Arcana crackled from Sehanine's fingertips and flew into the night as she flighted through the forest of wheat. Much of the battle had moved out towards the smoldering shed and it seemed that luck might be turning. Calopee's discovery would likely cost them dear. The little halfling's sniping stones had proved utterly deadly, and any lack there might turn the tide of battle in a decidedly unpleasant manner. It was not an outcome she was inclined to allow.

For the moment at least, she had been forgotten, and she could use that. She was not suited to the throes of combat, secrecy and manipulation were the blades of her choice. Any sensible person would let others do the bleeding for them...

And so she kept herself hidden among the stalks. Deft fingers began to trace eldritch symbols in the air and her voice rose in a witch's chant. Magic, once again, coursed through the air.

((OOC: If Calopee isn't able to hide Sehanine will cast invisibility on her (away from my computer and can't remember if it's touch or not - if touch ignore this option).

If Sehanine is threatened or attacked she will cast invisibility on herself and move away.

Other option is to find something to turn into a Mage Hand weapon to attack the leader. Preferably something that is on fire. Assuming she is not threatened and Calopee doesn't need invisibility, this is the preferred course of action.

If none of this is an option she'll send out another Magic Missile, both bolts targeting the leader.

Being last in the initiative requires more than a few contingency plans...))

Relos took the beating with gritted teeth and fought on. He never forgot his training or words of wisdom from his master as he fought to put down these cut throats once and for all. He took his familiar stance and slashed out one more time.


(same as before, super fast post for grugg's sanity)

Night, Isiah’s Farm, Schell 
The situation was wildly spinning out of control. The ambush had done well to give the Favoured the surprise but the division of the group had proved less helpful while the numbers remained against them. With the discovery of the Halfling Calopee the field had been evened in terms of positioning, and Fortune’s Favoured were desperate to swing that back their way, if not thin the enemy’s ranks as well.

Tristan found himself in the uncharacteristic position of needing to put the group on his already wounded back. Calopee and Malachi had thus far been the most effective at downing the riders, and both of them found themselves in inopportune situations that jeopardised their ability to help the group; Tristan’s quick reflexes would have to give him the opportunity to change that.

He started with Calopee, who found herself much closer to an opponent much larger than her own tiny frame. Tristan flourished his rapier as the loaded die than hung around his neck gave a brief throb of power as he channeled Discq’s gifts. His flair for the grandiose was not lost however, and as he felt the magical energy of his spell surge through him and out onto the battlefield he let out a shout, not directed at the bandit per se but definitely designed to grab his attention.

"Discq's Blade, I summon you!" 

The bandit turned to see the commotion just as a translucent blade sprung into being in front of him, a floating rapier composed entirely of divine force. His confusion was punctuated by a loud shout as the blade dipped and easily plunged into his shoulder, cutting through his armour and tearing into the flesh before withdrawing to float tauntingly before him.

Tristan would have to hope that his summoned blade would provide enough distraction for the Halfling as he turned his attention to Malachi’s struggles. The riders’ bearded leader had already caught him once with his chain, an experience he’d not soon forget but one he’d have to risk again to free up room for the Argent Blade to act. Lunging out of the wheat field Tristan broke towards the grouping of men, gritting his teeth in preparation as their leader turned and whipped the barbed chain in his direction.

The spiky links struck him as he advanced, though they bit in far less than the last time, and he was able to make his way into the melee otherwise unmolested. He hoped Malachi be able to take advantage of his distraction, being repeatedly struck by the chain had begun to wear on the young Cordovan. Perhaps acting for the good of the group was going to be best trick he’d played on himself yet.

Still by his lonesome on the southern side of the farmhouse, Relos remained force to split his attention while remaining flanked by the bandits. They’d caught him last time and he’d reacted as he’d been trained, settling into a more defensive stance, seeking to negate their numbers advantage. One of the men lunged in and Relos swept his haft out to catch the blow, knocking aside the thrust and buying himself a bit of space. His timing wasn’t perfect however, and the second man caught him with a quick slice of his blade as Relos spun his weapon around to react, narrowly missing the bandit with his halberd’s deadly blade. Whether his injuries or the fatigue of tracking the movements of two combats had caused his misplay, Relos could not tell, but he would surely have to redouble his efforts if he was survive the situation much longer.

To the north by the shed, Malachi, even with the arrival of Tristan, found himself remaining outnumbered. He’d just escaped what was now an inferno filled deathtrap, and the expression “out of the pan and into the fire” had never seemed more appropriate. He rationalised getting alongside the bandits would at least force them to split their attention between Tristan and himself, but the path there was going to be treacherous with all men surrounding him, he’d have to rely on his training.

The bandits’ bearded leader had just lashed out at Tristan, and Mal hoped his comrade’s distraction would give him the space he needed to evade the man’s deadly chain. Ducking low, Mal kicked off his left leg, tucking and rolling to his right while the bearded man failed to bring his chain to bear in time to strike. Springing out of his roll, the masked swordsman spun out to his side, evading the teary eyed bandit entirely and narrowly dodging the awkward lunge of the other’s short blade.

Malachi could feel the shadows still clinging to him as he popped up to the bandit’s side. His natural mobility had allowed him to maneuver around the battlefield freely but had cost him his balance, and his sword thrust met nothing but air as he awkwardly attempted to retaliate against the man who had swung at him. His position was far better than only moments before, and he could no longer feel the heat of the flames lapping at his neck, but he’d failed to dent the bandit’s numbers for now.

Across from Malachi, Tristan’s bravery had brought him face to face with the bandit’s leader, a dangerous proposition given the results of their previous interactions. Tristan was getting better at reading the man however, and as the bandit leader stepped back to clear space as he whipped his chain towards Tristan’s head he ducked a second earlier than previously, hearing the whistle of swinging steel as the chain’s blades narrowly missed his face. It was a welcome change from the tearing pain the last two strikes had produced.

As he righted himself, Tristan’s attention was drawn by the man beside him. The bandit’s still watering eyes were full of rage; though Tristan was grateful they seemed to be focused on Malachi instead of himself. As the bandit took off after his rolling comrade, Tristan seized the opportunity to lash out, catching the man in the back of the knee as he stepped, his howl of pain signaling Tristan his blade had hit home.

The bandit’s head turned toward Tristan for just a moment as he continued to move towards Malachi, who seized the opportunity and struck out himself, catching the bandit while his attention was diverted. The man’s frustration at being jabbed twice boiled over, and he swung forcefully at Mal as he finished his movement, his blade catching the Argent Blade along his back Malachi now found himself between a pair of enraged cutthroats. Relying on his reflexes, Malachi twisted around, predicting a strike from his other assailant and deflecting it harmlessly with the flat of his blade. An armed man on either side of him and his companion locked in a deadly struggle a few feet away, it could be wondered if perhaps things had been better inside the flaming shed.

Calopee situation was just as dire, her brief time as an unseen force had ended, and the man in front of her seemed fairly intent of getting revenge for his fallen comrades. Her natural stealth wouldn’t help her here; she’d have to rely on her wit. Taking a quick step back, the Halfling pointed over the bandit’s shoulder, contorting her face into a look of shock. Despite himself, the man turned to look and in that instant Calopee went to ground, vanishing from sight. When the bandit looked back his confusion was plain on his face, and it was noticed by the bandit leader, who was quick to order the man into the wheat field to find the tiny rock throwing menace.

Hesitantly, the man entered the wheat field, unwilling to disobey the bearded man. His eyes darted left and right as he went further and further into the stalks but he failed to notice Calopee, already safe beneath a quickly assembled collection of fallen stalks and dirt, as he stepped right over the concealed Halfling. Barely moving from her position, Calopee’s hand snaked into a sack tied at her waste, emerging with an unpolished stone clenched in her palm. It seemed her prey had fallen into her trap.

Not far from Calopee, Sehanine considered her options from her vantage point in the wheat field. The fallen torch on the walking path had smoldered out, its flame extinguished rolling in the mud, and though the shed was in flames there was nothing she could see on it that could be made of any use. A shame, as she’d wanted to perhaps use the fire to her advantage in the combat, she’d have to settle for her own firepower however. Calling to the arcane power of her fey blood once more, she again summoned a pair of dark beads of force, sending them flying out towards the bearded man who was locked in combat with Tristan. The familiar thud and shout of aggravation confirmed the hit as the battle continued with by the light of now flame engulfed shed.

(OOC: Q&A for the usual bits)

Calopee's breath stopped as the Doggy man nearly stepped on her while she lay nuzzled into the mulch and dust. She cursed the thunderous beat of her heart, certain it would be heard from above. The Doggy man, however, was as oblivious to her as she assumed he was to that ugly face he'd see in the mirror on occasion. Perhaps she could put some pretty new blotches on it.

The little halfling lass slowly snaked her way out of the crouch that had secreted her into the dirt, her hand slipping into her special bag of stone holding. Hmph... he's not worth the countless hours spent on the perfect polish of her precious stones," she thought to herself with the snobbish pride of a practiced artisan, as she coursed her fingers across the smooth finish of her treasures until coming across a rough edge, "a simple stone for the merest of men. Yes, that should do nicely."
Tracing the figure fumbling through the dark-lit field, she prepared her strike, keeping her mind on the subtle differences between the two projectiles. No need to discern angles here. There was only one target to trouble. It was, in her mind, very nearly the difference between using a club, and a rapier. It was of little consequence to her, though, she'd been throwing stones since she was a child, and was very nearly as good at it. If anything, it was only the quality of the stones she crafted that made the difference in the strike.

A little squint, and a light bite of the tongue, as she wound up for the throw. After that, a steady toss, and a swift and silent dash to the north. Lets see if the doggy likes to play fetch.

(Calopee attacks Bandit 7, and then attempts to hide from him, and moves 5 feet north.)

It might be the adrenaline, but that last chain strike didn't seem that bad, Tristan thought, ducking under the following swing. He came out from under it actually laughing. Somehow, and hanged if he could figure out how, he'd ended up playing the paladin! If that wasn't the best trick he'd played on himself since his third meeting with Sehanine, he'd eat his own hat.

As the leader began backing away, Tristan noticed the bandit to his side moving towards Mal the Magnificent, who, if the body on the ground was evidence, was marginally closer to legitimately earning that title than he had been this morning. Sweeping low and fast, he caught the man along the back of his knee. That would surely slow him down a bit.

Returning his attention to the man in front of him, and noting the distance, Tristan swiftly stepped to the side. He turned and found himself facing another of the pair that seemed determined to take Malachai out. While he couldn't blame them, as he'd been tempted to that a few times earlier today, he couldn't just stand there and let it happen. So concluding, Tristan struck out at the man trying to move after the Argent Blade

(((OOC: 5 foot step to the west, attack bandit 4. Leave Spiritual Weapon attacking bandit 7.)))

(((OOC: EDIT: Reposted with strategies that might actually allow me to live.)))

Disq's Blade, I summon you!
Tristan's voice rang clear above the din of battle. The man emerged from the wheat, pointing his rapier as he spoke. Its ethereal double appeared from thin air and shot off toward one of the bandits. He was looking a little worse for the wear, but Malachi had to admit, he still had panache.

The leader struck out with his chain as Tristan closed the distance between the wheatfield and the shed. Tristan dodged, almost. He took a grazing blow, and in his maneuvers momentarily turned his back to Malachi as he ducked. The spiked had done a number on him; it seemed as though his back were bleeding from a hundred different holes. Now there was yet another.

Tristan laughed at the fresh blood it drew. Malachi smiled. This man was unsinkable! Now he moved to attack the bandit Mal had dazzled a few moments ago, flanking the flanker.

"Glad you could join me," said The Blade, speaking past the watery-eyed combatant. The arrival of his companion had put Malachi back in good spirits.

"Well it was either help you or the halfling, so I came to where I'd be needed most," replied Tristan as he struck a low-line attack at the bandit.

"Ha! That's two low blows at once, old chum." For the moment Mal's attention was split between his left and right. He faced the hooligan furthest from the wheat, briefly defending himself.

Tristan's voice came from behind, and Mal couldn't tell whether her was sarcastic or serious. "Fighting fair's for the new guy."
"Couldn't agree more" said Mal, and suddenly spun in a half circle to face Tristan. He stabbed the rapier upward into the bandit's chest. Then with a flourish, The Argent Blade stepped for a moment toward the shed and returned. Whether it were some trick of the light or the magic his teacher had bestowed, his shadow seemed to have doubled in size.

A moment of silence hung over the battle. Somewhere in the distance, a goat bleated. It sounded fearful. Perhaps it had seen a glimpse of the burning shed, or maybe one of the bandits had mistaken it for the farmer's wife.

((OOC: Attack B4, move a total of 10 feet to return to the original position. Will move to gain stance benefit regardless of whether or not B4 survives. If Tristan kills the bandit before Mal can attack, he will attack the other.))

"Disq's Blade, I summon you!"

Tristan's voice rang out through the night and heralded a divine retribution of sorts. As if made from moonlight itself, a ghostly, glowing blade materialized to hover before one of the bandits. With each strike it left faint trails of light behind it that to Sehanine's elven eyes left a map of the blade's dance. For a time, she watched the divine avenger twist and strike. Magic wrought by the gods was such a strange thing to her. It had a will of its own that demanded supplication, so different than the fey magic which came to her as naturally as breath. Still none could deny its effectiveness, and Tristan was hardly pious, despite his divine favor (or perhaps even because of it).

Watching the dancing blade gave the fey enchantress a needed spark of inspiration. Her own attacks, though unerring, were merely slowing the bandits down. She needed to do something bigger. A wickedly, gleeful smile painted Sehanine's face as she drew the blade at her side. The moonlight reflected on the blade joined the mercurial light in her eyes that grew brighter with the thought of possibility.

Although her path was entwined with magic, Sehanine was born of the elven lands, and like all of her people she had been trained in the dance of the sword. She would never be a great sword master, but Sehanine did know how to use the damn thing. What rule was there that decreed her body had to follow the blade she wielded?

A lilting chant soared and seemed to settle around her in an aura of mystery. Standing there amongst the stalks of wheat with her blade held out before her, the elf was reminiscent of some heroic warrior of old chanting a prayer to some forgotten hag of the harvest. Yes, she would defend that wheat and the comedic poetry there brought musical laughter to her lips.

Pulsing with fey magic, Sehanine opened her hand releasing the blade. Rather than falling, the sword floated into the air and then spun forward to join the dance with Tristan and Malachi. Three blades were far better than two.

((OOC: Casts Mage Hand, targeting her long sword. Sehanine will attack the bandit leader with the long sword and will try to remain hidden in the wheat.))

Relos focused in on the weakened bandit. The quicker he can dispatch this foe the faster he can turn his attention to the other and stop them from bleeding him as they have been.

Once more Relos took his stance and kept his defense high and struck out again on the weakened cut throat. He planned to go and meet his companions as soon as possible and help them in their fight, but he knew tying up two more combatants to the south was a benefit in its own way, keeping them from swarming his comrades. If only he could spare a glance north to see if it was as bad as it really seemed, the feint glow of orange an ominous sight in the background.

Night, Isiah’s Farm, Schell 
The flames roared up as the toolshed’s thatched roof fed the bonfire the shed had become. It had taken less than a minute for the fire to consume it, a combination of an abundance of fuel and the dry summer night. It served as illumination for the battle around it, its heat washing over the combatants as its fiery tongues licked out at anything that drew too close, only the well-trod dirt around it saving the wheat from becoming but more fuel.

The fire’s glow danced on Tristan’s chain shirt as he caught his breath before it, the light reflecting in the globes of crimson blood that still tripped from his wounds, granting them a look of severity that would have been far less noticeable in solely the moonlight. The man’s back and shoulder had been raked over by the leader’s chain, something that he’d have to risk again as he turned his attention to the bandit to Malachi’s side.

Moving carefully, his eyes ever on the bearded man’s chain, Tristan struck out at the rider with his rapier, taking advantage of Malachi’s positioning to catch his target while he was distracted. The rapier slid easily past the man’s guard, catching him in a joint in his leather armour and provoking a cry of pain as Tristan withdrew it to find fresh blood on the blade. A second cry echoed out of the wheat field behind him as his manifestation of Discq’s blade continued doggedly pursuing its target, successfully if the yell was any indication. He’d bought Mal some space to maneuver and hopefully provided a weakened foe for Calopee in the wheat field, something Tristan hoped they’d both be able to capitalise on as his attention returned to the spiked chain the group’s leader wielded.

Across the clearing and behind Isiah’s hut, Relos continued to seek an advantage against the men surrounding him. His positioning away from his fellows had been meant to minimize the chances of their discovery as they’d laid hidden awaiting the ambush, but it was seeming a disadvantage now; it had left him isolated and unable to assist the rest of the Favoured. He was getting a lot of experience dealing with being surrounded however, and he’d learned the cutthroats’ attack patterns through some painful trial and error.

His wider defensive stance served him well as the first man lunged in his blade, a simple strike that seemed more to provide a distraction to the paladin and leave him open to the bandit’s comrade at his rear. Were this an opening gambit it would have seen more success as Relos had already fallen for this more than once, and was unwilling to be made a fool of again but these marauders, and he easily deflected the stab with the haft of his halberd before spinning with the momentum, causing the other bandit’s strike to deflect harmlessly off his shoulder pauldron.

The half-elf’s momentum carried through as he brought the blade of his weapon around, slicing down in a powerful arc towards the man he’d wounded previously, feeling the customary resistance as his attack landed flush. The man fell heavily to the ground as Relos concluded his blow, pulling his halberd back up as he spun easily to face his remaining attacker who was just beginning to assess to situation. They’d been unable to fell the armoured half-elf 2-on-1 and now the numbers had been evened. It seemed the tide was turning.

North of the hut, Malachi continued his own fight against imbalanced numbers. Tristan’s arrival had negated some of the bandits’ advantage, and the two had shared a short conversation as they ducked and dodged through the melee around them. Tristan’s blow had diverted one of the rider’s attentions, and Malachi seized on the opportunity by adding an attack of his own. His rapier too found a seam in the man’s armour and bit into flesh, eliciting another cry of pain. The man stayed upright however, and Malachi prepared himself for another round of hopefully fruitless swings as he rolled about between his two adversaries, kicking up dust and using the flickering light of the fire to hopefully add a bit of confusion to his movements.

While Malachi made himself busy distracting the men surrounding him, Tristan’s attention momentarily dropped as he made a quick survey of his position. He allowed himself to breathe for a second but immediately regretted it as a sharp pain snapped his focus back to reality. His reverie had left him vulnerable, something he’d tried to carefully to avoid and his inattention had given the riders’ leader all the opportunity he’d needed. Tristan noticed his vision swimming as he could feel the man’s chain tear at flesh as it dislodged, and for a moment he felt like he might vomit. He dropped to a knee as he struggled to focus on the now laughing bearded man before him before darkness crept in to the sides of his sight. He could hear the man shouting as the last of his consciousness fled his body and he dropped to the ground in a widening puddle of his own blood.

“LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND I PROMISE YOUR DEATHS WILL BE QUICKER THAN THIS FOOL’S.”, the cry echoed out over the farm as the bearded man gloated while Tristan’s body hit the earth. “WHAT IDIOTS DIE FOR A FARMER ANYWAY!?”

 
The call rallied the bandits, who were grateful to see someone of not their number fall, and they redoubled their efforts. Malachi’s preparation and training proved necessary as the men around him hacked him with wild abandon, only his natural dexterity and the unnatural concealment granted by his prodigious abilities allowing him to remain unscathed as he dipped between their blades. His eyes caught a glimpse of Tristan hitting the ground as he ducked one of the strikes, and the dire nature of his situation became all the more real to him as he counted the adversaries surrounding him. Numbers mattered in what had become a war of attrition, and the Argent Blade now found himself outnumbered three to one.

Calopee, along in the wheat field had a difficult time discerning the events in the clearing, but even she could identify something was going awry as the leader’s gloating brought her attention to Tristan’s prone form. The fight in the field required attention, but it was important to wrap up loose ends before moving back to help, and she focused on the man that had pursued her into the wheat field. Kipping up from her hiding place, she whipped a rock at the distracted man’s head, waiting for the familiar *thunk* followed by the *thud* as the stone struck the bandit square and dropped him unconscious to the ground.

Satisfied the man wouldn’t be rising anytime soon, the Halfling repositioned herself to the north, but her thoughts turned to her fallen comrade and she was unable to avoid peeking out at the scene in the clearing. The act drew her attention from finding a hiding place and also had the misfortune of her catching the eye of the riders’ bearded leader, their eyes locking as Calopee scanned the area. The man’s menacing grin gave her an uneasy feeling as she furtively searched for a hiding spot in vain. It looked like she’d been discovered, again.

Sehanine watched helplessly as her comrade Tristan hit the dirt, and her thoughts turned towards the sneering man who felled him. She’d had her blade at the ready, though she considered using it in most cases as a last resort perhaps a little inventiveness would give it a use in her present circumstance. Her mind raced as her arcane power coursed through her, manifesting as an orison that lifted her blade gently out of her hand and carried it through the air towards her target. The blade bobbed unevenly as Sehanine tried to bring the weapon to bear and the man (while initially taken aback by the sudden appearance of a much more mundane floating blade) easily avoided the sword’s gradual advance.

The sword was joined by a companion as Tristan’s summoned blade appeared above his unconscious form, floating idly as it awaited new directions that seemed unlikely to be forthcoming. The blood pool beneath it slowly expanded, catching more and more light from the flames as it did, bringing a crimson illumination Tristan’s fallen body. The Favoured now found themselves on a timer as their comrade lay bleeding out before them.

(Q&A, because I care. Or something. I blame Chessic’s mind powers.)

It was only just now, struggling to stay up on one knee, as his vision faded out that it occured to Tristan that he might have pushed the Hero's of Schell thing a bit too far. It was a nice con, but was it worth his life?

The funny thing is, Tristan thought as he sank to the ground, losing awareness of the fight still raging around him, this probably could have been avoided if I hadn't had to play at paladin....
He thought again of the group that had formed around what he considered his greatest con. He wondered if Sehanine would be able to keep them out of too much trouble. Thoughts of the elf made him want to reflexively run his hands over his bracers, but he could only manage to twitch his fingers. Perhaps she'll end up with them after all. It'll burn her up that she never managed to take them from me...... Such was Tristan's last thought before his concious mind shut down.

(((OOC: Yeah.... this post is mostly for flavor. Here's hoping I can roll to stabilize, yeah?)))

Tristan. Just moments ago he rushed to my aid, but now he lay on the ground. Helpless. Dying. The bandit leader's chain had cut deep this time and blown down my ally. I had a potion. Right here, in my pocket. It would have been easy to give it to him. I just - I was too busy fighting.

I shouted, anger percolating through my veins. I don't think I made any words, just a bleak "HAAAAA!" as I attacked my opponent once again. I held my training close, but I struck in near desperation. Die you ruffian!
We traded blows, though I defended against two enemies at once. Dodge! Parry! Dodge again, and thrust! And the result? I darenot say just yet. My enemy lunged! I swiftly sidestepped, then it was time for some fancy footwork.

Thinking of my friend and nothing more, I rolled away from the flank. Despite the danger, I leapt out of the frying pan, placing myself between Tristan and the leader. They struck at me as I moved - but was I too quick? It didn't matter. My mind was on the potion in my pocket. It seemed I was the only one close enough to give succor to the wounded, and so that was my intent. It was only incidental that as I moved, the shadows curled around me once more.
[[OOC: Trying a different style here. LMK what you think. Attack bandit 4, move to 1 square N of Tristan, activating my stance ability.]]

Relos turned quickly as the foe dropped. He stared down his opponent, focusing all his skill and martial prowess into fighting one on one. He knew that he needed to dispatch this man and get to his companions, just moments before he heard their leader yell out, telling them to cease and that one of their own is possibly dead. As far as he knew, he was the only one who could help anyone who was close to death and that made this man in front of him that much more of a pain in his ass.

He knew what he had to do and hoped it would work. Once more he took his halberd and swung for the feet, trying to take his opponent to the ground.

(if trip attempt is succesful)

Relos swung about as his foe hit the dirt and brought down his heavy blade upon him.

"Stay down and maybe you won't die like your friend!" He gestured to the bleeding body next to them, and then gave the man one last look that said I will kill you if you get up
Relos couldn't wait to see any reaction as he made off towards the group, hoping he could get there in time to save who ever was down.

(I will do a trip attempt against my foe, here's hoping my feat actually comes in handy this time. If i make it, i'll do a smite evil with my free attack on him, and then possibly he'll listen to my advice, and then i'll run off towards the big baddy. If i miss, well i'll do all the same things but just suffer the free attack he'll get on me. if i fail my trip i'll drop my halberd.)