What seeds would grow from the ground of sacrifice? As her own attack was brushed aside, Sehanine could do little more than watch as Tristan fell. The once tall man now lay in a crumpled heap and there was blood, an ever growing pool that soaked deep into the earth. it was an unfathomable amount of blood, and the fey elf found herself wondering how humans had so much blood.

Sehanine was surprised at the intensity of her own horror. Had not her own hand poured poison into the man's cup? At their first introduction she had poisoned Tristan, and she had thought herself fully capable of doing it again should the need arise. Somehow, over the course of their shared rivalry, a genuine fondness for the goateed man had grown within her. It had slipped in without her notice, but it was there all the same. The thought that a similar sentiment might rest in him did not escape her.

Like any fey being, Sehanine's capricious nature lent her to bouts of impulsivity. It seemed a rather odd thing for one whose lifespan stretched out across millennia to be prone to impulsive action. Yet, to be at once contemplative and rash was the nature of the faerie folk. And so, there was no hesitation, action simply followed thought. After all, she could not simply let him die.

Moonlight bathed the scene in its pale light and she drew upon its eldritch power. Wrapping herself in its mysteries, Sehanine faded away and seemed to vanish into the night. Hidden from sight she moved out from the forest of wheat and made haste to Tristan's side.

Kneeling beside him, Sehanine laid an invisible hand on his barely rising chest. She was no healer, but here and now, the potions she carried would be just as effective as any priestly prayer. They were quite expensive and that thought lead her eyes to the elven bracers on Tristan's wrists.

((OOC: Casts Invisibility on herself and runs over to kneel right by Tristan's side))

The wee lass had disposed of yet another of the bandits, though in her heart, she knew the credit did not rest solely on her shoulders. Turning to face her 'champion', who now lay bleeding in the dirt, the options flickered through her mind. Loyalty wasn't in her nature. She was proudly concerned with advantage, profit. Benevolence was good and fine if it was lucrative. Honour was a word people threw around when it was convenient, and family honour was more a door for a skeletal closet than a line in the sand. Honour amongst thieves was a joke... Suffice it to say, the thought of vanishing into the night crossed Calopee's mind, and instinct found a foothold there. The diviner was down, and they were back to even odds, only they were spread thin, and the bandits flanked a wounded Mal. Then there was that leader, and the glint in his eyes at spotting her. Everything spelt out flee.

Not yet! She hissed, if only to herself. There was still time, and her own mortality was yet to be contested. Why raise up a band of heroes if you weren't even going to use it. Surely they should handle a couple thugs more readily than this!!??

Still, she was a creature with a very particular skillset, and it required stealth and the unsuspected edge. If she were to be of any value to her party, it would have to be from the angles unknown; the corners unseen. So, as she had since this battle began, she slipped quietly into the night, and awaited an opportunity to strike.

(Calopee will move south and south east into the field and attempt to hide, if successful she will take a sneak attack at the leader. If the leader comes for her, she will attempt to bluff her way out of his sight and hide yet again.)

Night, Isiah’s Farm, Schell
The blood pooled under Tristan’s unconscious form, soaking into his clothing and hair and staining them a deep crimson, a fact that went unnoticed by the conman. His mind flitted through darkness, catching shapes and flashes that looked familiar and at the same time alien to him. The din of battle was far behind him, a distant echo he could only remember if not actually hear; it seemed beneath him anyway, something that no longer concerned him. No, there was something out in the darkness calling him, and he would continue to look for it.

Back in reality, Relos remained locked up with one of the riders, separated from the remainder of his group by the farmhouse. The leader’s cry had reached him however, and the bandit’s smirk combined with the words had given the half-elf an uneasy feeling about how the battle was going to the north. His vows had included the protection of others, and he possessed the divine talents of a healer if to a lesser degree than the powerful spellcasters of his faith; he would need to make his way to the others if the combat was going as he thought.

There was the immediate distraction of the man before him to deal with first however, and Relos refocused just in time to see many lunge in with his blade. A quick twirl of his polearm blocked the thrust and Relos took advantage of his opponents now off-balance positioning. Sweeping low, the paladin caught the man behind his heel, pulling up and sweeping the man off his feet. In perfect form as his training had taught him, Relos brought his weight down the halberd’s haft as his momentum carried the blade upward. His thoughts turned to his comrades across the farm and his promise to protect Isiah’s land, and he brought the full force of his righteous devotion down on the bandit who sought to take that away.

His strike caught the bandit as he flipped over in the air, and Relos’s strike combined with his own downward momentum and slammed the man forcefully into the dirt with a *thud*. Relos straightened, the clang of steel still echoing from the north of the hut. He turned down to the wounded man at his feet, doing his best to keep him out of the combat.

”Stay down and maybe you won't die like your friend!”
The man gave an audible gulp as Relos strode over him, the paladin ignoring the man’s feeble attempt to grab at his armoured ankles. His new friends could use his assistance in their battles, and he’d been off on his own for far too long now. Moving as fast as the weight he carried would allow him, Relos made his way towards the hut.

The melee to the north had taken a disturbing turn for Malachi, who only seconds before had been grateful for Tristan’s timely intervention. He’d evened the odds for a moment, but now Malachi could only watch as the bearded man’s chain had dragged the trickster’s unconscious body down into the dust. The swordsman’s thoughts jumped to the potion he carried in case of emergencies, perhaps he’d initially planned to use it himself in his adventures as the Argent Blade but for better or worse he found himself a part of a team now, and an unselfish desire to aid his teammate came to the forefront of his mind.

Malachi knew he’d be no help if he himself was downed however, and he’d have to hope Tristan could hold on long enough for Malachi to clear himself a path. Taking off in an acrobatic lunge amongst his enemies, Malachi lashed out at the bandit as he passed. His enchanted blade struck home as he crossed his opponent up, and his dipping movements proved himself for his foes to get a feel for as he made his way over to Tristan’s prone form. He popped up with a flourish as he felt the shadows writhe and wrap around him, hopefully providing him the protection he’d need to stand between his fallen comrade and the man who’d fell him.

Malachi could breathe a sigh of relief as it seemed to bandit leader’s attention was in fact neither on him nor the fallen Tristan. For too long the Halfling Calopee’s expertly thrown stones at frustrated the mysterious riders, and now that she’d been spotted the bearded man wasted no time in make his way towards her. He moved towards the wheatfield, his anger causing him to barely wince as Malachi struck him across the back as his guard lapsed.

Calopee could only see the wheatstalks shuffle as suddenly the man’s spike covered chain whipped towards her, shredding the wheat to her side and catching her along her side, drawing a warm jet of blood as the spikes tore through her finely crafted chain shirt. The man’s booming voice roared out over the field as his chain withdrew, ”I’M COMING FOR YOU LITTLE ONE!” His laughter gave Calopee a brief sensation of chills. ”YOU CAN’T HIDE IN THIS GOAT S#!T FOREVER!”
Back in the clearing, Malachi could barely regain his form as the other bandits convened on him. He ducked the first man’s clumsy blow but realised to his horror the second was lunging directly for his chest as he recovered. Malachi ground his teeth preparing for the sensation of pain that never came as the flickering shadows that surrounded the former sailor drew the bandit’s attention at the last second, causing the blow to streak harmlessly by to Malachi’s side. Even in the bright illumination of the flaming shed Malachi was proving impossible to grasp, his unnatural shadows dancing around him in defiance of the light.

Another accustomed to the shadows, Calopee again found herself closer than preferred to a man seeking to harm her, and her mind raced to provide her an edge before the bearded man’s words provided just the inspiration she needed. It might have been the first time anyone had drawn inspiration from the words “Goat S#!t” but it would work for the time being. Weaving as quietly as she could into the wheat, the Halfling did her best goat impression, a gentle ”baaaaaa” that puzzled anyone who noticed it. The bearded man’s confused grunt was the only cue she needed, and quick as lightning Calopee dropped to the ground, rolling to her side and disappearing once more into the wheat.

Sehanine had only been able to watch as her oft-rival now-companion Tristan dropped to the ground in a puddle of his own blood. There had been elves known to practice the magic healing arts, but that had never been her speciality. Fortunately, she’d always found ways around that. She too carried enchanted liquids, their magic designed to close the wounds of the imbiber; the only problem would be delivering it to Tristan. She lacked Malachi’s mobility and hardiness, but his fight in the clearing would perhaps provide her cover to approach via subterfuge.

Sehanine called upon her fey magic once more as she covered herself with a glittering sheen, seeming almost encased in moonlight for a moment before disappearing completely. Silent as a ghost, she made her trackless way out of the field and over to Tristan’s side, hoping Mal in all his acrobatic glory would avoid bumping into her as she crouched to examine the fallen man. Reaching for her potion, she paused to consider for a moment Tristan’s bracers; for all their shared history they had been a point of contention and while circumstances were undoubtedly different at present, it remained in her thoughts. Assuming they all made it out of this; one could only wonder where their little game would lead.

(OOC: Q&A FOR MAPS AND NUMBERS AND CAPITAL LETTERS AND OH GOD I AM ON FIRE WHY AM I ON FIRE OH WAIT IM NOT ON FIRE THAT’S JUST DORITOS WAIT I DON’T EVEN LIKE DORITOS OR DO I DO NOT KNOW ANYMORE THAT’S FOR SURE)

The battle still raged around her. For now it seemed the bandits were too occupied by Malachi to notice her, not that they would have seen anything even if they deigned to look. His body leapt and twisted in a formidable dance of death. Assuming he kept the pace, it promised to keep the nefarious men occupied while she funneled a potion down Tristan's throat.

When the whirling dervish that was Malachi came within earshot, Sehanine leaned forward and hissed, "Malachi!" Hushed in a whisper her voice still crack like a whip. "I've got Tristan, just keep poking those twits full of holes. Eventually they'll spring a leak that will bleed them dry."

Sehanine hoped desperately that there would not be a response. There were of course no guarantees. In her time walking among mortals, she had come to find that humans were a dim witted lot and the man that lay before her was right now at the top of that list. There he lay, soaking the earth with more and more of his lifeblood, a warning to every would-be hero of the steep price of honor.
Human Idiot.
She continued to silently berate the man as she pulled out the healing tincture. The small glass phial was cold in her hand and felt frightfully similar to Tristan's skin. He did not have much time.
Human Idiot.
The fey elf quickly grabbed her rival by the back of the head. Human. With a fistful of his hair she yanked back hard. Idiot. Tristan's mouth fell open and Sehanine filled it with the enchanted liquid as she gently massaged his throat. Human Idiot. Color slowly returned to his ashen face and the elf exhaled a breath she did not realize she had been holding.

Leaning down, Sehanine brushed her lips against his ear and whispered, "Enough with the heroics. Just lay there and heal yourself. And you're welcome... human idiot."

((OOC: Still invisible. Whispers to Malachi and force feeds Tristian a potion of Cure Light Wounds))

Calopee grimaced at every pulse of blood running through her, the dam that was her skin had been breached and now blood trickled down her midriff with every beat, bringing with it a throbbing pain. Her ruse had worked though, there was solace in this truth. Her consternated foe looked for her with increasing fury in his eyes.

She had a choice to make, one that could end in dire consequence for her if she made a slip. She could use this opportunity to catch him with a stone's throw unaware. Mete out injury, but to what end? If he caught her again, it could very well mean the end of her. She fancied herself pretty quick, but this man was obviously learned in the ways of combat, if not in hygiene.

There was another option. Continue this quiet game of cat and mouse. If he was busy searching for her, it left her allies free to finish off his minions, and perhaps rescue poor Tristan from his quickened fate. It was as good as dealing out pain. If he was surrounded and alone, he would fall regardless of his prowess.

(Calopee will react to the leaders choices. If he continues his search for her, she will remain hidden. If he rejoins the melee, she will close to lethal distance (within 30 feet of him) and throw a skip rock, targeting him and a bandit if the opportunity arises. )

Malachi bent over the still form of Tristan Brice, favoured soul of Disq, fellow swordsman, as he prepared to give him the potion. Suddenly a voice hissed out of nowhere, the disembodied words somehow stark against the night sky. Malachi stopped short, his hand halfway to his pocket. Sehanine was near - he had seen her disappear by the edge of the wheat a moment ago.

"Malachi!" She whispered, "I've got Tristan, just keep poking those twits full of holes. Eventually they'll spring a leak that will bleed them dry."
Somehow she seemed drawn to Tristan; something made her stop throwing bolts of force and rush to his side. Mal reckoned it was love, but doubted she would admit such a thing. Regardless of purpose it seemed the Argent Blade was due for another bout with the bandits. He straightend his posture and turned to face the attackers, once again crossing blades with the bleary-eyed one.

Mal glanced toward the wheat. The leader was headed for Calopee, or at least a romp in the tall grass. The hero in him was moved to give chase. It was time to take this thug down, but there was one more piece of business he had to take care of.


[[OOC - Attack 4. If Mal kills his opponent this round he will attempt to flank Bandit 8. If he fails to connect, he will do the "Can't hit me" dance again. and return to his current location]]

With one man dead and another down for the count, Relos was free to join his comrades. He moved as fast as he could and finally saw the battle, two enemies were prone while the large leader was just within the wheat, possibly chasing someone. From his current position he couldn't see any of his allies so he rushed further ahead moving up the two bodies lying still. There he could see Malachi facing off two foes and Tristan lying on the ground. He moved up instinctively wanting to save his dying friend but when he got close he heard a familiar voice whisper to Malachi, then saw the color return to Tristan's face. Somewhere around here Sehanine was working magic, figuratively and literally.

With three out of the four accounted for, that only meant Calopee was hiding in the wheat, and she couldn't stand toe to toe with the beastly man who loved chains.


"Why don't you stop playing in the wheat like some giant buffoon and swing that limp chain of yours over this way!?"
Relos hoped he could divert his attention away from Calopee and his way and save her from a hit from that spiked chain.

Night, Isiah’s Farm, Schell
Tristan’s prone form gave a gurgling cough, a thick spurt of blood spewing from his mouth near Malachi’s feet. It was a macabre sight, though at the very least it meant the man was still alive if only barely. Time was ticking inexorably onwards however, and it was not on the Favoured’s side. This distraction would have to be dealt with swiftly if they wanted any chance of saving their comrade from his fate.

Relos had heard the bearded man’s bellows from across the clearing, and every fibre of his being urged him to rush to his comrades. The men who had attacked him were subdued, one dead, one lying on his back, and Relos spared a last glance at the latter man he’d brought to the ground. The bandit was very much alive, his chest heaving in exhausted gasps, but he was otherwise motionless, his gaze focussed on Relos. Perhaps he’d heed the half-elf’s advice and stay down, but there was no time to stick around and enforce that command. Relos continued north, his view of his former foe being obstructed by the hut as he rounded the corner.

In the melee, Malachi continued to dip and dodge as he made his way to his new friend’s prone form. The swordsman carried elixirs in the event of emergency, and given the dire straits Tristan seemed in, they were needed now. The men before him would prove a challenge however, if he attempted to administer it, but the choice was clear, Tristan had been wounded rushing to Mal’s aid and the Argent Blade reached for his satchel just as a hissing voice caught his attention.

"Malachi!"
It only took him a second to recognise Sehanine’s voice; her disappearance in the wheatfield moments ago being fully explained by her apparent presence at his side.

"I've got Tristan, just keep poking those twits full of holes. Eventually they'll spring a leak that will bleed them dry."
Though he’d only known her a short while, Malachi had seen enough to trust the elf’s intent when it came to Tristan. The pair seemed to have a bond that transcended their little band, and her doting on the man freed Mal up to dispatch the ones threatening them. Lunging out with his rapier, Malachi caught the man before him with its point, driving the blow home and withdrawing his blade accompanied by the satisfying *thud* of his foe hitting the packed earth.

Only one foe stood within easy reach, his eyes still watering from the earlier theatrics, and Malachi moved around him, hoping to draw his attention away from Tristan. As he’d done so often throughout the combat, Malachi sprung and rolled, easily evading the man’s clumsy swings and making his way to his foe’s flank. As the shadows once more were drawn up around him, Malachi hoped he’d bought enough time for Sehanine to complete her task.

Relos arrived at the scene just in time to catch the end of Sehanine’s hushed directions. The half-elf possessed the power to channel healing energy, though it seemed he could save it should Sehanine be attending Tristan. His other talents would have to come into play now as he could see the lead rider stalking into the wheatfield, ostensibly pursuing the elusive Calopee.

"Why don't you stop playing in the wheat like some giant buffoon and swing that limp chain of yours over this way!?"
Relos’s cry rang out over the farm and the bearded man, already frustrated with seeking the seemingly intangible Halfling, turned to face the paladin with a menacing grin.

”COME TO DIE WITH YER FRIENDS, HAVE YA?!” the man shouted as he lunged out of the field, his chain already whipping out of the darkness with a speed Relos had failed to anticipate. The cold steel of the chain lashed at the joints of his armour, seemingly finding a chink in his plate as he felt the sharpened spikes dig into his flesh. The paladin gritted his teeth and the chain withdrew, tearing trace amounts of flesh with it, but he’d done his job, hopefully drawing enough of the man’s attention for Calopee to take advantage.

Malachi meanwhile found himself suddenly pressed as the remaining bandit began a wild offensive. Perhaps Mal had underestimated his foe’s ferocity as the teary eyed man’s onslaught caught him off-guard and he found himself desperately parrying thrusts. A sudden jolt of pain tore through him as slash cut through his guard, slicing down into his shoulder and drawing blood. With what little the bandit could see, he had seen two of his friends be cut down right in front of him, and it seemed he would not go down without a fight.

In the wheat fields, Calopee was relieved to see his pursuer give up his hunt in favour of easier targets. In doing so, he presented the halfling’s favourite target, an unaware one, and she would not waste that opportunity. Reaching into her rock sack she withdrew one of her special stones; though she wouldn’t have a chance to utilise its carefully shaped curves, she did feel more confident in her aim than with a roughly hewn rock. It arced gracefully through the air, striking her target in the back of the neck before bouncing harmlessly to the ground, drawing the man’s attention once more as he turned back to face the stone throwing annoyance.

Throughout it all, Sehanine rummaged through her bag, seeking the potion she required to aid Tristan. Her thoughts pondering the idiocy of someone who would rush into combat largely unprotected without realising the consequences as she found the bottle and removed the stopper from it. She brushed the blood away from Tristan’s lips as she stuffed the flask in, pouring the liquid down his throat as quickly as possible.

A moment passed before Tristan awoke with a gasp and a cough, his eyes open and filled with bewilderment as he saw absolutely nothing but the sky in front of him. His confusion was abated by Sehanine’s whisper as she rose up away from him. ”Enough with the heroics. Just lay there and heal yourself. And you're welcome... human idiot.”
(OOC: Q&A. Sandwiches. Apple Pie. Windmills.)

The chains rent his flesh in the back of his knee joint causing blood to splatter the ground, but still Relos went on.

"You gotta use a woman's weapon like that to fight, eh? Come over here and deal with me face to face!"

Relos advanced on him and struck out with a straight jab using the point of his halberd, then quickly took a defensive stance to guard from the mans powerful attacks. He could take a few more solid hits, but he hoped his allies could end the fight before that had to happen.


(moving up to attack, then using combat reflexes to subtract 3 from attack and add 3 to ac.)

Tristan's List had always been sufficient before. It amused some small, perverse corner of his mind that he was going to have to revise it. Indeed, that part of his mind began doing so as he coughed blood out of his system.

He heard Sehanine's whispered admonishment, and would have smiled at the irony if he hadn't been in such pain. He reflexively twitched his arms, and was reassured by the weight on each. He could feel the pommel of his rapier brushing against his hand, in easy reach.

It turns out the process of dying, even if incompleted, takes it out of you. Imagine that.
He tried to steady his breathing so as not to draw attention as he took stock of the situation. One of the thugs was next to him, with Mal on the otherside, paying substantially little attention Tristan. He could hear the leader practically frothing at the mouth as Relos taunted him. Tristan sympathised, just a bit. Paladins had that affect on him too, occasionally.

Just time enough to go through the list again. Then a need to act.

Bracers? Check.
Weapon? Check.
Hat? Check.
Bracers?? Check.
Lifeblood? Running low, in desperate need of a pick-me-up.
Internal organs? Unknown, but pain seems to indicate their presence, if not health.
Bracers?!? Check.
As satisfied as he was going to get at the moment, he turned his head to stare at the leader, now bellowing threats at Relos again. With a thought and an unconcious nod, he sent the glowing weapon hovering above him towards the loud fool. Turning back to the flunkie between he and Malachai, he grabbed his rapier and struck swiftly at the man, whose visually apparent poor state led Tristan to hope he could finish him quickly, leaving Mal the Magnificent to help with their leader.

(((Nice to be concious again. Move action to direct Spiritual Weapon, standard action to attack Bandit 8.)))

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Night, Isiah's Farm, Schell
Section 1: Segue -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
It could have been a trick of the heat, but in the fire's orange-yellow light Malachi saw his ally stir ever so slightly. It was hard to tell, and harder not to stare past the bleary-eyed bandit to get a better look. The man's blade had met flesh once, but the pain was sobering. This one was quick enough, perhaps prescient enough, to see through the cloak of darkness Mal was weaving. He was going to have to be -

Tristan's blade struck out from behind. Ah ha! He lives yet! Well done Sehanine! Though he hadn't yet found the strength to rise, he had indeed found the strength to open another wound in their enemy.

[[OOC: If Bandit8 is alive, go to Section 2. If Bandit4 is dead, go to Section 4]]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Section 2: Banter and Balestra -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Malachi couldn't contain his smile as Tristan landed [[or failed to land]] a less-than-fatal blow. "Perhaps you should have helped the halfling after all," he jabbed at him, before focusing once again on the unsubtle task at hand. The Argent Blade parried an incoming blow and struck back at the bandit with a powerful riposte.

[[OOC: If Bandit8 is alive, go to Section 3. If Bandit4 is dead, go to Section 4]]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Section 3: Conversation -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Despite their numbers advantage, it seemed neither Tristan nor Mal could get the better of their foe for the moment. This one was proving to be quite adept indeed, if not at dodging blows then at least at ignoring the effects of blood loss. The others would have to deal with the leader; The Blade and The Favored Soul had work to do. The night air was beginning to slip in where the darkness protected him, and so Mal began his nimble dance with the shadows once again.

[[OOC: move 10 feet and return. Ignore Section 4.]]

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Section 4: Change of Engagement -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The bandits were dead. The flickering light illuminated three corpses and another. Half-hero, half-corpse himself, Tristan had fought well. "Well done, friend. Rest now, and heal. You need your strength." Malachi looked up to the wheat field. The leader was next on the chopping block, and Mal had saved something special for him.

The dirt and grass fairly flew beneath his feet as he closed the space between himself and the man with the great black beard. It was nice to move away from the bonfire that had once been a toolshed, to no longer feel as though he were pinned down and fighting for his life.

As Malachi approached, he leveled his rapier at the leader's chest, almost touching the point to his black leather armor. Tangible darkness danced around the blade as the mind of the swordsage held another maneuver at the ready. Echoing Relos's earlier sentiment he spoke, his voice clear in the sudden silence that fell when the last man had died.

"Lay down your weapons now and yield, lest you suffer the same fates as your companions."
[[OOC: If the leader does not yield, Mal will attack with Clinging Shadow Strike]]

There were no words for the jovial rush that emanated from the little lady in the wheat after landing a solid hit to the back of the ugly man's head. Even if there were words, the grin that was locked upon Calopee's childish face would not relent. It seemed that the pain was worth it, and that Fortune had begun to smile upon them once more.

With Relos and a glowing spirit rapier causing their fair share of competition for the bearded bandit's attention, Calopee took the opportunity to slip away to the south, mixing caution and speed into an insoluble feat of grace and stealth. Once the rogue felt that her position was once more secure, she would delve into her sack for another precious stone, and prepare to finish this battle with style.

(Assuming the bandit leader does not give up, Calopee will throw another stone at his thick head, and upon his death, do a little victory dance and make crop circles that will confuse the goats for years to come!)

STUBBORN! The admonition screamed through her mind as she watched the barely living Tristan jump up brandishing his bloody rapier. He closed the distance to the nearest thug in a heartbeat and struck out. It seemed the man had a twisted fondness for bleeding out. Shaking her head, Sehanine let her violet eyes linger on the man's elven bracers. If Tristan's new found heroics earned him a second evisceration, then she would be taking those bracers of his hands as payment for the second elixir she'd have to force feed him.

Mortals and their damnable heroics.
The thought brought a slight smile to her lips as she moved her invisible form away from the fighting and into the cover of the wheat field. Sehanine had every intention of lending a hand but she would be sure not to stick out her neck in the process. Invisible and all but forgotten, the fey elf crouched in the forest of wheat and let her sharp eyes take in the scene before her. Few of their enemies remain and the sooner they picked them off the better.

Once again eldritch power danced at her fingertips. Focusing the fey magic into a bead of force, Sehanine flung out a hand and let her spell fly.

((OOC: Moves as far into the wheat field as she can and still keep the enemy targets in range. Casts Magic Missile to target Bandit 8 and the leader. If Bandit 8 is dead both bolts on the leader. If for some blessed reason the leader is dead Sehanine will remain invisible and head toward Bandit 2 with Charm Person in the horizon. Oh, and if perchance the leader decides to yield, it'll be charm person time. In any case, just let me know if I need to edit my action post))

Night, Isiah’s Farm, Schell
The heat of the blaze had changed the complexion of the once cool night air, staining it with an oppressive heat and the scent of blood and sweat, but it was a scent Tristan savoured nonetheless. He had spent a few scant moments in the nothingness beyond the plane, and as sour as the smell had been upon his return there was something about it that said ”home”. He’d have to act fast if he planned on making his return more permanent, but it seemed he’d have the uncommon advantage of the majority of his foes still believing he was dead. It was a strange way to get the drop on someone, but Tristan was nothing if not a consummate prankster, and who knew if the ol’ “you thought I was dead but really I’m alive” trick was one that would come around in the future.

It took him a moment to regain his bearings, but his inventory seemed intact and luckily his rapier hadn’t fallen far from his hand, nor had his conjured blade abandoned him though he could feel the magic that had summoned in waning. Wasting little time, Tristan directed his spiritual weapon from his position on the ground. The bandits’ bearded leader had focussed on the paladin Relos, and had paid little heed to the previously expired chosen of Discq; a folly that proved costly as the ghostly rapier lunged through the air like a spear, forcefully striking the man in the mid-section before vanishing back into the night as the magic binding it finally faded.

Tristan`s dramatic re-entrance to the battle wasn’t finished as he eyed the bandit standing to his side. The man was engrossed in his effort to eviscerate the evasive Malachi, and even from his prone position Tristan figured to create enough of a diversion between the Argent Blade and himself to make quick work of their foe. Swinging low, Tristan’s blade caught the man across the back of the legs eliciting a yelp equal parts surprise and pain as Malachi gave a smirk from across the man’s flank.

"Perhaps you should have helped the halfling after all,"
Malachi’s verbal jab was punctuated by a vicious riposte as he seemed to flick the bandit’s blade out of a defensive position before sinking his own into the man’s chest. The man shuddered as he released a gentle wheeze as Mal’s blade withdrew, and he stood only a moment more before dropping unceremoniously to the dirt, his own rapidly spreading blood pool mixing with the others on the ground as Malachi nimbly stepped over his still falling form. The Argent Blade had finally dispatched the flunkies sent to occupy him, and he relished the chance to finally attack the man that nearly killed his friend moments ago.

Malachi performed his trademark elusive maneuvering as he cleared the distance between the leader and himself. Somersaulting over the resting form of Tristan, Malachi found himself able to avoid the deadly reach of the man’s chain, trusting his hearing had been true enough as he dove to the side to avoid where he believed Sehanine to be standing unseen. He landing on his feet directly before his target, his rapier positioned inches from the man’s chest and a threat he was sure he’d heard the paladin utter earlier already on his lips.

"Lay down your weapons now and yield, lest you suffer the same fates as your companions."
The answer came fast and wet as the man’s defiant lob of spit nearly missed the Argent Blade’s face; though no words had been spoken, the man’s intent to fight to the death seemed clear. His wish was nearly granted by Relos, who took advantage of Malachi’s maneuvering to strike at the bearded man’s undefended back, catching him and delivering a wound that shook him to his very core. He dropped to a knee for a moment before rising with a curse.

”GOATSPIT! I WILL SHOW YOU HOW A WARRIOR DIES!”
The man’s cry turned into a roar as he swung is body, wildly whipping the chain towards Malachi with as much force as he could muster. Mal ducked the first swing but found himself out of position as the man seemed to spiral again for a second blow. For a moment the chain seemed destined to lodge itself in Mal’s unguarded face when a resounding *CRACK* broke the draw of the moment and the bearded man collapsed in a heap, the now anchored chain snapping inches from Mal’s chin. For a moment no one spoke before a stone, fresh from ricocheting off the former bandit leader’s skull landing almost noiselessly in the dirt. A whoop went up from the wheat field as some stalks started waving and shaking in a way unmistakably due to some sort of Halfling victory dance.

As the group caught their breath, Sehanine as ever pursued her own agenda. Stalking invisibly south around the hut, she spotted a rustle in the wheat, and he keen elven eyes zeroed in on the shadow shape. One of the men they’d been fighting had obviously had enough, and had sought refuge in the wheat much as the Favoured had a few minutes earlier. He seemed to be doing his best to keep still, and as Sehanine’s glamour prevented her discovery, the man seemed blissfully ignorant of the fact that he was being watched.

A malicious smile crossed the fey-elf’s face as her thoughts turned to her arcane trickery. Moments before this man had been an enemy, risking everything to kill her and her companions with his fellow riders; now he was alone, and soon…he would be hers. Re-appearing suddenly, Sehanine willed calm thoughts and reassuring feelings into the now panicked man. For a moment his eyes hazed over, and for a brief moment his thoughts were not his own, and as he snapped back to reality he looked over at Sehanine with a shaky if friendly smile. The elf needed no reassurance of her spell’s effectiveness as man quietly whispered a question.

”Is it safe to come out yet? Are they all gone?”
(OOC: Come to the Q&A for numbers and such and 10 TIPS TO GET SIX PACK ABS IN 60 MINUTES THIS TECHNIQUE SHOULD BE BANNED MODERN DOCTORS HATE THIS MAN…or something?)

As Tristan spat blood into the growing pool of it on the ground around him, he found himself only able to think one thing. At least its not lemons....
Laughing at the absurdity of such a thought, Tristan closed his eyes, and concentrated. His body began to glow a light, silvery blue as the divine energy of Discq began weaving skin together, and restoring a modicum of his strength. He'd need a good night's sleep to fully replenish what had been lost, but wouldn't die from the wounds recently dealt him. Though he would have some lovely scars along his back and side now.

Not this time, thank Discq. And probably Sehanine as well. I'll never hear the end of this.... The thought of the she-elf holding such a thing over him was almost enough to make Tristan regret the event, but in the end he decided it was indeed preferable to death.

Just.

Standing slowly, Tristan looked around, searching for enemies that might have slipped his notice. His eyes fell on the rest of his party. Well, the rest of his party and some jiggling wheat. He sheathed his sword with a smile, moving slowly, and a bit painfully, towards the others. Relos probably wouldn't need his help, but better to offer...

"Fortune's Favored indeed. Anybody else need a healing hand?" Tristan held up a still glowing hand waiting on their reply.

(((OOC: One Cure Moderate Wounds and one Cure Light Wounds and Tristan's back in business. Will offer appropriately heals to any of the party wishing it. Will edit if needed.)))