Derak's eye's slowly swing open into the day. He leans up and throws a sharp glance to his equipment over in the corner. He throws the blanket from off top of him and walks over to his stuff. He equips himself full taking about 10min. He had tooken the old man's words into consideration and decided amoungst himself that he would go....for his was in search of food and money which he was running short on. He made his way out of the room and down the hall. He breaks the silence of the new day as he stomps down the woden hallway. He sees the others on their way also, he doesn't bother consulting with the others on his descion, for his presence there alone answers the question. On way into the newly born day he doesn't associate too much with the others. For they are not exactly "his type", so fashinable and clean cut for someone who's duty can sometimes get bloody. Keeping to himself they come across a bridge, a group of men come from all corners of the bridge like ants to an ant hill. They brought a smile to Deraks face which he soon forcefully faded away for the others sake. They looked like an ok bunch of guys, they reminded him alot of the kinds of people he would work with. It was common to come across people like this, judgeing on their apperence it was their last chance of survival, to calim a bridge theris in effort to recieve money. It was a cheap trick but sometimes nessasary. He thought that his group was over reacting just a tad, but also their demand for the female was bit too drastic. He would have paid the people if it was him and if they contiuned to hassle Derak he would then go into forceful measure, but it wasn't his call now. He was part of a whole, and he had to support them. Even though Derak loved fighting he knew when it was needed to use his words instaed of his sword. If Derak was alone he probably would have striked up a friendly conversation with them just because that was the way he was. They just were some raggity men wanting some money to get food but he did have to agree with the others that demanding possession of the lady/goat was wrong. Derak did nothing but satnd in back of the group with his hand more resting on his hip.
Rolling over to the side, Damien swung his legs over the edge of the bed in his rented room and placed his feet on the cold floor. He shuddered slightly from the sudden chill, but bore on through it and sought his grey wool stockings, which he pulled on eagerly. His hair was disarrayed and strewn about his handsome face, and he brushed it away, snatching up his tunic and breeches and pulling them on. His black boots were propped against the edge of his bed, and he slipped his feet into them, lacing them up quickly and tightly. The bard donned his cloak, buckled on his leather breastplate, and belted on his rapier, stood, and stretched his arms. “A dreamless sleep…” He mumbled, and walked towards the door to his room. His black silk backpack was resting against the wall, and the lute he found was sitting next to it. He slipped the pack over his shoulders, but eyed the lute momentarily. “No need.” He said, and made his way to the common room.
Eating a quick and silent breakfast, Damien used the time to think to himself of the group he had now been accepted into. A few humans, a kender, a satyr, and something that looks to be a half-elf. And of course, me. He thought as he took a few bites of the eggs he had set before him at the table. Forcing himself to eat something, though he was not very hungry, Damien was rather glad to get up and leave the inn when the others had prepared themselves to do so.
The village was commonplace for the usual things one would see and hear in such a place. Blacksmiths hammer banging down on steel and iron. Pack mules led by farmers. Carts hauled by oxen and draft horses. Perfectly common for a village, and the bard was relieved to be away from so many people the moment they set foot outside of the village. Though he did not much care for the village itself, the nature of the surrounding lands amazed him and captivated him with its majestic beauty. “Primal order.” He said quietly as the trouped across the land. The bard was silent for nearly the entire trek, all up till the point where the reached the bridge.
They were greeted by a grungy looking man stood on the bridge, standing in such a way as to prevent any from crossing over. Though his breeches were soiled and terribly worn, Damien recognized the shirt as one that would belong to a noble of some sort. The brigand demanded a toll from the group, and several others appeared from underneath the bridge, bearing swords. Damien counted quickly, and added up to eight men on their side. He had dealt with brigands in the past, and another group of them was little for him to worry about. The one thing that truly bothered him was the way the leader requested that they hand over Mahou in addition to a toll that they declared. This raised the bard’s eyebrow in astonishment.
Sickening, it truly is. Amazing they don’t just capture an innocent woman trying to cross this bridge. Instead, they try to take the satyr for their own pleasure? Damien felt sickened by this, and quickly worked a plan over in his head.
He made no signs of drawing his rapier, and instead, walked forwards until he got right up to the brigand furthest to the side. He had no desire to let them double-team him, though he was almost certain he could defeat them. Reaching into his cloak pocket, he withdrew a handful of silvers, extending his arm and holding his palm face-up so that they could see the coins. “We will pay your toll,” He said slowly, sliding his right hand towards his hip. When he felt the hilt underneath his cloak, he closed his fist and hurled the coins into the face of the nearest bandit. “with your damnable blood!” He snarled, and drew out his rapier with a hiss, whipping the thin blade around in a slash at the man facing him, trying to cut across his throat. Leaping backwards, he assumed a fencing stance and bounced on his feet, keeping a light stance. His left arm rose on his other side, creating a very balanced form. “Highway-robbing self-important swine. See how well you can fare!” With a long stride, he lunged at the bandit, rapier extended before him as he spoke a word under his breath. “Il’analya.” And the slender blade of his rapier began to change color and texture, assuming a frosted appearance starting from the swept-hilt, and rising to the tip of the blade. Damien could feel the chill, and knew that this bandit soon would as well.
(OOC: Damien is using his Fencing Stance to gain an AC bonus of +2. He will try to isolate the bandit he attacked, fighting him in a duel rather than in an all-out battle along with the others. Should Damien slay this one, he will cast a sleep spell aimed at the remaining bandits, hoping to help clean up the encounter as fast as possible.)
(this is just like the last part of Tek's post but I felt like adding it down here since it will be noticed better)
Vilyamar drew his nunchaku, gave it a quick whirl about his shoulders, and started to sing. The singing was short, only a few words in his tenor voice, yet they produced the visualization of a shot of lightning and fiery burst of flame in the minds of those who heard the words. The runes upon his nunchaku glowed a fierce blue on one side and the other side, which had no runes showing, suddenly had the patterns of flaming, runes, that were similar yet not the same, on it, too.
He took a step forward (5 feet) and moved in between the two bandits on the end, and struck at the nearest bandit. The blue glowing funes flared red and the flaming runes glowed brighter as the weapon was brought to bear with his enemy. As the nunchaku came down on his right, he turned his body a kicked hard to his left at the other bandit. As the bandit on his right recovers from the strike (if he recovers), Vilyamar swings around his backside and deals another blow to his back. (3 feet)
He is wearing no armour so his bonus speed should come into play.
This should be the three attacks I get. I am assuming the bandit recovers after being hit with the nunchaku and attempts to rush the monk. A duck may be attempted if the bandit has his arms out.
Mahou watched closely as Damien made his move. Her eyebrow raising as Damien pulled the coins from his pocket, she was almost disgusted but the feeling didn’t have time to manifest. Damien’s words hit Mahou’s ears first and she smiled.
Mahou’s hand darted up quickly as her eyes set again to the leader of the bandit’s. In a flash one finely crafted arrow was drawn from its quiver and placed snuggly against the string of her raised composition long bow. Both hazel eyes stayed open as she aimed her shot at the leader.
The subtle moves of aiming and even the swiftness with how loaded her weapon, and the last seconds before her arrow was set free, seemed to go by far to quickly. The group was but a blur in her side vision as she watched her arrow. Mahou would keep her eyes on her target and her arrow, as she drew and loaded another arrow from her quiver and took aim again on the bandit leader.
(val lemme know if you want me to update the table, and when.. and how and all that.. or if you can figgure it out yourself. and just so you don't ask, no Mahou will not move unless she has to)
OOCidn't know if you were ok with me rolling attack rolls, so I rolled. If they aren't ok, then go ahead and ignore the rolls.
Seeing the bard making his move. Teros says something in his native tongue under his breath. The sword turns a dark deep read. Then, looking up at the leader, he darts forward onestep (5 foot step forward) and begins his assualt. Arrows move near him, going to the same target as himslef, but it seems to not affect his mental focus. His body seems to move with his opponets weapon as if ready to dodge it (dodge)
His first blow seems to be a little off, as he looses his footing a bit, but pure skill results in a good comeback (7+13=20 damage if hit: 16, 22 on my strenght, free attack is 8+13=21)
He then makes another slash down, ending his assualt (11+3=14 damage if hit 14 no knockdown cause he is already down or this attack was a miss.)
If Elandor is not seen by the thugs he moves further towards the bridge and climbs on it, positioning the thugs between him and the party, thus flanking them. He loads his hoopak and aims, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. When he is sure he has found an unguarded spot he shoots a sharp rock he found near the river at the leader of the bandits (att 1d20+15, dmg 1d4+3 +4d6 sneak att).
He uses the rest of his action to dive next to the bridge, almost splashing in the river, then merging with its shadows (hide +21) just before the thugs can see what attacked them from behind. While in this hiding place he makes sure to watch the spectacle, ready to shoot again if nescessary.
(OOC: this is very short, I know, but awaiting Val's reaction I wanted made sure what Elandor's action would be )
How ironic it was, that on such a peaceful day, the sun would set in blood. Could it be helped? Perhaps...If the company had no honor. Or perhaps the troup of ruffians were after more than blood and Mahuo. Perhaps a fight was inevitable. No matter the possible path, only one could be taken, and swords would clash.
The remarks of the apparant 'leader', and the uproar of laughter he recieved from his hardies, both astonished, and enraged the newly acqainted group of travelers. First Mahuo, perhaps surprising others with her self control, retorted with he own two sense about the freedom of Inenhalla's lands. This got a wave of chuckles from the men, and the leader, cocking his head and spitting , replied. "p'haps tis free ta tromp over Inhallis lands. But this har bridge aint built be inhalla. IS IT!" This brought about a speech from Teros, about how they were scum that should be dealt with. The leaders eyes flashed at this, and several men shifted, flexing their sword hands, and tilting there weapons in the dying sunlight. The leader opened his grubby mouth to speak, but hesitated, when the bard in black stepped forward. All eyes went to Damien as he swaggered his way towards the end of the row of bandits. With pretty words and a display of coins, he had attracted all attention, and some of his own companions had their suspicions. But, perhaps as surprising as his act, was his true motive! In a flash, he hurled the coins at the bandit. They bounced off, dancing in the sunlight like golden sparks, and landed, scattered in the grass. This set off an explosion of events. In an instant, everyone was caught up in a battle, whether they wanted to be or not.
The bandit at the end of the row had not suspected Damiens antics, and was caught off gaurd, but not enough. As Damien settled into position and gave a swift swipe at the mans throat, he swung his own sword up wildly, parrying the bards attack. It was allright. Damien had expected at least SOME sort of defense, and so, was prepared for the parry. As the man deflected his blow, he swung his own sword to high, exposing his entire body. The bard was fast, and knew an opportunity when he saw one. Lunging forward, he stabbed hard and true. The blade's bite was deep. It had pierced through his lower chest, stabbing through cloth, skin, bone, and flesh. The mans eyes widened in a blend of pain and horror, and with a gasp, he collapsed to the dusty road, where he lay, writhing. Taking this oppurtunity, the bard wispered the language of magic, and his blade was glazed over in ice.
As chaos ensued, Mahuo took her opportunity. The leader was standing where he had been, flailing his sword about, and cursing at his men. He stopped when an arrow wizzed over his head, and looked at Mahuo.(bad roll) Not hesitating, she loaded and fired another. The arrow struck him in the shoulder, and he staggered back a step, before glancing down and pulling it out. WIth a grundgy sneer, he showed her the arrow, snapped it, and started for her. He apparently wore leather armer beneath his tunic. He was lucky that time.
The leaders aproach of the satyr was interupted, however, as the darkskinned man in the turban charged, kicking hard at his feet, trying to trip him. The leader had hopped back, just in time, and was able to keep his balance as the desert man tried to trip him again. Angrily, the man swung a fist at Teros. It glanced off his shoulder, barely causing a flinch. Perhaps the punch had been ment to send him off his gaurd, to no avail. For immedietly following the punch, was a swift swipe of his gleaming sword. Teros was able to deflect it, and get in stance.
Vilyamar had expected a battle, and as was proper, had prepaired. Seeing the skirmish break out, he drew his nunchuku, spinning the flail over his shoulder, and about his waist for a moment, while activating the runes with a magic tongue. A soft glow emminated from the nunchuk, and a gleam shone in his blue eyes. Charging forth, he took to the direction of Damien. The bard had fell and aponent, and had another aproaching, when the half elf appeared. Striking like lightning, he brought the flail up into the mans jaw. Sparks danced, and a currents seemed to sweep accross his face for a brief moment. The man staggered back in pain and surprise. Following, seemingly in one fluid motion, the half elf ducked the swing of another, nearby bandit, and rose with his own strike across the face. The same magicaly effect overtook this man also. However, unlike the first, this bandit dropped his sword with a clang, and sunk to his knees, grasping his face and blubbering. The first came back at the monk, swiping hard, but catching only a nick of the forarm of the dodging half elf. The wound stung, but was far from serius. Infact it did no more than startle Vilyamar. Perhaps the man would have kept up his assault, if he hadnt dropped face first in the road, a pebble sunk in the back of his greasy head. Vilyamar caught only a glance of a small figure dropping off the wall of the bridge, back into the shadows and the reeds.
As all this took place, the big man called Derak had stood in the back, shaking his head. It hadn't had to be this way, they only wanted money...and some fun. Surely they didnt need to die! At the least, he felt his 'partners' should have tried just a little harder to negotiate. He had just decided he wouldnt raise his sword unless need be, when a glanced a bandit charging him. Derak had barely enough time to draw his sword and deflect the first swing. "Ah well" He thaught. "Guess this is a 'need be' time" With that, he returned a swing of his own. His great sword gleamed like fire in the setting sun, and cut through flesh as easy as if it WERE ablaze. The mans sword, and arm dropped to the ground. Crimson spray washed over the big man from a stub, ending over the mans right elbow. The bandit howled in agony, and dropped to his knees, where he knelt in a growing pool of his own blood, doubled over grasping what was left of an arm.
(OOC Sorry, I know this post is not nearly well written enough. I had very little time to get one in, and I have a headache...so deal with it, I promise, next post will be better.
As it is, Damien stands on the righthand outskirts. The man he had attacked lays before him, writhing and gasping. Between Damien and any other bandits is Vilyamar. Vilyamar is actually surrounded by three, unfighting bandits. To the left is Damiens man, to the right is the man who slouches, holding his bleeding nose, and back, between Vil and the river, is the man who attacked him...he is dead, with a stone imbedded in the back of the head. About 10 feet further to Vilyamars right is the leader, who, at the moment is in combat with Teros. About 15 feet from Teros and the leader stands Mahuo, and about ten feet to her left stands Derak over the screaming man without an arm. 3 bandits did not engage in battle, two of which stand far to the left, watching with their swords at their sides. The other is cautiously making his way towards the bridge...He saw the pebble incident.
1 bandit dead
1 bandit dying
1 bandit disarmed...hehe (will be dying very soon without aid)
1 bandit graspin nose
1 leader fighting Teros
1 bandit heading towards bridge
2 bandits on sidelines...swords at sides.
Vilyamar took 2...hehe
As i said...sorry for such a bad post, next will be better. Promise.
Vilyamar nodded towards the man on the bridge. He would present the most danger to our little friend, the kender. Vil hadn't seen him around, so he suspected the pebble had come from him. And since that bandit seemed to be slinking off into the bush by the bridge, he seemed to also know where the pebble came from.
Broken-nose bandit was off to the monk's right, staggering about clutching his face, so the monk hopped over and jabbed his palm into the man';s forehead, hopefully with enough force to snap his neck. If the man's head was already back (to stop the bleeding of the nose or something) Vil snapped his hand out, towards his throat, attempting to crush his windpipe. (Unarmed strike, Stunning "fist")
The monk immediately fell back beside the bard, who was still standing behind him. He motioned towards the bandits, hoping to convey the message that they should each take one. He awaited the bandits attack and countered it with a parrying block with the nunchuk's links followed by a side kick at the man's stomach/groin (anything to make him double over). Then he whipped the nunchuk up and over to have it come smashing down atop the man's head.
If the bandit is knocked unconcious or killed: Vilyamar will take a quick moment to catch his breath and then move on to help the bard.
If not: Vilyamar will await the next round by scanning the area for attackers and preparing for the counter attack from the bandit.
Surprised at the durability and dodging skills of the bandit, Teros takes a brief moment to lay off the attack. He watches his opponets moves carefully, then dodges in for the attack.
Determind to punch through his defenses, he moves in low, cutting upward. Then drawing back he attempts to swipe him across his mid-section, putting everything he had into each of the blows in hopes that the fool would fall.
As he is watching the fight from under the bridge, Elandor loads his hoopak again, ready to strike when nescessary. The opportunity to once again prove his worth is provided pretty soon, for one of the bandits has seen him, or at least suspects someone hiding under the bridge.
The little kender finds a second small rock and aims for a vital spot in the defense of this thug, all the while keeping as silent and conceiled as possible. He quickly scans the ways of this bandit: the way he walks, the way he moves his arms, the way he holds his weapon. When he has analyzed the movement of the man he notices a small opening in the suspicious and defensive stance of his opponent. The moment the opening provides itself again Elandor releases the pebble with a soft 'woosh'.
OOC: I guess Elandor's opponent is still flanked (correct me if that's wrong) so this would be a sneak attack. Otherwise it would be a normal one.
The slender blade of the rapier lanced through the body of the brigand as Damien lunged forwards, driving the steel through his foes sternum and stealing his life from his body. As the bandit fell to the ground, Damien whipped his arm back, drawing forth his chosen weapon and watching as frost expanded from the swept-hilt up along the blade, sheathing it entirely in cold.
Turning around on the spot, he saw that most of the others were being dealt with, though there were two brigands who remained motionless, their swords at their sides. With a quick glance, he saw that there was one more heading towards the bridge for whatever reason, and the leader of the group dealing with the man wearing a turban.
I guess these two are mine. He thought with a wicked grin as he extended his right arm towards the two bandits standing idle, pointing his thin sword at them.
“Lack the confidence to join in a pitched battle?” He called to them, sauntering forwards a step and letting his black cloak trail behind him, creating a shadowy form of himself. His pale flesh and dark hair and clothing built a ghastly image about himself. Just the way he liked to have it. Stopping about fifteen feet away from the pair, he raised his arm again, controlling the sword with just his wrist and flicking the blade point down towards them. “I’ll take you both on at once. Come on!”
(OOC: Should the bandits accept his challenge, he will assume a fencing stance and try to deal with one at a time. If they wait more than a few moments, Damien will hurl one of his daggers at one of the two. If they choose to not even accept his offer, he will pitch all of his daggers at them before rushing them with the intent to slay them.)
Derak watches as the bandit falls to the ground as a spray of red squirt from his stub. Even Derak hates seeing any living thing in pain so he does what he thinks is the nessasary thing.....put him out of his pain. He stabs the tip of the sword into his chest, twisting it around in his wound to insure the kill. He has a look of dispair for the bandit. As others are in battle he yells "this was not needed! It didn't have to be this way!" He yells drowning the noise of clashing swords in his deep voice. He doesn't attack anyone else, but he does stay ready. With his sword at hand he watches the others in battle slaugther the beggers. He shakes is head at the sight of the crew slaughter the poor men like sheep.
00C:Sorry I haven't posted in awhile, for the hoilday season has been somewhat hectic for me.....or is it that way for everyone?
The bandits had most certainly not known what they were getting themselves into when they crossed blades with such a group. Perhaps they had been unchecked until now, or perhaps their ego’s blinded the truth, but they had not foreseen such a battle.
Slipping his nunchuku back in his sash, the half elf stared down at the dust covered bandit who sagged, clutching his face and blubbering. Blood streamed between his fingertips and down his for arms. Without a flash of mercy, the monks forearm shot forth. With a sickening snap back of his head, the bandit flopped on his back, where he lay, unmoving, staring unseeingly at a fire tinged sky. Stepping back beside Damien, Vilyamar motioned towards two bandits who had seemingly made no movement from the beginning of battle. He also called to Mahuo, in an attempt to express the importance of taking out the bandit who had decided to creep after Elandor. Still now they stood, swords at their sides. Their gazes were fixed on the battle that raged between Teros and their leader.
He had seen the little worm. How he had snuck down along the river was beyond him, but nonetheless, the little bugger had done it. He had struck his comrade down, and he would pay. Cautiously, the bandit approached the reed forest. His sword arm tense; the setting sun blazing across the blade. Elandor remained crouching in the shadow of the stone bridge. A pebble was in his hand, and his gaze was fixed. An opening would show itself, and he would take it. Perhaps he hesitated too long, for the bandit spotting him, and with a shout, started for him. With a flash of gleaming sunlight, he raised his blade to cut through the first of the reeds that barred his path, but Elandor wizzed the pebble at him, striking his chest. Starting, the bandit rubbed his chest, before hacking a spit, and starting for the little kender. A malicious grin twisting his scraggly face.
Derak gazed down with pity at the man before him. He was nolonger slouching, but was writhing in his own pool of blood, clutching a gushing stub, and screaming horribly. Beside him lay the rest of his arm, twitching with its nerves last moments of life. Sighing, Derak plunged his blade down, deep into the chest of the man, who gave a final scream, which softly dyed into a wet gurgle. Lifting his head, the warrior shouted his disapproval of the actions of his party. Of course, noone responded..yet.
Damien’s gaze followed the pointing finger of the silver blonde monk. Two cowards remained on the outskirts of the “battle”. Stepping forward, he pointed his rapier at them, and bellowed his challenge. Their eyes flashed from the battle they had been watching, to the ghastly bard, back to the battle. Their eyes reflected unease, and they began backing up. Damiens hands went for his belt, a silver dagger flashed in the sunlight, and he hauled back to let it fly, when two, loud smacks came from his left, followed by a grunt, and a gasp. The two bandits turned and fled over the bridge. Cursing, the bard replaced his dagger, and turned to see what had happened.
Elandor cringed at his bad aim. The mans head was huge! How could he have missed? No matter, he would have to fight….or something. Backing up, the kenders foot slipped, dipping into the cold water. He had no choice, Elandor raised his hoopak, readying for battle. It never came, however. The man haulted suddenly, his head snapping back towards the battle. He wavered in uncertainty, and suddenly, two men could be seen, fleeing by him, and onto the bridge. Casting a final glare at the kender, the man turned, and fled after the other two, across the bridge, and through the grove of spruces on the opposite side. Elandor waded through the reeds, till he could see the others.
It had happened suddenly. This “bandit leader” was an exceptional fighter, despite his looks. Every attempt Teros made at tripping him was properly defended. A few times, in fact, Teros himself brushed with death, as a blade cut the air before his face, or a fist hammered his jaw. Deciding it was best, Teros backed off a bit, in an attempt to put some space between him and his opponent. Just as he did this, an arrow whizzed over his shoulder, smacking the leader in the stomach. The mans grungy sneer was washed over in shock. Another arrow struck him, this time in the chest. The man lowered his head, gazing at the protruding shafts that had startled, and broken him. With a clang, his sword fell to the road. He remained on his feet for a brief second more, like a tower buckling over a crumbled support, before dropping to his knees, and keeling to the side. Mahuo’s shots had been true. The other two bandits had witnessed the demise of their leader, along with everyone else. None of the bandits had expected such a horrible catastrophe. None would have been willing to trade in their lives for any amount of loot, or “booty”. Only, the battle had elapsed so quickly! None had even had the time to back off, after realizing their mistake; and now, most lie, dead, after an unfair deal. The two bandits eyes fell on the bard, who pointed a blood stained rapier at them. Their leader had fallen, as did their friends. They turned and fled. When the man near the reeds saw this, he came to the same conclusion, and he too, fled.
The battle was over. This main highway was littered with the bodies, and soaked with the blood of fallen thieves, for that was all they were. Above, the sky was stained with blood also, and a setting sun sank beneath the hills to their left.
*As the monk wraps a piece of cloth torn from a spare garment around his wound*
"We should move on," said the monk dryly, quite obviously stating the obvious. "But we must at least give these...men...a semblance of a proper burial. It is the least we can do to repay the little kindness they must have once held within themselves. But let us us only what little time we have to spare, a cairn is too long to search for the rocks and I doubt any of us actually brought something to dig with for such an occasion. The river looks promising to me."
At this suggestion, Vilyamar eyes each one of the group as they survey the deaths that they caused. Derak stood, making obvious motions to argue about the event and how it took place. He cuts him off with his own words, hoping to spare the group a fight amongst themselves, as he knows that they will need to keep up the trust between themselves, especially if this quest becomes really dangerous.
"Sir, there was little choice," Vilymar said. "There was only three other options. Betray what honor we have and run like cowards, not defending what we have earned and what rights we have." Vilymar nods toward the satyr. "Lay down our lives and have them search our corpses for their livelihood and...*with obvious contempt*...entertainment. Or we could have payed them what we had and given them an individual who has her own rights and should not be violated in any way. We did not start this, though the violence was our doing. It was, in my opinion, our best option."
The monk is not one to search corpses for goods, especially these. He helps the others with the burial-duty, taking the bodies wherever needed and doing whatever needed. He also mutters a semblance of a prayer to Erenall, to accept their undeserving souls with undiscrimination and without prejudice. Sighing and moving his hand to close the eyes of the man that he had killed, he mutters another prayer to Ethilnon and Sielne, to take care of the women and children depending on the men for support, to get them into a better circle of living.
When all is finished, he grabs a quick snack, checks the sun to see how much daylight they have left and estimates how much ground he thinks they can cover befor nightfall. Hopefully they can almost reach a good checkpoint at which to begin tomorrow. He urges them set off as quickly as possible to reach this point, a good rest is just what they all need.