Chapter 2 - Ride of the Red Wolves

Magan nods at Gawen, kicking his heels into Ealing and leading the way down the road at a trot, looking over the countryside for signs of a corner they could cut or a cross country path that might help them make some gains. 

Magan kicks Ealing into a gallop, leading Gawen, Guthric and Glöyn between thickets and over hedgerows as they break from the road, riding cross country in an effort to cut the Red Briar caravan off. The horses ride hard for more than two hours, before the first signs of the caravan appear in the distance. Fang and Claw can't be far behind.

For a moment, Gann hopes to read a sign across Glöyn's face but he only matches the cold in her eyes and the firmness of her determination. She is eager to wield her strength like a blade, he thinks as he withdraws with head turned to overhear their planning. He couldn't put it into words, but that leash on her strong drive made her beautiful in a way he was oblivious before. He quickly douses those thoughts and goes to help Guthric prepare the carriage for the detour. Before he mounts his horse, Gann digs with his damned leg to test it and curses the dull pain, knowing well it would take a night and a day for it to finally subside. A night and a day he doesn't have if he wants to be useful, but so be it. His best bet was to not be a liability in folly. He sees sense in Magan's command and nods in return, setting his mind on priorities of defense. He approaches Glöyn's horse after Magain addresses her and the slows down by the carriage. "He means it." He speaks to her, eyes on the road ahead. "Find your calm and follow order. You are not alone in this." Uncertain if his words won't rile her anger, he slows his horse and scouts the back of the line. Gann continues to ride slowly by the carriage leaving to Branok and Kara to set the pace and waits for the rest of the group to head for the tall grass and hedgerow in an attempt to intercept the slave train. He wastes no time on the lingering feeling of being left behind, the fate of a runt crawling behind a pack has become the new normal and no yearning would have done better than endangered lives. Instead, he rubbed his eyes to drive his mind to the moment. He had tried to shake off the tiredness that crept on him despite the day was still young. No matter how much he slept, his body craved more and right here and now he needed to stay alert.

"If you would use magics, now is the time Gawen." Magan gestures towards the dust being kicked up by the caravan on the road ahead. He leads the group into the trees again to try and skirt the caravan unseen around the trees. "Guthric, call back your hounds, I can keep their position from here."

Gawen nods, and crouches to the ground, opening a belt pouch and retrieving a small quantity of ash. He mixes it with water to create a paste, before daubing it on the back of his hands, feet and face, his eyes closed, muttering prayers under his breath. As he does so, the others notice a subtle dimming , like the sun passing behind a cloud. He still crouches before them, plainly visible, and yet - there is an indistinctness about him now, some aspect of the vagueness of a figure half-seen in twilight, a tendency for the eyes to focus on what is behind or around him rather than on him. As he finishes muttering, there is also strange sense of silence - as though when he stopped speaking, more disappeared from the air than just his voice. It takes a moment for the onlookers to realise what it is - although the wind still rustles the trees, and the birds call to each other, the small sounds that betray human presence - the clanks of metal, the creaks of leather, the rustle of boots in the grass - have faded to nothing. He stands up and looks at his companions. "It is done, as best I can. Stay near me - it won't stop them from spotting us, but it may help if we are careful with our approach."

Glöyn smiles and nods at Magan's words. "Worry not, now that I have them in my sights... I won't risk being reckless. I was caught unawares and unprepared by the sight of their boat. I haven't been this close before, Magan. I promise you will see that I am very good at this. I can follow your lead, I swear it." Without anything further, she rushes off to gather all her supplies and test the edges of her blades. She takes a moment to unroll the oiled wool cloth and remove of beautifully carved warrior's bow. She carefully wipes off any excess oil before stretching the string to fit the bow and taking a moment to attach a leather guard to her forearm to protect it against the forceful recoil of the string. Once she has gathered all her gear together and stashed it properly for a rapid and stealthy ride. She quickly hops a top her horse and turns as Gann addresses her. "I know he does. I have found my calm, you all will see. I am not reckless, I was just caught unawares before... I have never been this close before. Thank you, Gann. The same can be said to you. You are not alone." She offers him a quick smile before digging in her heels and galloping off with the rest of the group. She is silent and focused, speaking not at all unless addressed specifically as they ride hard, her eyes constantly scanning the horizon ahead... As they slow to a a trot from the signs of the caravan ahead, Glöyn can feel the anxiety growing, but she forces it aside... recalling the words her father had taught her all those years ago. 'Find the calm place in your mind. Do not push fear away, for it keeps you alive and wary, but push it to the side. Use it, do not let it use you. Fear is like fire; it can strengthen iron or it can burn down your home. Be the iron, my butterfly.' Her eyes track over to watch Gawen, watching him in awe and wonder... wishing she was able to control such powers and wondering where he learned his mystical arts... and if he could or would ever consider teaching an outsider such things... "You are a wonderment, Gawen."

It takes just another half hour of riding for Magan to pull his group around the slavers' caravan, leaving them over wood and dale to come around ahead of the wagons. Sparse trees line the road on both sides.

Magan leads the group on another half hour to put some more distance between them and the caravan. He looks along the road selecting a bend. "Gloyn, see if you can make some pot holes and cover them there. We need to break some wheels if we can." He lifts up the side of Ealing's saddle to reveal a selection of axes. "Guthric, Gawen, we need to bring some trees down across the path."

"Aye,"  Guthric hops from his horse and whistles for his hounds. The two had rejoined the party just before coming into view of the slaver caravan. The outlander huddles with the dogs a moment before urging them back toward the caravan on the road with claps and gutteral barks. "When they return, be ready to fight."  With all haste, he grabs an axe and dives into the first tree he could see, regardless of size. In his mind, anything felled was better than a perfect fell left unfinished.

Taking one of Magan's axes, Gawen eyes the tree Guthric has chosen for a moment, before deciding it will suffice. He joins takes up position across from Guthric and adjusts his footing before joining in, taking alternating swings with the thickset warrior to fell the tree as swiftly as possible.

Magan selects another tree, a little further down the road and makes a start, knowing he will be less than half as fast as the other warriors. "When they get here, Guthric, we will no longer be in sight. If you saw this would you think anything other than ambush? No, this slows them down, and perhaps gives us a chance to ambush them at night in the wilds rather than the city."

Just ten minutes later, the first tree begins to sway as Gawen and Guthric's notches grow ever closer to one another. It looks ready to topple at any moment.

"Yes, true."  Guthric considered the road for a moment and the idea of a tree fallen with axe marks in its trunk.

Glöyn nods at Magan's directions, but hesitates a moment. "I shall do as you ask, Magan, but I have nothing with to dig." She shrugs sheepishly, but then grins as he hands her one of his axes. "Aye, this will work." She takes the axe and rushes off to do her part. She arrives at the indicated bend and tests the hardness of the dirt road, finding it packed enough that she will not be able to simple dig and scoop out the earth, she must soften it. She glances about to ensure no one is watching, then drops to her knees near the first spot and, with a mental promise to resharpen the edge of Magan's axe, she begins hacking away at the hardened crust of earth. Her first several blows turn in her hand with a jarring that causes an ache in her wrist up to her elbow. She takes a moment to focus herself, think back to how father had shown her to till the earth in their garden, and remember why she was doing this. 'Gruffyd.' This time, turning the head slightly to an one side, she makes an angled cut and the blade sinks into the earth, cracking and breaking the top layer of packed dirt. Once she has the initial break, the work becomes easier and within seconds she has broken through and begins to use the axe head like a spade to quickly scoop the darker, loose earth beneath out quickly. She digs deep enough and long enough for a wagon wheel to fall into the pit and hopefully either crack the wheel or break free the axle. She sets about digging a second and then third pit, breathing heavily with sweat rolling down her face once she has finished the job. She uses the axe and cuts free a fresh, green branch from a tree further into the wooded area and uses it to sweep away any obvious loose dirt left behind from her digging. Once the area has been cleaned, she looks about to find any dead-fall branches to cover the pits or in the incidents where she cannot find enough branches, she will use fallen leaves and scatter them about the roadway and not just over the top of the pits. Once done she is coated in sweat, but she glances at her work with a nod of appreciation and hope that it will be enough. She then disappears back into the treeline, doing her best to hide her tracks, and meets up with the others...

While the rest of the group roe ahead, Kara knew it was not her ability to sneak into places that would help here, but rather her calm presence on the horizon. She was not as good with woodcraft as the others, nor was she as quiet in the brush, and when picked to stay with the wagon, she didn't argue. While it was a bit off putting she was not able to go, it was also not her speed. This was a plan that would not be a straightforward battle, instead traps and pits and other things she was not found of. "Meeting on the equal field is one thing, but to sit and wait is quiet boring."  This however did not stop her from trying to prod Branok or Gann into a conversation, but it was clear she was passing the time until they happened upon the cavern ahead.

"Then we should make haste!" Branok replies from the cab of the carriage. "The sooner we catch them, the sooner Magan can enact his plan, correct?" Meanwhile, Magan, Guthric and Gawen fell two trees neatly across the road to supplement the holes that Glöyn has dug.

Admiring their handy work, Magan sits back with a frown on his face. "How long do you think it would take 10 men to remove these and repair one wagon wheel?" He asks half to himself and half to Gawen.

Kara looks at Gann, unsure exactly of what would be the best course. She figured they were going to arrive late anyways, and rushing may only endanger the trap if it was not set up properly yet. "I am not well versed in traps Elder. I would not hasten too much incase we alert them, but being far behind is not desirable either."

Admiring their handy work, Magan smiles with satisfaction, answering his own question. "At least an hour I'd say. Those trees are big. Think how I would approach this. They will delay, looking for the ambush, I would certainly suspect one, remember near the bandit camp? Then they may need to chop the trees before a horse can drag them, time consuming and exhausting work, much harder when it si on the ground than when standing the way we did. They will unbuckle their armour to avoid getting too hot, or they will put axes in the hands of slaves to do it for them, even better. Then they need to unhitch and strap up the horses, more time. All this is if Gloyn's trap hasn't already broken a cart and set them back further. Now we need only wait for the right time." Magan leads the group a few minutes off into the trees, out of sight of the road. He chooses carefully, due north, above the part of the road west of the blockade. Here those working on the trees will be in a slightly different direction to those working at where the wagons should break, and different again to where a wagon would pull up to wait while men removed the trees. "This spot is perfect. Now give me quiet." He sits on the ground, his legs crossed before him, hands palm down to the side, just above the earth. His eyes are closed and he feels the wind, swirling around him. He hears the noises of nature, and beneath it the corrupting influence of men. The tremble of the earth under the rolling wagons and carts, the beating of hooves under the heavy burden of men. His senses extend, the large group of tortured souls as he imagines they are, packed close against each other. Further still to his own friends and their own heartbeats a little further away he resists the temptation to focus on them though, instead concentrating back on the larger group. Here he sits, keeping careful focus, honing in on his prey. Learning all he can and keeping track of their location. Waiting, thinking, analysing what has happened from their movements. Waiting, waiting, ... Until, finally... "Now is the time."

After the tree is felled, Guthric takes a moment to survey the area. A blocked road was good. The wagons likely couldn't move around easily. It was Glöyn, though, that inspired him the most. Rummaging through his pack, he found several sharpened metal rods and a few short lengths of rope. To each side of the road, amidst bushes and trees, he strung the ropes a foot from the ground, just enough to be out of sight, but hard to inadvertantly miss. With the remaining stakes, he buried them behind the wires. If luck held, maybe they would trip on the line and fall on a stake. In his mind, they could do nothing but help their effort more. Guthric waited patiently as Magan led them away, and even more as their leader sat in strange silence. However there was tension in the air. It hung like the smell of blood and sweat, a sign of things to come. This would be no night raid, but a bloody ambush. The man's blood ran hot and his mind turned feral.  He whistled for his hounds, and they happily joined him nearby. His people would've had sacred runes and spells to paint on the skin of warriors, but he learned from childhood that it was the intent which carried power as much as paints. He dug down, with Fang and Claw's help, until they reached the rich, wet mud under the surface. Bodies, faces, legs, arms, all were smeared until the trio bore a semblance of flowing war paint. Guthric drew his fanged necklace and held the it to the hounds' chests with a short prayer. "I have not led you in great hunts as promised, but today we finally hunt."  The hounds pant noisily at the Pict as he sits before them. What do we hunt today?   "We hunt men, like ones who held you when I came. They take other people in cages and break them." Did they lose a fight? The loser has to do what the winner says, right? If they fight, the winner bites their neck. "The ones in cages are less than people....they are like prey now." Why would they do that? Things that fight and lose don't change. "People are strange and can be wicked. We need to help the people in cages."

Gann's unease is subdued but not so is his tiredness as he rides along the road by the carriage, leaving Branok to maintaining the horse pace. He tries to shake his concerns away and the conversation with the God-chosen woman is a welcome focus. "What I made of Magan's orders, they would halt the carts so the quarry cannot continue. If the slavers suspect nothing, it should be quick. If they smell ambush they would fortify, maybe spread. They would seek to engage in skirmish." He halts his rasping speech to try and hear something in the vicinity, but there's nothing. For a moment he meets her eyes, and in his, she can read a restrained intensity in his eyes. "If they do, we should be able to hit them in the back. The bear trap shall snap around them."

Glöyn passes Magan's axe back to him as they survey the area, wondering what more could be done. She spots Guthric making a trap of sorts and wanders over to help provide some pointers she'd learned from surviving years in the wild with a young child. Once the trap is complete she uses dead fall branches and small leaves to blend the traps into the natural environment. "The trick with trapping men is to not use freshly cut branches. Use what is around you. Like this," she plucks a small cluster of leaves that had fallen. "This is a perfect piece to use to hide. It looks as if it had just fallen from this tree from a heavy wind." When Magan indicates the slavers were close, she follows behind the others. She tests the draw of her bowstring a few times get herself prepared for the ambush. "Let me make the first attack. I am best against targets that are unaware of my presence." She puts an arrow to the string and takes several calmly breathes to still her hammering heart which she fears would give away her anxiety to the others. She had never been in a battle like this before and... she was afraid. She had fought and killed men before, even pairs of men, but this many... She thinks of her little brother, starved and afraid and shoved into a filthy cage... and her fear subsides, replaced by a righteous fury. 'No surrender. No captives. Either we will die or they will.'

A thud followed by a loud crack echoes through the woods, soon accompanied by shouts and cries as the caravan draws to a halt before the logs that Magan and Guthric have lain across the road. Several men disembark to see what can be done about the obstables, while others inspect the damage to front wagon's wheel. Not long later a pained cry can be heard as Guthric's trap is sprung. The riders gather around the wagons, peering into the trees and anticipating an ambush, but, for now, they find nothing.

Magan gestures for his friends to hold. Locking eyes with Gloyn in particular and gesturing for her to stay. 

One of the drivers clutches at his bleeding calf and limps back towards the nearest wagon to tend to it. In the meantime, several others set about removing the heavy logs, while the riders keep watch. It's tough work, but after a great deal of heaving and shoving, they have the first, and eventually the second out of the way.

As the second log is just being heaved out of the way, Magan drops his arm in signal to Gloyn. He takes his own bow too, taking aim ready to take one of the nearby men in the back. "Death and Glory. May the gods accept our sacrifices today."

Glöyn's heart hammers and thuds within her chest as they wait... and wait...and wait... her palms are sweaty by the time Magan gives her the signal. She cautiously peers around the trunk she was hiding behind to find her target; an armored man astride a horse and just the one who could quickly run them down. She bends her torso far enough around to bring her bow to bare, silently draws the string back to her cheek as she sights down the man, who was already dead, but he didn't know that yet... She watches him for just a moment before releasing the bowstring with a sharp snap and her arrow leaps away immediately! In the barest of moments in between, the horse sidesteps not but a foot which causes the arrow head to sink deep into the flesh of the man's thigh instead of the weak spot in his armor. The slaver lets out a cry of pain as he glances down to the arrow shaft, like a fool he grabs it and rips it out of his muscle.... Immediately blood spurts and gushes from the artery the arrow had severed! The man's eyes widen as he realizes his folly and he tries to clamps his hands futility over the wound! "No! No!" Bright red blood sprays between his fingers in a shocking display of violence...  Glöyn wastes no time in moving from her position further up the line of the slaver train and steals herself into a darkened position behind another towering tree beneath in the shadowy boughs.

Magan has a similar idea, he feels the wind, the unnatural presence of the men, honing his senses on a weak spot. He releases an arrow at the rider, sending it deep into his armour, but not deep enough to take him from his horse. He recoils behind the tree, drawing a second arrow ready to finish him.

As the ambush ensues, Guthric realizes his position is poor. For a few moments, he struggles with his bow in the underbrush, by the time he finally gets clear and sights the caravan, he braces a foot against a fallen log before him. Midway through aiming, the old wood gives out, causing his footing to collapse. If it weren't for the panicked shouts on the road, the Pict's cries would've been enough for the whole lot of slavers. He decides to reposition behind a tree closer to the enemies before arrows come from the road in response.

Watching Magan for the signal, Gawen feels anxiety clutch at his chest at the prospect of the upcoming combat. He'd seen more fighting in the past few days than he had in the entire rest of his life, but he understood the necessity of this particular battle. He'd hidden a bit further back than the others, as being larger and less experienced with stealth than the rest of them he was concerned he might make a mistake and give the game away. This meant he couldn't see the road as well as the rest, perhaps a blessing as seeing the men's faces would make ending them that much harder. As Gawen sees Magan drop his arm, he cautiously moves forward to better survey the terrain, stopping behind Guthric just as the Pict stumbles on the rotten wood. Through the undergrowth he can see the three men at the front moving the felled logs - they peer into the forest looking for the source of the cries. Swallowing his fear at the sight of so many men, Gawen pulls the thorns from his belt pouch again and begins the same ritual he had in the cave days before, drawing on the power of his own blood to compel the plants between their foes and themselves to twist and grow, wicked, razor-sharp thorns sprouting from the ground, long enough to find the chinks in men's armour, subtle enough that they would go unnoticed until it was too late. "Guthric, Gloyn," he calls under his breath, hoping their enemies would not hear them amidst their alarm. "Avoid this area. Lead them into it if you can," he says, motioning to a large area before them in which plants can still be seen, by those looking for it, to gently writhe with sudden growth.

Guthric turns and looks very confused for a moment, staring at the indicated area. It took a few heartbeats of time to remember the cave and he split a wide smile. "Stay with me, boys, Wolf-friend has tricks for them."

Gann waits for Kara to share her thoughts and wisdom on the situation until the distant sounds resemble no bird cries. He turns abruptly at the sound with his eyes blank and it all happens in a blur. His mind disconnects with the moment and lets instincts take over. He will worry about deflecting orders later. Thrusting hips and heels, Gann sends his horse into gallop leaning firmly against its neck expecting Kara would do the same. He draws his blade, lips moving in a voiceless prayer. "Gwirodydd y mwd a'r gwaed. Cysegru fy nghleddyf. Cryfhau'r fraich sy'n ei chwifio." Each stroke means to put his breath to ease.  In the distance, the slave train draws near, and he can recognize the rear composition, picking the closest rider first. He holds firm on the saddle with his left arm and his body leans to heave with a blade drawn wide, a grip firm and true. With the strength combined or horse and man he strikes and the blade slices armor and flesh under the right armpit of the slaver, sinking deep and putting great pressure on Gann's wrist to pull back. The man has no time to scream, only twists his neck sideways and his wide eyes face death overwhelming him. He tumbles off his beast that has yet to smell blood.   Gann doesn't let the horse slow down and directs the animal left. He jumps across a fallen log with ease then circles around a tree to strike the next man who has time to recover and yell for back up, this time face to face.  Pictish: Spirits of the mud and blood. Consecrate my sword. Strengthen the arm that wields it.

Thinking on Gann's words she gives it some thought, before prompting "Sometimes man is suspecting of Loki's involvement in all. I find those of less noble bearings to be so focused, in part due to their activities. However, unsuspecting or not, us delayed slightly may be better. That way they can not guess our true numbers."  This talk carries on a bit until the distant sound is heard. While Gann takes off, Kara keeps a milder run. While the men were focused on the immediate threat, there was still a chance one could slip between them and the wagon. While she trust Branok to keep an eye out, for now Kara draws her bow and goes to the side, skirting the road slightly to make it appear the wagon may not be there. She aims at one of the riders, letting loose an arrow

Glöyn, hearing her name, glances back toward Gawen pointing at a certain area of thick vegetation and declaring they stay away from it. At first she doesn't understand, but as her eyes watch it more closely she realizes the plants were moving! Her eyes widen at the display of Gawen's power once more, taking note of the borders of his awe-inspiring display. Her heart still hammering away in her chest, she takes two steadying breaths as she notches another arrow to her bowstring. Once again, slipping just enough around the tree trunk to expose her target and properly draw her bow, she sights down the man... this time taking note of how his mount moves before letting the arrow loose with a snap! The arrow flies true and sinks deep into the man's throat, severing both of the arteries. He tries to cry out in pain, but instead a choking gurgle issues forth as a shocking amount of bright red spray fills the air as the man tumbles off his mount with a heavy thud. She immediately turns and moves deeper into the tree-line and behind cover, sinking solidly against another tree trunk in preparation of the return volley or counter-attack.

The first rider to be shot by Glöyn clamps futilely down on his thigh with both hands as his life blood spurts forth. The slaver's horse meanders left and right as he sways in the saddle, neighing in distress, and then he slumps to the ground besides it in a heap. The horse bolts south and tumult of battle grows around it, and the other beast nearby follows suite. The drivers that, until now, had been busy removing the logs from the road, make for Guthric, drawing bows and loosing arrows at him as they move. One flies wide, another the Pict nimbly dodges, while the third slams into the bark of the tree. The driver who was injured by the trap clambers atop the wagon and also draws his bow. This shot finds its mark, but the glancing shot is deflected by Guthric's leather jacket. Guthric takes 4 piercing damage to vigour, reduce to 0 by DR. The two remaining riders near the front of the caravan spur their steeds and make for Magan, each thrusting at him with a spear. Both strikes hit home, but the Saxon's armour protects him from serious harm. Magan takes 5 piercing damage to vigour, reduced to 1 by DR -> 27/28 Vigour. The three rearmost riders wheel about and gallop off in pursuit off Gann, but two of their strikes fail to make contact, while the third merely glances off of the pict's armour. Gann takes 3 piercing damage to vigour, reduced to 0 by DR. The two remaining horseman also wheel their steeds about, this time headed for Kara. They nock arrows to bows and fire off two shots each at the shield maiden, but only one makes contact and is deflected by her heavy coat of mail. Kara takes 6 piercing damage to vigour, reduced to 0 by DR. The arrow that the northern warrior looses in return strikes true, knocking the rider back in his saddle. Magan's action.

Magan, now confronted by two horsemen drops his bow on the ground as he dodges a strike and takes another on his armour, deflecting the worst of it expertly. He pulls out the axe from his side and lets the shield slip down his arm and grabs it as he swings out at the man to his side, the horse sideteps the blow but Magan lurches around with the shield, using the momentum of it slipping down his arm to add to the power of the blow and crunching it forcefully upwards into the mans chest. He hears the satisfying crunch and knows this fight is over for him. His attention immediately shifts to the other man, he swings wildly with his axe, not making contact but at least forcing some space between them as his natural connection begins to spot weak points in the body of the man before him, his head racing through ways to hurt him most effectively. 

Guthric pops up, firing a retaliatory shot at the slavers hung up by the trapped ground. His arrow sticks into a leather jacket, but the target doesn't seem phased. This is ridiculous, arrows are for deer and game, not for battle! He throws down his bow and draws his sword and shield, but the sound of horses crashing through brush pull his attention. Magan is overrun by riders! A series of growls erupt from the brush as Guthric directs his hounds. The pair come crashing forth, baying and growling. They slam the nearest horse, trying to bite and rake at its legs. A few near-misses and the steed manages to keep its footing, but Guthric follows just behind shouting threats. "Flee! Terror and death are here! Throw your masters and flee!"

Seeing the men on foot ensnared in his trap, Gawen decides he can spare a moment to help Magan's fight against the riders. Moving towards Magan, Gawen slots a blood-smeared stone into his sling and whirls it around his head, careful not to let it catch on the surrounding trees, before releasing in the direction of the rider that seemed as yet uninjured. The projectile whistles through the air and strikes true, not permanantly injuring the man but perhaps hurting enough it would open an opportunity for Magan.

Gann hears the horses and loud voices of approaching riders from behind and pulls on the reins to put his gallop to a halt and turn the animal so he can face the attackers with his blade. He had hoped for fewer, but now three armed men come charging at him. Two attacks swing widely to press him back while one cuts too close and scrapes against the mail coat over his shoulder before Gann could lean into the attack and strike back at the rider, followed by a backswing that exploits his opening and the momentum of his beast to cut deep into his lower ribcage. The man's scream ends like a gurgle. Gann has no time to waste preparing for their incoming assault, but later he would think he could not easily avoided that strike should he had a bare shoulder and just a breastplate. Earlier that day, Gann had swiftly walked to the back of the carriage, impatient to rejoin with his blade. Magan's welcoming was new to him especially since two days ago he was certain he had cut the rope bridge behind with his honest if sick-addled answer by the fire. Feeling the hard steel under the worn-out furs, he touched the hilt of the blade to his forehead and spoke a promise prayer to the weapon he valued most. Strapping it back, he had scoured the rest of the carriage's contents. He avoided touching those that seemed private things and he looked for any armor he could use. Among pieces of armor, a plate mail coat caught his eye. The suit was master-crafted and despite some early damage, it had seen very little use on the field. He quickly assumed it was Magan's and despite it didn't match exactly to his size, it was of such worth that even small imperfections would be easily ignored. Gann couldn't be certain but this armor costed more than he had ever seen in his life. Though it pulled him again and again to study it, he vouched for a shoulder-less breastplate before he heard a voice over his shoulder. "Ah that. That was Arthek's, he was a terrible man. Killed Isolde's family. We slew him just before we met you. The metal looked too good to leave but it is too heavy for me. You like it? It's yours. At least until we need the money to sell it, or until you earn it." Gann turns and is lost for a moment, the gesture of sudden comradeship still foreign to him. "Ei think...", he tell to Magan before leaving the breastplate down and reaching for the mail coat. "Ei will do all needed of me to earn it." The memory of that moment would come later. Gann lets a hoarse roar and maintains a perimeter with a firm hand by the reins of the horse and another ready to meet blade with blade. Even two of them capable, he could easily be overwhelmed. He needed the animal to be part of him and share his control even as others neigh nervously and screams of battle echo from the vicinity.

Glöyn was like a shadow as she flitted from tree to tree dealing death with each draw of her bowstring... she found it strange that she wasn't more frightened as odd thoughts flitted through her mind; father would be proud. She fought the strong urge to rush forward and begin unlocking the cages immediately, instead she stops and surveys the battle around her. She spots three of the drivers tangled up in Gawen's magic, struggling against what appeared to be thorny vines grasping and pulling at them. She swallows in slight fear at what the druid could conjure, but drives away any further thoughts beyond the battle as she watches Magan assaulted by two riders. She grabs another arrow and runs back towards the others to help there. She stops her quick rush, notches another arrow, draws the string back with that place of calm father had always taught her to find as she drew back her bow. She pushes away the distractions of Fang and Claw nipping and harassing the horse as the rider wheels the beast around to face these new threats... Glöyn releases her bow and watches as the arrow streaks across the battlefield, striking this rider in the face... near a cheek! The man's thick bone prevents the arrow and punching further in, but the momentum of the projectile pushes it upwards, dragging along bone and tearing skin as the point bursts into one of his eyes. She wastes no time in pressing herself again another nearby tree trunk and trying to blend into the forest once more.

Trapped amongst a web of thorny undergrowth, the drivers pepper Guthric and Magan with arrows, but no avail. The driver remaining atop the carriage manages a lucky shot that strikes Guthric in the shoulder, but the Pict's armour protects him from serious harm. Guthric takes 6 piercing damage to vigour, reduced to 2 by DR -> 33/35 Vigour. The wounded riders withdraw from melee and make a break for it to the south, but the slaver with the ruined eye topples from his horse before he makes it fifty feet. The other manages to somehow stem the bleeding from his chest and gallops away into the woods. At the other end of the caravan, the wounded rider also carefully backs away from Gann as he tries to stem the bleeding from the deep wounds, but the effort takes its toll. The other riders move to surround both Kara and Gann, but are unable to penetrate the warriors' chainmail coats. Gann takes 7 and 5 piercing damage to vigour, reduced to 0 by parry and DR. Kara takes 8, 4, 4 and 5 piercing damage to vigour, reduce to 0 by DR. Kara's action.

Seeing his foes in retreat, Magan scoops up his bow from the floor, taking careful aim he places an arrow through the back of the fleeing rider. The arrow protrudes from the other side and the man falls from his horse onto the floor. Magan clicks his tongue and the familiar sound of Ealing's pounding hooves echoes through the forest. She arrives quickly and in a second he is on her back, looking down his bow at the men thick in the thorns summoned by Gawen.

The riders harassing Magan fled like cowards, so now the time came to eliminate those trapped in Gawen's snare. A loud "STAY!"  Rang from the Pict's position as he charged across the small cleared space. He immediately recognized where Gawen's magic  began as brambles slapped his tunic and face while sticks and rocks dug at his feet. It was evident he would be fighting Gawen as much as three panicked foes, so he shouted another command, "Gawen! Release your magic!"

Seeing the sense in Guthric's cry, Gawen stems the flow of vitality running through him, and lets the plants wither, no longer fed from the wellsprings of Annwn . The men previously trapped by the plants are still a threat though - taking careful aim, Gawen slings another stone at them. Guided partly by skilled aim, and partly by the crimson blessing marking the stone, it strikes true, impacting the head of one of the archers with a sharp crack and a cry of pain.

Gann twists his grip on the reins and yanks them harshly to retain balance as he drives the braying beast under him to turn in right. Just in time, for the yelling men had surrounded him, thirsty for his blood. He aims for the his blade remembered and yearned to tear into again, taking a grinding blow against his back where the hard metal keeps him safe, and lunges forward. He blocks the momentum of the rider's sword and then twists, forcing the sharp edge against his upper chest, too close for the armpit arteries. He feels the blade sinking and pushes forward as much the horse affords him. If they were on the ground and he could drive his whole body weight in the blow it would have been fatal.  Gann spends no time to savor the moment for he turns to catch the movement of the other attacker with the white of his eye.

Glöyn hears the clash and cries of fighting elsewhere between the rest of their party, but for now she can do nothing to help them... flashes of arrows sticking from her mother's back as she collapses inside their small home shake her momentarily as she hears the closer cries and shouts of battle. She shakes her head to clear the thoughts as she rushes into a better position to spot the archers who were once entangled in Gawen's magic. Once in position she takes aim, but the unbidden thoughts of her mother leave her shaken and she takes a moment to focus on where she was here in this moment. She takes the deep, steadying breath as she draws the string back to her cheek. She releases the arrow, which sticks into the upper arm of her target, but instead of a terrifying cry... he lets out a sudden battle cry as he rips the arrow out just as Glöyn slinks back into the shadows...

The remaining slavers bolt and flee in all directions, a few succumbing to their wounds and collapsing to the ground in the process. At the rear of the caravan, the two riders who confronted Kara are both still relatively unharmed. They break off from their fight with the nordic woman and set off at a run towards the carriage. Kara's action.

The battle seems to be won from where he stands, but Magan does not want to risk a whole army of slavers coming after them. He heads back towards the path, letting an arrow loose at the fleeing slaver he had focused on before. Reaching the path, he looks down the line of carts to see the fight has also been won at the other end but is immediately overtaken by a wave of concern. How could the fools let them flee towards our wagon? He takes a moment to call out to Guthric, Gawen and Gloyn: "Try to stop them getting away. And collect up as many of the horses as you can." He digs his heels into Ealing, spurring her down the road towards where Kara and Gann were also chasing the fleeing slavers.

"Fang, Claw! Attack!"  Magan's order fell on deaf ears for Guthric, but the intent wasn't entirely lost. The sound of hounds barking for prey filled the forest. Vaulting over fallen logs and crashing through brush, the Pict was able to weave through the forest to gain some ground. The nearest caravan driver didn't have a chance to react when the savage leapt from the brush and ran a blade across his leg. The driver stumbled and cried as blood began to run down his leg and the baying of hounds drew in close around him.

Kara, having pulled her shield and sword when met with the force before her. However, her slight delay while not fatal to her, lead to her fumbling trying to bring Helgi to bear. She missed her strike, and now the enemy was feeling towards what was essentially helpless bystanders in the form of Isolde and company.