The Gate Escape - Take Two

It is obvious to all that Winnacer is far from being a happy paladin. He reaches into his backpack and pulls out the concentrated holy water of Lechit retrieved from the FaithHealer's pack and pours it into Milan's open mouth. As he empties the vial, Milan's eyes open and he starts to groan from the extent of his wounds. He is still badly hurt, but able to stand and move with assistance. Winnacer puts Milan's arm around him and starts to stagger off in the direction of the Library of Kitry, way too pissed off to talk to anyone.

As the LawBringer and squire start to storm off, Yaz quickly shouts out at them:

"Hey, I want out of this city today, and I think we need our stuff back. I can distract the goblins with a flock of birds if you guys can get ready to run for it. But we need to do it now, before the guards come back."

As Yaz is about to continue, Winnacer wheels around. Even those who have traveled with Winnacer have never seen him so pissed off. He quickly cuts the druid off:

"That's the stupidest plan I've ever heard, barely better thought out than the stupidest plan I've ever seen a few minutes back. If you feel that the Nyemetz haven't beat the crap out of you all enough, go ahead. I'm not sure why you are all impatient to die."

"I'm going back to the Temple of Kitry. I am going to get my wounds tended to, arrange for some new mounts, and then make a plan to get out of the city rather than mindlessly try to attack the garrison single-handedly. I hate to say it, but I am going to beg Faewen'il to help us out with her sorcery. She's not above using it to avoid dangerous situations and she owes us that much."

"Pardon me for the interruption, m'Lord," Rowan begins, "but once fair Aithne was in trouble, wasn't charging the gate YOUR idea...?"

Porter wants to yell at the man for the continued snide comments while their impending doom approaches. But as he starts to, he has another coughing fit that prevents him from venting his spleen.

"Enough of your quips, you insolent whelp," Winnacer replies angrily. "Why don't you pick up one others and help them away rather than stand there insulting me with your thumb up your arse?"

"If the rest of you want to fulfill your death wishes, go on," Winnacer continues. "Fools seek death like moths seek torchlight."

"I suppose that's 'justice,' then," mutters Rowan. "Leave the wounded to their deaths and see to yourself...."

Winnacer spits red onto the ground in front of as he turns to face Rowan:

"Spravedelna did not grant me the strength to carry you all on my shoulders. Instead, she is relying on buffoons such as yourself to help out. So put your arm under Porter and help him. You might break a nail or soil your precious clothes, but I don't really care. Let's go."

Winnacer then looks at Yaz:

"That means you too. Pick up Aithne and let's get out of here. Our gear can be replaced, but our lives can't."

Aithne looks at Yaz:

"No, we need to get out now. I can do some hunting, granted, this isn't the best time for it, but it can't be helped. Staying here to get a manhunt going is not good. Leading our enemies to those of our allies is even less good. I will not do it or be party to it. I vote gate. The rest of you vote how you wish. No one person controls our fates."

Finally getting his coughing under control, Porter wipes the blood from his lips and hoarsely says:

"Could I just get a freakin' hand here? I can't even freakin' stand, and you want to argue? There's three of you all who ain't so bad off, and three of us who are hacked to pieces. So why don't you all each grab one of us and get us off the street before another company of Nyemetz gets here?"

"I'm sorry," says Aithne quietly, "I guess I must be snapping. If I hadn't blacked out right before I was about to attack the Witchfinder, this wouldn't have happened. Leave me and see what you can do. The Lord Winnacer is right. I'm just more trouble than I'm worth."

"I still think Yaz's plan has merit though, far more than leading the Nyemetz to the Library of Kitry and an eventual showdown there. For what it's worth," Aithne adds.

"I don't plan on staying there," Winnacer replies. "We can drop a quick word and get some healing before we head over to Prirodna's realm. They'll be hard-pressed to find us amongst them. We can also leave word for Faewen'il to meet us there."

Aithne speaks calmly:

"Unless we are all completely healed, we are leaving a trail of blood. Whether we stay or not, we lead the Nyemetz to wherever we go. By going outside, I think we have a better chance of living and of making sure our allies don't suffer for us. That is why I'm asking for a vote. I'm sure you are the voice of authority and reason, and I am a simple woods person. But this, to me, seems foolish. I would rather die a hundred times than endanger any of my allies. Ever. And with Yaz's powers, he can surely sneak into the city and get us what we need. Your money wasn't on those horses was it?"

"We do not have time to discuss this though," Aithne continues. "I'm asking for a vote. Who has faith in Yaz's plan and thinks we should leave? And who wishes to follow Winnacer for more healing and perhaps a chance to get more supplies? Both are viable options. It simply remains for each to choose his path. I choose getting out of the city now, before the Nyemetz comb it for our presence and set up even more guards."

Porter spits out:

"The gate is no good without horses. Even if we make it past the gate, we won't get far before we get run down by mounted troops. We gotta have horses."

Taking a breath before continuing, he says:

"If you really need the gear in the saddle bags, then get us in good enough shape to fight a bit more. Yaz can try his idea while Aithne and I provide some cover fire. Then Winnacer can try to get our gear. Then we'll have about three seconds to get out of there before more Nyemetz showed up."

"The gear will slow us down too much if we try to carry it," Winnacer replies. "There is a full contingent of archers on the walls ready to pick us off. I can't imagine a bunch of pigeons to keep us from still getting targeted by multiple arrow volleys."

"As for running now, it's snowing. That should help cover our trail if we are careful. They have a lot of trail to cover, and they are not masters of tracking we are dealing with. We are dead if we leave the city now, as we have nowhere to hide from the worgriders they would inevitably send after us. I've fought enough worgs to know that we haven't a chance in our current state. Maybe you can manuever in the snow, Aithne, but without a horse, I'm going to slow us down horribly. This armor is not light, nor is the gear I'm wearing on my back."

"Plus the contingent of spearmen should be back now to bar our exit by this point. I don't see how you expect us to run the gauntlet and expect to survive."

"We'll either freeze to death or get caught if we leave now. We can try to minimize our losses and get out later today with a well-thought out plan rather than Yaz' desperate one. But we can't sit here any longer. We can't fight a whole legion of Nyemetz right now, and that's what you're looking at if we try Yaz' plan. Let's get out of here."

"I disagree, obviously," Aithne replies

She then waits for the others to vote, quickly, knowing too much discussion might result in exactly the return of reinforcements that Winnacer expects.

Yaz takes his backpack from his back and rummages around in it, digging out the FaithHealer's staff that was returned by Vice Patriarch Nechas the previous day:

"This thing could make all the difference right now," he says.

He brings it down to touch Aithne gently on the thigh and presses on the rune. As he does, the wand pulses with a green glow, which sweeps over the half-elf's body. The results of the healing are quite remarkable and Aithne is well enough to stand now, looking a lot better than Winnacer, although still being far from back up to full health.

Yaz then repeats the action by placing the end of the staff over Porter's chest and pressing the rune once more. The results are the same, as the green pulse flows from the staff to wash over Porter. The results are not as strong as they were for Aithne, but are still more than sufficient to get him back on his feet once again.

Milan is next in line for the treatment. However, as he presses the rune on the staff for the third time, nothing happens:

"Shit," says Yaz. "I remember the Vice Patriarch saying that each function of the staff can only be used twice per day and on different people."

He rummages in his pack some more and takes out his vial of concentrated holy water of Lechit.

"I guess the only way of getting Milan on his feet is to give him this," he says.

From the look upon Winnacer's face, Yaz sees that he really has no choice but to use it.

He lifts the vial up to the squire's lips and Milan drinks the entire contents of the vial. The results of imbibing the healing potion are remarkable, healing the terrible wound inflicted upon him instantly, and the squire is right as rain, though more than a little shaken after his near death experience.

With the healing now having been completed, Yaz looks up at Winnacer:

"I won't risk my Order by hiding there, no matter what kind of weirdo shit they're doing. If we hurry, we can get through the unguarded gate. We don't need horses to get to Olmutz; besides we'd just kill them, and I ain't for that. If they follow us on horseback, I'll take care of them, and make sure our tracks can't be followed. But if we wait, they triple the guard, or get us in our sleep. Let's just f***in' go."

Aithne nods:

"I'm with you."

"Then so am I," Rowan adds, "although I don't much fancy the idea of wandering around on foot. If given a moment, I'm sure I could get a local to get a message to my cousin. She could bring the necessities later."

Aithne smiles at Rowan:

"That sounds wonderful. So, it looks as if there are three votes to go out now, one to go to the temple of Kitry, and one in the middle. I would say let's go with Yaz's plan. With Rowan's addendum so that those more comfortable mounted can be so. And so we can get some food and other mundane supplies to ease our travels."

She turns to Yaz.

"Shall we?"

"Spravedelna does not rely on your Judgement to save the people of Opava," Winnacer replies. "Nor did we get a vote when you decided to take on the entire Nyemetz garrison alone. Good luck to you all. Perhaps with luck we will again meet in Opava."

Winnacer heads off with Milan:

Aithne sighs sadly:

"I guess not. Not that I got a vote either. Yaz, Rowan, Porter, shall we? It seems our friend Winnacer has little faith in any's ideas save his own."

Porter holds out his hands, almost pleadingly:

"Look, we're running out of time. Trust me, I'm the last person who'd agree with a LawBringer, but we can't make it out without the horses. Not only can't we move fast enough, but those draft horses had our tents! I know Yaz and Aithne can probably make it out there when it's below freezing, but I sure as hell can't, and I bet the nancy-boy can't either. Trust me, if we can find a place to hole up, I can get us out of the city, one way or another."

Porter yells at the paladin:

"Winnacer! Don't leave me with these death-wished psychos!"

"Then come along," Winnacer replies before helping him to his feet, taking some of Porter's gear onto his shoulder to help him move quicker.

While the others continue to debate the plan as to whether to storm the gates or call it a day, Porter remembers Faewen'il's request that he get hold of any magickal items lying around. He takes a look at the body of the Witchfinder lying among the party and grabs the Witchfinder's Rod and robe, as well as his pouch of spell components. He checks the body carefully, but sees that there is nothing else of interest to take.

As he does so, Porter looks up and speaks to Yaz, Aithne, and Rowan:

"It doesn't look like the LawBringer is changing his mind. If you guys make it through the gate, he'll never find you all on his own. I gotta stay behind with him to make sure he can catch up. Besides, I'm not sure I can survive a couple more volleys of arrow fire, which you all will have to get through. But I'll stay here and give you some cover fire until the heat gets too hot."

Winnacer looks around quickly, surveying the area and sighs:

"If you guys really want out, then go, if you believe you can make it. I'll take Milan, Porter, and myself to safety, bind our horrid wounds and get adequate supplies for us all. You go through the gate and figure out someway to survive. If you go through, they'll likely follow you immediately, letting the group on the inside make a cleaner get away. You get away and meet us at some pre-agreed point."

Porter looks up from the Witchfinder's body:

"The east road runs parallel to the River Bystritze for a bit more than a mile," he says. "It's fordable although it's gonna be freakin' cold in this weather. Let's meet up about a mile down the road. Keep to cover and keep a look out for us and we'll meet you there."

Winnacer nods and continues:

"We'll get the supplies and so forth out, hopefully in time before you guys start freezing. Porter will be a great help there. So go, before the orcs recover from Spravedelna's Holy Anger."

"If you're not leaving immediately," Rowan interrupts, "can you do me a favor?"

The LawBringer just stares at him.

"I just want you to get a note to someone. If you can just leave it at the Library and tell them to have someone pass it on to the Temple of Zlodey, then that's all."

Winnacer sighs in reply:

"Very well then."

Rowan nods and immediately starts to scribble a quick note.

"OK," Yaz says. "Let's see what's going on out there. Then we can decide whether it's gonna be possible or not."

The druid cautiously heads around the side of the building and pokes his head round the corner, half-expecting a volley of arrows to be directed at him. He checks out the situation carefully for a few seconds without any shooting. He then quickly returns to the others:

"It all looks the same as we left it," Yaz says. "I can't tell whether the orcs and goblins that Winn Feared have come and gone or whether they're about to return."

"Then let's do this thing," Aithne says resolutely.

Winnacer has a quick word with Milan:

"Milan, can you get the saddlebags and my greave from the ground? The others will make sure that the goblins are too preoccupied to worry too much about a kid."

Milan looks petrified:

"O-OK, then Lord Winnacer."

"Give me your shield and sword," Winnacer adds. "You've just got to try and act like you're just a curious kid who stumbles across our equipment and decides to check it out."

Yaz speaks to the others:

"So to start things off, I'm gonna call some of my feathered friends to really f*** with them. Once the birds have got them riled up, that's when Milan should make his move to get our stuff. We should all keep an eye upon the goblins. The second that Milan looks like he's in any kind of danger, Aithne and Porter, you two start pumping arrows into them as fast as you can."

He looks over at the swashbuckler and sighs:

"The two of us are the least f***ed up right now. If anyone's gonna get shot, then it will have to be us two. As soon as the others start shooting, we should just dash for the gate and keep on going until we get to cover on the other side. I'm gonna change into tiger-form so that I can move faster and give them some grief if we run into any trouble down there."

The druid looks back to Aithne:

"Once we've gotten through the gate, then they should have their backs to you and be shooting at us. That's when you should forget about shooting and run after us as quickly as possible."

"That shouldn't be a problem," Aithne agrees.

"I'm able to run pretty fast," she adds with a grin.

"So does that all make sense to everyone?" Yaz finishes.

There are nods all round.

"Here's the note," says Rowan, passing a folded piece of paper to Winnacer. "Now lets do this thing quick."

Yaz nods, then lifts his arms, and with grandiose gestures, eyes closed, he chants a few words that sound like a mixture of birdcalls and wind in the trees. Half a minute later, eight pigeons descend from over the top of the cottages and land in front of the druid, walking back and forth restlessly, waiting for a command.

"Now, go f*** with those goblins," Yaz instructs them.

Obediently, the pigeons take to the air and fly off towards the walls in order to annoy the goblins. As they do so, Porter and Aithne both nock arrows into their longbows and each hide around the corner of a cottage, drawing beads on the goblins, who are obviously still very jumpy and scanning the area for signs of any activity. While they do so, Yaz' form starts to morph, as his body starts to lengthen and his belongings melt into the orange stripy fur that is starting to sprout all over his body as he takes on the form of a tiger. Rowan gets into position behind Aithne, while Winnacer steers Milan to stand behind Porter.

From the party's positions, they all look at the walls to see the results of Yaz' plan. They see the pigeons obediently fly over the wall, flying low in order to try and spook the goblins a little. At first, it seems to be having little effect upon the goblins, as they simply glance up at the birds while maintaining their vigil upon the pavement below them.

The pigeons wheel around and, on their next fly past, the pigeons start to strafe the goblins with poop.

This gets a reaction.

The discipline of the goblins starts to break up at this point, as those that are splattered with pigeon-poop start to shout out at the departing birds in their high-pitched whines while those that were not hit start to laugh moronically at their comrades' misfortune.

As he sees the events unfold, Winnacer taps Milan on the shoulder and the squire nervously gets up from his position behind the wall and starts to saunter towards the dead horses lying upon the ground. Milan is now more scared than ever before and does a particularly bad job of sauntering, as he is now shaking quite badly and keeps looking up at the goblins. Luckily, the goblins have more problems to cope with as the pigeons wheel around once more and start to attack the greenskins, trying to peck their eyes out.

The sudden ferocity of the pigeon's attack takes the goblins totally by surprise. The orc sargeant leading the platoon and two of the other goblins are all pecked by the pigeons, with one of the goblins getting an eye pecked out by the bird, falling off the wall as it stumbles around in panic. The goblins respond with a volley of arrows aimed at the birds, with three of the pigeons tumbling out of the sky as they do so.

As the goblins' attention is distracted by the pigeons, Milan immediately sets to work. He withdraws a knife and starts to cut off the horses' saddlebags. The party members can all see that his hands are shaking, which is slowing him down a great deal, but the goblins still haven't seen him yet.

The pigeons wheel around in order to strike at the goblins again. All of the goblins are now enjoying the sport very much, seemingly having forgotten the fact that they are supposed to be keeping a lookout. Another volley of arrows flies out towards the pigeons as they close. The goblins prove themselves to be remarkably good shots, as all but one of the five remaining pigeons are taken out, crashing down to earth with arrows through their wings or bodies. The sole surviving pigeon bravely tries to peck at a goblin, but the greenskins are prepared for the attack and the pigeon cannot get close. It flies off and is quickly taken down by no less than four arrows.

Milan has, by now, almost finished his task, having taken the last of the saddlebags. As he does so, his nerve finally breaks and he rushes to pick up Winnacer's dropped greave so that he can get to cover as quickly as possible. With the pigeons now all slaughtered, one of the goblins sees Milan rushing for the greave and cries out. Aithne immediately responds by sending an arrow towards the goblin. It catches the little greenskin in the shoulder, sending it screaming out in pain.

Porter has been carefully aiming at the head of the orc sargeant for the duration of the pigeon attack. He lets go off the string but curses as his bad luck continues and the orc sargeant moves out of the way just as the arrow skims past him.

Milan immediately picks up the greave and starts running back to cover as quickly as he can. In order to try and divert the goblins' attention from the squire, both Rowan and tiger-Yaz start their charge towards the gate. The goblins' response is confused, as they send arrows flying at all of the possible targets.

Aithne gets the most of the goblins' attention as half of the goblins decide to target her. Several of the shots hit the corner of the cottage she is using as cover, but none manage to hit her. She takes another shot at the one that she wounded, but her shot just ricochets off the wall.

One of the goblins tries a shot at Milan, but the squire is running as fast as his legs will carry him and the arrow lands behind him. He continues running until he gets to Winnacer's side, where he collapses next to his Lord in the snow and proceeds to vomit in shock from the experience.

Another of the goblins tries a shot at tiger-Yaz, but his shot is so far off that it almost hits one of the goblins standing a short distance away. Three of the goblins try and shoot at Rowan. Two of the shots miss him by a whisker, but he manages to avoid any damage.

Porter, cursing his rotten luck, takes aim at the orc sargeant once more. Yet again his shot fails to find his target, breaking against the wall just inches below the sargeant's chest.

Rowan and tiger-Yaz run for the gate as fast as they can. As they pass beneath the gatehouse, the goblins fire another volley. However, the goblins appear to be more concerned with the archers firing shots at them than they are the escaping swashbuckler and overgrown cat.

Three more arrows fly out towards Aithne. Yet again, the fact that she is covered by the cottage and the medium range means that none of the arrows come anywhere close to hitting her. Aithne casually avoids all of the shots and fires another arrow at the injured goblin. This time she is bang on target, and the goblin crumples to a heap on the wall.

Porter is also targetted by three of the archers, but none of the arrows come close to hitting him. Getting really pissed now, Porter lets off another arrow towards the orc sargeant. Finally his luck returns and he hits the sargeant in the arm. It's not enough to finish him, but does send the greenskin bellowing out in pain.

Just one of the archers shoots at tiger-Yaz, but the goblin's aim is true and the arrow hits him in the flank, injuring him quite badly. Three more target Rowan as he rushes for the gatehouse. One of the arrows cuts his leg, but it doesn't throw him off his stride.

Rowan and tiger-Yaz pass through the gatehouse, out into the snowy fields surrounding Olmutz. They see a small stand of trees some ninety yards from the gatehouse and charge towards it. As Aithne sees many of the goblins turning their backs on her, she quickly puts her bow over her shoulder and charges after them, traveling at an incredible speed.

Porter shoots at the sargeant once more. He has obviously found his form now, as he is on target once more, hitting the orc in the chest, which is enough to drop him to the ground.

Once again it is Rowan who is the target of most of the shots from the eight remaining archers. Five arrows head towards him, but none of them manage to find their mark as the swashbuckler jinks out of the way, charging towards the safety of the bush. A couple try and shoot at tiger-Yaz, but both of them miss by a mile and the pair of them finally make it to the stand of trees. Immediately that they make it, they look around to see if there are any enemies around, panting for breath as they do so. The coast seems to be clear, however.

Aithne sees the reason why as she speeds away from the cottages and through the gatehouse. As an arrow flies harmlessly over her head, she sees that a company of 20 goblin spearmen are trying to chase after her, the six previously Feared orcs pointing them in the right direction. She doesn't stop to look, however, but flies through the gatehouse as fast as she can in order to meet up with the others in the stand of trees.

Porter sees the goblin spearmen on their way, trying to chase after Aithne but getting left far behind in her wake. He quickly puts his bow over his shoulder and gets up, turning to face Winnacer and Milan:

"Time to go," he says as he starts to move off. "Now we're the ones in the most danger."

With a final look at the fast disappearing Aithne, Winnacer nods his head. Taking the still shocked Milan by the elbow, they quickly vacate the area as fast as they can.

Aithne continues to run out of the gate and towards the stand where Rowan is shouting encouragement towards her. Four shots from the goblins fly around her, but her light refracting cloak saves her from any danger. With great relief, she finds the temporary sanctuary of the copse and quickly shouts to the others:

"Twenty goblin spearmen are after us. Let's get the bastards!"

Aithne turns to Rowan, and adds, slightly out of breath, doubtless from the recent run:

"Um, I think you dropped this."

She then hands him his whip that he dropped in the haste to get away from the goblin archers after using it to keep the orcs upon Milan at bay.

Rather distracted by the situation at hand, Rowan replies:

"What? Oh, of course. Must have dropped it back there. My thanks to you."

Yaz growls loudly, forgetting the form he's in. He morphs back into a pothead:

"Huh, that was easy."

He dusts himself off, then turns to Aithne:

"Yeah, let's stay for a sec. We can take 'em."

Rowan quickly counts on his fingers and mutters, half to himself:

"At my best, I could not take more than a dozen...."

Yaz turns to him and grins:

"I don't think that there will be that many left once I lay a surprise on them."

The druid sees the company of goblins continuing to charge towards them and casually reaches into his pouch, producing some holy ganja plus seven long thorns. He takes the weed and the thorns into his hand and starts to cast towards the ground immediately in front of them. Nothing seems to have happened, but Yaz appears to be very confident:

"The snow on the ground just makes this too easy," he chuckles to himself.

Rowan looks confused:

"What does?" he asks.

"Prirodna's very own caltrops," he replies pointing to the ground just before their position, "all over the ground here, 35' wide and 20' deep. No gobbo will survive if they run through it."

He draws his scimitar and bares his teeth:

"Hardly fair, when you think about it."

He grins a scowly grin:

"We'll flee when they're dead."

Aithne looks at Yaz and returns his grin with one of her own:

"Let's see if I can avoid cutting my own leg off," she laughs softly, drawing her swords once more.

"Indeed, it is a good day to die," Rowan comments, coiling his whip, "for goblins, anyway. Surely the caltrops will not kill them outright, but trapped between them and us, they do not stand a chance."

He draws Chanticleer and tries a few cuts in the air to loosen his arm.

"Oi! Pack that in," grunts Chanticleer. "Makes my 'ead go all funny when yer piss about like that."

"It IS rather chilly out here, isn't it?" Rowan remarks to no one in particular as the goblins get to within 20 yards of the group's position.

An imaginary goblin falls from a quick stop-thrust.

"If I'd known I'd be fleeing a garrison of Nyemetz into an open field of snow, I would've dressed more appropriately," he adds.

The goblins get closer still as they continue their charge, gibbering excitedly as they close upon the threesome standing among the trees, casually watching the goblins approach with their swords in their hands.

As the goblins close to within 25' of your position, their gibbering immediately turns into screams as their formation starts to disintegrate. The goblins are screaming out in agony as the momentum of the charge carries them through the first half of the spiky patch. Thirteen of the 20 goblins immediately fall from having their feet lacerated by the razor-sharp spikes beneath the ground, impaling themselves upon the spikes as they crash to the ground.

Just the orc sargeant and six goblins manage to stop themselves from falling into the spikes, although all of them are hopping around in agony. They stop in confusion, petrified to move from where they are standing through fear of going the same way as their comrades.

At seeing that there is going to be little chance of getting into hand-to-hand combat with the goblins, Aithne quickly sheathes her blades and swings her longbow off her shoulder. She quickly nocks an arrow into it and sends it flying towards the stationary orc sargeant. At this range, she can hardly miss. It only catches the sargeant in the leg, but this is enough to fell him and he tumbles to the ground, impaling himself as most of his company have done already.

The death of the sargeant freaks the gibbering goblins out even more and they immediately turn tail and run. Bad move for the goblins, as five of the six remaining goblins, already injured as a result of the outbound leg of the journey, fall beneath the spikes behind them.

Just one of the goblins manages to survive the spike field and desperately tries to charge towards the gate, squealing in agony as his terribly cut up feet churns up the snow.

Not wanting to see even one of the little greenskins to escape, Aithne raises her bow once more and loosens off another arrow at the critter. The arrow flies true, catching the goblin between the shoulder blades and it falls to the ground like a stone.

Yaz grins at his two colleagues:

"Told you that was gonna be easy, didn't I? Still, I guess we should be heading out of here now before they send the worgriders after us. That might not be such a walkover."

Aithne sighs:

"Yaz, next time can you just let us fight them? That was no fun at all."

With that, the druid reaches up and plucks a sprig from the pine tree above him. He takes his flint and steel and sets light to the green leaves. He spends a minute muttering an incantation and then sprinkles the embers from the burnt sprig around them.

"Stay close to me, so you won't make tracks," Yaz says once the embers are spread around. "Aithne, you know a good place to hide around here while we wait?"

"Well, it's heavily forested to the northeast," Aithne replies, looking carefully through the still falling snow in that direction, "about two miles away from here is the treeline. I think they'd have trouble finding us there."

"Hmmm. It would be nice if we could have some aerial recon," Aithne thinks out loud. "Can your owl do that kind of thing? Or could you?"

"Her name is Gertrude," Yaz replies, eying the owl circling overhead, "and... yeah, I think she should be able to do that."

"Gertrude. I'll remember that," Aithne replies, "that will be great."

"Gertrude," repeats Rowan with a faraway look in his eye. "Well I do remember a fair maiden by that name in... where was it she lived again?"

"Ah, my misadventures do run together, I fear."

He sighs, casting a casual glance in the direction of the gate:

"Still, a delightful lass, she was-- that much I certainly recall."

Aithne tries, not very hard, to stifle a laugh.

With that, Yaz leads the way from the stand of trees, with both Aithne and Rowan staying close to him as requested. They head straight for the treeline, keeping the stand of trees between them and the city so that those on watch are unable to see the direction that they are taking. Miraculously, although they are wading through deep snow, the footprints mystically disappear immediately after they have made the tracks.

After just a couple of minutes heading for the trees at a fair pace, they see the River Bystritze across their path. It's just 50' across and the banks slope down gently, but there is ice at the edges of the slow-moving river between the reeds:

"Oh shit," Yaz exclaims, having bad memories of spending too much time in cold streams. "Do we really have to do this?"

Aithne just nods.

The three of them brace themselves and rush into the shallow but cold waters:

"Fuuuuuuuuuuucccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkk!!!!!!!!" cries Yaz as the cold water reaches his nads.

Aithne and Rowan don't seem to be too keen on the cold dip either and the extreme cold just serves to spur them on to cross the river as quickly as possible.

They emerge from the other side, dripping wet and freezing cold. Shivering, they continue to head for the trees, reaching the start of the forested area to the northeast of the city after an hour. They wander into the forest for a couple more hundred yards until they are sure that they cannot be seen from the city and then Aithne immediately lights a fire beneath a large sycamore tree. Once the fire is ablaze, they all sit as close to it as they can, anxious to dry off their clothes that are now frozen to their bodies.

"By the way, druid," Rowan asks as they sit warming themselves around the fire, "at some convenient time, remind me to ask you how it is you are able to assume the form of a tiger. Doubtless my cousin would know, but I have never seen such a feat before."

Yaz sits relaxed against a tree, smoking his pipe and holding his stomach tenderly. He looks a little confused:

"I thought your cousin was..." -- he belches slightly -- "...dead?"

"You are not amusing," Rowan replies, dead serious. "I am sure she will join us anon."

The druid blows ganja smoke into the air before continuing, eyes heavy:

"Secret of my Circle, I guess... although I don't know what the secret is. Prirodna grants us the power when She figures we're ready. She showed me how, in the forest near the Nemotz temple, and since then I can become practically any creature, as long as it's not too big. Couldn't do a horse, fer instance."

"Pity. We could use a fast mount right about now." Rowan sighs and looks off towards the city gates.

Yaz shrugs:

"Different than werewolf changing though. The werewolf disease is just once a month, at full moons, and there's like, no control, you just blank out and it... it happens."

He goes quiet, scowling. Soon, he starts absently scratching his chin, where several longish hairs seem to be growing:

"I gotta get rid of it, man. Prirodna'll never forgive me if I go around eating things again. Holy shit."

"'Eating things' wouldn't be such a problem, if the 'things' in question weren't people," Rowan says. "Incidentally, I suppose I should apologize for my angry words earlier. I have dispatched a courier to deliver a missive to my cousin, and have good reason to believe she is, in fact, alive."

The druid takes another drag on the pipe:

"What about you? How do you make your scimitar grunt like that?

"Scimitar?" The swordsman almost looks offended and draws his rapier. "My good sir, this is no clumsy orc blade, but Chanticleer-- not only a perfectly-balanced duelling weapon, but, by all accounts, possessed of unusual powers as well. I admit, I do not understand all of them--"

"Look, mate, if yer not goin' to 'ave it off with 'er--" the rapier grunts before its owner cuts it off by quickly sheathing it again. He looks at the others with a charming, embarrassed grin.

"...but it is a fine weapon, nonetheless.

"We will speak later," he adds in Nyemetz, to Chanticleer, "but for now, silence!"

"Where did you learn to speak the tongue of the grove-rapers?" Yaz asks between drags.

"The grove-rapers?" Rowan questions. "Ah, Nyemetz. My father is a wealthy merchant, far northwest of here, and a Nyemetz collaborator."

He shrugs, used to the resentment and hatred this usually provokes.:

"I do not care for such things, myself; politics are dull. As was life at home, actually.... In any event, learning Nyemetz was almost a necessity."

And... what's with Winnacer?" Yaz asks. "You got your finger up his ass somehow... How'd you do it? We can compare notes, maybe."

The druid receives a perplexed look from Rowan:

"Not only do I not have my 'finger up his ass somehow,' but I wouldn't tell you how even if I had-- that is a personal matter, you know. If you refer to the... what is the word? The 'tension' between us, I suppose my tryst with Clarissa last night would explain that. He seems overly protective of her. To be honest, I wasn't aware she was his sister. I mean, he referred to her as 'sister,' but, in all fairness, she IS a priestess...."

Yaz smiles broadly at the swashbuckler, showing flat, yellowing teeth. He takes his pipe by the bowl and holds it out to him to take:

"Well here's to that, then!" he cries, grinning ridiculously.

Rowan puts up a halting hand, almost fearful of what the eccentric druid could have in his pipe. "Thanks, but no."

Yaz waits for another hour, by which time it is approaching noon. He turns to Gertrude, who has returned to sit upon his shoulder, and starts to caw and screech to Gertrude her in owlish. He then starts to mumble another incantation and then goes into a trance as the owl flies off, heading back in the direction of the city.

Yaz is in the trance for what seems like an age, sitting totally motionless. Eventually he snaps out of it and shakes his head:

"Can't see any sign of them yet," he says. "There's a hell of a fuss at the gate, as might be expected. Seems as if half of the Nyemetz garrison is wandering around out there now. There's a company of worgriders patrolling around there with them, but I guess that they haven't been able to pick up our trace or else they'd be here by now."

The druid shrugs:

"I guess that we just have to sit it out and wait for them. Gertrude should be able to lead them here when they get through the gate."

They continue to sit around the fire and chat with each other. At one point Chanticleer starts to speak to Rowan:

"Pssst, oi, mate," it grunts. "Yer still 'aven't given 'er a good seein' to yet. Are yer a pussy or somefin'? Go on, do 'er now, while yer got yer chance."

"Or are yer just a big chicken?"

"Quiet, you," Rowan hisses back. "You are a sword; start acting like one. We will speak later."

"F*** you!" Canticleer grunts back in Nyemetz, its voice muffled by the scabbard. "I didn't want to be yer bleedin' sword any way. Turn me back into an orc an' I'll leave you alone."

"I didn't 'turn' you into anything, imbecile," Rowan replies angrily. "I don't know what--"

"Wouldn't be so bad if you's turned me into a decent sword, like a broadsword or somefing," Chanticleer continues. "This is a bleedin' girl's sword, this is. You should get yourself a decent sword mate; one that can 'ack someone's 'ead off."

"Just be quiet, for now," Rowan repeats. "I promise you, we will have this all sorted out later."