The Beginnings

Lordsbane glowered up at the armored knight, "I think not."

And with that he in one single movement swung the small stone knife that had been at the water man's throat into the knight's blade, knocking it away from him, while at the exact same time hefting the water man, by his hair, in an arc off the ground and into the knight.

Lordsbane then quickly rolled and away, leaving the tangled mess of the two men and in a few quick leaps, dodging between the stunned knights, dove back into the devastatedwater hovel.

Meanwhile, as the barbarian fought, his steed leapt into the air and directly towards one of the archers. . .

Inside the hovel, Lordsbane quickly found the small elven sword he had taken from the dark elf; his large hand dwarfing it. If they wanted a fight, he would give it to them.

Bereth cried out as the barbarian heaved him into the other man, but he had never been more relived. The chances of Archons showing up here was so minute that Bereth had no choice but to say it was a miracle. Perhaps Synora was looking out for him after all. And not only were they Archons, but they were warriors armed to the teeth. Still, the barbarian and his "steed" were still loose, so Bereth figured he had better find some way to defend himself.
He threw himself off the warrior, apologizing as he did, and began crawling through the wet grass, looking for his staff. After a few moments, he saw it and ran to it, snatching it up and clinging to it like an old friend. He then whipped around, seeing only the cat, its master having run off he assumed. He pointed the staff at the cat and offered up a silent prayer to Synora, and sent another ball of ice shards at the cat.

As the tiger pounced, the crossbowmen fired as one, perfectly in unison. The other knights attacked the cat, charging with their lances.

Baroth on the other hand was enraged. Somehow the barbarion had gotten the better of him. As the water elf got off of him, Baron quickly stood up, grabbed his sword and shield, and rushed into the hovel, where he found the cowardly barbarion. two knights behind dismounted and rushed in also.

"Trapped sissy man. Time to die, and meet your maker" Baron snickered, then charged, giving a battle cry, shield ready for the first strike. The others followed.

Lordsbane crouched ready for the shield charge when it came. It was foolish of the knight to dismount and follow him inside, as his opponent charged the barbarian lowered his shoulder and just at the instant the shield would crush him against the wall used his muscular arms to vault himself over the shield and square into the knight's helm. Then he fell to with the small elven blade hacking at any part of the knight he could.

The cat, however, was not faring as well; as arrows and ice ripped into him, blood began to flow. Being a feline of the chaos persuasion though, this did not seem to deter him much. the flowing blood and pain only fueling the vicious feline's energy and will to destroy. Leaping into the small group of crossbowmen, claws extended and teeth bared he scratched with powerful paw at anything with in reach; biting any poor soul that got too close to his wretched teeth.

Meanwhile, in the distance, not in the direction of the water peoples, but from the opposite direction, the wilder areas of Urak, a small cloud of dust appeared and began to grow rapidly, as whatever it was quickly closed the distance to the position of the warring combatants; as the charging group grew closer, should anyone be paying attention they would hear the howls of wolves as a band of warring orcs were attracted to the fray.

(OOC: thought this would give all a reason to come together. Feel free to have at them, if you can. I know there is still an angry tiger and a raging barbarian on the loose. . . )

Bereth, despite having a insane large cat mauling people before his very eyes, was the first to notice something amiss. In his time living outside of the Viantha capital, he had learned to listen at all times, to pay attention to everything, otherwise he would have been dead by now. He heard, just faintly, the howl of wolves, and immediately he knew what was coming. Orcs. They were the only ones who used wolves as steeds, and the large wolves of the mountains never came down on their own, preferring the easier game of the mountains. This was no doubt a raiding party, taking advantage of the chaos and disorder that had followed the fall of the Viantha to take what they could. Bereth began to wonder if perhaps he had done something to anger the gods, that they were now taking their revenge by throwing every bizarre and terrifying threat they could. Bereth also silently cursed all barbarians and their ilk. In his mind, orcs were no different from the musclebound ox that was in his hovel now.
Bereth didn't think it was a good idea to stick around to wait for the orcs to arrive and start killing, when an idea occured to him, a way to slow them down. He wasn't sure if he could pull it off. He was already feeling drained from the other spells, and he had only done this particular spell once. Still, nothing to lose.
Bereth shut the angry cries of the tiger out of his mind, and concentrated on the flow of magic around him, and on tapping into Synora. He offered up another prayer, this one longer and more complicated, accompanied with several gestures. His staff's crystal began to shine, pulsing softly at first, then gelaming brilliantly. As he said the last word of the prayer, he brought the butt of the staff down against the ground. From where it struck the ground, thin wisps of fog began wafting into the air. Suddenly, fog began rising in a similar fashion every where in sight, the ground itself giving up the water in the soil at Bereth's command. Soon it was rising thicker and thicker, coating everything in a pale white cloying blanket. After a few moments, it had covered everything, obscuring all from sight. If nothing else, this might spook the orcs and keep them away. Either way, It would very difficult to find one water mage sneaking through the woods in this white-out. The fog bank extended for almost a mile in diameter, and Bereth knew several places to hide in that area.
As he began to creep off into the fog, the water whispering to him and telling him what was ahead, he felt a swell of pride within. Calling up a fog bank like that was an advanced magic, one that many students in the tower had struggled with. He, a man had pulled it off after having only done it once. True, his magical reserves were fairly drained. He had enough left for maybe one or two icebolts, but that was it.
He vanished silently into the fog.

The clatter of the approaching orcs drew ever nearer to the small devastated hovel. Even in the dense fog they raged forward and into the small group still outside the house. The injured and ferocious feline still tearing at the order minions, completely unvexed by the newly arrived orc raiders who fel on the group.

Meanwhile, inside the hovel, Lordsbane continued to batter at the approaching Paladin and his fellow knights. Seeing that most anything would be useless sans weapon, Lordsbane went for the one weak point he could see on the attacking paladin, his eyes. With his string caluoused, quite dirty fingers, the barbarian jabbed the armored warrior in the eyes, hard.

And with that he grabbed the warriors sword and lunged at the other knights, blade swinging wildly, as his roars mingled with the shouts and cries of the battle taking place in the fog outside the hovel.

As the din of the battle faded away, as the water worshipping male slunk away through the fog of his own creation, another party was quietly encroaching on the already quite busy area not too terribly far from the water capital that was now besieged by the death hordes. This party, however, was not of death, water, or even of chaos, order, or the raiding swarms that had recently begun to spring up across Urak; no, this was yet another party, differing from all the others, and it was this party that was almost silently encircling the wearied and wandering Bereth in the deep dense fog.

Then as Bereth continued to slowly press forward, at the fringes of his vision and to the strain of his ears he would hear faint hoofbeats and see the shadows of riders as they suddenly closed in all around him. Riding quickly and lightly the horsemen clad in heavy armor and bearing wickedly cruel looking lances encircled the lone water mage, lances pointed directly at their new target.

"Halt" one of them said gruffly and in a commanding tone, "Identify yourself or risk the swift end of your time to draw breath; your trespass into these lands will not go unpunished."

Bereth let out a little sigh. Was the entire world coverging on his little hovel? He looked at the heavily armed horsemen, and started doing what Viantha men did best. Groveling.
"I am Bereth of the Viantha, if it pleases you sirs. I am not trespassing, but merely trying to get away from the combat taking place not far from here. Surely you can hear it. I have no wish but to be left alone safely. I mean you no offense."

Baron was surprised as the Chaos warriers strength. There had been rumers that one barbarion could take on a squad of fresh men, but Baron had dismissed them as rumurs. As the barbarion attempted to poke Baron's eyes, he fell backwords grabbing his eyes.

His men however, were more prepared. Instead of surprised, they worked together. One ran forword connecting with the barbarion with his shield, while the other jumped to the side, and then rushed forword, sword flashing bright. Baroth was attempting to stand up, though he was still holding his eyes.

The men outside were faring well. Their morale high, they charged at the approaching orcs, spears ready. These men slayed dragons, and usually without fear. Orcs would be easy for them.

The archers were the only ones that weren't faring well. Only one alive, when the tiger jumped on him, he pulled a knife and tried to stab the beast's neck.

Lordsbane collided solidly with the knight's shield, and barely had time to bring up his now stolen blade to block the other knight's attack, deflecting it enough to avoid a death blow, but not quite enough to avoid being struck a grazing blow down the arm.

As the blood began to flow from his newest wound, the barbarian swung about to meet the second knight, blade flashing, he swung the stolen order warrior's blade with as much might as he could muster; throwing it straight at the knight that had just slashed at him. Things were obviously not looking too good; a few knights he didn't mind, but what with the trials of the recent days weighing on him, and the orcs that were even now beginning to make their way into the small crowded hovel, he wasn't 100% sure how he was going to make it through this one.

Outside the tiger did not fare so well as the blade grazed his neck, blood spurting from a number of wounds. With a roar he jumped at the final remaining archer, completely ignoring the orc warriors that were now also beginning to take stabs at him and any others they could find in the dense fog.

(OOC: Feel free to do whatever you want to with the orcs. They are fair game!)

Meanwhile, just a short distance away, where the cries of the ensuing skirmish could just still faintly be heard, the nine armored riders listened to their quarry plead his case before their wicked halberds.

Then one of the riders, behind the water mage spoke, his voice dark coming from behind his helm, "If you are not a spy for the dark lord's forces even now overthrowing the people of these lands, why are you not working with your brethren or off serving your mistress in defense of your people? Surely the fearsome Amazons are not going to send their own off to skulk about alone when there are defenses to be manned. Explain this; but be warned, any lies and your warm blood will be used to fertlize the very soil you now walk upon!"

"Where have you been!?!?!" Bereth shouted at the riders, that odd streak of Amazonian pride showing through again. "The Viantha have fallen! The only remainder of our people are on the few free island strongholds. Besides, I am not welcome amongst my people."
Bereth looked down before continuing, "I have been banished, and only death awaits if I return. On my own, I cannot stop or hinder the armies of death! I merely wait for an opportunity to strike and hurt the vile forces who have enslaved my people."
Bereth looked back up, "Besides, why do you speak of death as evil? You are dressed as they are. Are you telling me you do not serve their cause?"

"I would've thought that you sea faring folks had more brains than that," spoke a gruff voice as a short cloaked figure dropped solidly onto the ground, "obviously if you aren't dead than there is something amiss isn't there?"

Once on the ground, the small figure's form looked to be shorter than even your average, say, elf, but given the cloak and the rough outline of the body, one couldn't be quite entirely sure what one was facing, perhaps that was the reason for the cloak.

The riders tightened their grips on their bladed pole arms and kept them leveled at the solitary water being. The same rider that had first spoke spoke again, "Who one was is not always what one must become. No one has fallen too far as to be completely lost."

Another of the rider's nodded and added, "The only irredeemable are those who do not wish to be redeemed."

And yet another, "Yes, the darkness' so sweet at first, but in the end a sweet and unsatisfying madness."

And still another, "That is the bueaty of the earth. She is ancient, she accepts our blood sacrifices in turn, and takes us for what we are, when no one else would have us; not even our own."

"Ya, ya, ya," grunted the short cloaked being, "We all know how grateful you lot are for us giving you a second chance at existence; but this fella' doesn't need to know about your past, what he needs to know is that if," he turned and as he spoke looked directly at Bereth, walking forward, and from the folds of his cloak a shiny silver blade extended, "one is in search of a second chance or a new start, that Terrak is quite willing to give those who request of him a chance to redeem himself, provided he is willing to help his new cause."

and now standing directly in front of Bereth he said, "So. . .human; are you someone who might need to fel the redeeming powers of the earth? After all, it might go better for you that way. . ." And with that from the other hand nestled in the folds of the dark forest green cloak a small glass vial with blue liqiud came sailing out in an arc towards the mage; mana.

as the men tried to fight the crazy barbarian, with little luck trying to wound him, Baron sat on the ground, recovering from the deadly eye-poke. As he attempted to stood up, he noticed the abundance of furniture around. While the barbarian was turned away from Baron, he quickly stood up, grabbed a chair that was knocked onto its side, and attempted to slam it on the barbarian's head.

While the fight inside the cabin was happening, the men fought bravely. However, they did have one problem. They were more trained for Dragons, and while some did know tactics against orks most just fought blindly, much like the orks. and it appeared to be useful. The men fought with rage of the beasts they so gallantly slew, and even began scaring the orks away.

The archer did one thing. He ran. He had put his knees to the breeze, and ran like all the armies of the undead were rising up from the ground at his feet, which in his mind couldn't be much different from the cat. As he ran, one stray knight noticed him, and rode by, picked him up, and set him on the back of his saddle. This was done easily, being he was strong and the archer light. Then he rode back into the battle with the orks, ignoring the cat.

Lordsbane raged madly at the knights, both blades hissing through the air as he cracked away at his enemies, then suddenly, with a sickening crack everything went white and he began to see bright spots, stars at it were, as he felt his body slowly falling to the ground, a sharp pain splitting his head. As he fell back one thought passed through his pain-racked head, 'fight or die.' and then a small smile passed over his face, 'or perhaps; fight, die anyways, take some of them with me.' and with that he slammed into the ground, blind with pain and rage, he swung the swords at random all around him, and as the pain subsided to a dull roar in his head he could see his attacker, broken chair in hands, and with a mighty heave he rolled back swinging both swords in a scissoring action at the mans upper legs, to high to jump over, but still at the legs hoping to wound them severely. 'If anything, this man won't walk when he is through with me'

The muscular fur clad man had long ago accepted that death was inevitable and it’s dawning unknown, but for sure, he had a hunch it was cresting the hills of his life quite soon. He could sense it, the spirits preparing for his coming, for the freedom to wreak havoc free from his earth bound body. He would enjoy tormenting these stringent tin men for years to come . . . provided he did not destroy them now that is.

Outside the fierce jungle cat tore away at any that got close to it as blood continued to flow freely from its multiple wounds. Ever so slowly the cat’s fierce attacks grew slower and more and more attackers landed their blows until the cat fell at last in a bloody torn heap, not even worthy of skinning, for the many cuts, tears, and wounds punctured throughout its body.


Meanwhile, the short being looked at Bereth, "best make your decision quickly fish man, lest that carnage followers your tracks over yonder," he siad pointing at the wet footprints left by Bereth in the moist grass.

Baron smiled as the barbarian fell. But then he heard himself scream in pain as he felt his leg be cut by blades working like scissors. He stepped backward and fell. When he recovered, he gave his leg a good looking, while the others watched the barbarian, not sure if it was dead. When it attacked, they quickly stabbed it's back.

Baron's face was grim. While the wound wasn't lethal, it had severely wounded his leg. If it wasn't for the armor and his fortunate pulling away right before the attack, he may have not had a leg any more. But as he tried to stand, pain struck him. However, he ignored it, too enraged to care. With the rage of a dragon, he kicked the head of the human, and pulled a knife from his side, and stabbed the barbarian in the neck. Then, screaming, he grabbed both of the swords out of the barbarian's hands, and stabbed them both in his neck, making sure he would die.

"You son of a lizard! you shall rot forever it the pits of the uncleansed dead!" He shouted. He was completely unaware of the blood draining from one of the swords into his hand.

Bereth began to relax as the short man talked of Terrak. This could only mean followers of the Earth faith. The other riders were then easily explained. Earth was known for being hte most open and forgiving of all faiths, even accepting the unacceptable followers of death. When the man tossed Bereth the mana potion, he uncorked and gulped it down after a quick thank you. He could already feel his magical strength returning, his sixth sense attuned to the underground stream, drops of water slowly dripping off leaves, and even the blood pumping through the veins of the orcs and humans currently battling one another. The magical sense quickly wore off, simple a side-effect of the potion. He stood up.
"I have no intention of changing faiths. I will not run or hide. If this war ever ends and the Viantha are returned to their beautiful city, I will fight for the right to practice my magic in piece. However, for now, I am with you. Your enemies are mine!"

The short earthen being scoffed at the water mage's reply.
"Do you not flee at this very moment you coward? Yet you speak of standing and fighting."

Then with a shrug of his shoulders, "It matters little to me what you choose to do. Your soul is your own to choose your fate; however, you are welcome to follow us. But be warned, no funny business or else. . "and with that he pointed at the surrounding riders.

And then in a much cheerier voice the short being, using a rider's leg, swung himself back up behind one of the dark elves. "Best be off, it seems there is a bit of a skirmish taking place over yonder," pointing in the direction of the orkish-human brawl now taking place, "Seems they might have something I'm looking for."

and with that the small band of riders took off at a quiet gallop, thanks to the loving powers of the earth, towards the orcs and knights now fighting.


Meanwhile, Lordsbane breathed his final breath as multiple blades pierced his body, and he fell in a pool of his own blood, lifeless on the ground, his spirit slowly preparing to leave his body when the sun would set; for in life he was dead, but the spirit of Lordsbane smiled, now he was free to wreak havoc upon these murderous uptight order cowards.


And then quite suddenly the dark riders of earth fell upon the gaggle of battling warriors, cutting and slashing with their wicked halberds.

Baron smiled as his enemy drew his last breath. He felt strength return to him as the blood flowed from the sword into his body. That made him puzzled. He pulled the sword from the body and looked at it, gazing at the blood flowing. "Dark Blade" he muttered, and he was about to toss it aside, but he didn't. The blade could have been useful.

Though this would have been hard to break to the men, him using a dark elf sword. But then he noticed that him men whom were inside were now out, and battle cries of orcs and humans were going on. He slowly tried to step forward, but felt some pain in his left leg. He had momentarily forgotten about his wound. No matter, he wouldn't let a flesh wound stop him.

When he limped outside of the door, he gazed slightly at the ocurring battle. His men were fighting bravely, but there was a chance they would lose. Suddenly he noticed the band of riders, elfs from the looks of it, though there was one short being amonst them. He smiled. They had the smell of earth apon them.

Quickly, he grabbed a small horn at his side, brought to his lips, and blew into it. Afterwords, he shouted, "Kill the orcs!" At the sound of the horn, his horse, across the battlefield, ran through the rampage and suddenly was at his side. He quickly mounted, and rode into battle, sword out and shielde ready. Seeing him in the battle, the men fought harder.

The dark riders fell upon the orcs with the eerie screams that accompanied any dark elves as they fell too with a ferocious intensity matched by little else on any field of battle across Urak.

Tearing ferociously through the Orcs, as would a flame through straw, the elves made their way into the fray surrounding any downed or injured humans that had been a part of the knight's now decimated company.

Once into the fray the short being threw himself from the back of the horse and directly onto a nearby orc. With strong hands he quickly snapped the raider's neck, using the falling creature's body to come in for a soft landing.

And then from within the folds of the dirty gray robe came a small flashing silvery blade, that flew out with a vengeance in the hands of the short being who began to swing and stab at any that might come near as he made his way towards the wounded knight, who was obviously the leader; Any who happened to fall in the way of the being and his blade were quickly downed with a shimmer as the blade found it's mark.

By the time he had reached the side of the much taller mounted man, most of the orcs had been slain, and those few who had managed to escape were now high tailing it out of the area, convinced that somehow they had been the unfortunate victims of their victims, who could be nothing more than followers of Balkoth, Lord of Death.

Baron was confused at what to do. On one hand, the riders were killing the orcs. On the other hand, they seemed a lot like death beings, save for the short being. He seemed like something else, though Baron couldn't place his finger on it.

In the middle of the fray, he quickly called his men to him, gathering them into a group. If these riders were death people, he wanted to be ready to fight again.

When the orcs ran for their lives, The dragon slayers merely looked in the direction of the riders. Baron was half-tempted to attack them outright, but they had helped him, and the men were most likely tired. Instead, he had his sword ready, clean due to it absorbing the blood.

As he looked at the faces of the elves, and asked, "where does your allegiance stand?" This question was quite safe, at least, that's what baron thought.

Bereth ran up heedless of the tension between the two groups. All he knew was that this knight and his men and these strange riders had just fought off a bunch of orcs and a crazy raider. They had saved his home, what little was left of it anyway. He then saw the wounds on the lead knight and frowned. It looked to him like the barbarian hadn't gone quietly. Bereth looked at him, then closed his eyes and began concentrating. While the Viantha weren't knights, they still followed a code of honor, though it was less strict than that of the Archons. Bereth felt indebted to these people. It was the least he could do to heal their leader.
Bereth turned his concentration inward, diving deeper and deeper into himself until he found the wellspring of life that filled his body with vitality. Every living being had it. The Viantha called it the Holy Spring. It was a common superstition that the true Holy Spring of the temple was the original source of the earth's lifeforce, though most people, like Bereth, didn't take this claim seriously.
Once he had found his lifespring, it was a simple matter to redirect the flow, to siphon off a part of it and transfer it to another. He used his magic power, offering up a prayer as he did, and used his own life-force to heal the lead knight of his wounds. The wounds closed, leaving only streaks of pink tissue behind, like that of a newborn. His internal wounds knitted themselves up as well, and the blood that had leaked internally was purged or put back in the bloodstream as the knight's body put the excess healing magic to good use. Bereth had always prided himself on his healing talents. He may not have been an elf, but he was still skilled.
Bereth nearly fell down as the spell finished. He had drained a little too much out of himself than was probably safe. Still, he could fix it before he lost conciousness. He concentrated again, and healed himself using his own magical power, sighing as the pure liquid-like magic flowed through his veins, restoring his strength.
The end result, Bereth had used a good portion of the mana he had recovered from the potion, but both him and the knight were healed.

Baron Paused for a moment. He felt something, that he had never felt before. It was feeling of nourishment, and healing. He could have sworn all of the pain in his wounded leg had dissapeared. He giggled it slightly to make sure it wasn't going numb, and found it wasn't, and that it had healed perfectly, like a brand new leg.

Then he noticed the Water being. When the water being fell, he suddenly knew that
the healing came from him, most likely for saving him when trapped under the cursed barbarion. Baron said nothing, but noted that he would need to thank the being later on, most likely in private. But for now, he waited for the answer from the riders. If they were death, he would fight them for the sake of the Amazon.

The orcs having fled who could, leaving any others that could not behind, the short squat cloaked being was just about to answer when the mage he had given the potion to returned and apparently healed the man.

Watching the situation he quickly signalled the mounted elven riders; with a wave of his hand they began making their way through the fallen bodies. In moments the cries and moans of the few wounded left were quickly drowned out as their sharp blades ended the lives of those who had been left behind. Then two of the riders dismounted and began to rifle through the belongings and garments of the newly fallen dead; heedless of who they were or which side of the battle they had been on, taking anything they thought might be of value and tucking it away to show to the shorter being after the remained of the situation had been resolved.

None of the riders however, ever took their attention completely away from the small being with them, if the knight tried anything they knew they would be quick to unleash all the elven fury built up within their bodies.

Looking up at the knight, the short being pushed back his hood, revealing a small round face and a nest of unkept curly blonde hair streaked with either bits of brown or dirt and mud, it was difficult to decide which.

In his slightly squeaky voice the halfling spoke, "I ask you the same question. It is quite obvious where we stand is it not; you aren't dead, that should be good enough. Besides, why don't you get down from there and make yourself of some use. Go gather some firewood so we can have a meal; it is getting rather late after. . ."

and with that he was cut off, as quite suddenly there was a rather odd popping noise from behind him, near the fallen chaos cat, as one of the dismounted riders vanished in a puff and was replaced by a large winged stone statue.

With a sigh, the halfing turned around and looked, "Darvit! Every time we find stuff that blasted elf always has the need to try stuff on, no matter who it came off of. One of these days Terrak's not gonna let him get away with this. . ." he muttered as he turned back to the mounted rider with a look that said 'why are you still standing there staring, get to work.'

Baron could'nt help but not smile. A Halfling! These were the Earth people. that was the only explanation for the dark elves, being Earth was the most forgiving of all. He motioned to the men. "You heard the hobbit. Start getting firewood. Herald, Nick, start looking over for our wounded. Make sure that these elves don't kill any of our people"

With that, the men, still a little tense, started moving off, while two men went through the bodies.

Baron turned back to the halfling. "Might i ask why the earth people are so far from their land?" Suddenly he shook his head. "Where are my manners?" He quickly dismounted his horse. As he did so, he fliched a little bit as a shot of pain still went up his leg. Appeartly the barbarion had wounded him more than the water mage thought. "I am Baron, Expert Dragonslayer, and in deep thanks to you. Might I aquire your name and purpose?"

As the elves finished their tasks, they wiped their blades clean on the trampled grass, dirt, and general muck that had come to surround the decimated hovel; then they picked up the random treasures they had found, tucking away the random bits of crystal and gold that could be salvages, along with the minor flask of ale here and there, and brought the remaining items to where the Halfling was now standing, in hopes that perhaps any of the items found might be of use or value.

As they did this the shorter being looked up at the dismounting knight, noting the wince of his body as he landed on his newly healed leg, "A being of my standing does not reveal himself lightly, especially to ones he has just met. Just suffice it to say that I am a burglar, and that is what you may call me, Burglar, for now. . . for that is what I do; however, you and your men are welcome to make camp with us for the night." he said as he tucked away the small silver dagger and turned to the pile of oddly assorted junk to see if there were anything of value.

"There might be safety in numbers this close to the armies of darkness; and your watery friend," pointing a grubby finger towards the water mage, "can he be of use?" He asked pointing at the elf now turned gargoyle who was slowly and heavily lumbering through the dead, making faces at any of the dragonslayer's men who got to close, and obviously taking great delight in it.

One of the elves was busy hacking away at a fallen creature, expertly tearing a piece of bleeding flesh from an unknown fallen body; holding it up to inspect it, the blood running down his arm, he smiled, at least the meal would be fresh tonight, perhaps not the tastiest or easiest to eat, but fresh.

"Ah a simple thief from the earth realm. But don't you hobbits usually travel alone? or are the ways of thieves and burglers changing to the good while the rest of the world plunges into evil?" Baron asked, his mood suddenly altered. Neither he nor his men likede thieves, and often viewed them as wrong doers. Even in the Order realm the thieves are more like trackers than thieves. "And as for my friend" he looked at the water elf, "I have no idea what his name is, nor where he stands, except against the chaos barberions"

Bereth looked up from where he had fallen. It would seem his magic had done the trick, and that the man was fully recovered. He was still a little hazy from using his own lifeforce, but he could see that the little person from before was a halfling, and he appeared to be helping out the knights. The Chaos warrior was dead, as was his cat. The elves appeared to be on the side of the halfling. For the moment, Bereth appeared to be safe.
He braced his staff against the ground and slowly raised himself up on it, try to shake off the aftereffects of the magic he had used. He looked at the knights, and said, "thank you for stopping those orcs, and you as well halfling. I don't know why either of you are here, but I highly recommend you don't stay long. The viceroy in the capital is going to be very angry when he finds out that some of his elves are dead, and even angrier when he finds two armed groups of soldiers in his territory. Whatever business you have here, conclude it quickly and leave, before you cause anymore trouble."