She gasped, as the gargantuan cudgel came near to impacting Heolstor.  Skill and speed saved him, but it had been close!

Petra then looked to Leanna -- to see if she'd taken any wound that needed immediate healing.  It didn't appear so.

She considered rapidly what else might work here, what might save her comrades from harm, and hamper this goliath's capacity for harm...

The Giant now faces a combined attack- Heolstor and Leanna circle around it, ensuring that one of them is always behind.  The Giant assesses Heolstor as the greater threat, so that leaves Leanna behind it.  And  Heolstor realizes that by attracting the Giant’s attention, he can keep the Giant’s back to Petra, as well.

Petra adds more arrows.  The Giant’s back is a fairly easy target to hit.  Piercing the tough hide is another story, but she is certain he must be feeling something, from the cumulative effect of the arrows.

And then Heostor scores a hit, followed by success for Leanna.  A normal man would be dead several times over.  The Giant is holding up.. but weakening.  It’s clear.

The Giant lands a crushing blow on Heolstor.  He rolls with it, it isn’t fatal.. but he does not know how much more of this he can take.

Brennus retrieves one of the prizes hanging on the Giant’s wall… an Elven longsword, with a shimmering, pale glow.  It seems to want to join the fight.

Pwyll screamed from the air, his call both tortured and angry.

Heolstor rolled across the floor, pain lancing through his body. He felt every bounce across the marble - his insides felt like broken glass, shorn and sharp, trying to slice their way out of him. As the Saxon rolled to a stop he righted himself, putting one hand beneath him and lifting up his aching body. Whatever damage the giant  had done to him, it was terribly painful... But he could still move. He felt himself begin to rise, disconnecting from the effort, as if watching another. There was no time for self-pity. If he stayed still, the giant would land his coup de grace, and he stood to be crushed once and for all.

Lord Strang finished righting himself and took a tentative step forward. It all felt like it was in the right place; the pain was harsh, but not unbearable. He suspected it would worsen after the adrenaline of the moment ebbed away. For now though: he and his enemy were both upright, and this creature threatened both the woman he loved and his travelling companions.

"Weak as mother's milk!" Heolstor bellowed, drawing the giant's attention back to himself. "For all your size you can't kill a man! What more should I expect from a coward who avoided battle, sheltering in this city of old women and broken men like a frightened cur while war raged at your doorstep!"

"It takes a warrior to end a warrior!" He growled, raising his tapered longsword in both hands and rushing back into the fray. "Not a craven!"

He couldn't hope to land a mighty blow capable of ending this all - but they could, together, inflict a death of small cuts on this creature. That would have to do.

OOC: Heolstor continues to attack the giant. If he can hamstring him, excellent, if not he just hopes to bring him down by way of their continued assault from all sides.

Brennus dropped the Elven blade with a shudder - the thing had a mind of its own! He had no wish to use a mysterious and unknowable blade like that that might subsume his will. Kicking it away from himself in disgust he wields his own sword and returns to the fray, again concetrating on trying to strike while the monster's back is turned.

In the brief moment in which he held the Elven weapon, Brennus felt something...


There are four of them against the Giant- three circling around, and Petra engaging with her arrows from a distance.  Still, the Giant's focus is on Heolstor.  Deal with this one foe, instinct tells him, for it is the most dangerous, and the rest of this treacherous ambush will fail.

Facing the Giant, Heolstor has the hardest time. It is hard for him to get an opening, and when he does manage, he just can't seem to make headway against the Giant's hide.

Silok connects again, but it is a glancing blow- battering Heolstor but not killing him.  It might have been worse, but Brennus, with his own sword, managed the strike Heolstor had been aiming for, and suddenly, Silok is off balance.

Petra hits him again.  Now it seems the tide has turned.

There are sounds from outside, and the doors open again and... people, Humans, run inside.

A group of a half dozen, dressed mostly in ragged and unwashed clothes, and they seem awed, to see the Giant so pressed in combat.

There are shouted blessings and prayers to the gods.  Any gods.  Whichever will listen.

Leanna kept her focus, willing the pain in her hip away. It worked, mostly due to the adrenaline rushing through her as she fought what was easily the most dangerous thing she ever faced.

She noticed the Giant paid her no heed and happily abused this fact, aiming blow after blow at the giants legs, trying to get him down so someone could finish it of.

Noticing the newcomers Brennus called out, raising a sword slick with giantsblood. "We have him in hands friends; seize weapons and help us kill this oversized vermin!"

He didn't waste time to hear their reply, again moving in to stab at the monster's legs.

As the giant dealt Heolstor the crushing blow, time almost seemed to stand still for Petra.  The din of battle seemingly drowned by the pounding of her heart.

On some level, it almost seemed like a bad dream.  Of course, she knew her love was a mortal man of flesh and blood. Yet - she realized she had come to regard him in a nearly mythic way.  So much the daring, dashing hero that lays and legends were wont to canonize.  Certainly, he was every bit her hero.

But, in the real world, heroes died.   She now knew no few whom had.   As Heolstor could just as easily be the next --  if they didn't do something...

And so she nocked and fired several more areas, after briefly deliberating drawing her sword instead.   She was the only not in front of this fray --  which might have been cowardly in the reckoning of some.   And yet, the sword was her second weapon -- archery her strongest proficiency -- and bolstered by the magic of the Elvish quiver Kandralde had given her -- which honestly never seemed as effective as she had been promised...

And then Heolstor was struck a second time.   It was too much.  Petra didn't think then; just reacted.

"NO!" She dropped her bow, without even realizing it had fallen from her hand.  Neither did she draw her sword -- and thus unarmed, set off toward Heolstor as swiftly as her feet would take her.

Once near, she began speaking the strongest healing incantation she had.

Yes - Petra is opening herself to what D&D terms an 'attack of opportunity.'   If she doesn't get swatted, and manages to touch Heolstor, he will receive a cure serious wounds spell. 

Heolstor regained his footing again, defiant despite the beating he was taking. He could feel his footsteps slowing, his sword growing just a mite heavier, and breath coming harder... But the giant was off-balance, and for the first time in this bout, they had the advantage. Just a bit longer. The Saxon wiped a droplet of red from his chin with his wrist. He could take another hit, maybe... And if not, he'd leave Petra and the others with a fighting chance. Heolstor stepped in closer, intending to taunt their opponent again and continue to draw his gaze - but the words died in his throat.

Heolstor's gaze ranged across the temple, eyes wide with abject terror, as he saw Petra running his way across the giant's path. "Petra!" Heolstor yelled, voice laced with shock and pain. She was so close to those gigantic legs. To that deadly club. Too close. A thousand terrible scenarios ran through his mind all at once, filling him with dread purpose.

He couldn't lose her like this. Not at all, old gods be good.

Heolstor had to keep Silok's eyes on him. Strang stepped into his next slash, bringing his blade down as if he intended to hew the giant's ankle like a great oak.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:21, Wed 09 Oct 2013.

Silok the Hunter is struck by several attacks at once, from different directions.   The attacks are unbalancing him, and he is growing wearing and frustrated.  No longer strongly focused he aims where he can, smashing Brennus away from him like a croquet ball.

Other Humans are still arriving  in the temple, excited, afraid, baffled.  It’s more than the battle here.  Something is causing them to come here…

A half dozen swarm around Brennus, offering assistance.  Two boys, both barely into their teens, seem drawn by that sword Brennus dropped.

And there is shouted Orcish curse from the pool area outside.  The bodies have been seen.  A second later, an Orcs arrives in the temple.

Even before noticing that the lord and master of this place is busy, the Orc reports:

”Lord Silok, they* attack!  Mounted men, shooting at our guards on the wall!”

* * * * *

Now that she’s closer to the Giant, Petra notices something she was told about.  The Giant’s amulet.  It’s a tiny speck around his neck- the gold chain that supports the pale pinkish stone is itself suspended by a long braided rope.  (Yes, the magic of the amulet still works when worn in this way.)  But as Petra recalls, the amulet didn’t aid the giant.  Instead, it allowed him to absorb some of the damage of his distant allies, damage he could easily accept and recover from.  But it gave his allies the appearance of uncanny healing powers- and as Orcs generally don’t concern themselves with healing, this had caught Elves off guard on several occasions.

The damage done to distant allies was normally inconsequential to Silok.  After all, a mortal blow to an Orc was a scratch to him.

But now… wounded sorely already....

Somewhere, out there, Burgundian arrows strike Lopdreg, the best archer and watchman  Silok had available, the one he kept posted by the main gate.  Twice in the past, during raids by Elves, Lopdreg had fallen, then suddenly recovered and went on to fight.  And now he did it again.

Silok feels it immediately, understanding exactly what Lopdreg had done.  But this was not the time!  Cursing, Silok tears the amulet from his neck.  The rope snaps, and the amulet skitters across the floor.  And Silok has two new holes in flesh, bleeding, as if struck by two invisible arrows.

He is pressing his limit.  The Giant, it seems, is going to fall.

Petra manages to use her magic on Heolstor, reviving him.

*They Orcish language, being derived from the Infernal, is the only “mortal” tongue that has no different pronouns for gender, but does have different pronouns for the feelings one has for the person or people being referenced.  Thus it’s not really merely “they” but “Those that I have contempt for.”

At the culmination of her spell, Petra reached out and touched Heolstor upon the back. And then had the sheer relief of knowing the worst of his injuries were mending, praise merciful Eostre.

And it seemed that Silok's thievery had finally played against him.  It was the only explanation she could think of for the appearance of wounds her allies had not inflicted.  Her eyes went briefly to the fallen talisman. Plainly the Jotun had no further wish to use it.  And for them there was yet a much more immediate goal.

Now Petra did draw her broadsword, and moved to aid Heolstor, Leanna, and Brennus in finishing off the towering tyrant.

Heolstor felt the pain melt away, blessed relief and a sense of rightness swimming through him from Petra's hand. It was an incredible feeling - to be broken one moment, and mended the next. To see everything Silok had wrought in all his wrath undone in a single moment by Petra's gentlest touch. Heolstor looked back to Petra's face, adoration and thanks flowing from his eyes. He said nothing though. Nothing needed to be said. Strang's grip tightened around his sword's hilt. Victory was certain now. All that was left in this drama was for Silok to take his bow, and die.

"Pick up the sword!" Heolstor shouted to the growing crowd. "Take your freedom back, and give Riotho peace!"

Heolstor engaged Silok again, moving to support Petra while making his own mark on the giant's hide. He stayed as close to her as he could, perhaps over-protectively, while still remaining distant enough to prevent her from being hit if he was struck again.

Laciersian sang shrilly as she cut through the air. Each biting slash meant to drain Silok of just a bit more of his strength.

His moment in the limelight over Brennus was left bruised and bloody, contemptuously hurled from the fight as the real heroes fought on. Battered and ashamed he rose to his feet, helped by the hands of the civilians.

"The orc," he gasped pointing a digit at the Orc that had entered. "Kill it before it brings others!"

2. Brennus points to the Orc, and the Orc has a sudden very bad feeling about that.  They were only peasants he was up against, and a good Orc warrior could easily take down a half dozen Human peasants without feeling a scratch.  But he counted eight.  And they weren’t all peasants… and one of them had an Elven sword.

Aquae Grannis didn’t have a big garrison and it didn’t need one.  The nearby foes were Elves and Elves didn’t form up in large numbers.  As long as there was Silok the Elven raids wouldn’t matter.  But now Silok seemed to be in trouble.

Recognizing what it had to do, the Orc runs to the Giant’s side.  It must aid Silok, because if the Giant falls…

Brennus’s angry mob swarms after it.  And… the mob is growing.  A few more show up, including the two women they met in the baking area.  One of them howls at the youth with the sword, “Hillard, what do you think you are doing?”

Hillard doesn’t have much of a choice.  Brennus knows why.  The boy rushes at the Giant, sword raised.  In stories of fated heroes, magic weapons, and monsters, the outcome would be obvious.  But that doesn’t happen.  Magic alone does not overcome strength and skill, and the boy is sent tumbling across the floor the same way Brennus was a few moments ago.

But the opening is enough for Heolstor and Petra and Leanna.  After receiving a few more blows, the Giant staggers, and sinks to a knee, and cries out. “No more, take my treasures and leave me be!”

"Silence dog!" Brennus thunders at Silok. He turns to the mob. "Behead this fool; he'll serve as a warning to the Hun and their lackeys. The time of man has come again!"

Turning to the orc he moves to slice it down with his blade.

In a way, Brennus' words echoed the stirrings of Heolstor's own heart. A thirst for vengeance, a desire for mens' place in the world to be respected even among the fae and monsters, a penchant for seeing justice as a greater mercy than kindness. Freedom for men, death to the Hun. If Brennus had not said those words Heolstor might have said them himself. Yet, hearing them from the younger man's mouth - so full of vitrol, so empty of forgiveness, brought to light a dawning realization in Heolstor's mind.

It was not a comfortable feeling.

Still. The people of Aquae Grannae were to be free and safe. They could never be either while the memory of Silok still lived. "We did not come for your treasure, Silok..." Heolstor's sword did not leave his hand, nor lower from its place of readiness. There was, surprisingly, a portion of him that wished it would. Would not letting Silok live be the greater evil though? Allowing such a powerful enemy of the free peoples of Europa to escape to commit further atrocity?

Heolstor looked to Petra for answers, a moment of hesitation passing between them. Then, quick as it had come, his uncertainty disappeared - green eyes hardened, brow furrowed in concentration. "Face your end with dignity and go to your gods proud, Silok." Heolstor suggested, voice quieting as if to spare the giant embarrassment "This cannot end without death."

Heolstor motioned for the mob to move as far back as they could - to a safe distance, if possible. Then he raised his blade against Silok again.
This message was last edited by the player at 06:03, Mon 14 Oct 2013.

Silok offers grimly:  "If to the last, then to the last, I shall laugh in the halls of Surtur.  Take life, take treasure, you cannot take away what I have done!"

Silok’s title of Hunter was not lightly given.  The giant was cunning enough to study his opponents, and learn their weaknesses.  There was little left in him, strength enough for one last effort before darkness.  Heolstor was quick, evasive, and tough… but Heolstor had already betrayed how he could be hurt, and Silok seizes the chance.

Silok lunges at Petra, with all his remaining strength, hurling himself so that even in death, his body would be a missile.  The floorboards buckle beneath him as he leaps.  The Giant’s estimate was correct; he does not survive this last charge.  Heolstor and Leanna aree there, and ready, and they strike.  Silok’s body heaves towards Petra like a great ocean wave.

Petra evades the worst of it, but she is struck by Silok’s flailing, armored left arm, and sent spinning and tumbling over the piled furniture.

Brennus, meanwhile, attacks the Orc, accompanied by an angry mob.  The Orc, one of Silok’s henchmen, defends himself with desperation, cutting down two of the townsfolk before being overwhelmed.

Heolstor had expected the giant to strike out desperately at him. To try, with one last breath, to snuff him out and carry the Saxon with him to the dark. He had not expected the giant to spend himself with such cunning and spite... Threatening something deeper, something more central to his being than his own beating heart.

"No!" Strang cried out, body in motion as he brought his blade's bareness against Silok, piercing his side and plunging to its hilt... He felt the giant's body shudder and die... But Heolstor wasn't fast enough to stop what had already been in motion. His exchange with the giant had given it all the time it needed to enact its last terrible machinations before the curtain fell.

Petra! That single name lit up every corner of Heolstor's consciousness, an overwhelming sense of urgency chased by a shadow of dread. Even in death the giant had managed to pierce him with one more barb, twisting it painfully in his heart. The Saxon pulled his blade free of Silok's still form and rushed after Petra, dropping his blade thoughtlessly as he ran, unsure how badly she might be hurt. The moment felt numb.

The way she'd spun and tumbled through the air. It made him sick to his stomach with worry.

OOC: Heolstor moves as swiftly as he can to Petra's side. Once there, he casts Cure Light Wounds and tries to assess her condition.
This message was last edited by the player at 16:37, Mon 14 Oct 2013.

"Silok is dead!"

The words were shouted from person to person, rapidly passing out of the great temple chamber, out of the temple complex, and along the streets of Aquae Grannis.  No great jubilant crowds; there were too few left in the town.  But there were enough to hear the word and spread it.

The Orcs knew that the Humans were not mistaken.  They would not dare, they were not so insolent as to say such a thing if it were not true.  They also knew they were too few in number to hold this place, and too short of tricks and treachery to stop an Elven attack, which would surely come quickly, if their bastion of strength had fallen.

Wherever they could, they abandoned Aquae Grannis, out the doors, over the walls, like rats from a sinking ship.

In the temple chamber, the Giant's heart has stopped beating, his eyes are glazed over.  Nearby, the Elven sword whose arcane compulsions have brought only pain to its wielders, loses some of its glow as its geas is satisfied.

There are a score of local Humans here now, gathering around the bodies, and around the wounded, fetching food, fetching water.   Responding to an emergency is easy.  There is a ready, obvious answer to every "What should I do?"
Harder things will come later.

"You are free good people of Aquae Grannae!" Brennus cried out to the gathered mob. "Quickly, though if there are any orcs still living in the seat they must perish before they can warn others. This night is far from over."

Taking the weapon of the fallen Hunnic soldier he handed it to most martial looking of the peasants before turning to the rest of the mob. "Those of you who can fight at all arm yourselves; there are other dead Huns close at hand and their weapons are yours for the taking.  The others see to our wounded and fallen... a number which I fear will grow before this over."

He moves to lead the mob back out into the pool area to gather the blades of the defeated orcs.

Leanna let herself fall of to to her left side and grunted a little as she landed with a soft thud. Now that the adrenaline rush of battle started to seep out of her body did she fully realize the stinging pain in her right thigh.

After a while Leanna pulled herself up and grabbed a piece of wood to support herself on to give her sore leg some rest as she half limped over to the rest of the group. "Is she still alive?"

It was an example of how rapidly one's situation or condition might change on a field of battle.

Even given a foe whom was nearly done in.

One moment, they'd been upon the victory they'd striven for -- Silok nearly gone to that devil Surtur, and the people clamoring to regain rightful sovereignty of their home, and holy place.

And it had been done with all of them surviving to see the end; Brennus' injuries plainly needed treatment, but the Gods would mend him. Just as they'd done her Heolstor, she would see to that.   Just as soon as Silok met his final fate.

As the giant had implored mercy, Petra's grip had tightened upon her broadsword. They should grant none, to one of his ilk.  It would be a mistake.  And Brennus' and Heolstor's words echoed what she too felt.  Yet, they had to be careful.  It wasn't over...this behemoth brigand not without guile.   She wouldn't put it past him to make some final attempt on Heolstor's life...

And her attention was on Heolstor, when Silok lunged. At herself.  Reflexes honed now in multiple battles, and augmented by her Elven lineage, she managed to avoid being crushed by the toppling bulk of their enemy's body.  However, she was unable to get out of the way of his mailed arm.  Which smashed toward her like an oversized maul.

It was the single most forceful blow she'd ever received -- her senses mostly stolen with the impact. She was only vaguely aware of Heolstor shouting 'No'; ironically mimicing her own cry of only minutes earlier.

The next instant was a painful mix of rolling, tumbling, and several more impacts.   Had she been able to assess herself at the end of it, she might have considered the likelihood of internal injury.  Which she had in fact sustained. But she wasn't around for that...

^*^*^*^*
After some time -- impossible to say how long -- the darkness seemed to abate.   And, she was aware her environment had changed.   No longer did she lie upon wood and stone debris. Nor even the marble floor of the temple -- no; she was reposed upon a grassy field.  There was a wind that was cool, and crisp, yet oddly comforting.  She could still feel some pain -- but it was nothing like the logical part of her mind whispered that it should be.

She could feel her own heart beat.  It seemed slow -- and getting slower.  She should be concerned -- and yet -- what?

A sound overhead.  Like -- like -- Hermod?  Aye -- wings.  Great pinions.  Drawing nearer...had her steed come for her?

She forced her eyes to open...and indeed, a winged steed was descending to land near her.  Silhouetted against the sun, it was hard to make out any detail.  She squinted, tried to see.  The steed had a rider...
^*^*^*^*

The blood from the corners of Petra's mouth - her shallow, uneven breath - and diminishing pulse, told the story in the mortal world.  Heolstor's healing magic washed briefly over her, lending her body a little more strength against the injury sustained.

Yet this was no light wound.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:00, Tue 15 Oct 2013.

"Healer!" Heolstor shouted, voice thick with undisguised distress. "Find a healer, gods damn you!" His glaring eyes stabbed at his standing companions and the locals, equally full of pain and fury both as Lord Strang's carefully maintained calm shattered in the space of an instant.

He'd ran to Petra's side and tried to apply a healing spell in those first hectic moments. The seconds passed by in a blur, flying by like leaves caught in a stiff wind, such that Heolstor could not remember entirely how he'd come to be kneeling on the floor beside Petra's broken form. He just knew that he'd arrived there.

Now though the world swam around Heolstor slowly, each languid moment passing like a friend's sorrowful farewell. He wanted to tear Petra from the ground and run through the streets, cradling his fading love in his arms. To find a healer. Not to wait - to bring her there. To do something. He would tear this whole town to its rotted foundations if it meant saving her. The Saxon knew better though - to move her so vigorously would be a death sentence if the giant had struck her neck. Frantic action would only bring greater harm, an herbalist had once told him. Somehow through the fog of terror and regret, Heolstor remembered that much. So instead he'd brought her head up onto his lap, cradling the hollow where her head met her neck gingerly with one hand while the other laid atop her stomach. His fingers glowed faintly in the inner temples dimness, Heolstor desperately draining what healing magics he had at his disposal.

In their meagerness, he feared that all they would do was hold death at bay... If only his magics were stronger. If only he had followed his mother's path, rather than his father's. He could make her whole. If only he had took the road to Lingones instead. If only he had said nothing to Silok, and killed him outright without words or honor. If only he had let the giant flee. So many mistakes. All leading their way down a twisted and imperfect path to this place, this moment.

Heolstor's eyes fixed themselves upon the beautiful face beneath him, struggling as her chest rose in staccato rhythm, thin breaths laboring in injury. The peace of her closed eyes, hiding her perfect amber eyes, mingling with brows above furrowed in pain. Her lips - parted in unconsciousness, blood dripping from the corner onto her honey-spun hair. A tear dripped onto Petra's cheek, mingling and disappearing on her red-streaked cheek.

A tear? Strang hadn't even realized he'd been crying, but he felt the moisture clinging to his eyes now, blurring his vision. When had he last cried? Heolstor couldn't recall.

Compelled by a volition only half-understood, Heolstor leaned into his injured charge. Gently, moving slow as if to lengthen the moment by will alone, he pressed his lips tenderly against her forehead. Then he straightened his back, eyes still on Petra's closed lids. "The healer will be here soon," he assured her unconscious form "And they'll make you right as rain." Even as he said them, Heolstor wasn't sure who those words were truly meant to comfort. They felt like a thin shield against this storm.

Then more forcefully, but still quieted against the temple's chaotic movement. "You'll be all right, Valkyrie. Just hold on."

OOC: Heolstor casts Cure Light Wounds again as he calls for a healer.
This message was last edited by the player at 01:33, Wed 16 Oct 2013.

Heolstor’s call goes out for a healer… and none answer.  Aside from himself and Petra and Brennus and Leanna… there are only the remaining townsfolk.

The woman they had talked to earlier, Gia, comes forward.

”I’m sorry, sir… there are none.  We had… long ago, they were taken away, or killed.  We have some of us who know some ways, though.”

By that she means the sort of healing that the poor in rural places have access to- there always seems to be at least one older women, who knows the lore of herbs and poultices and setting bones and birthing babies, knowledge passed down along lines of women far longer than men have passed down swords and crowds.

Word goes out… “Get Verda!”

But in the mean time, Heolstor realizes… life saving miracles will not be necessary.  Through his own magic, Petra’s life is not in danger.

More and more people gather, and then... Hermod, who has landed in the middle of the temple area.  The winged horse has quite the effect.  People bow and pray to it.  But Hermod only walks in, and walks up to Petra.

Brennus realises he is losing the crowd and tries to regain some authority and keep forward momentum up. "The Hun." He reminds the townspeople. "We have to run them down while we have the chance; one less that escapes is one less that will be coming back with his comrades."

Leaving Petra to the care of Heolstor and this Verda he turns to the crowd and raises his voice: "Your leaders, who are your leaders?"