Fergus freezes as he catches the sight of the strange creature.  While he had taken it, at first, for a bear it seemed to be some amalgam of creatures not entirely unlike that talking...thing the group had encountered on the road.

Fergus breathes out as the creature turns away.  He had been unaware of holding his breath.  He is just starting to relax when Aarnr starts off.  Fergus looks on, horrified, and exclaims in a forced whisper, "Stop!  Are you nuts?"

The creature, which appears to be some hideous combination of a bear and a giant owl starts to move away, apparently unaware of the two men following it...

Then two things happen, in quick succession: first Aarnr yells out a warning that the thing is getting away, and second, the creature stops and looks around, alerted by the priest's voice.  This time it doesn't miss seeing Aarnr moving towards it.  The thing rears up on its hind legs, standing almost eight feet tall, and screams a challenge...
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:45, Fri 16 Mar 2012.

"Do thou want to live forever ?" Aarnr scoffs at Fergus's warning, grinning horribly at the young man before turning back towards the monster.

As the creature screams its challenge, the priest feels the God settle upon him, the forest and all else fading away as the red mist rises, till there is only the creature, his great sword and himself within it.

He starts forward, picking up speed, his lips curled back as a gutteral roar issues from his throat in response to that challenge, the matter now reduced to its most basic - him or me.

OOC: 13:40, Today: Aarnr Foultongue rolled 21 using 1d20+2. Initiative.

"No, but I'd like to see tomorrow, y'know, as a start."  Fergus reluctantly draws his axe and starts after the battle-mad cleric.  He couldn't let Aarnr get himself killed without at least trying.

OOC: Initiative = 3.  Clearly the dice gods understand the situation.  I just hope Fergus' lack of enthusiasm doesn't infect his attack rolls ;)

Aarnr rushes towards the stinking beast, his sword already raised for a death blow.  Fergus follows close behind him, though from the look on his face he's somewhat less than enthusiastic about the idea.

The horrible foul beast (the strange bear-like creature, that is, not Aarnr) shuffles forward to meet them, still on its hind legs, its beak gaping in a hideous screach as it does so...

Conscious thought is beyond Aarnr now, as he flies down towards the monstrosity, his world reduced to the most basic - kill or be killed.

The scream that rises from his spittle-flecked lips as he charges headlong across the ground seeking to best that which comes from the owl-bear's own beak, even as he swings his sword around, grunting with the effort as he smashes into the creature, putting all his battle-frenzy-fueled might behind that blow.

"GRAAAAAAAAAAAHH !"

21:46, Today: Aarnr Foultongue rolled 24 using 1d20+7. Attack (+1BAB+2Chrge,+5Str,-1PwrAtk.
21:50, Today: Aarnr Foultongue rolled 18 using 2d6+9. Damage(+1.5xStr=+7,+2PwrAtk).

Fergus' approach is far more circumspect than that of his enraged friend.  He closes to melee distance at a measured pace, not wishing to give the creature an easy opening.  He briefly considers trying to circle around the bear-like thing but decides that he would prefer to leave it the option of running away.

Regrettably, Fergus' reluctance manifests in a tentative attack, he makes only a weak swing than never looks likely to connect.

OOC: Attack = 8, yep the dice roller still has me worked out.  Go Aarnr!

Aarnr throws everything he has into the attack, hurling himself towards the beast.  The impact as the two combatants collide seems loud enough to be heard in Bard's Gate, and frighten small children in the streets of Reme.

The priest's massive sword, driven with the full force of his mighty thews, tears into flesh and cracks bone, eliciting a scream of pain from the foul creature.  Its claws wrap around Aarnr, ripping at his mail shirt, and deep into the skin below.  Blood flows from the wounds of both fighters, even as the hideous stinking thing fastens its beak onto the man's neck.

And then the thing pushes Aarnr away from itself, pulling the man's blade from its body... 

Fergus moves in close, and the monstrous beak opens to scream at him, spraying him with blood-flecked spittle, even as he waves his axe in the thing's face and distracts it from his companion, at least momentarily.

Somehow, the priest is still on his feet...

OOC:  Ouch!

Combatant         Init
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Owlbear             9   AC=15
Fergus Andarson     3


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Critical
Fergus Andarson:  Good

Aarnr staggers back, covered in blood, but even the terrible wounds he has suffered cannot dissuade him from battle.  Indeed, one look into those glazed eyes shows that very little of the man remains, now the beast is in control, and the beast is angry.

Spitting blood and with a great roar Aarnr swings his sword once more ... but while his will to fight on might drive him, his battered body is failing him, and the sword point slams into the dust at the creature's feet.

OOC: 14:35, Today: Aarnr Foultongue rolled 10 using 1d20+5. Attack (+1BAB+5Str,-1PwrAtk).

Aarnr, dazed and confused, hacks at the monster again and misses completely.  The creature, meanwhile, continues to be distracted by Fergus.  It follows after the farmer's son, blood dripping from the wound that Aarnr had inflicted.

It swipes at Fergus with its paws, and tries to bite him.  One of the massive clawed paws connects, and the claws sink into the young man's flesh, as the stinking creature tries to drag him closer.  Fergus, however manages to tear himself free...

OOC:  Ouch again!

Combatant         Init
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Owlbear             9   AC=15
Fergus Andarson     3


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Critical
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt

Some small part of Fergus is probably pleased to have distracted the owlbear from Aarnr, who appears to be in dire straits.  The rest is all but overwhelmed with sheer panic.

The burst of adrenalin gives Fergus a rush of strength and he wrenches himself free of the creature's claw.  In desperation he hacks at it with his axe, drawing more blood, for all the good it's likely to do.

"Aarnr, please!"

OOC: Hit AC 17 for 8 damage, 5ft step back.  Raging.  Now 10/16HP, AC12

The axe, swung with all the strength Fergus can muster, sinks deep into the creature's shoulder.  It staggers back, pulling away from the blade, and drops to all-fours fore a moment, before rearing up and giving a furious scream, as its head swings from side to side, the yellow eyes watching both men in turn...

OOC: That'll learn the bugger!

Combatant         Init
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Owlbear             9   AC=15
Fergus Andarson     3


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Critical
Fergus Andarson:  Hurt

Though still consumed by a battle-lust that is beyond his control, Aarnr can barely force his broken and bloodied body to move ... yet somehow Fergus' plea rouses him once more and he raises his sword, treading heavily as he lumbers towards the owlbear, swinging his weapon ... only for it to fall from numb fingers to clatter upon the ground.

Swaying almost drunkenly, the priest paws the air as he tries and fails to reach for the foe.

Aarnr, perhaps weakened by loss of blood, stumbles and drops his heavy blade.  When Bowbe desides to pay his followers back, he apparently does so with interest...

Fortunately for the priest, but not so fortunately for Fergus, the monstrous owlbear is distracted...

The beast swipes its massive paws at the farmer's son, whose blood, judging by his yelling is stating to boil.  The creatures claws tear at him, drawing more blood, and sending him staggering backwards... 

Then the creature makes its first, and possibly last mistake.  It lunges at the man, beak gaping... and, somehow, he steps aside.  The thing slams head first into a tree, momentarily dazing itself, and Fergus brings his axe down, hard, across its back.  The monster screeches, and this time it is a cry of pain and, perhaps, fear.  With blood pouring from its wounds, it turns to face its enemies, swaying noticeably...

OOC: So... which one of the three will fall over first?

Combatant         Init
Aarnr Foultongue   21
Owlbear             9   AC=15
Fergus Andarson     3


Characters' Apparent Health
Aarnr Foultongue: Critical
Fergus Andarson:  Critical

Aarnr's eyes glaze as death beckons, and he seems to slump ... then, roused by the owlbear's cry of pain, suddenly those eyes spring wide open, and in their depths is madness.

A low rumble begins in the priest's throat, perhaps spitting defiance in the face of his god, perhaps merely an inarticulate expression of his animal rage.  Stooping, his fingers close on the familiar grip of his mighty blade as he hefts the weight as if it is nothing, his other hand joining the first as he whirls it round above his head, pain and broken bone nothing to him now as he swings at the foul creature with all that he has left within him ...

OOC:

21:24, Today: Aarnr Foultongue rolled 25 using 1d20+5. Attack (+1BAB+5Str,-1PwrAtk).
21:24, Today: Aarnr Foultongue rolled 22 using 1d20+5. Confirm threat.
21:27, Today: Aarnr Foultongue rolled 29 using 4d6+18. Damage (+1.5xStr=+7,+2PwrAtk) x 2.

Aarnr's blade swings, driven by all the strength he still has in him.  It tears across the monsters gut, spilling even more blood on the ground, and pushing the creature back against the tree.  It stands there for a moment, and gives another screeching cry before stepping forward once more, even as the light fades from its eyes.

It topples forward then, and lays still on the blood-soaked earth...

Aarnr and Fergus are victorious.  Though if they were to meet a stranger on their way back to camp and tell him that, it is doubtful that he would believe them.

The cry on Aarnr's lips slowly fades away as first the point of his blade and then the priest himself fall to the ground.  On his knees, Aarnr pants for breath, one meaty fist pressed into the soft ground for support until he finds the strength to lever himself back onto his haunches.

The priest seems almost surprised to find himself alive, and regards the fallen owlbear almost fondly.  Carefully gaining his feet once more, and unable to prevent himself from grunting with pain from his punctured chest and cracked ribs, and gingerly probing the gouge on his neck, pulling back a hand reddened with blood, Aarnr staggers towards the owlbear's corpse, squatting and resting his hand upon its cooling form for a moment.

"Be thou bird or beast, ye fought well, ye goatish, folly-fallen maggot-pie," he tells the owlbear approvingly, respectfully plucking two blood-darkened feathers from the body.

"A victory worthy of the name," he grins now at Fergus as the near escape from death stirs his blood once more.  "Our companions will count themselves froggin' unfortunate not to have witnessed it.  A pity indeed neither minstrel was here to sing of our success !"

"Here," rising to his feet with more ease now, if no less pain, Aarnr offers the young man one of the feathers, "I have thy victory-token - ye may wear it with pride !"

Aarnr and Fergus both rise, albeit more unsteadily than is their wont.  Their foe lays still and, against all odds, manages to look even more hideous than when it was alive.  It's already attracting swarms of inquisitive insects, doubtless drawn by the stench, and the exposed internal organs.

As prey goes, it doesn't have the air of a potential meal about it,  Which is a shame, because if a man could stomach the stinking flesh, there's certainly plenty there for a meal.  Several, in fact.  Unfortunately, where the meat is visible, it has a mottled grey colouration to it, with a hint of brownish yellow.  All in all, in seems less than appetising, unless one happens to be a fly.

Certainly not as tempting as a rabbit or a pheasant.

Fergus sways, axe held loosely in one hand as he staggers from side to side.  His face is ashen, pale from blood loss and the onset of shock.  "We're alive!  You killed it!"  Fergus' surprise is evident in his voice and on his face.

He seems to recover slightly, a flush of colour returning to his face.  He raises his axe in salute with a laugh, "We won!"  He reaches to take the owlbear feather from Aarnr.  As his fingers close around the feather his eyes roll back in his head and Fergus topples forwards in an eerie echo of the owlbear's collapse.

OOC: About 30 seconds after the fight ends, Fergus' rage wears off and Fergus goes from 1/16 to -1/14.

"Frog !" Aarnr swears as Fergus collapses to the ground.  Dropping to his knees, the priest expertly assays the extent of his stalwart companion's injuries, swiftly coming to the conclusion that without a miracle Fergus won't escape from Hel's clutches.

Luckily, such are available ... if on demand.

"Bowbe !" Aarnr's voice is horse, both with pain and need, "thou bawdy milk-livered bum-bailey !  This man fought bravely ... do ye froggin' well gift him with thy clackish healing touch, thou swag-bellied scut !"

Something akin to fear grips the priest, as he commands his god's assistance.  Fergus hadn't wanted this fight, indeed had counselled against it ... but he had not hesitated to join the struggle when Aarnr forced the issue, nor stinted in the skillful wielding of his axe and the giving of his blood.  The final blow may have been Aarnr's but Fergus' axe did more than its share in the battle.

The priest is under no illusion that it was only luck that he yet breathed, that alone the creature would have torn him apart, and it is not fair that Fergus should pay the price of a ... folly not his own.

"Froggin' live, damn ye !" Aarnr places his hands over the worst of the gaping wounds torn by the owlbear's claws.

No, not fear ... but something equally unfamiliar.  Guilt.
This message was last edited by the player at 13:03, Sun 08 Apr 2012.

Aarnr asks, nay demands, a miracle from his god.  And Bowbe responds.  The blood stops flowing from Fergus' wounds, and the flesh starts to knit, albeit imperfectly.  The young farmer opens his eyes and finds himself staring into Aarnr's slightly concerned face...

Aarnr nods his relief as his demands are met (and guilt somewhat assuaged) and grins horribly at Fergus as the young farmer's eyes flicker open.

"Ye're alright," he tells Fergus, thankfully. "Ye lost a bit of blood, but the God is pleased with ye and has spared ye."

"Are ye up to walking now, or would ye rather froggin' sit a while longer ?"  The question seems somewhat strange, as Aarnr himself is on his last legs, with that bloody gash on his neck and evidencing the pain of cracked ribs.

"A good feed and a night's rest will see ye right," he opines, "An' we can try our hand at hunting again on the morrow - see if we can stock up before those lazy fobbers return."

The two men get to their feet, somewhat unsteadily.  After a brief survey of their surroundings, they decide on the correct direction and head back to their camp.  After going about fifty yards, the seem to make a unanimous and unspoken decision to perform an almost perfect right-angle turn and head in that direction instead.

Soon they are making their way across the marshland, then (more slowly) up the hillside.

From the crest they can see the cottage atop the next hill.  No more of it appears to have collapsed...

By the time they make it back to the meagre shelter, they are both looking more than a little tired.

"Why'd they build their froggin' cottage so far from the fobbin' woods ?!!" Aarnr waxes rhetorical, unimpressed by the lack of foresight evidenced by those irresponsible builders of the ruined structure in their inconvenient choice of site.

The priest's first thought upon returning is to find a comfortable spot where he can wait for his dinner.  But a moments reflection has him checking to see if the oxen are alright (on the basis that if they haven't been torn apart by pheasants or the like, then he won't be called upon to kill anything else just yet), then tiredly to starting a fire - something more or less contained that will serve to cook a meal, not raze the woods (thereby exacerbating his concerns about their distance from the campsite) nor threaten Fairhill itself.

The rabbit that was the first thing brought down this evening is much the worse for wear, following recent events, but a spot of yelling at Bowbe soon deals with that, and Aarnr soon turns his attention to rigging a few sturdy branches to support a spit. 

He is less happy when he finds his flask is empty.  The metal one with suspicious and corrosive stains around the stopper.

"Don't suppose ye thought to bring anything to drink ?" the priest inquires of Fergus, holding up a full waterskin with some distaste.
This message was last edited by the player at 03:52, Sat 14 Apr 2012.

While Aarnr makes his way around the camp, checking the oxen (which take the opportunity to study the priest, though with only the mildest of interest), Fergus sits himself close to the unlit fire, apparently too tired to even notice the lack of warmth.

Once Aarnr has the fire going though, even if the damp wood does only burn fitfully, the farmer's son shakes himself, wincing only a little, and watches as the rabbit cooks slowly.  His companions question brings a dull-eyed stare, and a murmured, "Water.  I left my waterskin over there.  By the wall."