Immediately after Maeve, Boreas, Keef, Chubbs, and Wildheart vanish, leaving the Highborn behind:

Zuriel turns back to Cassie before following the elder out of the room.

"I am so sorry it came to this, Cassie. Soon though, you will be free to make your own choices. And when the threat is ended, I promise I won't allow them to keep you imprisoned for a second longer than necessary."

He looks at Cassie sadly before turning back and walking to catch up with Lyriel.

Falling into step beside her, he looks around, admiring the view.

"This truly is a place of beauty. I feel more at peace just being here." He smiles at Lyriel. "So, it looks like we have some time to ourselves. Elder, is there anything in particular you might suggest we do or see while we have the fortune to be here?"

"The day is young, and most of the adults will be out performing their daily duties to the commune," Travian replies easily.  "You'd be welcome to join them, but it's not expected.  Once I show you to your rooms, you'll be free to come and go as you please."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The cabin, it turns out, has been built into the canopy of a massive tree.  Thick branches adorned with leaves and vines weave around the entire area, and you can see a network of suspended wooden bridges connecting the cabin to others like it.  The ground can be see only faintly, and is a dizzying distance below you.

The Elder leads you down one bridge and then the next, pointing out the various unlabeled cabins: botanists, bakers, tanners, healers, and more -- all the trappings of a modern city, reduced to their most basic form.

"And here is the guest house," Travian finishes, motioning toward a tidy-looking cabin from which there is only a single bridge, which leads back the way you came.  "Help yourselves to whichever rooms you like within.  There are no keys here, for we have no need for locks.  Meals are served in the Main Hall I mentioned at dawn, midday, and dusk.  If you need anything, feel free to ask."

The Elder, having said his piece, turns and makes his way back across the bridge.  Moments after his departure, a squirrel scurries over to the bridge, wraps itself into a tight, furry ball, and falls asleep in the middle of the very first plank.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Seeing the squirrel in the middle of the bridge, Lyriel squeals and rushes over.

"Oh you poor thing, you're going to get stepped on! Here, let's find you a better nest."

She carefully scoops up the squirrel in the crook of her arm, cooing at it, while Zuriel looks on bemusedly. She looks up and blushes as she notices his gaze on her.

"What? When I was a child I had a pet squirrel named Aegil. I found him as a baby, half-starved after his mother had been killed by a cat, and nursed him back to health. He was my companion for the rest of his life.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zuriel holds up his hands in mock surrender, grinning broadly. "Hey, I'm not judging. On the contrary, I find your compassion for all things lost and forlorn admirable and endearing.

Lyriel's blush deepens as she catches the double meaning of his words. She looks away and fiddles with the latch on the door to one of the rooms, a task made difficult by the squirrel nuzzling into her arm.

She eventually gets the door open, and walks inside. Taking an extra handkerchief from her pouch she creates a nest on her bedside table, and after laying some nuts from her trail rations, deposits the squirrel, which promptly curls up, chittering.

She then looks around the room, and begins undressing from her armor into something more comfortable.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zuriel turns to his own room, chuckling to himself. He walks in, and shucks his armor with a relieved sigh. He changes his clothes, looking dismally at the state of his tabard and under tunic. Laundry would be on the agenda. He smiles as he hears Lyriel talking to the squirrel in the other room. He looks around at his own quarters, curious as to how the wildkin lived.

The provided quarters are sparsely furnished, each containing a twin-size bed, one pillow, a small nightstand, a small desk, and a chair.  There is a window, as well, though there is no glass.  The gentle breezes which swirl autumn leaves into flight from their homes upon the branches weave their way through the rooms, as well, and while chilly, they do not feel entirely unpleasant.

Before long, the sun has begun to set below the horizon -- the onset of Dusk, and one of the appointed mealtimes.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zuriel takes a moment to change and refresh himself. Taking off his chainmail and tabard, he is left with a simple pair of leggings and a tunic. His only concessions to his rank is the holy symbol of Tassada he wears around his neck. After a moment's contemplation, he belts on his longsword, wearing it so the maple leaf motif is conspicuously visible.

One can never be too careful, though it's not these elves I'm worried about.

Thus prepared, he leaves his quarters, waiting outside for Lyriel to finish. It is not long before she emerges, dressed in her robes, with the squirrel chittering animatedly on her shoulder. Zuriel smiles and politely offers her his arm for the walk to dinner.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The pair of Highborn make their way across the treetop bridges, enjoying an unparalleled view of the forest at sunset while they do so.  Wild elves have become more common now as they return from their daily tasks, and you experience as many looks of morbid curiosity as you do thinly veiled hatred.

Eventually you reach the dining hall indicated by Travian earlier.  The building is a hub of activity, though for the life of you, you cannot decipher the class and station of anyone around you in relation to anyone else.

The wildkin are universally clad in simple tunics and breaches, and none appear to be armed.  There is much laughter and chatter, though it can be difficult to discern some of the words used in conversation around here.

Dinner is served as a cafeteria-style buffet, with large lines of common tables available for eating.  There does not appear to be any sort of assigned seating, and both the crowd and the line seem to chaotically collide and divide at random intervals.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Before long, the Highborn find themselves seated at the end of a common table, enjoying a tray of assorted nuts and berries served alongside buttery pastries slathered with a meaty gravy.  Fresh water and wine is available in pitchers at each table, and compliment the meal nicely.

Upon taking their seats, the two nearest wild elves abruptly stand and leave, relocating themselves across the room.

"Is this space taken?," a young woman asks, sliding into one of the vacated spaces without waiting for an answer.  She is quite pretty, looking to be about 50 (elven) years old with strawberry blonde hair chopped into practical wisps that accompany her lithe, athletic build perfectly.  Her tray is piled high with berries, nuts, and little else, and she pours herself a generous glass of wine before continuing.

"I'm Trish," she says around a mouthful of juicy berries.  "Don't mind the odd looks and rash reactions.  Folks are a little skittish around... you guys.  Even if you are kin to Wildheart."

Trish winces apologetically.

"Hypocrites.  Cuts both ways, I guess.  But I digress.  The Elders thought you might be interested in accompanying us on the Dawn Patrol.  Betcha can't guess when it leaves!"

She giggles at Zuriel, then refills her already-emptied glass with wine before turning toward Lyriel.

"You're welcome to come too, if you want, but the Elders thought you might be more interested visiting the Hierophant Grove. Shall I make the arrangements?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zuriel looks up from a plate generously piled with berries and pastries at the newcomer with a smile as Lyriel glances over from hand-feeding the squirrel some choice nuts.

"Well met Trish, and please, join us. I am Zuriel, and it's a pleasure to meet you."

Following Trish's lead, he pours himself a glass of wine and takes a sip, savoring the rich flavors.

"No chance the Dawn Patrol leaves after a late brunch, is there?" he says with a wry smile. "Ah well. I, for one, should be delighted to take part, thank you for the offer."

He catches the suspicious looks of a cluster of nearby elves, and waves back cheerily, at which they quickly avert their gaze. Zuriel turns back to Trish and the dinner, amber eyes dancing mischievously as he smirks.

"And please, don't worry on our account," he says to Trish, gesturing subtly to the group of elves suddenly intensely occupied with their plates. "I've had frostier receptions for wearing out-of-season colors to the Autumn Harvest Festival in Hae'driel. And besides, I can't exactly blame their suspicions given the...history...between our respective cultures."

Zuriel finishes the last of his wine with a satisfied sigh and briefly contemplates having a second glass. "I can say though, that I am interested in learning more about you all. There is a beauty to this forest that is hard to put into words, and if I can be of any service to the community while I am here, it would be my honor to lend a hand."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"It's settled then!" Trish says, polishing off her wine and her food with more gusto than grace.  "We'll send someone to pick up your friend mid-morning, and I'll swing by your cabin just before dawn.  Make sure you're dressed and ready to go."

She pauses, giving Zuriel a quick appraisal followed by a nod of approval.

"Or just the latter, if you wanna make the morning more interesting.  See ya!"

Trish flashes the paladin an unreadable smile that leaves him wondering if she was joking or not, then takes her leave of the dining hall.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lyriel looks down at her assorted mixture of nuts and berries, a blush coloring her cheeks as she notices the stares of the wild elves around her.

Keeping her head down and occasionally plucking a choice nut or two to feed to her new friend, she thinks, I wonder if this is what everyone else feels like in Hae'driel around the other highborn.

Tucking into her food and chewing quietly she looks up when she hears the more welcoming voice of Trish. Hearing the woman address her, Lyriel briefly looks up and gives a slight nod of assent at the invitation to visit the Heirophant Grove before going back to sorting out the nuts for her squirrel friend.

Lyriel continues to halfheartedly listen to the conversation...Zuriel sure is a talkative one, she muses. At hearing Trish's final words Lyriel's ears burn a bright crimson, and as she meticulously butters her croissant she offers an icy glare in Trish's direction.

Well I never...just who does she thinks she is, the brazen hussy?! What ill bred manners! Surely Zuriel wouldn't fall for the charms of someone like that so easily.

Giving a rather large sniff she puts on her most condescending look as she draws herself up into a well coached straight backed posture, and delicately eats her perfectly buttered croissant, in a marvelous display of society hauteur. Her companion looks up and chitters sympathetically.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zuriel nearly chokes on his pastry at Trish's parting remark.

Surely she's merely joking...

His eyes dart involuntarily over to Lyriel, and he notes her sudden frigid demeanor.

Zuriel was, for the most part, lost when it came to women. Back in Hae'driel, few Highborne maidens paid him any mind at all due to his uncertain parentage and his family's low standing. While his refined, exotic features and earnest demeanor certainly meant he was noticed by the fairer sex of other social classes, because of his rank as a paladin this amounted to nothing more than second glances and the occasional fluttered eyelids.

In many respects, he was ironically trapped in a no-man's land (or perhaps more accurately, no woman's land) in between social strata in terms of eligibility as a bachelor. Beneath the serious consideration of most Highborn, yet far enough above the merchant middle classes as to be intimidating and beyond approach, Zuriel had no more experience than a handful of (chaste) moonlit trysts and rides in the countryside.

So it was that the paladin was completely, utterly unprepared for Trish's overt sensuality. While she was undeniably appealing and had a very straight-forward charm, Zuriel couldn't imagine a society in which such blatant flirtation was acceptable. Unsure of how to interpret her remarks and how to react, he settled for a lame wave, blushing, and returning to his dinner, giving her the benefit of a doubt that it was a cultural joke he misunderstood.

Once they finished their dinner, he and Lyriel walked back to their respective quarters, and after bidding her a subdued goodnight, Zuriel changed out of his clothes and collapsed into bed, exhausted. He had just the presence of mind to check the map for messages from Baldwin, and after brief consideration, pen a quick question into the Book of Answers before succumbing to his weariness.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He resolved to awaken well before dawn, giving him enough time to be fully clothed by the time Trish arrived. Just in case. Given his lack of sleepwear and resulting exposure, he just hoped she didn't arrive unduly early.

Zuriel is awakened at dawn by a pounding on his door.  It is not subtle in the least, and before he has a chance to do much beyond registering the noise, the door cracks open on its own.

"G'morning, sunshine," Trish beams, poking her head through the opening.  "Pull yourself together; we've got a big day ahead of us."

The door creaks shut, and Zuriel hears what he assumes to be his guide whistling a jaunty tune somewhere on the other side.  To his just-awoken brain, it bears a striking similarity to a familiar tune from his youth.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Upon hearing Trish's voice, Zuriel awakes with a start, shaking his head and rubbing his eyes his eyes to clear the morning fog.

Gods, how can anybody be so energetic so early...

He takes a moment to listen more closely to the tune, before marking the similarities with disappointment as merely figments and shadows from his unwaking mind. Kneeling in the floor in front of a basin of water, he performs his morning ritual ablutions and meditations, centering his mind for whatever is to come.

[Preparing Cure Light Wounds]

He quickly dresses, grateful that Trish was behaving with propriety this morning and giving him his privacy. He copies down the response from the Book of Answers, making note to inform Agarwaen upon his return. Strapping on his armor and sword, he grabs a loaf of bread from the table and heads out into the predawn gloom, blinking owlishly as he looks around for his entirely-too-perky guide.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zuriel finds Trish outside, leaning casually against the wall beside the door. She is dressed in supple leather armor that appears tighter than strictly necessary, and carries both a bow and a sword.

"You went with the tabbard," she says, a mischievous grin playing across her lips as Zuriel approaches.  "Jarl's gonna owe me a favor."

Before the paladin quite understands what is happening, Trish has slipped her left arm loosely around Zuriel's right arm, adopting a slight variation of a court maneuver used in Haedriel to denote a familial escort -- a son accompanying his mother, perhaps, or a particularly close brother and sister.

The wild elf raises an eyebrow at Zuriel's expression, which does little to mask the wheels turning within his head.

"Easy there," she says, tugging gently to indicate they should begin walking.  "I promise, I neither burn nor bite."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An uneasy silence follows as the pair walks past the buildings Travian pointed out before, and before long, Zuriel finds himself beyond any recognizable boundaries.

"The Dawn Patrol," Trish continues, "is less formal than its name implies.  We send a pair of scouts around each village several times a day, checking for anything that might be amiss.  Today, that's us -- so keep your eyes peeled."

Unsure of how to respond, Zuriel falls back on humor, his usual recourse and bastion in awkward situations. "Of course I wore the tabard. Didn't you know, that's where we paladins draw all our divine inspiration from. We never take them off, ever."

He gives Trish a lopsided smile and nods at her familiar posture at his side. "You seem to know an awful lot about our stuffy Highborn secrets. Please don't tell me the Dawn Patrol is actually a formal ball that you're escorting me to. Dances historically haven't ended well for me."

He scans the woods for enemies, or worse, dancers.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Surprised to find us so... civilized?" she laughs, shaking her head slightly.  "Where do you think your courts got the idea?"

Trish leads Zuriel from treetop to treetop, scanning the branches, buildings, and ground far below in equal measure as she goes.

As the morning drags on, more and more wild elves emerge from their homes.  While most ignore the paladin in their midst, a few offer a tentative nod of greeting as they hurry toward whatever tasks await them.

"I know you have questions," she says, taking an extra moment to peer at some distant tree.  "You'll have a hard time finding a more receptive hostess."

She smiles sweetly at him, then drags them both onward toward the next landing in the never-ending network of ropes, bridges, and platforms before he can properly respond.

"Wildheart always painted Highborn as fat, lazy aristocrats," she giggles, holding Zuriel's gaze for but a moment before leading him ever onward. "I'm glad he was wrong."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zuriel accompanies Trish through the treetops, responding to nods with warm smiles and waves.

Considering her words, he chuckles self deprecatingly. "No, not all of us are fat, lazy aristocrats. Just most. Well, lazy and aristocratic at least. Even the most indolently gluttonous take care to preserve their figure."

Zuriel sighs. "Though to be honest, it's the constant social posturing and obsession with bloodlines that I find most tiresome. Here though, it doesn't seem like you have rank or station, as such. How do you decide who does what in society? And are you all truly wild elves? Does it even matter?"

He pauses after the flurry of questions. "I'm sorry, it's just that this place is so different from what I'm used to. Not in a bad way," he hastens to add, "just very different."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Trish laughs for a while at Zuriel's observation, then takes a moment to catch her breath before responding.

"Don't confuse pomp and circumstance with hierarchy," she says at last.  "Everyone knows their place here, and their role in things.  There doesn't need to be a visible structure for one to exist."

She motions to herself.

"I'm of the Defender caste.  There are also Reclaimers, Builders, Elders, and others.  We can go over it later with some visual aids if you'd like."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"That might be helpful," Zuriel replies. "I can't distinguish any visible differentiations in roles."

He pauses, thinking for a moment as he ducks under a low-hanging tree branch. Being on the tall side for a elf did have its disadvantages.

"What decides your place? What happens if somebody is dissatisfied with their lot in life?"

Trish appears taken aback by the question, and furrows her brow for a moment before responding.

"What you're good at, I suppose," she says, lingering for a moment to gaze at a particularly spectacular overlook.  "The things that interest you."

The pair rounds a bend and begins to work their way back toward the more familiar areas of the village, and Zuriel is pleased to find them perfectly positioned to feast their eyes upon a glorious sunrise in the process.

"Children are encouraged to accompany their parents whenever they get old enough, to get a taste for what that life is like.  But we have all sorts of games, puzzles, and classwork designed to help them discover their path for themselves."

"More emphasis is placed on what they do best than what they enjoy most, as there are precious few of us and we need every ounce of efficiency that can be mustered.  Luckily, folks tend to enjoy things they're good at, so it sort of evens out. In fact, I..."

She stops abruptly, and narrows her eyes downward toward what seems to her companion to be a speck far below.

"Bastards! Third time this season, too," she mutters, walking over toward the edge of bridge and grabbing a low-hanging vine.  "Come on -- looks like we have to earn our rations today."

With that, she leaps from the bridge, using the vine to swing herself to a lower position far below.  Trish lands gracefully upon another bridge and releases the vine, which swings back toward Zuriel in short order.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zuriel's heart hammers with adrenaline as he surveys the drop, and the possibility of a fight. He looks at the vine distrustingly as he considers his options.

Well, here goes nothing...

Zuriel grabs firm hold of the vine and jumps over the edge, landing in a less graceful but suitably dramatic crouch. He gets up and tears after Trish, searching for threats.

"So who exactly are we fighting here?" he calls after the wild elf, "and why is their parentage in question?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Poachers," Trish calls over her shoulder, darting down this bridge and that in a pattern that slowly spirals her closer to the ground.  "And the only problem I have with their parentage is the lack of social skills that they ended up with."

She grabs another vine, allowing her to skip a few dozen meters of running by alighting upon another bridge.  Zuriel follows suit, and finally makes out what appears to be a trio of elves walking swiftly back and forth from a large tree cabin and the nearby bridge.

On each trip, they seem to be dropping something over the edge, where it vanishes into the foliage far below.

Trish releases her most recent vine to land in their midst, drawing her sword in a fluid motion as she does so.

"Boys, boys, boys," she chides, walking toward the group of agitated men fearlessly.  "Haven't we done this dance before?"

The largest of the group throws back his hood and crosses his arms.  Hardly a 'boy', this elf could give the bulkiest bruiser in Hae'driel a run for his money in a wrestling match.

"Yah, Trish, we have," he sneers.  "But you're missing the bigger picture."

"And what's that?" she says, casually edging closer.

"Can't you hear it?" the man asks, a cocksure smile plastered across his features.  "The band's changed.  They're playing my song now."

The other two figures have moved closer to the speaker now, and throw back their own cloaks -- revealing them to be human.  A black bandana is conspicuously tied across the left bicep of each, and Trish's eyes widen.

"The devil's the matter with you, Daryl?  You a Blackarm now?"

Daryl chuckles humorlessly.

"Relax, Trish.  You'll strain something.  I am what I am.  Some o' us want more from life than... this," he says, motioning to the trees around him.  "There is value in the world beyond the wilds, and I'm gonna find it."

The paladin clomps down upon the platform with about the subtlety you'd expect from an armored elephant, and the Blackarms draw their swords in response.

"The Flame?" Daryl says, glancing at Trish. "And you dare lecture me about how far I've fallen?"

"Not just any paladin," one of the Blackarms says, eyes widening in recognition.  "Zuriel.  Cheif'll pay handsomely for this one bound in irons."

The other one nods, and turns to Daryl.

"There's your in.  Good for it?"

The large man grins wickedly.

"And all I gotta do is break a fancy-pancy Highborn and his traitorous associate?" Daryl draws a warhammer from its place across his back.  "Money in the bank."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

~~ Combat Setup ~~

Everyone is within one move action of everyone else.  Melee-fest!  The Blackarms read as evil.  Daryl does not.

~~ Initiative ~~

Zuriel 18
Daryl 15
Trish 11
Blackarms 6

Zuriel looks at the Blackarms in surprise as he draws his own longsword. The wind picks up subtly as he draws the blade from its sheath, gilded maple leaf glittering in the growing light of dawn.

"You've chosen some unsavory partners in crime for yourself, Daryl," the paladin says, gesturing to the Blackarms with his sword. "There is indeed more to life than just the forest, but not down this path. Not with these brigands."

He looks at the Blackarms in turn. "So the Chief has decided that the Blackarms are a good idea after all? And now I'm wanted in irons? I must say gentlemen, the lack of consistency in Mid'driel's policies hardly exemplifies a stable system of government..."

Zuriel takes up a defensive posture next to Trish. His golden eyes glitter dangerously in the sun. "I strongly recommend you reconsider this course of action. This needn't end in bloodshed, but I am quickly losing patience with meddlesome bandits."

[Ready action to smite the first Blackarm to engage in hostilities.]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I'll let my hammer do the talking, thanks."

Daryl gets a solid grip on his warhammer and swings it vigorously at Trish.

The Defender attempts to parry the blow rather than duck out of the way, but she misjudges the weapon's speed and suffers a painful strike to the shoulder.

Trish appears strangely unphased by the wound, her eyes narrowing into intensely focused slits as she plunges her sword into Daryl's abdomen.

He roars in agony as Trish twists the swordtip, then yanks it free of its sheath of flesh.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Daryl staggers slightly, steadying himself for another blow.

The Blackarms leave him to his own devices, instead opting to pile in on Zuriel.

The first is met with a counterattack from Zuriel, who expertly dips his longsword beneath their guard to land a glancing blow infused with holy energy.

More angry than hurt, he completes his charge with distressing poise.

His ally works his way around to gain a flanking position, but his sword clatters uselessly off the paladin's armor.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

~~ Combat Setup ~~

Everyone is within one move action of everyone else.  Melee-fest!  The Blackarms are flanking Zuriel, while Trish and Daryl duel nearby.

~~ Round Two ~~

Daryl (Damage: 10)
Trish (Damage: 0*)
Blackarms (Damage: 8) (Damage: 0)
Zuriel (Damage: 5)

Daryl swings his hammer in a reckless reverse arc, lurching upward upon Trish's guard once more.

The hammer smashes against her lower chin, lifting her from her feet momentarily with the impact.

Trish's face, which should have been battered, bruised, and swollen, does not seem to register the hit. Her shoulder, however, erupts into an angry red welt where it was struck last round.

She winces, then brings her sword to bear with dizzying accuracy.

Daryl bellows in anger as the blade hacks expertly through skin and sinew, and he topples to the ground in a bloody heap.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Trish turns to regard the Blackarms, eyes narrowed in what appears to unbreakable concentration, and advances towards them -- putting Zuriel in a flanking position for the first Blackarm.

The Blackarms trade blows with Zuriel once more, the first one's assault banking off his armored form with a metallic ping.  The second Blackarm manages to carve off a chunk of his tabbard with his blow, but achieves little else.

Zuriel takes advantage of the first Blackarm's momentary distraction to press forward with a surprisingly forceful blow.

Zuriel's sword spins in a glittering arc, and the Blackarm howls in pain as the blade bites deeply into his collar, sending a spray of blood onto the wooden planking as Zuriel follows through, bringing the sword across the bandit's torso to complete the strike.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

~~ Combat Setup ~~

Everyone is within one move action of everyone else.  The Blackarms are flanking Zuriel, and Trish is helping Zuriel flank a Blackarm.  Teamwork!

~~ Round Three ~~

Daryl (Damage: 23 -- Bleeding Out)
Trish (Damage: 10*)
Blackarms (Damage: 19) (Damage: 0)
Zuriel (Damage: 5)

Daryl gurgles softly as blood continues to pour from his wounds, but he doesn't seem ready to expire quite yet.

Trish winces as her chin and neck radiate an intense network of blues and purples for no apparent reason, but she dutifully swings her sword at the nearest Blackarm.

The blow misses its mark, and her focus falters for a moment to betray a hint of frustration.

The Blackarms continue their assault on Zuriel, with the first missing wildly.  The second has better luck, however, and catches him against the lower thigh.

The wound bleeds, but is mostly superficial.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zuriel seems to barely register the pain as he continues his relentless assault on the first Blackarm.

Yelling, he thrusts his longsword through the bandit's right lung. He gives the hilt a twist as he withdraws it in a spew of gore. The bandit collapses at the paladin's feet, gurgling. Zuriel spins to face the remaining bandit, face grim.

"So ends the path."

~~ Combat Setup ~~
Everyone is within one move action of everyone else.  The remaining Blackarm is facing Zuriel, with his back to the bridge.  Trish stands behind the paladin, and Daryl is slowly dying near the warehouse they were robbing only moments ago.

~~ Round Four ~~
Daryl (Damage: 24 -- Bleeding Out)
Trish (Damage: 23)
Blackarms (Damage: 28 -- Bleeding Out) (Damage: 0)
Zuriel (Damage: 9)

Daryl continues to bleed on the ground, his blood staining the woodwork as it seeps into the thirsty grain.

Trish begins walking toward the remaining Blackarm and glares.

"That reward for Zuriel worth your life, sweetheart? Surrender.  Now."

The remaining Blackarm looks indecisive for a moment, but an answer comes from behind him.

"You wouldn't even have to ask that question if you knew what it was.  Fra'zhast!"

A fourth figure emerges from the warehouse, a Blueband with bright green eyes.  His open palm faces toward Trish, and a silver ring upon it flashes at the command word. The image of a ghostly ram shimmers into existence, galloping through the air before slamming directly into Trish's chest.

Though the physical damage does not appear to register immediately, the force of the impact does, and the Defender is sent crashing against -- and through -- the bridge's railing.  She teeters for a moment, allowing her sword to fall as she flails for a handhold.

For a moment she seems suspended in midair as her sweat-slick fingers scramble to find purchase upon the damaged railing, but to no avail.  Moving in slow motion, Trish wordlessly shoots Zuriel a meaningful look -- avenge me -- before disappearing over the ledge.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Zuriel shouts helplessly as Trish tumbles overt the edge. Whirling on the Blueband, he skips outside the range of the remaining Blackband, whose sword wiffs harmlessly in the space Zuriel was just occupying. The paladin lunges at the mage, snarling.

The tip of his longsword catches the mage in the side, leaving a nasty gash.

"Mark my words, you *will* pay for her death."

~~ Combat Setup ~~
The remaining Blackarm is facing Zuriel, with his back to the bridge. Daryl and the other Blackarm are slowly dying on the ground.  Zuriel and the Blueband are engaged in melee combat, though the caster is unarmed.

~~ Round Five ~~
Daryl (Damage: 25 -- Bleeding Out)
Blackarms (Damage: 29 -- Bleeding Out) (Damage: 0)
Blueband (Damage: 8)
Zuriel (Damage: 9)

Daryl continues to bleed freely on the ground, though the flow is getting weaker by the second.

The conscious Blackarm glances at the paladin and the Blueband, smirks, then bends down to aids his ally.  The second Blackarm's bleeding slows, then stops.

The Blueband takes a five-foot step backward and raises his ring once more.

"Surrender, paladin.  Killing me won't bring her back, and you are outmatched here."

"Save it. Why does Lukas want me specifically, and more importantly, why in the hells do you people insist on stealing from others?! Why can't you just lead your own lives as honest folk?"

Zuriel advances and slashes at the Blueband, careful to leave his back to something solid.

[Standard attack assuming the readied action fails]

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Blueband shrugs as Zuriel approaches.

"Figured as much.  Fra'zhast!"

The ring glitters once more, and the spectral ram slams into the paladin's chest.

The impact hurts like hell, but does not thwart the paladin's advance.  Zuriel swings his sword angrily at the caster's poorly armored form, cleaving through the resistance provided by his defensive enchantments with ease.

The Blueband gasps in pain.

"Karlos, you idiot.  Help me!"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

~~ Round Six ~~
Daryl (Damage: 26 -- Bleeding Out)
Blackarms (Damage: 29 -- Stabilized) (Damage: 0)
Zuriel (Damage: 17)
Blueband (Damage: 14)

Daryl's bleeding stops, the ooze finally coagulating in an ugly pool.

Karlos perks up at the Blueband's command, and charges into combat.

The attack glances off Zuriel's armor once more, leaving the Blackarm more than a little flustered.

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Zuriel slashes the Blueband, nearly decapitating him, but the mage throws an arm in the way at the last moment.

As it is, his arm gets mangled badly, though his head remains attached.

The Blueband takes another five-foot step backward, clutching his arm in absolute agony as blood pours from his wounds.

"Kz...Kz... Kz'zert!" he stammers in a panic, eye's flashing with hidden power.

[Casting: <Unknown Spell>]

A fog begins to coalesce around the paladin's thought processes for a moment, but a swift shake of the head clears it instantly.

Seeing the spell rendered ineffective, the Blueband's eyes widen in fear and he raises his good arm feebly in a pitiful attempt to shield his head from the next blow.

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~~ Round Seven ~~
Daryl (Damage: 26 -- Stabilized)
Blackarms (Damage: 29 -- Stabilized) (Damage: 0)
Zuriel (Damage: 17)
Blueband (Damage: 23)

Karlos swings his sword for all he's worth, the Blueband's panicked actions and grotesque injuries adding desperation to his own actions.

He finally manages to connect, slashing a deep gash across the paladin's shoulder.

Zuriel presses the attack, albeit cautiously, shifting forward and making a strategic quick jab into the Blueband's stomach to finish him off. The mage's eyes roll up into his head, and he slumps to the ground as Zuriel whirls to face Karlos.

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~~ Round Eight ~~
Daryl (Damage: 26 -- Stabilized)
Blackarms (Damage: 29 -- Stabilized) (Damage: 0)
Zuriel (Damage: 23)
Blueband (Damage: 30 - Bleeding Out)

Karlos makes another pass at the increasingly bloodied paladin, but misses his mark entirely.

"You don't need to die here, Flamebringer.  Surrender -- we'd prefer you alive."

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Zuriel scoffs.

"I have no intention of dying here, Karlos. Though I extend the same offer to you."

Zuriel's eyes flash white as he channels divine energy inward, and Karlos looks on in surprise as the worst of the paladin's wounds close up and heal.

[Lay on Hands: 11]

"Still think I'm outmatched?"

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~~ Round Nine ~~
Daryl (Damage: 26 -- Stabilized)
Blackarms (Damage: 29 -- Stabilized) (Damage: 0)
Zuriel (Damage: 12)
Blueband (Damage: 31 - Bleeding Out)

Karlos shrugs, motioning to his undamaged figure as if to say he was not impressed.  His clumsy follow-up, however, does little to improve his situation.

Zuriel takes a measured lunge towards Karlos, grazing his bicep and pushing him into a position less favorable for a counterattack.

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~~ Round Ten ~~
Daryl (Damage: 26 -- Stabilized)
Blackarms (Damage: 29 -- Stabilized) (Damage: 4)
Zuriel (Damage: 12)
Blueband (Damage: 32 - Bleeding Out)

Karlos winces, bringing his sword to bear with doubled resolve.

The blow connects, drawing blood from his foe -- and a smile across his features.

Zuriel takes a step backwards, taking a moment to attend to his wounds. "Ra'fa'!" he intones, and white light shimmers around him, sealing up some of the worse bleeding.

[Cure Light Wounds: 3]

He levels his sword at Karlos, ready to continue the melee.

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~~ Round Eleven ~~
Daryl (Damage: 26 -- Stabilized)
Blackarms (Damage: 29 -- Stabilized) (Damage: 4)
Zuriel (Damage: 9)
Blueband (Damage: 33 - Bleeding Out)

Karlos uses the opening afforded to him by the paladin's spell to scramble to the dying Blueband's body.  At first it looks as though he is attempting to stem the bleeding, but it soon becomes clear that he is furiously searching for something.

Apparently finding what he was looking for, Karlos rises -- and you can just make out the metallic gleam of an object buried in his gloved off-hand.

"I'm not asking again, paladin.  Surrender, or you'll damn well regret it."

"You're wasting your breath, Karlos. The Flame does not surrender. Justice...does not yield."

Zuriel advances warily, face grim, keeping his back to something solid. His sword arcs down on Karlos, who is unprepared for the blow. The blade bites deeply into the bandit's shoulder, spilling a fresh arc of red onto the planks.

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~~ Round Twelve ~~
Daryl (Damage: 26 -- Stabilized)
Blackarms (Damage: 29 -- Stabilized) (Damage: 12)
Zuriel (Damage: 9)
Blueband (Damage: 34 - Bleeding Out)

Karlos grunts as the sword dips into his flesh once more, and takes a five-foot step backward -- maneuvering over the fallen Blueband in the process.

"It doesn't strategize either, does it?" he laughs, taking a five-foot step backward.

His hand opens to reveal a strange-looking orb of metal etched with jagged markings.  It shimmers for a moment, then produces a savage arc of lightning which blasts the ground near Zuriel's feet.

Karlos swears, bringing his sword up in his other hand to defend himself.

Zuriel dances around the lightning and delivers a brutal slash across the bandit's belly. Gore spews out as the paladin continues the crosswise cut, and Karlos howls in agony.

"This doesn't have to be the end for you either, Karlos. Surrender, and I will spare your life."

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~~ Round Thirteen ~~
Daryl (Damage: 26 -- Stabilized)
Blackarms (Damage: 29 -- Stabilized) (Damage: 23)
Zuriel (Damage: 9)
Blueband (Damage: 34 - Stabilized)

Karlos staggers under the blow, then takes another five-foot step to raise the orb again.

"I won't hang for you, fool.  It's death one way or the other."

The lightning strikes its intended target this time, coursing through Zuriel's body and causing angry burns wherever it goes.

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Zuriel hisses in pain as Karlos laughs with glee. The pain vanishes from his eyes, however, and a grim, dispassionate calm comes over the paladin. He steps forward deliberately, and swings his sword in a blinding arc. Still laughing, Karlos move his sword to block, but Zuriel staggers the timing just slightly, such that Karlos' blade meets only air.

Karlos' grin remains plastered in his face as Zuriel's sword separates his head from his body, sending it tumbling over the railing and into the abyss. The headless body falls to its knees and then slumps over, spraying a horrifying amount of gore. The orb rolls to a stop at Zuriel's feet.

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The paladin surveys the destruction sadly as he bends over to tuck the orb in his pouch.

It's a shame it had to come to this...but I don't have time to waste. It's almost too much to hope, but Trish could be alive...somehow. Tassada, please let her be alive...

He quickly returns to the Blueband, taking the ring off his finger and depositing it into his pouch as well. As he does so, he notices a ladder of vines near the shattered railing.

This must be how they got up...

He turns back to regard the dead and dying.

No time for them now...they will live or die as Tassada deems it. A more worthy life may yet be saved.

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He looks around to see if anybody was drawn by the commotion, but not a soul was in sight. He takes a moment to slice off a small strip of green fabric from his tabard with his small boot knife, thinking of Lyriel, and how the aftermath of the fight would look to somebody happening by. A sudden flash of a distant memory comes to him unbidden, and an image from long ago floats to his mind's eye of Lyriel in an elegant emerald gown from a midwinter feast years before. Her hair elaborately braided, tied with a dainty ribbon of the same color. His hands unthinkingly tie the strip of emerald fabric into the same bow around the vine ladder.

No time to tell anyone...I hope to the Gods that she finds this and knows I yet live.

Zuriel climbs onto the ladder, wincing as his wounds flare in pain, and descends into the unknown, hoping against hope for a miracle.

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The paladin descends with cautious optimism, hand over hand, and lands lightly upon the spongy moss of the forest floor.

His golden eyes pick up shapes in the early morning light: a cart, a horse, a driver.  Two other shrouded shapes are carrying a third toward the cart -- a limp, bound figure with strawberry-blonde hair.

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"Took you long enough," the driver says from his seat in the cart, without looking in the paladin's direction.  He adjusts his whip nervously.

"The others finishing up?  We're on a schedule here, and blasting a wildkin patrol off the bridge wasn't exactly subtle."

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Zuriel groans inwardly as he sees the group of bandits on the ground.

Of course there's a ground crew...

His eyes widen as he sees Trish and a surge of hope wells up within him.

She wouldn't be bound if she were dead!

Still, a bound and vulnerable Trish made current situation much more delicate. He draws his sword and shield, and announces himself in a clear voice.

"The others are far beyond hearing now, I'm afraid. A pity, but I had no choice. You, however, do. I've had my fill of bloodshed for today. Give me he girl, and be on your way." he says, gesturing to Trish.

"You can even keep whatever ill-gotten gains you've managed to pilfer. Nobody else needs to die here," he adds in a softer voice.

[Diplomacy: 26]

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The shrouded figures dump Trish into the cart and turn to face this new threat.

"Nobody else is dying, and that's fact," the driver says, standing in his seat. "Something for which you should be grateful.  We don't have time to piddle about with would-be heroes."

He points a finger at Zuriel and utters a word of power:

"Ar'tiche!"

[Casting: <Unknown Spell>]
[Will Save (Zuriel): Fail]

"Why don't you carve your request into the trunk of that tree with your boot knife, so we can consider it more fully? Be sure to include your name, rank, and extended lineage as far back as possible, so we can be sure we know who we're dealing with. In fact, you should do that for every tree you see."

These words seem like a pretty good idea for some reason, and before the paladin even fully comprehends why, he is reaching for his dagger and debating how to best shave the bark from the tree in order to make his message.

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Zuriel is so engrossed in this task that he doesn't notice that the cart, its owners, and the precious cargo have all vanished from sight -- after taking the time to climb back up to the treetops to collect their allies and sterilize the area as much as they can.
This message was last edited by the GM at 12:31, Wed 12 Feb 2014.