Two out of Six Cats

The two surviving, inky-black, Displacer beasts finally slow their pace.

“How hurt you?”

Growls one to the other.

“About same as you.”

Despite their weird, dimensional-sliding powers, they’re both covered with cuts, scratches and stab wounds from their recent and unsuccessful sneak-attack against the group of two-legs.

“Others gone?”

“Certainly.”

“Even Alpha?”

“Saw her dead before we fled.”

Both monstrous, panther-like creatures stop to consider what’s just happened. Their whip-like tentacles, quivering above their first and second sets of shoulder-blades. 

“We killed one horse though.”

“Good eating and now only split by two.”

Knights in White Satin

Still breathing deeply after the exertion of the battle, Khalil; leader of the eight desert horsemen, leans across on his finely decorated, traditional, tribal saddle and gently admonishes the adjacent Wizard Moody.

"You said that they didn't have any Magicians but the one that got away was clearly a Bard."

Moody sneers.

"Bards don't count."

Nostrils' flaring slightly, Khalil risks annoying his employer.

"He summoned a Centaur!"

The seasoned Khalil had cautioned Moody against this attack. He'd considered the Party of adventurers too big. Nine men against seven wasn't good enough odds, even with their well trained horses and home/desert advantage. The flint-eyed Enchanter had insisted though. He'd been furious about the death of his falcon and was going to take his revenge on the Elf regardless.

Fortune though, had smiled upon them. Only three of their opponents had attacked at range and all of them had targeted the magically protected Moody, rather than his riders. All but the Bard and the Halfling had arranged themselves in a single spread out line and, with the exception of the Halfling Dog-rider, they'd just waited to be attacked. They didn't organise themselves into human barriers to prevent horse barges or jumps. They even failed to exploit the three large, dozing camels to break up direct charges.

Only one of the group surprised them. The Halfling, riding the big dog, broke to the side and rushed up their flank, avoiding his men and horses and taking the fight direct to the Wizard. It was fortunate for Moody that he came alone and chose arrows rather than sword.

Ultimately though, their well practiced tactics had been successful, with Moody's charms sending all but the Elves to sleep. The Bard conjured a very powerful looking Centaur and managed to escape over the dunes but the Archer was snared in a net, dragged across the sand and hoof-stomped to unconsciousness.

Khalil had considered giving chase to the Bard but ironically, for their intended entertainment, his type weren't much in demand.

Looking down at the beaten and bloody Elf who'd killed his falcon, Moody considers taking his revenge there and then, but after a brief moment, shakes his head.

"You're worth nothing to me dead and I doubt you'll survive three bouts in the arena."

Lightning Tree Strikes

 

In Search of Safety

With the wolf pack closing in and the elven Arowe and one of the horses still not fully recovered, the halfling scout Liga Bur rides ahead in search of a more defensible position.

Assured that, with the aid of the 'Pointy-finger-stick' wand, Arowe can stay on the right course, Liga Bur and his trusty hound Mir Hundur use their survival skills to look for higher ground and caves. Anywhere that would prevent the wolves from easily surrounding them and stymy their superior speed.

Atop his plodding horse, the armoured Fortu is free to snap branches from the trees as he passes. Wherever they camp, sharpened sticks will surely be helpful...

It's around mid-afternoon when the depleted horse Barry refuses to continue. Arowe is secretly grateful that he didn't have to make the same request out-loud. Within an hour, Liga Bur returns with news of his find.

Less than a few miles out of their way, the party find themselves at the mouth of a, thankfully empty, cave. Big enough to fit all of them as well as the horses and in the side a rocky bluff. Large fallen trees litter the slope leading up to it and the scree to either side of the cave mouth make the terrain inhospitable for a direct assault.

It's an almost perfect place to make a stand.

"Incredible!" offers Rifkin. "It's almost as if we planned it ourselves!"

Fortu sneers though, as he glances around. "It still needs some sort of spiked barriers."

Night Watch

As the Party has grown more confident in each others abilities and trustworthiness, they all sleep a little sounder. The night-time sleep/guard roster isn't perfect and costs them a few hours each day but it seems to be the best they can do with just the four of them. 

The elven Arowe and Rifkin take the longest shifts because they need the least sleep and have, by far, the best night vision. This does mean though, that both elves stand guard alone for six of the ten hours.

First two hour watch: Fortu and Rifkin. (9pm-11pm)

Second two hour watch: Rifkin alone. (11pm-1am)

Third two hour watch: Arowe alone. (1am-3am)

Forth two hour watch: Arowe alone. (3am-5am)

Fifth two hour watch: Arowe and Liga Bur/Mir Hundur. (5am-7am)

In addition to the guards on duty, the three Horses, the Dork and the little Fox all contribute in their own way.

Something wicked this way comes

It's been six days since they'd left the frightening, Lightning tree behind them but Liga Bur feels his concerns continue to mount.

It was late afternoon by the time they'd left the living tree behind and, weakened as they were, they'd only managed to travel a few miles before being forced to make camp again.

Despite his obvious cowardice, Rifkin had yet again proven his value. Fortu's ugly purple bruises vanished under the bard's melodic remedies and even the desiccated and burned horse, rallied a little under his gentle ministrations. 

Feeling as safe as they were going to be in these wild woods, they maintained their camp for two more days. With water from the nearby stream, dried food from the Three-Quarterling's stores and plentiful fresh meat that Liga Bur had caught from the surrounding area, everyone affected by the leech-like root tendrils began to slowly recover. 

During Liga Bur's early hours guard duty, he imagines he hears something far, far away. Wolves perhaps? Looking across to his sleeping hound, the battle scarred halfling shakes his head. He was probably just daydreaming nostalgically about the wolf-like worgs kept by his old tribe...

Still, the feeling of unease lingers even as they break camp later that morning. The elven archer, Arowe and Barry the horse are still struggling though and they're only able to travel on for another half day before stopping to rest for the remainder of the day.

The Lightning tree's stick-finger wand seems to be leading them in a specific direction but Gruumsh only knows if it's the right direction?

This night though, Liga Bur is certain he hears wolves baying from far behind them.

Sharing his concerns with his teammates, they press on for another half day before being forced again to rest.

Despite the ravaged Arowe's hopes, his magical pendant hasn't seemed to help much, if at all, but thanks to their restricted travel and long breaks, his strength is slowly returning. Though no longer as weak as a kitten, his arms still shake under the pressure of his enchanted bow. Barry the horse, although still not strong enough to carry a rider yet, has recovered enough to haul some of the supplies.

That night, Mir Hundur stirs at the distant howling of the wolves and the sensitive, elven eared Rifkin and Arowe think that they can hear it too. Unfortunately, it just confirms what Liga Bur had already suspected. Though still many miles away, a wolf-pack has caught their scent and is eating up the distance between them!

Everyone who had their strength drained has recovered 5 points.

Ladies & Gentlemen... The Gee Gees!