Next one. If you are reading, do not get used to this pace. I obsess, then I stop then I obsess again. Rinse, repeat. Enjoy.
2. The Bandit Raid
Using a single sharp claw, TrocaÎre slit the top of the front of his sackcloth tunic to alleviate the itch of the scratching fabric against his scales and licked his parched lips with the edge of a forked tongue. Surveying his surroundings in an effort to pry his eyes from the curious girl that had headed out front of his little party, he couldn't help the trepidation that the dune sea held. This was no place for a dragonborn. The heat may give him energy now, but it would demand rations that were not available. And water.
Water. Blue. Like her hair. With a snap his eyes fell back to the woman in question. The woman who had saved them, if begrudgingly.
Learning who Elowyn was had solved some of his questions about her. She escaped the bonds using pure strength, clearly. She walked with purpose, as if conquering this desert was a mission, and its success her singular focus. It most likely was. But how had a war hero ended up here?
It was clearly on her mind to get out of here. While TrocaÎre could also dream of escape, he couldn't help but wonder if it would be better if he didn't. They would never find what he had stolen- they physically couldn't- but the safest bet was to die and take his secret with him.
The party trudged on in silence, all of them seeming lost to thought, except for the obviously sulking male elf- Valvyn. No steps were wavering yet, but the oppressive heat was surely sucking the bounce out of all their strides.
TrocaÎre cast his eyes to the genasi thoughtfully. Full blooded genasi could make water run from stones and create oasis' brimming with life. This little one- Nishi- may be a solution, as sprites were no slouches in magic either. Perhaps she-
"Something's over there," Jorge finally broke the silence, raising a meaty fist to point at a distant dune.
As all the convicts halted their steps to look, Elowyn glanced at the party.
"Alice," she said abruptly, "What do you see?"
Alice's dark brows raised in surprise at being addressed by the surly general. "There are definite figures on the crest of the dune, but…" she drew out, "you can see that too, yes?"
"Never trust only one set of eyes in the desert," TrocaÎre instructed gently, "The heat plays tricks on the mind."
"And being a pure blood elf," Elowyn practically spat the word, "You have the best vision here to test."
"Oh, so no one thought to ask me?" Valvyn griped, meeting a round of eye rolls, "Well for anyone interested, there are five beings approaching us: Four average individuals and a fifth concerningly large thug who appears to be leading them."
Suddenly, those six rolled eyes now all widened with surprise.
"Wood elves are known to have superior sight and hunting ability, you know," Valvyn continued, crossing his coppery arms over his sack cloth covered chest like an overgrown toddler, "To discount my abilities just because none of you like conversation is just mean."
Just as TrocaÎre tried to adjust to thank Valvyn for his input, Elowyn decided to contribute her part of the conversation. A snort. Helpful.
"If he can help us," Alice turned to address Elowyn in reproach, but her words died on her lips as she saw a truly wicked grin spread over the lips of the petite woman as she began popping her knuckles and stretching her arms.
"Don't care how many," Balthor rumbled, his face and movements eerily similar to Elowyn's, "'long as I can smash 'em."
"You are what give our kind a bad name," grumbled Jorge, but he began stretching all the same.
"Why is everyone gearing up for a fight?" Alice asked nervously, seeing everyone loosening up, even the tiny genasi, "What about talking to them?"
"Not much talking in prisons, I'm afraid," TrocaÎre told her ruefully, thinking of his past year of insanity.
"Kill or be killed," Balthor grunted.
"Works for me," Elowyn ground out under her breath, "I need to hit something."
Without a backward glance, she began heading toward the incoming brutes, flanked by the bloodthirsty Balthor.
It was obvious when the new arrivals noted their presence. They had drawn close enough that the sharp eyes of the group could see the weapons they pulled out and now brandished, the metal glare standing out against their sack cloth outfits marking them as other prisoners. The thugs took off at a run, perhaps thinking they could catch the new group off guard. What they hoped to gain from the destitute prisoners was anyone's guess.
"They have weapons, and we don't," Valvyn announced unhelpfully to the group, "What are we supposed to do here?"
"Attack, elf," Jorge grunted, keeping impressive pace with the fleet-footed wood elf.
"Need I reiterate that they are armed?!" exclaimed Valvyn, "We have nothing to hit back with!"
"You may not," Nishi murmured shaking out her wrists as she ran, alighting sparks off her bare fingertips, "But not all of us need weapons."
"Yeah, well…" Valvyn stuttered, "How do we know they can't do that to?"
"They are all carrying something," TrocaÎre pointed out, "Even if they do have magic, they aren't relying on it."
Before Valvyn could try to come back with anything else, the front man of the bandits broke away with a burst of speed. He had apparently thought the biggest new arrival to be the threat that had to be handled first and barreled right towards TrocaÎre. TrocaÎre simply braced his feet and deftly side-stepped the runner, holding out an arm and clotheslining him off his feet.
During the distraction of their unfortunate friend, two other bandits attempted to flank the group but were met by two looming half-orcs that looked far too happy to take them on. While Jorge and his enemy traded blows, Balthor's landed a hard hit to his square jaw. It was a move the bandit instantly regretted.
All eyes were drawn to the pair as an unearthly bellow rang across the sands and Balthor released his already barely present humanity. His skin darkened almost to brown and red infused the whites of his eyes. He had lapsed into an orc's fabled Rage. No one could seem to look away from the sight of Balthor grabbing hold of the poor bandit whose fate was most assuredly sealed. The gods could only grant him a swift death now and that would be called mercy.
Nishi was the first to be jogged from the horrendous sight, noting movement to her left, near TrocaÎre's feet. The bandit he had taken down was trying to get back up and something shiny was glinting in his hand.
"Watch out!" She yelled at the dragonborn, hurling an ice knife that she had produced from thin air towards the back of the would-be assassin. Her cry had alerted him, and he turned, disrupting her target, but still catching the bulk of the knife in his shoulder and dropping to the sands again.
As the fourth bandit charged into the fray directly toward Valvyn, it didn't escape TrocaÎre's notice that the convicts had charged what they deemed to be the biggest threats first. Him, the orcs, now the elf. Casting his thoughtful gaze to Elowyn, who was passively surveying the scene as if it was just another Tuesday, he realized that that decision could be their downfall.
Perhaps it would have been, if Valvyn hadn't had to display his version of hand-to-hand combat in that very moment.
As the last goon charged, Elowyn had seen her opening. With all his minions on the playing field, the giant thug that led the group had been left open and unprotected.
"The fastest way to kill a snake," Elowyn had muttered to herself as she geared up to take a running leap off the dune toward the behemoth and his large club, "is to chop off its head."
Now, that's just not nice, TrocaÎre thought amusedly, but his eyes were drawn past the running girl to movement in his periphery. The thug reached Valvyn and swung his quarterstaff in a mighty arc. At the same moment, Valvyn had stepped forward with an open palm strike to slap his opponent. Like a dandy throwing down a gauntlet in a ball, Valvyn's outreached hand connected with the bandit's face, but he didn't account for his rivals forward step on his swing, resulting in pushing them chest to chest and Valvyn's bare fingertips caressing down the bandit's cheek.
Alice, who had been looking through her fingers at the ensuing carnage couldn't help but gasp at the resulting pose that left both men utterly unharmed and thoroughly uncomfortable.
"Valvyn!" she cried with a loud guffaw, unsure whether to warn him that his attacker was already recovering from the awkward encounter or to roll on the ground in laughter.
It didn't matter because the damage to Elowyn was done. The cry had jerked her attention from the target in front of her to the group behind her, regardless of how she swore she couldn't- wouldn't- didn't care if they lived or died. She turned her eyes back to the large leader too late. He had seen her launch from the dune and raised his great club to hit her from the sky like a macabre ball game. Elowyn twisted in the air, narrowly managing to avoid the great blow, but only succeeding in landing a glancing blow to the side of his neck and collarbone and falling sideways onto the ground at his feet.
Unthinking, for once in his life, TrocaÎre charged forward to the edge of the dune above Elowyn and the brute. At over 7 feet tall, it took but a few strides to draw him level with the pair. He saw nothing except the petite woman on the ground and the giant club raised over her and reacted with the dragonborn's greatest weapon- their breath.
Being of the line of black dragonborn, TrocaÎre's breath was that of acid. It was probably not a smart decision; he recognized that even as he let loose the flesh-dissolving stream. It took too long to regenerate, and gods knew what else they would encounter as they continued their trek to gods-knew-where. He knew magic was probably smarter, or even just tackling the man- they were the same size, after all- but he was no longer using the carefully honed, logical part of his brain. This was pure instinct. The instinct to save Elowyn- perhaps even at the expense of the others.
The thug screamed as acid splashed over half his body, taking him to the ground in agony. Whether that it was only half of him could be considered lucky was a fact that was up for debate, but the fact that he was alive at all was only because of TrocaÎre having the divert the rest of the stream to avoid Elowyn, even as she deftly rolled out of the way to climb to her feet.
Nishi, however, had maintained her focus on the close battle. The thug that she had previously hit was on the rise again, but this time there was no escape from the tiny woman as she uttered a quick incantation and flung a sphere of flame at the attacker. His wordless scream echoed across the valley between the dunes, drawing even Balthor's enraged attention from the grotesque, bloody pulp at his hands. It was all that was left of his completely unrecognizable opponent.
The scream provided Jorge an opening as well as his opponent dropped his already weakening guard. The bandit was barely holding his own against the brawny orc anyways, but the opening allowed Jorge to grab ahold of the slippery fucker. Jorge cleanly wrapped his arms around his jaw, snapping his opponent's neck and ending their skirmish.
Valvyn tried in vain to combat his opponent and his quarterstaff, but he was outmatched.
"Get him away from you!" Alice called out, her own ball of flame wobbly perched on her hand as she yelled at Valvyn, ready to try this fighting thing for herself.
"I told you that I can't!" Valvyn screeched back, his voice raising an octave with strain, "I don't do this hand-to-hand thing! It's so brutish!"
With an evil smile, his attacker stepped forward in a swing again which Valvyn attempted to dodge. The tall elf, in a rare ungraceful moment from the pressure, snagged his foot in the shifting sands and fell on his back.
And thank the gods he did, for at that moment, Alice could no longer contain her conjured flame and it flew at the pair, passing close enough to the bandit to singe his wiry beard and passing directly through where Valvyn had been standing.
"Alice!" Valvyn screeched, his voice raising yet another octave, "What in the holy Ehlonna was that?!"
"I'm not used to offensive spells!" Alice railed back in a panic.
The befuddled bandit, still fighting the discolored glare in his eyes from the scalding, dangerously close ball of fire, glanced back toward his leader for instruction to behold a horrible sight. His boss was only half standing, his right arm and shoulder melted off with the skin of his chest following suit. His left leg appeared to be on his knee but was in fact also quickly melting off of him due to his acid bath, courtesy of TrocaÎre.
Elowyn delivered a punishing blow to the throat of the huge man, knocking him the rest of the way to the ground before delivering a kick so hard and swift it caved in one side of the thug's skull before expelling the brain matter out of the other side of his skull, which had cracked open, and the orifices of his face.
Seeing his leader's gruesome demise, Valvyn's opponent immediately turned to begin running away.
"That's right, coward!" Valvyn yelled after him, voice breaking as it finally returned to normal, "you run-oof!"
Valvyn's victory yell was cut short as Jorge nearly bowled him over and began pursuing the bandit at top speed.
"Why are you chasing him?" Nishi asked as Jorge sped past her, "He will just die in the desert anyways."
"Shoes!" Jorge yelled as he sped past her, giving his voice an amusing doplar effect.
Nishi simply shook her head as she kicked the now freed short sword away from the smoldering remains of her victim before making her way over to the other bodies to see about loot.
Alice instead took lightly off after Jorge. "I'll help you!" she called out, looking down at her twisting fingers while she ran as she carefully recited the incantation to create another ball of flame.
"What in Vecna are they doing?" Elowyn asked TrocaÎre with a frown as she saw the lone bandit streak past their position with Jorge hot on his heels and Alice following closely carrying an unstable and concerningly large ball of flame.
"I think the orc wants the shoes," TrocaÎre hissed out dryly, "And the elf girl wants to kill them both?"
With a snort of amusement Elowyn toed the large body, but noted in disappointment that he appeared to have nothing on him but the club, which really just seemed to be more of a giant petrified stick than an actual weapon.
"Ow! Take them, take them!"
Elowyn and TrocaÎre looked up to see that Jorge had run down the bandit, tackling him over the crest of the dune and was yanking the boots from the other convict's feet without even bothering to fight him.
Pulling himself free of the half orcs grasp, the bandit began taking off down the dune again, though Jorge didn't bother returning yet, preferring to yank the boots onto his scorched feet right where he was.
"You- you- CUR!" Alice yelled, finally cresting the dune with her giant fireball. All she could see through the haze of flame was Jorge bent over the ground and the bandit running away and, in a fit of rage, she hurled her fireball at the retreating thug.
She did not account for its size and weight, or her own inaccuracy, as the large orb dropped quickly.
Jorge thanked the gods for his decision to bend over right where he was to put on the new shoes (though everyone else regretted his decision as they were treated to a highly unwelcome view of the orc's now exposed ass and balls) as the flaming orb lost altitude, nearly singing his already inadequate sackcloth. The orb skated right over Jorge's back, dropping into the sand, but it didn't stop there. The momentum of the flame ball and the downward tilt of the dune caused it to chase after the bandit, gaining speed until it overtook the unfortunate soul and burned him to a crisp where he stood before he even had a chance to scream.
"Well, that's not something you see every day," Elowyn rolled her eyes heavenward, "Holy Saint Cuthbert, save me from idiocy."
"Incoming," TrocaÎre hissed at her, before pulling her arm quickly with a worrisomely hot hand and clearing the way for a still-rampaging Balthor to reach the large corpse of the bandit leader.
Balthor's bloodshot eyes alit on the club that the thug had previously wielded and latched onto it in a giant fist… before promptly beginning to beat the carcass into an ungodly submission.
"And then that happens," TrocaÎre quipped as he watched Elowyn turn away in disgust, lip curling.
"At least someone is doing something useful," she drawled, gesturing toward Nishi gathering the belongings of the fallen bandits.
"Oh! Loot!" the duo heard Valvyn exclaim as he skipped across the sand, "I do love a good pillage and plunder!"
"I guess we should see what we earned for our troubles," TrocaÎre rumbled as he and Elowyn set off back to the main battleground.
"Yeah, before the children get their hands on anything pointed," Elowyn agreed in a rare moment of levity. In her mind however, she mulled over what to do from here. Her arm still burned from TrocaÎre's overheated touch.
They needed water and shelter and food, in that order, and they needed it fast, or they would all start dropping like flies. She prayed to whatever gods felt like listening that the bandits would have something helpful.