The men dispersed, 2 groups of 2 heading to their positions, only a hint of hesitation about them. This was it for them all.
Sarkon and Darvin looked at Sarkon, a sense of resolve and acceptance played on his face before Sarkon motioned to them move. They both approached the edge of the clearing. Groups of bandits were now only a short distance off, approaching swiftly but with some caution. They were expecting a good scrap with their attackers. Darvin tapped Sarkon and pointed, a group hanging back had some crossbows loaded. A few other groups were fanning out towards the edges of where the guards were at before.
Darvin looked to Sarkon and whispered, "We aren't gonna make it out, are we? It's ok. I always knew this was dangerous work. Let's make them regret their choice."
Sarkon shook his head and whispered back, "We will sure as hell try. Don't give up on me yet, young man."
Checking his supply of arrows, Sarkon found he was terribly low. They had to rely on a little more luck to get through.
Sarkon nocked an arrow, and readied himself. Darvin followed suit. Once they had the closest targets, they let arrows loose. Each arrow struck home, taking the enemies by surprise once more.
The bandits charged out to wood line, fanned out and trying not be the next target. The elf slipped off into the thick undergrowth. Darvin fell back further in the woods. More bandits were mobilizing and Sarkon knew the chance at victory was growing slim.
The first wave crashed into the trees and brush, weapons held ready. Sarkon slipped behind them, one at a time and cut them down. Swift movements of his knife striking vulnerable spots in practiced motions. One. Then two. Then three of the brutes fell. One more found him as he breached the wood line and tackled the elf full bore. They both crashed to the ground, hard roots and rocks smacking them both as they tumbled and wrestled for a dominant spot. As they rolled, Sarkon’s injured arm slammed clean into a root, new blood spilling out from the improvised bandage. Now down to one good arm he finally kicked himself free of the man and readied his elven dagger. The bandit sprang up and had his ax ready. The duel was swift. One swing of the ax and Sarkon dodged it, his light frame gliding around the blow and retaliated with a definitive knife to the chest. The defiant berserker didn’t go down without one last grip on the elf’s injured arm and fell down ripping the wound open once more. More fighting pulled him back from the brief burst of pain.
Darvin found himself in a 2 v 1 match with the last of the bandits. Sarkon rushed to his aid. They fought ferociously, none of the men backing down. Swinging axes parried by Darvin’s sword but leaving little room for him to strike back. Sarkon arrived just as Darvin tired and they each took one. The battle ended quickly as the skill of their enemy was blinded by anger. They each struck down the bandits as their swings went wide and left them open. The 2 took a quick reprieve. Finally, their heads cleared.
“Let’s go. The others will need us,” Darvin said quickly. Nodding, they both left back to the main camp. The scattered bandits were now in disarray. A few were fighting the guards but most were packing up the treasures they could and booking it out of there. Jumping into the fray, Sarkon and Darvin helped mop up the remaining fighting and gathered the 4 men. The camped cleared now save for the big boss’ building. Baarid made his appearance as the last of his loyal men gathered around.
Baarid smiled as he always has. “I see you came back for me. Ready for one last bout? Well, this won’t be it. The tide has turned against me. Perhaps another time but to you fellows, I bid you ado.” Finished with his short speech, Baarid pointed his last loyal retinue to the guardsmen and Sarkon. Baarid wasted no time and was already packed for travel. The group fought quickly but none could break free of the new assault fast enough. Just as Sarkon finished his foe, Baarid slipped into the woods. Frustrated and tired, Sarkon dove back into the the melee, helping mop up the last of the fighting. When the final two stood outnumbered, they turned tail. The group rallied in a thunderous roar of victory. They won the day. They did it and made it out with their lives. Now the last thing to do was gather up the goods and gather up any wounded commrades and head back. The dead would be left to the predators. They deserved no such respect as a burial.
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The darkness set in quickly after the victory. Seeing no point in leaving a perfect camp site and figuring none of the ilk would dare return, they buried the fallen comrades and shacked up in the more sturdy structures. Watch was set but the night ended uneventful.
In the morning, the 6 men spread out, gathering up the most valuable stuff and supplies they could carry. Off near one side, Res, a very young man even by the guard standard found something very interesting indeed.
“Sarkon, sir! Your gonna want to see this! An orc tied to a tree!” Res yelled.
“An orc?!? No bloody way!” Sarkon yelled back.
Sarkon ran to where Res was and was shocked. Tied up and beaten was Grüshnag. The orc made it out and somehow ended up here of all places. Sarkon went around to cut the restraints but just then Grüshnag woke up and broke the heavy binding clean through. His blind fury now directed at Res, he grabbed the man and ragdolled him in one mighty throw. Sarkon quickly ran around to calm his friend. Placing his hand on his shoulder, “Grüshnag, my friend. It is me.”
Confusion shot across Grüshnag’s face. A brief pause and the confusion turned to realization. “Sarkon? If that’s you, who that man?”
“Yeah, about that. Hey, Res! You ok?” Sarkon asked.
“Yeah, I suppose,” Res said, picking himself off the ground. “But I know for sure, Grüshnag earned his reputation as a strong and fierce fighter.”
Reunited at last, they all spent the rest of the morning gathering up supplies, catching up on all the crazy stuff that happened and readying for the journey back to Nardth. The men were all in good spirits. Saying one last prayer and send off to their fallen, the group left. Baarid, while not dead, was surely a long way gone and the region around Nardth would surely be safer.
Grüshnag was now happy to head back to be accepted as a real hero, despite his short work in the whole ordeal. He did finally give Sarkon that elven sword he found way back. Stashed in Baarid’s tent, of all places.
Sarkon looked forward to rest and recovery. His injury was serious and needed a good time to heal.
All in all, the group of men, elf, and orc were all ready for some deserved rest in safety.
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End Act 1
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