When the Drums Begin to Play
First of Olweje-hamba (Olweje Descendent), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)
Swords hacked at vines even among the rain of arrows and there were spells of healing and there were spells of war, of flesh becoming metal and of power incarnate. You feel it steal over you, you feel it in your blood, the touch of a power that is not cold and distant Ikomi. A vial is pressed to your lips, the potion like iron and salt on on your lips. And all the while arrows fly back and forth half blind in the night. You hear screams among your men and the sailors, foes finding their mark faster than Inge can heal
Tom Heals fully
John takes 4 Damage
James takes 10 Damage
Nico takes 8 Damage
Up and down the shore the air ripples and you can see out of the dark, out of the fey's conjuring two images of Anwari might, longships come ashore to plunder so they seem and the foe is filled with wonder and with dread as they had not been at the sight of only one. But from the right of the chief another rider, his helm adorned with the tail of a fox blowing in the wind calls out in a great voice. Though you do not recognize the tone you know the tone all too well: encouragement for those who had lost faith and boldness to the wavering heart.
Even as one then another and another of the elk riders tumbles into the waves staining them red under the withering arrow of your foes more of the raiders gather.
Now, now or never you know else their spears will be ready beneath you. The bear jumps first, but you and Silver are but three breaths behind as you wrench yourself into the saddle and do the sort of mad dash that only tales tell of.. It is perhaps remarkable than none of you fall headfirst into the sea and manage to find your feet.
Somewhere above Esha must be chanting still because you see one of the riders fall off his mount mid-stride, slumbering in the midst of the chaos.
Alas that the champion of the foe will not be so easily undone he raises up a lance over the high horns of his steed, black against the night and black iron, fey-bane it is indeed. Though you speak not his tongue nor he yours this you understand, a challenge. He asks for a duel in place of the battle.
You owe him nothing, you know and though his hosts are many you do not see among them any sorcerers. Enough of magic, enough of the fury of Zaia's flame and the sharpness of killing Ice will see them flee, but not without costs. Another green arrow fly and this time you mark the fox-tailed man as the archer... and this time the arrow breaks on your shield.
Do you accept the chieftain's challenge?
[] Yes, lance against lance you shall face him
[] No, scattered as they are you can break them here on the shore and not have to trust in the honor of raiders whom you cannot even speak to enough to make a pledge
[] Bid Swift Pebble to speak to him and assure the sanctity of the duel, it might work, but just as surely superstitious dread might break the fragile understanding across the field of battle
[] Write in
OOC: Gah, this was not fun to roll for, literally tens of d20s, not much point to even add the bonuses, I just calculated them with lower DCs.