Night, Isiah’s Farm, Schell 
The flames roared up as the toolshed’s thatched roof fed the bonfire the shed had become. It had taken less than a minute for the fire to consume it, a combination of an abundance of fuel and the dry summer night. It served as illumination for the battle around it, its heat washing over the combatants as its fiery tongues licked out at anything that drew too close, only the well-trod dirt around it saving the wheat from becoming but more fuel.

The fire’s glow danced on Tristan’s chain shirt as he caught his breath before it, the light reflecting in the globes of crimson blood that still tripped from his wounds, granting them a look of severity that would have been far less noticeable in solely the moonlight. The man’s back and shoulder had been raked over by the leader’s chain, something that he’d have to risk again as he turned his attention to the bandit to Malachi’s side.

Moving carefully, his eyes ever on the bearded man’s chain, Tristan struck out at the rider with his rapier, taking advantage of Malachi’s positioning to catch his target while he was distracted. The rapier slid easily past the man’s guard, catching him in a joint in his leather armour and provoking a cry of pain as Tristan withdrew it to find fresh blood on the blade. A second cry echoed out of the wheat field behind him as his manifestation of Discq’s blade continued doggedly pursuing its target, successfully if the yell was any indication. He’d bought Mal some space to maneuver and hopefully provided a weakened foe for Calopee in the wheat field, something Tristan hoped they’d both be able to capitalise on as his attention returned to the spiked chain the group’s leader wielded.

Across the clearing and behind Isiah’s hut, Relos continued to seek an advantage against the men surrounding him. His positioning away from his fellows had been meant to minimize the chances of their discovery as they’d laid hidden awaiting the ambush, but it was seeming a disadvantage now; it had left him isolated and unable to assist the rest of the Favoured. He was getting a lot of experience dealing with being surrounded however, and he’d learned the cutthroats’ attack patterns through some painful trial and error.

His wider defensive stance served him well as the first man lunged in his blade, a simple strike that seemed more to provide a distraction to the paladin and leave him open to the bandit’s comrade at his rear. Were this an opening gambit it would have seen more success as Relos had already fallen for this more than once, and was unwilling to be made a fool of again but these marauders, and he easily deflected the stab with the haft of his halberd before spinning with the momentum, causing the other bandit’s strike to deflect harmlessly off his shoulder pauldron.

The half-elf’s momentum carried through as he brought the blade of his weapon around, slicing down in a powerful arc towards the man he’d wounded previously, feeling the customary resistance as his attack landed flush. The man fell heavily to the ground as Relos concluded his blow, pulling his halberd back up as he spun easily to face his remaining attacker who was just beginning to assess to situation. They’d been unable to fell the armoured half-elf 2-on-1 and now the numbers had been evened. It seemed the tide was turning.

North of the hut, Malachi continued his own fight against imbalanced numbers. Tristan’s arrival had negated some of the bandits’ advantage, and the two had shared a short conversation as they ducked and dodged through the melee around them. Tristan’s blow had diverted one of the rider’s attentions, and Malachi seized on the opportunity by adding an attack of his own. His rapier too found a seam in the man’s armour and bit into flesh, eliciting another cry of pain. The man stayed upright however, and Malachi prepared himself for another round of hopefully fruitless swings as he rolled about between his two adversaries, kicking up dust and using the flickering light of the fire to hopefully add a bit of confusion to his movements.

While Malachi made himself busy distracting the men surrounding him, Tristan’s attention momentarily dropped as he made a quick survey of his position. He allowed himself to breathe for a second but immediately regretted it as a sharp pain snapped his focus back to reality. His reverie had left him vulnerable, something he’d tried to carefully to avoid and his inattention had given the riders’ leader all the opportunity he’d needed. Tristan noticed his vision swimming as he could feel the man’s chain tear at flesh as it dislodged, and for a moment he felt like he might vomit. He dropped to a knee as he struggled to focus on the now laughing bearded man before him before darkness crept in to the sides of his sight. He could hear the man shouting as the last of his consciousness fled his body and he dropped to the ground in a widening puddle of his own blood.

“LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND I PROMISE YOUR DEATHS WILL BE QUICKER THAN THIS FOOL’S.”, the cry echoed out over the farm as the bearded man gloated while Tristan’s body hit the earth. “WHAT IDIOTS DIE FOR A FARMER ANYWAY!?”

 
The call rallied the bandits, who were grateful to see someone of not their number fall, and they redoubled their efforts. Malachi’s preparation and training proved necessary as the men around him hacked him with wild abandon, only his natural dexterity and the unnatural concealment granted by his prodigious abilities allowing him to remain unscathed as he dipped between their blades. His eyes caught a glimpse of Tristan hitting the ground as he ducked one of the strikes, and the dire nature of his situation became all the more real to him as he counted the adversaries surrounding him. Numbers mattered in what had become a war of attrition, and the Argent Blade now found himself outnumbered three to one.

Calopee, along in the wheat field had a difficult time discerning the events in the clearing, but even she could identify something was going awry as the leader’s gloating brought her attention to Tristan’s prone form. The fight in the field required attention, but it was important to wrap up loose ends before moving back to help, and she focused on the man that had pursued her into the wheat field. Kipping up from her hiding place, she whipped a rock at the distracted man’s head, waiting for the familiar *thunk* followed by the *thud* as the stone struck the bandit square and dropped him unconscious to the ground.

Satisfied the man wouldn’t be rising anytime soon, the Halfling repositioned herself to the north, but her thoughts turned to her fallen comrade and she was unable to avoid peeking out at the scene in the clearing. The act drew her attention from finding a hiding place and also had the misfortune of her catching the eye of the riders’ bearded leader, their eyes locking as Calopee scanned the area. The man’s menacing grin gave her an uneasy feeling as she furtively searched for a hiding spot in vain. It looked like she’d been discovered, again.

Sehanine watched helplessly as her comrade Tristan hit the dirt, and her thoughts turned towards the sneering man who felled him. She’d had her blade at the ready, though she considered using it in most cases as a last resort perhaps a little inventiveness would give it a use in her present circumstance. Her mind raced as her arcane power coursed through her, manifesting as an orison that lifted her blade gently out of her hand and carried it through the air towards her target. The blade bobbed unevenly as Sehanine tried to bring the weapon to bear and the man (while initially taken aback by the sudden appearance of a much more mundane floating blade) easily avoided the sword’s gradual advance.

The sword was joined by a companion as Tristan’s summoned blade appeared above his unconscious form, floating idly as it awaited new directions that seemed unlikely to be forthcoming. The blood pool beneath it slowly expanded, catching more and more light from the flames as it did, bringing a crimson illumination Tristan’s fallen body. The Favoured now found themselves on a timer as their comrade lay bleeding out before them.

(Q&A, because I care. Or something. I blame Chessic’s mind powers.)

Night, Isiah’s Farm, Schell 
The situation was wildly spinning out of control. The ambush had done well to give the Favoured the surprise but the division of the group had proved less helpful while the numbers remained against them. With the discovery of the Halfling Calopee the field had been evened in terms of positioning, and Fortune’s Favoured were desperate to swing that back their way, if not thin the enemy’s ranks as well.

Tristan found himself in the uncharacteristic position of needing to put the group on his already wounded back. Calopee and Malachi had thus far been the most effective at downing the riders, and both of them found themselves in inopportune situations that jeopardised their ability to help the group; Tristan’s quick reflexes would have to give him the opportunity to change that.

He started with Calopee, who found herself much closer to an opponent much larger than her own tiny frame. Tristan flourished his rapier as the loaded die than hung around his neck gave a brief throb of power as he channeled Discq’s gifts. His flair for the grandiose was not lost however, and as he felt the magical energy of his spell surge through him and out onto the battlefield he let out a shout, not directed at the bandit per se but definitely designed to grab his attention.

"Discq's Blade, I summon you!" 

The bandit turned to see the commotion just as a translucent blade sprung into being in front of him, a floating rapier composed entirely of divine force. His confusion was punctuated by a loud shout as the blade dipped and easily plunged into his shoulder, cutting through his armour and tearing into the flesh before withdrawing to float tauntingly before him.

Tristan would have to hope that his summoned blade would provide enough distraction for the Halfling as he turned his attention to Malachi’s struggles. The riders’ bearded leader had already caught him once with his chain, an experience he’d not soon forget but one he’d have to risk again to free up room for the Argent Blade to act. Lunging out of the wheat field Tristan broke towards the grouping of men, gritting his teeth in preparation as their leader turned and whipped the barbed chain in his direction.

The spiky links struck him as he advanced, though they bit in far less than the last time, and he was able to make his way into the melee otherwise unmolested. He hoped Malachi be able to take advantage of his distraction, being repeatedly struck by the chain had begun to wear on the young Cordovan. Perhaps acting for the good of the group was going to be best trick he’d played on himself yet.

Still by his lonesome on the southern side of the farmhouse, Relos remained force to split his attention while remaining flanked by the bandits. They’d caught him last time and he’d reacted as he’d been trained, settling into a more defensive stance, seeking to negate their numbers advantage. One of the men lunged in and Relos swept his haft out to catch the blow, knocking aside the thrust and buying himself a bit of space. His timing wasn’t perfect however, and the second man caught him with a quick slice of his blade as Relos spun his weapon around to react, narrowly missing the bandit with his halberd’s deadly blade. Whether his injuries or the fatigue of tracking the movements of two combats had caused his misplay, Relos could not tell, but he would surely have to redouble his efforts if he was survive the situation much longer.

To the north by the shed, Malachi, even with the arrival of Tristan, found himself remaining outnumbered. He’d just escaped what was now an inferno filled deathtrap, and the expression “out of the pan and into the fire” had never seemed more appropriate. He rationalised getting alongside the bandits would at least force them to split their attention between Tristan and himself, but the path there was going to be treacherous with all men surrounding him, he’d have to rely on his training.

The bandits’ bearded leader had just lashed out at Tristan, and Mal hoped his comrade’s distraction would give him the space he needed to evade the man’s deadly chain. Ducking low, Mal kicked off his left leg, tucking and rolling to his right while the bearded man failed to bring his chain to bear in time to strike. Springing out of his roll, the masked swordsman spun out to his side, evading the teary eyed bandit entirely and narrowly dodging the awkward lunge of the other’s short blade.

Malachi could feel the shadows still clinging to him as he popped up to the bandit’s side. His natural mobility had allowed him to maneuver around the battlefield freely but had cost him his balance, and his sword thrust met nothing but air as he awkwardly attempted to retaliate against the man who had swung at him. His position was far better than only moments before, and he could no longer feel the heat of the flames lapping at his neck, but he’d failed to dent the bandit’s numbers for now.

Across from Malachi, Tristan’s bravery had brought him face to face with the bandit’s leader, a dangerous proposition given the results of their previous interactions. Tristan was getting better at reading the man however, and as the bandit leader stepped back to clear space as he whipped his chain towards Tristan’s head he ducked a second earlier than previously, hearing the whistle of swinging steel as the chain’s blades narrowly missed his face. It was a welcome change from the tearing pain the last two strikes had produced.

As he righted himself, Tristan’s attention was drawn by the man beside him. The bandit’s still watering eyes were full of rage; though Tristan was grateful they seemed to be focused on Malachi instead of himself. As the bandit took off after his rolling comrade, Tristan seized the opportunity to lash out, catching the man in the back of the knee as he stepped, his howl of pain signaling Tristan his blade had hit home.

The bandit’s head turned toward Tristan for just a moment as he continued to move towards Malachi, who seized the opportunity and struck out himself, catching the bandit while his attention was diverted. The man’s frustration at being jabbed twice boiled over, and he swung forcefully at Mal as he finished his movement, his blade catching the Argent Blade along his back Malachi now found himself between a pair of enraged cutthroats. Relying on his reflexes, Malachi twisted around, predicting a strike from his other assailant and deflecting it harmlessly with the flat of his blade. An armed man on either side of him and his companion locked in a deadly struggle a few feet away, it could be wondered if perhaps things had been better inside the flaming shed.

Calopee situation was just as dire, her brief time as an unseen force had ended, and the man in front of her seemed fairly intent of getting revenge for his fallen comrades. Her natural stealth wouldn’t help her here; she’d have to rely on her wit. Taking a quick step back, the Halfling pointed over the bandit’s shoulder, contorting her face into a look of shock. Despite himself, the man turned to look and in that instant Calopee went to ground, vanishing from sight. When the bandit looked back his confusion was plain on his face, and it was noticed by the bandit leader, who was quick to order the man into the wheat field to find the tiny rock throwing menace.

Hesitantly, the man entered the wheat field, unwilling to disobey the bearded man. His eyes darted left and right as he went further and further into the stalks but he failed to notice Calopee, already safe beneath a quickly assembled collection of fallen stalks and dirt, as he stepped right over the concealed Halfling. Barely moving from her position, Calopee’s hand snaked into a sack tied at her waste, emerging with an unpolished stone clenched in her palm. It seemed her prey had fallen into her trap.

Not far from Calopee, Sehanine considered her options from her vantage point in the wheat field. The fallen torch on the walking path had smoldered out, its flame extinguished rolling in the mud, and though the shed was in flames there was nothing she could see on it that could be made of any use. A shame, as she’d wanted to perhaps use the fire to her advantage in the combat, she’d have to settle for her own firepower however. Calling to the arcane power of her fey blood once more, she again summoned a pair of dark beads of force, sending them flying out towards the bearded man who was locked in combat with Tristan. The familiar thud and shout of aggravation confirmed the hit as the battle continued with by the light of now flame engulfed shed.

(OOC: Q&A for the usual bits)

• Factotums - This Dungeonscape base class is the epitome of jack of all trades, and something I'm really interested in toying with.
• Anything in Stormwrack - IT'S A BOOK BASED ON PIRATES...KINDA
• Crusaders - Tome of Battle's tanking class looks like fun, but finding a DM that uses ToB seems difficult.
• Epic Level Handbook - I know just about everything in the book is broken one way or another, but it would be fun to wield God-like power again.

Night, Isiah’s Farm, Schell 
Blood had been drawn on both sides, and the situation was quite literally heating up as Fortune’s Favoured ambush had devolved into a deadly skirmish. The riders had had the numbers, but those were dwindling as the skill of the Favoured had already cut down three of the group. Their newest advantage lay in their lack of attachment to the land they fought on, and the sudden inclusion of the very real threat of a wildfire had put a chink in the heroes’ well laid plans.

Tristan’s position in the wheat field had changed drastically since he had found use of it as an ideal hiding spot. A thrown torch had ignited the dry wheat not far from him, and the riders’ bearded leader and proved an able combatant; his spiked chain leaving a bleeding gash on across the back of the young champion of Discq. Tristan’s attentions however, we not on the immediate threat the riders’ leader presented, but on the fire that had only just begun to spread. Whether his intentions of preserving Isiah’s farm were noble in the sense of protecting the downtrodden, secretive in protecting the reputation of his group or simply an act of self-preservation were debatable, but either way they left him no choice.

Ducking his way out of the leaders range, Tristan began a small prayer, seeking the help of his divine patron. Discq’s influence had imbued him with more than a sense of whimsy and trickery, and Tristan could feel the surge of divine power surge through him and over towards the flame. Instantaneously, a jet of water burst out of the nothingness above the fire, splashing down on the flames as they emitted a sudden hiss. A cloud of steam rose up revealing nothing more than a few embers hidden in the soaking ashes; the fire, at least the one in the wheat fields, had been safely extinguished.

Less safe on the other side of the clearing was Relos, finding himself sandwiched between two bandits who seemed recovered from the blow he’d dealt them seconds before. Exploiting his split attention, the bandits lunged in with their blades, each striking as Relos was forced to eye the other. Though heavily armoured, the paladin could not easily keep up with the simultaneous attacks of two seasoned backstabbers, and their blades found flesh as they snaked in through the various gaps at the joints of his platemail. Their blades now bore a deep shade of crimson as the half-elf’s blood dripped off them, though Relos could take solace in the notion that he’d suffered worse before, and had no trouble maintaining his guard.

To the north, Malachi found the shed he stood in no longer suitable as a long term plan. The fire had found ample fuel in the seed and kindling housed there, and even if he could reach the jars of liquid on the far wall, Mal doubted there was time to suppress the flames before they spread to the walls or perhaps even to himself. The smoke on the other hand, was perhaps of use to him. His mind remained focussed on the combat, his natural talents amplified by his training. He shifted about the hut once more, gathering the smoke and darkness around him as if a cloak; he ran his blade through the flames as he emerged from the hut, seeming to almost naturally carry the concealment the fire provided as he made his way over the body of the last man to test his blade. His challenge to the men in front of him was simple.

“Run.”

His blade still carried the glint of the flame on it, and his lunge brought its tip directly into the man before him, piercing his leather armor and slicing into his flesh just alongside his ribs. Not a killing blow as his last had been, but this strike had perhaps not been intended to kill. The light of the fire erupted from the tip of his blade as he struck, a bright pulse made even more startling by the darkness of the night. The flash caused much blinking and shaking of heads, as even the riders’ leader and Calopee, separated from Malachi by some distance had to quickly refocus as the light assaulted their senses. The man Malachi had struck seemed to clear his head as the pain of his wound brought him to focus, but his compatriot at his side seemed less lucky. His attention had been on the blade as it struck, and even as the darkness returned his eyes were visibly watering.

Far from the burst of light, Relos didn’t allow the sights of his companion’s battle theatrics to distract him from the very real situation he had found himself in. Widening his stance and repositioning his halberd across his body left Relos better able to defend himself from the men who flanked him, while still allowing him maneuverability. Focusing on the man he’d wounded as he’d been charged, the paladin lunged cautiously, careful not to leave himself open to either of the men around him. His blade once again found its mark, again wounding the bandit though not yet downing him. The man was shaking now though, and there was little doubt another of Relos’s blows and perhaps he would finally succumb.

Nearer the footpath, the leader of the riders focus had shifted as Malachi’s light had momentarily distracted him. Tristan’s delving deeper into the wheat to deal with the threat of the fire had removed him from the bearded man’s sight, and instead eyes the shadowy form that had emerged from the shed to the north. The man made his way to Malachi’s blank, twisting his body to put momentum behind his lash as his chain cleared the distance between the two men. Malachi proved a difficult target however, and the shadows that clung to him proved a solid boon as the chain sailed wide, digging a slender trench through the mud as the bearded man pulled it back to his grasp with a disgusted look on his face. The bandits adjacent to him proved even less capable, their attacks easily evaded by the swift swordsman. By the time they stopped for a breather, Malachi remained standing in front of them, wreathed in shadows, completely unscathed.

Throughout the whole fight, Calopee had remained hidden; darting about and striking when the opportunity presented itself. The positioning of the men around Malachi and the distraction he had provided was yet another chance for her to test her skill with her polished stones. The bearded man and his chain had already claimed a measure of blood from one of her fellows, and her focus turned to him. Whipping a stone as she had so many times before, she hesitated just a moment as she released, something she would regret as her stone flew just wide, passing by her target by mere inches. The hesitation cost her doubly as the bearded man’s gaze spun in the direction the stone had come from, and Calopee found her gaze locked with the dark haired man’s.

“THERE’S THE LIL’ S&#T”, the man’s tone was harsh, the Halfling had personally accounted for the deaths of two of his men. “THEY’VE A HALF-KIN IN THE FIELD!”

Spotted, Calopee did her best to reposition herself but it proved fruitless, her cover having been blown by a minor mistake. She made her way north but the remaining rider from inside Isiah’s hut was swiftly making his way towards her, eagerly drawing his blade as he approached. Calopee paced him and managed to stay just out of reach long enough to get ahead, though as she stopped she realised she was now face to face with the rider on the edge of the field, an evil smile on his lips and a sword in his hand.

Forgotten in the southern fields, Sehanine’s eyes swept over the area, seeking something to give her the edge. She briefly toyed with the idea of magic-ing one of the rider’s fallen torches about as a makeshift club, but as the fight’s focus had moved north the ranging seemed just beyond the capabilities of her magic. Calling to mind the familiar incantation she’d made use of previously, she dashed across the open path and back into the northern field, loosing a pair of magical bolts of force as she sprinted. She hoped her new positioning would offer her more options as the bolts connected flawlessly as ever with her targets, eliciting a familiar series of grunts as they struck.

(OOC: Q&A AGAIN)