RP Session 1: "A Hart's Errand"

At the bloom of Breuddwyd's sorcerous flames about her shoulders the pale eyed woman shot him a glare like the heart of a glacier, but it was distraction enough for Aeric to scramble away and up the seaward wall while his sidhe companion made good his own retreat to join Tovrunn and the two armoured and battered knights on the salty cobbles.

Ahead of their paired shields the bloodied heavy limped out of sight around the corner of the warehouse, but his two companions down by the water seemed not so tired of the fight. The first jogged up to the position Aeric had just surrendered, letting off a humming shot at the disappearing back of the nobleman. Still fighting with a frustrated growl to loose Arglwyddes from his weapon, the other was only able to make a rather more harried advance.

Aeric heard Breuddwyd make some remark as he mounted the wall, turned to regard the sidhe, and the bolt caught him squarely between the shoulders, sending him crumpling forward into the cargo debris before him with an ugly, boneless thud.

With an air of grim determination Tovrunn and Breuddwyd hefted Aeric's slumped form onto their shoulders and began dragging him through the detritus of fallen cargo toward the steel wall their knightly protectors afforded around their charge. The battle was far from lost, but with the Rjurik noble's healing spent and near all of their number nursing some harm things were about to become desperate.

Out of the corner of her eye Tovrunn could see one of the disguised fishermen - the woman with the scarred face - hack herself the magical vines with murder in her eyes. But even as battle looked once again ready to join a welcome sound resounded across the docks.

"Stop in the name of the Black Hart!" bellowed a woman's voice, husky with age and authority. And with it came the thunder of dozens of footfalls. One by one the Baronial Marines began to emerge from the mist, bills and swords at the ready, and before them scurried Lancalad's young squire Paidrig, a cruel looking bearded axe in his hand.

The fishermen were no disorganised rabble - their escape had always evidently been the sea, their light armour said as much. With a swift discipline they each took off at a run, diving from the docks and into the water in the face of such overwhelmingly superior numbers.

By the time the first of the marines set foot off cobble and onto timber only one of their number remained: The painfully nondescript fisherman stood amongst the writhing vines that Tovrunn had summoned forth, his knife and crossbow already cast as far from him as possible. The rest could be seen just out to sea beyond the Prowl, which had finished its destructive arc, clambering onto the pair of skiffs that had launched before the attack.

The situation at least somewhat in hand, captain of the marines - an Anuirean who looked to be in her late middle years with iron in her hair and eyes, surveyed the battered company with a perfunctory bow. "My lords" she deferred, recognising the livery of the knights and the ashen face of Lancaelad. "Does he yet live? Shall I summon Lord Lecland?"

The captain meanwhile snapped a crisp bow even as her marines surged past to secure the wharf and guide the dripping and shellshocked exciseman back to land. "With your permission we shall take the young master and the prisoner both into our charge. We've a physician at the barracks, and a gaol that will see to both."