Typhus went off to go scout the encampment while the others put a plan together. Elle surmised they had room for over one hundred. How many of them are trained soldiers versus hired goons? She couldn’t say. The assumption is there are at least a few soldiers to keep the rabble in order. When Typhus gets back, they’ll have a better estimate. Armand initially thought there would be a small encampment, no more than twenty-five or thirty. That we could handle with some preparation. Standard pick your battle ground and funnel them into traps, a little magic from Elle, all wrapped up. But over one hundred, that is completely different. We needed to find a place to hide that wasn’t along their travel route. Elle managed to grow a blind large enough for all of us to sit comfortably between some trees. Several hours later, Typhus returned to our position. Elle led him up to us and the debrief began.
“Its not as bad as you might think.” Typhus began, “I managed to get pretty deep into their encampment. It seems only one in every three tents had anyone in it. Most of them are congregated around the central tent. Its like they want people to think they are a host and not just a band.”
“Why the subterfuge? Who would be out here looking for them?” Armand asked.
“Its an old Vasilly tactic. They had stopped using it when I was down at the border. Causes scouts that don’t get in close to overestimate the number of enemies. Used more for distraction than anything else…” Robert trailed off.
“What was your count while you were there?” Armand asked Typhus. “I had eighteen on the high side. Couldn’t tell how many in the main tent. Too much traffic.” He replied.
“Let’s assume some went back to Robert’s manor to retake it. Still doesn’t make sense to build up a mock encampment.” Armand said.
“Well how many are trained soldiers?” Elle asked.
“I don’t think any of them are, based on what I saw they are half starved, and the north end of the camp is all but collapsed.” Typhus answered.
“Ok this is doable. I say we sneak in, let Typhus do his thing, cull the stragglers, then meet up in the main tent to deal with whoever’s inside.” Armand suggested.
“I’m not at all sneaky.” Deacon said.
“That’s fine you can just stay with me. I’ll show you how to silently take care of your enemies. It’ll be good practice since I haven’t seen you pick up a weapon since we met.” Robert said.
“Elle, I need you on overwatch. Find a good vantage point, whatever you can’t kill with an arrow, debilitate with magic until we catch up. If we are quick and efficient this won’t turn into a cluster.” Armand suggested.
With that we set out to approach the camp in the dwindling light of the day. Deacon just hoped he could keep up with the higher leveled party members. Robert reminded him to let loose, we aren’t sparring here so he doesn’t need to hold back his strength and speed. That was the hardest lesson for Deacon to learn. Back on his world he wasn’t very athletic so the idea that he might hurt someone was foreign to him before coming here.
They arrived a few minutes after sunset. Typhus went ahead to take out sentries and lookouts. The others spread out to take care of their part of the plan. Deacon could have sworn he just heard an arrow strike home. Robert and Deacon were creeping into the camp when one of the marauders stopped to piss. Deacon thought this was too easy. He got up behind him, one hand over his mouth and the other behind his head, Snap. Dropped like a sack of potatoes. What he didn’t realize was Robert disabled two others and was working on a third. A very red-faced Robert pointed at the two on the ground with emphasis. Deacon decided to let Robert take the lead and went over finished off those two. Once his work was done, Deacon crouch walked up to Robert’s position. Robert put a finger to his mouth and pointed to a tent. Robert snuck in and stabbed a man sleeping in his bedroll. Deacon noticed there was little too much enthusiasm in the movements.
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Once they were done with there section they moved on. An arrow whizzed by Deacon taking a marauder in the chest who had just emerged from a tent in their path. How many of those left here were in their path? To the right Robert noticed a scuffle. It seems Armand had stumbled across a tight knit group of them. Deciding that was going to get noisy they hurried over.
“Need a hand.” Deacon said.
“No but I’ll take one.” Armand said before thrusting forward to skewer one of the marauders.
The battle was joined, Typhus jumped from a shadow to relieve a marauder of its life, Robert disabled and broke the neck of another, finally the last one realized he was out matched started to run and got an arrow in the back for his trouble. Realizing that was definitely heard they all started for the main tent.
Once they arrived, they noticed there were no guards. Typhus dropped into stealth and entered the tent. Shortly followed by Armand, Elle, Deacon, and Robert. Bodies stacked everywhere. The party was so shocked by what they saw they all stopped moving. No that’s not why. At the back of the room was man in red robes, a gold chain around his waist, and glowing red staff pointing right at the entrance. Red bands of energy started coiling their way up everyone’s bodies. Except for Deacon, they just fell away from him. He decided not to move to throw off suspicion. The mage was speaking into a crystal paying them no mind. Deacon found this strange, he didn’t even consider them a threat. Using his soul sight, he could see the bodies closest to the mage had no soul energy but the ones closest to them still did. He was doing something with that energy. Deacon caught Armand’s eyes gesturing toward the mage. Yea its time to play. This one is too dangerous to question. Deacon hoped there would be someone else.
Deacon dropped into a full sprint hoping to get there and break the spell. The mage bobbled the crystal in his hand and pulled the staff up in a defensive posture. Wrong move. Deacon kicked him full strength right in the nuts. The mage lifted up into the air where Deacon plunged his hand into his chest. The mage spat blood all over Deacon then he started to glow.
“Very nice, you must be the monk Lao keeps going on about. How did you avoid my capture warding?” the mage asked.
In answer to his question Deacon planted a right cross directly in his face, at the same time the tent lit on fire within a 5-yard radius. The fire just washed over Deacon. His shirt seemed a bit singed but no worse for wear. He had replacements now. The mage just kept babbling how and why but Deacon didn’t feel like chatting. He managed to get a strike on Deacon’s shoulder with the butt of his staff, and it hurt. His life bar dropped by twenty percent. This asshole had a weapon that could hurt him. After a few repeated blows the mage was a bloody mess and moving slow as molasses. Touch of the void in full effect, Deacon grabbed the mages leg and planted his boot through the knee joint the wrong way. The mages face scrunched up in a rictus of pain. Deacon shot a quick look over at the others they were trying to find a way through the ring of flames the mage put up. Deacon knew this needed to end now. The mage was laying on the ground cradling his now ruined leg, Deacon ended the fight with a punch straight through his head. Brain matter exploded out from the skull like a watermelon dropped from the tenth story. The magical fire dissipated but anything that was flammable still burned. He heard some chuckling and looked down. In the crystal he could see none other than Qie Lao outside a very familiar village.
“We have to go now; they went to Everhart!” Deacon yelled.