Chance hurried to the exit from the tent, to look outside. As he did, he whispered Zhuri, feeling his skin harden as he activated his Iron Skin power. He hoped that it wasn’t necessary, but wanted to be prepared just in case.
For a moment he considered the option that they should flee but then rejected it. The camp would be on alert in the future after they discovered what had happened, and all their efforts would have been for nothing.
Where are they? he asked Shags.
The wolf prowled over towards one of the huts, crouched low as he went, as if ready to spring. This one.
Move away, Chance instructed him. Seek cover.
Shags moved away again, slinking into cover in the shadows of one of the tents, while Chance and the other two remained within the tent with the bound bandit, watching and waiting.
The door to the hut swung open and a man came stumbling out, clutching a dark sword in his hands, his feet bare. He walked forward slowly, looking around intently as he did, peering at huts and tents and into shadows, on edge and alert. He stopped when he reached the middle of the camp, slowly turning around. Chance hoped that it would be all the man did and that he would return to his hut, but instead the bandit turned towards one of the tents and walked towards it, the one that held the first bound man.
If he looked inside, their whole plan was blown for he could do nothing else but alert the camp. Chance saw Shags silently rise from where he had hidden, felt the wolf’s intent towards the man, to stop him before he could reach the tent and raise the alarm. He knew what that meant and panicked. He could not let that happen.
Raising his hand, he pointed to the ground at the feet of the bandit. Words came to him; Stavoq Qanor. He felt the power flow through him as he intoned the words. The ground around the bandit trembled and then burst open as roots snaked forth. The grass swayed and lengthened. Roots and grass tangled, grasping at the man’s legs, wrapping tight about them, binding him in place. The bandit struggled for a moment, trying to break the grip they had on him but to no avail. He could not move.
He still had use of his arms though, and his voice. “WAKE!” he bellowed out, loud enough to rouse anyone in the camp. Shags crouched down low again, merging with the shadows, hiding away. Chance stepped forward from the tent, to draw the attention to himself. He had made the mistake in his panic and now he had to be the one to fix it.
“Throw down your weapon,” he demanded, speaking in his most commanding voice, deep and booming and as hard as the earth itself. He saw the bandit’s mouth drop partly open at his sudden appearance and his words, as the shock of events caught up with him. But then before the bandit could say or do anything, other men were tumbling out of huts and tents, half-dressed, half-asleep and more than a little puzzled. They looked about, spotting the events unfolding before them, the other bandit trapped by the Grasping Roots, and Chance standing outside the tent.
“Get him!” the trapped bandit roared, pointing at Chance. They hesitated for a moment before starting towards him, hefting weapons in their hands.
Chance turned towards the, pointing again. Stavoq Qanor! The ground about the bandits trembled and then broke open as the writhing roots snaked forth, seeking the men out, to tangle and bind them in place, yet as they did, the ones that had held the first bandit vanished; it would seem that he could only have it active once and that a second casting cancelled the first.
Now free of his bonds, the bandit with the dark sword started running, straight at Chance, his sword raised, ready to strike. He was screaming as he came, and it was one of pure sound, not words, or at least none that Chance could make out.
Chance froze in place, uncertain as to what to do. The man was coming at him with the intent to kill him. It had been the same with the undead and the demon, but this felt different, as then he could fight back, and his internal conflict would not let him here, paralyzing him with uncertainty.
Shags wasn’t, though. One moment he had been hidden and then the next he was a silver blur beneath the moonlight, racing forward and leaping at the bandit just before he reached Chance. His great maw latched onto the man’s throat. There was a snap and a spray of blood and Shags was releasing his grip.
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Damage Inflicted: High (Critical)
Injuries: None.
Status: Dead
The bandit’s sword dropped from his hands as they went to his ravaged throat, trying to stem the blood pouring from the wound. His mouth opened and shut but nothing came from it. His knees crumpled and he collapsed to the ground, there to twitch.
Chance turned away from the sight, leaning forward and retching. His stomach heaved uncontrollably. He had never seen an actual person killed before, not a real one, and not right in front of him, in such a brutal manner. It was nothing like in the games where it was so impersonal and distant. He hadn’t even seen his brother and Amber killed in the crash, only finding out later. He had seen their bodies at the funeral, forcing himself to look at them, to remember, but they were already dead and cold and at peace by that stage. There was no peace for the man dying behind him as he twitched some more before at last falling silent. It had been sudden and vicious and brutal.
He heard a growl coming from Shags behind him, in the direction of where the rest of the bandits were trapped. An arrow hit him and bounced as his Iron Skin and armour combined to protect him.
Damage Inflicted: Negated
Injuries: None.
Chance stood up properly again. He still felt sick to his core, unable to get the image of the bandit out of his mind. He managed to turn to look towards the trapped bandits. A couple had bows out and one of them was taking aim at him.
“Enough,” Chance said, weaker than before. “Lay down your weapons before anyone else gets hurt.”
The arrow came slashing through the air anyway, to once more bounce off him.
Rathaz Saqosa! A crash of thunder split the air as Chance summoned up the storm, a short distance away from the bandits so that the rain and thunder and lightning tore through the air close by, yet not close enough that it would cause any damage to them. It was a display of power, a reminder of what could happen. He felt Snarl loom up menacingly alongside him, grinning at the trapped bandits, for a change holding his spear ready to use rather than his broom.
“Best do as he says, little men,” the gnoll said while Shags snarled and bared his bloody fangs.
One of the bandits was about to speak when an especially loud crack of thunder drowned out what he was going to say and a blinding sheet of lighting slashed through the air, to strike the ground nearby. It even startled Chance with the intensity of it.
Intimidate check;
Bandit Mob, Display of Power debuff
Check successful.
It proved too much for the bandits and ended any thoughts of resistance. Weapons were cast aside, to fall to the ground. Chance made a gesture and the storm dissipated as if it had never been there.
“Now what?” Yrip asked as he crept forward to join Chance. It was a good question and one that Chance didn’t have an answer for. He couldn’t think straight, still haunted by the dead bandit, trying not to look at the body lest his stomach rebel again. He counted eleven men trapped in the grasping roots, unable to move. If he dismissed the roots then there were too many of them to handle, even if they didn’t have weapons. But they couldn’t get out either, so they couldn’t deal with them one by one.
Before he could come to a decision, Shags turned to face towards the south. The other one comes, he warned. The noise and commotion and the storm had attracted the attention of the bandit who was on guard duty to the south and he had come down to find out what was happening. He was running along, only to come to a rapid stop when he saw the rest of the bandits trapped in the writhing roots. With one startled look at Chance and his friends, he turned and fled, sprinting off into the night.
Shags started to move after him before Chance called out. “No, leave him.”
The big wolf turned back without a word though his golden eyes did study Chance.
That one might run, but where would he go? There might be another camp somewhere beyond the hills, and if there was, it would take some time to reach. The various bands of bandits might not even get along. No, Chance was happy to let him go when the alternative was for Shags to chase him down.
It did leave him with a problem, for if he released the others they might try to run for it as well, seeing as how he had let the other one go. It might solve the bandit problem in the region for a while, until they regrouped again and returned to their old ways. There had to be a solution that wasn’t by Shags methods.
He felt his stomach start to rebel again at the thought of it, only for Snarl to thrust a jug upon him. “Try this,” the gnoll said.
Chance accepted it and started to raise it, to be met with a powerful smell. The taste was worse, raw and throat-stripping. He coughed and quickly passed the jug back. The small amount he had drunk had done its task though, and his stomach settled for now.
He took a breath as he tried to calm himself down, so he could think rationally. A decision had to be made, and soon.