*LOTS of rolling*
--Tristan wasnt dead. Though he was not quite sure if he was alive either, truth to be told. Everything ached. His face, and in fact half of his head was numb. His thigh wound was awful. Slowly, he rose, with the help of the weird fellow with the green cape. The slight, robed man, struggled to push, pull, and prod the flind off of the priest, and then, supporting Tristan as best he could, helped him rise. He proceeded to patch his head wound as best he could as well, and managed to stop the bleeding.
--Vee noticed the pair get up of the muck, as he himself danced in and out of the berserker dwarf’s range, plunging his daggers into empty air. I should learn to fight he thought, suddenly. Truly learn to fight. Vee was always properly impressed with his own crossbow and whip skills. He could give carnival lion-tamers a run for their money, with that whip. But now, he realized that the “road” was not a stuffy, empty tomb, and that the opponent, this wretched badger of a dwarf, was no competing, bespectacled, scholar-explorer.
--How that stubborn priest was alive, where as he, Vee Keykold, adveturer-upon-return, almost perished immediately, Vee could not be sure. He was sure of one thing however. That priest should not be attending any wedding ceremonies anytime soon. As he rose, and lifted his head, wincing the whole time, Tristan showed his face. The “meat” from his entire right cheek, raw and bloody, was dangling down from the side of his face like a floppy patch, giving his exposed jaw the appearance of a malevolent leering grin.
--Vee poked and skulked, keeping himself properly positioned, Aethelstan yelled and swung his mace in circles, attempting to get Red Hatchet’s attention and Moruz persevered, blood spraying off him, both his blood and that of the dwarf. No barb of the Ouzala was left unbroken, though Red Hatchet’s filthy body was now studded with many tiny glass shards. His beard as well, shone in the magical light, from the countless glass specks, which were now imbedded within.
----Aerex bided his time. He knew one strike was key for him. It wasn’t difficult to circumnavigate the bloody dwarf quietly, as Moruz and Aethelstan faced him from two sides. He stalked…mere feet from the fenzy, if one could use the word “stalk” from so close a distance. But stalk he did, then finally lunged, leading with his sabre. The unexpected occurred. Aerex had sliced the dwarf’s beard clear off, he even managed to tear a bit of the dwarf’s chin, though no great damage was done. Red Hatchet whooped and hollered. His eyes were enraged, and he swung wildly at anything that moved. His black beard fell into the muck.
--The dwarf eyed Aethelstan as the priest sought his attention, with one demonic, coal-black eye. Want some laddie? ’ave som then! He flicked his wrist and an axe cut across Aethelstan’s stout leather jerkin. A line ripped across his chest, and quickly reddened. Luckily a minor wound, thought Aethelstan, compared with Moruz, who had just avoided a downward chop of the second axe, but not before losing a single little toe in the process…it was still in the boot, as it sank from site. One more hit Aethesltan knew, and Moruz would fall...again.
--Talia advanced like a storm. As she neared her target she ran faster and faster, sidestepping the lurking Aerex and the hollering, gesturing Aethelstan. She plunged her closed fan into Red Hatchet’s back with such force, that for the first time, since the battle began, the crazed dwarf buckled, and lunged forward. Talia flicked the fan. She had plunged the fan directly into the center of the dwarf’s back, right where two of his axe tattoos intersected. A disgusting sound followed by a burst of flesh and blood drenched Talia and Aethelstan in equal measures. The dwarf bellowed with unimaginable pain and rage. If possible, this sound was worse than the flind’s deathscream. His back was one giant open red wound, pulsating, and showing bits of exposed spine.
--Aethelstan took this moment to bash the dwarf square on the skull, having given up trying to get Red Hatchet to chase him earlier. He heard a jaw crack. Just then, Moruz plunged his Ouzala upwards and sideways, spearing the dwarf from cheek to cheek. Moruz pulled back, and the dwarf’s face collapsed, shredded flesh still stuck to the weapon. For a fleeting second, fear showed in the dwarf’s blood-filled eyes. Finally, Vee stabbed the now suddenly motionless dwarf and grunted with pleasure. Ta-Da!
--For a moment no one moved. Red Hatchet stood there…face ripped open, back shredded, beardless, and still grasping both his axes in his meaty hands, a great barrel of leaking red ale. He still stood!,The bloody bastard still stood, Vee thought.
Red Hatchet slowly sank to one knee in the mud, his eyes now closed, and only deep, pathetic attempts at drawing breath could be heard from him.
--Moruz’s spear came crashing straight down through the top of the dwarf’s skull. Finally, Red Hatchet collapsed into the muck.
--The rain stopped. Mist rose from the gulch. The companions stood silently, cocooned in their sphere of light…surrounded by the darkness.