It Comes to War: Part Two
This is apart of 'The Great Ones', a Camp Willow plot. Read the [[[The_Great_Ones_Aren%27t_Here|introduction]]] and [[[The_Great_Ones%2C_Part_One%3A_Under_Siege|Part One]]].
Setting
Camp Willow: Narrow Hidden Path
Under the low branches of the trees around Camp Willow branches out a very small and hidden path. Willows reach up and add a small canopy while trees do the same. The small path continues on for what seems like forever as the happy voices of the creatures at the camp fade to a little bit over a whisper. The stream from the trail to the camp continues and splits along the trail.
Characters:
Lutea, the Taggerung
Gaheris, Camp Willow Skipper
Liask, a Camp Willow guard
Juniper, a Southern otter
Kolbjorn, Viking chief
Rincair, a Viking'
==
<---->It Comes to War<---->
Camp Willow’s Warriors
==
[[[It_Comes_to_War%3A_Part_One|Part One]]]
As the allies amass at the front of the Camp, surrounding that main entrance and hiding themselves among the trees - making /their/ preparations, the otters slide forward. Even hidden by the terrain and the water as they may be, many among them have camouflaged themselves further. Even Lutea, who crouches among the reeds, ready to slink forward and into the dark water, has draped herself in a layering of mud, her colors dullened - she looks almost average. "Soon 'nough, then." She mutters, more to herself than to those surrounding her, casting a look up and down the darkened bank of the river. Death is on its way - vengeance may not be the way of the Abbey beasts, but these are not Abbey beasts.
Gaheris is a little more naturally camouflaged than Lutea to begin with but even he looked like he'd had a roll around in the mud. He keeps low, crouching a short distance from the rest of the otters, waiting and listening "Soon enough" he mutters back. The Viking's presence around the abbey yesterday had made him all the more determined but also left him swinging somewhere between rage and despair, both of which he was trying to keep in check as he forced himself to wait.
And then there is Liask. How the otter managed to get himself into this job would forever be a mystery, why was even more so for those who knew the guard. Regardless of the reasons Liask has a firm and determined look to his face under his water slogged hat. The pudgy guard is carrying a sword at his hip, fur dressed in a black war paint under his eyes and in the form of stripes across his back and sides. "I can't believe I'm doing this..." he says quietly to himself.
Lutea frowns, a soft growl dancing behind her teeth. She doesn't like that they have placed so much of this on the shoulders of the Redwallers, though there are many capable warriors among the Abbey beasts and the other gathered forces of allies, she knows the ferocity of these beasts of the North. She her nods her silent acknowledgement to the Skipper, but feels her frown deepening at Liask's words. "Still time t'back out." She turns on him, eyes narrowing, gaze flicking up and down over the pudgy guard. But he is not of her control, he is not her problem - as long as he doesn't get in the way. Rounding back towards Gaheris, she jerks her muzzle in the Camp's direction and her paw tightens around her weapon; she has combined her strange gear, and fit the whale-tooth dagger into its notch at the end of her staff. It's a fearsome looking spear, as foreign and deadly as the one who wields it. The gathered otters lay low, muttering amongst themselves, calming the rage that builds in them - the bloodlust already starting to burn through their veins. They are so close to the monsters who stole their home, who murdered their kin, who stuck their heads on spikes outside a place of peace There is only one fate for those who crossed the otters of Camp Willow, and the instruments of it crouch among the reeds and the mud, bob in the swell of the river, and hide amongst the trees at the head of the encampment. They are coming for them.
Juniper hunkers low. While not a native of Camp Willow, the River Moss delivers news faster than any bird possibly could. Her own little tribe had heard the news and jumped in to help without question. The southern otter lass grinds her teeth and rubs her thumb along the hilt of a sword as she waits.
Gaheris' ears flick back towards Liask and his jaw tightens a bit but again he takes a moment, forcing thoughts before words and not for the first time this week he considers what his mother would say and forces the words out after a long pause "It's y'life t'choose with" you can't force a beast to give up their life without becoming something truly evil. He takes a deep breath and tries resists the urge to take a peek out at the camp "This waitin' is near as bad as the fightin'"
"Backing out for me is not an option. Not /this/ time." The otter whispers back, glancing to the water. Truth be told Liask has never actually used the sword at his side in anger, let alone to...end a beast's life. Combined with his own mediocre skills at fighting he most likely was heading to his own death. Maybe...maybe he really should just- Liask shakes his head. No, he's seeing this to the end.
"I respect tha'." Lutea grunts, shrugging. She slips back towards Juniper and her tribe. The otter from the North is curious about this one from the South - outsiders, both of them, come together for a common cause. Nothing brings a people together like bloodshed, really. The Taggerung nods to her, respectful, in passing - making a quick round of those gathered, she shifts her spear in her paw again, gaze turning up towards the moon, nothing more than a sliver in the sky - the perfect night for an attack; the cover of darkness almost totalitarian.
Juniper's whiskers twitch up with a determined, slightly scary grin at the other otter lass. Her paw chokes the hilt of her sword tightly and she shifts her weight as her knees begin to question her decision to be crouched for so long. "Shhh sh sh," Juniper murmurs to herself, or her knees, as she returns her gaze forward. "Not long now." Maybe.
Gaheris nods at Liask's response "...Good. We need everyone we can get" and he appreciates the loyalty. He too provides a glance Juniper's way, sadly there hadn't been a great deal of time for introductions and this was not a good time for a chat but perhaps afterwards if they all lived. He also appreciated the added help though.
Kolbjorn knows well that an attack is long overdue. That is why there are so many here, waiting, waiting to draw the otters into another deathtrap. He stands near the tree, seated on a chair made of a carved stump, slowly and quietly whetting his sword. A map of the village is laid out in front of him, as are several of his swiftest messengers. "How much have we left to do?" he asks one of his huscarls. "It is nearly done. The ship is long gone," is the answer. Kolbjorn nods slowly, and looks up at the bloody "gifts" he has left for the otters' homecoming: the rotted carcasses of those who died, who proved unworthy and unruly. "Then let them come," he says quietly. "Once our screening forces are engaged, light the fires, scatter the ashes. The land will be scarred when we leave." He looks down at his sword and continues to sharpen it. "Let them come, and die again."
The young otter nods his head. "Liask." He says with as forced a smile if there ever was one, "I was a guard in Camp Willow before all this." That's about as much introduction as Liask is will to impart. At least he won't die in total obscurity. He tightens his grip on his sword hilt in hopes that the tightness in his gut will go away. It doesn't.
And then it is time. As the allies launch their attack at the front of Camp, flooding the marsh with volleys of arrows and stones, javelins erupt from the darkness of the trees. The forest comes alive like an instrument of death - and that is the otters cue. Stay hidden, as long as possible, even among the center of Camp. Spread, attack, use the terrain... Kill as many as she can. With a deep breath, she plunges into the river, silent as an arrow through the sky. It is time. The covert force surges forward in the cover of the night; the plan is in place, and the otters are coming.
Gaheris had just been saying the waiting was the worst, he may end up rethinking that before long. His ears perked at the sound of many projectiles hitting the ground and hopefully the odd vermin. It was time. Gaheris stays still for a moment, letting the main force get all the attention before he finally carefully slips forwards, other otters in the group following their lead and silently slipping in to the river.
"Kolbjorn." "I know," the chief says without looking up. "Light the fires. Set every house near the river ablaze. They will have to face us, or go back through the ashes of their own homes." He knows this battle is merely what must be. They were never going to /stay/ here. But that doesn't mean he can't resist bloodying their noses before they go. He peers at the map, and the crude drawing of their plan. "I wonder where their champion is," he murmurs. "Ah, well. Our swords will be bloody when this is over, and that is what matters." Meanwhile, vermin form up on the dry ground where they can, letting the trees and their large shields hold back the worst of the withering first volley. They withdraw, step by step, towards the entrance of the camp, caught off-guard as they are by the ferocity of the attack.
Juniper follows the group of those who live here. She secures her blade and dives in, only a small 'droooop' following her tiny wake. The otter keeps close, making sure not to lose the leaders in the unfamiliar section of river. It is time!
Liask gulps as the otters move out. This was it, do or die. Do or /die/ As in death. Destruction. The END. No more spicy otter foods, no more beer, no more - anything. It was a thought that cuases the otter's knees to shake even as he swims. "I'm going to die..." He says quietly to himself every now and again up until he reaches the far shore and spots the spikes for the first time. He knew about them but the impact didn't hit him until he actually laid eyes on them himself. He didn't recognize all the faces so brutally displayed along them, just the faces of the guards who lost their lives after Liask chose to run and save himself. The otter's eyes blaze with anger and suddenly, his knees quit shaking and he quits muttering to himself. He may die in this battle, but not before he makes them PAY for this...
And then it is time to attack. The otters seem to come from nowhere and everywhere at once - bursting from the mud itself, erupting throughout the interior of the Camp. A main focus is put on the center, near the Willow Tree, but they are flying from the inlets and launching javelins and stones and arrows from every hidden crevice available to them. Lutea bursts from the reeds, immediately aiming to bury her spear through a fox's back. The ferocity of the attack is only surpassed by the initial /silence/ of it, though this quickly descends into screams of fury and pain as all-out war explodes through Camp Willow.
Gaheris sees the fires, the dead and he blocks them out, he's back at the camp and it's almost exactly like his nightmares from the last couple of weeks. He's not allowed to focus on it, there's no waking up to find himself in the abbey this time. He focuses on the only thing that can distract him from it, the vermin. He appears almost seemingly out of nowhere, rising from the reeds with bow drawn, an arrow immediately sent in to the back of one of the Viking's heads before he notches another one to his bow and spots Kolbjorn. He recognises the chief and a growl cannot be held back, his arrow quickly sent flying at the marten.
Here we go! Juniper bursts from the river, water pouring down her face and whiskers, washing the red dirt that had been painted on by the silty riverbed. "Rhaaah!" she caterwauls as she swings her sword up and at a marten. The beast dodges the blade but not the kick that connects with it's sternum. Snap! The vermin falls and she turns to leap into the fray.
The arrow thuds uselessly into a heavy wooden shield as Rincair steps in front of the arrow's path, denying Gaheris of his attempt to slay the raiders' chieftain. A knock of his axe snaps the arrow away, and the big marten lets out a roar, thundering forward to do battle with the young Skipper, his shield raised.
Kolbjorn can see the creatures rising from the muck as he approaches the battle, the ones sent to harrass the flank - a tactical stroke he did not think the peace-lovers were capable of, but prepared for it nonetheless. As the narrow path becomes a battlefield, the Viking chief sniffs contemptuously and raises his shield with the rest of his bodyguards, letting any incoming arrows glance off their defenses. This is where a larger corps of Northmen have been placed among the native vermin fodder, to fight more furiously than the ones at the eastern entrance, and they are the ones to meet the attackers with chain mail and merciless axes. Lutea is singled out as a dangerous fighter, earning the attention of no less than /three/ true Northmen, one of whom holds a spear. "Funnel them onto the path," Kolbjorn says calmly. "Get archers ready for them."
Liask is hardly one to be labeled dangerous; slipping and falling onto his face as he comes out of the river. With a growl he picks himself up taking only a moment to try and figure out where to go and where he is needed. His attention is drawn to the roar of a massive warrior pine marten baring down on Gaheris. Yeah, no. How about the otter with all the odd tattoos? She looks like a capable fighter, yeah, let's go over and help her out! With a yell that is lost in combat he moves to intercept the warriors coming for Lutea!
Gaheris was sure it couldn't be that easy, too many Vikings around but it would be nice if it was over with one arrow. Rincair draws his attention and his growl grows. The rage he had been trying to hold back was breaking free all over again and he answers the marten's roar with one of his own. Dropping his bow to draw the scimitar from his back he lets Rincair close the distance before he ducks and spins out the way, trying to take out the marten's legs with his heavy tail in the process.
A slingstone whips through the air at an isolated Viking. Then another. Chud has come to reclaim his home. Emerging from the river, he had immediately begun firing off slingstones at any targets that presented themselves. Before the Vikings can get a fix on where they're coming from, his sling is stowed around his belt and his dirk is drawn, and he pounds towards the warriors near Lutea, knowing that he'll have to be careful. He's young and probably outmatched--but he's plenty agile, and he's banking on that.
Thump. Juniper is forced back on her tail as an arrow finds her flesh just under her armpit. Holy hotroot shrimp, that hurts! The beast she was fighting leaps forward to monopolize on the opportunity but Juniper manages to roll away from the attack and push herself up with her non-pincushion side. She regrips her sword and lunges to her feet, making haste towards the main group of otters.
That big, heavy shield thumps down to the ground, possibly bruising Gaheris' tail in the process as Rincair growls his rage at the other mustelid, his axe spinning after the ducking otter. Despite his large size, the marten moves with astonishing alacrity, whirling easily on the balls of his feet.
And, all at once, Lutea is surrounded. She circles once, growling as she hunches low, and then strikes out without warning. She jabs forward with the blunt end of her weapon for the first Northmen's face, and then stabs back with the other, in constant motion. She juts sideways, suddenly, dropping down and rolling towards the third attacker - the one with the spear - before she launches herself up and at him, twirling the spear above her head to lock herself against him - and then help arrives! She spins back and away, planting distance between them and giving herself some room to wield her spear, twirling it and trying to sweep his legs from beneath him, relishing the aid that rushes to her.
She may not relish the aid that comes. Liask has to admit, he is fairly impressed by the display of skill the otter is using on these warriors. He himself, lacking any such ability, simply tries to tackle the remaining viking from behind and stab him with the pointy end of his sword, hoping that he remembered to unsheath it. "GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" He shouts.
Chud ducks under the swing of a massive axe. /Holy crap, that almost--/ He rolls to the side, kicking out at a marten and toppling the beast. /--took my head off,/ he finishes mentally. He finally reaches Lutea and Liask, but finds that they seem to have the situation covered. He pivots and looks around for something to fight.
Juniper closes her eyes just long enough to yank the arrow from her side as she runs. The pain causes her eyes to pop open and she looks at the now-headless weapon with a groan. Oh googie, it left a little gift inside her! The otter lass tosses the useless shaft away and concentrates on barreling right into a fox that is teaming up on Lutea.
The Viking Liask charges turns at the last moment, showing neither amusement or disgust at the otter's unprofessional charge. He simply steps to one side, and attempts to whack Liask's sword thrust straight up with his shield before hacking at Liask's ribs with a swipe of his axe. The remaining two around Lutea show no fear at her skill; they work together, the one with the spear jabs out, keeping her distracted, as the other attempts to circle behind, sporting a bloody nose and a grimace from the blunt end of her spear, but he is suddenly bowled over by Juniper and shouts as he tries to put his shield between himself and her. Kolbjorn watches dispassionately from a distance, commanding his soldiers to start stepping back, drawing the otters in, further into the village. "The fires are burning now," a huscarl reminds him, nodding to the growing, glowing light further into the village. "If we pull back now-" "Wait," says Kolbjorn. "I want to see if any of them actually reach me."
Gaheris' tail already still has burn marks on it from the first fight now he can add some more bruising as the shield catches the very edge of it. The axe misses though, narrowly passing his shoulder before Gah springs at the marten, trying to tackle the beast but with his sword out in front of him. Rincair's not the only one who's fairly large but quick on his feet.
When Gaheris leaps, Rincair swings his shield hard between them, managing to stop the sword from reaching his body but still being born to the ground by the otter's weight and momentum. With a vicious swing, he strives to chop into the otter's head, while his shield presses upwards, trying to roll him off.
The Camp is a confused tangle of flesh and blood, and Lutea snarls with a passionate burst of rage. Juniper takes the beast behind her's attention, and she uses the precious seconds to drop and roll to the side, dancing /away/ from the confrontation. With practiced skill, she rips the bindings from the end of her 'spear' and wrenches the dagger free of its notch - she'll have to replace the lashings, later. Now we're cooking - she attacks the spear-beast again, intent on swinging herself into his closed defenses, dagger biting towards the throat, the chest - anything. She just wants blood.
Chud growls, unable to find an opening. He instead spots Kolbjorn, and figures, /Go big or go home./ He charges, slipping through the ranks and dodging around any that try to impede him. "HEEYLAAAAAAAA!"
Meanwhile Liask's blade finds itself deflected by the shield. His eyes widen as he sees the ax coming for him. He chitters in fear as he swings his sword back to meet it. CLANG! The sword goes flying from his paws and the otter spins as he falls onto his side. "Get up. Get off the ground or you are DEAD." he thinks to himself, rolling after he falls back onto his feet, unarmed and in the middle of a battle field. Could this day get any worse?
Juniper is chattering and thrashing around on the ground with the fox. Both of their weapons are grid locked between their bodies, useless as they roll around. The fox sinks his teeth into Juniper's shoulder and she twists until she has her teeth in his throat... a much better position all things considered. Blood floods into her mouth and she begins to cough, refusing to let the bite go.
As the marten goes down Gaheris' momentum lands him on top of marten and shield. His free paw grabbing hold of the top of the shield he manages to brace himself with one footpaw to keep from being thrown off straight away. Again his head ducks to the axe, using the shield itself as cover as he brings his sword round and jabs it towards the arm Rincair's holding his axe with since it's the only bit actively reaching around the shield.
The fox Juniper is biting scrabbles for purchase, raking furiously at her face with his claws as instinct takes over in the mortal struggle. Liask is advanced upon by the axe-wielding Viking, who charges in quickly, hoping to cave in the otter's head with one quick blow and go back to the fight behind him... which just reached a fever pitch as the ferret jerks back in surprise from Lutea, shouting curses in his native language as the dagger screeches on his helmet, cutting into his face. Kolbjorn raises an eyebrow at Chud, and seems about to engage when one of his huscarls swoops out of formation and swings his axe directly at Chud's legs as he goes by. Kolbjorn snorts, and raises his sword. "Loka staedha!" he calls. "Draga til baka inn i thorpidh!" The engaged vikings (those not entangled with furious otters) pull back, forming their familiar shield wall as they withdraw into the deeper parts of the village, and Kolbjorn is going with them. The native vermin levies are left behind, having no idea what it is Kol just said, but they fight on.
The axe clips Chud's legs, fortunately not lopping them out from under him entirely. His momentum, however, carries him through the air. He knows he has only a split second before the pain comes and he uses that last moment of lucidity to roll to his feet and lash out with his dirk like a tongue of fire. Then the bleeding starts and he yells in pain.
A pitiful squeak escapes Liask's muzzle as he stares the warrior down. He was going to die now...the warrior is going to lop off his head and put it on a pike...just like all those guards he left to die..."NO!" He rushes forward, trying to grab the ax by the shaft with both paws and struggle with the viking. There is no time for fancy words or swift tongue remarks. Just growling hissing and grunting as he tries to out muscle the trained warrior, trying to keep the weapon from crashing into him. He shouts, sending a kick towards the warrior’s midsection.
"GE' THEM!" The native vermin may not understand, but a beast of the North certainly does. It may not be her people's tongue, but Lutea was hewn of the same hunk of ice that these monsters were. Her attacks grow more desperate, fueled forward by the purchase her weapon gains, stabbing and hacking forward, bearing her stocky body against the spearbeast and snapping at his shoulder. Her eyes roll in a panic, trying to see what is /happening/ - it isn't good. She kicks out against her foe and rolls back... She is fleeing? No - she is /hunting/... Lutea tears off towards the retreating wall of Vikings. /No/.
Juniper is gurgling with the hot tang of fox blood in her mouth. His claws are raking at her face and neck, tearing fur, whiskers, and bits of flesh away. With an inward moan if displeasure, the southern sun otter bites down /hard/ on the fox's throat. The fox dies quickly, his much needed throat area coming away as Juniper slowly staggers up and shakes her sword free of his dying embrace. The blood soaked creature grunts and starts to lope after Lutea.
The sword slices through the thick fabric covering Rincair's arm, and with a roar the marten surges upwards, intent to throw the otter off. His massive size suggests he may be capable of doing just that. He's not about to be left behind, and he'd quite like a head to take with him.
Liask's master plan forgets that the viking has another weapon: his shield. The northman grunts and simply sends the rim of his shield into Liask's gut, as many times as required until Liask lets go and the Northman can finish him off. Kolbjorn stands safely behind the wall of shields, finding himself at the very end of the narrow path; this is where he saw the last of the fight taking place. As he passes a line of burning buildings, his armor gleaming in the light of flaming otter holts, he raises his sword, and more screaming erupts from the center of the village. The last of the native mercenaries are being thrown into the mix as the Redwallers advance. It seems to be a last gasp, a final stopgap against the woodlander tide, but the way Kolbjorn is casually striding away says something else entirely. The otters find themselves facing fewer and fewer true Northmen, and Lutea and Juniper, one of the few to actually breach the lines and reach the withdrawing shield wall, are greeted by a line bristling with spearpoints and axes. The Vikings spit curses and hurl javelins of their own at the advancing woodlander lines.
The young otter guard gasps as the shield is thrust into his fleshy gut not once but multiple times. His body fills with pain and his legs go week. He falls away onto his rump and then onto his back. Yeah, this is pretty much how he figured he would meet his end. He didn't even manage to kill a single viking. The otter continues to back away, crawling on the ground as the viking advances. He figures begging wont' help here, nor calling for help but it doesn't stop him from trying. He lets out a cry of alarm, "A little help here? Anyone? Ah blazes..." getting desperate the otter tosses a paw full of dirt at the warrior in an effort to distract him as he runs away...but the otter’s legs aren’t moving quite right. He can't quite seem to get back to his feet...
A dirk is not the best weapon to use against a great foe like the Northmen - at best it sends a searing pain up at the axebeast's leg as it find a place not covered by thick padding and chain mail. The warrior cries out and staggers, glaring hate at Chud, but seeing his fellows fall back, he can do nothing but follow, leaving the otter to scream on the ground.
It's bleak, but Lutea advances crying out as something rips another wound open at her side. She can't see what did it - an axe, a spear, an arrow... It doesn't matter. She rushes through the archways of flame, ignoring the heat, the smell of burning fur. She holds her dagger ahead of her face, her staff twirling at her side - two beasts alone cannot breach that wall, but the other warriors are catching on! The Camp's offensive force rushes, steel bouncing off of steel, trying to catch this retreating wall of shields and death. Lutea throws herself against a shield, wrenching her paws around it, trying to wrestle it from the beasts grip, striking out with her staff in desperation. This cannot happen, they cannot get away! It isn't going to end like this! "Y'CALL THIS HONOR?!" She cries out, roaring in pain and rage, seeking Kolbjorn in this mess. "Y'CALL THIS A FIGH'?"
Gaheris growls back and forces back against Rincair's efforts but the added surge is a lot to fight and even in his angered state Gaheris can tell the situation around them is changing. The vikings are doing something, the Redwallers are getting closer and with the shield this fight is getting nowhere. He suddenly stopped fighting Rincair's attempts to get him off and rolls off himself, his paw still holding on to the shield for the first second, twisting the shield as he moves to try and damage the arm that's holding it.
Chud spots Liask go down and yells again. Wincing, he scrambles to his feeth and lurches over towards him. He sheathes his dirk and loads his sling, muttering something like a prayer and whipping off a slingstone towards the warrior that downed the other otter.
Juniper claws blood from her brow as the oozing stuff threatens her vision. She starts to feel lightheaded, but forces herself into the marten-made wall, leaning her shoulder into a swing that neatly parts a beast with half his snout. "It'll buff right out, mate," Juniper sneers as she knocks past the wall into the inferno known as Camp Willow. "Where to?" the otter lass demands of anyone who knows this camp. It's her first visit. How lovely!
The raider's shield is different than the kind the Mossflower creatures are used to, and Rincair simply... let’s go. The big marten darts off after his comrades, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder at Gaheris.
Kolbjorn turns slowly, death in his eyes. He recognizes that voice. That otter. The one who said she was of the North. The Cursed One who refused to join them. She fights for these /weaklings?/ "A fight?!" he barks back at her, spreading his paws, letting her know that she's got his attention as he makes it into a large clearing inside the village itself. "I would ask the same of you! Find me if you want a /fight!/" The shield wall continues to pull back, further and further, and then the last of the reserves of natives are unleashed on the woodlanders, trying to give the Vikings breathing space as they give before the attackers, inch by bunch. The last and fresh wave of vermin is starting to coalesce, and Skarl Swan-Slayer himself is among them. Kolbjorn chuffs. The Swan Slayer thinks this is about revenge. It is about nothing but abandoning this troublesome place.
The vermin Chud attacks stands over Liask, growling, focused entirely on his kill... to his death. A slingstone caves in the side of his helmet, and then his skull, with a loud clang and a meaty thud. Once again, Liask sees a Viking die in front of him, through no real fault of his own. That doesn't mean there aren't vermin still milling about though, unsure whether to keep fighting or retreat with the Northmen, looking for easy targets.
Chud reaches down, helping Liask to his feet, nodding in encouragement, and then lurches back to the fight, wincing in pain.
Arms covering his head Liask shouts in fear, "No!" And then is promptly saved from a horrible death...again. But hey, as long as he is still breathing he is not complaining. He just sort of, lays there, panting heavily staring up at the embers of fire as they raise to the heavens. "I am never doing this again." He only stands when his fellow otter helps him to his feet. Grabbing the warriors ax he takes two steps and nearly falls over from it's weight. "Then again..." He leaves the ax, grabbing a spear laying nearby from one of his slain kin beasts before stumbling back into the fight...
Gaheris apparently has himself a shield! The lack of resistance to taking it makes the otter lose his balance enough for Rincair to get a head start but thankfully Gah knows better than to give chase in to that mess. He picks himself up off the ground, catching his breath for all of two seconds while he assesses the situation. Alright. Vikings are running, other vermin are headed for them with Redwall on the other side slowly advancing...oh yeah and everything's on fire. Swell. Right then. Situation assessed. Gaheris grabs the shield and brings it up tight in front of him, roaring as he charges, ramming his way through a couple of vermin as he forces his way back towards the other otters.
Yes, it's her... But she isn't here to go one on one with him. She has tasted that battle before, and she lost... Though she stakes were different. The only life on the line, then, was her own. "Gaheris!" Lutea calls, seeing him streaking past nearby, her eyes narrow. There is Kolbjorn, in all his glory. "Did y'miss me, brother o'the North?" She growls as she approaches the marten, twisting the dagger in her paw, the birthmark pressed against its hilt. Branded. "Are y'proud tha' you've ruined peace? Eh? Bet y'Storm Father is real pleased t'see all the defenseless villages ye've ruined. Wonder 'ow he'd feel blowin' y'blood through the mud?" She grins, savagely. "Bet he'd disown ye without a second thought. Only weakness 'ere is yours." She's goading him, tugging him forward with her taunts, pulling up alongside the Skipper. She won't take his revenge from him.
The Vikings are now in the middle of the village, hacking and slashing at anyone who tries to get close as they prepare to cut and run. There are disappointingly few Northmen bodies for the attackers, and all around them Camp Willow is either on fire, or draped in the bodies of their dead fellows and the symbols of Viking conquest. Kolbjorn is untouched, his own sword unbloodied, but some of his own got to taste the thrill of battle, and he has left almost nothing for the woodlanders to actually "save." The captives they longed to free - long gone. Their homes - on fire. Their true enemy - pulling back under cover of other vermin. Kolbjorn nods once, seemingly satisfied, until he hears Lutea speak again, and turns to face her. "Storm Father's winds blow on the worthy and unworthy alike," he says over the roar of flames.
Kolbjorn speaks once more, "I have ruined nothing. Peace is the pause between war. The breath you take before another sword stroke. I have ruined nothing, only done what I have always done. They forgot there were wolves in these woods. What is that to me?"
There is little for liask to do other than join his fellow otters in combat but the sight of the fires, the corpses of his slain kin displayed in such a horrible manner- he can only pause, taking in the battle around him. He so desperately wants to just run and hide under a rock somewhere. Out of a fleeting sense of honor he presses onward, joining the others and throwing a spear at the retreating shield wall.
The monologues are for beasts who have a connection to each other or the Camp. Juniper, however, is happy to romp around and deal with creatures that try to interrupt. That's /rude/, after all. She's bleeding a fair amount and more sluggish than she was, but the southern-born otter holds he own as she clashes her sword with an ermine. They dance dangerously close to a hut that looks ready to collapse under its fiery weight.
Gaheris bashes one vermin with the shield, knocking them off balance enough to stab them around the shields. He's on the war path again until he hears Lutea and changes his direction a little, meeting her in the middle. He watches the vermin, making sure they keep their distance until Kolbjorn starts speaking and there's that growl again "Then why do y'run?" the Skipper yells back "Y'have no want 'f peace and wish t'show us wolves but y'leavin'! Y'not stickin' around t'lose y'battle?"
"Bet y'got a nice chill of it on y'arse then." Lutea snaps back, still advancing. "An' y'ain't a bloody wolf. Far from it." Sneering, she stops and casts about for the Skipper. They're leaving - escaping. Taking with them their spoils; but the otters are still fighting. Several of the old guards rush forward to fight at Juniper's side - even as the building collapses in a brilliant spray of orange embers. But the Taggerung is through talking, and charges Kolbjorn with a roar.
"I have lost nothing, young one," Kolbjorn says, shrugging his broad shoulders. "My ship and many of my beasts are long gone, the thralls and treasure we took are with them." He points his sword at Gaheris. "But you. You will live with what you /have/ lost." He twirls his sword almost lazily as Lutea charges him, and goes into a defensive crouch, then lunges forward to lever his shield underneath the Taggerung and launch her right over his head, then rush Gaheris full-force.
If Liask couldn't take on one 'measly' viking warrior, then it's a sure bet that he is no match for their leader. "Be careful!" He shouts in encouragement. There, he helped. Now to take care of himself after he foolishly buried his spear in a beasts shield by throwing it at them. He needs another weapon and soon...before their enemies add him to the list of beasts slain by vikings.
Gaheris growls at the marten again, his words add to the young Skipper's anger. He starts to charge with Lutea but stops when he sees Kolbjorn's stance change and then the Viking's charge. Gah raises his stolen shield but chooses to dive and roll out the way rather than take the force of a collision. He springs back up again to one side and swings around to face the Viking, slashing out with his sword as he charges forward to close the gap between them again.
Juniper is fighting off a fox and a marten. It hasn't been a cake walk, either. Out of her left side a dagger has caved a half moon shade, and blood is already beginning to crust up and dry in the fur above her eyes. When the hut collapses it sends a shower of embers sprays outwards, lighting the fox in front of her on fire. Lucky break. Juniper pushes herself up and grabs the marten as it lunges, redirecting his trajectory right into the burning rubble. A scream erupts and Juniper staggers away, picking up her discarded sword as she moves towards Lutea's position.
Lutea crashes against the shield, snarling and jabbing her knife; she's struggling to get purchase over the top of it... And then the marten gives her the perfect opportunity. Launched overhead, her sinewy body twists and turns as she is thrown from the shield's face, and she hits the ground running - with Kolbjorn's back now to her as he charges the Skipper. The otter rushes him, swinging her staff low to catch his legs, her dagger held horizontally in front of her muzzle - eyes are flashing with intensity, driven forward by bloodlust and rage. She can't worry about Liask right now, who will have to fend for himself or die trying; but Juniper does receive some assistance. One of the otters who rush to her aid falls, almost immediately; blood bubbling from their open mouth and drowning their scream of pain as a spear protrudes from their throat. Flaming wood drops around them, the collapsing house spitting flames and plumes of smoke as it closes in on itself - raining burning debris on raised shields and helms. "Good thinkin'!" One of the guards gasps to Juniper as one vermin after another are swallowed in the destruction, panting hard from exertion and clutching his sword in one paw, a loaded sling in the other.
"Or perhaps you will /not/ live," Kolbjorn snarls at Gaheris, lashing out with his shield to drive Gaheris' weapon up so he can jab at the otter's gut with his sword, and with the space he hopes to buy with that, leaps up to hop over and away from Lutea's staff, keeping his shield arm between himself and Gaheris. The big hob's movements are smooth and swift, quick and aggressive. He doesn't plan on dying here.
Through the chaos of battle Liask finds himself moving between enemies and allies as they duke it out. The wayward blade of a friendly beast is just as deadly as enemies after all. The otter ducks under an ax and suck in his generous gut as a rat and otter go to battle. "Excuse me. Coming through. Oh, you will be feeling that in the morning." In his flight he bumps into a weasel, the beast turns and hisses at him, prepared to run him through with a sword. Liask screams and twists to one side. The sword continues onward into the belly of a ferret as he stabs towards the otters back, missing as well and stabbing his fellow weasel in the chest. "So...no one saw that...did they?" Liask says with a slight grumble. With a shrug he takes the weasel's weapon...waste not want not...
Gaheris keeps some cover from his own shield, catching Kolbjorn's sword on the side of it. He keeps up close, not letting the marten back off far before he surges forward to close the gap again and bashes forward with the shield going to repeatedly forcefully shove and randomly bash it against Kol as he also jabs out with his sword towards the Viking's legs, being distracting and trying to make it harder for the marten to dodge the others without getting knocked around in the process.
Juniper looks almost ill for just a moment as the otter dies next to her. She yanks her attention away, frowning deeply. She comes up short of the main battle scene, arms out and tensed as she watches. Liask's scream distracted her and she snarls to turn dash over and confront the... problem? The otter looks at the two dead vermin and blinks. "Nice job," Juniper grunts as she glances over her shoulder towards the fray with Kolbjorn.
Lutea continues to push forward, even as the hob dances away from her attack. "Or /perhaps/-" She mocks through gritted teeth, "-I shove this staff so far up y'arse tha' I knock y'pretty little /teeth/ out!" She throws herself forward, jabbing the end of her staff at his sword arm, battering at that side in quick, decisive thrusts before bouncing back and away. Always on the move, but growing bolder and more frustrated with each attack. With the curved end of her staff, she lunges forward, trying to hook it over his forearm and drag him towards her. The thrill of the fight has her blood boiling, and her muzzle curls into an even deeper snarl - there's a sick euphoria that pounds in her head, setting her gaze on fire as the savagery within her wins out. She was made for battle, made to fight - it's etched into her very soul. Liask, however, seems to be the complete opposite - while Juniper seems to be the only one who saw his luck, the same cannot be said of the vermin and one of Skarl's foxes charges him - axe raised - with a howl of rage.
Kolbjorn skirts backwards, keeping the two combatants in front of him. Gaheris finds that hammering at his shield is like trying to break a brick wall with his fists, for all the good hammering at a beast of war like himself does, and when Gaheris goes low to cut at his legs, Kolbjorn cuts his shield rim down low to trap the Skipper's weapon against the ground, and raises his sword to finish him... until Lutea's hook catches him round the arm. He huffs as he's pulled backwards, and then simply goes with it to crack the sharp end of his elbow into her nose.
"T-thanks." He says to Juniper. Yeah, he /totally/ killed them both. Then comes the cry of the viking. Grabbing his sword with both paws Liask gulps. Yet another ax wielding warrior is coming to take his head. Why are all ax wielding foxes after him? Given his last two encounters with the enemy he is not one to want to stick around and fight, but there is quite literally, nowhere else to go. And Liask is tired of playing the useless coward. "Do or Die Liask." He says to himself before charging the viking. At the last moment he launches himself forward, aiming to roll past the fox and under his swing while slashing his sword at the vulpine’s belly. It's not something Liask would have expected so...it might work...or just leave him exposed...
With a quick re-grip of her sword, Juniper jerks towards the fox as she hears his battle cry. She is about to storm forward when the unlikely otter guard makes his move. "Wait!" she yelps at Liask as he goes. She winces and then barrels forward to knock at the fox with her weapon if he manages to survive Liask's attack.
There's a distinctive crunching sound as Lutea is battered backwards, blood erupting from her muzzle as something breaks; and whether it is a tooth or her nose is not immediately evident. She howls in pain and anger, muzzle snapping at his arm as she swings her dagger forward, scrambling to shove it up and under his armpit, where she expects the armor to be weakest. It's really her only option as his elbow is busy brutalizing her poor face - as if she wasn't scary looking enough before, the blood continues to gush from her muzzle, burning hot and salty on her tongue. Liask's opponent side steps as the otter rolls towards him, managing to escape a fatal injury - but he isn't quite fast enough to get away entirely. The sword rips through his right calf, and he collapses with a high-pitched scream, swinging his ax down at Liask as he falls. Unfortunately for him, while he was able to survive one attack, Juniper's takes him out for good: he hits the ground, blood oozing from his temple, canines still bared in a harsh cry. The Taggerung struggles against Kolbjorn, eyes rolling crazily as the fight continues to thin out around them... The captives are long gone, the Camp in swirling ashes around them: they're fighting a losing battle. "Get 'im, Skip!" She grunts out, spitting blood at the marten.
Gaheris could hit brick walls all day, he'd probably like it more than Vikings. His sword ends up planted to the ground and he starts to duck back behind his shield to avoid Kol's attack until Lutea provides a distraction and when Kol steps back towards Lutea he's able to free his sword and goes to stab it around the side of the marten's shield while he's breaking Lutea, trying to stab him in the side. The camp was all but smoldering rubble, they'd lost so much and there was great determination to win something back, anything to make the idea of having to rebuild less bitter.
"RAAAAH!" Kolbjorn roars as he feels the dagger sink into his flesh beneath his sword arm. It's not quite enough to sever any important arteries, but it's enough to enrage the marten that /any/ of these creatures drew his blood. He finishes pounding Lutea down to the ground before spinning back to Gaheris, his bloodlust reaching a sudden fever pitch as he feels his own blood fall free of his veins. A wordles roar is all Gaheris gets as he twists around, moving to trap Gaheris' sword arm against the inside of his shield as his sword glances off the chain mail, and then hurtles forward to send his helmeted skull crashing into Gaheris' own, turning his entire body into a metal battering ram centered right at his forehead.
Liask's scream of pain is lost amid the battle. Turning to finish the fox off he instead turns to find an ax head flying towards. He backs up but not enough to avoid the strike all together as it slashes him across the face and between the eyes. He falls onto his back, unmoving.
Juniper lets out a rib-rattling shout of anger as the fox finds her sword. Blood sprays her and she drops to a knee, her mouth open and panting as she catches her breath. Her eyes shoot from the downed Liask to the fox and back. "Get up," she commands to the guard. She starts to stand, knocking him in the shoulder with a paw. "Get /up/." When Kolbjorn screams it causes icy to flow down her veins. She turns, forgetting Liask for a moment. Juniper isn't the only one who heard, either. The southern otter croaks out a warning as beasts jump to Kilbjorn's rescue. The otter lass is forced to leap up and run-stagger towards the support, swinging her sword wilding and shouting a battle cry "Sooool!"
The marten wrenches himself free of her blade, and she makes sure to twist and yank that deadly steel as she is tossed to the ground. Lutea screams in rage, kicking herself back upright to pursue the marten, swaying on her feet - she isn't going to end this fight on her back. She sees Liask fall and grits her teeth - he didn't even want to be fighting, and now he's just another casualty of the Northbeast's chaotic reign... It fuels her forward, and as Kolbjorn smashes his way towards Gaheris, she throws herself at him - until a spear takes her through the side. The Viking's support, it seems, doesn't honor the sanctity of battle, and Lutea hits the ground, thrown sideways by the force of the blow. She struggles to rise, gasping out in pain and shock, her dagger knocked away from her, but her staff is still clutched tightly in one paw.
Stunned, dazed, and confused Liask blinks away tears of pain, paw coming up ot survey the damage, "I think my brains are leaking." The fact that he is still able to say this suggests that his brains are in fact not. "You're ok Liask. You are ok..." He rolls onto his side, catching sight of the terrible monster pine marten during battle and holding his own against 3 otter warriors. "You're going to die Liask, you are going to die." He narrows his eyes, "But not today..." Maybe the battle has finally exhausted his courage, maybe it's just the head wound, regardless the otter stumbles to his feet and charges into the battle. He collapses once, then pulls himself back to his feet.
Gaheris snarls back at the marten but the sudden crazy anger is a little concerning. His sword gets caught behind the shields and he loses grip on it but he's more concerned with the crazy charging Viking. He brings his shield up to protect his head but with the rest of Kol's body behind the attack he's knocked to one side, just about keeping to his feet. He draws the dagger from the back of his belt and slashes out with it but doesn't have much hope for it catching anything when it's only a short blade. The arrival of more vermin and more otters falling causes him to step back from Kol and back towards Lutea. Grabbing a spear from one of the nearby dead he does at least hurl it at Kol on the way though.
More Northmen are already there, catching the spear on solid oak shields as Kolbjorn stands, perhaps not triumphant, but alive and very much not-dead. He peers around at the wreckage of the Camp and the bloody bodies of the fallen, and nods. "This one is weak," he murmurs of the new Skipper as the other Vikings glare down at him. "Better he lives than be replaced by someone strong." He nods to the village outskirts. "Vidh foerum," he barks. "There is no more to take from here." As one, the last of the vermin rushes away from the battle, making good on their promise to leave little more than empty wreckage behind them, as their ancestors have done on a hundred shores for a hundred seasons.
Gaheris can feel his blood boil again as he has to stand there and watch Kolbjorn get away. He could fight more but outnumbered and with injured to worry about the smart thing would be to let them leave. Except of course they have captured otters and they'll no doubt attack somewhere else "This isn't over" he mutters. Right now staying put was smart, there would be time for other actions later. It takes a few seconds for him to calm himself down and really believe that before he throws his pilfered shield rather forcefully away and starts surveying the damage.
The battle fades from the Camp almost as suddenly as it came, leaving otters battered and broken against the ground... But their home is theirs once more. Among the burnt wreckage, there is still life; and among the battered survivors, there can still be hope. Lutea struggles upright, gasping, reaching after Kolbjorn, dragging herself forward as they make their retreat. The North is ruthless and unbending, and these monsters are not the only products of that frigid expanse of ice and wind; the otter wraps her paw around the spear, as close to her side as she can, and wrenches it free with a cry. Her vision blurred, she surveys the scene, seeking the Skipper. "Gaheris?" She can barely speak, and stuffs a paw over the hole to staunch the blood flow, but sees him - alive and standing. She sees Juniper, alive, and even Liask, who somehow managed to survive, standing among the chaos. These beasts are not weak: the weak would not be standing, would not be living to fight another day. Battered woodlanders seem to be everywhere, breathless but living, even as countless slain and wounded bleed into the ground - the Vikings may have destroyed their home, but they could not wipe out the otters of Camp Willow. Their spirit is intact. Whatever Kolbjorn may think, he is wrong about one thing: the great ones /are/ here... And they're coming for him.
This isn’t over…
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