Fredwick took stock of the scene as the illumination of mid morning lit it properly. From atop the hillock, within the brush and midst the stones, matted mosses and short grasses, he lay on his belly, observing the greenskins and their small encampment. In total there were only about a dozen of the creatures, however this included a heavily pierced and tattooed hobgoblin that was decorated with a variety of bone charms and jewelry of that sort. The other goblins seemed to pay a distinct level of respect to this creature, on par with the other hobgoblin among the monsters, who was obviously leading the raiding band. This other creature was heavily tattooed, armored in thicker hide and a mail tunic that was likely looted from one of the shoulders. The creature had a vicious looking pair of blackened iron axes. Fredwick knew very little about goblin kind specifically. However, he knew enough generally to hazard a guess that this second hobgoblin, the one with all the strange bone totems and piercings, as well as the blood toned tattoos, was likely some kind shaman or spiritual leader of sorts. The other was likely, given the lighter armament, its sheer bulk, and the wide berth the other goblins gave it, was likely aggressive, a vicious warrior, hence its role as raid leader.

      Besides this, the rest were merely goblins much like those whom they had fought with previously nearly a week ago. Raiders, armed with simple crude spears, bows, and one of them seeming to have some roughly made armor and a very roughly sword shaped weapon clearly meant to wield in two hands. Besides this, there was a worg present, the hulking furred beast eating what Fredwick could only hope was the remains of a carcass of something other than a prisoner. The beasts had in fact taken a wagon, and converted it, ripping away the canvas top and having framed, very roughly by the looks of it from this distance, a cage of sorts atop it, turning it into a sort of prison transport. The cage framing was all timber from the looks of it, likely held together crudely with spikes, ties and rope, but it was effective. Within the wagon were three individuals that the halfman could tell from this distance were for sure alive, for they were stirring and moving. The fourth was not moving and Fredwick had concerns that individual, whom looked to be a child, likely human, was perhaps dead. Of further note, one of the prisoners, a dwarf, still wore armor and jerkin with the colors and markings that, from this distance at least, looked to suggest they were in fact Suranthi Military. It looked like the patrol who's bodies they'd stumbled upon the night before had perhaps not all been killed. Fredwick sighed, lamenting this twist, though he could not deny this might very well get him what he'd asked for not so long ago, foolishly of course. "If anything was likely to make those two wish to play hero, this is likely it." he whispered to himself, as he shifted slowly, carefully back over the crest of the hillock, making his way quietly back and away.

      Fredwick moved slowly, carefully, for though they had no reason to believe the goblins had scouts out and about, he wasn't going to play the fool either. It took him a a little bit to carefully pick his way back to the small depression his friends were waiting in, downwind from the hillocks and where they'd first seen the smoke column rising that indicated some sort of camp. Hunkered down amongst a few boulder and bushes within a small depression in the ground, Fredwick moved into view of his companions. Fenna turned to look at the halfman as he arrived, moving to Wvota, mounting up as she spoke, "Ach, there ye be, so what ye see? Be it the damned greenskins?"

      Fredwick nodded, moving closer to his companions, insuring they were all grouped up with him and listening. "There are about a dozen of them total, and as we thought they crudely converted one of the wagons into a prison wagon of sorts. A pair of hobgoblins, one of them looks to be a shaman? All tattooed and wearing bits of animal bones and odd little totems and charms. The other is large, strong, and seems to be the one in charge, with a pair of vicious looking axes. We could tail them, they seem unaware of our presence or that they might be being followed, however there is a notable wrinkle." Fredwick took a moment, then explained. "They do have prisoners. It would seem one of them I could tell, was military. The rest I know not, but looks to be a family perhaps, one of them was small enough to perhaps be a child if they aren't one of my own or Tuli's kind. There are four prisoners total, well alive. The worg is eating the remains of a fifth."

      Fenna cursed low under her breath. Friya shook her head, her facial expression making clear her feelings. "A dozen an' a damn'd worg. I mean every bit o' reason and logic tellin' me nae be a hero. We be outnumbered, an' if'n they are remotely alert at all, we'll be in trouble. Ye say one of 'em looks ta be a soldier. Could ye tell what shape that fellow was in, and where 'is arms was?"

      Fredwick thought it through, remembering the scene. "Dwarf, he looked relatively healthy, my guess was he got somehow dropped on, took a blunt blow to the head and was taken prisoner. He was tied up and still in uniform and I think he even still had his chain shirt on. Goblins haven't stripped any of their prisoners of clothes and the like, clearly trying to keep some of them alive. If I had to guess, I saw what looked like the stock of a rifle at the front on the seat of a wagon. My guess would be his arms are kept up there. Whichever of the beasts 'drives' the wagon, as frankly unappealing and dangerous as that wording sounds if the beast of burden is a worg, likely sits with it."

      Tuli spoke up here, considering that information. "It would have to be one of the hobgoblins, a worg is simply to big, strong, stubborn and aggressive for a goblin to control, right?"

      Fenna nodded from atop Wvota, as Friya joined the conversation. "Fredwick, 'ow far from the rest o' the beasts was this wagon?" she inquired, her mind already considering what she knew Fenna was internally debating with. "What were goin' on in the camp when ye observed it? Were they makin' ta leave?"

      Fredwick shook his head. "No, they were just rousing really. The monsters do not seem to be feeling pressed for time or any sense of urgency. The worg was near the wagon, eating...what I'd guess to be the remains of a fifth prisoner. The other goblins and such were camped a little distance away. They likely wouldn't be attempting to leave for at least another half an hour."

      Fenna leaned back in the saddle, a smile creeping onto her face that could only be described as satisfaction. "Last question wee one. What be the chances ye know yer way, at least a little bit, around locks and lockpickin' or the like?"

       Fredwick took half a step back, shocked briefly at the bluntness of the query, before he remembered whom he was talking to. He tilted his head, an inquisitive look on his face, a weird combination of equal parts dread and excitement rising within him. "I mean, I can comfortably say that I've dabbled. I would not say I am a master, or that I ply such a craft, but I have let us say, an amateur's enthusiasm. Why do you ask?"

      Tuli echoed the question with him, not at all sure she liked the direction this conversation was taking. Fenna smiled widely at Fredwick then, chuckling as she responded. "Ye wanted ta live heroic deeds, well nae's yer chance. So listen close, 'ere's the plan."

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      Fredwick crawled through the thick bramble, low brush and rocky soil slowly, almost painfully so, making each movement only a small distance at a time. A light snowfall had started, truly heralding the end of summer and the rapid onset of a tundra winter. The encampment was truly alive with activity now as he approached, the goblin-kin well and actively going about tearing it down with the intention to get on the move. Silently berating himself for the foolishness of it all, Fredwick moved the last few feet down into the camp proper, using both crude tent and thick bramble brush to hide. He thanked the Ascended silently for his good luck that the breeze was still blowing over the camp towards him, keeping the worg from scenting him suddenly.

      The halfman watched the camp for a few moments, getting better lay of the land, and noting where his allies would arrive from when the whole thing inevitably got messy. Fenna was coming in from the north, her intention to simply ride down atop Wvota, likely killing the first goblin or two she met with sheer momentum. North of the camp was covered by craggy terrain with jutting shelves and small hills and uneven terrain that if used wisely would insure she wouldn't be sighted until she could at least close the distance rapidly on the outer sentry. Friya however was winding her way from the south, keeping low amongst some more of the thick bramble brush that grew thick in this low depression. The goblins had camped amidst this flat low spot alongside a small stream. Fredwick could hear two deeper voices along with the general chatter he presumed to be the goblins. If he had to guess, it would be the shaman and the other hobgoblin barking orders and the like. 

      He took a deep breath, focusing on the task at hand. He was perhaps fifteen feet from the makeshift prison wagon, and could just, as he maneuvered to peer around it, see that there was a goblin on watch of the prisoners. However the beast was foolishly nearly twenty feet from the wagon and paying little to no attention to its task, its attention drawn by the activity and commotion of its fellows. Fredwick took a deep breath, rising from cover with a finger to his lips, hoping the prisoners, whom were utterly shocked to see him, would understand the gesture. The soldier did immediately, and clamped his hand over the younger child's mouth, snuffing out the verbal exclamation the boy, perhaps only five or six years of age, was about to make. Fredwick rushed up to the wagon, whispering as loud as he dared once right in close "I'm here to help, as are my friends. Soldier can you shoot?"

       The soldier nodded once, knowing better than to risk speaking. "Good," Fredwick replied as he went to work on the simple bar and crude padlock with a thin bit of copper wire and a shim that he kept for emergencies. It took him a little bit of time, but after fifteen or so seconds that felt like an eternity, the lock gave way and Fredwick was able to open the latch and pull open the door of the cage wagon. "You and your little ones, into the brambles, it'll be uncomfortable, but crawl up. Crawl, do not rise, crawl. Up over that hillock, on the other side will be a gnomish lady. She is a skilled doctor, she'll take care of you." Fredwick ordered, as he moved from the door past the back side of the wagon. To his relief the rifle was still present, and so to was a small pouch that he could tell held paper cartridges, pre packed rounds. Fredwick scooped both up, swiftly moving back to the soldier, handing the armaments to him.

       The dwarf smiled, showing he was missing a couple teeth, and took the gun. Opening the breach, he stuck a small priming charge, stuffing it to the back. With his teeth he ripped open one of his pre-measured charges, poured it into position, then took a bullet from the bottom left pouch of the case and using the parchment as wadding, rammed it home. Closing the feed breach, locked eyes with Fredwick. "What's t'e plan wee one?"

      "Take the worg, I'll take the sentry. Any second now my other two companions should make themselves quite obvious and at that point we kill as many as we can but only for a few seconds, like a minute or less, then before the surprise wears off and the beasts can start coordinating and start trying to respond, we make a break for it." Fredwick replied, getting his small crossbow loaded and to hand. Before the two of them could exchange any further words, there was a low rumbling, the shouting and swearing panic from the center of the encampment, the two hobgoblins both stumbling, the ground beneath them shaking. Another goblin with them fell face first into the cooking fire they'd had set up, screaming in sudden agony and panic, rolling loose its head and hair on fire as it rolled around shrieking in panic. The ground beneath the fire was cracked, fractured and had obviously shaken as if a localized earth quake.

      In the same moment, a dwarven war cry echoed over the encampment, "Blood and Stone, Iron and Bone!!" came Fenna's warcry, overpowering the many sudden and panicked goblin shouts. Fredwick moved around the wagon, loosing his crossbow as he did, and nearly laughing at his own luck. Though he'd barely aimed, his bolt flew true and smooth, hammering into the soft spot where the neck joins the base of the skull, dropping the sentry silently and entirely. The retort of the rifle quickly threw silence and its value out of the equation however, as the worg, halfway to its feet, suddenly collapsed, snarling and howling in agony for but a moment as it fell back to the ground, unable to breathe. Pushing his luck a little bit, Fredwick reloaded on the move, moving a bit further into the camp. He was rewarded for this, as one goblin came out from under a tent flap in a disorganized panic, and caught his next shot straight to the throat. The rifle rang out again, but this time the dwarf swore loudly shaking his head as the shot was a touch high and right for hitting the hobgoblin boss.

      The hobgoblin turned and barked out some simple commands, having four goblins break off and moving swiftly from the center of camp where the larger threats were heading towards. Instead these goblins were moving through the tents and bits of lumber and bramble directly towards the pair. "Alright soldier, time to go, follow me!" Fredwick yelled, scrambling back in the direction he'd come from, the rescued soldier in tow right behind him.

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      Fenna and Wvota maneuvered as carefully and as best they could to keep hidden until they were within charging distance of at least one goblin, approaching the camp from the north, upstream amongst the craggier terrain, using the boulders and small ridges and generally rough terrain with ease. Wvota was quite comfortable on rough rocky terrain, such foothills and craggy river lands being amongst the most common home ranges for Irontusk Boars naturally. They got within about fifty to sixty feet of the outer edge of the small flatter area that the greenskins had set up camp, noting the position of a sentry. Fenna could feel Wvota's tenseness, the Irontusk Boar eager to join battle, however she held the reins taut, leaned over whispering in the boar's ear, keeping her mount calm for the moment.

       Though she was eager to join battle as well, Fenna knew the value in waiting. She was mounted, whilst both Friya and Fredwick were on foot. They had no way to communicate with Fredwick, so merely had to trust they had given the halfman enough of a head start. Friya however was sure to join battle with magick first and as was the way of most arcane arts with the exception of shadow magick, it would not be subtle. So Fenna waited impatiently for that sign. Thankfully she did not have to wait and contain Wvota's desire to join battle for to long. Only perhaps a minute or two after she found herself in position, Fenna heard the rumbling, seeing and hearing the reactions, as the sentry watching the north approach turned its back to, turning to see what was going on in the camp. Fenna was fluent enough in Gobbok, the language of the foul Greenskins, that she could understand the gist of some of the shouting and screaming. "Earthquake!!" were some panicked shouts, followed by a deeper and more visceral voice, "No, magister, there there get her!"

       Fenna needed no further invitation, loosening her grip a bit on the reins, transferring them to her shield arm, as she reached down and freed her hammer from the sling on the right side of Wvota. She didn't even need to urge the boar forward, Wvota taking off at a full charge, snarling and squealing with delight, a horrifying and high pitched sound that Fenna added to as they thundered into the camp, her hammer pulverizing the skull of the unexpecting goblin sentry. "Blood and stone, iron and bone!!!" she roared, as Wvota gored and trampled a second goblin. The scene was utter chaos, she heard the gunshots, and Fredwick's shouts. The worg was dead, as were two other goblins at least that she caught glimpse of, victims of Fredwick's crossbow. Four more of the goblins took off after Fredwick and the escaping soldier, as the shaman and Friya began to battle back and forth, battle-mage against battle-mage, closing into melee distance with each other.

       Fenna dug her heels in, as Wvota gored another goblin, which struggled free, trying to spear the war mount in the belly, but Fenna would not allow it, her shield's edge crunching down on top of the beast's skull, laying it low. She knew not if the beast was dead or unconscious, but it was out of the fight. Another goblin, it seemed there were more than the dozen that Fredwick had thought he'd seen, as she realized a few were rushing from the five crude tents that were erected in camp, leapt at her. However Fenna could feel the battle-fervor rushing through her veins clearly. Kartheart was with her this day, and she felt, no she knew, she was under no threat from such crude and petty assaults. She did not attempt to direct Wvota away or avoid the leap, she simply flung her shield arm out, releasing the reins, and brought her shield up viciously, catching the lower legs and knees of the goblin mid leap, flipping the beast over her head with a sickening crunching. Another leapt at her, but Wvota pivoted, catching this one with her tusks, and tossing its pierced and shattered body aside with a snarling fury. Encased in steel and atop a mighty war boar, Fenna may as well have been Sir Kartheart in that moment to the greenskins, seemingly untouchable.

      But then she felt it. The dark presence. The call of Blood and Bone. Looking towards the center of the camp, she saw the hobgoblin leader, both blackened axes in hand. The creature roared at her in a tongue she could not comprehend, but she felt clearly the impulse, the command, the fell magick of the Void washing over her. Fenna knew what was happening, could feel the compulsion, understood the cursed challenge. The hobgoblin taunted her from across the camp in dwarven then, laughing. "Your god is nothing. I will tear you, rip you, break you, and bathe in your blood. I am Curik Blightclaw, and Iracundia backs me. I am an instrument of his slaughter. I challenge you, and my wrath will feed on your shattered bones!!!" Fenna tried to resist the fell magick, but she felt it digging into her as sure as a blade. She would duel this creature, she would show it that it's fell god was nothing in the face of Kartheart's might and fury!

      Try as she might, Fenna was not strong enough, did not have the willpower to resist the dark compulsion of the wrathful command. She knew naught what this fell magick was exactly, but could feel the empowerment but also the limitations clearly. She had to fight this hobgoblin, this Curik Blightclaw, for her weapons would harm no other so long as his compulsion upon her remained. She urged Wvota into a charge, thinking to ride this hobgoblin down. Wvota needed little prodding, taking off at a run, snarling and snorting, her tusked head moving back and forth as she thundered towards the tall greenskin. As they got closer however, the hobgoblin started jogging as if to meet them, and then leapt head on at them, over Wvota's head, tackling Fenna free of the saddle with tremendous force. Her hammer flew out wide from her grasp, as the pair of them tumbled to the earth, but she managed to punch and kick her way loose of the beast's grip. Rising she saw it had already regained its feet. Her sword came to hand as she took up a defensive stance, knowing she was on the back foot now, waiting for the greenskin to inevitably rush her. Wvota turned as if to come back around, but Fenna knew such a thing to be pointless. Such compulsive spells were a spell of fate. It was very likely the boar could not harm Curik, and though she'd rather fight mounted, Fenna knew now that the hobgoblin had managed to dismount her, it had no intention of letting her remount. "Go help Fredwick!" she barked to Wvota, "I can handle this foul creature."

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      Friya moved along the southern edge of the encampment slowly, carefully, keeping low as she tried to get a sightline towards the center of camp. She knew how she wanted to start the fight and soon enough got herself in position where she could do so. Opening her connection to Domhan, she felt the familiar heaviness embrace her, as the Topaz currents of manna filled her. Focusing upon the area in the distance she wished to shake and crack, she gestured with her fingers, etching the necessary signs within the Aether to communicate her intentions, and stomped but once. The glow of topaz all around her faded, but did not completely dissipate, as she knew she'd likely need more magick before all was said and done. Under the pair of hobgoblins the ground suddenly shook and fractured, heaving them both off balance, as well as tossing a third goblin violently face-first into the cooking fire the beasts had made. Its shrieks were the beginning of a cacophony of sounds as Friya closed distance, hand-axe in her hand, targe at the ready to engage the sentry nearest her.

      Friya parried its crude spear tip easy enough, angling her targe to deflect the thrust to her left side, passing by her harmlessly, as she stepped in and struck swiftly, her axe cracking and cleaving into the creature's un-helmeted skull. Another goblin further back leveled a bow at her, loosing, but she had been ready for this, and had already been weaving another spellform. As the arrow slashed towards here, dust, gravel and bits of rock started rotating all around her, forming a shimmering barrier of sorts, the arrow deflecting off bits of stone to just miss her, thudding into the ground nearby. Before the goblin could get another shot off, she had moved out of its sight amongst some of the tents, finding another victim. A swift impact from her targe spike held the struggling goblin still, even as it thrust a knife at her, which managed to scrape a shallow wound across her midsection, Friya brought her axe down and ended the creature's life forever. Friya heard, no she felt the strange and dark presence of Void Magick, and heard Fenna's roared orders and her back and forth with the hobgoblin war leader. However that was much less of her concern than the other thing she felt.

      Friya dived to the right, narrowly avoiding the corruptive bolt of energy that had been loosed at her, as the hobgoblin shaman had clearly called out and identified her as a magister. The bolt of magickal energy struck another goblin that had been sneaking up behind her, leaving it screaming in agony, as bits of its anatomy began turning inside out, one of its eyes exploded, whilst the other expanded, rupturing the bridge of its sinuses and destroying its nose entirely. The poor creature died screaming, or at least was screaming as it eventually died, though at some point in the process, its tongue fused to the top of its mouth, not allowing any further shrieks. As Friya came up from her dive and roll, there some forty feet away from her, glowing with colors beyond description and exuding an energy of pure corruption and nightmares, was the shaman. The hobgoblin was armed with a strange looking staff, seemingly a gnarled tree root with its ends carved in the likeness of skulls. Friya rose from her knees carefully, no longer concerned with the goblins, most of whom were dead, dying, or fleeing. This creature however, she knew was a danger and a threat. Worse than an apostate, a shaman such as this embraced the chaos and madness of the dark side of arcane magick. The pair watched each other's movements, as well as each other's auras in the Aether with anticipation as they circled around, seemingly trying to evaluate each other in some way before joining battle.

       Geomancy was the school of magick most focused on patience and calmness, and Friya's training did not betray her now, as she held, waiting, wanting the hobgoblin to be the one to attempt to begin. She was not disappointed in her patience, as the creature began chanting in a language she could not understand nor fathom, but the effects within the Aether were clear enough. Forming from its hand a chain of blood and bone began to writhe forth in the Aether, trying to force itself closer to her, trying to force itself into the Material Realm, drawing power from the aggressive and bloodthirsty chanting the shaman was engaging in.

       Friya stepped in to meet the threat, moving a little closer, etching upon the Domhan around her as she did so, guiding her Aetherself with the proper phrases and instructions, sending a pair of spikes through the chain's links, severing them, shattering the corrupted spell before it could fully take shape. A third such spike she sent rushing towards the ground at the shaman's feet, attempting to unleash another tremor beneath, to throw the monster off balance, but to no avail. Stepping in a few steps, the creature grinned, show voracious and mis-shapen teeth. "You have skill, and Iracundia favors mages as sacrifice. Enough!" it snarled at her in the tongue of Arcanis, its shout seeming that of a hurricane of fury and rage both in the Material Realm and in the Aether, shattering her spell harmlessly, spreading its remnants like confetti. Closing distance, the hobgoblin lunged with its staff, shrieking with bloodlust. "You will bleed and you will die!!"

       Friya raised her targe to catch the blow, steadying herself with her manna, sensing what the creature was doing. She was utilizing her magickal power through her staff, she could feel the weapon humming, felt it as it cracked against her shield. So strong was the impact, it jarred her elbow and shoulder, and even broke a sizeable piece off one edge of the shield. However Friya did not hesitate or pause, doing the same in return, allowing Domhan to flow through her and into the steel of her axe, feeling the weapon vibrating, hearing the low rumbling not unlike that of a tremor or quake in the earth. She stepped aside from the blow as it broke a piece off her shield, and tried to bring her axe to bear. She felt it strike true, the hobgoblin crying out in pain, the wound not just a cleave, but showing signs of impact, rapid bruising, the crunching of bones in the beast's shoulder and upper torso.

       However as the blood from the blow splattered, a bit of it caught Friya in the face and eye. She immediately heard, and just as swiftly felt, the sudden hissing as her flesh began to burn, her eye began to scream in agony, her vision going blurry, as she blinked desperately. The sensation was not long lasting, the corrosive blood seemingly but a short lived trick, but the damage was brutal. Friya's right eye was swollen, her eye socket and that side of her face and nose burned, the skin melted and stripped. Friya stumbled away, wanting a bit of distance, and she heard and felt the spellcasting behind her. Turning with her vision, she threw out another attempt to counter-weave, sending up a spray of manna, like a sudden sandstorm, and thankfully felt the release within the Aether as another spell of the hobgoblin shaman's was disrupted and stopped. However before Friya could fully orient herself, her vision starting to clear, she felt a heavy blow to her back and left shoulder, feeling her collarbone snap. Friya screamed then, cursing in pain. "Fuckin' 'ell, ach, nae I won't die t'day ye damn fuckin' bastard!" she roared in defiance.

       As Friya stumbled forward, barely keeping her feet, but managed to keep her focus in spite of that, flinging her hand out in a wide arc behind her as she fell, finishing another spell-weave. There was a sudden and thunderous crack as manifesting from seemingly nowhere a spray of sand moving at skin ripping speeds flooded forth from her finger tips in a wide arc in front of her, tearing and ripping at everything in its path. The foul shaman fell back, bleeding profusely from dozens of tears and cuts, unable to see from the grit and sand in its eyes. Friya regained her footing, turning and closing distance, manipulating manna into her weapon once again. Before she could finish it however, the creature cried out three words with mighty and forceful power. There was a sound not unlike that of flesh tearing and bones cracking, as the air around it seemed to tear and bleed, and the creature was swallowed by the opening, disappearing, utilizing some sort of specialized teleport or recall, likely to an altar to its dark god set up in its tribal warrens, where ever those were to be found. Friya listened intently for a moment before calling out for Fenna as she fell to the ground, feeling a great fatigue and weakness wash over her. 

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      Fenna wasted no time once her sword was to hand. The hobgoblin was less well armored than her and though it had two weapon, between her plate armor and her shield, she was sure she would have an advantage. What she wasn't ready for however, was this creature, this Curik's sheer speed and ferocity. As she clashed with him, trying to find an opening, he didn't even mount an attempt at a defense, suffering a stab wound to the side of the thigh and a heavy gash across the left hip, the cut deep and bleeding profusely. However the monster didn't even seem phased by this, mounting its own assault and ignoring the idea of defense entirely. Its two hand-axes struck with incredible force, the first blow simply smashing into her shield, the blade binding the steel as it split it, biting deep. Curik used this to aggressively twist her shield arm out to the side, his left handed axe hammering into her abdomen.

       Fenna's armor held, thankfully, but all the air was forced out of her lungs by the blow. The savage creature yanked back savagely on the axe snagged in her shield, and she felt her shoulder and elbow resist. She felt something akin to snapping, a muscle or joint simply giving way like something elastic pulled beyond its limits, as Curik tore the axe free. Fenna scrambled back, getting herself set again, ignoring the discomfort in her shield arm with gritted teeth, forcing herself through the pain. She could afford to cry out later, right now she had a job to do, a duty to fulfill. "I nae make that mistake again, ye bastard." she snarled, taking a more defensive stance now, better understanding her foe now."

       Curik cackled, advancing not with a rush, but with definite intent, and his axes snaked out with speed and tremendous force again, though this time Fenna was more prepared. She angled her shield to not take the blow head on this time, deflecting the first and getting inside his reach for the second, keeping low. Her sword snaked out and found purchase on the thrust, but the damned hobgoblin was so fast! The point bit, puncturing flesh just below the edge of the bit of mail the creature wore on its torso, yet she only managed to sink the blade an inch, perhaps an inch and a half deep before it was nearly knocked from her grip, as Curik smashed his right forearm and axe haft into her blade and wrist. Fenna's wrist guard, that part of her plate dented painfully here, pressing against her wrist in a way that was painful and noticeably restrictive on her movements. She could still force her wrist through motions. Which she did to defend herself from another assault, having to parry and deflect the second blow with her blade, but it was not a comfortable process, pinching and pressing on the nerve at the top of her wrist in line with her thumb whenever she bent it.

      The pair clashed again, though this time Fenna got the upper hand, stepping out of the two axe swings and powering back with her shield, bringing it up into Curik's face with a resounding crack. Blood flowed freely like a river from the hobgoblin's nose, as the creature spit out a couple teeth, snarling with rage even as it parried and trapped her sword between both axes. The beast stepped in then, trying to wrench the sword from Fenna's grip, powering a rotation with his torso and shoulders, trying to force her to let go of her weapon. "Nae, they'll be none o' t'at ye fuckin' bastard!!" Fenna snarled, not even hesitating, booting the hobgoblin in the gut as hard as she could, whilst pulling back with her sword arm to free the entrapped weapon. She did so, and pushed forward, seeing an opening, thrusting the blade deep into and through the creature's left shoulder, close to its throat and major arteries. With luck maybe she hit one, with the amount of blood that began pumping from the wound, soaking the hides and leathers Curik wore. Fenna deflected another blow with her shield, then another, stepping in closer to try and take over the fight, her blade rushing forwards and up, this time in a thrust aimed for the upper chest or neck. As she did so, she drew upon her fervor, whispering a prayer to Sir Kartheart.

       Her blade began to glow with divine radiance, the air around it sizzling. The blade sunk deep and struck true, severing the jugular coming up through the upper chest and into the neck, only stopping when she hit the spine. With proper dwarven ferocity, despite the pain in her wrist, Fenna wrenched and yanked the blade free, letting a spray of blood splatter her shield and armor. Curik stumbled back a step, then two, before falling to the snow dusted ground, the beast's axes clattering at its sides. Fenna kicked the axes out of arms reach of the creature, for it took a while to stop twitching, but eventually it did. Fenna breathed a sight of relief, which turned into an agonized groan. She'd fought hobgoblins before and though they were tougher than normal goblins, this wasn't that. This creature had been too fast, too capable, too impressive. She had her suspicions what the cause of that was, but would need Friya to confirm it.

        Fenna heard Friya's voice then, calling out to her, and she lifted her visor to observe her surroundings. In the distance over the hill she heard gunfire, the warbling scream of goblins, and of course the snarling war squeal of Wvota, which had her chuckling, which was entirely uncomfortable, nearly dropping her to her knees, as she realized the blow she'd taken from the axe in the midsection had clearly broke a rib or two. It was a minor miracle her breastplate had held without much damage. There was a notable dent, but nothing that wouldn't be repairable. She heard Friya call out to her again, and though Fenna wanted nothing more but to sit down and take a moment to try and breathe, a painful experience with busted up ribs, she made her way over to Friya. Fenna looked around as she approached, but there was no sign of the shaman.

       Friya looked like hell, and Fenna noted the broken targe, and suddenly her own pains and aches meant nothing. Friya's right eye was swollen, the eye itself showing white and leaking, the eyelid and flesh all around it blistered and melted like she'd been held to a fire or had acid thrown on her. She had only one other visible cut, but her left shoulder was swollen and through her tunic, the sleeve torn and split, Fenna could see it was purple and a deep almost black shade, and she could also see something sticking up out of a wound, something that was most definitely not supposed to be there. It was her collar bone, at least part of it. "Friya!" Fenna called out, finding stamina from nowhere, rushing up behind her friend, whom leaned back, wincing as she tried to turn and look over her shoulder, and Fenna got under her, catching her as she fell backwards, clearly in a lot of pain and struggling to stay coherent.

       Friya cleared her throat, seeing the fear on Fenna's face, the dwarf having lifted her visor to inspect her companion. Friya winked with her right eye, and screamed briefly, regretting the decision, but put on a smile almost immediately. "Bastard shaman was a mutant, ye believe me luck. It's blood was flesh eating, shit burned as sure as a hot poker. I saw yer face look at me shoulder, m'love. 'ow bad it be anyway?"

       Fenna shook her head. "Ach, save yer breath, Friya love, yer shoulder's all busted up. Nae stop tryin' ta get up. They'll come ta us, we won the fight, but neither o' us gots the energy ta climb over that hill o' brambles an' find 'em. We safe 'ere, we won, nary a living greenskin left 'ere. Did the damn'd shaman escape ye somehow? Or some fool magick gone wrong disappear it's body?"" she asked, lifting her head to look around, but also to try and compose herself and choke back the tears and fear she'd just felt in her belly. For the briefest moment before she'd seen Friya's front, she had thought the worst, expecting to find this woman with a spear in her chest or some other such horror. Fenna didn't even realize what she was saying as she sniffed back. "By all the Ascended, me 'eart almost gave out. Thought ye'd been killed, when I first saw ye going down, half expected a spear ta be stickin' out o' yer chest. Nae can't be lettin' ye die without me ever...." Fenna caught herself there, realizing what she'd almost said. She glanced down to see Friya's eyes were closed, she'd clearly blacked out from the pain, and so the dwarf finished the thought in a whisper "without me ever findin' a time an' the courage ta voice me feelings ta ye." she whispered, gingerly holding the magister close, and kissing her lightly on the left cheek.