[FL] Fantasy Lynching: Against the end of all things

[Cracklord]

Kitiara
It's been two weeks now since the dragon returned to sleep and you hold on the city has tightened, your stocks are replenished and your men are well rested and ready to move again.
Now is your time to make your power play.

Kitai, Cleon
The men form up as the thunder of hooves draws close. A huge wedge of horses thunder towards you, smashing over the field and into the prepared killing ground and building up further momentum. It's a well-executed strike, but ill-conceived. Whoever has taken over as enemy commander had some abilities as a strategist, but not enough to anticipate you. He is trying to fight the same battle you fought hours ago, removing the less effective stratagems and going with what had been effective, rather then devising an entirely new strategy to fit the entirely new situation.
At least, that's what instinct tells you/

Auron, Red Sonja, Pellew
The meal arrives. Suckling pig, cooked expertly with sage and other spices, with crackling flavored with wine and apples. It looks delicious, well braised and cooked through.

Conan, Tanis, Tyrion, Tasselhoff
You cross the dessert. The ground began to rise and break up into rolling hills and winding valleys, the occasional sparse tree, and all signs of civilization and habitation fading. You have come through the borderstates now, and are in the Midlands. It seems every bit as desolate and unforgiving as the dessert you just left.
The place, according to your map, is called the 'Barren Hills'. Never has geography been so aptly named. It stretched out in an endless sea of mist-swathed ridges, mangy with dead winter grass and leafless thorn bushes, and bare of trees but for the occasional wind-bent pine hunched atop a rocky crest, like an old witch in tattered clothing surveying her domain.
No birds dared to sing here, and neither of you saw any tracks of animals in the dry, powdery earth. Even the light that came through the gray clouds seemed thin and sticky, as if not even the sun could bear to look upon such dismal desolation. It seemed a blighted land, dull and lifeless as any you'd ever seen. But once you'd passed through, you'd be in the kingdoms of the Midlands, and then D'Hara.

Szeth
He nods his head to the music. "Fine songs, fine words. But they have no heart. Why does your voice shake when you sing the words? Why do you look at your feet? Is it longing, or sadness I hear?"

Fidelius
Easier said then done. The Skaven aren't skilled fighters, but they don't have to be. They have you outnumbered, surrounded and at a natural disadvantage. Indeed, in these conditions, the swarm of vermin gnawing at your heels are just as threatening, in their own way, because if they bring either of you down, you're done.
Nasuada is stabbing at them, skewering the rodents with the point of the blade and keeping your feet clear, leaving you to deal with the spears.

[Colesign]

Szeth

"There is no place for me in the Valley of Peace. Not anymore. Not even as a Truthless." Szeth explains.

"Please do not ask me to explain."

[Colesign]

Fidelias

Fidelias focuses.

And he is forced to confront two things about his Furycrafting abilities:

He' ain't a High Lord, and he ain't a rural furycrafter.

He's not like Tavi, Kitai, the Placidas, the Rhodes, or the late and not mourned Aquitaines. He can't command all the elements, nor make the mountains and Earth itself shake with his might.

He's talented with Water, Earth, and Wood Furies: here in this blasted tunnel, the only thing he can manipulate is Earth.

Which brings him to his urban education in the art of Furycrafting, which discouraged ascribing personalities to one's Furies, and which subsequently made it more difficult to manifest furies for him.

Which is why he'd been practicing in that regard since the end of the Vord War.

He hasn't gotten anywhere near as good as Bernard, whose Earth Fury 'Brutus' was a formidable opponent indeed.

But sometimes quantity is a quality all it's own.

So Fidelias focused as the Skaven charged forward and Nasuada held off the vermin

And from the ceiling of the cavern, he summoned vermin of his own.

Rat Furies, worm furies, and mole furies in the main.

A lot of them. That happen to possess a greater strength than their real-life counterparts.

Most fell upon the advancing Skaven, biting and strangling. The remainder wriggled into the cockpit of the Drilling machine, and it's whirs and mechanical noises were disrupted with several large clanging noises.

[industrious]

Cleon

"The Nine save us from half-competent fools, First Lady of Alera."

The half-volley is launched and serves its intended purpose. The enemy presses onwards, now certain of victory.

Cleon stares at the approaching cavalry, hand at the ready to signal.

"I do apologize for any insult I gave to either your husband or yourself, incidentally."

The first trench takes out perhaps 5% of their number; made roughly as wide as a latrine, several riders are thrown from their horses, and dying either on impact with ground, or by being trampled over by the back ranks. An excellent first showing. And the signal is given for the loose crossbowmen at the front of each formation, and the balestae wielded by the Canim to fire.

"Begin."

Mat

He reins Pips in at the sight of the wall, and cursing all the while, dismounts. Back in the Two Rivers, he had been quite the troublemaker and prankster; climbing the walls of the barn or blacksmithy had been one of the first tricks he had learnt. Today, he puts them to better use.

[Colesign]

Max

"You heard him! Send them to the bloody crows!"

Max thrusts forward with his officer's baton: this motion is mimicked by the numerous officers, both Aleran and Canim, and a storm of arrows and balest bolts is hurled at the Calvary.

"Ready, aim, release!"

Coordinated blasts of arrows are the word here.

Kitai frowns. "I would have though they'd be more tricky than this. We should be able to greatly devastate their ranks before the reach the legions..."

Her voice trails off. She may complain about the chronic scheming disorders and authority issues humans possess, but she can think deviously when she has to.

"In order for their calvary charge to succeed..." She says carefully. "Which part of our forces would theoretically have to be attacked by surprise?"

[industrious]

Cleon

"On this terrain? We're looking at open field, with one side bounded by a mountain, the other a city, and the other a river. The enemy cannot surprise us with an additional show of reinforcements."

Cleon considers his strategy once more.

"Their charge cannot succeed, First Lady. At least, a large portion of it cannot. The enemy commander was facing a different commander when he last engaged these forces; expecting that same commander, he planned accordingly. I, however, take a much different approach to warfare than your husband."

[Colesign]

Kitai

"Yes, yes, you're a cunning strategist and a general they whisper tales of horror about, well done, have a honey bun." Kitai says with sarcasm.

"And I'm reminded of a time during the Vord War, where a certain general used water magics to conceal an entire army underneath a river, then marched them out to surprise the enemy. Are there any workers of magic here that could mimic such a feat?"

[industrious]

Cleon

He raises an eyebrow at Kitai's statements. And goes very still.

"Get three groups of flying scouts to the waterline, quickly."

He stares at her for a long moment.

"How did you find out?"

[Colesign]

Kitai

Kitai goes still as well.

"I was speculating: are there mages among the Varden that could pull off such a feat?"

[industrious]

Cleon

He lets out a sigh of relief. her comment had been a joke, nothing more.

"I don't rightly know. I have little experience with magic, and one battle's worth with the Varden."

[Colesign]

Kitai

"Good then." Kitai said with a cough.

"There's no precedent for the Varden pulling that sort of trick, so we should be safe."

Uncomfortable silence.

[Draxx]

Sonja
"Now is a time for remembering." She replies, expertly hooking the drink and finnishing it. "Now is a time to weep for Nemedia, to cry for it's people, and to remember who they were. When I have no more tears, the pain shall become rage, and there shall be no more games. No more talking. My armies are all slain. My castle lies in ruins. My enemies have taken everything from me, all my wealth and power. But they could not kill me. I still walk the earth, weak but alive. They have taken everything but the beating of my heart. But it is enough."

[Corvond]

Tyrion
The Midlands were at war with D'Hara again, as they had been two decades ago. Normally, he'd slow the pace, and enjoy a leisurely journey back to D'Hara, putting off meeting his father as long as possible. But the situation had changed.

Gaborn Val Orden
there is a hum, then the figure collapses, the scent fading and the world stilling. You have the feeling that something great has just passed you by. But you do not feel any different. Indeed, you feel tired, and fatigued, as though all the marching you just did caught up with you at once.

Gaborn shakes his head sadly. "The earth did not account you worthy." He says softly. "Perhaps it is my fault, I urged you to take a mantle you did not really understand out of a desire to share my burdens. But maybe it merely wasn’t to be. You are a good man, Tavi, but pragmatism is not enough to make you worthy of such gifts. Compassion is what is needed."

"We stand on the brink of a war with The Shadow. The shadow is everything wrong with this world we live in, enemy of all that is fair and good. Do you think becoming more like the shadow will allow us to win? It is wiser then either of us, and far more able to sink to depths. If we allow ourselves to sink to it's level, all hope shall fail. If you are going to survive, forget about what is easy. Try what is right. Maybe you will suffer because of it. I did. But as long as we suffer, we live."

He pauses his impromptu lecture. It was a little rough, but he could see the darkness gnawing at Tavi, slight now but growing, and fed by desperation. If he wasn't brought short they might lose him to evil afterall.

He turns then. "Are you ready, Lazlo?"

[Colesign]

Tavi

Tavi, quite frankly, is disappointed that the Earth rejected him. He feels shame, a bit of anger, and regret, but then exhales softly, and decides to take it in stride.

After all, He thinks to himself, the burden borne by the Master Crafter would have been a heavy one...

Then he hears Gaborn's comments about 'doing what is easy' and 'sinking to the Shadow's level'.

His teeth grinds together. Then he exhales, musters his thoughts and reply.

"I do not pretend to understand what is truly required to serve the Earth, Master Crafter. If the Earth requires someone who can not only abide his enemies, but forgive them deep within their heart, then truthfully, I am not that person, and I hope that Lazlo can do better. I have dark inclinations, pride and vengefulness among them, and have never denied it."

He meets Gaborn's eyes. There's anger in his own, but also a measure of hurt.

"But please do not accuse me of sinking to the Shadow's level, or compromising my principles in favor of what is easy. I've dark inclinations, but I've always tried to do the right thing: I've seen what too much compromise and ruthless actions 'for the greater good' can do to a man, and I want no part of it."

He does his best to keep his voice level.

"Master Crafter, what have I done that provokes your dismay?"

[AnimeKid]

Lazlo

He nods as he centers himself. Tavi struck him as a man who knew how to wisely use his powrs and appreciate the gifts that he has. His kindness to take Lazlo onboard his ship when he was stranded out at sea spoke volumes of his character and had made him and eternal friend. For Tavi to fail meant that this test would test his very core and essence. Whether the earth accepted him or not he would do his best and hold his head high.

[Corvond]

Gaborn
"That was not an accusation, Tavi. That was a warning. One that cuts deeply, but well it should, for it is one that is so very easily forgotten, and one that cannot be allowed to be ignored." Gaborn replies. Tavi respects and looks up to him. Shattering certain illusions was a difficult thing to do, and one that hurt him as much as Tavi. More, perhaps, as he could feel the Lord of Alera's pain through the bond.

"I did not refuse you. Indeed, I had thought you worthy. But the Earth felt otherwise, and it is not for me to decide such things. I think you are a fine person, one I am proud to think of as the descenants of the people I once sheltered and protected, although you take for granted that which should be savored far more. But enough. Some things are best learned in their own time. For now, we will concern ourselves with that which we can."

He places a finger to the ground, and draws what could be generously called a rune. It's really just a pair of curvved, intersecting lines scraped in the soil with a fingernail, yet it has a strange power to it. Gaborn nods, satisfied, then looks up at Tavi. He doesn't worry about Lazlo, the boy already has knowledge of the runes, but he can still teach him to use them more effectively.

"This is thought. Remember it, for it is the simplest lesson yet one of the most important. With this, you can not merely command the furies, but allow them to feel what you do. If they agree, they will lend you their stregnth, rather then forcing you to expend your own."

[Colesign]

Tavi

Tavi smiles, and his disappointment at being rejected by the Earth fades.

"You remind me of my old teacher, Alera."

He retraces the rune Gaborn has drawn, concentrating thoroughly, not seeking to be clever or cunning or overthoughtful, but simply attentive.

"I've suffered much less broken bones in your company, though. For which I am grateful."

[Corvond]

Gaborn
He laughs. "Be grateful that some wounds are only skin-deep. There are worse things." He does not mention the obvious, that Alera is a part of the Earth, whom had chosen him as it's servant.

"Now you see the rune. Use it. Focus, and see what you can do with it." He says. still smiling His whole face lights up when he smiles, making him handsome, and he looks a good twenty years younger. It does him good to laugh. He worried he might have forgotten how, and it is good to know that was not the case. Men became monsters when they had no more tears to shed or smiles to offer.

[The Tygre]

Quenthel reaches out to Malus with another psychic plea, "Encountering resistance. Stand by if assistance necessary. Bring trappers." Her message done, the high priestess prays to Lolth again. Beseeching her goddess, she pulls a tarantula that could devour a child in one foul bite from the Demonweb. Legs nearly six feet across, the black-shelled monster lands on the wall and begins to crawl down, fangs at the ready. 'Now, let's see your mettle, human.'

[Colesign]

Tavi

Tavi's eyes examine each facet of the rune, it's nuances and curves.

Remembering what Gaborn said about it's function, he tries to relax, and simply listen through the connection that usually allowed him to compel the Furies.

Just listen.

[Cracklord]

Quenthal
"I'm a little busy at the moment!" He growls, even though he knows she can't hear him. The blond human had been no match for him, his swordsmanship good enough but without the experience or raw speed to go against Malus. The dwarf had come to his companions rescue, and Malus had found that Gotrek Gurnison was a different proposition entirely. Indeed, it was all the Dark Elf could do to remain alive before the unstoppable force that was Gotrek.
It was difficult to say whether the dwarf was the worst or best Slayer whoever lived. He'd been trying to die for five decades now, and hadn't mannaged it despite doing all that was possible to meet his end in hopeless combat. He'd certainly killed everything he'd hoped would kill him, but none of it had mannaged to kill him yet. And, as was quickly becoming apparent to Malus, it wasn't luck that had allowed him to survive.

Cleon
The butcher looked every inch an Aleran general, his purple cloak wrapped around his big frame. The scouts are dispatched as the knights descend apon you, right at the bulk of your defences. You didn't have time to spread them out as much as you wanted, and without much of a chokepoint this strategy will only work by keeping them bunced together. If they spread out, the effort will be wasted.
The first ditch slows but does not stop them, the horses leaping it. Eastern Knights would never have mannaged it, but in comparrison the Surdans were lightly armored, forgoing barding and wearing half-plate rather then armoring evey inch of themselves.
However it does slow them, stealing much of their momentum, and it's then that Skilgamon realizes he's been lured into a trap. Skilgamon was a canny leader of men, though he did not have Cleon's brilliance or inspiration he had enough experience to be able to stop a trap, however he was commited. He couldn't pull back anymore without worsening the situation.
He had to improvise. "Divide!" He yells, liftiung an arm, and the knights split, forming into sepperate lances and splitting, to hit the line at different points and at different speeds. He's still crossing the killing ground, but it's a sound tactic to throw off your aim and minimize the casulties.

Araris Valerian
Leading the scouts, you come to the river, but find nothing. No signs of entry, no crossing in evidence, no boats, no fords, nothing. And the mountains were surely impassable, nobody could bring an army across them in time, the paths were...

Mat
You mannage to get to the top of the blacksmith, looking down at the town. What you see is not reassuring. D'Averc has mannaged to get all the survivers to the river and is loading them into boats. Sensible of him, the buildings will be destroyed no matter what they try, at least this way they can preserve lives.

Fidelius
The furies that come close to the machine go mad, the massive warpstone chunks destroying their minds with taint, and retreat. The vermin who seconds before had been doing their utmost to hamstring you and rip bloody chunks from your legs are torn apart, and those that remainn fall apon the corpses of their recent kin in an unappologetic display of canabilism in a feeding frenzy. Wet sucking and cracking sounds can be heard around your feet.
You turn, and Nasuada's head hits your chest, leaving a bloody smear. The skaven warlord gives you a smile, as her body slumps to the ground, revealing cracked and splintered yellow teeth. A massive cut goes down his chin to his throat, and you can still see the stitches.
He turns his wrists, cutlas and pick scything, then begins strolling forward as though he has nothing in the world to be agraid of, still smiling. He might be a rat, but he's a huge one, with a wide chest and movements that were panther-like.
"Cut-cut foolish manthing like cut breeder." He chitters mockingingly, his voice far deeper then the other skave you've heard.

Szeth
The man found it easier to kill at another mans word then to explain his actions. A tautology if there ever was one, he simply followed the instructions he was given as long as he did not have to think.

[InyutheBeatIs]

Wander

Agro backed up as the wargs started to hold their ground. Wander noticed that the light from the sword was only disorienting them, and so he put it back in the scabbard, making the switch to the bow and arrow. However, before he could draw his bow, he noticed the odd figure up above him. Thinking it is some kind of demon, he started to wonder just what he had gotten himself into.

He drew his bow and nocked an arrow, aiming it up at the figure above. "Who are you?!" Wander shouted, wincing a little as he noticed the small amount of fear that escaped through his voice. However, given what he appeared to be, it's probably quite surprising he can keep his composure at all in this situation.

[Colesign]

Fidelias

Fidelias looks up at the severed head he instinctively caught. His face goes blank. And then he snarls.

"What kind of general were you, to get taken down so quickly?" He says, but his heart isn't in it. He'd made several calls over the last few minutes, and they'd all backfired horribly.

And Alera would pay the price for it.

Unless...oh Great Furies, that would be a crazy plan indeed.

He stares at the large Skaven, fists cracking.

Then, swift as thought, he hurls Nasuada's severed head right at the large Skaven's face.

As the Skaven instinctively slashes it in half with his sword, Fidelias gestures at the ground, and the spears of the Fallen, bend and recoil upward into his hands. With keen aim and Furycrafted strength, he throws both of them right at the head Skaven.

Then he sinks into the earth below like quicksand and vanishes.

[doliest]

Kitaria
Titles dispensed, army replenished, men prepared, and frankly starting to grow bored, yep, time to move forward to the next stage of the plan. The plan that she totally had. Not just 'gather enough land to start a small nation, ensure the military power of said land, etc.' She needed to report back in to Nusuada, as she was still technically aiding the Varden...and she could still milk them for what they had. Resolved, she orders her mages to attempt to send out a message to Nusuada informing her of Kitaria's success.

Lord Soth
Lord Soth had, both in life and death, been a decently simple man. A man who was content with what he had as a knight, and later as a lord....and yet later again as a lord/knight. But, after the last several days, he'd slowly begun to question his contentment. He'd spent the last several days attempting to establish the human contact he'd largely ignored in his time as an undead, finding that without it, his desires quickly atrophied into little more than lying facedown on the ground questioning whether or not he'd be happier if he became a death knight again.

[InyutheBeatIs]

Elrond and the Elves

The council debated whether to stop by the slave pens along the way to the captain's current place of residence. Some thought that trying to take the slaves to safety would slow them down unnecessarily, while the others thought that if they left them imprisoned they would be cut down by the dark elves just out of spite. Elrond remained silent as he listened to both sides.

After listening to both sides of the council, Elrond and the council looked over to Gandalf. "Well," Elrond said, "what do you think of this matter, my friend?" Elrond did not seem lost, so much as considerate of Gandalf's opinion.

[industrious]

Cleon

"Loose Shot Only! Fire!"

Cleon had placed a small group of crossbowmen at the front of each formation. The flanks of each group, comprised entirely of more crossbowmen, were ordered to hold their fire once the cavalry had crossed the second trench.

"Wolfmen! Charge!"

Between each group of armored Alerans, Cleon had filled the gaps with Canim soldiers. Their purpose was to harass the cavalry, to force them to seek out the so-called "easy" target that was the small, somewhat widely spaced group of loose shot at the front of each Alearan formation.
Mat

"Blood and bloody ashes," he mutters, as the spider bears down upon him.

He quickly lets go of the wall, landing nimbly on the balls of his feet, and drawing his ashandarei, holding it against the spider.

[Colesign]

The Mutha-****ing Canim

Head and Horns Formation. A simple yet powerful tactic in the hands of a disciplined army. On another world, in another era, or in another turn of the Wheel, the Zulu would use this tactic to deadly effect agains the British.

Of course, the Zulu didn't have giant, heavily armored, intelligent Wolfmen.

With a roar, the Canim Regulars break into a swift charge, covering ground only slightly slower than the charging cavalry, and slamming into the flanks of the calvary.

They've large curved stabbing blades, throwing spikes, and jagged instruments of deadly intent. Most, however, have hooked polearms like the hybrid of a scythe and a glaive. And they used these on horses and and men alike.

As per Cleon's strategy, the best opening for escape it towards that one line of men.

[The Tygre]

"Typical. A matron's work is never done." Quenthel pulls the reins on her spider and leaves the challenger to the hungry attentions of the tarantula. She stalks the chaos for Malus, a scowl on her face ready for the dark elf.

When she turns the corner to find Malus struggling against Gotrek, Quenthel can't help but let out a hiss of displeasure, "A dwarf... Delightful." The high priestess concentrates on the ground around Gotrek, and forms a crude dome around the mohawked cannon ball of energy. Hopefully, that will hold him for at least a few minutes.

[Cracklord]

Mat
The biggest spider you were ever faced with before today was the size of your fist, and that was extremely bad. This Spider is big enough to heat Pips and spit out the bones, then go after you for seconds. You've never been afraid of Spiders, but suddenly you have a good idea where the people who are afraid of them are coming from.
The thing is bone white, and it's carapace does look disconcertingly like bone, making it all the worse. It has eight black eyes as big as your fist, malevolent and incomprehensibly alien, and three rows of teeth under it's mandibles. Even it's legs are bad, long, multi-jointed spikes that look quite capable of functioning as spears if it gets mad. And, it's faster then something that big has any right to be, as well as smarter then it looks. Taking an enormous leg, it attempts to force the spear aside as it sweeps it, before stepping over and biting off your head.

Quenthal
Malus has a massive dent in his breastplate where the dwarfs axe split the metal and caved in his ribs, and has lost his left pauldron. He shouldn't be upright, much less standing as he is having continued fighting. You've often suspected there is more to him, there is a subtle wrongness about him that suggests something sinister even to your way of thinking, and this clinches it.
"Took you long enough." He says, turning to look at the dwarfs companion and smiling a smile that could only have been worse if he somehow turned his head one hundred and eighty degrees.
Gotrek roars from beneatht he ground, and his axe errupts through the stone like a knife through hot butter, as he hacks away trying to escape.

Elrond, Glorfindel
"My heart tells me we should do what is right. This city is built on suffering, and the destruction of the lives of those it has entrapped. We cannot leave it until every stone has been demolished." He turns to Glorfindel. "Take Elronds sons, and put the master of this fortress to the sword. If Elrond will consent it, we shall take the rest and set free what prisoners we can."

Nasuag
If you strike, your commitment must be total. Skilgamon could see that he had been lured into a trap, and his cavalry would most likely be bogged down and destroyed. His only two options were surrender or to keep pushing on and hope the infantry arrived soon in order to support him. And he would not surrender.
The Canim were intended to steal his momentum and redirect him in an engagement, leaving his flanks exposed and his speed robbed. he was not a foolish man, and knew that if his horses lost their charge they couldn't hope to triumph, outnumbered and bogged down.
He had to complete the charge, but that was no longer possible. So there was only one other option.
He reached to his hip to feel the twinned blades, the swords of Night and Day, then scanned the wolfmen until he found what he needed. A tall, scarred wolf with brown fur leading the charge. He recognized him from the failed negotiations.
His plan was simple and direct- kill him. He knew his men couldn't kill enough of the wolfmen quickly enough to stop them from rampaging through his men and scattering them, so he had to move quickly and strike where the enemy is always most vulnerable - the morale. Make a big ostentatious show about slaying their leader, show them how weak and fragile they are and that even the greatest of them can die, and show them how powerful and invincible he is, and they will lose heart no matter how good their soldiers nmight be. Foolish commanders think that warfare is killing the enemy. But Skilgamon had been a general for a long time, and was wise enough to know that warfare is about winning, usually by making the enemy run away.
The Canim drives his falcion through the belly of a horse, then lifts his shoulder into it, knocking it and it's rider onto the ground and breaking his leg like a wet twig, then turns and looks up, and for a moment he's paralyzed. Skilgamon's horse is rearing above him, the warrior astride it with two blades drawn, one golden, the other jet.
The Swords of Night and Day.

Cleon, Kitai
The mountains would be impassable to any infantry who did not know them. The passes were too narrow and too winding. And the surfaces to sheer to be scaled by men in great numbers. But the caverns beneath them were as an open field to the men of the mountains.
Gannel had recovered, and was now walking under his own power, still weary from channeling so much at once, but no longer so fatigued as to be unable to stand. With uncanny foresight he led them through the corridors beneath the earth, as though he was directing them through the corridors of his own halls, until they come to the surface. This was no longer political to the dwarves. If the conquerors of this land had allied with their most ancient enemies, it was a battle for survival.
Antillus Crassus looks up as he feels the ground shake, to see squat, armored forms emerging at the base of the mountains.

Fidelius
Queek grabs a skaven in brown robes and shakes him angrily. He'd been looking forward to killing you since he'd arrived, and wouldn't have you getting away. Yes, that was certainly it. He wasn't at all worried about how Thanquol had waved his hands and made skaven's skeletons explode and flesh melt. Not at all.
"Find him quick-quick!" He chitters, shacking the adept some more to make sure he gets the idea.

[Colesign]

Fidelias

Queek looks down idly while pausing in his ranting and raving, to see that his feet have sunk into the ground below, up to between his rodent equivalent of ankle and knee.

Then Fidelias severed them both. And as Queek fell forward, blood spraying from his stumps, Fidelias rammed the last spear up through the earth and right through the Skaven's lungs.

Queek was severely wounded, but not, if these Skaven had any competence at basic first aid, quite dead yet. Either his underlings would be distracted with attempting to save their commander's life and stabilize his condition, or (as Fidelias privately suspected) they would be distracted with trying to take advantage of his freshly crippled state.

Either way, it created a distraction for Fidelias to grab Nasuada's corpse and make his escape...

[...]

On the surface, a short distance away from the Varden camp, Fidelias leaned back and sighed.

"What a fine mess we've gotten ourselves into, eh, General?" He said to Nasuada's severed head.

"I mean, I wouldn't have minded if you'd been killed just a few hours later: it would have thrown the Varden into chaos, and ensured the safety of my people. But those crazy rat things have bloody set us to fighting like roosters in a cage. Neither of us benefits from this."

He sighs and unbuckles Nasuada's swords from her belt.

"So I hope you'll approve of what I'm going to do..."

Kitai

As it happens, Kitai, after several minutes of fidgeting and pacing with nothing to do, had come to the same conclusion as Skilgannon.

A twinkle the sky, and then a blur swoops down, swords flashing towards Skilgannon's neck.

But the Damned One is quick on his feet and on horseback, and he just barely sidesteps the attacker, who slams into the earth with a thud and a puff of dust.

Kitai straightens up, flicking his Clan Horse braid out of the way, and draws a second gladius.

An unspoken communication passes between Nasuag and Kitai, and the Canim general issues fresh orders to his men and plunges back into the battle at large.

"Why did you break the truce?" Kitai asks, as the blades of her gladii ignite.

Unbeknownst to her, though, fresh enemy forces had indeed emerged, but from the Earth, not the water as she had speculated.