faderift | OPEN: We couldn't bring the columns down

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OPEN: We couldn't bring the columns down

WHO: Samson vs. Inquisition, in particular the Iron Bull, Ciri, Bruce, and Norrington
WHAT: BOSS FIGHT
WHEN: Harvestmere 20
WHERE: The Dales
NOTES:There is an open portion of this log for people who want to fight Red Templars or help with the clean-up at their leisure—you'll be NPCing your own fights for that, but team up and have at it—and a closed portion for the team that will capture Samson.

Sources say the Red Templars number twenty, maybe thirty; that they've slipped south through eastern Orlais using the Civil War and the wilderness to obscure their movements; and that they are moving with an unknown purpose to an unknown place. There's a brief window of time where their path may be predicted, funneled through the only viable road in this area of the rocky foothills of the Frostbacks. If they aren't stopped before they enter the southernmost wilds then they may never be found.

The Inquisition's force--a small unit of forty, dispatched quickly and quietly--arrives a day ahead of the force it means to intercept. That's time to blow a bridge, place archers and mages, and tuck reinforcements into the gorges.

In summary, an ambush.

It's nice to occasionally be the springer rather than the sprung-upon.

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The guttural bellow of the Red Templar Behemoth rumbles several decibels above the chaos of battle, snapping the eerie, wintry silence that had filled the rocky forest hallway. Their wagons, with contents disguised beneath burlap, rope, bundles of timber, have drawn to a halt. Horses whicker in panic.

Standing twice as tall as any of its comrades, the monstrous, craggy silhouette lurches for where the fighting is thickest, dragging arms heavy with spiked red lyrium claws. Around it, the earth, lightly frosted with snowfall, trembles beneath each step, cracking when jagged pillars of red lyrium erupt up and outwards, the fall of Inquisition arrows fired from tree cover shattering uselessly against it. The Behemoth seems immune to pain as he fights, but then, if what remains of his human face is anything to go by, he is already consumed with agony. And rage, of course, as he brings up one massively oversized arm like a warhammer and sends it crashing down upon the enemy.

Upwards of twenty more Red Templar soldiers bristle with sword and shield. Red eyed and pale-skinned, they fight with a semblance of their prior Templar training. Shields defend against magic and arrow, and swords cleave powerfully, efficiently. Traces of red lyrium magic seem to glimmer over their armor, their weapons, and every now and then, a wind of dispelling magic sweeps through the battle to steal away any mage's link to the Fade. None of them retreat, or surrender. They fight tirelessly, only stopping when something finally cuts them down.

That oppressive silence of the forest floods back in when the last man falls. A horse, loose from its reins, goes wandering alone through the carnage, picking around the still corpses of Red Templars. The taste of red lyrium in the air is bitter, with those massive spikes in need of collection or destruction where they've tumbled off wagons to knife up from the earth and hum with corrupt energy, throwing off a glow of evil scarlet.

The Inquisition had no forewarning that he would be here, but he is--Samson, their commander, encased in his impenetrable armor. If anyone wouldn't recognize his importance on sight, one of the archers who was there at Haven is quick to announce it with an outraged shout and an equally outraged arrow that zips past him, emotionally and therefore poorly aimed, to embed in the side of a wagon.

Other arrows miss, too, and by the time the Inquisition's swordsmen reach the Red Templars, Samson is gone, cargo in tow, leaving behind orders to hold them off and a wagon trail through the snow. Some of his men follow. It's a strategic retreat that might have worked, if not for the wrecked bridge further along the road leaving a steep drop and an icy, shoulder-deep river in his way.

[ In addition to the NPC Red Templars with Samson, the Inquisition team may have four NPC soldiers with them as well (one per player) to control and/or kill off as desired. ]

Aah, bollocks. Samson growls his frustration aloud, breath steaming in the wind.

"Wystan!"

A knight comes to his side at once, heavy with armour but still agile compared to his mutated brethren, his luminous eyes set in a face marbled with veins of red.

"Take the wagon upstream. Should be a shallows not far from here. Press on ahead, don't stop for bloody anything. I'm counting on you to get him there. Now! You three, and you, with him! Go!"

Wystan's already swinging himself up on the side of the wagon when he answers, Yes Ser! The young templar shouts a further command, and the wagon turns off road as bidden with the rest of the detail right behind, ploughing through snow and over unsteady ground as quickly as they dare. It's a comparatively small contingent, but these are Samson's best templars, so the cargo is in good hands—they'll just need time to find a way across. The land's not as rough as it could be, either. They might make it yet...

"Right," Samson declares, and draws Certainty as he turns, the wicked greatsword sliding free with a long and jagged scraping of metal. The snow melts where it touches his skin, his hair, black strands on his neck like veins. The glow of his armour, its power freshly awoken. His blood screaming inside.

With the point of his blade, he directs these few monstrous men back toward the fray they left behind. "C'mon, lads! Let's show em how it's done!"

Breath escapes from his nostrils in a chilly fog, rising up as he strides forward through the snow, the weight of his axe comfortably familiar in his hands. He'd been expecting a good fight.

He hadn't thought they'd get this lucky.

Samson will defend the retreat of that wagon until he's dealt with, and the less people tied up in fighting him? The better. Bull's not the quickest they've got, but he can take a hit and keep going. Long enough to give the others a shot. He doesn't think about who these men are, who they might have been before that poison in their veins turned them into these monsters. There's no room for that.

They have their goal. And these templars aren't going to terrorize anyone ever again.

Lowering his head, Bull hefts the axe and charges forward at a surprisingly swift gait, rushing the field and leaving wide swaths of trodden snow behind him, before wheeling back and bringing the axe around in a heavy-headed swing that sweeps in front of him in a wide arc.

Samson.

The name hits him like a bolt of lightning, shocking and terrifying at the same time. The name only makes him recall what had happened at Haven, the chaos there, and with what had happened to the Inquisitor--

Bruce grits his teeth, grip tight on the staff he had with him, Rage burning inside of him - and this time he keeps it burning. Samson, commander of the Red Templars. All the suffering he had caused, the pain he brought upon countless, the deaths of so many innocents - he needed to answer for everything he had done.

The Iron Bull charges forth for a first strike, and Bruce does his best to help however he can along with the others who are with them. He quickly throws up barriers for everyone (or renews them, if they already had them) first before he summons out a couple of fireballs that move to his command, zipping through the battlefield to strike at the other soldiers that lie between them and Samson.

A hell of a location for a field test- but if there's ever a group that needs to be struck down efficiently and effectively? It's these red templars. Issa has chosen speed over accuracy as she's only able to haul around one cannon at a time- the multi chambered beast slung to her back until she's found a suitable position from which to take aim. It won't be a battle at a distance for long- they know the Inquisition is coming. There is no element of surprise-

Well.

The attack comes as no surprise. The manner in which they will be attacked- with the sheer variety of techniques Issa has observed in her time in Skyhold so far? Will probably be quite surprising, even without counting herself among them. "Tell me when they are near that white stone-"

Small but easy to see at this distance- when the first line reaches she'll take the first shot- for the moment she swings her cannon off her back and takes a moment to attach a long, serrated sword blade to the underside of the barrel should any of the Templars get too close mid shot.

Kain is more than ready for this battle. He's been ready, eager to get out into combat and prove his worth to the Inquisition. It helps that he intensely loathes what red lyrium does to those it influences... To lose one's mind like that is unthinkable. To him, it's a mercy to kill these affected Templars. No one should exist like this. Even if they presumably did do this on purpose.

He doesn't waver when those red templars attack, raising his two-handed sword in preparation. This part of the battleground here is his, marked with his ring of pain... Let them come at him. Let them hit him, they'll see soon enough what it'll get them in return. It's in his fighting style to take a few hits, and he purposefully avoids blocking some. But he's attacking fiercely as well. He moves with surprising swiftness for someone wielding a heavy blade, like a whirlwind as his sword clashes with the enemy's.

It was taking every bit of her self control to keep a lid on her anger. She looks at the Red Templars and the color begins to blur together, reminding her of that cave deep within Emprise du Lion where so many had to die for these bastards.

Nessa and her had made a promise to kill every single one of them so there is hardly an ounce of hesitation as she draws her sword and rushes to meet the line. Unlike Bull, Ciri does not have a lot of strength behind her blows or the endurance to take hits but she has the speed to keep hitting her targets and avoid attacks leveled in her direction.

She rushes forward, aiming for the edge of the line out of Bull's wide arc and lashes out toward any noticeable weak points in the armor. Twisting and flipping, she dodges blows before bringing a bottle of bright red liquid up from her belt. There is only the briefest sound of the flask breaking before fire roars alive, engulfing her and spurs her into action with faster strikes.

Inessa is not directly at Kain's side, but she lends her support nonetheless. The strongest Red Templar focusing on him gets smacked with a Misdirection Hex, thus preventing most of his blows from landing and buying Kain some additional time. She refrains from including him in her Barrier spell more often than not, knowing he needs to be at least a little wounded for his fighting style to be effective. However, if he takes too much, a Heal spell will be sent his way.

Garahel is participating as well, of course. The mabari enthusiastically launches himself at his opponents, knocking them down maul or letting Kain finish them off. Either way, it's one less enemy before moving on to the next.

"Commander, it's - "

Norrington lifted his hand to silence Gillette, his eyes boring down into Samson. Samson, who had led so many of their brothers and sisters astray. Samson, who rose up a new God just so he could get his fix. Samson, whose actions had killed the Herald of Andraste herself.

He gestured to Gilette. "Take to the woods. Take down that wagon, any way you can. I will stand here with the others."

He let the others move forward, closing his eyes briefly as the veil of protection came over him from the mage Bruce. He looked over at the other man, nodded, before he slapped his sword against his shield and yelled out to Samson himself, as both Ciri and Bull bore down on the man.

"Good afternoon... Brother. By the order of the Inquisition, we are bringing you in for acts of treason against Thedas. It would be better for you not to resist arrest." He slapped his sword against his shield again the Templar colors clear in green and gold, "But Maker forgive me, I rather hope you're going to say 'No'."

For now he is going to pull Samson's attention, while he gathers up his will to force an attack on any opening the other two left him.

Edited 2016-10-22 16:55 (UTC)

Christine doesn't know how she managed to end up next to the Qunari with the cannon, but as long as it doesn't explode in their faces, she can handle it. And seeing how the woman looks confident in what she's doing, odds are that this weapon will work. Christine rolls her shoulders and watches the enemy come towards them, watching out for any archers among their number. She's not going to give them a free shot.

"Approaching now," she says, taking up a stance to get ready to attack.

These few red templars have rallied ahead of their general by the time these oncomers are near enough to strike: one tower shield bearer on either side and two big monsters coming up the middle.

The sight of a charging Qunari is impressive enough to give Samson himself a moment of pause—but the lyrium-encrusted horror in front meets it with a bellow of defiance and agony, both, as red energy shimmers around it. It twists against Bull's first swing, exposing its back to the blade. Red crystals shear off, shards flying, and pulverized lyrium sours the air. The horror screams.

Its return swing of wicked talons meets Ciri almost by accident, or perhaps the space where Ciri was only a moment before. Her rapid movements don't draw its attention away from the Iron Bull's greater threat, even as she becomes a whirlwind of unnatural flames. But there's another one ready for her—another monstrosity of lyrium and grotesquely distended flesh. It shows her its palm, bristling with red crystals, and fires them at her in bursts.

The first shimmer of a barrier provokes an alarm— "Mage!" —and the red templar who called it hoists his tall shield an instant too late to fully block the oncoming fireball. He curses aloud as the mistake costs him his footing. The other guard, however, was luckier. He stomps the ground aggressively, sending forth a burst of nullifying power to choke Bruce's abilities before he can do any more damage. Whether or not it succeeds, the guard charges the mage directly after, shield still aflame, thundering over the snow-dusted mud with a ferocious cry.

And then there's this asshole.

"Here we go," Samson says to himself, the verbal equivalent of rolling his eyes at Norrington's overtures, and lifts something from his belt to his mouth. From a distance it looks like he spits a cork aside—yes, now he's tossing his head back while he takes the bottle's contents in one go like a shot of liquor. Oh, if only it were that. Bottle tossed aside, he looks to the knight-commander across the battlefield, points at him with one armoured finger, jagged knobs of crystal glowing on his knuckles, then draws that same finger across his throat.

He then thumps his chest with his fist just beside the great horn of red lyrium in its center, shakes his head once and barks a sound to psych himself up, the bitter burn bursting into brilliant flame, pure power, and here comes General Samson himself, striding into the skirmish with the unhurried finality of a natural disaster. He takes a massive swing at the first enemy body he happens to meet.

As for Gilette—there are five red templars waiting for him alongside that passenger wagon, including two eagle-eyed marksmen, ready to defend their charge to the death. Good luck to him.

Edited (you saw nothing) 2016-10-22 23:30 (UTC)

Oh, this fight's gonna be a good one after all.

Bull's foot swings up to catch against the monstrous creature, yanking the axe free in a shower of red shards. It takes all of a second for him to swing back again, bringing enough momentum into the movement to bring it around once in full rotation, before aiming it now for the creature's gut.

Though his good eye shifts towards Bruce at the noisy charge. Shit. Need to get him back behind someone's shield before that templar decided to cut loose. Or before Samson got too close. Whatever was radiating off of him -- and he's willing to bet it was a super-dose of the red lyrium -- it's got his skin crawling instinctively.

"Ugh--" Despite the fact that he's up against Red Templar its still a fact that his opponent was still a Templar, and that part of the equation certainly hasn't changed despite everything else about them. Bruce can feel the nullification washing over him, cutting off his mana access for the moment. It's going to take a bit before that wears off but until then, it seems like he can't cast spells any time soon.

Not that he has a lot of time to mull over that though. The templar is already charging at him, flaming shield up and right towards him. With the need to act fast Bruce drops the staff for now - he'll pick it back up later, it was on loan anyway - and draws out the dagger that he keeps on him, keeping it on hand now in case he had to defend himself. He sidesteps the templar charging at him, doing a false strike to distract them before quickly trying to put distance between him and his opponent. Not to mention whatever it was that Samson had drunk - his body was not responding well to whatever he was radiating right now, the lyrium within him almost trying to rebel. It almost felt like that time out in Emprise du Lion--which wasn't good, considering what happened to him then. So the more distance now, the better.

Without his magic all Bruce can do now is to rely on his wits and whatever lies around him - in this case, a stray arrow that had missed its mark earlier. Bruce tugs it out from the ground and throws it at the Templar while he continues to run, buying whatever time he could until his magic returned to him.

Edited 2016-10-23 15:57 (UTC)

Kain slices through enemies, his sword moving fast as wind as he slashes out at them. He cuts down the misdirected Templar only to have a second one right there, coming at him with twice the strength as the previous one. The Red Templar comes on steadily, driving Kain back for a moment, on the defensive... But that's when Garahel's help comes into play. After the mabari strikes, Kain finds an opening to cut through and turn the battle against the Templar. Kain nods quickly to Garahel in thanks, knowing Inessa must be close by if he's here.

As opponents, they're brutal, among the most stubborn he's ever seen. He's appalled by the mindless way they just come on, as they're driven by the lyrium infused in them. That red glow is straight out of a nightmare, too.

The one he's currently up against is still coming on strong, hitting Kain with a heavy blow. He growls under his breath, but counters immediately, letting that new pain power him on.

The grotesque talons slice through the air with a whistle. It acts as Ciri's only warning before they enter her line of sight and forces a reaction as they swing past her with deadly accuracy. There wasn't even a moment to rest before she finds herself caught up in another attack from nearby enemies. Her eyes narrow the monstrous Templar that raises his palm to her, raising her sword as red crystals blooming from flesh and blood are sent toward her as deadly projectiles.

She takes off leaving trails of fire in her wake as the burst of projectiles keeps her at a distance. The roar of another templar charging Bruce grabs her focus and she curses silently, unable to get through the barrage that she is currently trying to deflect. The fires of her elixir begin to flicker and she twists, rapidly charging her direction in order to push close to her attacker. There is a noticeable heat the closer she approaches the warrior, breathing in deep and pulling her stance low.

With as much power as she can muster and with the last of her elixir, she pulls her sword up in a wide arch aiming for the templar's raised arm.

The red glow sharpens Inessa's focus, even as it twists her stomach. Where it not for her gloves, her knuckles would be white for how tightly they hold onto her staff, and her entire body is rigid with tension. The only reason she's not melting down, she suspects, is due to the lack of abominations present. That red glow is a glaring reminder of her time in the caves, seeing that lyrium farm, and its gruesome end. Not wanting to see anything like that ever again, Inessa fights back with an intensity that startles even her. She casts Winter's Grasp on Kain's opponent, encasing him in ice, then unleases Blizzard to slow down the rest. Garahel will take full advantage of that, covered as he is in cold-resistant kaddis.

The smile that Samson gets in return would be something close to predatory, before it fades away to the sheer determination of one who is dedicated to the faith. Norrington moves forward, slowly at first, as his shield hand goes to his belt and a large bottle of blue liquid sloshes for a moment before it too, disappears down his throat.

He tosses the bottle aside, closing his eyes for a moment before he begins to speak, "Let the blade pass through the flesh."

as he begins to pick up pace across the field, and as his pace increases, so does the volume of his voice," Let my blood touch the ground. Let my cries soften their hearts."

He is going full steam, a full on charge towards the man who is still on fire, and as he does so, his sword and shield first glimmer with magical frost -- and then with the glow of the Divine. His sword, all of his companions weapons, were now Blessed, and they might feel themselves able to push a little farther, a little faster, and with a little more strength than before.

Norrington himself is hitting the Red Templar with the shield with a Shield Bash hard enough to send him off stumbling, hopefully into another enemy, and he bellows, as he brings his shield down for another charge, "Let me be the last sacrifice!"

The Iron Bull's axe strikes true. Once more the huge blade embeds itself in the horror's flesh, releasing a further pulse of red, as though the force of impact shook it loose; its effect would be sickening to most. And still the beast shows no sign of slowing. Even as it writhes at an axe's length from its assailant, even as it bleeds from that horrible wound and the smaller gashes Ciri left behind, it keeps swiping its long talons at Bull in desperate rage, its agonized shrieks unrelenting.

Ciri evades the second monstrosity's attacks expediently, leaving shattered crystals and a plume of acrid smoke in her wake. One futile projectile even embeds itself in the first horror's flesh, though it doesn't seem to care. Perhaps this one will care when up comes her blade—yes, it definitely notices that, and when its arm swings away from her with a spray of hot blood, the limb is definitely hanging wrong where she cut it. But red templars are infamous for their resilience: while they fight, it won't hesitate to swing the ruined arm at her now and then, if only as a grisly club.

As blows continue to land, more and more does the air around both horrors shimmer with red lyrium dust. It readily sticks to any surface that will hold it, especially moist places like sweaty skin or eyes or mouths—particles gusting with each breath in or out—and those unlucky enough may be pelted with razor-sharp fragments or struck by larger projectile shards at any time.

Meanwhile, Bruce has panicked, picked up an arrow, and thrown it by hand at the oncoming charge. Perhaps Andraste's blessing has strengthened his arm. Perhaps the Maker himself has reached out and guided the little arrow on its course. Do you play darts, Bruce? Are you good at darts? Because SOMEHOW, against all reason, this one stupid secondhand arrow's head finds its way through the slit of the guard's helmet and lands in his mouth. Not all the way in, not in his mouth and through the back of his head or anything, but the touch of it on the templar's tongue is so unexpected that it chokes off his battle cry at once and briefly interrupts his single-minded thoughts of carnage with a flurry of question marks.

Needless to say, when Norrington comes roaring in with the Chant on his lips, the red templar is caught almost entirely off guard and crashes to the ground, tower shield and all, with an impressive clatter. He does manage to hang on to the shield, at least, as well as his sword. So that's something. Anyway, this templar is fired.

But there's still one more guard ready to come to the aid of his brother in arms, albeit more cautiously, especially after that first ball of fire left him smoking—even more especially after whatever in the world just happened over there. And so, a second tower shield turns toward Norrington, and the man behind it moves toward him steadily, better protected against all manner of absurd projectiles and ready to meet any charge with a likewise brutal collision.

Bruce has evaded further attention, it would seem, if only for now.

"You heard the man!" Samson wrenches his blade free of some nameless Inquisition soldier who thought he was hard enough (he wasn't) and kicks the soon-to-be corpse out of his way. "Let the ground be stained red in the name of the new god!" All his men answer him with a cry of unity, regardless of their states, bolstered by his voice as it nears; he's nearly upon them all.

Edited 2016-10-24 02:22 (UTC)

The glow is eerie, hellish, and it likewise sends Kain into a rage. He keeps on with the two-handed whirlwinds, slashing furiously at his opponent, daring him to counter. He feels a familiar frenzy rising in his blood, that powerful sensation that only hits him in the midst of battle... he's getting stronger. With every fallen enemy or any bloodshed on either side, his blade is even steadier, each blow harder than ever. Sure, he'll pay the price later. But right now he'll revel in the fight, in the confidence he only feels in battle.

The ice engulfs the enemy and the surrounding area with a bitter chill. It gives Kain just the edge he needs to take down the one Templar that's been putting up such a tough fight. Another comes at him right after, still half-iced, and Kain blocks the unsteady blow. He comes at the Templar with a crushing strike in return. One of the others is more warmed up, and comes at Kain with a hit that sends him falling, the wind knocked out of him. He groans as he rolls to get back to his feet. Pain... this is good pain... At least he can count on Garahel and Inessa to have his back while he regains his footing...

The groan gets a sharp frown from Inessa, who's doing her best to keep track of Kain's state without healing him too much in the process. That's a delicate balance to manage on top of fighting Red Templars as well. Garahel moves to intercept the Red Templar attacking Kain, buying his Warden buddy some time as he bares his fangs. To aid him, Inessa casts Stonefist, sending it smashing into her target to send him flying back. After that, the mabari leaps and pounces him. He barks at Kain to finish him off.

Edited 2016-10-24 14:20 (UTC)

Samson's got a way of rallying his people, that much is clear. They can chip away at his forces, but they won't stop. They won't be intimidated. They'll fight to the death, or until Samson orders otherwise, and the leader of the red templars shows no signs of slowing.

All the while the wagon is pulling away. And they've got no way of knowing if the scant force Norrington sent after it was successful in getting it stopped. No hope of disengaging now, not with this sucker nearly downed.

Bull grunts as the red lyrium dust scatters across his exposed skin, huffing outward to clear his lungs before yanking back, intent on pulling the monstrosity forward and tipping it off balance. If he can get in on the ground he can finish it.

Then, they're going to need to rethink their strategy here.

Bruce is definitely way more occupied with taking cover and so doesn't really concern himself with seeing where his thrown, er, projectile lands. Though if he had seen what had happened he would have been equally surprised and amazed at what he apparently had managed to do.

If only that kind of luck could extend to other parts of his life.

As it is, all he hears is a loud crash from what he can only presume is a Templar falling over or something equally hopeful. The fights continues on, both parties not backing down, though considering their numbers and Bruce's own current state they were very much at a disadvantage here. Blindly charging forward like this was not going to help them - what they really needed was a plan. But in their current situation...

Spotting a large rock, Bruce vaults over it (not very expertly) and quickly ducks down to hide behind it. He leans back against it, panting as he catches his breath, feeling his heart pounding harshly in his chest. It seemed like he had evaded notice for now, but he couldn't take the chance. And besides, hiding here wasn't going to help. It was just a few of them against all these Templars - not to mention Samson himself. This was not going to be an easy fight. As soon as he recovered, he had to go back in. But for now--all he could do was to wait for the nullification to run its course.

Ciri can feel the burn of red lyrium as dust stings her eyes and throat. She has only ever tasted lyrium once but the bright blue liquid was largely overpowered by the tainted blood and what little she remembers was nothing close to this fire burning now. It makes it hard to think and pushes her to react before it began to cause a harsher reaction that would leave her open to attack by these monsters.

And monsters certainly wasn't the wrong sort of label to apply to them and they had to hurry. Hopefully before they all started hearing songs in their head which she did not want a repeat of so soon after the false Calling.

Blood sprays from the templar's arm where her blade slices into muscle and meets bone. She can feel a harsh heat on her face from where droplets of blood land as if the lyrium was boiling him from the inside. Gritting her teeth, she jumps back into a crouch and smashes another elixir flask open as she pounces forward into her opponent's reach. There is no combustion of fire from this bottle instead the air around them grows cold and ice seems to sprout from her Warden armor, pulling together like a haphazard spiked chest plate.

It's not enough to stop him even if she did catch his arm. Bastard would just rip it off and that's why she knows that she has to move, press in close and swing her sword upwards once more with as much strength as she could muster.

While all this is happening, Gilette is staring down the sight of two bowmen, and at least three other warriors. Grimacing, knowing the odds are against him, he decides to do the only thing smart enough to do. He reaches into his satchel, and takes out a small glass vial that Anamaria told him to throw if he got stuck in a corner.

He flings the vial at the wagon, the men, and heads up the snowy hill as quickly as he can in the other direction, to gather more reinforcements.

If the vial hits, they are going to be disinclined to follow. Stench bombs are never popular, even if you are a red templar.

*******

James is just getting started. As the other Templar moves towards him, shield lowered, James starts to circle him, careful not to put his back to any of the other red templars, before he lifts his sword ...

And slams it against his shield. A blast of power emits all around them, and all that hostile red templar power? Well, James is ever so sorry, Samson, but it's just been Purged. Clearing the area of negative magic, he shifts in sideways with his blade, moving his shield at the last moment to slam sideways against the Red Templar's, to shift it aside so he can swing his blade in for a weak spot in the armor, right below the armpit.

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OPEN: We couldn't bring the columns down

OPEN: Red Templar Battle

CLOSED: Samson

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