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Stormcross (Part 5)
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Monday
((I realized I said Wednesday, but I was in a writing mood.))
Fünden tasked Fjarn with carrying the injured Argent Dawn woman, and set a defensive perimeter up, Khaz in point, Thorgrim as rearguard, and Fünden next to Fjarn.
Thorgrim sped up a bit, stopping next to Fünden. “What d’ ye think she’s doin’ out here, captured by the Scarlet Crusade? They’d ‘ave to ‘ave either got ‘er from the Bulwark, or raided across Andorhol, neither of which I think they did.”
Fünden glanced over at him and c0cked an eyebrow. “Why’s that?” he asked, keeping a wary eye out. Thorgrim looked over at the woman, scanning her closely. “Her clothes aren’t torn, ‘n’ her tabard is clean. She also doesn’t seem tae be hurt in any external way whatsoever. Maybe bruises that we cannae see,” he said, with a slight cough, “But she didn’ seem tae favor any particular section o’ her body, like those with injuries would.”
Fünden lowered his eyebrows slightly. “Hmph. Yer right. But I dunnae know what tha’ means. But this complicates things. We cannae just go traipsin’ into the bloody river now, can we? That means back through Andorhol, or head back east to Light’s Hope, which I dunnae particularly want tae do either.”
Fünden held up a hand, halting the group. “We got tae make a decision. Continue westwards, and hope we can slip through Andorhol, or go back to the Eastern Plaguelands,” he informed them. “Which do ye want tae do?”
Khaz took a step forward. “I say we head back tae the Chapel. They can take her in and heal her, and we can report to them that our mission failed.” Everybody winced at the last statement.
Thorgrim shook his head, making his beard wag slightly. “They dunnae about our mission. We need to report back to Chillwind Camp as soon as we can, and tell ‘em
not
tae invade the city, or their heads are as good as chopped off like a chicken’s.”
Fjarn turned to face Thorgrim and raised an eyebrow. “What the bloody hell was
that
metaphor suppose’ tae mean?” he asked, chuckling. Thorgrim went red to his beard, but stayed in control.
Probably because he knows Fjarn could pound him with both arms tied behind his back.
thought Fünden. “Still,” he said out loud, “There’s a chance that if we go through Andorhol, some of us, perhaps all of us, won’t make it out alive.”
Khaz nodded emphatically. “Exactly. We need to be alive to report that they can’t attack. We won’t do a durn piece o’ bloody good if we go ‘n’ get ourselves killed.” Fjarn sighed. “I agree with Khaz,” he told them. Fünden tilted his head slightly to the side. Fjarn was never one to avoid a fight.
As if sensing Fünden’s thoughts, Fjarn continued, “I like a fight as well as the next dwarf, but common sense has tae take hold somewhere.”
Thorgrim held up a hand. “So here’s the options. Go to the Eastern Plaguelands, which could get us killed in any number of horrible ways, drop off the human and send word not to attack, and then hopefully there’ll be some way to get home. Or we could go through Andorhol, which could get us killed in any number of horrible ways a lot quicker, but if we make it through we can warn them ourselves, and still possibly be in time, and drop of the human there.”
“I say Eastern Plaguelands,” Khaz stated, folding his arms and nodding. Fjarn nodded and put a hand on Khaz’s shoulder.
In reply, Thorgrim said, “I say through Andorhol. No point in puttin’ off death if it’s only be a day or two.”
They all turned to look at Fünden, who sighed slightly. “This is why I hate bein’ the leader…” he grumbled. Fünden took a flask off his hip and took a large gulp, and replaced it. “We’re goin’ through Andorhol, boys. Get yerselves ready. We’re almost there.”
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