Wound up and fully psyched, Cristobol cleaned the Sword of St. Marcus, fore it had saved him in a day wrought with peril. Not even during the war had he been so hard pressed in his skills as a swordsman. While cleaning, he thorough replayed the events of this evening…
The others had left Jones’ house for the evening. Yet, Cristobol found reason to remain, thinking it prudent to ensure that the mysterious man did not leave town or become harmed. It seems that the events around Willowford and the Hamadryad are now centered squarely on this one-handed man; a man with a great burden of guilt with no apparent way out of the predicament.
Looking around the residence and enjoying the hospitality of Jones, Cristobol noticed the place was very plush and full of creature comforts. However, there were some very strange things in this dwelling. Jones went to get tea and opened a box that contained the winter in it! There was definitely more to this man than his appearance. Then again, with his involvement with the founding Prior of Willowford, that was a given.
While engaging in small talk and pleasantries, a crash of broken glass jarred both their attention. Quickly, Cristobol did a sweep of the dwelling to find that one of the windows had been smashed and a flaming torch had been tossed into the home. Quickly, he snuffed the torch before it could really do any damage to the tapestries in the house. Once the immediate danger of fire was subdued, Cristobol cautiously went to the door to see if anything could be discovered. Smartly, he went around the short side of the house to ensure nobody was lurking around the corner. While moving in that direction, an arrow thrum could be heard. Miraculously, Cristobol raised his shield and intercepted the bolt meant for his heart. Now, all his senses came into play to identify and take down this cowardly threat. Using his skills from the war, Cristobol determined the direction of the bolt and by the slightest light of the moon, caught a glimpse of a bow tip protruding from the brush. With purpose, Cristobol charged that piece of brush, lest he lose sight of the target. Another arrow, another miss. St. Marcus indeed seemed to be warding the man wielding His legacy. Cristobol came upon a “live” Shee! He immediately engaged the dangerous archer, cleaving a wound that would have felled most men. Yet, the Shee lived. Thinking that a live prisoner would be advantageous, Cristobol offered the Shee a chance to surrender. It did not take the opportunity. Once more, Cristobol struck with his blade, felling the Shee mortally.
While fighting the Shee all hell sounded like it was breaking loose back at Jones’ cabin. More glass breaking, more fire, and some strange words and visual effects came from the house. Steathily, Cristobol made his way back, hoping yet to capture one of the assailants. He came around the house corner and surprised another of the Shee. This one had a pencil sword of all things, yet he did try to skewer Cristobol the moment he engaged. Again, St. Marcus’ blessing was upon the blade wielded by Cristobol and he struck deep into the side of the Shee. However, this time he knew that the creature would not die. Instead, Cristobol used a technique shown to him by his first weapons master and struck the Shee with the flat of his blade, rendering him unconscious and compliant for binding as a prisoner.
While securing his catch, another arrow thrum could be heard. It failed to meet its mark. Again, Cristobol managed to locate the archer. However, whether from fatigue or lack of caution, when he got to the Shee, Cristobol did a face plant into the ground that an ostrich would have been proud of. Prone and unable to ward off the toothpick sword being thrust at him, Cristobol made himself a mobile target, hoping to gain his feet before getting skewered. He was successful. However, upon gaining his feet, the Shee had already bolted with no trace visible to a now exhausted warrior. However, Cristobol was rather sure the Shee would not return this night given the fates of his two comrades.
Before heading back to the cabin, he went to the Shee he had killed and dragged the corpse from the woods. With the recent experience with the wolves, Cristobol did not want the body “disappearing” only to reappear as a plant monster.
Now, one dead Shee, a captive, and a house smelling of smoke and other things had Cristobol waiting for his comrades. The Shee knew of Jones’ involvement with their Goddess and his life needed protection. Somehow, Cristobol believed that the next few days would lead him to places never before imagined.