We stepped around the corner, raising our weapons and saw...nothing. The alley was quiet and we couldn't see anyone. I lowered my bow and looked over at the dwarf who shrugged. Abruptly, a black clad figure shot out of a widow, glass shattering and flying all over the place, and collided with the the opposite wall. A door next to the window was flung over and five men in breastplates and velvet shirts with slashed sleeves piled out, fanning out, swords drawn. A sixth man followed; unlike the guards, he clearly wasn't a fighter, being heavyset and foppish in dress.
Without thinking, I lifted my bow again, drawing the arrow as I raised and instinctively loosed. The arrow flew true, hitting the closest guard in the ear and burying deep in his skull. Barûmnâzil was already moving, charging forwards and yelling his battle cry. As he charged he threw his throwing axe which caught the next guard in the face as he turned to look at the commotion barrelling down the alley towards him and his comrades.
The fop screeched in terror, ring clad fingers shooting up to cover his mouth.
I drew another arrow and loosed at him as he turned to flee back in the building. Again the shot was good, the arrow piercing his knee. The wounded leg gave out on him and he went face down in the mud.
The remaining guards hurried to form up and meet Barûmnâzil's charge, their half-orc sergeant grabbing the two shocked humans and shoving them forwards to get them moving. As Barûmnâzil' barrelled into one, the dark figure sprang to his feet, a knife flashing in his hand and stabbed the sergeant in the shoulder. The half-orc grunted dismissively and backhanded him, knocking him over again.
Barûmnâzil's axe lashed out and his opponent tried to parry with his sword, but the force of the blow shattered the blade. The man swore, dropping the sword in pain as his arm was jarred from the strength of the blow. His ally laughed, flanking the dwarf, but was so fixated on his 'clever' tactic that he didn't see me sprinting down the ally, twin swords drawn.
I deflected his strike with one sword and stabbed him in the leg with the other. His head snapped around in shock to face me, and back to the ongoing combat as a scream from his now deceased comrade. He paled at the sight of the dwarf barbarian pulling his axe for the breastplate that had been rent in twain revealing a gory mess that was his friend's chest.
"Hey!" I called, "You haven't finished with me yet cocky. Think you can take us both on?"
He looked back at me, going pale. He stepped back and tripped over one of his friend's corpses, falling flat on his back and dropping his sword. I sprang forward finishing him off.
"Cretins!" Snarled the half-orc, "Do I have to do everything myself?"
"Just making things more interesting for you," laughed Barûmnâzil, grinning manically.
I stepped forwards, swords raised. The half-orc's eyes darted between the two of us waiting to see who would make the first move. As his eye's darted back to me, Barûmnâzil struck. Effortlessly the sergeant deflected the blow and followed up with a punch which staggered the dwarf back. I took advantage of the opening and pounced, but the half-orc twisted aside, dodging one sword blow and parrying the other. Barûmnâzil swung his axe again, striking him in the side, but the guard shrugged off the blow, despite the fact that it drew blood. The guard swung down with his sword, driving the dwarf two his knees and at the same time swung his off hand in my direction. Taken off guard, the blow slipped passed my defences and sent me flying into the wall.
The half-orc roared in glee, thrusting his arms into the air. So wrapped up in his premature declaration of victory was he, that he didn't notice that his original opponent had recovered once more. The rogue leapt up onto his back, warping one arm around his chest and drawing a knife across his throat with the other.
The half-orc stumbled forwards and the rogue leapt from his back. The guard lashed out wildly, but the three of us backed off, out of reach. The half-orc roared and bellowed, but it was clear his was finished. Spitting blood and foaming at the mouth he collapsed to his knees and with a final whimper fell face down in the mud.
"Thanks," panted the rogue, drawing back his hood. I looked at him and my mouth fell open, once more I recognised his face despite the horns and devilish cast to his face.
