Alan had been airborne at the time the keening beast landed, thus he hadn't been aware of the sheer weight of the beasts, save for how even the swift footed Windhawk stumbled back just from the thing's impact upon the ground. This gap in his experience was swiftly remedied, when the beast before him stomped upon the earth once more. It sent gravel and dust flying upward as it pawed the ground, even as Alan righted himself. Shielding his eyes with one hand, Alan swiftly drew his sword.
He couldn't immediately see either of the elven woman from his new position, just the imposing hybrids that had jumped down at them. Hulking creatures, they were obviously the creation of some demented mage. Although he was unsure that Miena had the skills to create such monstrosities, he couldn't rule that out either. At the very least, they were under the Stranger's control. Each one had the vague bulk and shape of a bear, with thick, brown fur. However, at their shoulders, arms, and heads, the fur gave way to a coat of brown and black banded feathers. Their upper paws ended in sharp, black, talon-like claws, while their heads resembled those of owls, with sharp, gleaming beaks. His movements apparently attracted the attention of the nearest of the owl-bear hybrid creatures, for it swiftly rotated its head nearly all the way around, to stare at him with murderously huge, red-rimmed eyes.
Immediately, chaos broke out. Near the tree, the one which had landed near to Daphne wrapped its paws about her, and hauled her in close. Its sharp talons and sharper beak rent into her undead frame, and she screamed. Not that the thing was able to do lasting damage to her flesh, but rather the dim sunlight, filtering across the horizon and through the trees, now threatened to contact flesh where the fabric she had donned was rent. For now, the tree behind her and the creature before her were enough to stave off any actual damage from the ever brightening sky.
The one nearer to Alan swiped one paw at Windhawk, who smashed it aside with her still held bow. Its other paw raked itself along her frame, but she danced back a step before it could render more than the most shallow of gashes across her shoulder. By the time its head snapped about toward her, its beak merely closed on empty air.
Alan thrust his sword forth into the back of the one between himself and Windhawk, and he slid the sharp point of his blade up into its thick hide. The thing let forth a piercing screech. Windhawk's own blade sprung forth from its sheathe, and she swiped at the thing once, continuing to step back and open some space as she did. The halfhearted blow merely swept along its thick furred hide.
With her mask on, Daphne couldn't bite at the thing holding her, with her skin so covered she couldn't even draw upon its life force through mere contact. Instead, she struggled to draw one of her daggers, and inserted it up into the bear-like torso of the one holding her. It let forth something between a bellowing roar and an enraged screech. All the while, above them, the half elf with the lute played a strange, haunting tune. The grass began to twist and writhe under their feet, as if stirred by some otherworldly force.
Across the field, Vick reached down to grab Faringalia, and lift her in an even, smooth motion. With gnome upon his shoulder, he began to charge anew. Alan could only hope that the fat Count didn't have a heart attack on the way toward them.
With a roar and a sudden lurch, the furred and feather creature Alan had just stabbed lunged forth off of his blade, and rushed to catch up with Windhawk. This afforded the old rogue another opportunity, which he took without hesitation. With a flash of steel, he stepped forward and plunged his blade through the beast's back. Its momentum yanked it out of his hand, and it swiped wildly at Windhawk, before teetering forward.
The ranger leaped upward as the chimeric monstrosity began to topple. One foot braced on its shoulder as it fell, and she stood upon its back. She dropped her own sword, which landed face down in the dirt, and notched an arrow. Quick as she could, she let the shaft fly. It zipped forward and planted itself in the second beast's back. Daphne twisted her own dagger, and dragged it up along the belly of the creature mauling her. Though talons and beak scored deeply into her flesh, the worst damage was to her clothing, which hung in tatters about her arms and shoulders. The dying monster staggered back from her, and fell crashing to the ground.
There was little time to celebrate, however, for the shrubs and grass in the area began to twist and grow. It bound about Alan and Windhawk, writhing upward along their limbs. Ankles and legs were the first to be caught, then longer vines began to rise and wrap about their arms, stilling their weapons. Laughter drifted down from above, and the scatter of falling back and tumbling twigs accompanied the bard's descent. He jumped from branch to branch, letting each catch his fall for only a moment, before continuing downward.
Daphne cursed and hastily begin to wrap her cloak more firmly about her arms, drawing the rent strips of black fabric about her own frame, to hide that pale, exposed flesh. By the time she finished, however, the half elven man was already jumping down from the last branch. With lute in one hand, he drew a broadsword in midair, his cloak fluttering in the wake of his movement. Landing in a crouch, the Stranger twisted on the ball of one foot, and charged Alan where the twisting tangle of plants held him.
As his eyes locked on that oncoming blade, Alan's struggles redoubled. It did no good. All his futile effort earned was the inexorable tightening of vines about his limbs. That sword sang as it streaked through the air toward his neck. Beside him, Windhawk shrieked and lunged forth against her own bonds, as helpless as he. Alan closed his eyes, prepared for the end.
It never came.
There was the sound of a fleshy impact, as two leather clad bodies connected. A low grunt followed, the crash of a wooden lute upon the ground along with a few stray notes as strings were inadvertently struck, then the clang of steel on steel. Alan dared to crack one eye open, and was rewarded with renewed hope. There, before his very eyes, Daphne had knocked the bard aside, and had one of her daggers hooked about his broadsword's blade. Her other dagger, dripping with poison, was mere inches from the Stranger's throat, though he'd managed to get a hold on her wrist. The man was strong, but visibly wavered under the relentless pressure of her unnatural power.
The bard's muscles strained under his dark leathers. He braced one foot against Daphne's to try to get more leverage, but it was of no use. Finally, he twisted away, disengaging. That venomous blade scratched along his cheek, but for the most part he ducked aside. His own sword fell to the ground as he rolled, and Daphne wasted no time stepping between him and his weapon.
"Vampire," he spat the word out, and glared up at her.
Daphne shifted her stance and stood ready to receive the fellow's next action, with her daggers still in hand. For a moment, Alan wondered just what was keeping her. But then, as the pale rays of the morning sun played patterns of gold across her tattered cloak and hood, he realized what she was doing. She was keeping her back to the sun, and her foe in her own shadow. If she turned into the light, she would be blinded, and much more vulnerable to an errant attack destroying her hastily repaired cover.
"Daphne! Let us handle this! Get into the shade!" Windhawk's cries were unexpected. The vehemence she had been heaping on the other elf was replaced with genuine concern.
Alan glanced back across the field. Vick and Faringalia were closing in, but it would still be some time before they fully caught up. But it seemed the dark bard noticed them as well.
