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Kyaka growled, already getting defensive. He snarled like an animal, his arms drawn tight to himself like a snake ready to strike. His eyes shifted amongst the trees, hoping to catch the attention of a bird so that he might be able to catch a sign on where the bandits lay in hiding.

He made himself small so as to avoid the arrows, but soon found what he was looking for. Like a wolf he was down on all fours, a stance common to that of a beast fighter. His crimson eyes searched the forest eagerly for the right spot, his wings drawn tight to his back.

He let off a low growl as he found the spot, locking onto his target beneath the brush. Suddenly he snarled, darting in after him. A quick yell of surprise as Kyaka swung his claws across the man's neck. He bounded back out of the forest in case the others were close to him. He didn't want to be caught off gaurd. He got back into his defensive postion, eyes once again searching for a bird or a sign.

Althea's back straightened perfectly when she saw the arrows. Eyes wide, and staying behind Gwaerandir, she held her staff in a position ready for spellcasting--or fighting; whichever became necessary first.

The farmers draw nearer. They make their way, brandishing their weapons (one with a staff, one with a pitchfork, and a third heavy-set man with a heavy club) not toward the forest, but toward all of you.

A man jumps out of the forest, followed not-so-closely by a second, who is bleeding profusely from the neck. As the second man's eyes fall on Kyaka, they narrow into a glare.

The heavy-set man points at Althea and shouts, "Get that one!" and rushes to attack Keitaro.

The farmer with the staff and the man from the forest who isn't bleeding from the neck head toward her.

The man bleeding from his neck heads toward Kyaka.

Gwaerandir will notice the man with the pitchfork is about to attack him as well.

Althea had no time to cast a spell. She prepared to defend herself, knowing she only had to hold these two men off long enough for one of her comrades to get a chance to come to her aid.

His muscles tensed and ready, Keitaro squared off against the man with the heavy club, before dropping into a respectful bow. If it was to be a one-on-one fight, then certain rules of engagement must be respected. Moving about on delicate feet, Keitaro judged the thudding footfalls of his opponent, careful not to come within range of the club yet. Keitaro was impressed to find that, despite his large size, the man was powerfully built and suprisingly nimble. Still, he would fall.

The attack came almost before Keitaro realized what was happening, as the larger man swung his club in a deadly arch, the head colliding with the ground exactly where Keitaro had just been standing, sending a shower of dirt and rock spraying off at an angle into the forest. The larger man's gaze fell on Keitaro with a dangerous grin.

"You are strong, my friend, and you move quickly," Keitaro said simply.

"Aye, and you're as slippery as a snake," the large man grunted.

"You don't know the half of it," Keitaro said with a grin, as he launched himself at the larger man. Swords flying, Keitaro hacked mercilessly at the stout wood of the man's club, leaving it scored with marks here and there, but ultimately still intact. The man was unusually fast, blocking each of Keitaro's strikes with his heavy club was no mean feat.

Finally, Keitaro performed a daring leap backwards, soaring up and away from his enemy, landing solidly on the ground a few yards away, out of the larger man's reach. "You fight well, too," he said.

"You don't know the half of it," the larger man said with a laugh, as he threw himself forward, club raised high over his head in a way which suggested he'd like nothing more than to see it come down on Keitaro's.

Keitaro dropped into a defensive stance, took a deep breath, and waited for the man to come in range of his swords.

Gwaerandir: The pitchfork man swings his weapon down on you from above.

Keitaro: The man with the club comes down on you hard. You're now very very dizzy from the blow to your head.

Kyaka: The man gives a deep growl at the pain in his arm and rushes in to attack you at the neck.

The men do not attack Althea, but stand very close as if to make sure she doesn't make any sudden moves. Whatever it is they want her for, you know they want her alive.

Althea could do nothing but stand there, staring them down. She watched her comrades like a hawk, fearful for their lives, while silently praying to Imhotep that she and her new friends would survive this test, whatever it was.

Kyaka's reaction was swift, but delayed by his intense enjoyment of the man's blood. He felt the blade skim across his neck, his flesh spilitting open to bleed.

He ducked down with unnatural speed, bringing his claws up to peirce into the man's unprotected underside.

The man with the club runs off to cower in the bushes somewhere far on the other side of the cleric from where the battle is taking place. He is whimpering, and blood is gushing from his wrists as his hands flop about uselessly.

Keitaro is, however, now unconcious, with no hope of waking until the cleric is free to spellcast.

The man Kyaka is attacking is now very angry. He dodges the attack and swings his blade at Kyaka's head with a brutal force.

Pitchfork guy cries out in pain at being sliced in the belly, then issues a battle cry before spearing the elf with his weapon.

Althea sighs, leaning on her staff and looking forlornly at the two men gaurding her. Then suddenly, she kicks up the staff into one man's head.

Gwaerandir cursed under his breath for being caught off guard by so simple a strike. With a cry of rage he swung his shield at the pitchfork wielder one more time as his consciousness slipped away.