Anxiety clutched Daelin’s chest as Sevine and Keegan went down, the very real fear of their deaths filling his heart with dread. So soon under his command, the first real challenge, and two of his people were fighting against the mortal coil, nature’s fury rending them down. The spriggan that Keegan had foolishly harmed had focused on him ever so briefly, but from unsteady hands from a faulting resolve, Daelin managed to loose an arrow with respectable precision, burying itself in the flank of the spriggan, which in turn left the unconscious altmer to its devices. Daelin’s neck flushed with hot relief; he might just have saved Keegan’s life.

Likewise, Sevine was rescued by an expert shot of Daixanos’, the argonian standing confident and assured as he took aim at the beasts that ravaged his comrade. Jorwen also charged in ferociously, bellowing a deafening war cry that startled the wolves enough that they perhaps wisely chose to focus on other threats. One had tried to take down Red-Bear, who lived up to his reputation by unflinchingly cutting it down, sword digging through its legs and chest as the wolf’s momentum and Jorwen’s slash met, the old warrior’s well-tended weapon working flawlessly as it should to end the beast’s life. It landed with a wet thud, and although it was no longer able to fight as it was disabled and bleeding out, it still bled and whimpered in the dirt, living the last moments of its life in agony. 

Rhasha’Dar managed to down one of the nature spirits with brutal aggression, but wounds raked his body in long, bloody gashes as he had thrown himself into battle with reckless abandon. To Daelin’s horror, the matron spriggan, glowing orange with autumn hues, came up behind him as he finished his work with axe in hand, and he was helpless in its grasp as it plunged dagger-like tendrils deep through the khajiit’s back, letting him slide off of its digits as if it were discarding its own leaves. Daelin was horrified, and the bosmer rushed over to try to rescue the khajiit. “Arkay, spare him, please…” he begged under his breath as he scrambled over the dozens of meters to save Rhasha’Dar from the great unknown. For all the difference it made, he might as well been leagues away.

As if his prayers were heard,  Daelin watched in surprise as a hatchet sailed through the hair, burying itself in the back of the Matron. The old Nord that they had rescued from the wolves stood, covered in blood from the dead wolf that laid where it had tried to take him down, skull cracked open from a ferocious blow with a carpenter hammer that was still buried in its head. The man’s were as intense as the flames that engulfed his hand that pounded against the leather apron he wore, his muscles and veins bulging as he roared defiantly at the spriggan, spittle flying from his mouth. “Come, you foul bitch! It’s me you want, come meet your end!”

It certainly got the Matron’s attention, and now the spriggan closed on him, insects beginning to emerge from its body and a sickening hum of dozens of awakening wings began to fill the air. If the spriggan were capable of expression, it certainly would have been a mask of utter malice. Daelin skirted into a slide when he reached Rhasha’Dar, cradling him in his arms. “Come on, Rhasha, stay with us… it isn’t your time!” he pleaded, fumbling for a potion off of his bandoleer. 

The only adversaries remaining other than the Matron were two final spriggans, one of which still had Keegan’s weapon lodged in its torso.