[h2][color=0072bc]Bartolomeo Peckish, Hunter[/color][/h2] 
[i]Interacting: Aromull[@TheDoctor][/i]

Bartolomeo had gotten as far as putting the saddle on his horse before the situation had clearly gone to all kinds of shit. For a moment in the relative calmness of the stables while the town was being actively assaulted by goblins, the young noble took a moment to look up towards the ceiling and just... sigh. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, stepped away from the horse and started to walk towards the street. 

In those few steps as he walked away from his mode of transport, a subtle change seemed to come over Bartolomeo; No longer was he the meek, haunted young man who seemed more at home in a library then at the Witches Paradise. Instead as he opened his eyes his face was nothing but the picture image of ruthless contempt, seemingly standing taller then before as he was no longer making the sub-consequence effort to make himself look smaller then he was. Turning the handle of his cane and drawing a beautifully embodied steel blade, he wielded sword in one hand and what was effectively a silver club in the form of the rest of the cane in the other. Gone was the noble boy who was 'playing' hunter... and out of the stable stepped a man mentally and physically prepared for war.

As he walked into the chaotic mess that was the goblin invasion, Bartolomeo's attention turned towards the scholorly man from the Paradise who had clearly gotten in over his head... even if he seemed too stupid to understand the danger that he was clearly in. He didn't run towards the man through; Instead his pace was more of a forceful stride, clearly much faster then simply walking but the kind of pace that could be kept up for hours without tiring. 

Making a beeline towards the scholor, he decided to turn his focus on the vile little shits that were trying to pin him down, pulling the hand holding the silver club that was the base of his cane back in order to wind up a swing at the back of the head of the goblin trying to pin down his sword hand... and connected with a sickening [b]crunch[/b]. Pulling the club hand back for another swing at a new target, he lunged with his blade over the man towards the goblin trying to restrain the other arm; In the contest of well made steel vs goblin skull, steel clearly won. The sword sticking through the goblin's head and being pretty much the only thing still holding up the corpse, Bartolomeo's expression of contempt remained as he flicked his arm to the side, -dragging- the goblin in that direction until the sword freed itself from the body by sundering half of the creatures head... and putting the hunter in perfect position to swing the club at a third goblin to give the scholor some much needed breathing room to fight back and get up on his feet again. 

............................................................................
[h2][color=f7941d]Draco Russ, Hunter[/color][/h2]
[i]Interaction: Flint[@Aerandir][/i]  

Stepping out of the Witches Paradise, Draco was glad that he had lost his sense of smell years ago. He hadn't encountered goblins before he lost the ability to detect scents, but from what he had heard they smelt absolutely foul. At that moment through, their odor wasn't the biggest issue. 

Removing his saw-cleaver from his belt, he slowly turned his gaze around to see where he might best be used... before he spotted the very same man who had come into the Paradise injured and with tales of a pack of wendigo's after somehow embedding himself into a wooden wall back first with goblins closing in on him. Feeling like getting the idiot out of the wall would be a good thing under the circumstances (even more so since the nice healer woman had put so much effort into saving his dumb ass and his sister would be upset if he died), Draco started his charge towards the goblins trying to take advantage of the situation. 

His footsteps caught the attention of one of the pair of goblins moving towards Flint, causing the foul little creature to turn around... and caught what was effectively a specially decided saw right in its throat, both collapsing its throat and ripping it out at the same time. Pulling the cleaver back for an overhead swing, a novice would have recognized that the target goblin seemed to far away to hit... at least, until the blade of the saw-cleaver extended and almost doubled it's reach. Catching the goblin completely by surprise, the heavy hunk of metal slammed through its skull and embodied itself in its head, splitting it open like an executioners axe on a watermelon. Pulling the blade (and thus the body) closer to himself, Draco wasted no effort in kicking the corpse off to land on the ground before flicking the blade to get the gunk off it... and cause it to fold back up into its original state. 

Looking at Flint, he sighed a little as he walked over and lifted a foot up to brace it against the very wooden wall that he had gotten stuck in before offering a hand. "[color=f7941d]You've really got to stop getting yourself stuck in messes like this.[/color]" He teased as he got ready to pull and try and get the idiot unstuck and free.