[center][h2][b]Slaver Combat Collab[/b][/h2][/center]
[center][@Fetzen][@Sol Grim][/center]

As Fyr was about to walk back from his current position towards the spot of mushrooms he had been working on previously, he could suddenly hear something very fancy to say the least. What was that ? Someone drunk singing about someone being drunk or just some madman ? Only a few moments later he realized how daring and elaborate of a diversion maneuver this probably was meant to be -- and that this was his chance to start hitting back.

[color=8dc73f]"Slaughter that elephant before he stampedes!"[/color] was the order blasting through the chamber and, as Fyr's eyes had finished their survey of the situation and locked onto the first guard, the latter had already found a companion to change course with in order to attack him.

What was he supposed to do now ? Try to fight two men with better equipment with a primitive mushroom chopping tool tied to his wrist ? Not the worst idea given the overall situation probably, but Fyr thought about something else. His already rather enormous chest started to swell to proportions that made the dilapidated piece of cloth wrapped around it burst in a few places, then he released the inhaled air in the form of a shout.

The two guards raised their weapons just in order to hold their ears and almost stopped dead on their path. Even as the scream itself was over, they still did not dare to pick up momentum so fast again. At the same time the foreign words had alerted some of Fyr's 'coworkers' as well. They were anything but vigorous, but Fyr made a rather unmistakable, pointing gesture towards them anyway so the two men would help attack the guards he had to deal with. They weren't any better equipped than he was, but not worse either. In response to his show of courage, one of the men came to Fyr’s aid stating, [color=yellow]”Freedom, or death.”[/color]

Cicero bided his time. That gang leader had his own long sword in his grasp. The same one that was used to frame him for the death of the King of Alvion. It was a formidable weapon. Though he could tell, the user was not accustomed to wielding it. His form was awkward and sloppy. Perhaps Cicero could bait out an attack and disarm him with one clean strike from his dagger. 

He knew one thing, being struck with his finely forged long sword would be bad news for any unarmored foe. Including himself.

Cicero changed his stance and raised his weapon hand to bait a strike toward his own midsection. If the opponent went for it, Cicero would attempt to lunge for the opponent's hands with his own dagger.[hider=Cicero, Called Shot Hand]1d20+3=19, Success, Disarm[/hider] vs [hider=Gang Leader, Long sword Strike]1d20+3=10, Interrupted/Fail[/hider]The trick worked. The Slaver leader swung horizontally at the opening. Cicero lunged forward in perfect step opposite of the man's swinging side. With one hand he shoved  the opponent's blade downward. Then he plunged his dagger straight into the slaver's hand. 

The man grunted in pain. He immediately dropped the weapon and clutched his left  hand. Blood streamed from the wound. Then the gang leader backed away and drew out a dagger of his own. He called out, [color=8dc73f]"Help me!!"[/color] The duo focused on Fyr came to his aid, flanking him. There was no telling if the men down the hall heard the call or not. However, if they didn't reduce the number of opponents, their little group would be overwhelmed in short order.

Cicero picked up his long sword. It felt perfectly balanced in his hands, [color=orange]"Welcome home."[/color] He said quietly. Suddenly he lunged to the enemy left of the gang leader.[hider=Cicero, Attack vs Slaver]1d20+3=10 vs 1d20+1=6, Success[/hider]The slaver raised his weapon to defend himself, but it was too late. Cicero's blade cleaved through him diagonally from left to right. The man keeled over in a splatter of blood. 

Fyr had some reason to feel happy that the two scoundrels changed course again, but it was beyond obvious that he needed to help Cicero now -- long sword and an injured gang leader or not. He could certainly have done with a bit less of a bloody mess unfolding in front of his eyes though as the knight's weapon ended one of the men's lives..[hider=Fyr, attack against slaver]Attack roll 1d20+1 = 17 against defense roll 1d20+1 = 4: Success[/hider]Fyr lunged at one of the other individuals and rammed his left fist into the rib cage from halfway behind. As the air was forced out of the man's lungs, so did a loud cracking noise announce the breakup of one of his bones there and he stumbled onto the ground in agony. Fyr followed behind with a downwards kick to smash more things as the opportunity was there until he was sure that the man would at least not move for a while. In fact, the slaver died fairly quickly to an array of internal injuries.

Cicero attempted a strike at the gang leader, only hit air. In response, the gang leader closed the distance on Cicero with his dagger. Cicero pivoted away causing the blade to merely graze his armor. [color=orange]”Little help?!”[/color] Cicero chuckled nervously.

Fyr was quick to respond. He swung at the gang leader, but ended up striking the man's armor, bruising his fist more than hurting him. His fellow slave used Fyr’s opening to spartan kick the leader over.The man was stunned.

That's when the other four slavers arrived from chasing Dalious. Fyr lobbed a large stone at two of them, missing. His ally threw a rock and missed as well. 

Cicero was ready for them as they flanked their leader. Cicero feinted a stab toward the leader. As one of the men went to block the blow, Cicero turned his stab into an overhead slash. The blade connected, cutting the man deep from his left shoulder down into his right leg. The slaver collapsed with a sharp cry of pain. However, the other man swung his shovel in response. The end struck Cicero in the side of his armor. He grunted from the blow. Nothing fatal, but definitely painful. The gang leader began to hobble away from the troop slowly down the hallway. 

The other two slavers struck at Fyr and his companion. The one directed at Fyr narrowly missed in the melee. Unfortunately, Fyr's ally was not so blessed. The other slaver smashed his head in with a shovel, killing him instantly.

Cicero struck back at the opponent who had hit him. His blade cleaved through him from left to right. The man fell in two halves, dead. 

Meanwhile, Fyr wrestled a shovel away from one of the men with brute force, easily overpowering him. 

In the chaos, the gang leader made a break for the hallway Dalious had run earlier.

In sight of their former oppressor fleeing, the other slaves ambushed the two last guards. Swarming them. Pulling them to the ground. Spitting, kicking, punching them down. Screaming, yelling. The days, months and years of abuse were finally reaping something each slave had inside. Revenge. They were merciless. The slaver's cries were completely ignored and with good reason. Cicero looked on grimly. He would not intervene. 

Fyr decided not to intervene in an attempt to stop the carnage for he felt it would have been pointless. He had been able to feel that kind of anger himself, maybe the only reason he was not joining them was that he had not been here yet for so long. He did not force himself to look at the mess in its full, bloody length either however, but rather focused on his hearing: footsteps becoming less and less loud and suddenly no longer accompanied by the sound of crushed gravel reflected from solid stone walls. The gang leader… he was still on the run and apparently had left the large cavity they were all standing in at this very moment!

They could not allow that scoundrel to escape… Yet as Fyr was about to accelerate his bulk towards the sound’s origin, loud screams told a story about there no longer being any need for a rush. The voice unmistakably was that of the gang leader and equally unmistakable was the great amount of pain in it. Fyr would know of the spike trap they had placed earlier. The one who abused them was the victim of his own folly.