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The Battle



Gareth and Barbaxle head towards the hydra cloaked in darkness, the oil is inaccessible as noone can seem to find where they placed it. The problem is solved as the archers light the tips of their arrows before firing to sear the necks before heads can regrow. After what seems like hours, the battle winds down and only 2 heads remain. Gareth and Barbaxle are in place somewhere near the hydra, and your supply of arrows is rapidly diminishing.

Barbaxle whispers quitely to Gareth "Do you have a torch or some fire ready? That looks like the best way to kill the heads. Or do we want to strike the underbelly first?"

Gareth softly passes some rags, some clothing, and his flint+steel to Barbaxle.. "As soon as you have them lit, I'll attack and you be ready right away to cauturize the wound. I do not know if Cole's spell will remain in effect after we attack, so be ready to light the clothing if the rags run out when we tackle the other head.

Barbaxle wraps some of the cloth around his Scimatar and lights it. He waits for Gareth to decapitate one head, so he can stick the burning flame onto the wound.

Cole searches trough his pockets for something to get rid of this damn cloud raining flowers and comes to a what looks like a shrivled stick he exclaims to no one in particular "Oh, I should have thought of this earlier". He holds it up and yells "go away" to the Hydra and the stick dissappears............

As the 'stick' vanishes, something amazing happens. The hydra actually sways for a moment, it's attack apparently forgotten. It then turns and with huge crashing steps it proceeds to slowly amble away. Unfortunately in the process of turning, it's front foot comes down upon spere of darkness, and a loud shriek emanates therein.
As the hydra turns, it's foot comes down on Gareths chest. He goes down under the heavy weight, dragging barbaxle (tied together at the waist) along with him into the briny water. Continueing on the hydra is soon out of sight. Gareth meanwhile is gasping for air. It would seem his armor was dealt a crushing blow, and is crushed around his midriff, making it impossible to draw a deep breath.

Gareth mutters between wheezes, "Now I see why... uhhhh... many of my holy bro..thers ... dislike working with mages...ugh... Pikahl grant me strength... enough to weather this further...miracle." With a particularlly large grimace, Gareth jimmies another strap loose enough to remove it without cutting. A stray thought crosses his mind and lips, "Why has not the globe gone away also?"

After we get his armor off, and if he is ok. I will start to chuckle a little bit and say "Leave it to Cole to save the best spell until last" Barbaxle says.

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