1964-03-28 - Ogre Battle
Summary: When was reclaiming anything for the White Queen ever going to be easy? Nay, no good story is. A sliver of power must be reclaimed, and the path forward leads into the Lakes District. Standing in the way of the heroes on their adventures is a mirrored pond, and in that pond, its unwelcome guardian. Hope you brought your bows, mighty knights of Caerleon. Combat and trickery!
Related: Arthurian Cycle II: Great King Rat
Theme Song: Ogre Battle - Queen
tigra nyx maximus mordo wanda 


The forest of Cat Coit Celidon stretches away to the horizon, covering the jagged hills and steep highlands that mark so much of Caerleon's outer kingdom. Much of the land is not tamed by hoe and axe, and beset by different dangers entirely. The ancient Roman road has long since been replaced by a muddy track carved alongside a sluggish river or creeks that cut across the difficult landscape. More and more, the rumpled landscape gives way to deep, dark lakes and bits of pine strewn old growth. It's not a place where anyone is likely to feel especially safe. The knights in the party trek along on foot, or if they managed to replenish their missing horses somehow, then riding. At least one pack mule has come along, Chill, but damn if anyone is riding her under a load of gear.

Their senses prick to the north, pulled along on a mystical tether cast by Viviane, the Lady of Avalon. Or at least one of the ladies. That guides them into this wet corner of an uncivilised place, threading alongside a long ribbon lake larger by far than anything they've seen closer to the City of Legions.

*

The Green Knight is awake.

He has been for some time, or at least it appears that way. He doubles back to the party from a short scout ahead, and sets himself down on a rock. Brushing back his cloak of leaves, he removes the antlered helm and sets it down in his lap, then reaches into his pack for some cheese and bread to eat.

"Mine eyes have seen naught of a threat for a good while," he remarks to anyone and no one — sounding a little disappointed. "The road ahead appears to be clear… for now." He glances at Chill and bobs his green eyebrows at the animal. "Thy service is appreciated, Chill," says he. His own steed — the red elk — is nowhere to be seen.

*

The donkey gives the Green Knight a placid look as only stubborn mules have, plodding along at its own speed. It may twitch its ears forward, but unless a whole horde of Gaels hides in the forests, the donkey isn't much perturbed. Nor would they be likely to slay so precious a beast, hardy as their own ponies.

*

Tywyll walks with a practiced ease even on a long march. The queen's Spy Mistress is garbed in black as always, though she has swapped the light absorbing black mask for a white one, still hiding her face down to the curve just above her red painted lips. She's a tiny thing, moreso among armored knights but unlike those she has yet to suffer exhaustion.

The Shadow Queen keeps to the shade provided by the baggage stowed upon the back of Chill, occasionally offering fond pets to the gray donkey to her left. No one is allowed to see this activity- no one- so Tywyll does her best to shield the movements with her cloak and the 4 feet eleven inches of her not involved in the petting.

"Chill is a darling," Tywyll notes in her usual cool, collected tone. "We'll be sure to see her home."

*

The going is slow, even for Mordo, and the rutted mucky trail switchbacks along the slope down to the shoreline. Not much of a beach presents itself and the breaks in the evergreen cover reveal the steep sides of a valley crashing away into the lake, giving precious little room to build any sort of structures. Other than a shepherd's hut or the odd crofters house, they have not seen any signs of civilization. Another half hour of marching will finally deliver them at water level, crossing the neck separating two lakes, one capped by an incongruous stone bridge that looks a hundred times better made than anything else on the road. It arches gracefully past the two separate waterways, and the trail hugs the bottom of the mountain while moving forward. They've the certainty following that is the right way to go, even if the clouds are moving in and the cold air dropping somewhat with elevation. Such a pretty place! Such a quiet one.

*

"Thou art fortunate, my lady, to have such a faithful servant upon this leg of the journey," the Green Knight remarks to Lady Tywyll as he accompanies her toward the bridge. "Alas, this is no place for mine… Hmm."

Using his branch-like battleaxe almost as a walking cane, Sir Bercilak approaches the bridge with a frown on his face.

"'Tis a river of great beauty," says he to himself. "But also an ideal location for an ambush… If I may be permitted to venture forth…" and he goes to do just that…

*

Tywyll does not slow her steps as she approaches the stone bridge. Her blue gaze is thoughtful as she stares out over the water, reflecting the tranquility of the open water. She thinks nothing of stepping out onto the bridge just behind the night, her hands lightly grasping her skirts to lift them lest they drag on an errant step.

"I am," the lady agrees with a soft laugh. "I see your companion could not come. Alas." She tilts her head then, watching the water as she proceeds behind the Green Knight. "Will you still not favour me with a name, good sir? We've met these three times as now." She isn't complaining. Musing, really.

*

Some places have heartrending beauty and the still, black glass of the deep loch is one of them. There's a moody romance to the soaring mountainsides closing in over the narrow defile, and the patchwork of greenery giving way to rough, rocky spires still capped in snow in places, despite it being nigh April. Dun grasses sway in an alpine meadow, and the sky is reflected in heartrending purity. The solid stone shelf separating the lake from the other, lower one forms a natural dam of sorts, though in flood, they might be as one, and one day time will blend them. Not an issue for the moment, though. The two standing on the bridge, followed by their procession of clip-clopping coconut hooves and one jenny gives a fine view of the water, and an island shaped something like an arrowhead or a spearhead not far offshore. It is restful here, bleeding away their cares. And if that island happens to hold an intriguing little tower on it, half-hidden in the trees, well….

*

Ice slowly begins to form on the Green Knight's axe. It makes the route tricky.

*

Spotting the tower on the other side of the river, the Green Knight turns toward Lady Tywyll, only to realise she has already seen it as well. He has to remind himself this is no typical noblewoman he accompanies on this quest — and it makes him smile.

At her question, however, he frowns a bit and lowers his head as he ponders his answer. "When gave I my allegiance to the woods… I surrendered also my name. Thou art welcome to use it, if it pleases thee, Lady." And he raises his chin.

"I am Sir Bercilak de Hautdesert. Come, this tower intrigues us both 'twould seem." And so he leads the way toward it, humming faintly to the accompaniment of coconut hooves (at least, that is how the hooves sound, when they strike the road).

*

Off to his left, on the shore, the Green Knight recognises the stirrings of movement too late. His skin crawls with a frisson of warning, and that branch bounces and shudders.

*

"Ah, I see. So that is how it is. Sir Bercilak. I will acquiesce to your desires and refer to you as the Green Knight. I apologize for prying." Tywyll bows her head slightly which might be why it is that she is not looking when the movement begins. There is, after all, the Green Knight and a donkey both shielding her from the surrounding world. Tywyll's lack of size has a great deal of downsides to go with the benefits. She walks calmly and confidently along the bridge, looking around as best she can while intent on the tower ahead.

*

A black crow bursts out from the treetops, its shadowy wings churning up the cool air. It immediately veers eastward towards the rim of the mountain, flapping rapidly. Its course widely veers, cutting south of the island.

The water is still though the bottom isn't visible except up against the shorelines. It's rocky, unsurprisingly, strewn in pebbles rather than sand. The odd avalanche or rock slide threw boulders in at some time in the past, and the water is too cool for much in the way of weeds to go. That being said, there is still somewhere close to ten meters to cross, at least, to reach the bramble covered sides of the islet.

*

Bercilak goes to say something else to the Lady Tywyll — mainly to tell her that she need not apologise for anything — when he notices two things: the temperature shifting significantly toward the colder, and movement in the trees.

Reacting as quickly as he can, he slams the pommel of his axe upon the ground, and conjures a wall of interlocking leaves in front of him and Tywyll… not that he needed to.

Waiting for the area to quieten down a little bit more, he takes up his axe again and looks at Tywyll. "My lady may call me whatever she wishes. This, however…" and he motions to the crow as his protective shield disappears into the ground. "Is an ill omen. Have care… although I doubt thou needest me to say so." The man smiles and heads over to the water, crouching down to examine it a bit.

*

An eyebrow lofts as all of this occurs and for a moment Tywyll is watching the Green Knight's movements. She takes a deep breath and then slowly exhales. Then the Spy Mistress walks forward. As she approaches the water a blank crafted of darkness appears beneath her. Then another as she continues forward. The girl tests her weight against them and nods as they sink slightly but bear her weight. "The water isn't full of evil magic, I presume? The bridge isn't going to extend far behind or in front of us so I'd stay fairly close. Where would you like to tie up poor Chill? She needs a good place to sit and-"

The path is fine. The plank is, however, bumped by something and Tywyll slips. She slides off of it and hits the water, disappearing beneath the surface instantly. A moment later the girl springs upward with a splash, spluttering. C-c-cold…! What on earth?" She is floundering a bit as her clothing drags but Tywyll has thankfully left behind any armor. Her floating plank, however, vanishes."

*

Six or seven steps from shore and the shoreline drops off precipitously. 'Tis no mean walk over, and suddenly ten meters might feel like 25 or more, given the frigid conditions in the water. There is no standing about at waist height a comfortable distance out, and the shock to the system can be enough to induce hypothermia if left long enough.

Oddly, Tywyll falling into the water causes no ripples. The water stretches up, yes, and settles back down without a concentric ring to be seen. The Green Knight has an easier time of it, but it's a little like wading through cold gelatinous soup. He's about halfway through the water when the bushes rustle and a bellowing growl roars from the rampart of the stout tower. Closer it's possible to see the odd architecture, all curves and forms that do not necessarily form a single cylinder of stone, but allow all sorts of sudden escapes into midair or over a bramble bush. And the thick shadow painted over the lovely stonework is not lovely. It is brutish and huge.

*

Falling into a lake is not something the Green Knight does often. He is a champion of the woods… he does not slip. He does not flail. He does not shiver

Except today.

Today, he does all these things — for that water is COLD. It is like ice in his veins, and ploughing forward (rather than swimming gracefully) is about all he can manage in his armour and cloak.

Fortunately, a little magic helps and he conjures some twisting vines by which to pull himself (and Tywyll if she wishes) to the island.

Upon hearing the growl, he forsakes using the vines and summons a spout of water to catapault him to shore — his branch-axe in one hand. "Approach at thy peril, creature!" he exclaims, and weaves a magical shield of vines and darkwater in front of him.

*

For our brave intrepid knights just joining…

The Green Knight is swimming over the ten freezing meters to the island covered in brambles, pines, and a pretty tower that looks utterly unlike any architecture in Caerleon. How he swims in armour is part of his mystery.

Lady Tywyll is flailing about, having fallen into the water.

On the shore, a donkey placidly chews on a pine branch and seems not to mind they stuck her with all their gear. She is a treasure demon, after all.

On the isle comes a tremendous growl, and the shadowy outline of a most tremendous beast.

*

Maximus has been here all along, just quieter than usual. Though, he does look slightly confused. There's a weird mix of Agravaine memories and Maximus memories and he's just not quite sure if he's still dreaming, or that was the dream, and if that was the dream, why wasn't he STILL King. As he begins to focus more into the world of Agravaine, he clears his throat and looks over at Sir Gareth. "I think I dozed off for a moment."

*

Tywyll acceptst he help up. She drags herself easily out of the water and then spends a moment doffing her cloak. Without it she is actually fairly unencumbered. The mask is gone as well, it seems. She is… Pale. Incredibly pale, even among those in the north of England. Her blue eyes wide now Tywyll looks very much the girl she is. She takes a deep breath.

"Ah. Thank you," the young woman manages with as much grace as she can muster. "And now- we find our monster." The area around Tywyll darkens as she strides toward the tower, blackness spreading from her feet as hey alight upon the ground .This is a major working of sorts; it doesn't have any subtlety to it. The world in Tywyll's nearest vicinity is cloaked in shadow as she concentrates.

"Agravaine! Get over here!"

*

Some take the high road, some take the low road. In Gareth's case, the low road is falling face first from the bonnie bonnie bank into Loch Lomond. Alas, no true love is there to greet him as he sits up, sputtering and shaking water out of his face with a look of disgust. "What in…" he says, trying to catch up on where he is and what he's doing.

*

*

"Wha' ye darr come 'ere?"

Turn the volume on a normal man's voice up to another magnitude and that about sums up the challenge blasted to them. The source is a grey-blue skinned titan of sorts, dressed in leathers and stitched cloths, rather than simply wearing heavy shaggy furs or something. His cloak is clasped over one shoulder, and he drags along a caber studded with iron. "Ye dare."

The ogre points his caber at the swimming Green Knight. "I challenge ye tah en duel. Do ye lose I et them."
*

Agravaine wades into the water, cursing, SINNING and just not caring, as he tries to grab hold of Tywyll and make sure there's nothing nefarious keeping her in the water. He looks towards the roaring, "You'd have to swim over here to eat us and you'd never catch all of us!"

*

The Green Knight cranes his head back so he can look up at the ogre, and frowns deeply. "'I…shall lendja en tool, do ee loose et…what?'" he intones slowly and awkwardly, attempting to repeat the ogre's words. "Forsooth, I understand not a word that has issued forth from thy maw as pus from a noxious, open wound… I should lance thy lips with a hot implement and let thy foul words drain…"

Then he turns to Agravaine and Gareth, eyeing the uncloaked Lady Tywyll as well. "Who among ye speaks 'brute'? Where is the Bardd?"

*

Tywyll is a scrawny blonde haired girl of perhaps 18 or 19 years. She is wearing a very nice black dress, black gloves, and shin length black boots. As pale as this girl is she doesn't quite manage to glow in the parial sunlight. She's exited the water as Agravaine comes close but turns to offer the Knight a hand to solid ground. Tywyll is far stronger than it appears, it seems. Something already affirmed by how she manhandled the Rat King.

"I think he wishes to fight you for the fate of our party, sir Knight," Tywyll answers in a soft voice that verges on a drawl. "I will duel if you prefer, of couse. But the creature did ask for you…"

*

"Nae ye," the ogre swipes a very large hand in a negating gesture to Tywyll's suggestion. He instead stands behind the brambles and watches the flailing swimmers and the Green Knight impassively through opalescent eyes. He flicks a dismissive gesture and the warped lake gives a faint shimmer of movement, lapping at the isle. "Ye alone, Green Knight. Meet wi' a duel alone or die 'long wi' 'em."

*

"A duel…" the knight remarks. "With… you. Very well; the woods take exception to thine existence, uncouth behemoth." Sir Bercilak hefts his battleaxe, and bashes the pommel against the ground.

Whether it is a summoned vine, or an extension of the axe-haft itself, something rumbles beneath the ground and then erupts right underneath the ogre… between its legs.

A vine or branch thicker than a man's forearm, spears toward the beast's nethers in the space of a couple of seconds.

*

Gareth, being from Orkney, is able to sound out what the Ogre is trying to say. "He wants to duel you, and if you lose, he eats us!" he calls to the green knight. "So…don't lose," he suggests helpfully.

*

Shaking her head Tywyll breathes another of those quiet sighs and then spreas her arms. The shadows are wrapping around her, concealing her face and the slight shape of her slender form once more. that image might be burned indelibly into minds but Tywyll's albinoid face is no longer seen and the shape of her form is once more hidden. Beyond this the young woman simply stands among the shadows and watches.

Really, the scene is not that odd when the shadow ceases to move. Many of the stranger things are partially hidden in the blackness. It could all be written off as a trick of the light if not for a simple fact: it is the middle of the day. Under heavy clouds? Yes. But for the moment the light aorund her seems dimmer yet.

*

Agravaine is clearly addled because he doesn't even know who is talking to him. He exits the water to stand by Tywyll and Gareth and blinks his long-lashed eyes a couple times. He takes a deep breath. "Well, obviously, I don't agree to being eaten. If he loses, I will just cut the Ogre's head off myself." He boasts.

*

A vine to the nethers! It's no one's idea of fine, but is there any intimation of an Ogre /having/ nethers? Maybe they reproduce by planting rock seeds. It roars, and then predictably flings the caber.

Accuracy is not that important when hurling a very large tree at a man so close.

Nor when there appear to be multiple ogres suddenly speckled across the isle and in the loch. One may be entangled, snarling and cursing, tearing himself free from the thornbush that admittedly doesn't pierce his skin. But the other eight?

*

Bercilak grunts at seeing his probably 'dirty' attack fail to produce the squealing he'd been expecting to hear — and takes a flying tree straight to the face.

The Green Knight explodes into a cloud of Spring-hued leaves (various kinds), reforming again on the other side of the ogre. "Feel free to join the fray!" he calls to his companions, indicating the threat posed by the other ogres. "Mine ego is not so bloated as to take on all these knobbly creatures myself."

With that said, Bercilak commands a veritable hail of razor-edged leaves and twigs to assail his opponent, charging after them with the axe raised to strike at its leg.

*

It's certainly gone beyond the bounds of a normal duel, after all. Gareth pulls wet hair out of his face and then draws his sword. "Well, at least the rest of us have something to do now," he says brightly. "Shall we give them some premature indigestion, then?" he suggests before charging the closest ogre. "Have at thee!" he cries, slashing overhand.

*

Tywyll turns to look out toward the encroaching hordes of ogres, her lbue eyes bright as hse is scaning the horizon. She shakes her head, socwling as she does os, and ake a deep breath. "Well," the diminutive Spy Mistress muses to herself. "At least it shan't be terribly boring." Then she is walking out toward the edge of the island, lifting hr arms. She is waiting for an ogre to charge close so tha she can fling a brrage of shadow spikes in their direction. Meter long, blackly gleaming pillars intended to cause grievous harm to her foes, traveling at the same speed as an arrow.

*

Violence begets violence. The ogres converge, two to Gareth, two to Tywyll, two to Agravaine. One simply vanishes into the Loch, which isn't very fair given anyone in the water has to swim and has no advantage against gravity hauling them down unless they swim. The ogres have no such trouble, though, swinging their cabers with the sharp metal points studded all along. Their swings are brutal, to be sure; they also have a slowness to them that allow most people to get out of the way. Most. But the water has a grudge against Lady Tywyll and the one who vanished reappears, getting under her guard and yanking her by the leg back in. And by back in, that means sailing through the air for a good ten feet and being hurled into the lake.

A spray of thorns and leaves fly at the Green Knight. While Agravaine simpers about being grumpy, he gets mud on himself from the tree trunk slamming directly in front of him, but it falls back the other way. Horrors! Sir Gareth has two ogres circling around him, and they poke and jab to see how easy he is to reach. Apparently not so much as he looks.

*

The ogre that had challenged Bercilak… explodes. Druidic power tears the thing apart in a burst of light, leaf and flesh as the branch-axe connects with it. Bercilak himself stands there, chest heaving — alas, unable to relish in his victory as the other creatures converge on the group.

Murmuring an incantation under his breath, he points the axe at the ground beneath the other ogres' feet, turning the soil into gelatinous muck. Water from the lake swells into the pits, adding to the quagmire. The knight grunts.

"Did you ever think me capable of nobility in battle, Ancient One?" he murmurs aloud, slipping out of his archaic speech without realising. "That mantle should have been mine…"

*

Agravaine is more than able to hold his own against these two Ogres. Not that he treats it as light work…he doesn't. He focuses, using his shield to maximum effect in protecting himself from their heavy blows. He backs from the shore to give himself some extra room to move, then waits for them to come from the water more fully before he engages. Its all pure Knightliness, SHield, block, forward hand slash, all his aim for the guts of them, rather than hacking off limbs like a show-off. He knows how to get it done.

*

Tywyll was watching the two ogres in front of her when the hidden one closes on her. Another barrage of spikes flies through the air toward her first ogre. He has huge umbral spikes impaling him, one through each of his limbs, but somehow the creature is still standing. It is nothing for her to dodge the rough strikes and brutal blows of the second ogre, nimbly darting and acrobatically tumbling over, under, and around their cruel, tremendous cudgels as they make their assaults. Tywyll alights on the ground. She stomps her foot and more spikes rise. They turn to orient on their target.

Tywyll lets out a sharp shout of surprise as she is flung into the air, the girl flailing as she spirals through the sky. The gathered shadows dissipate like mist now that her will is no longer holding them together. There is too much light to cast more than the barest shade. hits the water with a soft splash. No ripples are cast the ogre drags the young woman beneath.

Blindness. Eyes stinging as water assails them. Some part of Tywyll knows that isn't how this works, being submerged, but she is kicking and struggling against the strength of a tremendous ogre. There's a growl, deep in her throat, that translates to bubbles on the surface. Thankfully she manages to fight the urge to inhale. She kicks and struggles, chest heaving with a lack of air.

Panic isn't conducive to staying conscious without air. Muscles fatigue, vision wavers. Her cheeks go from flushed to pale in short order. And then there's a cloud of darkness erupting in the water. More tendrils of shadow shoot out, impaling the ogre through the arm and forcing it to release Tywyll who floats off into the lake somewhat lackadaisically, dress billowing around her. And hidden in a cloud of blackness, like a squid's ink. Just in case one wished to mount a rescue.

*

Sir Gareth does his very best to stay out of an ogre's reach, but that's easier said than done. He runs around the trees to use them as cover. Fortunately no blows land against the brave man that would injure him, though his shield has several proud dents in it!

*

The ogre faced down by the Green Knight, Sir Bredbeddle, does not seem to take very well to his posturing and attempts to use the water against them.

One disappeared, and the other two look at one another. Then with a mighty clap of his bare hands, the one on the left calls up the lake itself. Black crystal water sweeps up the Knight and flings him off his feet, sending him soaring up about ten feet, and lobbing him straight back into the tower. Metal and leather isn't much of a match for a resolute bit of stone, though he smashes off a pretty piece of ornate stonework as he slams into it, and slithers all the way down out of sight. Hard to tell if he lands in a cell or not, but apparently the ogre is satisfied.

"Now we eat!"

"Et them!" shout the remaining five uninjured ogres. The sixth one has to deal with Sir Agravaine. "Be et, bad Knight! Ye lost, ye be supper!"

*

Floating through the water Tywyll eventually regains her senses. She kicks powerfully, struggling toward the nearest bank of the lake. There's not much more she can do save to drag herself out of it and onto a bank. Half conscious this is really teh only thing on the girl's mind. What does an ogre matter should the lady drown, after all?

*

Agravaine notices Tywyll's problem…and he's just not sure if he can affect these monsters or not, but he tries to curl his mind around the Ogres that Tywyll was fighting, to pick her up and carry her to shore, NOT to eat her. Now that may come off weird to the others, and to her, but if he can make them his puppets, then they can do such a convenient task as saving the lady. Meanwhile, partially distracted, he manages to injure one Ogre in the gut, playing more defensively and looking for that misstep that he can take advantage of. He sees one in the other Ogre facing him and he steps in, bashes, and then plunges his sword at its chest with a hefty HRWAAAAAAH!!!

*

'Tis more than a flesh wound! Agravaine manages to slice through the defenses of the brute razzing him, though this means that when he swivels in a certain fashion to bash through the bleeding monster, he leaves his side open. And such is where a meaty fist smashes into his ribcage, the armour absorbing some of the blow, but certainly knocking him into the water where knights don't swim happily. Or water which threw the Green Knight senseless against a tower. Another pair of fiends besetting Sir Gareth finally manage to corner him, and he gets a good hard smack that might have him seeing stars from a caber bouncing off his chest. However, he does not collapse. Lady Tywyll is still flailing around in the water, and the prickles she has do not quite stop her from being bounced up onto the shore and besieged by a hail of small rocks. Someone decided to throw stones at her.

*

Sir Gareth did not run away, be it bravely, or not. He took down an ogre, and look puzzled by what he smelled. Not that most people try to think about what Ogres smell like. "They don't smell right," he says…just before getting smacked in the chest and staggering from the blow. "Smell right what window?" he says as his brain reboots. He gives himself a quick shake, brings his sword up again and glares at his two dancing partners. "Let's…try this again," he says, lunging forward.

*

Agravaine is knocked to the side and he clunks and clinks and loses his agility in the water. He doesn't fall over though. Glancing with more concern to the flailing one drowning in the water, he starts cussing again. The one remaining by him that's been previously injured, he tries to make quick work of with a twisting upswing, guarding himself better, but if that sends him to the grave, he's going to ignore the second coming at him to try to grab a bit of Tywyll and drag her unceremoniously to the shore. Its not a gloriously pretty rescue, but…its not drowning. But he does open himself up to that 2nd one.

*

The ogre is banished by the attack made by Sir Gareth, crashing on the ground. Water splashes around, and then his companion takes a good hard swipe at the Knight and knocks him back into the water. The water is already splashing around, stirred up to a mess. Agravaine's assault definitely hits another in his presence, and the ogre howls, turning into ash and dust and black raven feathers with the strike. Tywyll cries out in fear and anger, kicking at the ground and hurrying herself along. The pale woman is clearly exhausted, but contributing to her escape. Which matters, considering Agravaine gets a whomp that knocks him over her. Whoops.

*

A solid blow from Sir Gareth, one that splits the Ogre from shoulder to hip. It's not pretty, of course, and again Gareth is puzzled. "I don't think they're real!" he says after a moment, before facing his other Ogre. "Not all of them at least!" Because -this- one has a smell that could be used as a siege weapon. And a fist that -hits- like one, as well. He's knocked backwards, flailing as he goes under. After a moment, though, despite the weight of armor, he bursts back to the surface, swimming strongly to the bonnie, bonnie banks. "What is it," he gasps between breathes, "with the water? I'm a tiger! We're fine with water!" Now he calls towards the others, "Get the one that hit me! I think it's the only real one!"

*

Maximus rolls in the shallow water, doing some flailing himself, sputtering, freezing-ass cold. He's submerged for a moment, so his hair is all in pretty ringlets around his furious face. He staggers and struggles to get back to his feet and face the whomper before they can do it again. Wavering in the shallows, while buckets of water drain from every bit of armor, he pants heavily and waits for it, then swings his sword the moment the Ogre lifts its arm, trying to cut a gash from the armpit up across his ugly face. "You're a tiger, right, I'll remember that later!"

*

Two strikes made while a pile of ogres come running for the two remaining knights cause a groaning clash. Swords crack against the stony hide of a beast terrible in size and strength, but the sparks turn into spots of blood, and that blood smells most foul. Rather like pigeon shit, honestly, if anyone had the pleasurable experience to know. The behemoth punches Gareth away, turning and twisting, but his size makes him slower naturally than the other wolf snapping at his flanks and he has no protection against that. Brutal flashes of blood and steal weave together, jellifying blows exchanged and the water doing its damnedest to pull Sir Gareth down and trip up Sir Agravaine.

Lady Tywyll cries out again in warning, to no end. The Green Knight is still unseen, slumped somewhere in the tower or at its base.

Then several inches of live steel plunge into the ogre's chest, and the other three vanish. It bellows a crackling gurgle, and swipes out to clutch the sword, but to no avail. Colour is already bleeding from its massive form, and then the cloth spills away, sloughed off into the lake. Its skin isn't much further along, the hardened shell tearing away to reveal not viscera and skeletal bits, but a cage of twisted stone and roots, within a glowing aquamarine sliver the size of a child's fist.

*

Gareth leans over, breathing heavily as the other ogres vanish, and this one…falls apart. "Hah," he pants. "Thought so. The other ones, they had no smell when I cut them. Only this one, though," he notes. He uses the tip of his sowrd to spread the ruins of the cage away from the sliver. "The final blow was yours, Sir Agravaine. Would you care for the honors?"

*

Agravaine tromps over to Gareth and reaches his wet, gauntleted hand inside the bramble to fetch out the shard. "Yes…something was…not right about them. But…what of our comrad…/sort of comrad/, the Green Knight?" He looks towards the isle. "You have a keen sense of smell, /tiger/." he grins crookedly.

*

The water continues to lazily lap at the tower and the day promises chill, but at least they aren't being assaulted by ogres. Alas, all their wounds are very much real and so is the likelihood of hypothermia hanging about in a dark, drowning deep lake.

*

From the shore, the donkey snorts.

*

Tiger? Gareth looks briefly confused, again, and then remembers what it was he said, and looks chagrined. "I don't know where that came from. I'd never say something like that." Except clearly he did. He sticks his tongue out at the donkey, and then looks to the island. "Let's dress our wounds, first. I suspect he'll be fine, but I can swim over there and look and smell for him."

*

Agravaine moves up from the shore, to higher ground, before he starts stripping, laying out the armor, tabbard, and his shirt, before trying to build a fire before they all freeze. "You keep talking about smelling for things and the tiger comment makes more sense. Come, all of you, and get warm and dry."

*

Gareth does likewise, removing his armor, setting it aside carefully, but he hesitated before taking off his tunic. Why? That's just silly! "Well I've always had powers like one," he says, making himself take off the tunic, hoping it wasn't noticed. "Smell, night vision, strength. That's why I have it as my emblem. But to say that I -am- one…I just have been punch drunk."

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