Too busy dodging Rakaneht's deadly blade, the ugly basher doesn't have time to process Odg's enchanted words, the will to fight to strong to be damped yet. Yaga has more like a his dagger hit its target before bursting with lightening, the shocks spray the ground and catch the poor sod next to him, dropping the berk to the ground.
Finally the dirty rag-pickers get up the courage to attack, some just advancing while others rush in with clubs swinging. Its clear this leatherheads aren't real fighters though, just street trash with some poor weapons meant to overwhelm someone. Their wide swings are easily dodged in the midst of combat. Alfgar however learns that some of these gutter rats have some knowledge of how to put the hurt on someone as he gets brained by a swing, though not serious he begins to see stars while his vision blurs from the pain.
Yaga ducks the basher's attack and ripostes with his long knife, summoning spirits to his aid in a whirlwind of unearthly power. The basher is thrown back--and cut badly--and Yaga himself gains both time and space. He launches his knife again, infusing it with energy that swirls around his target basher in a weird kind of spiritual shield.
Alfgar, dazed by the blow to the head by the heavy club, still has sense of mind enough to stick his shortsword into the basher that is trying to get at him. Damn, Rash. . . now I know how you feel mid-fight.
What do they want with this one? With these others? Chrys thinks as street breaks into a brawl around him. He heaves his crystal pick up in the air and brings it crashing down on beggar in front of him. Meanwhile he probes the mind of the man assaulting the bladeling at his side. "You have no quarrel with that One."
Seeing multiple foes moving towards him, the genasi slips sideways, plunging himself into the thick of things. With the emotionless expression still on his face, he lets loose a brief sigh as mutters some words in an arcane tongue and a loud crack splits the air as the genasi's sword explodes in a cloud of shrapnel, only to reform in his hand a moment later.
Ogdurnan shrugs as the basher ignores him - being overlooked is nothing new to him. While the basher is distracted, Ogdurnan mutters a few arcane words, and the wind carries the suggestion to the man's ears. If he doesn't wise up, he'll walk right into the genasi's blade...
The spirits comes to protect Yaga, taking revenge against the basher who threw a knife at him. It isn't enough to stop the man's reckless charge however and Yaga's return slash misses as the fight begins for real. Despite seeing stars, Alf has wits about him to stick his attack thru the gut, much to the man's suprise. Chrys easily brains the poor sod before him in the head, the rag-picker crumpling like a rag doll with a hole in the head. Raka unleashes a whirlwind of magic energy, shredding the foes before him and giving Odg the chance to effect the fight as the gnome's magic seeps into the basher's will. Stumbling back from blow of arcane energies, Odg's spoken word contorts the man's arms causing him to smack his own weapon into his face. With a cry of pain the berk turns away, foolishly opening his back for the genasi to stick his blade into. Never one to play fair, Rahgon deliverer's a ball busting blow to his human opponent. The man drops his club with a squeak and crumples to the ground.
The fight seems to have taken a poor turn for the attackers and men start to get desperate. A bark from the Gith sends one of the street rats forward, swing his club wildly at Chrys. The hunk of wood connects with the shardmind's arm, cracking and chipping his crystalline form. The other rag-picker can feel the hum of Raka's magic pressuring him, the leatherhead's eyes flickering for escape or help. With his back against the wall he pushes off with a big swing at the genasi. The swordmage however easily parries the man's attack, the stunned berk looking at him with regret.
The last two street dogs muscle on, one ignoring Chrys' mental influence, even as it slows his movements, to take a swipe at Yaga and the nimble bladling ducks under the man's pained swing. Alfgar's foe puts his back to the wall, sliding off the midget's blade and takes a heavy swipe at him. The rogue has little trouble backing out of reach while the basher's slides against the wall, leaving a smear of blood as he tries to inch away. The Githyanki, seeing the fight going poorly, curses before circling around like a wolf in the battlefield. He comes up upon Chrys' back as the shardmind deals with the rag-picker's blow and stabs at his exposed side. It's a nasty blow, cracking and shattering the crystal along Chrys' side, sending chunks tumbling to the ground.
"Berk bastard," Yaga snears at the attacker in front of him. He steps back and gives his attacker the Evil Eye. Then he turns and, recognizing the Githyanki as the group's leader, hurls his long knife at the fool, empowering it with as much spiritual energy as he can spare.
Rahgon, catching Alfgar's intention, runs up to cut off the basher's escape. The goblin leaps at the man, grabbing him by the throat. The street tough is used to this sort of fight though and pushes back from the goblin's crushing grip.