“I don’t care who you are, get out of my way!” Deormund shouted, gripping his spear.
Nora grabbed him by the shoulder before he had time to do something foolish. “Careful ser Wright, this spirit is as strong as the ones below. We cannot just choose to ignore it.”
She could feel him wanting to break away from her grip. “So you would suggest we just let Volkmarr do as he wishes?”
Dah’Marra stepped up beside them, her bow back in its holster. “If you 3 can keep this spirit occupied, we two can slip past.”
Famfrit had stood passively by during their little discussion, but she suspected that would not last forever. Bodvar stepped up next to them, axe resting on his shoulder. His eyes were entirely focused on the huge spirit-form before them. “We don’t have time to plan this out. After it attacks, run through.”
The party quickly moved to surround Famfrit, with Dah’Marra and Deormund on each far flank. The narrow space at the top of the lighthouse and the sheer size of Famfrit’s form made for tight quarters regardless. The summoned spirit still regarded them as if they were insignificant, making not a move to shift its own position.
Chanting an incantation, Erroix opened with a massive ball of flame. It crossed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, impacting with Famfrit. A plume of steam exploded outwards to cover the top of the lighthouse. 3 shapes closed with Famfrit as Bodvar, Deormund and Dah’Marra took the opportunity. They scattered as Famfrit swung its cannon through the steam, sending it swirling away. The spirit-form had barely finished the swing before Bodvar had ducked back in and swung his axe at Famfrit. The keen edge dug deep into Famfrit’s upper thigh, drawing a grunt of pain from the spirit. As the two trashed at each other, the last 2 shapes ran past Famfrit, closing the distance with Volkmarr who stood somewhere beyond the cloud of steam.
A cry of pain and the groan of metal sounded as Famfrit finally found an angle and bashed Bodvar away, sending the highlander sliding towards the edge. He caught a pillar to stop his deadly slide and got up on one knee. His left shoulder-plate had taken the brunt of the spirit-forms attack and had buckled. A few drops of blood dripped onto the white stone from beneath the shoulder-guard.
“I commend your efforts, hyur, but you cannot win this battle.” Famfrit tore out the battle-axe still embedded in its leg and tossed it back to Bodvar. It towered over the highlander, its curious weapon hoisted onto its shoulder.
Bodvar wrenched at the damaged armour, but the strap must have remained undamaged. “We don’t need to put you down, just buy time for our friends.” He unbuckled the guard as he spoke, tossing it aside.
“Ah yes, the two you sent after my master. They will be unsuccessful.”