Triumph

Turning to face the remaining four trogs and Da'treal, Akara and Animir were both painfully aware of the wounds they already had. Their chances were looking slender. Then, with a jolt, Animir rememberd the eight potion-bottles they'd found in the storeroom, now obviously revealed as Da'treal's property. It was time to take a chance... Leaning back out of combat for a moment, she grabbed one from her belt pouch and bit the cork out, before swigging it down in desperate haste.

The gamble paid off. As the potion's magical effects flowed through her, she felt her injuries fade, and her strength return. With added vigour, she returned to the fight. Her flashing blade forced the trogs backwards for a moment, and with startling speed the agile elf dropped to the tunnel floor in a lightning backwards roll, taking her away from their blades to bounce to her feet fifteen feet away next to Akara, and leaving the trogs staring baffled at the spot where she'd stood.

Swiftly, she pressed a second potion into Akara's hand before taking up a defensive stance once more to face the oncoming foe. The trogs closed once more, but the pair were reinvigorated and pressed them hard.

Behind them, they could hear Da'treal casting another spell. After a few moments, a shimmering shortsword of arcane energy appeared in front of Akara and began trying to attack him. But for the magic of the Mage Armour wand that Animir had laid on him he would have died, but the Spiritual Weapon was defeated by the defensive spell, and it was never any serious threat to the valiant little kobold.

After that the tide turned, and the two heroes slew two trogs and downed another. As that one fell, Animir realized that the Fae Mhor had come silently up behind him ready to join the fray - typically waiting until his henchmen had weakened the opposition before risking his own skin. Da'treal advanced slowly, treading heedlessly on his fallen follower as he did so, slowly drawing a gleaming and obviously magical longsword. His dark face twisted with hate as he regarded the detested light elf, and he raised his blade to the guard.

Gritting her teeth, Animir engaged him, and instantly realized that this was the most skilled swordsman she had ever fought. His shining blade flickered like lightning, and she found she'd taken two painful wounds without even realizing. Her courage did not fail, however, and she fought back with every ounce of her skill. His hate overwhelmed his training, and Da'treal struck harder than he should have, over-extending himself. A gap in his guard opened for a fraction of a second, and Animir struck, straight-armed, driving her point straight through her foe's eye and into his brain. Da'treal twitched for a moment and then crumpled onto his face at her feet.

Seeing his master slain, the last trog broke and fled up the tunnel; a fatal error, as he came within reach of the coffle of vengeful dwarf miners at the workface. He did not survive his mistake.

Gasping, Animir picked up the sword Da'treal had dropped, and confirmed what she'd thought on first seeing it; it was not of Fae Mhor make, but regular elven crafting. Slender elf-letters curled up the blade, spelling out the name "Anvarna". She racked her brains, but could not remember any such weapon from tales she'd heard.