Hedge: If a Tree Falls and a Dwarf is under it...who hears?

Remsfeld had been watching his Father on the forge all day. The rhythmic pounding of the hammer on anvil was a sweet sound that accompanied a mountain dwarf into the world, acted as a backdrop for wedding vows, and even signaled his entrance into the after-life. There was a loud sizzle as his Father dipped the blazing hot sword into the water to cool it. The edges of his Father’s mouth drooped as he looked down at the fire raging beneath the furnace. “There is never enough wood.” His Father gave a slight wave of his hand, signaling Remsfeld to drop another log onto the fire.

Too much wood. It was the most immediate thought from Remsfeld as he remained tangled upon the hedge. The Western Aborean loomed over him – almost comically large compared to the smaller dwarf. Remsfeld keep his eyes on the plant-tree’s scythe. The dwarf was completely surprised as the needle volley that sprang forth from the creature. Remsfeld brought his hands up to cover his face and neck. He might have made it had he not been hindered. Needles like pricks peppered his hands, face, neck, finding small holes the dwarf never knew existed. The poison was also immediate, racing through his blood stream. Even a dwarf can be affected by poison. 

Qwyn was not sure how he got himself into these type of situations. Only hours ago he had been happily riding a fair prelat when life go turned upside down, or sideways, well he and Alyssa had been sideways and upside down also so these situations tended to even out. He added some bass to his voice to gain a bit of combat advantage with a bluff, “Look out!!! there's a giant woodpecker right behind you!" Qwyn glared as his enemy, once again his eyes gleaming with brilliant colors (28 to hit). This time the Eastern Aborean reeled up the effect of the mental assault (11 hit points). Qwyn took half a moment to wonder whether these plant-trees even knew common.

Sweat began to trickle down Voss’s brow. Even in the coldest battle fields Voss could always count on working up a good sweat with minimal effort. His first commander had even nicknamed him Sir Drenched when he had found Voss ringing out his under clothing after the first battle.

Voss blew the sweat away from his eyes as he quickly took stock of the situation. Despite being able to see the creature assaulting Remsfeld there was nothing Voss could really do to reach his ally. He stepped forward to better angle himself between the remaining Eastern Aborean and the Dire Boar (D9). Both of his swords flashed as he slashed and stabbed at his surrounding foes with unbound fury – he was not even sure it would work, after all he had never trained to battle a tall plant-tree and wild animal at the same time.

The blinded Wild Boar, the recipient of Alion’s spell last round, lifted its head high as though trying to sniff the air to find its opponent. It left its front legs exposed. Dire Boars are tough Voss realized as his sword bounced harmlessly (20 to hit) off the creature’s thick, stiff legs.

Voss continued his whirl wind attack. The Eastern Aloborean was a far more inviting target (24 to hit) despite the plant-tree’s odd anatomy, surprising reflexes, and bark-like hide. Only Voss’s considerable skill and his Stormbiter made it possible to slip through the tree’s defenses (16 hit points.)

It is either half-dead or half-alive, depending on one’s point of view.

The volley of needles from the Eastern Aborean came unexpectedly (he wouldn't have seen what happened to Remsfeld). Disguised neatly through the leaves on the creatures body the needles struck Voss flush in the face and throat. His helm blocked some, though not nearly enough to save him from the pain suddenly wracking his body (10 hit points.) His eyes, tongue, even his cheeks felt the painful pricks. Most men would have been slowed by the pain, though somehow Voss shook off the results of the poison.

Remsfeld was in bad shape. Branches, prickers, poison needles, his movements were hindered and he was slow. He thought of his Father swinging his hammer and anvil. Repetition breeds skills and strength. Those were his Father’s words when it came to smithing though it was the same for a warrior in battle. Both hands firmly on his Reproachful Greatsword the dwarf swung with all of his might. A Brute Strike. Everything into the blow he could muster (29 to hit.)

And the Western Aborean fell (30 hit points damage.) 

Unfortunately for Remsfeld they were still in the same space, without enough room to maneuver the tree collapsed onto the dwarf. His eyes widening the dwarf managed to get out of the way, though he found himself pinned down. “Need some help, cleric,” he muttered. His wounds and hedge making it impossible to do anything except crawl out through the next round.

Doesn't sound like anyone's been hurt too bad - Remmy's taken the worst but he seems "ok." That was Alion’s thought. Remmy is calling for help. That was Alion's second thought. Alion whispered a brief prayer and divine light washed over Remsfeld, helping to mend his wounds and spot the poison coursing through his body (22 hit points regained though it costs Remsfelt a healing surge.)

The blinded Dire Boar continued to whip its head about. Tusks flashed as it gored in the direction of Qwyn. The tiefling’s pants leg ripped loudly as he barely dodged the the tusk, though the sharp weapon tore it the pants to shreds though somehow not hurting the man himself. If the animal had not been blinded the blow would have certainly landed.