This could have been easily avoided. Had he been more focused on a task, more aware of his surroundings, he would not have fallen for such a simple trap. In an effort to discover the lair of an elusive warlord, whose identity he had yet to discover, Malcom ventured blindly into a snare, before he was set upon by a dozen of savages, who had then captured him and proceeded to lead him someplace unknown. The long trek gave the young warrior plenty of time to think of the mistakes of his that had brought him into captivity. Soon enough, he came to a realisation that the sound that diverted his attention from the dangers ahead of him was not natural in origin. Could that be possible that he was observed and then distracted deliberately? He may find out eventually, but for now, he had greater worries.

He had to escape his captors, who continued to lead him across the rainforest, as beautiful as it was harsh. Eventually, an opportunity had emerged. A steep cliffside, leading down into a thick overgrowth twenty or so feet below, stretched alongside their trail. Surely, a jump down the cliff was inviting some scrapes and bruises, especially since some of the growth seemed thorny. But Malcom that figured that it surely beats discovering what awaits him at his captors' current destination.

Having swallowed down, and taken a deep breath, the young warrior had thrown himself to the side with all the force he could muster in his restraints, knocking one of his captors down the cliffside, before falling behind him. The savage's body served well to break Malcom's fall, making his descent much less painful than he first anticipated. The captors soon followed, although being wary of the thorny undergrowth beneath them, let alone the sheer drop, their descent was much more cautious, buying the young warrior enough time to free himself from his restraints and flee deep into the jungle. With the adrenaline coursing through his body as it was, he could afford to pay little heed to the thorns scraping against his calves and shins.

Eventually he had to pause in his tracks, for his now-pursuers would surely catch up to him - a feat made far easier with the trail of blood and footprints he was leaving on the jungle's soft soil. Although he seemed to be in a sorry state - wearing only a flimsy loin wrap, and having been peppered by plenty of small, yet bleeding cuts - he felt relieved that he was no longer restrained. As a matter of fact, he even liked his current chances - however, he had to arm himself before meeting the enemy. The warrior wasted no time searching his immediate surroundings for at least an improvised weapon.

Leodrisa hopped through the trees as she spent her time exploring. She had a habit of pausing however, and listening, in case someone was around. She gently moved her bow on her back, making sure it wouldn't fall out. After a few new missions and being rewarded with some silver, she wanted to stop and take some time to breath. She almost had neglected this aspect of her life. So hopefully, she wanted this moment to breathe and think about the next path to choose.

Soon enough, she ended up hearing something. She tilted her head and looked down, noticing a man. She hopped onto an upper branch and looked down at him. He appeared to need some help, yet…she was a tad worried about him. After all, she didn't willingly trust others. The last cases she took, she had earned a cut in her cheek and had nearly ended up with a broken bow multiple times. So for now, as she observed him move, she leapt from tree to tree, almost following him. If she would end up trusting him, then perhaps she would offer some of her own help. If not, then she would move on.

The man's scouring through the woods soon proved fruitful, as he caught scent of a felled animal. Indeed, having paced just a little bit further, he came upon a half-eaten carcass of a local herbivore, roughly the size of a small horse. Normally Malcom would have not stooped so low as to defile a carcass, but this time he was desperate. Whispering his apologies to the felled beast, he grabbed hold of the bare femur and wrenched it free. Seeing his pursuers - six of them - about to catch up to him, he gave himself a brief moment to gauge the bone's weight and balance before darting further ahead.

Knowing that even in spite of his fine physique, he could not outrun the Chalk-Hoof tribesfolk, he did not run at full pace, saving his strength for an imminent encounter instead. As one of the Chalk-Hooves came within her club's distance, Malcom had halted abruptly, letting her crash against his back. As she still struggled for breath, the man had grabbed her with his free hand and threw her over his shoulder, sending her crashing into the undergrowth. In what seemed like a continuous motion, Malcom then ducked to avoid another Chalk-Hoof, who jabbed at him with his spear. He then swiftly spun around and swung the femur at his attacker. The pilfered bone made an audible thud as it smacked against the tribesman's liver. The Chalk-Hoof immediately collapsed, not even able to curse Malcom's name in his pain.

The remaining four Chalk-Hooves were quick to circle Malcom, each brandishing their weapons, although they appeared hesitant to act, seeing their fugitive fight off the two of their own. As the man went on to plan his next move, the tribeswoman he had felled first, crawled behind him in a sneaky manner, having regained her consciousness. She then leapt onto his back, before burying her filed teeth in his shoulder. Although Malcom had not lost his footing, in his surprise he let go of the femur he held. As he found himself busy fighting the tribeswoman off, the remaining four felt much more eager to approach with their weapons…

She looked down and widened her eyes in surprise as she noticed the battle the man was dealing with. She quickly started to move through the woods, keeping up with the battle and curiously tilting her head as she noticed the fight. She brushed her hair away from her face and tensed a little bit, as she worried about the man. She felt like he would need some help, as this situation reminded her of many previous struggles and close escapes.

She swung her bow down and fired off a few warning shots. She felt like she needed to assist, yet kept her own distance. After all, she had not heard a peep out of this man. And afterwards, who knew what could happen? For all she knew, he could turn against her, proving that her gut instinct had a habit of being wrong from time to time. She kept firing off shots, seeking to provide a little fear and keep them back, proving some space between the man and them. 

She hopped into a tree behind the man and paused, quietly moving another arrow into place and waiting once again.

The sounds of arrows striking against the trees before Malcom came much to his surprise. It appeared that the Chalk-Hooves were no less surprised, as they had ducked for cover and were effectively held off. For that brief moment, he was free to deal with the lone woman, who continued to bite him with her tapered teeth. The pain he felt was severe, although far from unbearable. He put aside his thoughts as of where did the arrows come from to fight off the Chalk-Hoof who continued to cling onto his back. Malcom jerked his head backwards a few times, until he managed to strike her in the nose, giving him time to reach around her neck with his arm and throw her to the ground yet again, before stomping on her sternum.

The blow he dealt might have not been fatal, but at least he would be no longer hindered. Which did come in handy, when the time has come to deal with the one of his pursuers, who remained unfazed by the barrage of arrows that had whizzed past the scene. The vile tribesman attempted to swing his stone-headed club against Malcom, who, having ducked beneath the blow, lunged forward. Having plowed into the Chalk-Hoof with his shoulder, the man had tackled him into the ground, before knocking him unconscious with a single headbutt to the jaw. Not willing to handle his opponent's weapon, which he believed to be teeming with vile energy, he leaped back to retrieve the femur he had claimed earlier.

Of the three Chalk-Hooves who were still capable of combat, one had darted past him, intent on hunting down his mysterious helper. The other two, in their desperation, raised their weapons and attempted to rush Malcom down. Their weapons rapidly clashed against each other, as the man continued to stand his ground. It was clear however, that the clash would be a fair test of his stamina against the two of his attackers.

She smirked mischievously as she saw the impact her arrows had done. Anything to help. She swung into another tree, biting her lip softly as she did her best to recover quickly. Sometimes she didn't land as clearly and neatly as she hoped. But as long as she didn't fall out of the tree and directly into the battle below, she considered it a job well done. She quickly referenced her collection of arrows. A couple left. 
"Dang it." She hissed under her breath.

She looked down once again and tilted her head curiously as she noticed one of the attackers run past. Could that one be looking for her? She hopped down to lower branches and patiently waited, lowering her bow for a second. She kept up with the attacker before she caught him by surprise, hopping down and landing a few quick hits to knock them unconscious. She quickly brushed her hair away from her face before she started to climb up again and hide in the safety of the trees. 

She looked down at the stranger again and waited. She remained on the lower branches of a nearby tree, ready to hop over and help the stranger if it looked like it was needed. 

Malcom fought well, but the exhaustion from combat and the previous experience of being leashed through the wilds in unpleasant conditions began to give in. He found himself circled by one of the two Chalk-Hooves, at which point being struck from both sides proved too much for his fighting prowess. Having been struck in the torso with the club and the staff a few times made him lose his grip on the femur and collapse onto all fours, at which point the tribesmen proceeded to restrain him.

Apparently they had their goal in keeping him alive, he thought. Then his thoughts went to the mysterious stranger who had let him put up a fight for just a while longer. Are they still there, watching his demise? He would not know. Nor he could think about it, being held by one of his captors. Another Chalk-Hoof had called for his other comrade, one that went after Malcom's unknown helper, as he produced a length of leather strap to bind his captive.

She looked over and tensed. She looked around carefully before she swung herself over. She knew that someone else was out there and she was hopeful that she could sneak her way over, directly getting into the battle and allowing this poor man who was clearly being held captive to escape. As she pressed her weight onto the new branch that she landed on, she felt it start cracking and she let out a small yelp. As the branch snapped and gave out, she clung onto the trunk.

She heard her bag fall to the ground and managed to use a leg to prevent her bow from falling down as well. Her only form of defense now that her cover was most likely blown. She didn't want to look down as she tried to reach for a branch higher up. One that could hopefully support her weight and give her time to recover.

The attention of Malcom and both his pursuers soon turned towards the noise of wood cracking. At which point they saw a young woman clung to the trunk of a tree, holding onto her bow with her foot as she tried to climb up, presumably to secure a more comfortable position. While one of the Chalk-Hooves continued to pin Malcom down, the other had let go of the leather strap, and had instead reached for one of the few smaller clubs he kept stuffed beneath his belt. As he readied himself to throw it at the woman, Malcom managed to squirm on the ground a little ahead, just enough so he could reach forward and bite the thrower in the ankle.

A pained yelp resonated through the woods as the tribesman had let go of his throwing club and hopped forward, likely buying the woman just a little more time to flee or otherwise act, while the other one, the one that held Malcom, struck him in the back of the head with his meaty fist, effectively rendering him dazed, if not unconscious.

She wasn't aware of what was going on below her as she reached for the stable branch. She only tensed as she heard a yelp and forced herself to look down towards the struggle going on below her. She noticed the throwing club lying on the ground and slowly connected the dots. Now that he was down it was safe to assume they would go after her. She looked up and managed to assemble herself, scooping her bow back into her arms and assembling another arrow into place. 

She started to fire off arrows at the attackers, still working to help the man on the ground. He had bought her some time, so hopefully she could pay him back. She landed hits to injure the attackers, from an arrow to the ankle to another shot towards a shoulder.