The ten teams of ten were in position, eight of each ten were ready to start the run to the objective, a flag painted in the fluorescent guts of the Witchfly, essentially a fat firefly with a wasp's sting. Sparta's team was allied with two others, though Sparta suspected that the second would betray his team. The horn blew, and Lance watched as four teammates changed into large wolves, and another four -including Sparta- sat upon the wolves as they would horses. The wolves jumped from the rim of the bowl, the steep incline of the bowl making sure they landed about ten meters away from the rim, and about the same lower. The rim was made of hard-packed sand, but the incline was less-sturdy. Lance watched as the wolves reached the flatter, much larger forest part of the bowl.
'Why don't you take out the other snipers?' asked Tamrlaine from Lance's hip.
'Because Sparta said that I should stay here.' answered Lance.
'Let's take a look at the two parties here. Me, a three-thousand year old divine weapon that transcended it's own insentience to a higher plane of understanding. It seems to you that I also can tell the future to a small degree. And the other party, a sixteen year old werewolf pup whose team hasn't won a game of Hunt and Rescue in the last two seasons. Lets go with my advice.' said Tamrlaine quickly.
'What should I do?' asked Lance.
'Run round the Rim, and incapacitate the pairs of two players for each other team. Then all you team has to do is throw the flag to you, and you can leave with it, calm as a cucumber.'
'Sounds good.' said Lance. 'Come with me.' he said aloud to his Quarterstaff-wielding mate.
'What?' she asked in confusion.
'Do it!' shouted Tamrlaine mentally.
Galvanized into action, the pair sprinted to the next set of snipers, Lance just tackling the first one who was so surprised to see a differing tactic that he just went down, winding himself inbetween the hard-packed sand and Lance. Lance swept his leg around, tripping the second opponent, just as she closed with Quarterstaff. Lance winced as the thin quarterstaff cracked across the shoulder-blades of the downed sniper. They ran to the next pair. These were equally unprepared and easy to dispose of. Lance made a mental note, that if Tamrlaine's tactic work, to ask for thumb-cuffs from the blacksmith. Lance ran ahead of the lagging second, wondering about the ebbs and flows of his fitness, and actually sheathed Tamrlaine as he ran, much to his protestation. The pair were intent on the forest, and Lance saw one of them draw back his bow, aiming at .... Sparta, who had the flag! Lance reached them just as the archer loosed, bending low. Instead of any real contact, Lance spread his arms grabbing an ankle in each hand, and whipping the two legs out from under their owners. It was a move that only really worked once in every ten attempts, but for Lance this was that one. Both the snipers fell to the ground, their legs flailing helplessly of the edge of the rim.
Lance had now dominated, with his partner, just under half of the rim, and wasn't slowing down. The first three sets of partners he had engaged had been bunched up, and Lance saw it was now at least eight hundred meters to the next pair. But he also noticed their banner, yellow square depicting an olive branch with a camo green background. This was the team that was allied with Sparta's, and wasn't expected to betray them. He nodded to their confused looks a minute later, and continued on his way.
He reached the next pair, who were ready for Lance. He drew Tamrlaine, and exchanged blows with them for some time, neither gaining an advantage, though Tamrlaine was shouting instructions to Lance. An arrow fizzed out of nowhere, pinning the left sniper to the sand. Not questioning his luck and inferring that it would be seconds before the arrow was unpinned from the ground, Lance delivered three overhand strikes, hard, fast, and exhausting, and then drove his left fist into the sniper's belly. It didn't do much, but it opened up the sniper's face for a dizzying hilt strike. Lance then pushed the second sniper down into the bowl, the forty meters of dry, soft sand more than a wall to the unfortunate sniper. Lance looked around and saw his partner waving. He signaled his thanks for the well-placed shaft, and then deciphered that she would then head around the other way to meet him.
