Confrontation at the Floating Chest

Lord Fred had a dilemma. His chainmail and pack weighed him down enough so that he could not float or swim in the warm spring that held the mysterious chest. Every thrash and kick was now a struggle. He could not stay in the spring. On the other hand, a fight against the collection of opponents seemed to be hopeless. There were at least five of them, all armed and ready to strike, and only one of him. He instinctively tried swimming away from this group, but this would buy him little time. Bogged down by waterlogged clothes, he might not be able to strike his first blow before the bowman fired his first shot. Fred had to make a choice. Preferring to go down fighting to the less noble fate of drowning, Fred dropped down on his hands and legs and crawled on the dark red cobbles of the lakeshore. His arms ached from the effort of staying afloat, and he breathed in deep gasps, trying to replenish the air to his burning lungs. He could not get to a weapon, being bound as it was to his pack, so his only immediate choice was hand-to-hand combat.

Fred quickly glanced up, and noticed that the guardians of the chest were not firing at him, but instead were circling around him at a distance as if to cut off his escape. He struggled to rise, and staggered clumsily out of the water. When he succeeded in doing this, he noticed that the creatures were slowly closing, as if ready to attack. He was well within the firing range of the crossbowman and an opponent carrying some type of spear or lance, but nobody from this group had fired yet. Fred, even somewhat disoriented from his two plunges into the spring, realizes that his odds in a fight are not good. Instinctively, Lord Fred

1. charged the nearest opponent, hoping to break free of the ring.
2. put his hands on top of his head in a gesture of surrender.
3. coolly strips off his pack and waterlogged clothes, as if the guardians of the chest were not there.

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