Although Rosemary was accustomed to being noticed when she went out, she’d never learned to enjoy it. Every admiring glance always reminded her of why her father had tried to put her up for sale like another one of his clay pots. And now, the looks she received from the mercenaries were far worse than anything she’d endured before. Unlike most of the village men, who wished her no harm, there was nothing friendly, or flirting, or playful in the eyes of these strangers. Instead, they watched her with unabashed hunger, apparently taking delight in the terror their attention generated. Wishing that she’d brought a shawl to cover her head (in addition to the shawl she already wore around her waist), Rosemary stared at the ground as she hurried along, trying to keep close to Julen and Railtus.
When the armored man approached Rosemary, she wanted to strike him, to make him pay for the state of helplessness he and his ilk had reduced her to. But the fact remained that she was helpless. The large number of men standing ready to back him up hadn’t escaped her. And as much as she trusted Railtus, she feared for her husband more. She wouldn’t put him in a dangerous situation if she could help it. So, although it made her sick to do so, she smiled prettily at the mercenary, and answered in a cheerful voice.
“Please, M’lord. These two gentlemen,” she gestured to Julen and Railtus, “invited me to spend a week in the city with them. I’ve never been to Marn before, and it sounds ever so exciting. But don’t worry. They promised to bring me back when their business is finished.” Interestingly, other than the part about never having visited Marn, that was all true. Although probably not in the way the mercenaries thought.
The man who had approached Rosemary hesitated for a moment, while murmurs rippled through the group behind him. Most of them still assumed that Julen and Railtus were fellow mercenaries, so it seemed credible enough that the pair had decided to share Rosemary between them until they tired of her. And when they did cut her loose, where else was she going to go, other than back here? The assembled mercenaries were not particularly hesitant to take advantage of castoffs. If they were going to get to enjoy the wench eventually, was it worth fighting for her now?
For one hopeful moment, Rosemary thought that they might actually get away without a battle. But then an anonymous voice shouted from within the group of mercenaries. “How about goodbye kisses for all of us?” Raucous laughter and catcalls answered his suggestion, while the man who had first approached Rosemary sneered cruelly as he grabbed her wrist.
“Sounds like a good idea to me.”
Rosemary felt her stomach shrivel. Still, she leaned forward and puckered her lips, prepared to do what was necessary. But the mercenary never got his kiss. Instead, he found a spear tip pointed at his throat.
“Leave my wife alone,” Julen warned, “or you won’t live to regret it.”
Unfortunately, his threat didn’t elicit the response he might have hoped for. The mercenary did release Rosemary. But his voice held no trace of fright as he taunted Julen. “Your wife? Do we have a farmer under all that armor?” Laughing, the man turned his gaze to Railtus. “And what are you? The village idiot? I think we need to teach these two a lesson about playing dress up.”
Unexpected Homecomings
-
Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
By now, Railtus had long since given up hope of ending this without violence. On a deeply personal level, violence was exactly how he wished to bypass these mercenaries. To escape through diplomacy would be to leave the guilty to go unpunished.
Only he had more than one life to consider. The safety of innocents was in his charge. As much as he despised to admit it, he was heavily outnumbered, and battle with such a group would be dangerous to say the least. If the only danger were to him, that would have been fine.
When the brigand had reached for Rosemary it had taken all self control not to step forward and punch the thug full in the face, but to spark such a conflict would place innocents in danger, so he held back with the hope that the foolish gesture was the end of it.
From the moment Julen spoke, Railtus reached his hand to his sword, the beginnings of the draw covered by his shield, so that his sword was mostly unsheathed before the naked weapon entered sight.
"Who cares what you think?" snarled Railtus, "How about you teach me that lesson yourself and accept my challenge to single combat?" It was a simple plan, to convince them to give up the advantage of numbers for the sake of foolish pride. "Or are you so scared that you hide behind the others?" A gesture with the sword swept across the whole group.
The scale armoured mercenary drew his sword, and Railtus was almost grateful for second, thinking that he had accepted the challenge. Then the brigand spoke his intent. "Take her!" he cried out, "This one is mine!"
Given the choice, Railtus would rather that the full brunt of the attack was directed at him. Instead, he was going to be mostly ignored while the group surged forwards.
Acting there and then, Railtus stepped forward on his left and thrust his shield out towards the face of his opponent. The mercenary struck at the shield with his blade, hoping to bat it aside. Railtus held firm for one moment of struggle, a moment in which he swayed his waist and bent his knees to bob forwards and swing a low cut at the calf. Striking below the knee, Railtus cut under the scale coat and sheared through leather and bone and flesh, taking off the foot at the ankle.
Predictably, the mercenary fell down, landing arms wide from the backwards inertia. With little fuss, Railtus stamped on his outstretched wrist to trap his arm and blade, while swinging overhand to split open the head of the villain. Hopefully such a swift victory would stun the others into submission.
"Is there no one else!" Railtus cried, before realising that no one was listening. Having freshly launched their assault, the brigands were committed to their attack. As much as he regretted that the tide of mercenaries was surging past him and not against him, Railtus had every intent of using this to his advantage. One waylayer had rushed past on his right, Railtus sprang in that direction to make a backhand cut at his body. Facing away, the mercenary was unprotected save for a padded jupon, which failed to keep the blow from exposing his broken spine by opening the flesh on the small of his back.
At the other side were onrushing bandits, and Railtus threw himself towards them in an effort to join the thick of the conflict, rather than be striking in at the edges. "Fall back with her!" Railtus yelled, not caring to address Rosemary by name when she was the only woman he could be referring to. Orders held no interest in courtesy, merely to be clear and fast, that Julen would know what to do in an instant.
Blade struck on blade with a shower of sparks. Gold, white and flaring blue like chippings from the stars. One mercenary staggered back into his comrades, and those three targeted Railtus.
The first one carried a shield, held close to the body, striking over and around with the rim wedged under his armpit. That was a highly defensive position, since it limited the angles of attack to those easily parried by the weapon. Presumably his style was to engage Railtus until the man's comrades could outflank and destroy him.
First swing was aimed at the shoulder, expecting to meet with shield. Instead, Railtus pointed his sword down in a hanging guard and thrust it across in that position to meet the attack. So much happened in the following, with detailed and intricate bladework all taking place within a shared instant.
With blade low and hilt high, he pushed the weapon forward from the sword-block towards the enemy shield, allowing his blade to trail behind. The pommel of the weapon cleared the rim of the shield and was able to hook behind it. From there a roll of the wrist flicked the blade forwards to beyond the shield and above the shoulder of his foe. With his own shield Railtus covered his own body, pressing into the angle of the swing so that no power or momentum could build. Having worked his blade past the enemy shield, he drew back. Hard.
Thus running his blade across the enemy throat. The mercenary took a shaky step back, and throat yawning, poured forth a river of crimson upon the ground. Falling from his grasp was a dropped sword, abandoned in the darkening chill of impending death, and legs failed him at that moment as he sank to his knees. On his knees the body rocked for a moment before pitching forward into the soaking red, dead before he hit the ground.
With two more coming for him, Railtus dodged aside and thrust at another entirely. That thrust was parried and aimed at the nearest foe that Railtus could find. He was in armour, he could accept being engaged by a swarm of enemies. Others were with him, others less suited to being pressed in the thick of battle.
Bouncing from the thrust, Railtus slashed a cut at another. This one was parried also. These were strikes not aimed to kill, but to force another attacker to change targets.
From what he saw that was not enough. Six mercenaries were dividing themselves between tackling Julen and trapping Rosemary, spreading out they sought to encircle Julen, Rosemary and the horse, keeping their intended prey penned in between them. To entrap the bulk of the horse required them to form a wider circle, leaving gaps between them that prevented them from fully supporting one another.
One with a spear had detatched to tackle Railtus, leaving the ones facing Julen armed with swords, including a curved sabre, and some held stout wooden clubs. Most were in quilted padding, but one of the maille shirts was among the six. There were bishop mantles as well. Another spearman was amongst the group, but had circled around the back, approaching the angle which he deemed uncovered by the fighter.
Although the mercenaries did not view the horse as an objective, they still felt the need to keep it trapped, since the prize they sought could easily use it to escape. The net of brigands closed in gradually, not wishing to tempt the spear in a mad rush, nor lower their defences in shieldless charge against a spearman.
Well, there was one shield amongst the attackers, but that shield did not make a reliable wall the same way, so the shield held back as did the others. Instead they darted forward and back, seeking an opening which they could exploit before it closed. With the length of the spear that forced them to keep a distance, as the reach of a stepping thrust was considerable.
Jeers and goads were thrown out at Julen, at his mother, his father, his sister, and his wife. Even if he never had a sister they insulted her anyway. There were a few vile promises directed at who they described as the 'harlot' by his side.
Then the monster appeared.
It was huge, sporting mammoth tusks instead of teeth, green skinned, with tiny, fierce eyes. Pale fur framed the edges of it's face, and it was clad in cured hides. From beyond the mercenaries, it gazed fully at Rosemary, and began running forwards with a speed far greater than suited a thing that size.
Opening a wide and terrible mouth revealed great jagged fangs like icicles of bone, like lesser tusks masked between great flabby lips. When that terrible mouth was opened, it aimed directly at Rosemary and screamed.
"Kagh! Bin mok thazag cha!"
That lumbering run brought immense fur-clad feet crashing down to punish the earth, those feet were bigger than a human head. It towered a full head over the others, near a full head and shoulders above Julen or Rosemary. In one vast green mit was a stout club, a fist-thick iron rod that appeared fragile when in those thunderous hands.
Quite understandably given the circumstances, the mercenary between the thing and Rosemary panicked. Abandoning all else, it whirled towards the monster holding the spear in a grip of terror.
The beast looked straight past him and bellowed words aimed at Rosemary. "Kagh! Bin mok thazag cha!" That reverberating roar shattered ears like those fists could shatter bones.
The spearman thrust at the creature in a panic, not knowing what else to do. That spear entered the fur clad belly, piercing deeper from the momentum of the charge. That great club hefted up into the air, broad and thick near the head and studded with beams of metal.
With one great swing it shattered the spear-shaft. In another it shattered the spearman.
Dropping to the floor, it reached a free great hand to the belly and pulled out the end of the spear still lodged inside it. The head came free dangling bloody flesh ripped from inside the creature, which discarded the thing with little mind.
The nearest mercenary saw the thing on the floor and moved in to slash at the side. The blade cut through the heavy fur garments underneath and drew blood, but the beast obviously had thick skin that counted such a wound as minor. A great hand reached up and dragged the mere human to the ground, forcing him under the massive bulk, that mighty hand closed around the neck and splintered the bones with a crushing grasp.
Rising up, the beast lurched forwards, doubled by it's injuries, yet seemingly intent on reaching Rosemary. Then it roared again, almost as if it were in case she had somehow not got the message.
"Kagh! Bin mok thazag cha!"
Eager to be out of the path of that deadly monster, mercenaries darted off to the side making a major break in the circle. A break in which Julen and Rosemary could be clear.
If they were willing to pass the beast.
Only he had more than one life to consider. The safety of innocents was in his charge. As much as he despised to admit it, he was heavily outnumbered, and battle with such a group would be dangerous to say the least. If the only danger were to him, that would have been fine.
When the brigand had reached for Rosemary it had taken all self control not to step forward and punch the thug full in the face, but to spark such a conflict would place innocents in danger, so he held back with the hope that the foolish gesture was the end of it.
From the moment Julen spoke, Railtus reached his hand to his sword, the beginnings of the draw covered by his shield, so that his sword was mostly unsheathed before the naked weapon entered sight.
"Who cares what you think?" snarled Railtus, "How about you teach me that lesson yourself and accept my challenge to single combat?" It was a simple plan, to convince them to give up the advantage of numbers for the sake of foolish pride. "Or are you so scared that you hide behind the others?" A gesture with the sword swept across the whole group.
The scale armoured mercenary drew his sword, and Railtus was almost grateful for second, thinking that he had accepted the challenge. Then the brigand spoke his intent. "Take her!" he cried out, "This one is mine!"
Given the choice, Railtus would rather that the full brunt of the attack was directed at him. Instead, he was going to be mostly ignored while the group surged forwards.
Acting there and then, Railtus stepped forward on his left and thrust his shield out towards the face of his opponent. The mercenary struck at the shield with his blade, hoping to bat it aside. Railtus held firm for one moment of struggle, a moment in which he swayed his waist and bent his knees to bob forwards and swing a low cut at the calf. Striking below the knee, Railtus cut under the scale coat and sheared through leather and bone and flesh, taking off the foot at the ankle.
Predictably, the mercenary fell down, landing arms wide from the backwards inertia. With little fuss, Railtus stamped on his outstretched wrist to trap his arm and blade, while swinging overhand to split open the head of the villain. Hopefully such a swift victory would stun the others into submission.
"Is there no one else!" Railtus cried, before realising that no one was listening. Having freshly launched their assault, the brigands were committed to their attack. As much as he regretted that the tide of mercenaries was surging past him and not against him, Railtus had every intent of using this to his advantage. One waylayer had rushed past on his right, Railtus sprang in that direction to make a backhand cut at his body. Facing away, the mercenary was unprotected save for a padded jupon, which failed to keep the blow from exposing his broken spine by opening the flesh on the small of his back.
At the other side were onrushing bandits, and Railtus threw himself towards them in an effort to join the thick of the conflict, rather than be striking in at the edges. "Fall back with her!" Railtus yelled, not caring to address Rosemary by name when she was the only woman he could be referring to. Orders held no interest in courtesy, merely to be clear and fast, that Julen would know what to do in an instant.
Blade struck on blade with a shower of sparks. Gold, white and flaring blue like chippings from the stars. One mercenary staggered back into his comrades, and those three targeted Railtus.
The first one carried a shield, held close to the body, striking over and around with the rim wedged under his armpit. That was a highly defensive position, since it limited the angles of attack to those easily parried by the weapon. Presumably his style was to engage Railtus until the man's comrades could outflank and destroy him.
First swing was aimed at the shoulder, expecting to meet with shield. Instead, Railtus pointed his sword down in a hanging guard and thrust it across in that position to meet the attack. So much happened in the following, with detailed and intricate bladework all taking place within a shared instant.
With blade low and hilt high, he pushed the weapon forward from the sword-block towards the enemy shield, allowing his blade to trail behind. The pommel of the weapon cleared the rim of the shield and was able to hook behind it. From there a roll of the wrist flicked the blade forwards to beyond the shield and above the shoulder of his foe. With his own shield Railtus covered his own body, pressing into the angle of the swing so that no power or momentum could build. Having worked his blade past the enemy shield, he drew back. Hard.
Thus running his blade across the enemy throat. The mercenary took a shaky step back, and throat yawning, poured forth a river of crimson upon the ground. Falling from his grasp was a dropped sword, abandoned in the darkening chill of impending death, and legs failed him at that moment as he sank to his knees. On his knees the body rocked for a moment before pitching forward into the soaking red, dead before he hit the ground.
With two more coming for him, Railtus dodged aside and thrust at another entirely. That thrust was parried and aimed at the nearest foe that Railtus could find. He was in armour, he could accept being engaged by a swarm of enemies. Others were with him, others less suited to being pressed in the thick of battle.
Bouncing from the thrust, Railtus slashed a cut at another. This one was parried also. These were strikes not aimed to kill, but to force another attacker to change targets.
From what he saw that was not enough. Six mercenaries were dividing themselves between tackling Julen and trapping Rosemary, spreading out they sought to encircle Julen, Rosemary and the horse, keeping their intended prey penned in between them. To entrap the bulk of the horse required them to form a wider circle, leaving gaps between them that prevented them from fully supporting one another.
One with a spear had detatched to tackle Railtus, leaving the ones facing Julen armed with swords, including a curved sabre, and some held stout wooden clubs. Most were in quilted padding, but one of the maille shirts was among the six. There were bishop mantles as well. Another spearman was amongst the group, but had circled around the back, approaching the angle which he deemed uncovered by the fighter.
Although the mercenaries did not view the horse as an objective, they still felt the need to keep it trapped, since the prize they sought could easily use it to escape. The net of brigands closed in gradually, not wishing to tempt the spear in a mad rush, nor lower their defences in shieldless charge against a spearman.
Well, there was one shield amongst the attackers, but that shield did not make a reliable wall the same way, so the shield held back as did the others. Instead they darted forward and back, seeking an opening which they could exploit before it closed. With the length of the spear that forced them to keep a distance, as the reach of a stepping thrust was considerable.
Jeers and goads were thrown out at Julen, at his mother, his father, his sister, and his wife. Even if he never had a sister they insulted her anyway. There were a few vile promises directed at who they described as the 'harlot' by his side.
Then the monster appeared.
It was huge, sporting mammoth tusks instead of teeth, green skinned, with tiny, fierce eyes. Pale fur framed the edges of it's face, and it was clad in cured hides. From beyond the mercenaries, it gazed fully at Rosemary, and began running forwards with a speed far greater than suited a thing that size.
Opening a wide and terrible mouth revealed great jagged fangs like icicles of bone, like lesser tusks masked between great flabby lips. When that terrible mouth was opened, it aimed directly at Rosemary and screamed.
"Kagh! Bin mok thazag cha!"
That lumbering run brought immense fur-clad feet crashing down to punish the earth, those feet were bigger than a human head. It towered a full head over the others, near a full head and shoulders above Julen or Rosemary. In one vast green mit was a stout club, a fist-thick iron rod that appeared fragile when in those thunderous hands.
Quite understandably given the circumstances, the mercenary between the thing and Rosemary panicked. Abandoning all else, it whirled towards the monster holding the spear in a grip of terror.
The beast looked straight past him and bellowed words aimed at Rosemary. "Kagh! Bin mok thazag cha!" That reverberating roar shattered ears like those fists could shatter bones.
The spearman thrust at the creature in a panic, not knowing what else to do. That spear entered the fur clad belly, piercing deeper from the momentum of the charge. That great club hefted up into the air, broad and thick near the head and studded with beams of metal.
With one great swing it shattered the spear-shaft. In another it shattered the spearman.
Dropping to the floor, it reached a free great hand to the belly and pulled out the end of the spear still lodged inside it. The head came free dangling bloody flesh ripped from inside the creature, which discarded the thing with little mind.
The nearest mercenary saw the thing on the floor and moved in to slash at the side. The blade cut through the heavy fur garments underneath and drew blood, but the beast obviously had thick skin that counted such a wound as minor. A great hand reached up and dragged the mere human to the ground, forcing him under the massive bulk, that mighty hand closed around the neck and splintered the bones with a crushing grasp.
Rising up, the beast lurched forwards, doubled by it's injuries, yet seemingly intent on reaching Rosemary. Then it roared again, almost as if it were in case she had somehow not got the message.
"Kagh! Bin mok thazag cha!"
Eager to be out of the path of that deadly monster, mercenaries darted off to the side making a major break in the circle. A break in which Julen and Rosemary could be clear.
If they were willing to pass the beast.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
For one brief moment, Julen stood his ground against the onslaught of mercenaries. Fear screamed inside his head, telling him to grab Rosemary and run, until the village was just a dot behind them. But his own terror made him all the more determined to avoid any appearance of cowardice. He wouldn’t leave Railtus to fight alone. Not after everything the Angelsworn had done for him.
When Julen had readied his spear to threaten their leader, he hadn’t fully extended it -- mostly because his intended target wasn’t that far away. But now, remembering a trick Railtus had taught him, Julen deliberately kept the spear head about a foot further back than its actual reach as he jabbed at his opponents. Until one of the mercenaries got too close. Then, with a swiftness and force that the warrior obviously wasn’t expecting from a farmer, Julen thrust his spear out to its full length, surprising the man and easily driving the spear head through a layer of quilted padding, deep into the man’s stomach. In the same heartbeat, Julen yanked his weapon back out and leveled its bloody tip at the next closest attacker.
But even as the injured mercenary crumbled at the feet of his comrades, Julen knew he needed to change tactics. There were too many of them to hold off. If they got near enough, he’d be forced to abandon his spear and resort to sword and shield. Close combat would put Rosemary in too much danger of being snatched or struck by a stray blow. Julen knew he couldn’t allow that, and by the time Railtus’s words reached him, he’d already made his decision. The command simply spared him from the guilt he would have otherwise felt. Trusting Rosemary follow, Julen began to fall back.
His hope was to retreat inside a doorway, or a narrow passage, which would prevent the mercenaries from effectively using their far greater numbers. Failing that, he wanted to get his back against a wall so they couldn’t fully flank him. But the mercenaries must have anticipated such a move, because they circled around him, cutting off all useful paths of escape. In the end, they forced Julen to settle for defending a position near the war horse -- doubtlessly, the creature would have resented being used as a fortification, if Julen was of a mind to ask for its permission. But he wasn’t.
Taunts regarding his relatives, and even threats against his wife, went largely unheard as Julen focused on the hopeless task of fending off six mercenaries. Behind him, Rosemary stood in fearful silence, her face the color of pale ash. Several times, her hand started toward the dagger concealed beneath her shawl. But each time, she stopped herself short, remembering Railtus’s admonition about saving that for a last resort.
Then, just when it seemed like things couldn’t get any worse, the monster arrived. Julen watched in horror as it dispatched the mercenary who’d been carrying a spear. Despite the fact that it had relieved him of a foe, Julen couldn’t manage to be grateful, especially as the abomination began to advance on Rosemary, bellowing gibberish at her.
“Get on the horse.” It was a desperate proposal, since Rosemary hadn’t made any efforts to befriend the beast, so Julen had no idea how it might react to being mounted by her. But compared to being kidnapped by the remaining mercenaries, or torn apart by the approaching monster, breaking her neck after being thrown from the horse seemed like the lesser of three evils. “Get on it and don’t stop until you’re halfway to Marn.”
“I won’t abandon you!”
“If you don’t get on the horse, we both die here today.” Julen didn’t want to scare her. But he felt, deep in his heart, that what he’d said was true. “Now go! I’ll distract that -- that thing.”
By now, the monster had crushed its second mercenary. With its bare hands. As Julen contemplated fighting it, his stomach felt like he’d swallowed a hive of bees. But, for the sake of his wife, he stepped forward, jabbing at it with his spear. His intent wasn’t to try killing it. Just to annoy it, while staying beyond the reach of its deadly club and equally deadly hands. “Hey! Ugly! Over here!”
Reluctantly, Rosemary swung herself up on the horse, which accepted her presence with surprisingly little protest. But her imminent escape drove one of the mercenaries to rush forward. Already engaged with the monster, Julen could do nothing to help his wife. “Bitch!” the man yelled, grabbing hold of Rosemary’s leg and attempting to yank her down. “You’re not going anywhere!”
“Don’t touch me!” A terrible rage seemed to pour from Rosemary when she shrieked at her assailant. And hidden beneath the volume of her fury was the soft rustle of her shawl, moving ever so slightly as her hand darted beneath it. A moment later, the mercenary staggered backward, with her dagger still firmly imbedded in his throat.
Giving her husband a final, tearful glance, Rosemary spurred the horse forward, aiming at the gap opened by the monster’s arrival.
When Julen had readied his spear to threaten their leader, he hadn’t fully extended it -- mostly because his intended target wasn’t that far away. But now, remembering a trick Railtus had taught him, Julen deliberately kept the spear head about a foot further back than its actual reach as he jabbed at his opponents. Until one of the mercenaries got too close. Then, with a swiftness and force that the warrior obviously wasn’t expecting from a farmer, Julen thrust his spear out to its full length, surprising the man and easily driving the spear head through a layer of quilted padding, deep into the man’s stomach. In the same heartbeat, Julen yanked his weapon back out and leveled its bloody tip at the next closest attacker.
But even as the injured mercenary crumbled at the feet of his comrades, Julen knew he needed to change tactics. There were too many of them to hold off. If they got near enough, he’d be forced to abandon his spear and resort to sword and shield. Close combat would put Rosemary in too much danger of being snatched or struck by a stray blow. Julen knew he couldn’t allow that, and by the time Railtus’s words reached him, he’d already made his decision. The command simply spared him from the guilt he would have otherwise felt. Trusting Rosemary follow, Julen began to fall back.
His hope was to retreat inside a doorway, or a narrow passage, which would prevent the mercenaries from effectively using their far greater numbers. Failing that, he wanted to get his back against a wall so they couldn’t fully flank him. But the mercenaries must have anticipated such a move, because they circled around him, cutting off all useful paths of escape. In the end, they forced Julen to settle for defending a position near the war horse -- doubtlessly, the creature would have resented being used as a fortification, if Julen was of a mind to ask for its permission. But he wasn’t.
Taunts regarding his relatives, and even threats against his wife, went largely unheard as Julen focused on the hopeless task of fending off six mercenaries. Behind him, Rosemary stood in fearful silence, her face the color of pale ash. Several times, her hand started toward the dagger concealed beneath her shawl. But each time, she stopped herself short, remembering Railtus’s admonition about saving that for a last resort.
Then, just when it seemed like things couldn’t get any worse, the monster arrived. Julen watched in horror as it dispatched the mercenary who’d been carrying a spear. Despite the fact that it had relieved him of a foe, Julen couldn’t manage to be grateful, especially as the abomination began to advance on Rosemary, bellowing gibberish at her.
“Get on the horse.” It was a desperate proposal, since Rosemary hadn’t made any efforts to befriend the beast, so Julen had no idea how it might react to being mounted by her. But compared to being kidnapped by the remaining mercenaries, or torn apart by the approaching monster, breaking her neck after being thrown from the horse seemed like the lesser of three evils. “Get on it and don’t stop until you’re halfway to Marn.”
“I won’t abandon you!”
“If you don’t get on the horse, we both die here today.” Julen didn’t want to scare her. But he felt, deep in his heart, that what he’d said was true. “Now go! I’ll distract that -- that thing.”
By now, the monster had crushed its second mercenary. With its bare hands. As Julen contemplated fighting it, his stomach felt like he’d swallowed a hive of bees. But, for the sake of his wife, he stepped forward, jabbing at it with his spear. His intent wasn’t to try killing it. Just to annoy it, while staying beyond the reach of its deadly club and equally deadly hands. “Hey! Ugly! Over here!”
Reluctantly, Rosemary swung herself up on the horse, which accepted her presence with surprisingly little protest. But her imminent escape drove one of the mercenaries to rush forward. Already engaged with the monster, Julen could do nothing to help his wife. “Bitch!” the man yelled, grabbing hold of Rosemary’s leg and attempting to yank her down. “You’re not going anywhere!”
“Don’t touch me!” A terrible rage seemed to pour from Rosemary when she shrieked at her assailant. And hidden beneath the volume of her fury was the soft rustle of her shawl, moving ever so slightly as her hand darted beneath it. A moment later, the mercenary staggered backward, with her dagger still firmly imbedded in his throat.
Giving her husband a final, tearful glance, Rosemary spurred the horse forward, aiming at the gap opened by the monster’s arrival.
Shim -- where the men are men, and the livestock are scared.
-
Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
First jabs from Julen were simply swatted aside by the tree-like arm of the monster, still bent over from the wound to the gut, until the yell from behind Julen signalled that a mercenary had got hold of Rosemary.
At that cry, the beast threw itself forwards in seeming disregard for it's pain, leaving itself open to a wicked stab against a fur-swathed flank, which would score a wound through both the thick hides and the elephant-like skin. Had Julen been holding the spear for strong thrusts instead of jabs, that would have been a fatal opening. Of course, if Julen were distracted by the danger to his wife, then that leap could escape the thrust entirely.
Initially, that rush seemed inexorible. One could try to intercept it or try not to, but the creature was heading forwards either way. Then for an instant it checked that mighty rush, as the mercenary went flying backwards, held transfixed by the dagger piercing through him and launched to the ground by a back hoof from the warhorse.
With that slight pause breaking stride, it sprang past Rosemary and the horse and a descending club ruled out any possibility of that man getting up again. Ever. The metal spikes in the wood struck against the ground, driving through the now ruined body.
"Kagh!" bellowed the green monstrosity, as the horse carried Rosemary from danger.
Weakened by major wounds, the beast dropped to one knee, head easily exposed and easy pickings for one who decided that the damn thing needed killing. The mercenaries sensed this as well, and began to close in on a weakened target, less fearful of that mighty strike and grip while this unknown danger lay panting on it's knees.
After all, with that thing dead, there would be no danger in flanking Julen, who now lacked the cover of the warhorse.
**************************
Smashing into the back of Railtus was a stout wooden club, reminding him of his fractured ribs and knocking him into a forwards stagger. Plunging in towards his face was the steel blade of a sword. Still lurching forwards from the force of the last blow, he could not raise blade or shield in time to defend. Instead he turned his head so that the blade did not strike full into his face.
Point thrust on the head just beyond the temple, driving against the curtain of maille falling down like a net from the cervellaire helm. Maille links ground against flesh, with fresh blood flowing forth from where the maille links broke the skin.
Unable to stop his forward motion, Railtus thrust out the shield like a wall for his foes to reach around, then hammered blindly right and left with his sword, leading with the backhand. Gold, white and blue sparks flew from the impact of the clashing blades, the backhand meeting the blocking parry with a jarring impact which froze the mercenary in place while the Angelsworn barreled in his stumble past.
The forehand stroke led to similar results, forcing this foe to step back with the concussive shock. Thus, a small gap was created through which Railtus could dash clear of his surrounding enemies.
A sword struck against his ribs on the way out, smarting but failing to penetrate the coat of iron plates. Regaining full balance with his next step, Railtus arced backwards with a vast cut which caught one who he had just fought through to get out. With that broad swing he had cleared a space around him, giving him time to turn and face his foes.
Outnumbered, he adjusted, shedding his shield to wield his weapon with both hands. With the greater force and leverage that two hands would grant him he would be harder to bind in place and hold engaged in combat for long. One of the others considered this a good time to advance, but Railtus released his shield by pelting one of his enemies with it. The mercenary threw his arms up in time, but was driven a step back by the impact.
With the enemy line spread out, Railtus darted to his left, swinging his sword in both hands. The cut began at waist level, drawn back low, yet the shoulder raised on the swing to keep the blade level but far above the parry.
At once, Railtus gave a shout. A shout to give show to his zeal, both to his foes who might face doubts at such passion from an outnumbered opponent, and to his friend and ally Julen who would hear in that cry that Railtus was still standing and was not defeated by the press of enemies which had appeared to engulf him.
"Glory to the righteous!"
Blade clashed against helm, and sparks were unleashed again. While the edge only bit into the surface of the helm, the man fell backwards flung like a rag doll. On the ground he lay still.
Not one to let his foes adapt, Railtus sprung off to the left side, using the momentum of his leap to add to his swing. This was one with a shield, a shield raised to meet the blow. That was fine. Sweeping the blade past the shield he adjusted his swing to bat aside the sword of his foe, then bent his knees and dropped the point as he drove his shoulder against the face of the shield and stabbed under with his weapon.
The victim folded up onto the blade. Crossing an arm over the neck of the impaled mercenary, Railtus attempted to push off with his forearm and withdraw his blade. While the blade was freed, the fighter clutched desperately to the arm, as if by holding on he could stave off death. Railtus beat him off with a pommel to the head, and stepped around to use the man as a shield.
With that the opening had closed, and the onrushing foes held back. Combat was best entered with no attitude at all, but these had joined battle expecting weak targets and easy kills. That alone had cost them, and had been a blow to their morale, for they suffered heavy losses to realise that they fought against capable fighters.
Taking the measure of his foes, Railtus saw one club, one blade and one sabre. A maille shirt was worn by the one with the blade, the others merely wore bishop hoods and padded garments.
His foes began circling their way into position. Railtus counterstepped slowly, not hoping to outposition them but taking care to use as little energy as possible, while delaying them in moments. More time spent gaining position was more time with which Railtus could recover his breath, which now he sorely needed.
Chance was also given to observe how Julen was faring in the battle. The horse was gone, which meant that Rosemary was in safety, and Julen was now down to two mercenaries. That was excellent work. Despite the inappropriateness of the timing, Railtus felt his heart swell at the sight of such success from Julen.
Only, there was a new addition to the combat. Was that? A great orc. Well, he had heard the bellowing. Who hadn't? Only he was a little busy with his sword and the five others to be paying attention to the words. Kurgriss had taught him orcish well enough for communication, but his command of that language was much like his command of the language of Thar Shaddin. Attention and thought were required for him to translate it in his mind. Amarrican was always his native language, and the language in which he framed his thoughts, so he had no mind spare to assign to what had been said.
With foes spread about him, Railtus raised his sword in an ox-guard, the weapon pointing like a weathercock as her blade wavered between the attackers. Turning gradually to his right, Railtus focused his eyes that way while inwardly concentrating on the taint behind him.
So when the attack came for his back he was expecting it, and twisted to deliver an ox thrust plunging for the neck. The attacker danced back and raised his club to keep the point at bay. That dodge had given him the extra fractions of a moment to set the blade aside with the club. Railtus stepped further towards that one and launched a straight crown strike. The club came up to meet the blade again, shook from the impact, during the shock Railtus turned his weapon to the side to push and slice on the raised arm. A moderate slice, which would normally fail to drive a foe from the fight, but the shallow wound shattered an already damaged morale.
Not caring to press the attack, Railtus began turning to receive a heavy cut on his sword arm. That slash was delivered by the sabre. More support was given from the second hand, as his sword arm would be hampered by the bleeding cut. From that the longsword also dipped low for a second, the arm yielding to the pressure of the hack.
And the maille armoured swordsman came in. Men in maille were usually the most skilled, having earned it on the field or bought it through wealth won in battle or inherited wealth in a land which favoured military life. The last was how Railtus had received such fine training.
The arming sword struck at the other arm. And hit. This time not gambeson, but steel vambrace. Railtus stepped in and advanced within the reach of the blade, allowing neither a full swing. All that step did was deny his foe a follow up while the Angelsworn disengaged. A jab was aimed at the sabre to keep it at bay, before taking a long step clear of the attackers.
Relentlessly, the sabreman swung, sensing his foe begin to weaken. Indeed that was true, for there was only a weak parry. No riposte. That much alone was utterly unlike Railtus. Forced onto the defensive, Railtus switched into half-sword, his left gauntlet closing around the blade roughly two thirds towards the tip. Now another swing of the sabre was met and there was force in that parry. Adapted to a close combat style, Railtus stepped in closer, while the sabreman realised his mistake and was now scrambling to get away.
From the arming sword came a straight thrust for the armpit, which Railtus merely set aside by twisting his body and raising his sword tip while maintaining the half-sword grip. Instead the blade glanced harmlessly across his body. Now he snaked his blade down the length of his opponent's sword and reached the point past the crossguard. This took the sword away from the body of his enemy, but now he pulled back on her blade, having thrust her point beyond the mercenary's thumb. Levering on the blade created a scissor action between the blade of his own weapon and the grip of the other sword.
Pinching that weapon hand tightly, Railtus used the sword like a staff and slammed the crossguard into the face of his target. Without giving time to so much as stagger, Railtus led with the blade of his half-sword grip and rammed the point into the throat of the enemy.
One foe left, when once there were five. That foe fled.
The wrath of the righteous is terrible to behold.
At that cry, the beast threw itself forwards in seeming disregard for it's pain, leaving itself open to a wicked stab against a fur-swathed flank, which would score a wound through both the thick hides and the elephant-like skin. Had Julen been holding the spear for strong thrusts instead of jabs, that would have been a fatal opening. Of course, if Julen were distracted by the danger to his wife, then that leap could escape the thrust entirely.
Initially, that rush seemed inexorible. One could try to intercept it or try not to, but the creature was heading forwards either way. Then for an instant it checked that mighty rush, as the mercenary went flying backwards, held transfixed by the dagger piercing through him and launched to the ground by a back hoof from the warhorse.
With that slight pause breaking stride, it sprang past Rosemary and the horse and a descending club ruled out any possibility of that man getting up again. Ever. The metal spikes in the wood struck against the ground, driving through the now ruined body.
"Kagh!" bellowed the green monstrosity, as the horse carried Rosemary from danger.
Weakened by major wounds, the beast dropped to one knee, head easily exposed and easy pickings for one who decided that the damn thing needed killing. The mercenaries sensed this as well, and began to close in on a weakened target, less fearful of that mighty strike and grip while this unknown danger lay panting on it's knees.
After all, with that thing dead, there would be no danger in flanking Julen, who now lacked the cover of the warhorse.
**************************
Smashing into the back of Railtus was a stout wooden club, reminding him of his fractured ribs and knocking him into a forwards stagger. Plunging in towards his face was the steel blade of a sword. Still lurching forwards from the force of the last blow, he could not raise blade or shield in time to defend. Instead he turned his head so that the blade did not strike full into his face.
Point thrust on the head just beyond the temple, driving against the curtain of maille falling down like a net from the cervellaire helm. Maille links ground against flesh, with fresh blood flowing forth from where the maille links broke the skin.
Unable to stop his forward motion, Railtus thrust out the shield like a wall for his foes to reach around, then hammered blindly right and left with his sword, leading with the backhand. Gold, white and blue sparks flew from the impact of the clashing blades, the backhand meeting the blocking parry with a jarring impact which froze the mercenary in place while the Angelsworn barreled in his stumble past.
The forehand stroke led to similar results, forcing this foe to step back with the concussive shock. Thus, a small gap was created through which Railtus could dash clear of his surrounding enemies.
A sword struck against his ribs on the way out, smarting but failing to penetrate the coat of iron plates. Regaining full balance with his next step, Railtus arced backwards with a vast cut which caught one who he had just fought through to get out. With that broad swing he had cleared a space around him, giving him time to turn and face his foes.
Outnumbered, he adjusted, shedding his shield to wield his weapon with both hands. With the greater force and leverage that two hands would grant him he would be harder to bind in place and hold engaged in combat for long. One of the others considered this a good time to advance, but Railtus released his shield by pelting one of his enemies with it. The mercenary threw his arms up in time, but was driven a step back by the impact.
With the enemy line spread out, Railtus darted to his left, swinging his sword in both hands. The cut began at waist level, drawn back low, yet the shoulder raised on the swing to keep the blade level but far above the parry.
At once, Railtus gave a shout. A shout to give show to his zeal, both to his foes who might face doubts at such passion from an outnumbered opponent, and to his friend and ally Julen who would hear in that cry that Railtus was still standing and was not defeated by the press of enemies which had appeared to engulf him.
"Glory to the righteous!"
Blade clashed against helm, and sparks were unleashed again. While the edge only bit into the surface of the helm, the man fell backwards flung like a rag doll. On the ground he lay still.
Not one to let his foes adapt, Railtus sprung off to the left side, using the momentum of his leap to add to his swing. This was one with a shield, a shield raised to meet the blow. That was fine. Sweeping the blade past the shield he adjusted his swing to bat aside the sword of his foe, then bent his knees and dropped the point as he drove his shoulder against the face of the shield and stabbed under with his weapon.
The victim folded up onto the blade. Crossing an arm over the neck of the impaled mercenary, Railtus attempted to push off with his forearm and withdraw his blade. While the blade was freed, the fighter clutched desperately to the arm, as if by holding on he could stave off death. Railtus beat him off with a pommel to the head, and stepped around to use the man as a shield.
With that the opening had closed, and the onrushing foes held back. Combat was best entered with no attitude at all, but these had joined battle expecting weak targets and easy kills. That alone had cost them, and had been a blow to their morale, for they suffered heavy losses to realise that they fought against capable fighters.
Taking the measure of his foes, Railtus saw one club, one blade and one sabre. A maille shirt was worn by the one with the blade, the others merely wore bishop hoods and padded garments.
His foes began circling their way into position. Railtus counterstepped slowly, not hoping to outposition them but taking care to use as little energy as possible, while delaying them in moments. More time spent gaining position was more time with which Railtus could recover his breath, which now he sorely needed.
Chance was also given to observe how Julen was faring in the battle. The horse was gone, which meant that Rosemary was in safety, and Julen was now down to two mercenaries. That was excellent work. Despite the inappropriateness of the timing, Railtus felt his heart swell at the sight of such success from Julen.
Only, there was a new addition to the combat. Was that? A great orc. Well, he had heard the bellowing. Who hadn't? Only he was a little busy with his sword and the five others to be paying attention to the words. Kurgriss had taught him orcish well enough for communication, but his command of that language was much like his command of the language of Thar Shaddin. Attention and thought were required for him to translate it in his mind. Amarrican was always his native language, and the language in which he framed his thoughts, so he had no mind spare to assign to what had been said.
With foes spread about him, Railtus raised his sword in an ox-guard, the weapon pointing like a weathercock as her blade wavered between the attackers. Turning gradually to his right, Railtus focused his eyes that way while inwardly concentrating on the taint behind him.
So when the attack came for his back he was expecting it, and twisted to deliver an ox thrust plunging for the neck. The attacker danced back and raised his club to keep the point at bay. That dodge had given him the extra fractions of a moment to set the blade aside with the club. Railtus stepped further towards that one and launched a straight crown strike. The club came up to meet the blade again, shook from the impact, during the shock Railtus turned his weapon to the side to push and slice on the raised arm. A moderate slice, which would normally fail to drive a foe from the fight, but the shallow wound shattered an already damaged morale.
Not caring to press the attack, Railtus began turning to receive a heavy cut on his sword arm. That slash was delivered by the sabre. More support was given from the second hand, as his sword arm would be hampered by the bleeding cut. From that the longsword also dipped low for a second, the arm yielding to the pressure of the hack.
And the maille armoured swordsman came in. Men in maille were usually the most skilled, having earned it on the field or bought it through wealth won in battle or inherited wealth in a land which favoured military life. The last was how Railtus had received such fine training.
The arming sword struck at the other arm. And hit. This time not gambeson, but steel vambrace. Railtus stepped in and advanced within the reach of the blade, allowing neither a full swing. All that step did was deny his foe a follow up while the Angelsworn disengaged. A jab was aimed at the sabre to keep it at bay, before taking a long step clear of the attackers.
Relentlessly, the sabreman swung, sensing his foe begin to weaken. Indeed that was true, for there was only a weak parry. No riposte. That much alone was utterly unlike Railtus. Forced onto the defensive, Railtus switched into half-sword, his left gauntlet closing around the blade roughly two thirds towards the tip. Now another swing of the sabre was met and there was force in that parry. Adapted to a close combat style, Railtus stepped in closer, while the sabreman realised his mistake and was now scrambling to get away.
From the arming sword came a straight thrust for the armpit, which Railtus merely set aside by twisting his body and raising his sword tip while maintaining the half-sword grip. Instead the blade glanced harmlessly across his body. Now he snaked his blade down the length of his opponent's sword and reached the point past the crossguard. This took the sword away from the body of his enemy, but now he pulled back on her blade, having thrust her point beyond the mercenary's thumb. Levering on the blade created a scissor action between the blade of his own weapon and the grip of the other sword.
Pinching that weapon hand tightly, Railtus used the sword like a staff and slammed the crossguard into the face of his target. Without giving time to so much as stagger, Railtus led with the blade of his half-sword grip and rammed the point into the throat of the enemy.
One foe left, when once there were five. That foe fled.
The wrath of the righteous is terrible to behold.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
Distracted by his wife’s plight, Julen barely managed to graze the monster when it leapt past him. Then it was beyond his range, and he could only watch in mute horror as it charged toward Rosemary, heedless of anything in its path. Julen felt sure it would tear her from the saddle, or maybe even kill the horse. But instead, it directed its rage at the mercenary who had grabbed Rosemary, smashing its club against the man’s fallen body. Impossibly, it seemed to be helping her escape.
Julen didn’t know what possible connection such a monster might have to his wife. But anything that aided Rosemary won deep and instant loyalty from him. As the horse cantered past, carrying her to safety, he barely managed to repress a whoop of triumph.
Taking advantage of the brief reprieve, Julen glanced around for Railtus. Quickly, he spotted his friend nearby, facing off against three of the remaining mercenaries. Despite being outnumbered, he seemed to be holding his own. Julen offered him a respectful salute. Then he turned his attention to the ally in most need of his help.
After Rosemary’s escape, the monster had dropped down onto one knee, obviously weakened by its injuries. And the two mercenaries left from the group that had originally circled Julen seemed eager to exploit its vulnerability. Weapons drawn, they advanced on their formerly fearsome opponent.
But Julen was moving, too. Spear raised, he headed into the fray, careful to make it appear that his target was the kneeling monster. As he’d hoped, the mercenaries paid him little attention -- they were apparently quite willing to let him help kill the more dangerous foe before once again turning on him. So, when the mercenary wearing the maille coat raised his sword to strike the monster, he was quite unprepared for the thrust Julen directed down over its shoulder, driving the spearhead deep into the mercenary’s leg. With a howl of pain, the man faltered, and sunk to his knees. That proved to be a fatal mistake, since it put his neck within easy reach of the monster. Without hesitating, the creature wrapped its hand around the mercenary’s windpipe and squeezed, until the man’s eyes bulged and his flesh made a noise like someone squeezing mud between their fingers. When that massive grip finally relaxed, the mercenary sunk lifeless to the ground.
Julen was so captivated by the grotesque sight that he momentarily forgot about the second mercenary. Until the mercenary’s club struck him in the side of his face. Against such a direct blow, the flaps on his helm did little to absorb the impact, and Julen’s jaw made a crunching sound. Dazed by the pain, Julen stumbled backward. Somehow, he managed to keep his grip on the spear, but the wild jabs he directed at the mercenary were easily blocked by the man’s shield.
Determined to press his advantage, the mercenary bore down on Julen, closing the distance between them until Julen’s spear was all but harmless. Julen found himself forced to wield the spear like a quarterstaff, using its shaft to block blows from the mercenary’s club. But he was starting to recover his senses. He knew he needed to regain the offensive. And something Railtus had taught him might allow him to do just that. Removing his right hand from the spear, Julen used it to draw his dagger in a reverse grip. Then he hurled himself at his opponent. Now, it was the mercenary who had no room to properly swing his weapon. Pressing his body against the mercenary’s shield, Julen forced it aside, giving the mercenary no chance to block the dagger thrust that ripped open his throat.
Staring down at the body of his final opponent, Julen could only stand still and pant. Air rushed into his lungs as if they’d been empty for the entire battle. Fear was gone, replaced by a burst of adrenalin, and although the side of his face hurt like bloody hell, he felt strangely elated. Then he remembered the monster. Raising his head, Julen saw that it had crawled a little distance -- probably trying to reach a quiet spot to recover from its injuries. Another glance around revealed that Railtus, rather unsurprisingly, had managed to defeat his remaining foes.
“Railtus!” Julen called, hurrying to the monster’s side. “Over here! A friend is hurt.”
Julen didn’t know what possible connection such a monster might have to his wife. But anything that aided Rosemary won deep and instant loyalty from him. As the horse cantered past, carrying her to safety, he barely managed to repress a whoop of triumph.
Taking advantage of the brief reprieve, Julen glanced around for Railtus. Quickly, he spotted his friend nearby, facing off against three of the remaining mercenaries. Despite being outnumbered, he seemed to be holding his own. Julen offered him a respectful salute. Then he turned his attention to the ally in most need of his help.
After Rosemary’s escape, the monster had dropped down onto one knee, obviously weakened by its injuries. And the two mercenaries left from the group that had originally circled Julen seemed eager to exploit its vulnerability. Weapons drawn, they advanced on their formerly fearsome opponent.
But Julen was moving, too. Spear raised, he headed into the fray, careful to make it appear that his target was the kneeling monster. As he’d hoped, the mercenaries paid him little attention -- they were apparently quite willing to let him help kill the more dangerous foe before once again turning on him. So, when the mercenary wearing the maille coat raised his sword to strike the monster, he was quite unprepared for the thrust Julen directed down over its shoulder, driving the spearhead deep into the mercenary’s leg. With a howl of pain, the man faltered, and sunk to his knees. That proved to be a fatal mistake, since it put his neck within easy reach of the monster. Without hesitating, the creature wrapped its hand around the mercenary’s windpipe and squeezed, until the man’s eyes bulged and his flesh made a noise like someone squeezing mud between their fingers. When that massive grip finally relaxed, the mercenary sunk lifeless to the ground.
Julen was so captivated by the grotesque sight that he momentarily forgot about the second mercenary. Until the mercenary’s club struck him in the side of his face. Against such a direct blow, the flaps on his helm did little to absorb the impact, and Julen’s jaw made a crunching sound. Dazed by the pain, Julen stumbled backward. Somehow, he managed to keep his grip on the spear, but the wild jabs he directed at the mercenary were easily blocked by the man’s shield.
Determined to press his advantage, the mercenary bore down on Julen, closing the distance between them until Julen’s spear was all but harmless. Julen found himself forced to wield the spear like a quarterstaff, using its shaft to block blows from the mercenary’s club. But he was starting to recover his senses. He knew he needed to regain the offensive. And something Railtus had taught him might allow him to do just that. Removing his right hand from the spear, Julen used it to draw his dagger in a reverse grip. Then he hurled himself at his opponent. Now, it was the mercenary who had no room to properly swing his weapon. Pressing his body against the mercenary’s shield, Julen forced it aside, giving the mercenary no chance to block the dagger thrust that ripped open his throat.
Staring down at the body of his final opponent, Julen could only stand still and pant. Air rushed into his lungs as if they’d been empty for the entire battle. Fear was gone, replaced by a burst of adrenalin, and although the side of his face hurt like bloody hell, he felt strangely elated. Then he remembered the monster. Raising his head, Julen saw that it had crawled a little distance -- probably trying to reach a quiet spot to recover from its injuries. Another glance around revealed that Railtus, rather unsurprisingly, had managed to defeat his remaining foes.
“Railtus!” Julen called, hurrying to the monster’s side. “Over here! A friend is hurt.”
Shim -- where the men are men, and the livestock are scared.
-
Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Running over, Railtus was careful to keep his sword low. Fresh blood stained the blade, clinging to the steel in a wicked red mess.
Knightly habit was to immediately clean a sword before sheathing it, mainly because of the risk of infection from handling metal left in decayed blood. Obviously, this was more important, so instead he lay his sword on the ground while tending to the wounded great orc.
A brief exchange of words took place, both speaking in strangely outlandish words with many harsh consonants in. K, T and G seemed to overwhelm the vowels in this bizarre language. While speaking, Railtus dropped to his knees for better access to those wounds.
Placing his hand over the wounds, Railtus called forth that amber-gold mist, flowing down his arms to seep into the wounds of the creature. The orc was still obviously wounded, but now able to force itself upright.
Thumping on the ground behind them were hoofbeats. With the mercenaries soundly vanquished, there seemed little reason for the horse to carry Rosemary away, and even less reason for her to ride it away. Chances were that Rosemary would be very confused at the sight of that monster standing among her protectors.
"Well done." Railtus mentioned to Julen. "Our injuries can wait. I can only heal so much at once, and Krurzeg is the most badly injured." With that name, Railtus gestured in the direction of the great orc. "Grim business now." announced Railtus, preparing Julen for the next command, "Run your spear through each of these to be sure." Of course, some, such as the one who had been smashed straight through with the war club, were undeniably dead. Really, messily, dead.
Still badly wounded, Krurzeg sat down panting, holding still to avoid further pain.
"Rosemary." Railtus called out, "You did well. Now I need something from you. Go fetch Orin and tell him to gather his family and pack for Marn. I will ensure his safe keeping. Tell him that we have plenty of trade goods but Shim has become dangerous for him."
Immediately following was a further command obviously directed at the horse. "Stay with her. Keep her safe." Of course, the smithy was nearby and in plain sight, so she would be in no danger, but Railtus simply could not leave her unguarded.
Finding the remains of the spear which Krurzeg had sundered, Railtus looked on the design with approval, recognising it as a spontoon. Unscrewing the head from the socket, Railtus attatched blade and butt spike to a staff originally from the other spear. With his new spontoon, Railtus began killing off any that Julen had not done yet.
Once that was finished, he cleaned all of the weapons and began pulling off the suits of armour. Gathering the armour pieces, Railtus accumulated one scale coat, two maille shirts, two helmets, two shields of varying designs, nine bishop mantles, and three padded jupons along with a few other padded coats. Save for the helms and shields which could go to Orin, all of these had their purposes. One maille shirt and mantle was set aside for Julen to claim immediately.
Yet unclaimed weapons were four arming swords, two short swords, a scimitar, eight daggers, two small axes, three clubs, and one thrusting spearhead without a staff. Spare weapons were found on the enemies, which did not get used in the conflict. Had a mace or a warhammer been in the battle, Railtus would have faced far greater danger.
Unrolling one of the cloaks as a groundsheet, Railtus made a collection of the jewelry. There were trophy rings. Many. Although some had none at all, either suggesting a novice or a culture which did not recognise the item, many wore two or three. The one in the scale coat had worn five. Rather than clutter up his fingers, Railtus used the cord from one of the pendants to carry eight, bringing the total hanging around his neck to thirteen, for now he kept his hands free of the rings for a surer grasp of sword and spear. An extra three trophy bands were set aside for Julen, and for Krurzeg, with a longer string made to fit around the bull-like neck by linking two of the pendant cords together.
Although there were more trophy rings in the pile, Railtus chose not to claim them. Eight victories, so eight rings. A right existed to claim more, since warriors bearing more bands were clearly fighters of greater quality and as such there was more of an achievement to the victory, but Railtus felt that the number of victories better demonstrated consistant skill on the battlefield.
Less martial rings were also found on cold fingers. Two rings of gold, one plain but the other adorned with graceful figures. Three rings of silver, two were simple bands but the third was clearly missing a precious stone. Three more bands were of copper. Rings often made a useful substitute for currency.
Making the next pile were four brooches. One of bronze, with a stone of amethyst. Another was of silver with a garnet embedded. The third was both copper and silver, bearing a stone of obsidian. Finally was a plain brooch of brass, with an amber stone. A couple more stones such as garnets or rose quartz were worn on pendants.
Ending the jewelry were armlets and torques. One gold torque and one of solid silver. Neither would fit the neck of Krurzeg. An armlet was bronze, one was brass, another was steel. Again, neither would fit the arms of the great orc. A necklace of bear teeth was among the plunder.
Further treasure was gathered from the dead. Each pouch had at least several bishani, typically more than ten. Although mercenaries were not good at holding money, they were from beyond lands less crippled from poverty. Altogether was a total securely over one hundred divided between various pouches. Two gold ingots and three silver bars were among the spoils.
Looking through the piles, Railtus claimed the silver torque, amber brooch, and brass armlet for himself. All pieces of elegant simplicity, in openly metallic shades which matched each other well. While most of the wealth was reserved for operating funds, free pick of the baubles was a warrior's gift from a lord to his companions.
Generally the other mercenaries who had stayed clear of the battle kept a respectful distance from the loot, considering plunder the right of the victors and having seen almost five-to-one odds defeated with such minimal casualties.
As Railtus stepped back from the pile, one young and almost starstruck mercenary approached. "You beat eight of them by yourself!" gasped the fighter.
"Yes." stated Railtus flatly, without comment.
"You must be a great warrior." Apparantly Railtus had a fan.
Little reaction was shown beyond a simple shrug. "I hope so." Railtus answered, "When my blade joins a good cause, I would seek to serve it well." Creeping on the edge of his awareness was the faint wisps of taint, paired with distant voices. While this admirer was leagues apart from the villains found in the village so far, he was no innocent.
Watching the battle, this fighting man had seen the power and success, victory and glory, not the dangerous plight of an innocent woman. Being answered with modesty astonished the young swordsman, instead of questioning the unexpected response, he continued on. "You should lead warriors." A guess could be made where this is leading.
"I intend to." stated flatly, plainly, easily, without further comment.
"Fighting like that, swords will join you."
"Good." Few of the hired swords here would be acceptable to him, short on honour as they were, but being known among warriors was an extra step towards knighthood, and raising followers in the future was another. Breaking any remaining pretense, Railtus took the opportunity. "For those who would serve me, my orders are simple. Pitch a tent."
The mercenary stammered. "Lord?"
"My enemies are those who prey on the weak, who force defenceless families to surrender their homes. Those who would serve me must meet higher standards of honour." Railtus declared, at full comfort stating his challenge out loud. "Go three days and cow no one, then seek me out at House Anstrun. Those are my terms. Spread the word. Bring me results, and you shall you be rewarded."
He had finished on a magic word. "What kind of reward?" Eyes lit up at the prospect.
"That will depend on the results. A share drawn from booty. I will decide after. What is your name?"
"Wilnen."
"My name is Railtus. We shall meet again." There were two interpretations to that promise, only one of them pleasant.
With the potential of reward for simply spreading a story, Wilnen began spreading his tale.
Knightly habit was to immediately clean a sword before sheathing it, mainly because of the risk of infection from handling metal left in decayed blood. Obviously, this was more important, so instead he lay his sword on the ground while tending to the wounded great orc.
A brief exchange of words took place, both speaking in strangely outlandish words with many harsh consonants in. K, T and G seemed to overwhelm the vowels in this bizarre language. While speaking, Railtus dropped to his knees for better access to those wounds.
Placing his hand over the wounds, Railtus called forth that amber-gold mist, flowing down his arms to seep into the wounds of the creature. The orc was still obviously wounded, but now able to force itself upright.
Thumping on the ground behind them were hoofbeats. With the mercenaries soundly vanquished, there seemed little reason for the horse to carry Rosemary away, and even less reason for her to ride it away. Chances were that Rosemary would be very confused at the sight of that monster standing among her protectors.
"Well done." Railtus mentioned to Julen. "Our injuries can wait. I can only heal so much at once, and Krurzeg is the most badly injured." With that name, Railtus gestured in the direction of the great orc. "Grim business now." announced Railtus, preparing Julen for the next command, "Run your spear through each of these to be sure." Of course, some, such as the one who had been smashed straight through with the war club, were undeniably dead. Really, messily, dead.
Still badly wounded, Krurzeg sat down panting, holding still to avoid further pain.
"Rosemary." Railtus called out, "You did well. Now I need something from you. Go fetch Orin and tell him to gather his family and pack for Marn. I will ensure his safe keeping. Tell him that we have plenty of trade goods but Shim has become dangerous for him."
Immediately following was a further command obviously directed at the horse. "Stay with her. Keep her safe." Of course, the smithy was nearby and in plain sight, so she would be in no danger, but Railtus simply could not leave her unguarded.
Finding the remains of the spear which Krurzeg had sundered, Railtus looked on the design with approval, recognising it as a spontoon. Unscrewing the head from the socket, Railtus attatched blade and butt spike to a staff originally from the other spear. With his new spontoon, Railtus began killing off any that Julen had not done yet.
Once that was finished, he cleaned all of the weapons and began pulling off the suits of armour. Gathering the armour pieces, Railtus accumulated one scale coat, two maille shirts, two helmets, two shields of varying designs, nine bishop mantles, and three padded jupons along with a few other padded coats. Save for the helms and shields which could go to Orin, all of these had their purposes. One maille shirt and mantle was set aside for Julen to claim immediately.
Yet unclaimed weapons were four arming swords, two short swords, a scimitar, eight daggers, two small axes, three clubs, and one thrusting spearhead without a staff. Spare weapons were found on the enemies, which did not get used in the conflict. Had a mace or a warhammer been in the battle, Railtus would have faced far greater danger.
Unrolling one of the cloaks as a groundsheet, Railtus made a collection of the jewelry. There were trophy rings. Many. Although some had none at all, either suggesting a novice or a culture which did not recognise the item, many wore two or three. The one in the scale coat had worn five. Rather than clutter up his fingers, Railtus used the cord from one of the pendants to carry eight, bringing the total hanging around his neck to thirteen, for now he kept his hands free of the rings for a surer grasp of sword and spear. An extra three trophy bands were set aside for Julen, and for Krurzeg, with a longer string made to fit around the bull-like neck by linking two of the pendant cords together.
Although there were more trophy rings in the pile, Railtus chose not to claim them. Eight victories, so eight rings. A right existed to claim more, since warriors bearing more bands were clearly fighters of greater quality and as such there was more of an achievement to the victory, but Railtus felt that the number of victories better demonstrated consistant skill on the battlefield.
Less martial rings were also found on cold fingers. Two rings of gold, one plain but the other adorned with graceful figures. Three rings of silver, two were simple bands but the third was clearly missing a precious stone. Three more bands were of copper. Rings often made a useful substitute for currency.
Making the next pile were four brooches. One of bronze, with a stone of amethyst. Another was of silver with a garnet embedded. The third was both copper and silver, bearing a stone of obsidian. Finally was a plain brooch of brass, with an amber stone. A couple more stones such as garnets or rose quartz were worn on pendants.
Ending the jewelry were armlets and torques. One gold torque and one of solid silver. Neither would fit the neck of Krurzeg. An armlet was bronze, one was brass, another was steel. Again, neither would fit the arms of the great orc. A necklace of bear teeth was among the plunder.
Further treasure was gathered from the dead. Each pouch had at least several bishani, typically more than ten. Although mercenaries were not good at holding money, they were from beyond lands less crippled from poverty. Altogether was a total securely over one hundred divided between various pouches. Two gold ingots and three silver bars were among the spoils.
Looking through the piles, Railtus claimed the silver torque, amber brooch, and brass armlet for himself. All pieces of elegant simplicity, in openly metallic shades which matched each other well. While most of the wealth was reserved for operating funds, free pick of the baubles was a warrior's gift from a lord to his companions.
Generally the other mercenaries who had stayed clear of the battle kept a respectful distance from the loot, considering plunder the right of the victors and having seen almost five-to-one odds defeated with such minimal casualties.
As Railtus stepped back from the pile, one young and almost starstruck mercenary approached. "You beat eight of them by yourself!" gasped the fighter.
"Yes." stated Railtus flatly, without comment.
"You must be a great warrior." Apparantly Railtus had a fan.
Little reaction was shown beyond a simple shrug. "I hope so." Railtus answered, "When my blade joins a good cause, I would seek to serve it well." Creeping on the edge of his awareness was the faint wisps of taint, paired with distant voices. While this admirer was leagues apart from the villains found in the village so far, he was no innocent.
Watching the battle, this fighting man had seen the power and success, victory and glory, not the dangerous plight of an innocent woman. Being answered with modesty astonished the young swordsman, instead of questioning the unexpected response, he continued on. "You should lead warriors." A guess could be made where this is leading.
"I intend to." stated flatly, plainly, easily, without further comment.
"Fighting like that, swords will join you."
"Good." Few of the hired swords here would be acceptable to him, short on honour as they were, but being known among warriors was an extra step towards knighthood, and raising followers in the future was another. Breaking any remaining pretense, Railtus took the opportunity. "For those who would serve me, my orders are simple. Pitch a tent."
The mercenary stammered. "Lord?"
"My enemies are those who prey on the weak, who force defenceless families to surrender their homes. Those who would serve me must meet higher standards of honour." Railtus declared, at full comfort stating his challenge out loud. "Go three days and cow no one, then seek me out at House Anstrun. Those are my terms. Spread the word. Bring me results, and you shall you be rewarded."
He had finished on a magic word. "What kind of reward?" Eyes lit up at the prospect.
"That will depend on the results. A share drawn from booty. I will decide after. What is your name?"
"Wilnen."
"My name is Railtus. We shall meet again." There were two interpretations to that promise, only one of them pleasant.
With the potential of reward for simply spreading a story, Wilnen began spreading his tale.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
While Railtus and the monster exchanged words in some strange, guttural language, Julen was bursting with questions. However, he didn’t want to interrupt. So, he waited patiently, figuring Railtus would tell him anything he needed to know.
Rosemary’s return temporarily distracted Julen from any questions regarding the creature that had helped save her. In Julen’s opinion, she looked rather magnificent seated on the horse, like a warrior maiden from one of his mother’s stories. As she drew closer, he waved to her, hoping to show that he was alright. Rosemary waved back. But before they could prolong their reunion, Railtus had fresh instructions for both of them. After a nod of acknowledgement, Rosemary rode off toward the smithy, while Julen began the distasteful task of finishing off any survivors. As much as he tried to think of his actions as merciful, bringing a swift end to any lingering suffering on the part of the mercenaries, he still felt grateful that most of the men seemed to be quite dead even before he plunged his spear into them.
“Hey there! Julen!”
Startled by the sound of his name, Julen turned around in time to see Rosemary’s father striding toward him. Involuntarily, Julen gritted his teeth, which sent a stab of pain through his jaw. Then he glanced down at the fallen mercenaries, almost willing one of them to get back up and start something, just to spare him from this encounter. But the dead remained dead. So Julen did his best to brace himself.
“Father Howel,” Julen greeted. The title implied considerably more respect and affection than Julen actually felt for his in-law. But, despite ample provocation, Julen always tried to be polite to the man. He knew Rosemary hated being estranged from her family, and he didn’t want to spoil the chance of some eventual reconciliation. “I hope you’re well.”
“Well enough.” Truthfully, he looked to be thriving. Howel was a large man, both in height and girth -- if Rosemary’s failure to marry a rich man had deprived her family of food for their table, he certainly showed no sign of it. “I didn’t expect to see you back from Marn so soon.”
Here it comes, Julen thought with a sinking heart. Howel always seemed to take an indecent amount of satisfaction in Julen’s struggles, as if each misfortune served to prove him right about who his daughter should have married.
But, to Julen’s astonishment, Howel didn’t use the opportunity to rub salt into his son-in-law’s wounds. Instead, he gave Julen a friendly slap on the shoulder. “I saw what just happened. That was well done. For once, I’m proud to think of you like a son.”
A wave of gratification washed through Julen. Howel had seen how hard he fought to defend Rosemary and at last realized there were things a man could give his wife other than money. Julen was just starting to formulate a few gracious words to acknowledge the deed, while also perhaps paving the way for a new relationship between himself and his father-in-law, when Howel spoke again, dashing all his hopes.
“You've got more wits than I gave you credit for. It was clever of you to use Rosemary as bait like that. Those brutes couldn’t resist her beauty, and then you had every right to cut them down. Looks like you made yourself a good bit richer.”
Julen gawked at his father-in-law, too shocked to speak. Until, finally, the strength of his incredulity forced out words. “You think I would risk the life of my friend--?” Julen gestured at Railtus. “By the gods, you think I would risk the safety of my wife for any amount of bishani?”
“Come now, boy. No need to get melodramatic. There’s hardly a scratch between the three of you. You were never in any real danger.”
That, Julen thought, was all very easy for someone to say when they hadn’t been surrounded by six angry mercenaries. And as for ‘barely a scratch between them’, Julen had seen the wounds on Railtus, never mind poor Krurzeg getting speared in the gut, or his own face, which was already beginning to swell and bruise. But Julen had long ago given up trying to argue with Howel. “Excuse me, I need to go. It hurts to talk to you.” While it was true that moving his jaw produced a certain amount of discomfort, that wasn’t really the pain Julen meant. Still, Howel appeared oblivious to the jab, simply shaking his head as he watched his son-in-law walk away.
When Julen went to join Railtus, he found the warrior already talking with a young mercenary. Not wishing to disturb them, Julen knelt beside the cloak Railtus had spread across the ground, and examined the jewelry set out on it. Two cords, each strung with three trophy rings, had been assembled. Guessing that one was intended for him, Julen fastened it around his neck -- although he didn’t add his first trophy ring to the strand. That he kept on his finger, since it was displayed to honor Railtus rather than himself.
After securing his new necklace, Julen sorted through the other jewelry. One piece in particular, a gold ring adorned with graceful figures, captured his interest. That would make a nice gift for Rosemary. But as Julen reached over to pick it up, the locket Rosemary had given him shifted against his throat, reminding him of its presence. If things had gone differently today, that locket would be lying in another pile. And one of the mercenaries would be claiming it, perhaps wondering briefly at the lock of hair contained within, before shaking it out onto the ground. A feeling of sickness welled up in Julen. How many of these trinkets had been tokens from lovers, gifts from wives? Of course, any man willing to participate in what those mercenaries had planned to do to Rosemary was a man that his wife or lover was probably better off without. But perhaps they’d been good once. Before power corrupted them, before violence jaded them. For a moment, Julen thought of his dream, thought of his shadow self blocking all paths to the future.
I need remember this, Julen thought to himself. Whatever happens, I can’t let myself become what they became.
When Julen raised his head to look at Railtus, he noticed that the young mercenary had departed. This gave Julen a chance to finally vent his curiosity. “Who -- or, rather, what -- is Krurzeg? What is he doing in Shim? Why did he risk his life to help Rosemary?”
As he bombarded Railtus with questions, Rosemary returned with Orin and his family.
Rosemary’s return temporarily distracted Julen from any questions regarding the creature that had helped save her. In Julen’s opinion, she looked rather magnificent seated on the horse, like a warrior maiden from one of his mother’s stories. As she drew closer, he waved to her, hoping to show that he was alright. Rosemary waved back. But before they could prolong their reunion, Railtus had fresh instructions for both of them. After a nod of acknowledgement, Rosemary rode off toward the smithy, while Julen began the distasteful task of finishing off any survivors. As much as he tried to think of his actions as merciful, bringing a swift end to any lingering suffering on the part of the mercenaries, he still felt grateful that most of the men seemed to be quite dead even before he plunged his spear into them.
“Hey there! Julen!”
Startled by the sound of his name, Julen turned around in time to see Rosemary’s father striding toward him. Involuntarily, Julen gritted his teeth, which sent a stab of pain through his jaw. Then he glanced down at the fallen mercenaries, almost willing one of them to get back up and start something, just to spare him from this encounter. But the dead remained dead. So Julen did his best to brace himself.
“Father Howel,” Julen greeted. The title implied considerably more respect and affection than Julen actually felt for his in-law. But, despite ample provocation, Julen always tried to be polite to the man. He knew Rosemary hated being estranged from her family, and he didn’t want to spoil the chance of some eventual reconciliation. “I hope you’re well.”
“Well enough.” Truthfully, he looked to be thriving. Howel was a large man, both in height and girth -- if Rosemary’s failure to marry a rich man had deprived her family of food for their table, he certainly showed no sign of it. “I didn’t expect to see you back from Marn so soon.”
Here it comes, Julen thought with a sinking heart. Howel always seemed to take an indecent amount of satisfaction in Julen’s struggles, as if each misfortune served to prove him right about who his daughter should have married.
But, to Julen’s astonishment, Howel didn’t use the opportunity to rub salt into his son-in-law’s wounds. Instead, he gave Julen a friendly slap on the shoulder. “I saw what just happened. That was well done. For once, I’m proud to think of you like a son.”
A wave of gratification washed through Julen. Howel had seen how hard he fought to defend Rosemary and at last realized there were things a man could give his wife other than money. Julen was just starting to formulate a few gracious words to acknowledge the deed, while also perhaps paving the way for a new relationship between himself and his father-in-law, when Howel spoke again, dashing all his hopes.
“You've got more wits than I gave you credit for. It was clever of you to use Rosemary as bait like that. Those brutes couldn’t resist her beauty, and then you had every right to cut them down. Looks like you made yourself a good bit richer.”
Julen gawked at his father-in-law, too shocked to speak. Until, finally, the strength of his incredulity forced out words. “You think I would risk the life of my friend--?” Julen gestured at Railtus. “By the gods, you think I would risk the safety of my wife for any amount of bishani?”
“Come now, boy. No need to get melodramatic. There’s hardly a scratch between the three of you. You were never in any real danger.”
That, Julen thought, was all very easy for someone to say when they hadn’t been surrounded by six angry mercenaries. And as for ‘barely a scratch between them’, Julen had seen the wounds on Railtus, never mind poor Krurzeg getting speared in the gut, or his own face, which was already beginning to swell and bruise. But Julen had long ago given up trying to argue with Howel. “Excuse me, I need to go. It hurts to talk to you.” While it was true that moving his jaw produced a certain amount of discomfort, that wasn’t really the pain Julen meant. Still, Howel appeared oblivious to the jab, simply shaking his head as he watched his son-in-law walk away.
When Julen went to join Railtus, he found the warrior already talking with a young mercenary. Not wishing to disturb them, Julen knelt beside the cloak Railtus had spread across the ground, and examined the jewelry set out on it. Two cords, each strung with three trophy rings, had been assembled. Guessing that one was intended for him, Julen fastened it around his neck -- although he didn’t add his first trophy ring to the strand. That he kept on his finger, since it was displayed to honor Railtus rather than himself.
After securing his new necklace, Julen sorted through the other jewelry. One piece in particular, a gold ring adorned with graceful figures, captured his interest. That would make a nice gift for Rosemary. But as Julen reached over to pick it up, the locket Rosemary had given him shifted against his throat, reminding him of its presence. If things had gone differently today, that locket would be lying in another pile. And one of the mercenaries would be claiming it, perhaps wondering briefly at the lock of hair contained within, before shaking it out onto the ground. A feeling of sickness welled up in Julen. How many of these trinkets had been tokens from lovers, gifts from wives? Of course, any man willing to participate in what those mercenaries had planned to do to Rosemary was a man that his wife or lover was probably better off without. But perhaps they’d been good once. Before power corrupted them, before violence jaded them. For a moment, Julen thought of his dream, thought of his shadow self blocking all paths to the future.
I need remember this, Julen thought to himself. Whatever happens, I can’t let myself become what they became.
When Julen raised his head to look at Railtus, he noticed that the young mercenary had departed. This gave Julen a chance to finally vent his curiosity. “Who -- or, rather, what -- is Krurzeg? What is he doing in Shim? Why did he risk his life to help Rosemary?”
As he bombarded Railtus with questions, Rosemary returned with Orin and his family.
Shim -- where the men are men, and the livestock are scared.
-
Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Flickers of amber still danced in his eyes, which during the battle had been radiant orbs. The calm intensity in that gaze made them difficult to read, as if so much was displayed clearly within, but all of it was beyond mortal understanding. Unable to see his own eyes, of course, Railtus was very much oblivious to the change. No explanation was given to the meaning at least.
Questions were put briefly on hold, "In a moment." decided Railtus, "Be wary of that man who approached you, his soul is steeped heavy in taint." An allusion to angelic insight. That advice was given with certainty, as the sight of the Angelsworn left little doubt in matters of integrity. Had Railtus actually known what Howel had said, he would stopped what he was doing to punch the honourless wretch full in the face. Perhaps Howel could learn to appreciate the danger of being surrounded by hostile warriors.
Subtlety was not one of his strong points.
With Orin and the family out, there were fearful glances directed towards Krurzeg, which Railtus made little issue of, but privately resented. "Everyone!" he announced, gaining their attention. "Don a sword belt and dagger, two of you loop the axes through your belts as well. We all walk, the horse will carry the armour." With that, he began throwing the scale coat atop the saddle, along with a maille shirt, all of the padded armour and all but one of the mantles. "Don that." Railtus advised Julen, pointing to the remaining maille shirt and mantle.
With that done, more instructions followed, "Now we depart. Leave the bodies here, I want them seen." For all his kindness, Railtus could be a hard man. "Orin." he called, taking note of the needed brawn of the blacksmith. "Krurzeg is wounded. Help him walk."
The blacksmith just looked fearful.
Something was said to Krurgez, who appeared to protest, but Railtus answered firmly, although a listener would notice that he finished his point with the name of Julen. At that, Krurgez nodded and complied.
"Do it." Railtus told the blacksmith quite plainly.
Now on the move, Railtus was free to answer Julen's questions. "Krurgez is a great orc. They originally began as weapons of flesh spawned by dark magic in the vast wars. Dark magic spawned them, but they have survived as a race, as has the creation process in the hands of some corrupt magi. Most were made merely to fill the armies, but others were made as a larger and stronger breed to serve as war machines." The notion of Krurgez as a war machine made perfect sense, as he was near the size of a small troll.
"Bred to serve as battle-slaves, they are typically used for evil, but when their masters are gone, future generations know not what to do with themselves. Most are again claimed by evil, with demons taking the role of their new masters. Others are hunted down by enemies of the one who made them. The rest spend their lives looking for someone to serve. The fortunate ones find religion, gaining something to live for."
"As for why he was in Shim, there was a call for fighters. An army is being raised for something, and fighting is his life. Helping Rosemary was because he knows what happens when a beautiful woman is kidnapped."
Having gotten clear of the village, Railtus had something else to present Orin with. "While in Marn, I have a use for you. Our new armour will need adjusting. You can do that during our stay, so that we may return better equipped to make the town safe for you to return home to."
Perhaps more overwhelmed than anything else, Orin nodded.
Questions were put briefly on hold, "In a moment." decided Railtus, "Be wary of that man who approached you, his soul is steeped heavy in taint." An allusion to angelic insight. That advice was given with certainty, as the sight of the Angelsworn left little doubt in matters of integrity. Had Railtus actually known what Howel had said, he would stopped what he was doing to punch the honourless wretch full in the face. Perhaps Howel could learn to appreciate the danger of being surrounded by hostile warriors.
Subtlety was not one of his strong points.
With Orin and the family out, there were fearful glances directed towards Krurzeg, which Railtus made little issue of, but privately resented. "Everyone!" he announced, gaining their attention. "Don a sword belt and dagger, two of you loop the axes through your belts as well. We all walk, the horse will carry the armour." With that, he began throwing the scale coat atop the saddle, along with a maille shirt, all of the padded armour and all but one of the mantles. "Don that." Railtus advised Julen, pointing to the remaining maille shirt and mantle.
With that done, more instructions followed, "Now we depart. Leave the bodies here, I want them seen." For all his kindness, Railtus could be a hard man. "Orin." he called, taking note of the needed brawn of the blacksmith. "Krurzeg is wounded. Help him walk."
The blacksmith just looked fearful.
Something was said to Krurgez, who appeared to protest, but Railtus answered firmly, although a listener would notice that he finished his point with the name of Julen. At that, Krurgez nodded and complied.
"Do it." Railtus told the blacksmith quite plainly.
Now on the move, Railtus was free to answer Julen's questions. "Krurgez is a great orc. They originally began as weapons of flesh spawned by dark magic in the vast wars. Dark magic spawned them, but they have survived as a race, as has the creation process in the hands of some corrupt magi. Most were made merely to fill the armies, but others were made as a larger and stronger breed to serve as war machines." The notion of Krurgez as a war machine made perfect sense, as he was near the size of a small troll.
"Bred to serve as battle-slaves, they are typically used for evil, but when their masters are gone, future generations know not what to do with themselves. Most are again claimed by evil, with demons taking the role of their new masters. Others are hunted down by enemies of the one who made them. The rest spend their lives looking for someone to serve. The fortunate ones find religion, gaining something to live for."
"As for why he was in Shim, there was a call for fighters. An army is being raised for something, and fighting is his life. Helping Rosemary was because he knows what happens when a beautiful woman is kidnapped."
Having gotten clear of the village, Railtus had something else to present Orin with. "While in Marn, I have a use for you. Our new armour will need adjusting. You can do that during our stay, so that we may return better equipped to make the town safe for you to return home to."
Perhaps more overwhelmed than anything else, Orin nodded.
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.
“Rosemary’s father?” Julen hated to believe that the man was as tainted as Railtus said -- mostly because such evil would be bound to cause Rosemary more sorrow. But Julen had learned that the world didn’t arrange its affairs to spare even the most deserving people. And he had to admit that, in this instance, there was ample evidence to support Railtus’s claim. “I suppose that’s no great surprise. Not after how he’s treated her.”
Julen did wonder how Railtus had made his evaluation, since he couldn’t have simply recognized Howel, and he’d been too far away to eavesdrop on Julen’s conversation with his father-in-law. However, this open and populated place seemed like an unwise place to ask. So Julen filed the question away until later. Instead, he put on the maille shirt and mantle Railtus had set aside for him, and added an ax to the growing assortment of weapons held by his sword belt.
As they started walking back toward Marn, Julen listened intently to Railtus’s explanation about Krurzeg. An orc! Julen had seen a troll or two during his time in the city, but orcs were creatures that previously only existed in his mother’s stories. Of course, as was so often proving to be the case, he learned that the tales omitted certain details. It saddened Julen to think that an entire race had been fashioned for such a foul purpose. Fighting was not a thing to live for. More than ever, Julen’s recent experience with the mercenaries had convinced him of that. Fighting was something done to protect the things in life that were worthwhile -- family, friends, community. Beauty, joy, hope. To fight simply for the love of battle was to ultimately lose everything else forever. Despite the obvious language barrier, Julen wished for a chance to repay Krurzeg by showing him that.
“I hope you apologized to him, on my behalf, for jabbing at him with my spear. I didn’t understand what was going on. When I saw him charging at Rosemary, I thought the worst. But she and I are both very grateful for his help.”
Besides the tragic details of Krurzeg’s racial history, one other thing that Railtus said bothered Julen. Someone was raising an army. Julen had been so busy trying to deal with the mercenaries that he hadn’t given much thought to why they were in Shim to begin with. The answer that Railtus provided wasn’t comforting. Julen knew that all their efforts to stop the mercenaries from wreaking havoc would be wasted if Shim ended up in the middle of a battlefield. “An army? Who’s raising it? And why? If we were about to be attacked by a neighbor, wouldn’t the city militia be involved?”
Julen did wonder how Railtus had made his evaluation, since he couldn’t have simply recognized Howel, and he’d been too far away to eavesdrop on Julen’s conversation with his father-in-law. However, this open and populated place seemed like an unwise place to ask. So Julen filed the question away until later. Instead, he put on the maille shirt and mantle Railtus had set aside for him, and added an ax to the growing assortment of weapons held by his sword belt.
As they started walking back toward Marn, Julen listened intently to Railtus’s explanation about Krurzeg. An orc! Julen had seen a troll or two during his time in the city, but orcs were creatures that previously only existed in his mother’s stories. Of course, as was so often proving to be the case, he learned that the tales omitted certain details. It saddened Julen to think that an entire race had been fashioned for such a foul purpose. Fighting was not a thing to live for. More than ever, Julen’s recent experience with the mercenaries had convinced him of that. Fighting was something done to protect the things in life that were worthwhile -- family, friends, community. Beauty, joy, hope. To fight simply for the love of battle was to ultimately lose everything else forever. Despite the obvious language barrier, Julen wished for a chance to repay Krurzeg by showing him that.
“I hope you apologized to him, on my behalf, for jabbing at him with my spear. I didn’t understand what was going on. When I saw him charging at Rosemary, I thought the worst. But she and I are both very grateful for his help.”
Besides the tragic details of Krurzeg’s racial history, one other thing that Railtus said bothered Julen. Someone was raising an army. Julen had been so busy trying to deal with the mercenaries that he hadn’t given much thought to why they were in Shim to begin with. The answer that Railtus provided wasn’t comforting. Julen knew that all their efforts to stop the mercenaries from wreaking havoc would be wasted if Shim ended up in the middle of a battlefield. “An army? Who’s raising it? And why? If we were about to be attacked by a neighbor, wouldn’t the city militia be involved?”
Last edited by Julen on Fri May 25, 2007 1:58 am, edited 1 time in total.
Shim -- where the men are men, and the livestock are scared.
-
Sir Karsimir
- Citizen
- Posts: 714
- Joined: Wed Jan 10, 2007 8:12 pm
- Name: Karsimir Von Greyssen
- Race: Reichvolk human
Giving a shrug which released a fresh trickle of blood down his arm, Railtus was delayed in answering by a wince. Pushing up the armlet, he forced it so far up his arm that it was tight enough for a makeshift tourniquet. "Battles are confusing. He bears no grudge."
Many of the worries given voice to Julen did not occur to Railtus, the terrain would simply not permit such a thing. Most likely, the mercenaries had travelled here in small groups of less than a score, save for the odd larger company that passed straight into Marn and took up residence in the Fighter's Guild.
"An attack is unlikely. Most of the land is dead, there would be no way to support a force large enough to be of threat to the city. And why bother? Beyond Shim and the forest, we have nothing but wasteland. Shim is too close the city to be siezed as a supply base, the devils in the forest would gradually destroy any army lurking within without need for the city to even fight back." Naught but peril would be on offer for those seeking shelter within those dark trees. "In fact, it would not surprise me if the battlemages had pacts with the things within. Added to that, the City Guard own artillery the likes of which the catapults and ballistae of other kingdoms could not match." Evaluating the evidence together, the support for his conclusion felt overwhelming. "This realm would be too much trouble to conquer."
"Besides, as I understand the city, they would sooner conscript within the city, starting with the trolls for instance, than call upon outsider mercenaries." The word outsider was chosen for a reason, since it would mean more in such a xenophobic land. "Most likely someone intends a campaign elsewhere for whatever reason. The campaign may have potential to help me towards a knighthood, but the people who need my help are more important." Only once he had spoken did Railtus realise that he was speaking of postponing his dream. With that realisation, nothing changed.
While the mercenaries may have only come a score at a time, with the passing of weeks each score would mount up. True, today a significant dent had been made in the mercenary population, but the free blades that remained were still over fifty. As skilled as Railtus was and as much as he had faith in his comrades, he held no expectation of the three of them prevailing over fifty.
By now they were well clear of the village, and on their way to Marn.
http://www.tharshaddin.com/rp/viewtopic.php?p=8119#8119
Spoils to the Victors. (Respond here if you see anything important, but wanted to get started in Marn)
Many of the worries given voice to Julen did not occur to Railtus, the terrain would simply not permit such a thing. Most likely, the mercenaries had travelled here in small groups of less than a score, save for the odd larger company that passed straight into Marn and took up residence in the Fighter's Guild.
"An attack is unlikely. Most of the land is dead, there would be no way to support a force large enough to be of threat to the city. And why bother? Beyond Shim and the forest, we have nothing but wasteland. Shim is too close the city to be siezed as a supply base, the devils in the forest would gradually destroy any army lurking within without need for the city to even fight back." Naught but peril would be on offer for those seeking shelter within those dark trees. "In fact, it would not surprise me if the battlemages had pacts with the things within. Added to that, the City Guard own artillery the likes of which the catapults and ballistae of other kingdoms could not match." Evaluating the evidence together, the support for his conclusion felt overwhelming. "This realm would be too much trouble to conquer."
"Besides, as I understand the city, they would sooner conscript within the city, starting with the trolls for instance, than call upon outsider mercenaries." The word outsider was chosen for a reason, since it would mean more in such a xenophobic land. "Most likely someone intends a campaign elsewhere for whatever reason. The campaign may have potential to help me towards a knighthood, but the people who need my help are more important." Only once he had spoken did Railtus realise that he was speaking of postponing his dream. With that realisation, nothing changed.
While the mercenaries may have only come a score at a time, with the passing of weeks each score would mount up. True, today a significant dent had been made in the mercenary population, but the free blades that remained were still over fifty. As skilled as Railtus was and as much as he had faith in his comrades, he held no expectation of the three of them prevailing over fifty.
By now they were well clear of the village, and on their way to Marn.
http://www.tharshaddin.com/rp/viewtopic.php?p=8119#8119
Spoils to the Victors. (Respond here if you see anything important, but wanted to get started in Marn)
My faith protects me, my kevlar helps.