[Flashback] My Forest! (Markus)

[Rhuryc]

For being so stubborn Rhuryc was good with instructions. When Markus commanded, he followed, lowering himself down as the bonds were cut. The camp was stirring. Everywhere men were rubbing the sleep from their eyes, grasping about to get a hold on the situation. A few had already figured it out. It was these people that Rhuryc watched. Closer now. He saw several of them go for weapons - they were blissfully unarmored, but if they got closer the both of them were as good as dead. And so the blacksmith put his faith in the squire. "Faster please." Rhuryc locked stares with an approaching vandal. He was crouched, steady, ready to pounce in a moment's notice. The man drew closer. "Faster." He practically growled. From behind her head the sawing of rope, the quick, rapid cutting of a dagger. The man was almost there. Done! Rhuryc felt his arms give way. In a moment's time he was up. He launched himself forward and slammed his body against the bandit. Bloodied fingers dug into exposed sides and Rhuryc cracked his forehead against a face. In the recoil he wrestled the shield from his opponent and sent it down onto the back of a head. A sickening snap and sputter followed. From there Rhuryc retrieved the blade and tossed it aside to Markus, now deeming his questions worthy of answer. "Lots." That was all. With the rope still attached to his arms and his coat smothered in mud, Rhuryc looked half a beggar, but the fire in his eyes could never be mistaken for anything less than a warrior. "Quick, come on. Before they organize." He was off at a dead sprint, his path bringing him toward the center of the camp. Find the biggest tent and raid it. That should work, right?

[Markus Andres]

The old man was not the only one who looked like a filthy beggar. Markus was also in a sorry state. Clothes dirty and smeared in blood, some his own, some not, and mud. He heard combat behind him and Markus spun and witnessed the old man dispatch of an armed attacker with relative ease. Markus wondered if he was more dangerous armed or unarmed. In either case, Markus would be hard pressed if he was to fight the man. Markus caught the blade that was thrown in his direction. He held the dagger in his off hand until he could find a shield. He would turn back around to see if there were any attackers. He heard the old man bark an order to follow him. But there was an attacker too close to Markus. The man's spear went straight at Markus' abdomen. A swift slash with the blade swept it aside. Markus dashed forward alongside the spear, three quick steps. His left hand clutched the dagger tightly before the arm shot forward. The man tried to defend himself with his arm, but the dagger went past his feeble attempt. It dug deep into the man's chest. Past bone and into the heart and lungs. Death would be quick. But for Markus, he knew it would take an eternity if he looked into the man's eyes, so he deliberately looked away. He could not bear to have another dead man's eyes imprinted on his soul. He left the dagger in the man's chest as he turned away and ran. Determined not to look back. Just look ahead and follow his ally around the camp. Not to look back and remember anything about the man he just had killed. He saw his ally run a good distance a head of him. He grit his teeth and ran faster. His legs pumping and aching as he ran. At the beginning he was too occupied with not looking back, that he did not realize they were not running out of the camp. His ally had actually decided to go further into the camp in search of their gear. Markus saw a lit campfire out to the side in front of a tent with only a pair of bedrolls in them. He deviated from the direct path behind the old man to run over and grab a burning log and chucked it onto said tent. Hoping for the tent to catch fire, for nothing created confusion like a raging fire. He saw his ally run to one of the larger tents. Markus followed. Sword in hand and eyes peeled for any bandits nearby. He ran to the largest tent that he had seen Rhuryc run to. "Find anything?"

[Rhuryc]

Rhuryc did not bother with a response. Instead, he stood with his foot in his mouth. There, behind what appeared to be some kind of portable table, were three men - each clothed, aware, and armed. The one in the middle was a thick fellow. Tall, well kept, dark and handsome. To his left stood an Akalak with both an axe and his Lakan drawn, and opposite his blue counterpart stood a monster of a human, himself armed with a glaive. And behind them all, if just for a moment, a flash of light from the parting tent flap revealed the blade of Naravane. Luck, it seemed had reared its pretty head. Sort of. "Morning." Rhuryc almost bowed. The Akalak came first. A clatter followed blistering wood as Rhuryc's shield met an axe, his arm hurled out to shove the sundering blow aside. Both warriors collided in a mess of violence. The Lakan bit at Rhuryc's flesh, the blade ripping through his dull leathers and leaving a trail of red from the chest. The both of them turned around each other in a rush. The Akalak circled for another strike while his enemy pressed forward, armed only with a shield Rhuryc shoved the edge of it into an exposed stomach and the two of them went stumbling to the ground. Braced, blistered, Rhuryc slammed his fist into a floating rib only to have the Akalak twist himself free and roll over, forcing the human's back to the ground and gaining dominance over their spat of a grapple. They struggled. The Lakan came down once again and Rhuryc shifted his head away from the blow, his temple mere inches away from the embedded blade. His shield came up. Caught in the face, the Akalak groaned and went reeling back, his hand forgoing the weapon crusted in the dirt. Rhuryc made for the hilt. In a swift, solitary strike, blade passed blade and a spray of blood erupted from the Akalak's neck, coating Rhuryc's countenance in a warm mess of red. The man grunted and shoved the blue warrior away. He stood and turned, eyeing the solitary man that stood between Rhuryc and his blade.

[Markus Andres]

Markus tilted his head confused at the response from the old man. There was absolutely nothing good about that morning. But when he arrived at the opening of the tent, he realize the remark had not been to him. Rather, to the trio inside. He momentarily looked at the trio and then glanced at the bastard sword in his hand. He really wished he had a shield. There was not time to lament the lack of a shield, for the fight would soon begin. The Akalak moved first. Markus had seen many of those in Syliras and a good portion of the knights were of Akalak heritage. They were not to be taken lightly. But what would a proud warrior be doing with scum like these bandits, Markus pondered before the huge man made a move directly for Markus. He looked at the flail in his hand. Strange weapon for a highwayman. But out the corner of his eye he noticed the initial battle between the old man and the Akalak. It was only momentarily before Markus put his sword to good use and deflected the initial attack from the huge man. Normal men might shy away from fighting someone as large as this man, but Markus had spent the better part of his life fighting someone who towered above him. Today was no different. His left hand gripped the hilt as well. No reason to fight like he had a shield. He slowly backed up as the huge man continued his assault. Markus working hard to deflect the heavy strikes or even at times dodge them. Waiting for a moment where he could counter attack. The glaive suddenly snuck past Markus’ defense and left a vicious cut across Markus’ left shoulder. Markus stumbled back as he bit his teeth together and tried to subdue the pain. But then something caused Markus’ mind to lose its calm edge that he had worked hard to restore and maintain after his first killing. He saw the old man fall to the ground with the Akalak on top of him. Surely killing his ally. Although he barely knew the man, he still felt horrified when he fell. Like a close friend of his had just drawn his last breath. Markus felt a kinship with him, he had fought alongside the man. Trusted him to guard his life and in turn, been trusted to do so. Markus let out an angered growl and went on the offensive. Knocking the glaive aside with a furious strike from the bastard sword. Markus saw surprise in the man’s eyes as Markus advanced the bastard sword almost taking the head off of the man. Markus bothered not to care for his defense. He immediately reversed the swing of the failed decapitation move and it slammed heavily against the huge man’s glaive. He stumbled a little to the side from the heavy blow, but Markus would not give him any respite and the bastard sword struck again and again. Each time that darned glaive was there. Blocking or deflecting the blows. It only served to anger the young squire more. Markus made an overhead chop down at the man’s head. As expected the Glaive moved up to block the strike. But Markus had a different idea in mind. The direction of the blade changed as he chopped. The blade struck the glaive, but rather than being stopped, it was deflected in a direction of Markus’ choosing. It slid down the long pole of the glaive. Slicing one of the huge man’s fingers off, he had been a little too slow to let go of the glaive. Markus jumped forward. His shoulder driving into the man’s chest and knocking him back. Before he followed up with the pommel of his blade. Driving it directly into the man’s ribcage. Hearing a rib snap from the relentless assault. As Markus swung his blade around to finish off the opponent. He felt the butt of the glaive strike him across the face. Sending Markus’ own attack off by a couple of inches. So rather than mercifully killing the man within moments. The blade cut into the man from left shoulder down across his left breast before the blade had left his flesh and only cut his clothing. Markus stumbled away holding the left side of his face as the man held his chest. Blood flowing between his fingers and Markus surely realized that the man knew he would die. Markus quickly went forward. His blade piercing the chest of the man and went straight through his heart. Leaving little doubt that the man would die quickly. Markus immediately spun towards the Akalak and his ally. But to his surprise and joy, it was the Akalak who was on the ground dead and his ally standing. Markus let out a sigh of relief and was quick to get to his side. For there had been a third man in the tent.

[Rhuryc]

There was nothing to say. Rhuryc nodded to Markus and took the left flank of the remaining warrior - that which had armed himself. He held both of the desired weapons, Rhuryc's sword in one hand, Markus' in the other. That boded well. With an unceremonious grunt, Rhuryc advanced with a slow gait, one foot shuffling before the other, his mass held low behind his shield while he kept his Lakan low, ready for a strike. Never misjudge the opponent. A voice scolded him in the back of his mind. This fellow may very well be death in disguise. Rhuryc came all at once. Working in tandem with his companion, the larger of the two seared forward first, his shield sent flailing at their shared target with little more than a distraction. There was a dull crack as the blade of Naravane slammed against the wooden board and sent a mass of splinters about the tent. He felt them pierce his flesh. Pain seared up his leg, but little else. No time for that now. The man could move. Rhuryc was hard pressed to defend himself when the blows fell, his shield shoved between his torso and his own blade. The effort was practically moot. Despite being outnumbered, the bandit, whoever the hell he was, held himself with a killer's instinct, striking with a fury that the Sylrian seldom encountered. Wood and metal crashed against one another in one, two, three strikes, until there was nothing left of Rhuryc's defense. His arm burned. With nothing but the Lakan, Rhuryc prepared himself for a swift end, only to find himself unhindered. Markus? Markus. He did not waste a second. The moment the man's attention was swayed, Rhuryc bounded in and wrapped his arms around whatever he could find. Blessed by opportunity, he wrapped the bandit in a bear hug and squeezed, forcing his weapons down to give Markus a chance at striking. Until, that was, Rhuryc's face found the back of his captive's head. His vision blurred. He felt his nose contort and blood run free from his nostrils and mouth. And still he held on. Another strike, this time at his waist. Rhuryc grunted, but he held on. Necessity demanded pain.

[Markus Andres]

Markus had never encountered someone like that. His pride would never have him admit it out loud, but alone... He would not had stood a chance against this mere bandit. Markus had a tough time keeping up, his left arm constantly pained by the recent wound. But he tried. The old man took the brunt of the attack. Markus could barely keep up. Something slipped past Markus' defense and got him in the side of his face. Markus stumbled sideways. His knees weak. But he was still alive. Markus was surprised that he was still alive. He was dazed and he barely understood what had happened. Had it been the flat side of the blade that had hit him? Must have. Even worse. It had been his own blade that had slapped him. It felt like he had been slapped by a god. His cheek burned with a fiery red color. He could see nothing through his left eye. Even if he tried he could barely see anything from the mix of tears and blood. Markus took a short gasp of air before he realized what the hard thing he was touching with his left hand. His shield! He picked it up and then he realized something even more sinister. The man's plan. With Markus, their defense might have held. Without Markus. The old man stood alone. Markus right eye went wide as he saw how the bandit dismantled the older man's defense. With barely any conscious thought, Markus pushed off. Holding the blade firmly in his hand and the blade cut across the man's backside. He barely hit him. But anyone would know that having a blade slice across your back, no matter how deep, it would hurt. A lot. Especially when the shield followed up and hit the same area. For Markus, there was no defense after that attack. He could barely turn in time to see through his good eye that the man was about to strike down at him. But in turn, the old man saved Markus' guts from being spilled on the floor of an unknown tent in the Bronze woods. Seeing those powerful arms wrap around the man made Markus' relieved. Twice in almost as many chimes, Markus had thought the man dead. But he did not have the time to be amazed at the man's resilience. For he was buying Markus time. Time to kill the man before him. Markus could see the bandit fight furiously to be free of the grip. Markus quickly got his blade to swing back. The old man would feel that last strike to his waist before the man he was holding would weaken considerably. As Markus' blade cut him across the stomach. It was the only open place Markus could see. The only place that his ally was not too close. They would hear the bandit howl in pain as his organs spilled from the stomach. His hand futile in trying to keep him together. "LET GO OF HIM!" Markus yelled. Hoping the old man would follow orders. For Markus' shield swung back. The metal rimmed edge striking the bandit leader right in the temple. Crushing the cranium just below the skin. Markus knew no man could survive such a hard blow to the skull. It was impossible. Every atom in his body felt like it was in pain. His mind was almost blank with agony at the amount of blood he had shed. He tried to justify it. But no answer he came with made much difference. He knew it was a burden he would have to carry. The day before he had been struggling with killing people. Today, he had killed many more. It was self defense! He subdued the guilt as he picked up both the blades the man had used. For he had recognized one as his own, meaning the other most likely belonged to his ally. He handed the blade to him. "... Tough one... " Markus was unsure if he was referring to the old man or the bandit leader. "Are you alright?" Markus said handing him the blade before looking for the rest of his gear. Particularly his bow. Considering his numerous injuries. Fighting from a distance sounded good. After a couple of seconds. He found it and the quiver. The rest of his gear a couple of seconds later. "You, we gotta go." Markus said. He would wait for the older man before he would leave the tent and then head in the direction he would deem least defended and thus easiest to escape through. He was constantly alert that his ally didn't lag behind. For although Markus felt injured like never before, he knew the older man had it much much worse.

[Rhuryc]

Rhuryc hit the ground with an unceremonious thud. He coughed and spat up some blood, only barely aware of the antics about him. There was a scream followed by a gurgle of blood. Markus? Rhuryc struggled and stumbled. He pushed himself up from the ground and forced a leg up, his body resisting the will of the mind. Somehow, he managed to stand. Everything about him was hoarse. His coat was covered in blood - his own and others - and just about every inch of him had a bruise or five. Still, if he was going to survive he had to act. Or not. The man's shoulders slumped in relief. Instead of the hideous bandit fellow, Markus stood in his place, unharmed - well, alive at least - and in some shape enough to run. Rhuryc nodded and reach for his blade only to realize that his right arm would not move. At all. It hung limp at his side, so instead he grasped at the hilt of Naravane with his right, his knuckles whitening around the handle in a death grip. Wounded, beaten, battered, there was still fight left in him. "Rhuryc." He spat out between the dulled pains in his countenance. "Rhuryc Naravane. It's a pleasure." Rhuryc barked out a laugh. What in all the hell. Half limping, he turned and made for the exit of the tent, following behind Markus without complaint. There was still work to do.

[Emblem]

Congratulations! You Get Glorious Experience! Rhuryc Skills Escape Artist- 5 XP Brawling- 5 XP Weapon: Shield- 4 XP Lores The Great Escape Recovering Property Working Together Markus Skills Weapon: Shield- 5 XP Weapon: Bastard Sword- 3 XP Philosophy- 2 XP Weapon: Dagger- 2 XP Unarmed Combat- 2 XP Lores Restless Nights Recovering Property Using One's Rage The Great Escape Working Together Excuses for Killing Comments : Great job with this thread guys, I enjoyed it, but I always enjoy some good old action and adventure. Hopefully everything makes sense lore and skill wise, and if not, please shoot me a PM!