by Styn on December 20th, 2012, 12:01 am
Styn surveyed the lay of the land, looking out from the crest of a hill they had been fortunate enough to find. The squad had broken through the worst of the forest at least half a bell ago. The pack itself was operating fairly close to Ravok. This entire journey through the wild lands had only really taken a few bells. However, the noontime rays of Syna did little to warm those gathered below. The extra distance traveled had turned autumn into winter. Each black cloaked and armored figure was making puffs of white smoke with every exhale. Styn was really starting to regret not dressing for success. He'd warm up quick enough when the wolves showed themselves, battle was always hot.
Careful questioning of Gafgar had revealed that this was only the most recent hunting area of the pack. Tracks found on their side of the river had revealed that the wolves were still in the region though. Wolf sign on the other bank showed that the pack tended to favor both sides of the river, or rather, neither side. Unfortunately, it wouldn't be possible to position themselves to use the river with any degree of accuracy. "We'll trust to Rhysol to provide," Styn prayed. On the other hand they did have this nice hill. It was surprising how close the wolves had wandered, they must be pushing the limits of being turned aside by the hand of Rhysol. This was actually the closest to Ravok the pack had operated to date, reinforcing Styn's belief that this dire had wandered in from Taldaria to the west. Eating everything in its path most likely. The last thing we need is some enemy plot involving dire beasts, Styn thought.
Down below on the riverbed, Sevris was deploying the blood decoy, so Styn set to work making his final preparations as well. He had dropped his pack when reaching the area, recognizing it as a great place to lie in wait much as Sevris had. It had been nice to relax his senses a bit, taking point was far more taxing then he had anticipated. Good fortune alone had saved the squad from encountering anything beyond that rabbit, but Styn appreciated the chance to lead the way. Even if his back crawled with the spear toting Soldier's gaze the entire time. No doubt the man had hoped that Styn would fail miserably and learn his place. Still those thoughts were for another time, and after leaning down to his pack he rummaged around for a bit and soon had a ration pack out.
It would take the wolves several bells to notice the blood decoy, plenty of time to put some food in his system. Some would say that eating before battle was just asking for trouble, but Styn had never been one to have an upset stomach over physical activity or adrenaline surges. Food was fuel and they would need to keep their energy charged. He noticed the other bowman doing the same, although it seemed that Gafgar hadn't thought to bring anything himself. Well I'm not going to want a full belly anyway, Styn thought with a glimmer of amusement at the man's blank hungry stare. "You look starved Gafgar," Styn said passing the man some of the ration. "Got to keep your strength up man, how else are you going to run away?"
"Not running away neither," the man mumbled around a bit of dry travelers bread. It tasted like sawdust but filled famine's hole well enough. Nothing quite like the fine cuisine to really enforce the image of an elite fighting force. Truly they were blessed with such bounty as dry bread, stale cheese, and leathery bits of dehydrated meat. Praise Rhysol, Styn thought as he chewed another bite.
"Oh? you fancy yourself a wolf slayer with that dagger then?" Styn said as Sevris joined them. The ration pack had an entire day worth of food so Styn passed what remained to the apprentice and finished his own share. No need for Sevris to break a fresh ration open even if he had brought one.
Gafgar looked at Styn like he was crazy. Pulling out the dagger he flipped it so that he was holding it by the tip. The spin was oddly graceful, raising a recent memory from last fall, another flashing blade, wielded with skill. He suddenly felt stupid even before the trapper flipped the knife into the ground with a smooth thunk. "It's a knife," Gafgar said with a grin.
Maybe he won't be completely useless then, Styn groused. There was still a few things left to do though. Another trip through his pack revealed two bottles he had requested specifically when drawing his gear. He'd had to pay for these but hoped the mizas would be well spent. Styn felt slightly uneasy handling the liquid contents. Both vials contained dark tongue, a poison made from the venom of a black adder. It was more then that of course, the venom was concentrated to be several times as effective. It was one of the best low level poisons if you wanted an immediate and noticeable affect. That at least, Styn remembered from the classes he had taken. It was part of the Serpente family of poisons, a family that Styn specialized in, sort of. It wasn't that the amateur knew anything helpful about snakes, and Styn doubted he could craft anything but the most mild of versions. Still, it didn't take that much knowledge just to apply the poison.
Styn withdrew eight of his arrows and meticulously applied a dose of dark tongue on each arrow tip with a cloth, folding it so it was thick enough to avoid contact with his skin. There had been close calls in the past and there was plenty of time to make sure this was done right. First the cloth would be doused in poison, then holding an arrow by the middle of its shaft, Styn would liberally coat both sides of his bodkin tipped shafts, armor piercing they were sometimes called. The projectiles wouldn't fly as far as flight arrows, but packed a much larger punch for all of that. A nearby rock allowed for him to have each arrow point upward, drying in the air. Despite his caution he felt a bit light headed after and pulled his single vial of antidote taking a swig. Just once I'd like to do this without poisoning myself, Styn thought darkly. Within another few chimes he was clear headed once more. It might just take a bit more skill to apply correctly after all.
Twelve more arrows without deadly venom, went point first into the ground in a grouping for easy notching. Styn noticed the other Ebonstryfe bowman not doing the same but said nothing. The use and preparation of a shortbow was not the same after all. Even a standard longbow usually didn't require any special preparation. This however was a one hundred pound warbow. Styn doubted the woman with her smaller bow would even be able to pull his string to a full draw, there was trick to it that super ceded physical strength. The last twenty arrows were left in their side quiver, he would need them if forced to move. They had passed a bell or so in silence and now Sevris stood, exchanging words with Styn. As he moved down toward his position below Styn called out, "Rhysol's grace on you this day brother." Rhysol's grace to us all, Styn prayed with a touch of eagerness. The blessing of chaos to their foes.
The chimes seemed to tick by in slow motion. Styn stood ready with the other bowman. Although this close to the city, the ground was free of snow, still the cold beat at him. Shivers shook his frame beneath black brigantine. The time spent waiting was tracked by the dulling of Syna's rays into evening. Just as it started to seem that they might want to start considering lighting some torches, there was movement. The wolves it seemed, were eager to start their day with a fine breakfast. The Ebonstryfe would be sure to give them a healthy serving of steel.
As the five regular wolves advanced into the clearing Styn took his stand. Starting with feet shoulder width apart he took a single gliding step forward with his right foot, bow held firmly in his right hand just below the middle. When held upright in preparation to loose, the bow was just shorter then he was himself, nearly three times the size of the woman's shortbow. The arrows themselves were likewise larger, each just over two and a half feet in length. Most of his weight was rested onto his rear foot, it would anchor his shots as he leaned his upper body into each draw. The first volley would be a poison arrow and he would hope for the the best. Styn's left hand reached down to pull one of the eight poison arrows from its earthy sheath. He was able to raise the arrow in one motion, as he had visualized before, and notch it firmly into place. Fingers holding the nock, he held the arrow steady with his left hand. Here was the trick. You don't pull a longbow by the string. You push the bow away from you. This allowed for an archer to use their whole body to stabilize the shot.
Styn had achieved a full draw, endpoints of the bow arched inward, practically quivering with the tension. The nearest wolf was a full two hundred yards, and despite not seeing the dire, Styn prepared to fire to thin the crowd. It was a short wait however, the monstrously large ebony wolf stalked into view presently, its mouth hung open slightly. A crimson tongue tasted the air and Styn imagined that he could see its nose crinkling as it drunk in the sent of blood decoy. It would seem to be coming from the river, like a corpse was waiting just below the slow moving waters.
Commander Guss dropped his hand which had been raised to stop the archers. Good thing I didn't fire early after all, Styn thought. He doubted the Commander would appreciate such lack of discipline. He still wasn't used to not being the one to call the shots. In his initiate days he had led the charge with an arrow most times, letting his squad know with his opening salvo that it was time to strike. As the hand fell forward two arrows struck home. The shorter arrow opened the side of the dire's face with a deep cut. The battle may have ended there had the shot been luckier. Not many things could survive an arrow to the eye. Styn's own arrow was aimed more center mass and buried itself almost to the hilt in a thick muscled shoulder.
With a howl the black wolf charged, smaller cousins snarling in its wake, undeterred by injury. Styn would have time for three more shots before the wolves reached their ground forces. They had been lucky again in that the pack would have to traverse the river to reach their main group. That water would cost them. Styn reached down for another arrow, non poison this time. He would use the next shot to try and gauge how fast the dire was moving. The biggest part of hitting a moving target was to not over think it. Spend all day hesitating and you'd never work up the nerve to loose. The next arrow was drawn and released within moments of the first, even anticipating the dire's power Styn found himself surprised and his shot landed behind the beast. The shortbow volley may have landed had the wolf not ducked its head at the last moment. A crafty beast then.
Styn's third arrow was drawn just as the dire reached the river bank. The distance was too great for him to track the wolf with ease, or perhaps his mind just couldn't track fast enough. Instead of wading through the icy flow as he expected the creature leaped to the other side in a powerful display of strength and agility. This failure of observation would cost Styn another arrow. The shortbow however tracked the motion, the woman perhaps noticing something Styn had missed. A second arrow struck home in the chest of the creature but didn't penetrate the bone underneath. Had Styn hit that shot, it would have driven and arrow into its black heart. Those gathered below would be readying their charge. While only landing one arrow was disappointing it wasn't the end of the fight. If Styn saw an opening he would be ready with another arrow, until then there were five other wolves to keep out of the battle, wolves not nearly as fast as their dire cousin. Even that beast would soon be feeling the weakening effects of the poison tipped arrow.
Drawing a forth arrow from the earth, Styn continued to provide cover fire from the hilltop.