Solo A Highly Valued Target

[Razkar]

Continued from here

36th Day of Winter, 512AV

The shouted word had the Akalaks jerk their heads up, ears pricking, but before they could react a half-dozen arrows whipped through the breeze and among them. Two of them speared through the neck of Wessel's horse, making it shriek with agony and its froth turn to vomited blood as it crashed downwards. Two more missed entirely, another caught an Akalak in the shoulder-

Razkar's slammed into the chest of the horse he aimed at, and it reared up in pain, it's rider barely keeping hold-

As a fresh volley was unleashed upon them.

Wessel squealed as he tumbled onto the cold, hard ground, feeling something break but the shock was numbing him. He was a merchant, a money-lender, with soft, perfumed hands and for the gods' sake, this is what he had bodyguards for! And now he saw one of the Akalaks take two arrows square in the chest, chainmail no protection at this range, arrows piercing his heart and lung and sending him toppling from his horse.

Another blue-skinned warrior opened his mouth to bellow a warcry and an arrow caught him in the throat. The cry became a gurgle of blood and he was dead before he hit the mud.

"PROTECT THE MASTER!"

But the rest were faster, and Razkar could see they were experienced in this breed of chaos. They didn't panic for even a moment. They leapt from their horses and slapped or slashed them with their weapons, driving them forwards towards their attackers. Two of them stayed by their fallen employer, and the other four drew their weapons and charged.

Razkar notched another arrow, took aim... and fired.

He aimed for the stomach but it lodged in a violet-skinned Akalak's arm instead, making his growl in pain but then he just ripped it out in disgust. Razkar dropped the bow, drew his weapons and screamed.

"FOR MYRI!"

The Akalaks saw the dark-skinned warrior break cover, shrieking and yelling with ax and gladius in hand, eager to get close. A final swarm of arrows hurtled towards them. Two slammed into one of the those guarding Wessler, bowling him over as he tried to heave the terrified human back to his feet. Pierced through the gut and lung, he staggered backwards, looking down in disbelief, and when he fell back to the ground, Wessler fell with him.

"Stay down, master!" The other Akalak said urgently, a lakan in each hand as he shielded the human with his own body. "We deal with them!"

"You petching well better!"

Now more humans came charging from the grass, along with... the Akalak bodyguards faces hardened. Two of their own kind, blue-skinned and stone-faced, were with the scum that had ambushed them. Both wielded lakans. There was an unmistakable pause... and then battle was joined.

Race and creed mattered not in battle. Only life and death did.

Razkar ran to one of them, a violet-skinned bruiser a foot taller than him and wielding two lakans. He slashed at his ribs with his hand ax and the wickedly-curved blade jerked down to stop him, other lakan stabbing towards his gut-

-only for the Myrian to swipe horizontally down with his gladius, knock the sword-dagger to the side and lash out with a boot between his legs.

The Akalak grunted in pain but it was quickly overridden by outrage. He doubled over but jerked his head down and forward-

-nailing the smaller savage right across the nose.

Razkar yelped and staggered back, nose broken, blood flowing into his mouth. Pain and stars and blackness flashed across his vision but he stayed on his feet, willing himself to be ready for-

The Akalak slid forwards and swiped from the side with his right, Razkar meeting steel with steel as his gladius caught it, the blue-skinned warrior foot lashing out for his leg-

-and he twisted to his right, narrowly avoiding the kick-

-swinging his hand ax towards the Akalak's stomach with a growl.

The lakan that jerked down to block the ax was just a shade too slow and Razkar slammed the weapon into the bigger man's stomach. The razor-sharp ax head gnawed through chainmail and bit greedily into the muscled flesh beyond. The Akalak gasped in pain, lakans rising again-

-and Razkar ripped his weapon free and jumped back from the swinging blades. The duel was far from over, and though speed was of the essence, he would not die today through overconfidence. Gasping and bent over, the Akalak glared at him with sheer hatred, then readied his twin weapons again and charged.

[Razkar]

Around them, the ambush was going down as quick and nasty as Tortuga had wanted it to. Vikuris and Erakmus were not honorable warriors, and the two of them fought one of their Akalak "brothers" at the same time, quickly overwhelming him and cutting him down.

The Burned Man and another human did the same thing, the scarred sellsword keeping the broad-sword wielding warrior busy while his partner snaked in from the side and buried a dagger up to its hilt in his side. The Akalak cried out and slashed down, the human already rolling away, leaving the dagger buried in the blue man's side-

-giving the Burned Man just the opening he needed, taking the Akalak's sword arm off at the elbow. The Akalak stared at it in sheer, stunned disbelief, and the expression was still on his face when the Burned Man sliced open his throat with a yell.

But not all was going their way. Two of Wessler's bodyguards, one of them the man that had been by the merchant's side, carved through four of the humans like they weren't even there, sellswords no matched for seasoned warriors. Two went down under whirling lakans and another managed to get a slice on one Akalak's leg before they took his arm and then his head. The fourth tried to run. He didn't get far.

Razkar saw all of this in a blink, and much as he saw, he did not concern himself. This battle, his battle, was all that mattered.

The Akalak darted forwards, then shifted to the side and lashed out with his left, forcing Razkar to block with his hand ax. Steel smashed against wood and the latter held for a moment-

-and then the shaft was cut through and Razkar was left holding a broken wooden handle.

The Akalak reacted immediately, backhanding towards him with his right lakan and Razkar jerked his gladius in his left hand over, just stopping it, then kicked out again-

-catching the Akalak right in the gaping wound in his stomach.

The Akalak howled with pain and hurled himself forward, teeth bared in fury, filling Razkar's vision-

-the Myrian leapt to his side, dropping the useless wooden handle from his ruined ax. The Akalak's charge missed him, but as he sailed past he swiped out to his side again with his lakan-

-and Razkar screamed as the blade cleaved through his side.

The leather armor was useful and lighter and more flexible than metal, and the studs certainly helped, but against a full-bodied swipe from such a huge warrior, it was no real defense. The lakan cut through it easily, opening a gash in the Myrian's side. He felt his life blood flow under his clothes, soaking the top of his breeches and running down his legs...

The gladius seemed to hum in his hands, blood-red vision taking over. Fury, raw and erupting, came unbidden and with a shriek like an enraged Zith he charged at the Akalak.

He slashed from the left and the Akalak parried it, returning it from his right. Razkar ducked the horizontal swipe, right hand reaching back to the small of his back, pulling his kukri-

-the Akalak slashed down with his right lakan, but the gladius stopped the blow dead, then slashed down at Razkar's leg with his left-

-the Myrian roared in pain as another gash was opened there, leather breeches slashed open along with his flesh-

-a moment before his kukri came swinging from behind him and up and into the side of the Akalak's throat.

Yellow eyes popped open wide in shock, and before rage could win out to strike back, Razkar tightened his grip and jerked the blade towards him with all his strength-

-ripping it free from the Akalak's neck, taking with it blood, muscle, a wind pipe and his jugular.

A fountain of blood erupted from the gaping second mouth opened up in that blue throat, bathing the snarling Myrian for a moment. The Akalak's eyes clouded, life already fading from him as he sank to his knees...

Razkar roared his victory and with one final swing he took off that bodyguard's head.

[Razkar]

Tortuga swung and kept swinging until the bastard went down, and that was not easy.

The final two Akalaks fought like demons, and that's no hyperbole. They'd seen their comrades die, butchered without mercy, and knew they were next. The human, Wessler, their weasel-faced boss, was still alive, cowering next to the body of his horse.

Zekari nodded to his friend, Iravi, and the decision was made. Zekari kept fighting the stout human with the great ax nearly longer than him, and Irvai ran to their boss.

"Get on a horse!" He shouted, gutting a human with a mace as he ran by, parrying and slashing in one move. "Get out of here!"

The words forced their way through Wessler's terrified mind, and some primal urge pushed him to his feet. He had to escape. Even half-paralyzed with fear, his mind was working, cogs turning, and they told him that if these bandits wanted him dead, they wouldn't have shot his horse. They wanted him alive.

And he knew why.

He pumped his chubby legs, heading for a milling horse off to one side, the only one that had not run. Iravi covered him as best he could, planting his body between him and the bandits attacking them-

But then Vikuris and Erakmus strode towards him, lakan ready, and his stomach dropped.

The Drykas were not watching the Akalaks sparring: their eyes were only for their target. One of them wordlessly notched a fresh arrow in his already-raised bow, drew it in a moment and fired-

-sending an arrow traight through Wessler's lower left leg.

The merchant screamed as agony the liked of which he'd never felt coursed through his veins and brought him down heavy and hard. He blinked and saw another arrow take the milling horse in the throat, blood spurting from the ragged hole it tore.

It slowed. It staggered. Then it sat down as if weary, not scared or dying, and sat there on its folded legs until the blood stopped flowing...

"Traitors!"

Iravi snarled and raged and shouted at the two Akalaks who fought him, their faces stoic and unperturbed by his anger. They fought him at once, ignoring the nobility and honor of single combat in favor of just doing the damn job fast-

-and they did.

Zekari dodged another massive swing from Tortuga's ax jut in time to see the two Akalaks hack at his partner's arms and legs, taking first one lakan and then the other. Still swinging his fists, Iravi went down to his knees, curses spilling forth-

-until Vikuris calmly slashed his throat, and the duel was over.

Tortuga exploited the moment of shock to the hilt, and reversed his grip on the great ax, stepping forwards and slamming the bottom of the six-foot wooden handle into the Akalak's jaw. Zekari spun round wildly, impact from the muscular human momentarily shattering his balance-

-then felt the thud of an ax into his chest. He looked down and saw the hand ax buried there, chainmail no defense against the sharp head, and noticed the handle was broken...

He saw the Myrian standing there, bleeding, panting, soaked with blood-

-the Drykas put two arrows into his back, and finally, his legs betrayed him.

Zekari sunk to his knees on the road, surrounded by the dead and the dying. None of those still living had kept count, but barely three chimes had passed since those first arrows were loosed. In that time, Wessler was down and sobbing, the horses were dead or scattered, six of Tortuga's sellswords were dead or bleeding out... and Zekari was dying, too.

He felt the wind on his face, bitter and chilling, and realized he would miss it. He knew that he should not think that now: he would be dead soon, after all. But that didn't seem to matter. He was viewing everything from so far away, like it wasn't really his body kneeling there, pierced and bleeding and wounded... with the Myrian approaching him...

Razkar limped over to the man and wrenched his broken hand ax out his chest. A minor torrent of blood poured over the chainmail, but the Akalak didn't seem to react. Without pause the bloody Myrian cocked back his arm and slashed open the Akalak's throat.

Zekari fell back, and wherever he was, he stopped watching. Perhaps he had somewhere better to go.

He hoped so.

[Razkar]

"Myri... cast eyes on your son this day. Feast-"

"We don't have time for that shit, Myrian!"

Razkar whirled around in anger, looted lakan stalled over his head. Many others would not have interrupted the sight of a blood-splattered Myrian kneeling over the corpse of his enemy, blade ready to rip a hole in its chest for sacrifice. But Tortuga returned his glare with one born of practical urgency.

"We need to move, and you need to get patched! Now, gods damn it all!"

Razkar paused, but knew the human spoke the truth. His Goddess-Queen demanded proper sacrifice, but she also understood the need to be pragmatic. Having one of her loyal warriors be caught or die on a field of victory because he had tarried in her name was not a noble or useful end.

So he shoved his new lakan in his belt, alongside the head of his shattered hand ax and the second lakan the Akalak had carried. Razkar had seen them in action now, several times, and knew them to be masterpieces of blades. He'd never forgive himself, missing the chance to take not one but two of them. And from an enemy he had slain, no less.

But for the moment, he went hunting for something else...

"P-Please, I-I-I can pay you, I can-"

Wessler's pleased died on his lips as Tortuga shoved his ax head under his nose. It was huge, easily twice as wide as his skull, stinking and shining with blood. One of the Drykas stoically snapped the arrow shaft sticking out of his leg and ripped the rest of it free, making the merchant yelp like a whipped dog.

"You don't talk, bastard." Tortuga growled, eyes narrowed and aglow with barely-controlled malevolence. "Or we'll cut something important off ya. Yer of high value, mate, but that don't mean you gotta get home with all yer pieces still on ya. Got it?"

Wessler just nodded mutely, and within a moment one of his shirt sleeves was ripped off and made into a rough gag for him. The Drykas "helped" him to his feet and Tortuga whirled around to take stock.

The two Akalaks were wounded, but walking. The Burned Man's left arm was gleaming with blood, but he'd wrapped a filthy length of cloth around it and, more importantly, his legs still worked. The Drykas were unwounded, smart enough to keep their distance from the melee and work their deathly art with bow and arrow. That left the Myrian...

"Petch it!"

Razkar grunted in pain as he pulled the makeshift tourniquet around the gash in his leg. He'd ripped it from the bloody shirt under the dead Akalak's armor, the one he had slain, now using his own clothes to staunch his wounds. The one on his side was worse, however, and the Burned Man said as much when he rushed to his side.

"Not too deep," the disfigured human said critically, examining the blood oozing from the six inch gash in the Myrian's side, just under his ribs, "Armor helped, and yer ribs blocked most of it. But yer bleeding but... you need to be sewn up."

Razkar shook his head and forced, willed, bullied and cajoled his body to stand. Once upright his leg screamed under him, but it was a pain that would dull with every passing chime. The bleeding was stalling, and as for the other one-

He shoved the rest of the pilfered shirt under his armor, packing it roughly but efficiently over the gash. Within moments he felt the flow of blood slow, then stop, the cloth doing its job.

"Can he walk?"

The Burned Man looked at the grim Tortuga and the determined Razkar... then nodded.

"He'll walk!"

"Someone's coming!"

That came from one of the Drykas, peering down the road towards Riverfall. The Myrian could barely see anything, but the horselord human had eyes better than anyone there.

"Horsemen! Coming quick!"

"That's it!" Tortuga snapped, taking Wessler from the other Drykas like one would a sack of potatoes and leading him onwards. "We're going! Now!"

The Akalaks followed him, and the Burned Ma. Razkar glared down at the dead Akalak, the one who had wounded him so, seething that he would be denied his blood and his heart...

"Not petching likely..."

He took up his gladius and hacked off his leg, a plan already forming in his head. Then he sheathed his sword, grabbed the severed head and the dripping leg, and limped after the others.

Myri will not be denied, he thought, mind focused so intensely on his Goddess-Queen and his duty that the pain in his leg and side was nothing more than a dull, angry ache, she will have what I have earned for her this day.

The grasses on the edge of the road rustled and shifted as he plunged into them, body parts in either hand. The shaking grass ahead of him told him where Tortuga and the others were, and after a few moments he fell in at their rear. The bearded sellsword commander was in the lead, Vikuris and Erakmus flanking a terrified, limping Wessler. The Drykas and the Burned Man were behind, and at the sound of his footfalls, the latter turned and grinned.

"Not leavin' empty-handed, eh?"

"Something like that."

"When we get back, you get sewn. No petching arguments."

"Did not know you care."

The Burned Man snorted, nostrils upturned in derision.

"I don't. But for wounds like that, yer gonna need a good, paid healer..."

Razkar muttered under his breath in his own distant tongue, but when the Burned Man asked for a translation, all that answered him was silence.

By the time the horsemen arrived - a trio of young merchants looking for shiny baubles for their ladies - they found only corpses, horses and humans and Akalaks all. One vomited. The other two quailed as much as their mounts did.

But there was no sign of who had slaughtered and butchered so. Just bodies and blood, and faint, vanishing footprints leading back to the Sea of Grass...

Continued here

[Jackalope]

Raz

Award

Skill	XP Earned	Lore Earned
Observation	+4	Akalaks Can Take a Lot of Damage
Shortbow	+1	Better to Lose and Axe Than Your Head
Brawling	+2	Losing Yourself in Bloodlust
Dual Wield	+3	Honoring Myri..Later
Handaxe	+1
Gladius	+2
Kukri	+1

Injuries: I'll total them up at the conclusion

Inventory: +2 Normal Lakan
-1 Handaxe

Witty Remark Here

If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, please send me a PM and we can figure it out.