Blood and Gold (Kuza)

[John Godfrey]

Season of Winter, Day 31, AV 512
The Bronze Woods

Where there is gold, there is blood. Whether it is gold made by honest hands working themselves to the bone to make ends meet, or by the bloodied sword taking the spoils of conquest from the broken bodies of an adversary. Or, by theft, usury, and robbery. But it is all the same, isn't it? A bandit may kill for coin, but a merchant may achieve the same goal without loss of life. Does that make them any less wicked? You can kill and rob a man once, but you can cheat him again and again, can't you?

It was that kind of thinking that made John not mind the slaughter. He didn't mind anyways, of course, but that was how he justified it. That was how he convinced the poor fools who aided him to waylay the small caravan that now lay in ruins on the road coming from Sunberth. It was a small procession, one wagon and a few horsemen for guards. The group had ambushed the caravan, killing the guards and the driver, taking their ill-gotten gains to Syliras to be sold. Amongst the many illicit things that tend to come from Sunberth, the rag tag group that John had pulled together found many things that could be bartered and sold in a legitimate market. John Godfrey had split the goods equally amongst his men, and bid them take it to market, then meet again at a later date to divide the coin equally.

“It'll just be easier this way,” He told them, “Easier to count, and divide, you know?” He said, blowing smoke as he drew on the pipe he smoked after the bloodshed. The poor fools went along with it. The drugs were not sold, of course, John kept them for himself after telling the group they were worthless. The wretches would have been caught, and then all the money would be gone as the Knights began to ask where the drugs came from. Then the whole operation would just go up in smoke as the Sunberth caravan's ruins were traced and John Godfrey and his men were discovered to be those guilty of the murder, and theft.

“We'll meet in the Bronze Woods in three days,” John told them, his three stooges, his three henchmen, “Three days, and be there, or I'll find you. I'll find you, and you'll wish you'd never left Syliras.”

So, here, on the agreed date, the three men came and waited for John Godfrey, the man who had turned them to banditry. Of course, the prospect of gold was on everyone's minds, and the subject quickly turned to the haul they would divide.

“How much do you reckon?” One man asked his fellow, a tall lad. He was young and tall with no beard.

“I had to carry mine in a large bag,” he said, “and it's rather heavy. Heavier than any coin bag I've carried before. How about you?” Both men looked to the third, who held up a bag even larger that jingled with coin.

“I must have a silver tongue,” he said grinning. He was short and fat, and walked with a limp slowly as a cripple. He carried a spear for a walking stick, and surely that was what helped him survive the attack on the caravan, “I've never seen so much gold in me life!”

They laughed like fools, excited and happy. They could be wealthy after this. These men were poor, workers who slaved away for others praying to be able to keep a roof over their heads. They were no fighters, but simple men. Good men. Men who greeted the sun and fought to make their way. Men who resorted to banditry to provide for themselves and their loved ones. Not for malice, like John Godfrey.

John Godfrey knew this, and he watched them. He lurked nearby, watching. He had picked these men specifically for this reason. They wouldn't think things most bandits would think of. Things like “One less hand means the others fill more.” One less share to be shared.

John saw they had brought the money, and grinned a wicked grin, a grin that would sour milk. They wouldn't know what hit them. He rose up and walked towards them, holding his arms out in greeting.

“Greetings friends!” He called to them, “Fortune finds us today!”

The bandits came to greet him, and as they came to him, thinking themselves safe from harm, John struck like a viper. He snatched a knife from the belt of the tall beardless lad who came to embrace him, and drove it into his guts, up under his ribs up to the hilt. Blood poured out over his hands and the lad fell backwards, gripping the knife in shock and surprise that it had happened. John drew them in with promises of riches and happiness, not knives.

The second man recoiled, stepping backwards as John drew his bastard sword. The short fat man came to his feet with his spear, and tried to skewer John before he could kill any more, but found his spear kicked to the side, and a sword ripping through his neck and throat, spraying his life blood to the grass.

The third man tripped, and fell on his haunches, holding his hands up to beg for mercy like it would work. In a mighty downward chop, the poor man's head was split in two. The limp body fell backwards on now bloody grass. The tall lad still twitched and groaned, clutching the knife in his bloody hands. The wound would not likely be fatal. But that's not what John wanted. John wanted no witnesses. So, he plunged the sword through the man's neck, watching the blood come from the lad's mouth and throat. He left the sword as he went to collect the gold they had brought, singing a song quietly to himself as he picked up the bags of coin, and whatever else might be valuable they have on their person.

“Gold and blood, blood and gold,
Silver and sword, sword is sold,
Money is merry, merry is me,
Made myself wealthy, the bandits three,”

He ended the verse with a laugh, opening the bag in his hand to see the shine in the sunlight. He bent low to gather another bag of gold, taking his time. He figured himself alone in the mountains that day. There was no reason for him to be tracked, everything had been done in a way that could not be followed, as far as he knew. But he never figured he may be found by happenstance. He hummed the tune to himself, laughing occasionally. He was oblivious, and vulnerable. He didn't expect a thing to go wrong. A single. Damn. Thing.

[Kuza]

First, she heard screaming. Loud, long screams through the wood before abruptly ending. She followed them - Kuza was on patrol, and that was her job. Siya picked her way easily around the Bronze Woods, and she launched into a canter despite her poor horsemanship, holding on with her legs and attempting to steer the leopardbred, but the mare knew what she was doing. Kuza stopped the horse when they came to the place she suspected the screams to come from, and she was right. There, down a little ways, was a man covered in blood, picking up shiny gold mizas and humming. There was the slaughter of three men around him, but this man was...happy. He reminded her of her homeland, and that was bad if you weren't a Myrian in Falyndar, where the slaughter of opposing factions was a good thing. Kuza didn't dismount, her sword hooked to her side, opposite of her quiver full of arrows just waiting to make this man into a porcupine. She was glad she wore her light armour when she patrolled - it was much easier to fight in. Rarely before had she used her bow atop a horse, but it seemed like the best option now. She drew her shortbow, grabbing an arrow and notching it onto the string. The man still didn't seem to notice she was there, but she had to act quickly before he did. She pulled the arrow back and aimed it, but she didn't shoot. Not yet, not unless he drew his sword or ran. She took a few steps closer, (on the horse), before calling at him. "Sir, you're under arrest."

[John Godfrey]

“Hmmm?” John turned his head, looking over his shoulder at the woman, having to turn further than most in order to see the Syliran knight with his good eye. He turned back to what he was doing, and stood back up when he figured nothing of value. He turned and began walking back towards to the knight, whom he figured a Myrian by the look of her. She had a look too fierce to be from around those parts. He had to play his next cards carefully. He felt a bead of sweat drip down his temple, seeing the Myrian rider had the drop on him, already having an arrow knocked and drawn. There in the clearing, there would be no cover for him, nor would he be fast enough to dodge an arrow at that proximity. He was getting older, and old wounds slowed him more than he would like them to. Also, with only one good eye, would he see that an arrow had been loosed? She hadn't tried to kill him yet, though, which was a plus. Also, she only wanted to arrest him, so he yet may be able to walk away from this one.

“Under arrest, ma'am?” He said, trying to look and sound perplexed and dumbfounded, “Whatever for? These lads tried to rob me! Took me for a one-eyed fool, they did, but they didn't take me for a soldier like they should've. I thought my sword would be a dead giveaway, hah!” He tried to sound friendly, hoping his appearance wasn't too detrimental to his attempts at innocence.

He went to where his sword had pierced through the lad's neck, and held up his hand to the knight, showing he meant no harm and just wanted to retrieve his sword. He put his boot on the lad's chest, and pulled the sword free, wiping the red blade clean on the lad's clothing.

“I swear to you, I'm but an old soldier who got waylaid by ruffians who knew not who they trifled with,” He lifted the sword up, and put the tip to the mouth of the sheathe on his baldric, and pushed it home, leaving him unarmed before a drawn bow, “I killed them in self-defense, so they'd not kill me themselves.”

He drew his pipe next, and filled the bowl with tobacco. He struck a match to light it with, and took a few good draws before speaking again, smoke billowing from his mouth. “Surely,” John said, taking another draw to bring the tobacco in the bowl to a warm orange glow, “A Myrian like yourself can appreciate a good fighter's handiwork,” He motioned towards the bodies, “And if I hadn't taken care of them, they may have waylaid you. I think I may have just done you a favor, lady Knight.”

He held out the pipe to her, offering her a smoke on his pipe, “It's good stuff, you should try it,” He said, offering a friendly smile, “Also, there's no need for the bow. Can't smoke with hands full of drawn bows anyhow, right?” He grinned, and held out the pipe, “Go on, before it goes out!”

It was just tobacco. John wouldn't offer a knight smoke that had been tampered with. Knights take care of their own, and that was a mess he didn't need right now.

[Kuza]

"I don't care, and I don't smoke." She didn't flinch, didn't put down her bow. The only movement she made was from adjusting her aim to have the arrow pointed at him at all times. Her arm was hurting from the strain of keeping the string pulled back all the way to her anchor point, but she didn't care. "You're under arrest." His story made him sound more innocent, but it wasn't for her to decide. It was for the council of three, and that's where he was going, whether he liked it or not. She didn't want to let a murderer go because 'she thought he was innocent'. No. She wasn't going to let him cater to her Myrian side, either. He couldn't win her over with flattery. Now, she stood where she was, muscles taut, ready to loose an arrow and chase at a moment's notice.

[John Godfrey]

"Seems there's no reasoning with you," John said with distaste, "You're an oak."

He put his hands on his hips, having placed the pipe back in his mouth after the knight declined his offer. John puffed silently, still under the aim of the arrow. He figured after so long with an arrow drawn, her aim may be off due to the strain of her muscles, and he may escape with a wound if he were able to escape at all. He began to wonder why she stalled so long. He had carried on a conversation with her long enough to do all but introduce himself, and he figured knights who arrested people would do more than point arrows at people and make threats. Was the gear she wore stolen? The knights might pay for the body of someone who stole equipment. If she was true knight, there was no shortage of bodies whom it might fit. The Mizas continued to stack.

"Do I frighten you?" John said, sizing her up, and crossing his arms. "I expected shackles, and other toys for being under arrest. You weren't sick that day of training, were you?"


"Don't let the bodies worry you, I am completely harmless," he said with a reassuring smile, "Arrest me, if you're up to it." He held out closed fists to invite shackles, with a grin that issued a challenge. Almost. For who would challenge a knight?

[Kuza]

No. You could do many things, and you couldn't do even more - including the taunting of a knight. What kind of man had the audacity to disobey a knight? Her word was law, dammit. And it didn't matter how long she'd been holding the bow - the difference in her aim wouldn't be very much. She'd barely been holding it for a whole minute, and she had trained for years to be able to use a shortbow without shooting someone's eye out by accident. She adjusted the bow, just so slightly. Her hit would only injure him, injure him enough so that he could still be half walked, dragged along by the rope in one of her saddle bags. He was going to get to sit in the Tank, and he was going to get to stand in front of the council and plead a lesser punishment. She loosed the arrow.