Closed Stand Unafraid

[Azmere]

1st of Spring, 516 AV

Azmere was awoken by screams that would raise the dead. He had become a very light sleeper since winter but even if he wasn’t there was no way to sleep through that sound. He clambered to his knees and grasped his bow and a few arrows then show out of the tent without a shred of clothing. He had an arrow notched and made a break for the noise. Azmere ran hard driving his legs and using his toes to dig into the cool, wet grass for traction. He didn’t do it often but there was a sense of freedom when one was barefoot. It’s almost like a more primitive connection to Semele could be felt in those moments. There was a flood of people within minutes. A Watch patrol, almost all of the neighbors and even several people who were up early or still up from last night had found their way to the shrieking woman. Seeing no immediate threat, Azmere lowered his weapon and jogged to a stop near the patrol. He watched the furious exchange of signs and broken speech. Panic had a way of being very disruptive to the language of the grasslands.

After a few ticks, the Troha managed to calm the mother down with the help of her husband. The on-duty Ra’athi had begun to disperse those who were there simply to be nosey. Some neighbors were allowed to stay and a few inter-related clan members as well. Azmere continued to stand by the horses absorbing what he could in the dim light of the early morning. It was termed light but with the warming air and wet ground it felt more like a haze. After a few chimes, the Troha came over to address his men. Azmere stepped in to their conversation and signed that he was a watchman and nothing more was needed. The Troha was a man who had been friends with many Diamond clan ankals despite being a Sapphire, himself. His name was Guyeton Sweetwind and he was a well-respected man in Endrykas.

“The kids of these people have been taken.” He made the sign for bandits and pointed to a dead family member slumped over a half-tanned deer skin. “Oldest boy.” He then pointed to the endless Sea of Grass. “Three more.” Guyeton’s hands formed the signs for two girls and one boy and indicated that the boy was small. He shook his head and look back in the direction of their patrol route. Azmere could tell by his expression that there was little the Watch was going to do for these people. “Yakhtai was very clear. We must watch the roads and the borders.” He sighed. That faraway look rolled over the brightening plains. The weather was going to be fair if not cold. Azmere saw his and cleared his throat.
He stepped up to his superior.

“I will go. The Lighthooves have been kind to me and I have not been given orders yet.” The strange eyes reached out to follow the gaze of Guyeton. The air smelled of rain but that wouldn’t affect his pathfinding. Certainly as fresh as things were, the trail would be easy to pick up. Azmere returned his sight to the Troha waiting for confirmation. It did not take long. The Sweetwind ankal was more than happy to assign this poor family some help. The Drykas, as a whole, had lost so much last season that any hope he could give to this grief-stricken set of parents was something he would relish.

“Ride well, Stormblood.” He placed a fist on his chest and turned to address the Lighthoove pavilion. The three Ra’athis from the patrol made similar gestures of respect and mounted up to resume their patrol.

Azmere jogged back to his tent and slipped inside. He got dressed and went through his pack thinning out what he wouldn’t need for a day or two’s journey. Rolling gear only. He left behind his traps and a few other things but most of his pack was necessary. Fortunately, he had spent enough time carrying the weight around to become accustomed to the load. He strapped on his gauntlets and club, slipped into his cloak then strapped on his quiver. He stepped out of the tent to find Grey sitting patiently for his master to direct him. Azmere smiled.

The little pup had been invaluable last season in keeping Azmere sane. The corpse of his grandfather and disappearance of his mother had nearly crippled his mind and spirit. The Drykas snapped his fingers once and pointed to his boot. The hunting companion got off his haunches and jogged over with a wagging tail and then sat at the edge of Azmere’s shoe. Once still, he turned his bright eyes up to his master. Azmere smiled and signed good boy. Then he bent down and scratched the pointed ears. Grey licked at the archer’s fingers, his tail thumping against the ground in appreciation of the affection.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Azmere]

Azmere walked to where the Lighthooves had gathered and were trying to calm the parents. He had made it about ten feet when he turned around upon hearing the pup’s whimper. He laughed to himself. Grey wasn’t a pup anymore. He was nearly full grown but lacked the meat of a seasoned hunter. He certainly wasn’t ready for an adventure like this one; not when dangerous people were involved. Obedient to a fault, the dog’s tail thumped on the grass as he waited for his beckon. The watchman tilted his head and patted the side of his leg twice. Grey sprung off his haunches and made several quick strides until he was beside his master. Azmere turned on his boot heel and resumed his march; the furry hunter kept in stride the rest of the way.

When they had reached the circle of family and neighbors, the ankal’s brother, Havesti Lighthoof, came and grabbed Azmere’s cloak with two white-knuckled fists. He pulled his face close. Mead was evident on his breath but the dirt-streaked face and bloodshot eyes were from his tears; not the alcohol. Azmere held the man’s gaze for several ticks before patting him on the shoulder. Havesti nodded and released his neighbor before stepping away to have another sip of his private drinking horn. The watchman moved to where he could see everyone from a position on the outer ring of the circle. He’d been filled in on everything by his fellow Ra’athi. Since they had been neighbors for part of a season, Azmere was already familiar with the children. He was angry over the whole mess but knew that he couldn’t show it. The family had enough strong emotions surrounding them and it would not suffice for their hope to sit upon the shoulders of a violent wrecking ball. The Lighthooves needed a calm presence that displayed more reason and logic than rage or pain.

After several chimes of watching everyone share sorrows, the archer had filled his motivational tank; he was ready to begin. Azmere walked by Havesti and patted Grey on the head. The older man, though half drunk, was an expert with hunting dogs. He had been the one to give Azmere the command list to use to begin teaching the hound the basics. The dog was hesitant but after he’d been given the sign to sit, Grey wasn’t likely to move. The neighbors locked eyes for a moment and then Azmere gave a nod before walking back to Hephiestian. The bags were packed and ready to go and so was the stallion. The watchman mounted up, adjusted his club then gave a kick with his heels. The beast responded with a soft patter of hooves that gradually increased into a steady gallop. Azmere leaned down and moved his hips up and down to match the motions of the strider. The ease with which the two moved as one made steering simple.

On the horizon, there was nothing but grass. Azmere used the line of Syna’s light to trace a path west. That is the way the fingers pointed. Once he had gotten out of the normal crossing routes of Endrykas, Azmere slowed his mount to a gentle walk and sat up in the yvas. He closed his eyes and focused on the power that lay within the stars. After a few chimes of purposeful breathing techniques and trying to imagine the swirls of color, the archer opened his eyes and found that things had changed. It was the same except for fragments of color thrown about by wandering creatures. The range of hues was almost confusing and it took Azmere several more chimes to adjust to the world in the shifted dystopia that he now saw. The normal colors of green, grey, blue and brown became muted as reds, yellows, oranges and brighter versions of everything else revealed bits of paths that creatures had taken. It was plain to Azmere the moment he saw the large cluster. Most of the colorful patches were small and low to the ground left behind by rabbits, perhaps a spearback or even a wolf but the big cluster of rainbow vomit was six feet in the air. There seemed to be separate entities which would explain riders on horses and the extra shapes that seemed clumsy could easily be the children.

The unscarred corner of his mouth turned up in his uneven smile. Azmere bounced his heels off the flanks of Hephiestian and the two shot off towards the west. The rider used his knees to apply pressure to the body of his horse and raise his body up off the yvas. He used the handle of the yvas to navigate around some deep-looking crevices in Semele’s skin making sure to give wide berths so Hephiestian wouldn’t slip down and roll an ankle. At his age, the old guy might not recover from such a thing. After having to slow down for almost half a bell, the ground seemed to turn back into normal plains and Azmere quickened the pace of his horse.

They rode hard for many bells. Sometimes the colors that Azmere was using for navigation were easy to spot. Sometimes they weren’t. In these times, the watchman would slow his pace or completely stop and search the ground for tracks. The weather was horrid for traveling but made tracking easy enough. Rain had made the ground soft so hoof prints were easy to find but it also meant cold bones and wet clothes. Azmere shook out his cloak as he brought Hephiestian to a stop. The colors had all but vanished and his head hurt immensely. He leaned his head down and closed his eyes. They burned. The archer felt very dizzy and decided to dismount. It was after midday and time to get something to eat anyhow.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Azmere]

The watchman unshouldered his pack and placed it on the ground between his feet. He started to rifle through it for some dried meat but came across his strong rations instead. Another wave of dizziness staggered the Drykas so much so that his shoulder fell into his strider. With a second effort, Azmere squatted down. He couldn’t sit because the ground had turned to mush. His eyes went shut to help still the pain shooting around behind his eyes. He had overused the stars and they were burning him for it. Giving his peepers a rest, Azmere remained squatted down next to his pack. He sipped at some of his water and ate on the dense nutrition of his strong rations. It didn’t take much to fill his belly. The heavy substance was salty and made Azmere take a few extra sips of water when he was done. He replaced the ration into his pack along with his water skin then stood and shouldered the thing. He opened his eyes briefly and found the grey light of the day’s gloom caused him to squint. The pain had not left.

Begrudging his oversight for exhausting the ability, Azmere climbed back into the yvas and allowed several ticks to balance and adjust. He looked around in the mud and led Hephiestian back and forth as he sought for deep hoof tracks in the mud. Several chimes went by before he spotted a tandem set of markings. The trail was right in front of him and easy to follow so the pair took off at a steady gallop. His head still hurt but the watchman was feeling refreshed from the brief rest and quick meal. Grasses rolled by and Azmere enjoyed watching the various creatures scramble bout the plains. He noted that they had strayed far from the run. The biggest indication was the height of the grasses was tall enough to hide children and small adults. This is where the Sea of Grass became dangerous. Five feet of grass could hide a lot. Fortunately, the kidnappers’ rough escape left a wide path cut through nature. The watchman urged his strider forward along this trajectory until he encountered a curious sight.

A good distance ahead, there was a cross-cutting trail that was littered with people and horses. Ever the cautious man, he took hold of his bow and retrieved an arrow from his quiver. He notched the shaft and used his legs to steer forward until he came within fifteen yards of the group. They had stopped what they were doing to watch his approach as well. For several chimes, no one moved and nothing was said as each side sized up the other. Azmere counted mostly old people and a handful of young ones but the group was mostly women and mostly Drykas. One of the young men, perhaps about fifteen signed a grassland greeting and then spoke in rough Common.

“Wheel broke.” The boy signed asking for help. “No trouble for you.” He signed friend and then looked at the horseman with a nervous expression. Azmere looked over the bunch and saw very few weapons of quality. There were several spears and a blade but no archers and no one that seemed overly strong. It was a wonder they still managed even despite their obvious lack of protection. Still, it warmed Azmere to see the Drykas spirit burning in each of them.

Azmere relaxed a bit but did not put his weapon away just yet. His eyes scanned over each individual once more. Seeing no immediate threats, he laid the bow and arrow across his lap and offered a small smile. He could plainly see that the wheel had slipped from its bushing and fell clan off the axle. The condition of the clothes, horses and wagon indicated that this family had little in the way of money and possessions. Despite his task and the pain behind his eyes, the watchman replaced the arrow with the rest and set the bow aside. He kicked his heels gently into the flanks of his stallion and steered the horse forward and to the side of the stalled caravan. Azmere dismounted and removed his pack. He set everything on his yvas and walked towards the young man who had addressed him. He dwarfed the boy and didn’t mind the looks of fear his size and scars drew. It gave the archer a sense of comfort while being amongst strangers.

“I can help you but we mustn’t waste Syna’s light.” Azmere used his arm for the boy to go ahead of him. Together they walked to the busted wagon. Azmere moved close to the ale along the frame and placed his boots shoulder-width apart. He reached down and grabbed the wood with each hand giving extra space so that his arms were outside of his legs. Before he tried to do anything, he waited for the boy to get in place on the other side of the wheel and several other family members to gather on the wheel itself. Eye contact and head nods made certain that everyone was ready. The boy mimicked Azmere’s stance and then counted down.

“Three.. two.. one!” Azmere dropped his hips at the last minute and bend his legs making his spine straight and placing all of the burden on his legs. At first, his boots sank down into the mud but then the wagon began to rise. Slowly, he straightened his legs; the muscles bulged and flexed from the strain which rippled from his calves and quads up his back to his shoulders and then down his arms where white knuckles squeezed the wagon’s wood floor. Steadily, Azmere hoisted the load until he was able to lock his knees. The family worked quickly to slip the wheel back into place and apply a new locking collar to hold it on the axle. Once a nod was given, Azmere slowly reversed his motion and gentle set the wagon back down. His body felt alive from the workout but he knew in a day or two that his legs would hurt from that kind of strain. The family thanked him and he set about getting ready for more travel. Before he turned his stallion to leave, he looked to the young man.

“Can you help me?” Azmere signed that he was looking for someone, two men and children.

The boy thought a moment and looked to one of the older women who nodded and pointed towards the coast. Azmere followed the young man’s eyes and the woman’s signal. He nodded and signed a thank you then drove his mount to where they were shown. After several bells, Azmere had to take a break and let Hephiestian drink some water. He found more tracks and prints that gave him the confidence to pursue his course and that led to several more hours of riding. Syna was ready to hide behind the horizon but the fingers of smoke rising in the west told him all he needed to know. As he crested a hill, the camp came into sight. Azmere immediately back Hephiestian down the hill and set about making camp. He would keep it simple but a day of traveling would call for rest. He could web in the morning and figure out his next step.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Cocoon]

Azmere’s night would be rather uneventful. The skies above cleared to show through all the majesty of the wild landscapes, the stars shining in their infinite numbers, filling up the dark skies with their own beauty. As a Drykas, he may have seen the untamed skies every night ever since he was born, yet not for that reason Azmere could neglect the beauty of them. The tax for his somewhat imprudent use of Pathfinding would cost him his rest. Although he wouldn’t necessarily experience bad dreams during the night, he was likely to find himself waking up every few bells, feeling as worn out as the moment in which he decided to embrace sleep. Furthermore, he’d feel dehydration whenever his eyes opened, and a deep thirst would push him out of his bedroll which would even further test his limits. The invested Djed was taxing his body. Just like in the night, Azmere would wake up with a great hunger. It would take him a great effort to rise early if he did, and if not, his unpleasant sleep would prolong up until the 10th bell had rang in a more civilized part of the world. At least, the night was not as wet as the previous day.


The new day that opened before him would be very similar to the previous one. It was a damp day with clouded skies, light rain falling here and there, clouds sweeping in from above to lay waste with their rain somewhere far on the horizon. Just like the weather, wherever he looked he would see the same monotonous landscape every Drykas spotted. Endless plains stretching out to no end, and very few details stood out. However, Azmere surely had other issues in his mind. If he was to see over the hilltop towards last night’s encampment, he would spot the encampment in question, unmoved and without any change. That did not meant the individuals that dwelled within were unmoved. On the contrary, they had been awake for a while now, and had already started working to secure their survival.


There were clearly two individuals currently active in the settlement itself. One, a tall and lanky boy no older than fifteen winters was scouting the north side of the encampment, a hundred yards away from the tents. He carried a long staff with him, possibly just a mere stick, and advanced through the shallow grass without any haste as he drug something behind him. Every once in a while, his head looked up from his feet and scouted the immediate surroundings, before returning to his task. On specific spots, he’d finally reach with one end of his staff and set off the bear trap in place. It was easier to set it off and dismount it than to try to deactivate it, or at least it seemed like that for that boy. After freeing his improvised instrument from the trap itself, he’d add the trap into the net he was dragging with all the other traps, and once again he’d begin his slow walk to some other spot in the knee-high grass. By the amount of weight he was dragging, it was likely that the encampment was well secure with the use of these kinds of traps.


The other individual, tall and lanky yet a bit more mature age-wise, was working within the camp itself. Hand axe in one hand, the axe came down with force, again and again, as it relentlessly decapitated chicken after chicken. More than a dozen of them fell victim to that hand axe. It was likely those chickens were not part of the original load for the encampment, for otherwise more prudence would be present when thinning the flock. Stolen from the Drykas as well, they were now being killed so that they could be prepared for the long day of traveling that stood ahead. The boy took one of the still revolting corpses and tossed it inside a pot of boiling water, tainted red by the still pouring blood, in which the youth would submerse the body before starting to easily defeather them. Their activity, commitment, speed and quality of work demonstrated that none of them were novices – they were seasoned, specialized in something and very capable of surviving in the Sea of Grass.


“Yose!” Called out the boy inside the camp. The trapper looked back and waved a hand, untying the rope from his waist and leaving the net of traps in the grass before he ran to the encampment. Not a word was exchanged before the two brothers, very similar in appearance despite their age difference, started working together in preparing the chickens. One of them defeathered, while the other one cut through them and removed the guts. The encampment itself was pretty simplistic. A fire stood in the middle, where the two boys worked, and two large tents opposed each other in the north and south side of the encampment respectively, easy to be inspected by Azmere by any means he chose as he had followed their trail from the east. Two wagons stood beside each tent, and two horses tied to a post grazed a few yards away. The presence of the post was yet another hint of the survival capabilities of the two, whom were aware of the rarity of trees in the Sea of Grass. Both boys would remain doing their task for a dozen chimes before the one called Yose left once again towards the northern fields, returning to his traps, while the other left the beheaded corpses of the chickens within the water and instead headed towards one of the tents.


Chimes later, one of those girls Azmere had been searching for emerged from the tent. Her hands were tied, and her eyes were slightly exhausted. She didn’t fight the boy, for she had no strength left in her. The boy conducted a dozen feet away from the center of the encampment and turned around to face her, moment in which the girl would squat down, raise her dress, and urinate right there without a hint of privacy. If Azmere had any doubts about the boy’s involvement with the kidnapping, they were probably null by now.

[Azmere]

Azmere removed the yvas from his stallion and slipped from his packs. He took his time to set up his tent using the routine to relax his body. He wasn’t exactly sure how he was going to pursue in this rescue. He had been foolhardy in assuming the task alone but there was little to be done about that decision at this point. Very rarely was the Watchman anxious but he couldn’t help but feel restless. He unfurled the canvas of his tent and went through the methodical maneuvers of posting the poles into the ground and then slipped the tent overtop. He did everything the way he always had except that he angled the poles differently so that the normal height of the shelter was lessened by nearly forty percent. The lower profile would keep the tent from being visible if anyone wandered around the small camp during the night.

The archer helped his old strider down next to the canvas by sharing the burden of Hephiestian’s weight as the stallion folded his legs. Once the beast was down, Azmere draped the tarp over the creature to keep his joints warm. He debated on a fire but knew it was too risky. He settled for some dried meat, stale bread and water. After a bell of allowing himself to just lounge under the stars, he felt it best to try and sleep. He adjusted the tarp on his strider so that it became an extension of the tent angling out and down so that the duo shared the space. It also served to remove several lines from their camouflage which just meant that the tent had less of its original shape and was less likely to stick out against a mostly flat horizon.

The night did not pass quickly with restful sleep. In fact, it was the opposite. Azmere couldn’t keep his eyes closed. They’d pop open and the darkness pushed a tension from his eyes into his skull which flowed through his entire body and caused him to move around. Four different times, he actually got out of his tent and walked around in the night air. It was absolutely the worst thing to have happen on the night before a conflict. The watchman was going into a hostile environment tomorrow and there were also a series of unknowns that he would simply have to deal with as the situations presented themselves. He would take time to count the stars and trace patterns that repeated or stuck out either in shape or luminosity. After some chimes pass, he tried to sleep but over and over again he failed. The archer eventually resigned himself to lying on his back in his tent trying to give his body what rest he could manage. His brain would be tire but there was apparently no solution so Azmere would just have to deal with it.

The Drykas was awake when the dew fell on the already wet grass and he knew that Syna would be along in a bell or two. He left nothing to chance. He adjusted his boots and pants so that they rested exactly where they were supposed to; binding clothes could be distracting. The weather warranted a shirt beneath his armor still so he took time and pains to make certain the fabric was smooth beneath the chestpiece. The black leather panels were dull and he had scorched the studs holding everything together so that they were not reflective. He put on his bracers and locked them down tight on his arms then attached his club to his waist. He slung his quiver over his head and arm then lifted up his hood. Azmere made the conscious decision to leave his cloak behind in the tent.

Setting off for the low crest of the hill under the cover of darkness, Azmere gripped his bow and moved with the breath of Zulrav. He was just another shadow weaving within the grass. For almost a bell he waited for the small campsite to come to life. A gangly youth was out stalking early. He was dragging around what looked like large claw traps. It became very apparent to Azmere that this camp or pavilion or whatever it was lacked much in the way of livestock. Furthermore, it’s almost certain that they lack any Webbers. A web mage would eliminate the need for such defenses. Regardless, the archer waited in the medium waves of grass where he could disappear in a crouch. The rays of Syna’s light were beginning to reveal more features about the boy. As the lad struggled to free his staff from the trap, he turned just enough for Azmere to see the entire collection of features and that confirmed his suspicion. This was one of the kidnappers.

A sigh escaped the watchman’s lips. A boy this young should be given a proper chance to redeem himself. The struggle presented itself in the form of a lion which represented Azmere’s promise to return the children and his respect for life and justice that materialized in the form of a dire wolf. The two animals wrestled inside the man for several chimes as he watched his target spread and set his traps. The lion was finally able to pin the wolf down and force a submission. While Azmere respected the laws of his people, he also knew that sparing the life of this young criminal may put the lives f the children in danger. He promised to return then and must be true to his word. One cannot maintain any form of faith without integrity and strength of character.

Azmere quietly retrieved, notched and drew back an arrow. He said prayers in his head to Zulrav, Semele, Syna and Caiyha. He asked them strength and cooperation so that he may be successful in his hunt and fulfill his promise. With the breeze, the archer moved forward only rustling the grass in time with the breath of a god. His eyes were focused upon his target as he drew nearer until he was forced to hold about thirty yards away from the boy and nearly fifty from the campsite. A call from within the camp took the lad away from his duties as he waved and ran towards the summons. Azmere scolded himself for delaying. It was a small matter and the archer lessened the tension on his bow but maintained enough to keep the arrows notched. The watchman crept laterally to the camp moving slowly to keep an eye out for traps using his bow to brush the blades of grass back and forth in rhythmic, wind-like patterns to mask his movements while clearing his path. He had found a decent vantage point amidst some shrubbery near the north end of the camp and rested there.

Azmere rubbed his eyes as the orb of Syna climbed higher. He waited for a handful of chimes while the brothers, or so they appeared, cleaned a whole mess of chickens. It seemed wasteful to the watchman who simply bide his time. He was patient and it paid off. The younger one ran to the north grasses and went about setting and checking more traps. The thin teenager stopped about eighty feet from Azmere. It seemed that his staff was once again jammed in a trap. There was no hesitation this time as the archer steadied himself, took a deep breath and drew the string back to his cheek. He lined up the shaft of the arrow along the length of his left arm and when both were pointing at the boy, he exhale and released. In a very fluid motion, Azmere kept his eyes on his target to see if his shot would find its target while his arms went about grabbing another arrow from the quiver and notching it. He raised his bow, still hiding in the shrubs and hidden from site. If he needed a second shot, it would come swiftly from the powerful longbow.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Azmere]

Azmere watched his arrow fly through the air with a light whistle. A tick before he was impaled, the young lad looked up to meet the distant eyes of the archer in the grass. No sound escaped his lips but his face did turn back towards the small camp. The watchman did not hesitate. He already had his arrow drawn and made a slight adjustment to the left for the strong wind that was blowing. Azmere exhaled and released the second arrow. The boy in the weeds shook as a second shot lodged itself into his abdomen. This proved to be too much and the thin young man danced and swayed in the breeze for just a moment and then collapsed from sight. The archer sunk down into cover once more and crept along quietly to his previous vantage point. The older Lighthoof girl was relieving herself in the grass and the older brother watched. Azmere’s stomach turned in rage and disgust to the point that he felt the heat boiling within rise to his cheeks.

The decision had been made and in truth, it had been made long before this moment. Azmere slipped Vihar over his head and took up his club with a firm grip in his right hand. Slowly, he crept forward. His body swayed with the waving of the tall grass but not a single step was taken without using his club to part the grass clear to the ground and search for traps. The watchman had to be careful but he also had to move quickly. There was no way to tell how long it would be before the older brother discovered that he was missing a family member. The Drykas was covering ground quickly when several shouts caused him to pause and sink down on his haunches and listen.

“Yose!” It was the same voice as earlier. “Yose! Get yer arse back here! This girl’s pissing me off!” There was a muted shout from a small female followed by a sharp smack that split the air. Azmere began to move again. He did not show the restraint of patience in his movements that he had previously. The watchman chose to remain low and moved in a way that barely disturbed the grass aside from the continued use of the club to check for the claw traps. Within a few chimes, he was close enough to the camp to duck behind a tent. “Yose! Yo-se, where the petch are ye?” The shouting gave away the young man’s position to the watchman. Azmere made four long strides that took him along the back and up the side. The lad’s footsteps were easily distinguished now and the Drykas readied his club by tightening his grip with both hands.

One step.

Another.

The warrior from the Diamond clan took a step from behind the tent and swung up and across with both hands. The massive amount of force behind the blow sunk the glassbeak’s horn into the chest until the sternum split. The sickening sound was lessened to Azmere only by watching the body fly through the air. It wasn’t until the body hit the ground hat Azmere realized he was still clutching his club and there was blood and viscera splattered across his face and chest. The warrior began a quick, methodical search of the camp. It wasn’t going to take long to find the children and then it was just a several day journey back to Endrykas.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Azmere]

The first tent was void of life but there was quite an eclectic array of wares. These boys had acquired much over their years in this place. Azmere knew he would have to make a more thorough pass through this mess before leaving but he had priorities. He slipped back out into the camp and made his way to the other tent. Still clutching his club which was dripping with the lifeforce of the older boy, he tossed the flap aside. Huddled together were the two older girls and their younger brother. They shook as Azmere approached. Syna was at his back so it shadowed his features. The watchman took a few ticks to realize that he was scaring them so he knelt down on one knee and set his club on the ground. In a soft voice, he called their names. “Correena? Altos? Leenzi?”

The kids were shocked to hear their own names and each looked with bewilderment at the hulking man who had entered that tent. The oldest, Leenzi, caught a glimpse of scar tissue on the figure and hopped up and ran to him. She threw her arms around his neck and squeezed. “Azmere!” The archer exhaled a bit as he felt the girl’s relief. Once she spoke his name, her siblings ran and joined the warm reunion. Azmere put his big arms around all of them and gave a firm but brief squeeze. He leaned back and looked at each one of them making sure to inspect for physical damage. From what he could tell, there were some surface issues like minor cuts and bruises but nothing broken. He took out his dagger and cut them all free from the ropes that bound them. The girls rubbed their wrists and the little boy just clung to his sisters. Azmere smiled his crooked smile and leaned down to whisper. “We’re going home.”

The Drykas led the children out of the tent and towards the edge of camp. He spent a few chimes explaining how to transverse the grass back to the hill where he made camp and left his horse to Leenzi. Azmere made sure to tell her about going slow and keeping an eye out for traps. The children were reluctant to leave without him but he wanted them to get moving since their way would be slower than his. The watchman explained why he was going to check the camp. For the return trip, they would need food and water plus additional blankets. The going would be much, much slower since none of the kids knew how to ride yet. With fear but stubborn Drykas determination in their eyes, the trio of siblings began a slow walk through the grass and away from the camp. Azmere watched them for several chimes before he began scouring the tents and camp for what they would need.

The warrior started with the chickens that were being slaughtered. Two birds had already been skinned, plucked and salted so those were a no brainer. Not too far from the small cleaning station was a large bucket of clear water. Azmere had his water skins but would need more than just two for the four of them. He took a moment to fill the ones he had and then remembered the other tent. He ducked under the flap and began rifling through the possessions of the deceased kidnappers. He started to tuck blankets, extra layers of clothes and a set of knives into his pack when he heard something. Azmere realized the kids would be scared and figured they might come back and wait for him. He had planned for such a thing and chuckled to himself. He was eyeing a hollowed out gourd which could be used to hold water as he exited the tent. He looked to the left and saw no one, when he looked right a flash greeted him with a swift blow to the head. Everything went black.

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[Azmere]

When Azmere woke up, he had a pounding headache to greet him along with the coolness of night. Leth was hiding behind clouds ad after a few ticks of trying to cradle his skull, the man realized he was bound. The watchman closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. He had to block the burning, thumping sensation that was radiating from the back of his crown. Slowly, the blood flow seemed to ease which gave him a chance to concentrate on other things. He gently tried to move his hands and feet but there was no slack to be hand from his restraints. The contrasting orbs peered from beneath the eyelids to see the camp where he had freed the children. There was a fire burning with several metal rods sticking from its coals. The archer struggled against his restraints. He couldn’t even see what they were made of or how it was fastened. Azmere was on his knees with his arms tied behind a post of some sorts. His head was heavy and it kept pulling down which only served to tighten the binding on his wrists.

Azmere focused on his breathing and decided it might be best to fight the ropes after waking up a bit more. He didn’t get very long of a recharge because he was interrupted by a sharp lash against his right shoulder. The Drykas barked a response to the pain which caused his eyes to shoot open. They instantly focused upon a shadowy figure. The source of the pain was held in his hand and Azmere recognized it right away. It was his bow, Vihar. The archer ground his teeth once or twice while debating how best to escape his entrapment. The bow went towards the fire but then snapped back when Azmere gasped and smacked against the exposed skin of the man’s chest. It was that biting pain that made the watchman realize that he was without a shirt and all of his weapons. He had no idea how long he’d been out but he was soon to find out. The man who had been whipping Azmere with his own bow pulled a log over and sat down upon it directly in front of the prisoner.

“’Bout time you woke up.” The an wiped his nose on the back of his hand and cast the bow over his shoulder without a care. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now.” His right hand flashed forward and struck Azmere across the face hard enough to turn his head to the side. “Those boys you killed…they were my family; my only family.” He grunted a cleared his throat then spit right in the Drykas’ face. “Who do you think you are? You can just stick your petching nose anywhere ya please?” His Pavi was rustic but his tone was strong. Azmere had twice thought about retorting but the more he allowed this fellow to speak, the more the archer would learn. “We took those kids from their home. I can understand why you’d come but it wasn’t as if we were going to hurt ‘em.” The older man turned as if he was going to get up but it turned out that it was just a play for more leverage. He brought his fist back around in conjunction with the motion to sit back on the log. The force of the blow snapped Azmere’s head to the opposite side while forcing the ropes to dig into his wrists. “Ya need a big pavilion to survive on your own and we needed some women to make that happen. It didn’t take much for me to track down Tent City.” He tossed out another haymaker but with the opposite hand. Azmere set felt the stiff muscles in his neck and back protest to the shot. Then he could taste the blood pooling in his mouth and feel it as it trickled down his cheek. “Then it was just a matter of picking the little split tails that my nephews would like. That one had a right set of hips on her, I tell ya, lad.” He stood up and kneed Azmere in the face.

The Drykas saw a flash of light and then reeled from the pain and dizziness that followed. He spit out the blood that was in his mouth because his nose was now bleeding and he needed his mouth to catch some air. He was about to respond and speak some form of insult or threat to his captor but was never given the chance. Azmere felt thick fingers curl through his hair and take a firm hold. His eyes drifted up and followed the sinewy arm to broad shoulders and then a pointed jawline. The older man, the uncle, was waiting for Azmere to meet his gaze. “The name’s Ilkan.” He smashed a closed fist into Azmere’s forehead but pulled of quickly though he maintained his grasp on the archer’s hair. “I’m the man who’s going to kill you.” Azmere smiled through his dazed state but it didn’t matter. Ilken rained blow after blow from his sturdy fist against Azmere’s head and face. The grip he maintained gave him double leverage. Azmere lost count after eight and it wasn’t long after that when everything went dark again. Like the blood rushing from the splits and lacerations on his face, the warrior was falling into the black.

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[Azmere]

Azmere awoke with a start as something wet and sticky was poured over him. He couldn’t open his left eye and couldn’t see anything but red out of his right. He recognized the smell and some of the liquid got into his mouth which solidified his suspicions. Blood. From the smell, it was a day or two old and the stickiness made him think of pheasant’s blood. It burned as t ran into the open wounds on his face and body. Azmere felt a burn across his chest and realized he had some wounds that he wasn’t aware of and that’s when the slow and disturbing laugh of Ilken was heard. Azmere twisted his head and felt the stiffness in his neck. The Drykas didn’t know much about blacksmithing but he wondered if this is how the anvil felt.

“Well now. Good to see you’re awake. Are you hungry?” The archer was indeed hungry; starving in fact but he could barely breathe so trying to think about eating was making him nauseous. However, he was always the pragmatist and wondered what that enticing smell was that flowed through the camp. Ilken made his way over to Azmere and drew out a dagger. He pushed the tip into Azmere’s chest just below where he felt the fresh wounds. The Drykas winced and gritted his teeth but he didn’t make a sound. The wicked man ran his blade just under the skin of his captive and took pains to make straight lines. Once the outline was carved, he used the blade and his grubby fingers to peel away a squared of flesh. The carver made such skillful work that if Azmere was able to see the damage; he would stare at a perfectly cut square with the fibrous red tissue of muscles now exposed. There were three other such squares each one smaller than the one that came after. Ilken slapped Azmere with his own skin and then walked to the fire which was only a few feet away. He ran a narrow reed through the hunk of flesh and laid it out over the fire next to several others. The obscured view of the watchman created a delay in his thinking and processing of the situation. Once he realized what was happening, the archer growled but ended up coughing.

Ilken turned and laughed at his prey. After a moment, he grabbed a reed of cooked flesh and raised it to his nostrils. He took a big whiff and leaned very close to Azmere’s face so that the Drykas could smell his own rotisserie. Ilken took a big ole bite and chewed noisily in front of Azmere’s blue eye with a shyke-eating grin. “Not bad for a horse lover…” Azmere locked his gaze into the harrowing stare of his captor. With the temptation to vomit being actively suppressed, the watchman spoke in a very clear tone that was as matter-of-fact as one could get.

“I’m going to kill you, filth.”

Ilken leaned back and chewed on the piece of meat until it was gone and then jammed the reed into Azmere’s abdomen. The hollow tube funneled blood from the man and Azmere could feel his ability to catch his breath diminish. After several ticks of twisting and moving the shiv, Ilken had a thought. “We can’t have you bleeding out now can we?” He yanked the reed free and tossed it carelessly aside. Much to his delight, Azmere groaned and continued to leak his life on the ground beneath his bound frame. “Hmmm…” Ilken pondered aloud. “What shall I do with that nasty little hole?” His face lit up like a child who’d been given a surprise gift. “I know what to do.” He turned and walked to the fire, the man moved some things around which Azmere could not see and then returned with a red hot pick of some sort. It looked like a rounded blade of grass. Before the horseman knew what was going on, he felt the searing pain of the blistering rod as it filled the hole left by the reed. Once again, he could smell his own body cooking. As Ilken leaned in and gave Azmere an evil grin, the archer looked him in the eye and repeated his earlier promise before blacking out from the pain.

“I’m going…to kill you.”

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[Azmere]

Azmere was dreaming. He was watching the golden eyes of the tiger float around in his mind and every time he got near enough to see the rest of the form hidden in the fog the eyes would close and force him to stop and wait until they reappeared somewhere else. It was an infuriating game but one the archer so longed to win. In midstride to reach the glittering gaze, a sharp slap broke the trance of the dream and forced his eyes open. It forced him to see the reality that he was now faced with; bound and captured. Azmere struggled against his wrist and leg restraints. The muscle on his chest burned with the air as it touched the unprotected flesh; exposed by Ilken the uncle of the Lighthoof children’s kidnappers. The watchman had killed the boys and freed the rugrats but was unaware of Ilken’s existence. Given the patient and skill of the man to survive this far away from the help of Endrykas, Azmere surmised that he was not only an evil man but an intelligent one as well. His thoughts left him for a moment for when he pulled and flexed his body against the bindings, he felt something foreign lodged into his abdomen and it hurt like nothing the Drykas had ever experienced before.

The captive man looked down to see the metal rod still protruding from his stomach. Azmere growled and looked up to see Ilken just admiring his subject. “Fight me, coward!” The archer barked. His normally loud tone was flat and worn but after days, or at least what seemed like days, of torture one was bound to be weak. Azmere ignored the strange sensation of being partially skewered and fought harder against the rope. He felt it twist and peel back the skin on his wrists and along his left leg. The watchman rocked his body and shook his frame while gritting his teeth to keep from crying out in agony. All the while, he kept his contrasting irises with their mismatched sunbursts trained on the man that he would eventually rip limb from limb. “Fight me, petching walahk!” Azmere leaned forth and snarled at Ilken which left a strand of saliva to stretch from his top lip to the bottom. The proud Drykas had the look of a wounded dog; a wild dog and his anger seethed in the form of muscles and veins aching and flexing to be free of their bonds. “I’ll rip you apart, mouse! I’ll-“

The speech was cut short as a timber that had been sitting in the fire was bashed across the left side of Azmere’s face. Embers and splinters flew every which-a-way and the Drykas was reduced to coughing and spitting as blood pooled inside his cheek. The golden eyes re-emerged and seemed to float about the campsite keeping Azmere distracted for several chimes. He knew they weren’t supposed to be there and shook his head but they remained. His skull nodded down and his chin hit his chest. This made the man try to right his posture and he straightened up only to have the same charred club be brought down upon his right shoulder. Ilken laughed at the sound of wood shattering and a joint separating. Azmere bubbled a cry from his lips. His right shoulder had been removed from its socket which greatly reduced his will to escape as well as his ability to try. Azmere closed his eyes against the pain and lifted his face into the wind. The cool breeze refreshed him enough to continue to taunt his captor even though he had to keep his eyes shut. “I am Drykas. I am Ra’athi. I am a chil-“

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