[GST] What Lurks In The Shadows

[Alija]

33rd Winter 515 5th Bell The group of pirates moved among the tents silently, dressed in black leather and armed with steel. They were everywhere, most unseen, but there were those in active fighting, the noise of metal on metal, of the spilling of blood, fresh in the air. This group preferred to stay quiet, knowing the benefits of silent in their profession. Kidnapping. Tents huddled around them, a lucky dip to see which one would reveal the best men and women, the best takings for slaves. Money and livestock would be good prizes, but they wanted humans. Jaguar was in charge, his claws hidden in the palm of his hand. He stalked through the night, glancing hungrily at every tent they passed. In some, he saw people moving, getting ready to join the fight for their city, their lives. He moved passed these quickly, gesturing towards the twins. They followed quickly, scimitars strapped to belts. It was the male one, face white with chalk, that seemed more bloodthirsty, tempting fate. He danced in front of the tents, blades moving through the air swiftly. He snuck towards closed flaps, peering through the gaps, even opening a few up before his sister called him back to the group. They all had to be ready, not just him. Behind them, many paces behind them, stalking a figure dressed in black as well, except his black seemed blacker. He wore it often, adjusted to the darkness that hid him well. A hood was pulled over his face, hiding all features, but the cloak attatched was ripped and torn, in such a way that it stretch from one shoulder to the hip on the other side. He stalked behind the group, almost unnoticed even by them, but as big of a part of it all as they were. Jaguar stopped suddenly between two pavilions, smile curling up even further. This was it. This was the place. It was time. --- It would have been a simple patrol, Jaobson Windheart leading the three Ra’athi around Endrykas on a routine check. He let Azmere lead, trailing behind with Roan Winterstorm and Sparrow Morningsong close behind him. It would have been a simple patrol, if they hadn't spotted dark sails in the distance. It was Sparrow who spotted them, moving up to Jacobson with a worried expression. The signs were short and simple, Dark sails, danger, check web. He agreed, moving his horse forward to stop beside Azmere. "We need to check the Web, now," he ordered, taking hold of his bow in preparation for whatever they discovered. He wasn't planning on checking anything, waiting for Azmere to do so. Roan and Sparrow waited as well each one preparing for what lay in store. When Azmere did so, he would be faced with a Web disturbed by much activity. The magical strands would show that many had reached the city, many more than should have been. Near, where two pavilions lay sleeping in their beds, crept a group of three, moving towards one of the tents as quickly as they could without alerting anyone of their presence. Whether or not the Web revealed anything more, it was obvious that the three meant no good, that the three weren't meant to be there. If Azmere looked a little further, a pavilion away, he would find the final figure, stalking gently towards the rest of the group. Alone, he seemed unassuming, innocent, but his direction of travel and speed, slow and stealthy could prove otherwise.

[Azmere]

Azmere rode in silence with his patrol. He steered Hephiestian around some rocks that didn’t look too even as they pushed up through the snow. They’d been riding together so long that Drykas and strider moved in perfect sync as each sway of the horse’s back was met with a push from the thighs of his rider. The action was fluid and gave Azmere confidence in not just his ability to ride but to fight from the back of his dearest and oldest friend. The entourage came to a sudden halt as Sparrow consulted with superior. The archer squinted against the haze that hung low in the sky. At first he did not see what had caused the hold-up but then the sails brushed past his view. His gut sank heavily as if it had been pulled down by some unseen force. Jacobson moved his horse next to Azmere and gave him an order. Dutiful, as always, the Ra’athi complied.

Azmere dismounted quickly and squatted down next to his mount. The stallion shuffled a bit but remained in place. Azmere removed his bow and club, set them aside and then curled himself into a seated position of mediation that allowed him great balance. His legs crossed and his boots tucked up under his rear creating a basket of sorts. The Drykas closed his eyes and began a steady regiment of deep breaths that drew in slowly and exhaled at the same rate. It wasn’t long before he drifted away from his body. His first glances around the web revealed very little but there were flashes in the distance that indicated movement towards the south of their patrol route. Having made this pass several times in the last few days, Azmere remembered that several pavilions had made a camp there. Touching the lines of djed, the soft glow beckoned to him to run and be free. The voices of the Web called to him. They begged him to ignore the world and join them on the most fantastic adventure he’d ever know. Azmere took a moment to push this all away. He always remembered the stories of men being swept away by their imaginations never to return to their earthly bodies.

The watchman grabbed the line of djed that ran to the south and was flashed forth on the outskirts of the encampment. Sounds wandered in to his awareness from the physical world. From a great distance, he thought he heard the clash of swords. Was that a scream? Azmere spun around and saw nothing but could tell that Endrykas was awake. Turning back to his patrol, he forced himself to remain calm despite the growing feeling of dread that crept into his mind. The Watch was always listening and always aware of what was happening to all of the Drykas people. That is why Azmere and his patrol were here. They needed to watch the northern camps. Taking hold of another sparkling blue strand, the archer slipped into the camp and found himself looking at some characters that were certainly out of the ordinary. Armed, painted and stalking from tent to tent, the intention could not have been clearer. The watchman spun about and zipped to the edge of camp along a tattered coil of web when something caught his eye. It wasn’t bright or flashy which is generally how disturbances were detected by one’s awareness. This was the opposite. A darkness floated behind the invaders. Azmere moved along the web noticing the cairn in this region was slightly damaged. The stranger moved at a slow pace that Azmere couldn’t match. It made him feel unbalanced and lazy to handle himself in such a languid manner. No face could be seen but the tattered robes and wicked blades indicated enough. Azmere marked this figure in his mind. Something corrupt and dark hung about it that made the warrior want to strike out even though he knew it would accomplish nothing.

Azmere forced his mind to snap into the mode of duty and protection. These people were sleeping and as vulnerable as newborn foals. He grabbed the lines of djed and navigated quickly back to his physical body. Once he was close enough, the two pieces of the Drykas merged and his eyes popped open. “Invaders!” He hissed. He popped up from the ground with a quick push from his legs and stooped for a second to gather his weapons. The new watchman was mounted and clutching his bow when his starburst gaze snapped to Jacobson. “Four of them.” He signed that they were spread out through the camp and armed.

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[Alija]

Jacobson's face turned to one of worry, turning his horse in the direction of the camp. His hand stroked the horse's shoulder, before making a quick sign to follow. But as soon as he moved, Jacobson realised that if he wanted surprise, the horses ruined it. Stopping almost suddenly, the noise of his Strider's hooves ceased, plunging them to silence. They weren't too far from the camp. Their own feet could take them quicker and silently. "Dismount. If we ride, they'll know we approach and only get the job done quicker." As if demonstrating, the man dismounted, pressing a fist on his horse to tell her to stay. The other two followed, one a little more reluctant than the other. Leading the way, Jacobson moved as silently as he could, bringing the patrol round to make a loop of the camp. As they approached, the shadows became visible, figures standing in the darkness. They moved, twisting between themselves and closing the gap between the pavilion entrances. It would be soon when they reached and did whatever they wished to do. Snatching up their weapons, the Watch readied to attack. A scimitar was raised by one of the strangers, reaching out to cut open the door... "Aim to the left," Jacobson hissed, aiming his own bow at the man near the right tent. The arrow left the string quickly, whistling through the air, but missed as the man made a sudden move. It thudded behind, all eyes on them. If Azmere had been quick enough to shoot, as the other two had failed, perhaps at least one pirate would be down anyway. Jaguar, the one Jacobson aimed for, burst forward, metal suddenly ripping through the sky. He grappled with the man, metal claws held close to his face. Roan found a dagger and moved to help, but another pirate ran forward, her dark hair sticking to her face. She ripped out a weapon and the two locked. The pirate with a face white with chalk darted towards the other two, ready to fight. He grinned, jumping into reach then just out of it, before charging towards Azmere, scimitar outstretched and carving patterns in the sky.

[Azmere]

Azmere guided Hephiestian forward then stopped to listen to the change in orders. He used the yvas and his legs to steer his old horse back towards some sweet grass. He slipped from the strider’s back and pressed his forehead against the beast. He whispered a prayer for Zulrav to watch over their mounts while they chose to fight the evil in their city. Azmere made quick preparations for battle. He dropped his bow and quiver so that removing his cloak and gloves was easier. He took the extra clothes and rolled them up before tucking them into his yvas bag. He left the backpack and rucksack on the seat as well. The watchman refitted the quiver to his body and adjusted the club and dagger in his belt. He moved them so that they were on his hips and would not be in the way if he needed to run. Finally, he picked up Vihar and moved to join the rest of his patrol.

Azmere focused on what was about to happen. He had never taken part in a large raid and had only helped defend from packs of rabid creatures and the occasional Zith excursion; never humans. He rolled the idea in his head for a few moments all the while keeping step with his Troha. His mind snapped back to the task at hand as they crept through the fog. His thoughts became about his steps and placing them in a nice even heel-to-toe roll that made virtual no impact. Azmere kept his knees bent and his hips low over them so his shoulders didn’t move as they maneuvered closer. Once they got around to the far side of the encampment, the archer dropped his hands into a relaxed swing that suddenly drew, notched and pulled half tension on the string.

Taking a deep breath as Jacobson came to a stop and drew his own weapon; Azmere’s eyes snapped up and looked over the small family settlement. He could see the bandits again. They had moved only a bit since he had viewed them from the safety of the web. He followed the eyes of Troha and when the order came down, Azmere pushed his aim to the left. A straight arm and a calm mind, the watchman exhaled just after settling the shaft upon the chest of the invader. His fingers released the arrow as the final wisp of air left his lungs. Azmere’s eyes followed the shot but his body was practicing the reflex of muscle memory and drawing another arrow and notching it. The man with claws was too close to Jacobson but the woman pirate was still charging so the watchman adjusted his aim and fired into her projected route. He slung Vihar over his shoulder as he watched the painted man charge.

Azmere gripped his club and brought it up in a ready position that favored his balanced stance. Once he saw the blade go up into the sky, he had to formulate a way to deal with the blade twirling warrior. Azmere made a quick step right and then forward allowing he club to trail along his left hip. He ripped his right arm out and away aiming to gut the man before he could ever forcibly attack with his weapon. In case the attack failed, Azmere’s second step forward was a lunge that allowed him to drop his knee. The move elongated his stride and lowered his body enough that he could slip by without much risk of being sliced.

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[Alija]

His first shot was steady, good, but had missed very slightly. It brushed against the man's cheek, drawing blood, drawing anger. He was the one with the white face paint, charging forward. The next arrow he fired hit, slicing into the woman's leg and causing her to trip with the pain. She didn't stop, however, fighting past the pain with angry blows at Roan. Each fought fiercely and Sparrow ran in to help them, struggling to get into the action. Azmere was quick on his feet, but the pirate was too. As Azmere moved forward, the man danced back, sneering in his movement. The scimitar flashed through the air, moving to a less aggressive position with Azmere's next attack. He didn't like not having the upper hand. His eyes flitted towards Azmere's right, shifting his weight towards that side. Shuffling his feet forward, the scimitar moved as well, preparing for an attack. Then he dived and moved towards the other side, not the one he had tried to suggest. It meant a less directed swipe, but if all had gone well, the man wouldn't have suspected it and he could slash at his side without any defence. Before he could act again, the pirate drew back, stumbling on his heels to move out of the way of attack. He needed a few moments to catch his breath. Focusing hard, he seemed to drift out of it for a tick or two, giving Azmere chance to catch up to him. Almost like he was playing a game, which was very much like him, except in this case, he wasn't. The break, the lack of focus, the silence, it was all leading up to something. That something, however, wouldn't be visible until it happened. Luckily for Azmere (or was it unluckily, for it wasn't a good thing) it happened soon enough. The pirate darted back a little, speaking with a voice dripping with djed. "You don't want to fight me." He layered it with suggestion and the feeling of pain, pain and pain. "Just walk away before you get hurt." There was more djed, a stronger layer to this one. More djed, however, meant more problems for the pirate, who wiped his mouth and spat out blood. This wouldn't do. Whether or not the hypnotism had affected Azmere, he knew it was the right time to make another move. The pirate leapt forward suddenly, legs out to kick and then, if he missed, scimitar poised above his head to be swung down in a strong circular motion onto the member of the Watch.

[Azmere]

The archer made a face when his first shot was aptly avoided. The second arrow was way off and that simply served to aggravate him but there was no time to focus on those minor details. His enemy was approaching rapidly. Azmere was new to close quarter combat with his club. His first attack had been avoided with a simple backpedal and Azmere found himself too far away from his opponent to follow up with a second attempt. Seeing the painted faced man lull, the watchman reacted instantly. He stepped in with his left foot as his lead, gripped the club with both hands and swung it up and across his body aiming to lift the villain clean off of the ground if it connected. It was the same action as chopping wood; a massively powerful arc but in the opposite direction.

As the Drykas was straining his muscles to apply purpose to his attack, a strange feeling washed over him. It was distracting at first and came with words that seemed to suck the strength from Azmere’s swing. The angle of the club teetered and eventually fell back down to Azmere’s side. His whole body seemed to be a giant, tangled mess of aches. The blue and golden orbs stared ahead at the pirate but didn’t seem to recognize him as a combatant. Stubborn as a Zibri bull, Azmere fought the urge to turn tail and run. He would never allow himself to leave his patrol; his duty. Still, the clash with the invaders raged on around him and he couldn’t find the will to move beyond these strange pains and raise his weapon. It was terrifying yet there was a still small voice that told him this behavior was ok. Azmere looked down at his club for several ticks.

Then it happened. The painted devil leapt forth to utilize the window that had been created. The sudden movement was enough to rouse Azmere from the daze. His weapon was down but that seemed to benefit the watchman since the pirate left his feet. He took a step to the side so the kick would go past his body. Once his foot had come down to make a solid stance, Azmere whirled his arm upward with the glassbeak horn on the club’s head slicing through the air to make contact with the fighter’s legs. Azmere put so much effort behind the counter that it turned his body on his plant foot. The blow would certainly be enough to deeply wound the man or if Azmere had over extended, it might even change his direction and flip the pirate. Either way, the Ra’athi put enough strength behind his swing that it would give him momentum to follow through and block any overhand attacks from the twirling blade.

As the club got higher into the upswing where Azmere’s arm was level with the ground, it slowed so the Diamond clansman was able to grab the weapon with his left hand as well. The two-handed grip made carrying the weapon in its natural arc easy. Azmere felt the weight of the club balance in the air signaling the end of its rise. At this limbo, he pulled back with his arms then flipped his wrists before throwing the weapon forward. Azmere used the firm base of his legs to dig his feet into the ground and push the strength from his legs up through his body and into his arms. Regardless if the pirate went sailing by or was upended by the previous strike, he would now have the club coming at him in a horizontal swing that brought enough power to shatter bones.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Alija]

His blow with the club was good, well-aimed, striking the pirate across the arm in which he held his scimitar. If Azmere was looking out, he would see the pirate struggle to keep hold of it - evidence slipping through that this blow had most definitely weakened him. As he spoke, he seemed to balance the arm on a leg or across his chest, rather than simply let it hang ready for the jump. As the pirate sailed through the air, Azmere was quick to dodge, swiping at the pirate. Another successful blow, knocking into his leg and sending him, through the air. The pirate stumbled and rolled across the ground, clutching at his already battered body as it made impact with the dirt. His face smashed against the ground, mouthful of dirt and grass spat out as he groaned with pain, rolling to the side to just miss Azmere's second blow. The armour he wore had done nothing to prevent these injures and he lay on the ground, unable to get up. But the pirate was a gambler and decided to take a risk. "You wouldn't hurt a man on the ground, would'ya?" he spat, none of the hypnotic tone that he had before. This was a vile tongue, sharp and dagger-like. "Surely the Watch have values - of course, I could be wrong. Perhaps," he raised his voice, calling out into the night. It grew louder until it reached the last word. "you are, like I thought, a Snake!" His eyes darted around, searching for the comrade he had just called. This was the only chance he had, or so the pirate though, injured and unable to get up without making himself an easy target. At least on the ground he could clutch his scimitar and thrash it round wildly, if it came to that. What he needed was for a saviour, and that would only come with a distraction. Whether or not Azmere noticed the strange rising tone or the fact the pirate didn't look at him, but into the shadows, it wouldn't matter, not truly. For Snake was already prepared with his bow and the glint of metal was all that could be seen before it whistled through the air, heading straight at its target. Sparrow let out a cry, moving over to Azmere to throw him out the way. The only thing was, if she did, the woman herself would most likely be hit. Of course, Azmere had the choice to push Sparrow out of the line of fire, but there was no way to do that without endangering himself. The arrow plummeted forward, ready to hit at least one of the two. Azmere was the one who had the power to choose.

[Azmere]

Azmere had moved in a position to finish off the invader. The man’s skills with his weapons were rudimentary and the wild attacks had cost him not only leverage but also in the form of superficial wounds. Azmere took a step forward and it was then in the dim light that he saw the pirate’s eyes scour through the darkness. Trapped. Shamed. Azmere had seen the dark figure when he was in the web and now he knew that there was only one thing waiting for him. He turned to see the fiery spirit of Sparrow Morningsong hurling her body at him. She was trying to use herself to protect him. It is something that any watchman would do for a comrade. The girl was young and had much ahead of her in life; a life that Azmere would not let her sacrifice because of his carelessness.

In a swift reaction, Azmere leapt towards the girl, met her in the air and allowed his size to bury her trajectory. He knew he was going to take the hit so his goal was not height but a linear force in the tackle. When he left his feet, he angled his body so that he could pull her down without having to raise himself up. It worked…in a manner. Azmere felt the arrow slice down along his left shoulder blade creating a laceration about a foot long. The next thing he felt was the crumpled form of his fellow Ra’athi beneath him on the ground. He got up quickly, using the adrenaline to ignore the pain and charged the down pirate. An archer himself, Azmere knew another shot was coming. No true archer stops firing until he has to or his target his dead.

Two large strides brought the big watchman over to the man with the white face. The warrior brought his club around for a wide arc from right to left aimed at the man’s head. The Drykas had been counting all the while. He couldn’t be certain exactly where the hidden archer, this Snake, was located but he had an idea. Once the numbers reached eight ticks, Azmere broke from his current path by dropping onto his hip and sliding at the pirate. The right to left arc had brought his arm across his body. As he scooted over the damp grass, he laid his head and torso back then used both hands to swing the club in a left to right pass. The archer would have no clean shot with the watchman being on the ground and Azmere was still going to get a decent swing at the white-faced coward. However, the grinding of soil and foliage into his wound didn’t feel very pleasant.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Alija]

The white faced man stared at the incoming warrior, the missed shot and could only open his mouth, before the club smashed against his head, a crack resounding through the tents. He crumpled to the floor - if this first hit hadn't killed him, the second smash was enough to do so, the pirate dead. An arrow whizzed above Azmere's head, disappearing into the darkness behind him. The pirate gripped his bow as he twisted behind a tent, stealthily moving into the shadows, but a watchful eye would have seen the movement, tracked the hidden archer down. The pirate didn't notice this, relying on his stealth to navigate to the other side of the tent and peer out from behind it, bow ready. He could do this, his eye trained to find the best aim and shoot. Meanwhile, Roan and Jacobson fought with the female pirate and the Myrian one covered in scars. They worked as pairs, the whole fight incredibly balanced. Victory would be through one tiny move, and at the moment, it was hard to tell who was winning. But it was easy to see that the members of the Watch weren't used to this sort of fighting, both preferring the bow and long distance. The pirates were wild, reckless and pranced around, fighting as dirty as they could. As the man tried to pounce, acting more like a wild cat with his snarls and claws than a human, the female smiled, thin face twisting as she kicked up dust, trying to blind her opponents. Sparrow looked away from their fight, eyes searching Azmere, however injured he was, for guidance. In that moment when he saved her, she felt like he knew what he was doing. Whether he told her to go join the other two or chase after the archer or do something else entirely, she was happy to just listen to his orders. She had been willing to sacrifice herself to save him but he did the same to help her, a strange twist she couldn't get her head around exactly. Her eyes met Azmere's eyes again, then she realised that he was injured and lying on the floor. Bursting up, she made her way over, glancing around quickly to make sure it was safe. If he let her, she would help him up and check he was okay. "Azmere, what do we do? Can we really fight them all?" She was talking about the other pirates, that had to exist. The sails she had seen meant large ships, not something carrying four. Of course, she had forgotten the other members of the Watch, the other Drykas. How many of them knew? How many would die? Time was the only thing that could tell.

[Azmere]

Azmere couldn’t deny the satisfying chill that shot though his arm and up his spin when the club smashed his enemy’s skull. His adrenaline thumped hard through his veins like rocks tossed into a riverbed. That was keeping the pain of his injury at bay for the moment. He rolled over and planted his hands on the soil then pushed his body up. Amidst the surging rush from battle, he could feel the muscles in his chest and along the back of his upper arms tighten and expand with the added force. Azmere paused just before he reached full extension and flexed his pectorals. He held the pump until his arms began to shake then pulled his feet up underneath his body. He rose slowly and felt the tightened skin along the wound on his back.

The contrasting eyes of the archer fell upon his fellow Ra’athi. It was then that he saw the shadowed figure slip behind a tent. Quickly, he shifted his gaze to Roan and Jacobson and saw their plight as well. He leveled his gaze back on the Morningsong woman and drew her close with a firm grip on her shoulder. “Help our brothers.” After he spoke, Azmere squeezed her shoulder. He signed to her one fight at a time then slipped past. He slung his club onto his belt and retrieved Vihar. He gripped the bow in his left, drew an arrow and notched it quickly. He moved to the side of the tent where he had seen the one known as Snake. He closed his eyes and focused on the stars in his eyes. He thought about colors and trails and focused on his breathing. After a few ticks, he opened his eyes and was staring at a wall of djed that was the hue of a dried blood.

Azmere lifted his bow and kept tension on the string. As he moved along the trail left by his target, he made certain to keep his knees bent and press his boots heel to toe to avoid making excess noise. The clanging of metal and shouts of combat hid much but it was prudent for him to practice stealth anyway.
The archer reached the back of the canvas and leaned forth until just his eye could see around the corner. There was a bit of the blood stain but no body; no target but the trail existed. The Drykas took a deep breath and then moved one foot at a time. In real time, it was just a slow walk with an attentive eye but it felt to Azmere that each step took an entire bell to land. His heart thumped inside his chest but it didn’t affect the way he saw the djed. In the same manner as before, he crept along the back of the tent keeping his eyes moving to see if the spotty waves of deep crimson djed appeared anywhere else but they did not. Just before he came to the corner, he stopped and tried to listen…no indication was not necessarily a dead end.

Azmere lowered his body slowly into a crouch being as quiet as possible. The anticipation had built so much that he wasn’t even aware that he wound was still bleeding. He leaned around the corner hugging the tent and led with the tip of his arrow. There, lining up targets was the pirate who was draped in a wafting tail of bloody djed. Azmere finished his draw and pointed his arm at the man’s center mass. He released and instantly drew again, already notching without ever taking his eyes from the one who’d been referred to as Snake. The seething anger and raw hatred of any who would seek to harm his people made Azmere’s skin boil. He almost hoped that the first arrow was slightly off target just so he could have reason to shoot the man again. Some might say shooting a man in the back is a cowardly move. The watchman simply called it returning the favor.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze