[GST] What Lurks In The Shadows

[Alija]

Sparrow nodded at his orders, jumping up and pulling out a blade which was quickly locked in battle. Her eyes only watched him take a step towards the tent, before returning to the pirates. They fought fiercely, the pirates now unable to keep the members of the watch moving. Snake was their only hope, but as he drew back his arrow to fire, Sparrow moved, jumping out of the way of a lunge and causing the arrow Snake shot to miss. Azmere's own arrow was fired moments after, before Snake had a moment to even notice the man's arrival. It landed in his back, the man letting out a shrill scream into the night sky, before collapsing, hand moving to the blood pooling at his back. He turned, hooded head staring at his killer. He hissed, more like an animal than a human. His voice was almost serpentine too, but not in the way of a dhani, but simply full of anger and spite. "I hope you and your family rot in Hai, benachag!" he snarled, before adding a few more benshiran swears to the end, a string of words that ended with a long hiss. He closed his eyes beneath the shadows of his hood and curled into a ball, gripping an arrow tightly. "Benachag!" he let out once more, before life left him, leaving only a body in a cloak. Nearby, the other battle was almost done. Sparrow dived forward, while Roan stood behind the pirate, grabbing hold of her tightly. Jacobson slashed at Jaguar, who stumbling back and was caught with a knife to his throat. A few quick moves, and both were dead. The Watch were victorious. Jacobson picked himself up, wiping his brow from the sweat built up during the fight. "It appears the pirates have entered our city. By now, the rest of the Watch must know," noise, fights, attack, he sighed, eyes moving across the dead bodies. At least no one from his group had been killed, "Take a moment - perhaps the pirates have something we could use." Roan frowned, clutching a deep gash on his forearm. It hurt him dreadfully, but the warrior didn't show it, speaking with the same tone as if he was speaking about an afternoon tea. "What then?" "I think the best thing for us to do is go home, protect our families. Warn them, if they do not yet know. Stay safe," he nodded, waiting for the men and woman to act. oocFeel free to raid on of the bodies - the rewards vary on each one, to make it more fun (for me, anyway)

[Azmere]

Azmere blinked. The skirmish was over but the sounds of metal rode a chill breeze that nipped at his ears. He didn’t understand what the man was saying with his dying breath. He was sure it wasn’t well wishes or nice to meet you. The contrasting bursts stared into the eyes of the one called Snake and watched, unblinking, as the light left and the man’s soul escaped into the world. Azmere had killed before but something about this was different and he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. The watchman shook the feeling and stepped forward. He lifted Vihar and sighted down the arrow in time to watch his people emerge victorious. A sigh of relief passed his lips and the archer replaced the arrow, shouldered his bow then set about checking the man at his feet. There was nothing very useful except seven arrows which was a fortunate find since Azmere had two arrows miss as glancing blows. The arrow in the corpse at his feet had been snapped when the man rolled over.

Kneeling, Azmere brushed the hood back to get a better look at the fellow. The man had some scarring on his neck and his face was frozen in a look of defiance by Kira’s cold hand. Then, like the first of Syna’s rays breaking over the horizon, it dawned on the Ra’athi why this man’s death was causing him to linger; he was Azmere. Both were part of a patrol or scouting party and both were the archers, the ones the team depended on for support and ultimately, protection.

With a smooth motion, the Drykas closed the pirate’s eyelids and then sat back to take a good look at the fellow. It was during this that Azmere saw the quality of the armor. It was a simple piece of black leather with some studs for reinforcement; sleeveless, which was perfect for an archer and it had a hood of a thinner but same quality leather. Before he attempted to remove the piece, Azmere spoke to the dead. “As payment for your chest piece, I shall tell your story.” Then Azmere made the sign for respect and rest. He quickly moved the man around on his side, undid the clasps and slipped the armor off. Naturally, it wasn’t as simple as all that but after wrestling with the stiffening limbs and dead weight for several chimes, the watchman emerged victorious with some strange looking arrows and a black piece of armor.

Azmere questioned his fellow watchmen with a few signs, one being injuries and the other asking for a report. He was given the information immediately. He nodded and set everyone to a task. “Sparrow.” Azmere pointed to the dead female invader then his hands made the sign for inspection. The contrasting eyes then danced over to Jacobson. The man nodded to Azmere and moved to the closest body which belonged to the white-faced fiend whose head was obliterated by Azmere’s club. The archer then moved to Roan and led him next to the corpse of the man with the claws. The two Drykas knelt at Azmere’s gesture and then Azmere tore some cloth from the man’s cloak. He ripped it into several long strips and laid each out straight. Roan looked into his eyes still clutching at the wound.

Azmere held out his hand and took Roan’s arm. “Let me see it.” The hand was moved and the depth of the gash revealed. Cloth alone was not going to close this injury. Azmere’s face went into a half frown and without the aid of fire to cauterize, he had limited options. He scooped up some mud from the ground and lifted an eyebrow. “This might hurt.” He slapped the mud into the wound and held it for several ticks with great pressure molding the soft earth to fill the gap and wrap around the watchman’s arm. Roan did not cry out but he did exhale rather loudly. Had Azmere bothered to look up, he would have seen the eyes piercing his skull. Once Azmere was satisfied with the mud band-aid, he moved very quickly and used the strips of cloth to wrap the arm. He made sure that each pieces was flat on every pass as well as tight. When he was done, he tucked the loose end into the other side and signed for Roan to test it by moving his arm around. Both seemed ok with the progress and Azmere signed once more. This time he instructed his comrade to search the body.

The archer stood and adjusted the black armor at the clasps. He dropped his cloak, bow and quiver then slipped the armor over his head. He fished an arm through, then the other and started working on the clasps making small adjustments so that everything fit well. Azmere was pleased with the overall coverage and enjoyed that his arms were unhindered. The back was slightly wet and he could feel the man’s blood soaking into his shirt. It wasn’t much but enough to rekindle the memory and the promise he had made. The watchman stooped and gathered his things. He donned his cloak, affixed his quiver and then tested to see if his normal draw action was hindered or blocked by the new addition to his wardrobe. Everything seemed to be in order and Azmere came to stand by the rest. He heard the comment about families and suddenly became antsy to check on his mother and grandfather. Before he would part ways, he wanted to see what everyone had turned up in their search. Maybe there was a chance that some of these items would reveal more about the invaders; why they had come, what they were after and so on.

noteI went ahead and grabbed the armor. I hope you don’t mind. I was riding a wave with the self-comparison and couldn’t resist.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Alija]

As Azmere removed the armour, a handful of coins tumbled from a pouch that had been stuffed under. They clinked as they rolled, moving between each other before landing at his feet. Almost moving to let him take them. There were ten, in total. Ten grubby coins, ten mizas. They were Azmere's, if he chose to taken them. He had won them, after all. The dead had no use for money. The living, however, could find it helpful. Roan was uncertain when Azmere offered to see it, more from his own pride than anything else, but extended the injured arm. At closer inspection, it was deeper than it had appeared, the rest of his arm stained with the red liquid. Azmere solved it quickly, painfully, but well and left Roan to search the last pirate body, stripping it of armour and whatever he could find. The man came up with more armour, and as he ripped it away from the body, he spotted a small vial of herbs, hanging around his neck. If anyone had enough skill to recognise it, they would realise it was brinetooth, the berries squashed into a paste to fit into the vial. Roan wrapped it around his own neck, hoping that whatever it was would help him later. Sparrow rose to come to Azmere's side, holding the female pirate's weapon in one hand and a sighting glass in the other, hands wrapped around it tight. She held it up to her eye, pointing it towards the sails in the distance. Pirates. Many of them. Jacobson was the last to join the group, holding nothing but the weapon, or so it seemed, until he dropped two dice. They landed at snake eyes, two dots staring up at them. "Nothing. These pirates have nothing of any interest," he stated, but was speaking about the one he had checked. There was nothing about why they were here though, but it wasn't like there were many options. "I'm going back home, I need to check on the others," Sparrow finally spoke, moving to where the Striders were. She mounted quickly and left into the shadows. Roan followed shortly behind her, Jacobson waiting behind to be the last to leave. "You did well, Azmere," he said softly, letting the man leave. What met Azmere when he arrived at his pavilion was a scene of shock and death. There was blood splattered across the main canvas of the tent, and a large slit down one side, where a fight had obviously taken place. A few paces from the tent lay a body, head down in the mud. His back was splattered with mud and blood, his hand soaked red and outstretch reaching for a spear. For three spears, actually, except the other two had rolled further out of his grip. His black hair clung to his face, but it was unmistakably still his uncle. He had brought down another figure though, a pirate with a terrible snarl still on his face. This man lay a little further, clutching a knife as if he was still fighting. A little further from the scene of this fight was Levite, orange hair coated in mud. His death had been short and quick, but the pained expression on his face was still there, from watching Pattin be dragged away by one of the pirates. The others seemed to all be missing, although clearly they had put up a fight. There were weapons on the floor, drag marks and shapes of bodies where they had impacted the floor, hard. Whether pirate or Drykas, it was hard to tell. Both had had their share of fighting. But there was one more figure, lying by a horse that called into the night, calling for Dira to return his rider. Asmodeus' face was one of a warrior, still clutching his weapons as his lifeless eyes stared into the distance, where his family had been dragged. An arrow betrayed his way of death, sticking out of his chest. Death had come to this pavilion and left the others missing. Gone, perhaps forever.

[Azmere]

Azmere was quick to pocket the coins. If he ran into a moral conundrum about it later, there would be plenty who could use the extra tender. He kept his head on a swivel looking about for more bandits. The fog carried sounds of far off skirmishes and it settled an uneasiness upon the patrol. The contrasting eyes flitted from shadows to the female of their group. She looked quite comfortable with blood on her arms and torso while clutching prizes taken from the dead. The archer couldn’t blame her. He, too, had partaken of the spoils. It was the way of survival. No one took a piece of armor because it was pretty.

It didn’t take long for the group to disperse and head off in whatever direction would lead them home. Azmere shivered at the thought. His pavilion was old but nestled in the middle of the Diamond spoke. Surely, they would be ok amidst the warrior clan. There were few who knew as much about conflict, violence and battle as Asmodeus but strength and skill wane with age and knowledge can only make up for so much. In a flash of shadows and scars, Azmere was into the yvas and used his legs to turn Hephiestian back towards the city. He urged the stallion forward when he dropped his boot heels into the horse’s sides. The big strider took off concealing his age behind the sudden burst of speed. There was a foul smell in the air as things were burned. Azmere pushed his companion harder despite his knowledge of the beast’s limited capabilities.

Once the city of tents was in view, Azmere could see bands of Drykas, Watch and civilians taking up arms against the invaders. It was a dreadful sight. The horse clans were asleep and fighting with anything they could grab. The watchman saw one man swinging a yvas bag in wide arcs while standing stark naked in between his family and several marauders. Azmere was about to go help the man when cries from another direction caused the archer to ride past in search of this new situation. The blood curdling scream was that of a child, most likely female, and it made the heart of the Drykas ache as he rode closer in search of the source. He saw nothing and heard nothing. Whoever had pleaded for help was no longer. So much violence and death overwhelmed Azmere. He had been on countless hunts and even scraps with Zith or bandits from the road but this was a whole new world of desolation.

Corpses littered the ground and the screams and clashing of steel just droned into a cacophony of noise that numbed the mind. The watchman was stunned to the point where he rode right past his pavilion. He turned the old strider about and then drew, notched and put tension on an arrow. As his thighs flexed and relaxed to guide the slowing canter back to the Stormblood camp, he lifted his arm and tried to find some kind of target. What he found in place of a battle was the remains; a slaughter.

The archer jumped from his mount and flung his weapon aside. A roar escaped the man as he came across the doubled over form of his uncle. He never had much of a chance to fight back as evidence of the spears scattered before the man. A dead pirate body revealed that there was some fight in the older generation. Azmere’s face was marred with streaks of tears but he wasn’t weeping. He was angry, distraught and lost. His eyes flew up to the tent where the slash had been made. He ducked in expecting to see his mother cut into pieces but the tent was empty. A growl rumbled deep in his chest. Grabbing his club from his waist, Azmere was going to go split some skulls and find his mother but what he saw next bound him in grief and shock. Levite, Azmere’s young cousin, was clutching a stab wound on his chest with a face of fright. The rage left the archer as the emptiness spread through his soul. The pained face of the boy seemed to take the fight clean out of him.

Azmere knelt down and felt the tears return. He gently closed the eyes of the little redhead and whispered a prayer to Zulrav vowing vengeance on the fiends who destroyed his sanctuary. Several were missing including his mother. Azmere gathered his weapons and moved towards the edge of the camp with every intention to join the battle and destroy as many of the wretched pirates as possible. It was here that he found the patriarch; his ankal and grandfather, Asmodeus. The picture of his mentor and the most beloved person in Azmere’s life was one he would never forget. Clutching his weapons, Asmodeus scowled at the enemy even in death as if daring them to return. The young warrior stopped and fell to his knees. There were no words, no tears. There was no strength in his muscles or fight in his blood.

After many chimes, Azmere finally moved. He did not join battle until he had laid his kin to rest. He stretched out each man and child side by side. He made sure the eyes were closed and folded their hands over their chests. Azmere then spent a few more chimes gathering weapons. He hefted his bow and club but also gathered the three spears and the swords and knives of the pirates. There would be much blood and weeping but not from Azmere. He had cried his tears and his family had bled enough. He climbed onto Hephiestian and closed his eyes. Azmere focused on the area immediately around his home. When he opened them again, there were so many paths of color and splotches of djed that the watchman was never going to be able to follow those who raided his home. He closed his eyes once more and pushed the ability down. Azmere would use his ears to guide him to the battle. The hollow feeling in his gut screamed to be filled…with he blood of his enemies.

Textbox courtesy of Firenze

[Jasmine Stormblood]

Let me know if I missed anything.

 

Azmere

XP

• Riding- Horse: 3 XP
• Webbing: 1 XP
• Socialization: 3 XP
• Stealth: 2 XP
• Planning: 1 XP
• Weapon- Longbow: 3 XP
• Weapon- Club: 4 XP
• Planning: 1 XP
• Acrobatics: 2 XP
• Endurance: 2 XP
• Pathfinding: 1 XP
• Observation: 3 XP
• Leadership: 1 XP
• Medicine: 1 XP

Lores

• Drykas: striders become family
• Longbow: muscle memory action
• Azmere: viscous in battle
• Azmere: protective of teammates
• Medicine: a mud bandage will hold

Miscellaneous

• + 7 arrows
• + 1 leather chest plate
• Laceration on left shoulder blade (1 ft long), needs medical attention, will take 3 weeks to heal/possibly scar