Solo A Deadly Dichotomy, Part I

[Erick Barnett]

41st of Spring, 516AV The Bronze Woods, Somewhere north-east of Stormhold Near Sundown “.... and so really, that’s why I started keeping a knife in my boot, y’know?” The highwayman had fled through the Bronze Woods, and the two Squire’s had followed him. The older, Lysander, a man of roughly thirty years who had just recently joined the Order but was already an experienced hunter and woodsman, lead the younger Erick as they trudged up through an incline in the forest floor. The older Squire was dark haired and square-jawed, with flashing blue eyes and pointed features. He seemed enamored with the sound of his own voice, and since they had started their patrol earlier that morning the verbal deluge had not once abated. This suited Erick well enough, and he occasionally would humor his companion with a nod or an interested, “Yeah, mate?” Lysander nodded, deftly climbing up another rise in the forest floor and then turning around to offer Erick a hand up. “Yeah. Got tired of getting disarmed.” He grunted with effort as he pulled on Erick, even as the younger squire scrambled up the rise himself, his footing slipping out beneath him causing him to crash into his companion. Their armors clanged and jangled violently as they hit the forest floor. Lysander was up first, with a low groan, once again extending a helping hand to his younger companion. Once Erick was back on his feet, he offered him a grin, clasping a hand onto his shoulder. “You alight, lad?” The grin twisted into a smirk. “We can take a break, if you want.” Erick’s eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. He pulled his waterskin from off his pack and took a quick swig. “No.” Deftly placing it back, he shoved past Lysander, who chuckled, his armor rattling like windswept chains as he quickly jogged after. “You know, seeing as we’re both Squires and all, it couldn’t hurt for us to become friends.” Erick shot him a curt glance. “That right?” “Sure. Besides, you could use a good role model.” There were few who had known Erick since he had joined The Knighthood that would’ve described him as inherently violent, but it was great effort he kept his hand from breaking Lysander’s nose. It was true that Lysander was at least a decade Erick’s senior, and clearly had much more experience than him in many areas - yet they were, for all intents and purposes, the same rank. Despite this, Lysander had been ordering Erick around since they had departed from Stormhold, and seemed determined to insult him at every single opportunity. After their initial skirmish with the group of highwayman along the road he had remarked at what a good swordsman Erick was, “For a kid.” And Erick had weathered it all in silence, though he swore soon he would be rendered mute from the constant chewing on his tongue. “Heh. You really don’t talk much, huh? C’mon, can’t make friends like that.” Lysander had once again taken the lead, slightly altering the direction they were traveling through the woods. “Alright.” The young squire let out a weighty sigh. “What do you want to talk about?” “Hm. I dunno.” He paused and knelt by the ground, seemingly transfixed on a few snapped twigs in the dirt. “How about you tell me about that mark on your right hand?” Erick lifted his right hand up to gaze upon it. Black lines in a long circle, curving gradually inward toward the center, formed a vortex-like pattern on the back of his right hand. It glowed with a constant pale ethereal light. Lysander had stood back up, and was slowly walking forward again, his eyes fixated on the ground, and Erick continued just behind him. “You may find it hard to believe,” Erick paused as Lysander stopped again, this time carefully studying the bark of a tree, “But the story isn’t all that interesting. Not stacked against how some of the Knights got marks from their gods.” Lysander nodded contemplatively, taking a break in studying the foliage to lock eyes with Erick. “Possibly. But I’ve not met many Knights marked by Priskill. Yahal, Eyris, even met one marked by Leth once - but the Lady of Hope?” He turned his attention back to the tree. “I imagine you must be somewhat special, to make such…. Unique, friends.”

[Erick Barnett]

Erick took a step forward to stand next to him, quickly changing the subject. “Pardon me, but I’m no tracker.” He ran his eyes along the trunk of the oak that Lysander seemed so interested in. “But, I have to ask, what are you doing?” The older squire waved a hand to indicate a specific portion of the trees surface. As Erick’s gaze settled on the area specified, he saw it. Around the base of the tree, and even on some of the surrounding underbrush and exposed root gnarls, a crimson spattering, just barely visible in the dwindling mid-afternoon light, like someone had spit out a mouthful of wine. “That what I think it is?” Lysander shrugged. “Yep. Fresh, too.” Erick narrowed his eyes at his companion. “How fresh?” “I’d say about ten chimes, give or take.” Subconsciously, Erick’s hand found the hilt of his sword as he peered suspiciously out toward the rapidly darkening forest that surrounded them. In certain places, Syna’s dwindling light had cut the forest floor into striped patterns oscillating between long, inky shadows and foliage that seemed to be gilded and glowing in the last beams of the vanishing sun. Elsewhere, however, the tree canopy was so thick that nothing but shadows occupied the space between the trees, continuing to grow and surround them as the day faded. “Yep.” Lysander turned to Erick, his arms folded over his chest. “I figure based on the splatter that our bandit friend tried yanking the pin I stuck him with out.” Erick’s eyebrows curled up. “Wasn’t that arrowed barbed?” Lysander smirked. “Yep.” Erick grimaced. Of the five highwaymen that Lysander and Erick had encountered harassing the local farmers, only the one had escaped - and had managed to carry off a young boy when he had. And now it was very likely the vagrant was going to pass out from the bleeding. Erick pictured the boy he had kidnapped, alone and tied up on the forest floor, a fresh corpse right next to him to draw in all sorts of predators first, and then scavengers second. The young squire turned to his companion, speaking through clenched teeth. “We need to find them.” Lysander rolled his eyes, turning heel and continuing to walk away. “Yeah, yeah. I know. You’ve made that abundantly clear.” As they headed up another rise in the forest floor, Lysander continued. “Though I’m not sure I understand why we have to do this. A proper tracking party with horses would have already found the bastard.” “By the time we even got word back to Stormhold-” “Yes yes,” He sighed as he paused at the top of another ridge to take a swig from his waterskin, letting out a refreshed gasp. “So here we are, many bells later, sweating away in our armor like pigs locked in cages, chasing after some helpless little lad that in all likelihood is already dead.” Despite the fact that Erick had managed to weather the unending torrent of bullshit that had flewn from his companions mouth, at this last comment, he felt something in his mind twist and finally give way. A tide of red rising in his vision he moved with a sudden burst of energy, using a forearm to slam Lysander into the nearest tree and pin him there, speaking through a clenched jaw directly into Lysander’s ear. “I don’t know exactly what your problem with me is, but I swear by Yahal, if you say that again, I’ll break your petching face.” Lysander’s face was plastered with a smirk as he eyed the boys intense, beat red face. “Alright, alright. Let’s go save the kid, mate.” Erick lingered a moment, his eyes boring coldly into Lysander's, before releasing him and continuing on ahead.

[Erick Barnett]

“You know, I don’t really have a problem with you.” He hurried after Erick, and soon had overtaken him again by just a half step. “Just the opposite. I like you. A lot of the other knights - even a lot of the squires - seem really self-righteous. Sort’ve full of themselves.” He grinned and slapped the younger squire on the back. “You seem pretty down to earth. Who knows, maybe we really will be friends.” For just a moment, perhaps the first moment since they had left the castle, Lysander was silent, his eyes tracing all along the forest floor as he lead Erick ever deeper into the woods. Syna had retreated completely out of view, and only the dimmest traces of her light remained. The Bronze Woods took on a much less inviting feel as night crept around - in the shifting shadows, each swaying branch and rustling bush prompted a quick jerk of the head from Erick, his hand wrapped tightly around the hilt of his sword. Eventually, they found themselves in a clearing. The sky had darkened, and the first and brightest of the stars had begun to poke through the veil of the heavens. It was the absolute darkest bell of the day, and as they crossed the field, it was almost dead silent, save for the steady steel jittering of their armor until they both came to a stop, shoulder to shoulder. Very near the middle of the clearing, the highwayman had finally collapsed. He was dressed in tattered leathers and furs, a trail of blood leading up to where he had eventually stopped. He was still moaning, and Lysander casually drew the knife off his belt, and plunged it into the vagrants skull, silencing him permanently. Erick’s brow furrowed, and he turned to pensively stare out over the clearing, turning very slowly as he studied the darkness for something. He wasn’t sure what it would be - movement, maybe. A soft cry for help, perhaps. Anything that would indicate where the child was. His study was awarded fairly quickly, as, barely audible over the study hum of insects in the background, he could hear the softest of voices whispering from the darkness: “Hello? Is anybody there?” Erick was in motion immediately, lifting his right hand up. A light began to burst outward from his palm, like the radiance of a torch but much more focused, and he began to scan the grass in the field with it as he walked. “I’m here, child.” He spoke up slightly, almost shouting. “Where are you? Speak up!” “I’m over here, sir! Please help me!” Erick turned around, slowly moving the beam of light across the grass until, at last, he caught sight of tiny eyes, wide with fear, staring at him through the underbrush. The light from his palm slowly faded and he jogged over to the boy, the heavy boots he wore digging through the grass. Kneeling by the child, there was a soft ringing as Erick drew his sword. “Keep still.” He very carefully used the blade to weaken the boys binds, sheathing the sword before then ripping the rope the rest of the way. He stood up and offered the boy a hand, pulling him to his feet. “You alright kiddo?” The child, staring up at Erick with tears beginning to well up in his eyes, nodded slowly. “Yes ser. “ The squire let out a surprised grunt as the child suddenly latched onto him, holding onto him with a vice grip. He was an average looking child as one could expect to find up growing on a Syliran farmland, dressed in the most simplest of rags, and caked in dirt. He couldn’t have been older than ten, with short frizzy auburn hair that fell haphazardly around his face like a mop. He cautiously returned the embrace with a single arm, only releasing him to kneel, enabling him to look the boy in the eye. “It’s okay, lad. You’re alright now. I promise.” The boys face was buried in his forearm, and as he spoke his voice quivered. “I know S-Ser. I’m sorry. I just…. I….” Erick sighed, resting his hand on the boy's head. “What’s your name?” The child moved his arms from his face, which was puffy and glistening. His voice still strained to squeak out between suppressed sobs. “B-Blaine Nearcropper, ser.” Erick smiled softly. “A fine name, that is. Mine is Erick Barnett. And I’m going to take you home now, alright?” “Alright.” The boy hesitated a moment. He was still shaking, but seemed to be speaking easier now. “S-Ser Erick, can I ask you a question?” “It’s just Erick, lad. I’m no Knight yet.” He stood up, nodding. “But of course, ask away.”

[Erick Barnett]

“Oh… Uhm, well…” The kid glanced away nervously, before looking back up at Erick’s right hand. “How do you make the light with your hand? Are you a wizard or something?” At this, the squire laughed. His body was so sore from lugging his armor and gear around through a forest all day that it hurt, and he winced, shaking his head. “No no, nothing like that, I’m afraid.” He knelt by the boy again, lifting a flat palm up and holding it just below the kid, before the light began to shine from his skin brightly once more. The boy’s eyes widened and his tear-streaked face cracked into a grin. “Wow. What is it?” A smile lingered on Erick’s face as he spoke. “A gift, from a friend.” The boy continued to just stare down into the light, the smile never leaving his face, and the light slowly receded again, until only the dim ethereal glow of the mark itself remained. At this point the kid looked up at Erick, his face still lit up despite now being engulfed in shadow. “It must be magic. Because I feel... better now, somehow.” At this, Erick’s smile turned into a grin. “Good to hear.” “Hey! Barnett!” His expression immediately hardened as Lysander’s voice hit his ears. Craning his neck around, he shouted in response. “What?” Lysander had waded through the grass and was a few feet in front of them, though still just vaguely visible in the darkness that bathed the clearing. Something dangled delicately from his fingertips, and he was holding it up to eye level. In the dimness it was hard to make out exactly what it was, but Erick could see the object catching what little light he could see and refracting it brilliantly. “Gems?” Lysander chuckled. “Big time. Tried to smash one with my boot and I couldn’t. Pretty sure that means it’s the real deal. I fished it out of the dead bandits pockets.” The boy stepped forward, gently grabbing onto Erick’s left hand as it dangled freely at his side. “Uhm… That’s my mommy’s necklace.” Erick’s head recoiled slightly, and he snapped his attention to the boy. “Are you sure?” The child nodded. “Mommy said it was a wedding present from dad. The bad guy ripped it off her neck before he grabbed me.” Erick slowly turned his head to look back at Lysander. They stared at each other for several long, uncomfortable moments. At last, Lysander snapped. “What?” “Can I talk with you a minute?” He glanced at the kid, then back to Lysander. “Privately?” Yet again Lysander rolled his eyes, pacing away dejectedly. Erick knelt by the child to look him straight away in the eye. “I need to go have an… Adult conversation with my fellow squire. We’re just gonna be right over there,” Erick pointed to the part of the clearing Lysander had wandered off too. “Alright?” Blaine’s lips pursed, and he nodded hesitantly, clutching even tighter to Erick’s hand. “ You’re not gonna try and leave without me, right?” “No,” Erick chuckled softly and placed a hand on the kids head, ruffling his hair. “We just need to discuss something. Then we’ll all three get you back home to your mommy and daddy.” The child still seemed unconvinced. “Promise?” Erick laughed again, before composing himself in a very, very serious manner. “On my Knightly honor, mi’lord. I shall see you returned home.” Nodding slowly, the boy relaxed his grip, and Erick gently pulled away, turning to follow Lysander across the field.

[Erick Barnett]

“Before you say anything,” Lysander pointed past Erick, in the direction of the boy. “Let me make one thing very clear to you. Poor little urchins like that are literally always on the lookout for an opportunity to pocket some extra coin. I know, because I used to be one.” Erick narrowed his eyes at the older Squire. It flabbergasted him how Lysander had seemed, right out of the gate, determined to make this patrol as difficult as humanly possible, as if fighting bandits on the road followed by stomping around a forest in full platemail wasn’t tedious enough. Pinching frustratedly at the bridge of his nose for a moment, Erick shook his head. “The boy has just been through hell.” He pointed himself. “He’s scared. He just wants to go home. He’s not trying to scam you out of your precious battlefield loot.” He eyed Lysander a moment before continuing. “And here I mistook you for a squire, only to find out you're actually a crow, eagerly picking away at a corpse before it’s even cold.” Lysander smirked. “Oh, trust me, that guy back there’s definitely cold at this point.” The younger squire was unamused. “Don’t be an ass.” “Oh, I cannot believe we are even having this conversation!” Lysander let out a heavy sigh. “Are you seriously telling me you think some dirt poor farmboy could afford to buy his fiancee a jewel-studded engagement necklace?” “I think….” Erick had to pause to level his thoughts out, as he once again felt the very strong need to hurt this man. He did his best to speak normally, though it was hard to keep his jaw relaxed, and each word still sounded strained. “We should at least put a bare minimum of effort in verifying if the boy is lying or not before jumping to conclusions.” The older squire was grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, I get it. I see what you’re doing man.” He raised a finger, wagging it at Erick. “You’re very good.” Erick’s brow furrowed. “What?” “You’re worried I’m not gonna cut you in!” He slapped Erick on the back. “Man, and you’ve been doing this Squire thing for like, years now, right? Can’t imagine how broke you must be mate. Never fear, though. There’ll be enough gold for both of us once I pawn the thing off.” He leaned in, hugging Erick with an arm around his shoulders. “Seeing as we’re such good friends now, I’d even be willing to go, say…. Sixty-forty on it with you.” Sighing, Erick pushed his arm away, stepping back from him. “That’s not what the issue here is. If that does belong to the boy’s mother, taking it is theft.” “Oh no.” Lysander’s mouth dropped into an exaggerated look of shock. “Not theft! Tyveth himself might smite me for such behavior!” His expression suddenly hardened. “Get real. It’s just compensation for our work.” He jabbed a finger against Erick’s breastplate. “Work that, if I might add, we aren’t getting paid for by the Order.” The side of Erick’s mouth curled back slightly as if recoiling. “Look, we’re going to go back to the kids mother either way. She’ll be able to tell us for sure if it's hers or not.” He shook his head, and began walking back toward the child. “Until then, I don’t want to hear another damn word about it, or I’m going to report you.” He was halfway back when he heard it. He had only just began his archery training but already the sound was familiar; the hearty twang of the string, the flat crack as it snapped back into the leather of the archer’s glove. The moment he heard that sound, reflex took over and he took a giant lunging step to position himself between Lysander and the child. As he did, the first whistling missile struck, hitting one of his shoulder pauldrons, the steel ringing sharply as the impact forced Erick to recoil, nearly collapsing before catching himself on a tree. “Run, Blaine!” There was a sharp metallic rasp as Erick drew his blade, charging forward toward Lysander as he saw him knocking another arrow. “Run now!”

[Erick Barnett]

Another arrow whizzed past, so close that Erick could feel the windforce in his hair. Lysander was already knocking another. “You reacted fast!” Before he could get the shot off, Erick was on him, swinging recklessly at the older squire. The forest echoed with the clear ringing of steel clashing against steel, like a dull bell. “Aggressive. I like it!” Lysander spoke through teeth clenched tightly with effort. He had managed to draw his shortsword just in time, having been forced to drop his bow and the shot he had been about to loose. Their blades stood crossed now, and they glowed ever so slightly in the dull, silver light that Leth had begun to radiate on the clearing as he crept into view over the nearby treeline. “What the hell are you doing, Lysander?!” Lysander, found himself being pushed back a step, but was grinning all the same, even as the crossed blades began to hover dangerously close to his throat. “Sorry, ser, but by the time we found the last bandit…” He suddenly twisted, and his blade ran along Ericks and then out from beneath it. The younger squire was sent stumbling forward, nearly falling onto his face. “He had regrettably already killed the child!” Lysander capitalized immediately, ramming his shoulder into Erick as he listed forward, the steel that encased both their bodies banging together like dueling gongs as the young squire only avoided collapsing into the dirt by virtue of catching himself against the trunk of a tree with his free hand. The older man lunged forward very nimbly with his smaller weapon several times in rapid succession. Erick knocked each blow back with a quick twist of his blade, but each got closer and closer, and he found himself backpedaling away from the clearing, the more experienced opponent nimbly matching each step he took, corralling his back against a tree. “And despite Erick’s valiant effort, he too was slain before I finally skewered the villain!” Erick ducked a final swipe from the shortsword, having nowhere left to go. Pinned against the tree, with Lysander so close, he couldn’t get the moment to make proper use of his longsword - and he could tell the older squire knew it. As the strike hit the tree, Erick felt tiny shavings of bark showering down on his head from the force of the impact, before slamming his shoulder into Lysander’s chest and bringing the both of them to the ground. “Oof!” Lysander gasped as Erick landed atop him with his full weight. Posturing up, he young squire gripped his longsword with both hands and hoisted it high over his opponent, driving the point down like a hammer. Lysander caught both his wrists, managing to hold the point of the sword back a mere inch from his throat. “See…” Somehow, despite his face beat red with effort and both men gasping for breath, Lysander felt the need to speak. [/b]“This… is why I like you…”[/b] Each word was practically a grunt as Erick strained against the older squires arms, the point of his sword a hairs length from the lump in the man’s throat. “You’re not afraid to play dirty…. Just… Like…. Me!” Erick recoiled as in one, fluid move, Lysander pulled one of his hands off Erick’s and grabbed a handful of dirt, half-throwing, half-rubbing it straight into his eyes. Momentarily the world was marred in gritty black as the dirt combined with the copious amounts of sweat already pouring off his forehead into his eyes to form a muddy, sticky filth that stung and blurred his vision. The next thing he felt was Lysander’s knee catching him straight in the crotch - before he found himself being flung to his back. He lay there a moment, his stomach churning and small knives of pain running through his guts as he struggled to get back to his feet, bracing himself against a tree and he rubbed at his eyes with his free hand. “You…. Piece of shit…” Lysander was already back on his feet, pointing the shortsword at Erick as he spoke between ragged breaths. “ You know, kid, you really aren’t all that bad.” He grinned, using his free hand to rub away the sweat on his brow. ”But you really need to reign in that temper of yours. It’ll get you into trouble.” Erick had managed to clear his vision for the most part, and was composed enough to stand independent of the tree now. His gently raised his sword up in a neutral ready stance as he glared at Lysander, totally silent. He wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of responding to anymore of his taunts. He did, however, take a very cautious step forward, hoping to be subtle enough that Lysander wouldn’t notice and he could get within striking distance.

[Erick Barnett]

Unfortunately, the older squire did notice, taking an equal step back away as the two began to encircle each other, Lysander leering at the Erick as he spoke. “See, I think we can settle this with a gentlemanly contest. Wouldn’t you prefer that?” “Shut up.” Lysander made an exaggerated, pouty expression as Erick. “Now that’s not very nice, mate. “ With this, his once again took a lunging step toward the younger man, unleashing a fluid combination of rapid horizontal cuts and quick jabs with his short blade. This time, though, it was different. The initial panicked flight-or-fight response had dimmed in Erick’s brain. He could think clearly now - hear clearly now that his heart was no longer hammering away in his ears like a wardrum. My weapon is easily twice the size of his. If I keep him at a distance he’ll never land a blow, Erick did backpedal, but kept his sword up higher as he knocked the strikes back, using each parry as an opportunity to quickly stab back at his attacker - forcing him to keep the same relative distance. And he’s older, he’ll tire first, I bet…. Lysander broke his attack off, now backing away slightly himself as the two stood, eyes locked, both panting softly under their breaths. “You’re quite clever, aren’t you?” ”Everything’s relative.” The older squire smirked. “But I don’t think I want to play your game. Yours is a knights game, but me, I’m not really a very good knight. I’m a hunter. So I think it’s time to let our real contest begin. The little lads gotten enough of a head start.” A cold, hollow feeling began to slowly creep over Erick’s chest as the realization of what he meant began to settle in. “No. You hear me? This is between you and me. Don’t you even think about-” Erick was stepping forward, bringing his sword about in preparation to attack again before he had even finished speaking. It was too late. Lysander spun and took off back toward the clearing. “Bet I can catch him before you do!” Cursing under his breath, Erick sheathed his sword and took off in a sprint after him. Of course, he was at a marked disadvantage: He had a shield and a backpack full of provisions on his back, whereas the older squire was only burdened essentially by his armor - armor that Erick too wore. He immediately began to feel the strain of the entire day's events so far weighing down on him as tried to keep pace with Lysander’s rapidly vanishing silhouette in the distant darkness. Damnit… No… Just keep running… I can’t afford to lose sight of him…! But it was once again too late. Lysander vanished behind a distant ridge of trees, and all that was left of him was his laughter, echoing through the dark forest as slowly faded into the distance. Erick’s sprint came to a stumbling halt as he nearly face-planted into the forest floor, managing to brace himself on his knees as he struggled for air. A chime or two passed, and Erick found himself inundated by total silence with exception of his own laboured breathing. He was able to stand upright again, and he deftly reached around to his back, retrieving the shield he had borrowed from The Order, along with the armor, before having left the castle early that morning. He secured the straps around his left arm, giving his shield arm a few wiggles. At least with this, Erick thought as he began jogging at a brisk pace in the direction Lysander had been headed. If I do catch him, armed with just that dinky little sword, he’s mine. If, of course, I manage to find him before he tracks down the kid. The thought made Erick a little nauseated, knowing now what kind of man Lysander was. But the night was young, and only just now had truly begun.

[Izuyanai]

Grades : Grades Name: Erick XP: Socialization +4 Observation +5 Tracking +1 Running +1 Unarmed Combat +2 Weapon Longsword +2 Intimidation +1 Negotiation +1 Shield points 5 Lores: Lysander: Self Absorbed Squire Tracking: Identifying a Blood Trail Priskil: Goddess of Hope Priskil: Luminance Provides Comfort and Hope Socialization: Reassuring a Child To Define Thievery Combat: Knowing A Weapon's Reach Notes: Great job with the fight scene. However, I did read that there's little corruption in the Order, so you may want to be careful with that. You should also get any npc's registered with the storyteller. Your patron and possibly Lysander if need be. Let me know if you think I’ve missed something.