"Don't look so nervous, kid. This is a pretty routine job."
The gruff voice came out, startling 20 year old Malkur to no end. Less then two months ago his father had been killed, the man he thought was truly invincible in battle. He had fought along side him for many years, and though he had fought and killed men he had never been on job alone. The emotion filled his head, and that emotion was full forced fear.
"I'm not nervous! Its just hot out here!" Stammering, lies. It was obvious.
The larger veteran laughed, patting the young warrior on the shoulder before moving toward the front of the Caravan. Malkur had managed, after some proving, to get himself a job protecting a small merchant caravan on its way to the various cities in the Sylira region, they had come from Zeltiva and were headed to Syrliras first, stocked mostly with rare armors and weaponry. The company he had managed to get himself aligned with was a small gang of reformed bandits. It wasn't the most reputable group, but he had work and he felt good about it. If not a bit afraid.
After some self thought he looked up, striding in a jog closer to the caravan train. Two caravans full of goods, and one full of travel needs. Four guards, two merchants, and a Isur named 'Kalar' made up the group; not including himself. The Isur owned most of the goods, the merchants his partners.
"We got quite awhile before we get there, but don't let your senses fall."
Came the female voice, the leader of the band of reformed bandits and his new boss. She was human, like every other guard and tall, real tall. She stood around 6'3", with a lanky body like he had never seen before; eyes bright as the ocean and hair the color of the sun, but heavily scarred in her once beautiful face. Her nose was hacked to bits, and her cheeks had huge disfiguring scars. Worse off? She was proud them, dying the scars elaborate colors and piercing the destroyed nose.
"AYE MA'AM!"
Came the resonating voices of the men, Malkur taking it up with them. Her will was done, and the men feared her. After some time, she walked from her spot in caravan train to check with each of her men, and after some time she came to him. She smiled, soft as her face could give.
"Don't worry, hun. I'll protect you."
She towered over him, and it would be a lie to say it didn't intimidate him. She liked that, and with a soft touch she kissed him. That stopped him, dead in his tracks and like a school boy his cheeks flushed brightly. She had taken a liking to Malkur, and had bedded him the night before; but it still didn't change the embarrassment he felt from the hoots and hollers of the other men.
"I don't need protecting, Miss Grace." His resolve hardened, he didn't want to be looked down on!
Grace just smiled, patting him on the head like a child and returning to her position in the front. She chatted with the much smaller Isur, whom was sitting on the lead cart guiding it with a lazy hand.
TWANG!
With a heavy hit, the Isur fell. Shouts, blood, the rushing fear. The smell overwhelmed him. Men burst from the forest, and soon Malkur found himself shaking. "Run! Run! Run! Run!" his brain implored him; fifteen men had charged the small group. Fifteen! They had no chance!
"NO!" He yelled, drawing his spear into the notch on his shield and charging at the nearest man! The battle would be now! He wasn't going to run like he did when his father died. Now was the time to show his resolve.
"AAAAAAAAH!"
The clash had begun.
