Northern Justice (Rhuryc, Stitch)

[Stitch]

Stitch chuckled as his new friend bowed, the blind man quickly returning the gesture, though not as gracefully. He merely clapped his arms to his side and bent at the waist, looking much like a formal waiter at a fancy restaurant. It was a pretty quick bow too, just the dip and then the straighten. Somewhat goofy-looking, really. "The pleasure is with this one, milord." He turned back to Rhuryc, just in time to catch the man's answer. He didn't react as Rhuryc might expect. Instead of instantly attempting to persuade the man down a different path, he merely cocked his head to the side, his features turning into those of deep thought. Perhaps he was thinking about putting up an argument, but then thinking about how that argument would go. Whatever the case, he was quite silent for a good bit. When Rhuryc eventually signaled Amondaris that it was time to get a move on, Stitch continued to keep silent, that thoughtful look upon his face. Instead, he just bit his lower lip, cuddled his arms close to his chest, and silently followed the two imposing figures. They looked quite majestic, their frames much bulkier than that of the blind man, especially with their weapons and armor. Stitch, with his wool and bare hands... he wasn't that much of a figure. Stitch studied the two men as they moved, his Auristics coming easily to him. It merely took a seconds worth of thought to summon their Auras to his eyes, and he quickly begin to shift through them for information. Amondaris was the calmer of the two, currently. The man looked much like a Vantha to Stitch, although the icy Aura wasn't quite as cold as most Vantha were. Not cold in a emotional sense, but cold in a chilly sense. Vantha caused Stitch to lose all warmth in his tongue, as he could practically taste their snowy Auras. This one though, his Aura was constructed of both cold ice, and cold emotions. He protected himself. He protected himself with calm and apathy. He didn't even remotely trust Stitch yet. Stitch understood. He had just met a blind man in the wilderness, one who used magic to see, and was skilled enough to snatch arrows out of the sky. He wouldn't trust himself either. What interested him more though, was what the icy wall contained. For all of the politeness and protectiveness the Lord had wrapped around himself... The dark red glow within was quite easy to make out. Rhuryc was a bit easier for Stitch to read, though Stitch didn't look into him as much. The man was stoic and controlled, a strong man with a strong line of work, one who's personal beliefs were as steady and solid as the shield and sword he held. Those beliefs were what drove him now. He was aiming to exact revenge for the things he had seen in these wildlands, aiming to punish the wicked with his sword and shield. He would exact payment for their crimes in blood. Stitch felt somewhat the same... but not exactly. Yes, he didn't like Slavers at all. He was surprised he had missed the destruction back at the original two bodies, but he had been preoccupied with the blood and gore, he supposed. Still. Even if he would have seen it back then, he had a... different idea of how to handle this. Lost in his thoughts, Stitch didn't even notice they were in the maze until he had followed Rhuryc a few steps in. Instantly, upon realizing they were in a rather cold and windy natural maze, Stitch took a glance around. He studied the immediate landscape and the nearby ground, checking over every little bit with his Auristics. There were bound to be tracks, but perhaps there was something more he could... Djed. In the Air. It only took him a few moments to pick up on it, and he nearly stuck out his tongue, just to taste at the familiar magic. Someone wielding sorcery had been through here just recently. His magical eyes could sense it in the air, could taste it, could feel it rubbing up against his skin. It was so familiar, too. It was a trail he could easily follow. "Milords." Stitch interrupted whatever they might have been doing, and stepped a bit quicker, planning to get in front. "They have a Reimancer with them. Whoever it is, they used their magic steadily as they walked. This one can see traces of it. This one can follow it." They might not understand. But then, how could they even understand the concept of a blind man who could see? Absentmindly, Stitch summoned the Flux once more, gently tugging on the energies that ran through his veins. He focused a bit as he waited for their response, and slowly began to push at the streams of energy, wanting to cause them to speed up a bit. He was hoping to increase his bloodflow, and therefor amp up a little bit of warmth within himself. He just hopped a bit in place, teeth chattering, focusing on using his magics.

[Amondaris]

What a peculiar man. Very little, if anything about this man would prove to be banal and mundane, he suspected. At the very least, spending time with this fellow would prove to be an interesting experience, and what more could you as for from a man? He stood as Rhuryc explained their current situation, and their reasons for murdering the men they had come across. And it was murder. Amondaris was very much aware of that fact. Dress it up however you like, tell yourself you did it to save a life, or bring justice to some foul brigand, it didn't change anything. You were still spilling a man's lifesblood and cutting short his span upon the world. Evil men still had families, after all, and may not have always been dark at heart themselves. Circumstance may have driven them to extreme, immoral acts. The coin that would be paid for these slaves may well have been used to feed a starving family, or to bring an ailing child to a healer. He didn't really care, either way. Vengeance left little room for compassion and empathy, after all. One cannot take it upon themselves to champion the downtrodden's need for retribution without engendering the need for vengeance within others. Which suited Amondaris just fine. There was no beginning or end to vengeance, not really. It was a cycle, and one he simply intended to help balance with a little smattering of..Charity. If someone was unable to obtain their revenge by their own merit, well too bad. Not his problem. There were, however, spcial cases which he took an interest in. Such as this one, for example. He was fond of Kelvics as a whole, and he loathed slavers. What if they had taken Miharu, or Kilviria, or Larina? The thought brought a brief flicker of crimson to his eyes, a touch of anger colouring his emotions. These Kelvics may well have been someone else's Miharu, or Larina. They could have been someone's friend, a bondmate, even a lover. Morwen knew he'd want someone tracking the petchers down who had taken them, in their situation. He was more than happy to be that someone in this case. He came out of his brief reverie in time to hear Rhuryc mention something about there being more blood to spill, and gave a slight nod of agreement. There would indeed be more blood. He would dye the snow red with it. He would make sure of that. Myri, most beautiful and deadly Lady of War. I do not pray to you for strength, or for a blessing. I never have, and never will. I do not think you could respect someone that needs a God's aid to succeed in combat, as I could not respect myself if I asked for it. I make an oath to you this day. These slavers will know my wrath, and it will be brutal. I will show them no mercy, no succour, no pity. I offer up this battle and their blood to you, my Lady. I pray that you find it pleasing. Turning, he set off at Rhuryc's behest, remaining silent as they made their way forward. Words would serve little purpose here, as the noise they would have to make in order to be heard above the wind could attract attention to them as easily as not. The Knight's purposeful stride negated any real need for communication at any rate. It did not take a genius to figure out what they were going to do once they reached the main body which the scouts had belonged to. Rhuryc's every step promised unrelenting violence, each movement a silent vow made to mete out justice without an ounce of mercy. For his part, Amondaris moved with his usual fluid, feral gait and held to no such vaunted notions as justice. His purpose was much more simple. He went to deliver vengeance, yet he felt no anger. He was calm and collected, true to his purpose and as cold as the snow upon which they walked. The notion of the two of them set upon the same goal with the same determination and method of achieving that very goal, yet with such vastly different reasons was strangely fitting in the young man's mind. Veritable avatars of their chose values. The stalwart and true Knight, stolid protector and unyielding guardian. The savage, brutal hunter, relentless predator and merciless executioner. The Shield of Justice and the Sword of Vengeance, a most unlikely pair they made. And what fanciful notion he had to put such grandoise flair to such an undertaking! Yet he was Vantha, so was it not right that his head should be filled with stories? What part then, would Stitch play in this humble saga? If he and Rhuryc were representatives of violent retribution for very different reasons, then what did he blind man that could see represent in this tale? A balance of some sort, or an aptly blind witness to the devastation two such values as Justice and Vengeance could wreak? Perhaps his part in this story would become evident in time. This could, after all, simply be the opening chapter to a greater tale, a prelude to a new epic. He didn't know, but he would play his part in it regardless. They drew to a halt as the blind man spoke up, drawing in closer to avoid having to speak too loudly. A Reimancer? He'd never fought one of those before, or any mage worth noting. He didn't fancy trying it, either. Anyone that could hurl fireballs from thin air was worth avoiding in his book. If Stitch could "see" magic and catch arrows mid-flight, then perhaps he could fight mages on equal footing. Failing that, a sword to the heart should sort them out. Hopefully. Noting the blind fellow's obvious discomfort with the cold, he unfastened the enormous, heavyily furred white cloak from his shoulders and held it out for the man to take. If he didn't, the half-Vantha would simply don the hooded greatcloak again and say not a word on the matter. Regardless of whether Stitch took the proffered warmth or not, he would wave the man forward and indicate for him to lead the way. Loosing his twin grosse messers from their sheaths, the followed a short distance from the shorter foreigner, resigned to being lead by a blind man, of all things. Today had certainly taken a few interesting turns, to say the least. It likely had plenty more in store for them, something he did not doubt for even a moment. It was just going to be one of those days. He could feel it in his bones. He had no idea how long passed as they followed Stitch through the snow, labyrinthine maze. It could have been a few chimes or a dozen bells, for all he could count the passage of time. The landscape robbed all sense of time from him, and he made no effort at conversation. He simply kept walking, content to keep watch for any hint of their quarry, or of arriving at their destination. He would be ready for when the inevitable battle began.

[Rhuryc]

Without Stitch they would have been lost. The natural maze was unblemished by variation; hill after hill leading one valley into the next, all covered with fine, white powder that shifted with the winds as if it were a desert of ice. There were no tracks, if there had been they were long gone since the arrival of the company. That was what they were, in a sense, a loose companionship brought together by a singular goal. Rhuryc's contemplation on the matter was seldom. Instead he spent his time watching the flank, his blade kept out, ready, his set at his side while his ever-flickering gaze scanned the horizon. He searched for differences. For subtle, gentle shifts in the terrain, for the evidence that the unnatural hand of man often left in its wake. The effort brought little in results. Besides the occasional howl of the wind and flurry of snow the expansive mass was calm, silent, without sign of life. One could lose his mind in such a place. They came upon their prey suddenly. Over a shallow incline a large, gaping hole stood within sight, the vast depths within hidden by a deepening darkness. Outside was a rush of activity. Rhuryc lay himself down over the hill, his body flat as he crawled up toward the edge and peered over. There was a small camp out front. Men moved about with various equipment in hand, crates and supplies taken from a large wagon hitched to a set of four horses. No doubt from the caravan. From a quick count there were no less than ten, armed combatants making their way to and from the camp to the cave, all busy with unloading the spoils of the ambush. No sign of slaves, but among the unsightly bandits there was one that seemed to be more than the common thug. A tall, robbed human made his way through the gatherings, a slick, rich staff carried in one hand while he directed with the other. And beside him was the worst yet. An Akalak, armed, armored, one that kept close, a nasty axe slung across his back. Balls. Rhuryc cursed and ducked back below the hill, muttering under his breath something sinister about the large, blue creatures. "Too many to charge in." He said, glancing between Stitch and Amondaris. "And if that's your Wizard, Stitch, we'd be better off waiting for him to leave. Maybe he'll take the blasted Akalak with him." Akalaks. Why did it always have to be Akalaks? Rhuryc would rather fight a twenty men than a single one of those bastards. Tough, annoying, and hard as all hell to kill, any false move would result in the lot of their deaths. "I suppose we wait. Just. Stay low." Easier said. The man bunkered down near the base of the hill that was to be their 'spot', his sword and shield remaining out still as he took up his position as watchman. As a side, Rhuryc removed his cloak and tossed it to Stitch before he assumed his duties. For him, a long, tedious vigil was nothing. He spent the time with patience, eying the surroundings, working through their eventual collision in his mind a thousand times. "We'll wait for nightfall. Perhaps we can take them by surprise." Time was not kind. The chimes droned by. Rhuryc was seldom to spare words, perhaps entertaining Stitch if he bothered to make any sort of conversation, but the brunt of his attention remained focused on the eventual task. There were far too many men for just the three of them. Tactics. No doubt the slavers would leave some kind of guard; maybe, if they were lucky, they could take out enough before they raised any sort of alarm. Wizards Rhuryc did not know, but blades were a whole matter unto themselves, and the less drawn in his direction the better. When darkness finally did fall there was little more to mark its passing than the sun's descent. "Right." Rhuryc muttered, reassuming his post atop the hill. From the vantage point there only appeared to be two men alert now with a single cooking fire in the center of the camp. Each man was walking around the parameter, seemingly dissatisfied with their job. After all, there was not much to worry about nestled so far in the wilderness. "...I'm not good at quiet. If we can get at them before they expect we might able to take a good deal of them out. Stitch, you up to this?"

[Stitch]

When the massive cloak was offered to him, Stitch gave a kind smile, but quickly shook his head no. "I am sure you are just as cold as this one, milord. While you may have a little of Vantha in you, it doesn't appear you have all of it." With that, Stitch turned, quickly plodding his way deeper into the maze before he second-guessed his decision. The twisting maze was a simple thing for Stitch, as he had a single thing to follow. The smell and taste of fire in the air, leading him in a single path. Perhaps the Reimancer was one who had studied fire, and had therefor used his knowledge to keep his traveling party warm throughout their freezing cold hike. That would make the most sense. The trail was constant, and the amount of magic in the air never flexed up or down. It had just been a steady source of magic, staying active throughout the entire journey. Stitch walked with determination, his arms keeping his cloaked wrapped tightly around him, the cold on the backseat of his mind when compared with the trail. He was partially afraid that it would randomly vanish, leaving him and his friends high and dry. He had never actually tracked someone using their Djed residue, so he wasn't sure all that it entailed. Would the magic just slowly vanish, dispersing into the air around it? Or was it something that would just up and up die away, the entire trail just randomly vanishing? Stitch moved a bit faster, the idea scaring him. He would hate to be stuck out here in the cold, and he would hate to get his fellows stuck in the cold with him. He had been the one to speak up and say he would lead them... so they were depending on him right now. Stitch finally stepped over a small incline, then immediately dropped back as several Auras came into view. Dropping into a crouch, his cocked a thumb towards the incline, whispering. "This one thinks that is them, over there." He let Amondaris and Rhuryc scout out the group, satisfied to simply rest his slightly weary mind. The minor strain of tracking the Djed had left him with a little bit of a headache. He lifted a hand to his skull and rubbed it, discomforted, but not surprised. Constant headaches were a curse of his gift. He was lucky that symptoms of Overgiving hadn't displayed themselves in ways that they had in Syliras. Rhuryc spoke, and Stitch mentally went back over the Auras he had saw. He gave a small nod, remembering the one with the magical residue around it, the one who was carrying a staff. "The wizard is the one with the staff, yes. This one doesn't know exactly how skilled he is... but he is skilled, for sure. The rest don't seem to have any magic, although one was rather... large." The Akalak, Rhuryc had said. Stitch didn't have much in the way of experience with those. Stitch caught the cloak as it was suddenly tossed to him, immediately flinging it back at Rhuryc's face in a bit of a tease. "Oh please, milord. You are just as cold as me. Keep it on." Stitch offered him a friendly grin, then stood, heading a few feet in the direction they had just came from. If they were going to wait, he wasn't just going to sit there and do it. Time trickled by, and Stitch practiced. He practiced his martial arts, going through various forms and attacks, guards and blocks, redirections and grabs. It was like a flowing dance, each move immediately turning into another, keeping Stitch's body in constant action. He struck at the air various times, as if sparring with an invisible opponent, and even made a point to dodge invisible attacks every now and then. He seemed fairly skilled, but one could never tell when someone was just practicing. Eventually though, they would see the true purpose in his practicing. A few beads of sweat started to leak across his brow, and as the active man got warmer... he got faster. He was keeping his body heat up, as well as loosening his body for the fight to come. Stitch kept a mental eye on his inner energy as well, making sure to push at it with the Flux every now and then, keeping his body working on a tad higher of a level than it was used to. The blood flowed just a bit faster, the muscles worked just a bit harder... he was supplying a very minor amount of extra energy to all that he could, and then pushing that energy around, making sure it kept in constant motion within him. He was exercising the innards of his body, more or less... yet no normal onlooker would be able to tell. Finally though, Rhuryc called out. Stitch wondered how much time had passed. He absentmindedly wandered up to the man, taking a peek down at the camp, noticing that only two Auras were left. He tilted his head back to Rhuryc and Amondaris, judging how they felt about the situation, and seeing if they had any particular plans. Rhuryc seemed to have an interesting idea. Get to them before they would realize what was happening? Wouldn't that allow them to get out a shout or two, alerting whoever was inside the cave? Stitch wasn't so sure. He was no tactition, and he was happy to let Rhuryc make such calls. He simply gave a short nod, quiet, just ready to help the men out in whatever they decided to do.

[Amondaris]

An Akalak and a Reimancer. Fantastic. The dozens of other warriors he wasn't overly worried about, especially in comparison to the havoc those two could wreak. They were only mere men, after all. He'd heard plenty about the giant warriors from Riverfall from numerous sources over his life. A race of men that live for combat, with tragedy bred into their very being? What storyteller wouldn't spin a yarn or three about them, really? His real source of information had come from Rhanor. He'd told him the basics. Big, really big, and mean when provoked and sometimes brutal even without any prodding. Perilously skilled with their weapons and stronger than a normal man, they existed for war. Not something you wanted to fight at the best of times, even if it was just one on one. The current situation made their chances somewhat bleak, if he were to be honest. The Akalak was bad enough on his own, fully armoured and with that bloody great axe on his back, but paired with a Reimancer, well..It was a nightmare made flesh. Amondaris reckoned that he and Rhuryc might have been able to take the Akalak together and come out the other end alive, if only barely, but with the mage involved, their chances of survival were looking very slim. Sitting down at the base of the hill, he set his back against the incline and wrapped his cloak about him as a makeshift blanket as he settled down to wait. Lying in wait for hours or even days at a time was not something that was alien to him. As the hours passed he said not a word to either of the men, content to sit in silence as they waited for the inevitable fading of the day. Watching Stitch practice his combat style was more entertainment than he was used to having, so the time passed quickly enough. It would be interesting to see how that style would stand up to actual combat involving swords and armour, and it was very much likely that he would get to see it in action, given the current situation. Eventually, however, Rhuryc called to them and outlined his plan. If you could call it that. ‘Stab them before they make noise wasn’t exactly much in the way of a great battle strategy, but seeing as none of them had anything they could use to attack at a distance, there wasn’t much else they could do. This was going to end very badly. Three men against the group below with an Akalak and a mage thrown in could only end one way. Painfully. Oh, sure. Even if the two down below alerted the others, they would still have the advantage of being prepared and fully awake. The bandits might not even have time to don their armour, if they were lucky. It all came down to the terrible twosome in the end. They would be the deciding factor in the result of the engagement to come. If they went down and went down early, morale would break and the slavers would be as lambs to the slaughter. If not...Well. At least he would be dying for a worthy cause. Gripping his swords loosely, he rolled his neck about in a slow circle, his hood and facewrap once more obscuring his features. His voice was low, yet not muffled as he said, “If I fall in the battle and one of you still lives, take my swords back to my sister. Ask for Icilae at the Frostfawn Hold.” Staring unwaveringly down at the men below them, he said, “When the big blue fellow wakes up, you go in for him and play the defensive, Rhuryc. If we can get him to focus on you, I might be able to take him down quick.” Here, he turned to glance at Stitch before resuming his perusal of the camp below. “When the mage shows, Stitch, I’d like for you to make a beeline for him and kill him as soon as possible. The longer he stays alive, the less likely we are to make it out of this in one piece. We’ll try to help you out if Big Blue is down before the mage is. You can do the same if the situation is the reverse. With those two down we can focus on the grunts. We’ll regroup, bind our wounds and then check for any captives.” A plan full of simple, pragmatic confidence, certainly. He sounded as if there was no doubt at all that they would succeed, yet it would doubtless be clear to either man that there was an unspoken addendum to his strategy. ‘If we’re still alive.’ Was hardly something to inspire confidence, but voicing it would do nothing other than to harm morale. Knowing what not to say as well as what the right thing to say, was often what made a good commander. Even if the troops knew the situation was hopeless. Tapping the tips of his weapons together, he nodded towards the encampment and cocked his head, saying, “Shall we, gentlemen?”

[Rhuryc]

"I was thinking I might just kill him. Or anything that tries to kill me first." He shot a quick glance at Amondaris before he slid over the top of the hill. Swift, light, for once the black furs that adorned his back were good for something. Rhuryc was just another shadow. Not so much by his movements, the man was rather inept at stealth, but he moved with confidence, keeping low, his motions sporadic to avoid the rhythmic pattern that altered him to an ambushes' presence so many times before. Down the hill he scampered. So far so good. A gentle overcast hid the light of the moon - lucky for them - casting the sky into a deep black. Even the stars were dark. The crunch of snow behind him was all he needed to confirm his compatriots' actions. When the camp grew closer Rhuryc lessened his pace, his feet suddenly treading ever-so carefully amidst the drifting powder. The guards were at ease. Talking amongst themselves, they were half blinded by the light from the nearby torches. And their own comfort. Who could have possibly followed them into the valley? Gently, carefully, Rhuryc entered the camp. He ducked low and set himself against the back of the cart from his earlier observation. He stepped around to the side, crouched, poised, his gaze shifting about the innards of the encampment in an ever-present vigil. No missteps. One foot after the other. Rhuryc left the safety of his cover. Voices assailed him. Idle banter, chat over the day's 'catch', how these men would soon be rich. The thought of it sickened the blacksmith. Closer now. So slow, his boots turned to the side as one hand went to the hilt of his blade. Crunch. Damn it. One of the guards turned his head. Situated as they were, the two bandits were set on either side of the cave entrance, both lounging on crates with their bodies turned inward toward one another. The flicker of fire cast their shadows about in a violent dance, each shifting amidst the wind's constant howl. It was for that, and perhaps only that natural orchestration, that allowed the approach to go so smoothly. Until, that is, the men saw him. They were faster, but Rhuryc was faster. His blade leapt from his sheath in mere moments. The steel edge sailed through the air and the guardsmen caught the tip at the base of his throat. Blood gurgled out of his mouth as he died, eyes wide from the surprise. Rhuryc pulled his weapon free and shifted, one arm dragging behind his back and removing the shield that awaited so patiently. With a spin, he eyed the now active camp, men alerted by the shriek of drawn weapons and the sickening death's of their companions. A glance to the side brought what he expected to be good news. At least they had the element of surprise.

OOCGo ahead and push the action guys.

[Stitch]

And here. We. Go. The blind man leaned forward as Rhuryc took off, bending at the knee, taking a deep breath. With that deep breath, he tugged at the energy within his body, the flowing bits and pieces of Djed that made his body whole... and he manipulated them. He adjusted the cycle of energy to flow more into his legs, but at the same time, to stop a certain amoun from leaving. Before Amondaris's eyes, he would see the blind man's legs flex and ripple, the muscle mass actually expanding for a brief second. Stitch exhaled, and the muscles rippled and flexed again, settling to a bit more of a normal size. But still, he could feel the energy buzzing throughout his leg muscles, demanding to be used. Footwork and speed would be what kept him alive throughout this entire thing. He would need to cross great distances, yet at the same time, make quick and precise dodges and turns. Biting his lower lip, he waited for the manipulated energy to settle, not wanting to take off and possibly injure his leg. If he pushed off with too much force, his leg might collapse on him. Mere moments passed as the blind man waited for the perfect amount of energy to distribute, adding and taking away as his body demanded. His legs flexed once, Stitch grimaced, and then he took off. An explosion of snow bounded from his take-off foot as he pushed off, taking the less stealthy route. He timed it to advance right as Rhuryc made his presence known, killing one of the men with a single elegant sword swipe. The blacksmith would merely notice a blur of snow and wool brushing by him, bearing down on the group of men like a bolt of lightning. Each of them scrambled for their swords, shields, and bits of armor as the two men settled upon them. Stitch passed two of them, completely ignoring them, much to their surprise. They weren't the ones he was looking for. Underneath his medical bandage wraps, his eyes flickered a faint blue, and he instantly scanned through the group he still had in front of them. His scan would be simple. Dismiss the ones that didn't have a hint of magic in their Auras, and find the one who had the remnants of Reimancy. Gritting his teeth, he quickly shuffled through the Auras of Information in front of him, looking at them like pieces of paper filled with written words, and discarding them just as quickly. There were so many carbon-copy grunts that it was almost crazy. Did these men not discipline themselves at all? Were they just random bandits who made it a habit to swing a sword just when someone they didn't like came within arms reach? He didn't sense a bit of the contained violence, the discipline, or the elegance that he could sense and see with both Rhuryc and Amon. Stitch kept moving, blurring deeper into the cave. His eyes settled on the Akalak for a brief second, who was advancing on him from the side. That man had considerable skill and muscle, and would likely be one heck of an opponent. Out of pure fear for his companions, Stitch nearly stopped. No. Not his target. Ignore him. Keep moving. A man charged him from his front, brave enough to take on the blind man moving at an un-natural speed. A sword sliced out at his oncoming chest, and Stitch ducked it, sliding low, kicking up another huge cloud of snow. He came up, and his chopping hand to the side of the head was almost casual. A loud crack echoed throughout the cave, and when the cloud of snow had settled, all onlookers would see Stitch's unlucky attacker slump to the ground. Yet another approached him from the front, and once again, Stitch slid low, kicking up that big cloud of snow. He was lucky that there was so much in the cave, probably blown in from the harsh winds outside. It was easy to use as a blinding agent, then just as easy to come up and strike the side of the skull. There was a bundle of nerves under the ear, and that is exactly what he targeted, each and every time. Once again, a loud crack echoed throughout the cave. The snow settled, and Stitch sprung from it, bolting deeper into the dark abyss. He was having no problem. Finally, his ultimate foe came into view. It was the last man, an older human who was reaching for a wooden staff, a snarl lit on his features. For a brief second, Stitch wondered where he had gotten the staff, remembering the words of the Heart he had encountered during the Game. Then, he noticed that the wizard was tending to the biggest fire yet, a huge flaming bulk of wood set near the back of the cave, blocking a small tunnel that went deeper. He had likely been building it when Stitch and his companions had attacked. The wizard had two men at his sides, but as he reached for his staff, they bolted, going for each wall of the wide cave. They had no desire to be around him when he started flinging his magic. A word of power rang out, and the wizard rose his staff, almost all of the flames within the fire sweeping above it, gathering in a swirling ball of molten heat. Stitch merely went into the slide, his body speeding toward the wizard, a huge cloud of snow kicked up once more. He would have to trust his two companions could handle all the men he had left in his wake.

[Aspen]

Character: Amondaris Skills: Sword (Grosse Messer) +2, Dual Wield +2, Tracking +1, Meditation +2, Unarmed Combat +1, Tactics +1 Lore: Recognising Slavers, Calming Oneself Before Fighting Character: Rhuryc Skills: Weapon (Sword) +2, Weapon (Shield) +2, Brawling +2, Tracking +1, Tactics +1, Stealth +1 Lore: Waterlogged Boots, Shielding from Arrows Notes: Brawling over Unarmed here since you requested it. Character: Stitch Skills: Running +2, Flux +2, Martial Arts +2, Tracking +2 Lore: Intercepting Arrows, The Smell of Blood Notes: I would have given you Auristics skill, but since you’re already maxed there isn’t much point. I enjoyed this thread a lot, it’s a shame it had to end prematurely. Since all three of you are already quite skilled with some of the skills you used (sword for example), I didn’t award as many points as I would have done if you were lesser skilled, if that makes sense to you. If you have any questions or concerns, please message me. (Especially since I am still new at this!)