Chaos on the Plains [Merenwen, Ronan Windsong]

[Matthial]

16th of summer, 511 AV Part 2 of 2. (Part 1 found HERE) The soft drizzle of rain did little to dispel the chaos that took hold of the plains in the early morning. The sounds of metal striking metal, of wood catching flesh, and of fire crackling where all barely discernible under the shouting. Men tried to find comrades, and others screamed out to be found. Amid all of this, Matthial found he was holding a beautiful kelvic woman's hand. It would have been almost touching, had they not been covered in blood. She was making sure he didn't charge headlong into the line of slaves some five hundred paces in front of them. The young man didn't have time to wait, so he gently pulled her behind him while moving forward with his shield raised. In the back of his mind, he thought of Ronan Windsong, and the man's earlier protests about something being 'off'. He hoped the other man was alright. Leaving his thoughts behind him, he trudged off into the grass, Merenwen in tow.

[Merenwen]

The throbbing in Merenwen's nose only pounded harder as her mind raced. She could feel the sticky substance mix with the rain and sweat that now beaded her face and shoulders. The mixture plastered her hair to her face.

As Matthial pulled her behind him, she knew she couldn't allow him to run a suicide gauntlet alone. She advanced with him, picking up speed as she moved into a jog. The burst of light signaling her transformation came again, like lightning. She growled as she dropped below the tall grass.

Back into the line of fire they went, except this time, she would be watching Matthial's back, too. Funny, how these strangers were suddenly her allies and life line.

[Ronan]

Ronan was in hell. Not even the God's themselves, not even blessed Semele, could help him now. He rushed towards the gully through fighting and flame, the dead woman in his arms. His thoughts turned to his comrades. Were Matthial and the Kelvic still lost in that storm of chaos? Had Matthial found that child? If those merchants weren't slavers - if Ronan's assumptions were true - then why had they needed the child? What would an assassin's guild need with an infant? He pondered on the question as he brushed through the grass. Ronan burst into the gully to find it empty. His heart jolted, before he laid the woman down on the ground as carefully as he could. And what did she do to deserve an assassination? She deserves a burial at least... Daybreak was just beginning on the horizon, the sky a hazy grey, unclear and unforgiving. And somewhere under it, were Matthial and Merenwen. Stay safe, he thought.

[Matthial]

The rain fell in cascades now, completely soaking Matthial and his companion. He hadn't expected this at all. From the sounds of it, neither had his opponents. Giving thanks to whatever god was looking over him, Matthial charged headlong into the brush. ...and was greeted with the scene of a line of slaves. They where ragged things, most had barely enough muscle on them to walk. Some where so old it looked like they could have been undead. Then Matthial spotted the young boy. He was shivering underneath the torrential downfall, and roped to two other young boys. Matthial had just stepped forward when two guards emerged from the brush behind the slaves. Matthial didn't have time to think, he just moved. His body catapulted forward leaving Merenwen behind him. The sword arced in-front of the young man, and within seconds he had closed the gap between him and the first slave. Twisting he moved to the side of the line, and met the first guard in a shower of sparks and the clang of steel. Yet this had been a ruse, for as Matthial pushed back instead of raising his sword he lashed out with a powerful kick at his opponent's groin. His boot met the more soft fleshy areas of his enemy. Within seconds the other man cursed and dropped back, giving Matthial time to raise his sword and block the second guard's swing. Putting his foot behind him, Matthial strained as the blades fought for dominance. Each hoping to get a good angle to slip through the other's guard. "MERENWEN, GRAB THE BOY. HE'S THE SHORTEST!" The last was roared as Matthial tried in desperation to push off from the entanglement and redirect a strike at his shaken enemy. He never got the chance. Something exploded around the men and all three hit the ground. To Merenwen's eyes it looked like a torch had gone up and engulfed the combatants. Matthial could only gasp as he hit the ground. He coughed and hacked as he tried to find his sword. Then he saw him. "You petulant dog! I'm going to burn the skin off of your miserable hide!" Matthial could only watch as the caravan leader stood before him. The man was still wearing his fine silks, and he still had his jeweled dagger. The weapon remained at his side as the man raised his hands in the air. The chubby hands seemed to grasp at nothing, and then... a sort of mist started to appear. The translucent material seemed to glow as it started to accumulate around the man's hands. Matthial recognized reimancy when he saw it. Cursing himself for a fool, the young man clawed at the mud as he kicked off... ...just in time. The fireball slammed into the mud throwing steam and smoke everywhere. Matthial could only turn and push himself to his feet. It had been close, yet his opponents hadn't been so lucky. Reimancy was hard to control, and even a mage of this skill couldn't keep the collateral damage low when slinging this much res. The first guard was consumed in flame, and screamed as he writhed on the ground. The second was coughing and choking as he tried to claw his way out from the smoke and mud. Matthial gritted his teeth and reached down around him, frantically searching for something he could use as a makeshift weapon. Standing off to the left, the caravan leader smiled, and raised his hands once more, the familiar green mist surrounding his fingers...

[Merenwen]

As the rain showered down on Merenwen and Matthial, she trudged on. She cursed herself as her paws began to sink into the sloppy mud beneath her. The webbing between her toes was the only thing keeping her from tripping over herself as she ran. Then, suddenly, as Matthial sprinted ahead of her, the light of the flames gleamed off of his sword as he swung it at his adversary. The sparks flew, causing Merenwen to slide to a halt and peek back over the grass. And into her line of sight came a second guard. She froze, fixated on the dance of battle. His screaming roused her from her trance.

"MERENWEN, GRAB THE BOY. HE'S THE SHORTEST!"

She flinched at his yelling, and turned back quickly to search for the boy. The tides of fear rolled over her as she saw the guards armed and ready near the slave line. The expression of fear shadowed everyone's face. And then there, she spotted the smallest of the slaves, and knew she must get to him.

She lurched forward through the grasses, easing up near the guards, zigzagging to throw off their perception of her position. Had she understood the concept of religion, she would have been hoping and praying for guidance. As Merenwen cleared the distance between her and the closest guard, she sunk her teeth down into his thigh and ripped hard with a jerk of her head. His screams pierced the air and she quickly fled, leading them away from the slave line. Again, she zigzagged, losing them in the surrounding chaos.

Eventually, as she came full circle back around to the frightened slave line, she flashed from feline to human once more. The slaves panicked at her frantic screaming.

"What are you doing?! RUN AWAY!!" She reached out and grab the boy's arm. "You, you come with me! Stay close, and do as I say!" Her hands shook as she fidgeted with the ropes, trying to untie him. As she did so, she looked back over her shoulder just in time to see the second of the fireballs slam into the ground near Matthial. She struggled to find her voice, but only managed a hiss. At this, she gave up on the ropes and tightened her grip on the boy's wrist, turned, and sprinted. They needed help.

"Ronan?! RONAN!!" She screamed as she dragged the stunned boy along.

She froze, though, as a guard she has misled came from her right and snatched at the boy. With a yell of protest, she slung him in front of her and to her left, nearly tripping over him in the process. Almost instantaneously, she felt the singe of his short blade against the skin of her bare shoulder blade. The pain elicited a yelp, and she swung hard, for the first time in her life, and punched him square in the nose. This stunned even herself, but she shoved the boy forward and continued running as the guard stumbled. As he regained his balance, he pursued them with an angry, renewed vigor.

Merenwen looked back over her unwounded shoulder, shocked to see the caravan leader advancing on Matthial. The pain of her wound and exhausted legs gave off only the numbest of feelings due to the immense amount of adrenaline pumping through her system.

Again, she screamed for Ronan, but she could not find him in the torrential rain, darkness, and chaos combined. As they gained distance on the guard she gripped the boy tighter, her fear for Matthial growing. Where was Ronan?! Had he been compromised?

"You run, boy! Run to the gully and look for a man named Ronan! If he isn't there, hide, and wait for us! GO!!" She gave him a hefty shove, slinging him forward.

Merenwen planted her feet, but slipped and fell face down in the mud. She cursed loudly as she noticed the guard was advancing on her position. She pushed herself to her feet, and leapt onto him. The two of them fell into the mud again, struggling for an advantage. As she dug her nails into his neck, he grabbed her by the wrists and threw her off and into the grass. She took the opportunity to run back towards Matthial as he searched for his dropped weapon. She hadn't enough time before he grabbed her ankle and yanked her back down with him. Frantically, she turned over and kicked him in the face before scrambling back up and running for Matthial as fast as she could muster her legs to take her.

"Matthial!!" The smoke filled her lungs, causing her to merely cough out his name as she made her way back to try and help him.

[Ronan]

No sooner had Ronan laid down the body, another layer of chaos erupted out on the plains. His ears pricked up, and his head snapped round, to see a fireball mushroom upwards. Smoke hissed through the grass, the rain too pathetic to quench the blaze. "I'll be back for you," he whispered, eyes flitting over the murdered woman. Then he rushed from the gully, hoping to find out what was going on. Another fireball. Screaming, shouting - names and words he couldn't make out from where he was standing. All of a sudden a figure rushed into him. "Ronan? Ronan?" it cried. He swallowed, shaking his head as he tried to work out what was going on. Then he realised this was the child. The child Matthial had been trying to find. Ronan grabbed the boy's hand and crouched to his level. "The others? Matthial? Merenwen? Are they out there?" The boy was crying and shaking, and he turned back to the plains, fire casting off into the grey sky like sullen flares. "I don't know," he cried, "I don't know."

[Matthial]

Matthial's senses became overwhelmed as he froze. He could see the res being projected from the mage's hands. He could feel the cold of the rain as it covered him. He could smell the aroma of charred skin, blood, and sweat. Yet he couldn't move, for the first time in his life, Matthial had no control over his own body. It was as if he was an outsider looking in. He was on the ground, still trying to find a weapon. The guards where cursing as they choked and coughed, one trying to put the fire consuming him out. A scream could be heard, the name of the frozen man. Merenwen burst forth from the grass, with guard following close behind. The mage twisted his hands in circular motions. The strain of the motions caused the veins in his forehead to bulge. His eyes rolled into the back of his head as he put everything he had into it. The storm's torrential downpour seemed to increase as the wind cut into the small clearing, throwing water and smoke around the combatants. Matthial tried in desperation to get his limbs to move. To do something, anything. Yet he just couldn't seem to do even the simplest of tasks, ordering his own body around. It was as if his body had accepted what his mind had not. He was going to die. Matthial closed his eyes and yelled at the top of his lungs, trying warn Merenwen as he turned his head to her. Then, the caravan leader finished his spell. An explosion of light and flame, a shriek, and then darkness. He was floating in a sea of nothing. His senses no longer served him, instead they ceased to exist as he felt the black fog surround his body. He wasn't sure why he was naked, or where the sun was, but the black was absolute. It was so complete that Matthial could only marvel at its prefection. He felt the mist collect around himself, and as it did, he could see a figure in the distance. It was too far away to make out, so Matthial instead did his best to focus on his more immediate surroundings. The black mist fell to a backdrop of a black abyss. Only distinguishable by his realization that it had always been there. He wasn't yet sure how he knew this. The abyss held a stark beauty. He felt that it was a place he could spend the rest of his days. Contentment washed over the young warrior as he lay back. A smile spread across the face as he closed his eyes. Then... a yell. MATTHIAL! His body lay strewn across the mud. Fire touched the corners of the small clearing. The mage lay in a crumpled heap several yards away. The rain continued to fall oblivious to the events occurring below. He realized it was a window. He could see himself. The blood oozing from his mouth, the fire that slowly ate away at the white garb covering the mid-section of the chainmail. Merenwen was nearby, she had been out of the blast-radius. Yet he could also see another. Her pursuer paid the kelvic no heed as he advanced towards one of the other fallen guards. Matthial ignored the scene, instead turning back to the blackness. He wasn't worried about it. He couldn't bring himself to care. The black was so very inviting. Besides, the figure was getting closer. It was hard to tell from this distance, but the shape looked like a woman. The mist seemed to collect around the groin and legs. A single arm extended forth from the figure. Matthial floated to his feet. Who was she? Moving closer, Matthial extended his own hand reaching for the offered limb. Then he blinked. He could see her more clearly now. Her black curls fell about her face as her pale skin and ruby-red lips stretched into a smile. Mom? Matthial could only gasp as she closed the distance. Then as an afterthought he looked back to the window. The guard rose from his dead companion. His face darkening as he looked to Matthial's body, and the caravan leader. Without a word, he drew forth a dagger. Sigmund looked back to Mrs. Matthial. He gasped as he looked at the figure. It was no longer the beautiful face of his mother, but instead... something... else. A horrible black material covered the body, giving off the appearance of black leather. A single red orb stood in the middle of the 'face'. A ruby-red fluid drained from the 'eye' and fell about a black gash serving as the being's mouth. A scarred limb grasped his arm, and Matthial screamed as a pain shot up his arm. Then, the figure embraced him. Someone was screaming. Matthial tried to move. The screaming continued as Matthial fought for breath. His eyes opened as his hand grasped mud. He could see the surviving guard turn in his direction. The incoherent screaming continued as he pushed himself to his knees. His body was shaking. Something red obscured his vision. The guard advanced upon the wounded warrior it was a quick movement, and it brought him within a foot of Matthial's shivering form. The guard gave a grimace as he started to plunge his dagger downwards. Matthial suddenly realized he was the one screaming. His body could barely registering what was going on around it, let alone feed his brain the 'damage-report' that his nerves where sending. It was only the many years of training that saved the young man's life. His elbows bent downwards as he kicked off, pushing his vitals out of the way of the descending blade. A hot red pain seared up Matthial's leg as he twisted. The knife had missed bone and muscle, instead cutting the outside edge of his shin. Then he pushed again with his other leg, carrying himself away from his attacker. Dropping to his chest, Matthial threw his arm out, and twisted. Turning himself on his back, he brought both of his legs swinging upwards in a violent movement. His opponent dropped back, obviously trying to get a good position. Matthial swung his legs to the mud as he flexed his shoulders downward. Instinct took over as Matthial bounced to his feet. The pain only touched Sigmund for a second, and then he shut it off entirely. His body moved as if made of rubber or elastic. The arms hung limply at the sides as the dodged backwards twisting and turning in awkward angles. His opponent wasted no time, thrusting his knife forward repeatedly. Yet the shorter man was to unpredictable, his movements too random to follow. The knife was quick, inflicting cut after cut, and nicking skin enough to draw blood. Matthial moved with a strange grace, his legs moving independently of his wind-milling arms. He brought a single hand up, his palm striking the blade away from himself. The action drew a long cut along the exposed limb, but averted a deadly blow aimed at his midsection. Then, the two fighters found themselves near the charred corpse of the second guard. The fire started by the second fireball had been increased by the third killing him instantly. His sword sat several inches away from a hand clenched shut in death. The hilt's leather banding had been burned away, leaving behind a red-hot metal underneath. Matthial didn't even hesitate as he dropped downwards, his free hand grasping the searing handle. He managed to twist out of the way of another strike before stepping back, sword in hand. His opponent attacked, throwing the weight behind another thrust. Matthial stood still for a milisecond, and then dropped his legs, and ducked under the blade. His sword trailed behind him like a tail as he popped up behind the other man. Both men spun around to meet each other, but Matthial stopped and then spun to his right. The opposite direction of the surviving guard. The guard gasped in surprise as he found Matthial facing his unprotected side. Then, he choked as Matthial came face to face with him. The shorter warrior released his hand as he stepped back. His opponent dropped to the ground unceremoniously, the sword point protruding from his back. Matthial staggered back, falling to his knees as he coughed up blood. His head was dizzy, and he started to cough violently as he looked about. It took a moment to realize what had happened. The reimancer had put too much res into his fire spell. Matthial had heard of 'over-giving' but had never seen it firsthand. The results where terrifying. Mud, grass and flesh where all covered in ash. Yet the effects hadn't been limited to the flash fire created, as Matthial found himself staring at the caravan leader. The man was laying on his back, eyes rolled to the back of his head, with spittle dribbling down his chin and goatee. Every few seconds he would sieze violently and then stop. The hands clutched at the sky as the arms bent towards the chest. It was a disturbing image. Turning away, Matthial dropped to his hands, and gasped as he tried to breathe. "Merewen... are... are you ok?" Then, he dropped face-forward into the mud.

[Merenwen]

The scene seemed to float in front of Merenwen as she sprinted. The pain seared up her hamstrings and into her hips, causing her to misstep and slip again in the mud. The smoke drowned her lungs as she continued to hack and cough in a feeble attempt to expel it from her body. Her lungs felt like they were being squeezed mercilessly as she began to dry heave on all fours. Blood from a busted mouth mixed with saliva before landing on the ground amongst the rain droplets. She gripped the mud between her fingers in a desperate attempt to pull herself forward.

Her head swam with guilt as she searched frantically for Matthial through the smoke and rain. Vision blurred against the scene as the lacerations and contusions littering her body began to take their toll on her body. Struggling to right herself, she slipped again, turning her ankle over. A wounded wail escaped her lungs as she tried to stand once more. With a groan she pressed through the grass and rain, tunnel vision setting in.

She only saw Matthial's mouth move before he fell, and as she reached for him, she dropped to her knees. Crawling towards him, she clamped her nails into his arm and forced his body over, his face out of the mud. Tenderly, she laid over and pulled his head up and onto her stomach, wrapping her arm under his chin to keep him upright to breathe. As the exhaustion caught up with her, she stared at the sky until she could no longer make out the difference between it and the insides of her eyelids.

[Ronan]

Ronan left the boy awkwardly in the gully, the young child crying even more as he witnessed the dead body. Ronan told him to wait, and that he'd be safer if he hid behind one of the rocks. Then he left. He dashed through the grasses and towards the chaos, the eruptions of reimancy and screaming. My intuition told me of this... this has turned nasty. There was no time to linger on his warnings - hindsight was wonderful, but he was in the here and now, danger a thick shroud around him. His eyes flitted back and forth, heart pounding, desperation filling him under this bleak sky. And then finally, after stumbling in the mud, he saw them. Merenwen, cradling him in her arms. Was he... dead? He slowed, moving towards them tentatively. He could not face another death - not of someone he had known. All his life he had been surrounded by a tempest of tragedy. Gods no... not another one. He closed his eyes, exhaled, and stifled a shiver. Then he approached his companions. Please no...

[Matthial]

Matthial felt something. Someone was holding him. Her stomach was warm, and her arms reassuring. Matthial could smell her now, a familiar smell. The smell of flowers under a sun. The woman in the white dress smiled down at him, and Matthial tried to raise a hand to her hair. It was hard, the pain was excruciating. Slowly a single digit brushed the long black strands. The sun's light blinded the young man momentarily as his lover giggled at his expression. I'll miss you. The young man raised an eyebrow in confusion. What was she talking about? He had only met her a few months ago, and he was already certain they would be wed. She had turned him from his path of hatred and vengeance. Something that in retrospect was childish and trite. He should have settled down years ago. I hope your not lonely without me. Again, Matthial could only look at her in confusion. Then he felt a searing pain in his back. Gasping, the man looked up, and found himself staring into a familiar face. A single, red, eye shed blood-red tears down upon his face, while a black grin widened. Matthial coughed and sputtered as he grasped onto Merenwen's arm. He realized his other hand was lightly touching the Kelvic's hair. The warrior could only cough as he tried to lean forward and escape the woman's grasp. It wasn't so much her arms that stopped him as much as his wounds. His shoulder was bleeding profusely under the chainmail, while his burnt hand screamed for attention. His other hand's wound bled as well, while his leg seemed to be on fire. Pushing back with his uninjured leg, the man raised himself just a hair, as he leaned his head back on the kelvic's shoulder. His lip touched her ear as he whispered. Gods, we are pathetic. I can't even raise my sword. The man chuckled and lay on the woman while resting his burnt palm on his shoulder. He peeked out from under an eyelid as he gave a shaky grin to Ronan. "Is the boy ok? We... we.. need to get going." He emphasized the last trying in vain to stand, before falling back on the poor kelvic woman.