Closed [Guest ST] Dug Too Deep

[Kaie]

Had she been as pathetic as she felt with her exhaustion, Kaie might've hung her head and groaned when her fellow sellsword admitted they weren't even near the Lake City. Being a Myrian as she was, the fray and the struggle for survival had been a rush she thoroughly enjoyed. The aftermath of wounds and comrades lost? Those were the aspects of the trade she hadn't quite gotten used to. Spilling the enemy's blood was always more enjoyable than watching an adversary cut down one's own. Even now that she was a young adult she found it was far more satisfying to make messes than to clean them. If only she'd put more time in, gained some more experience with her weapons, maybe she would've escaped some of the pain she'd been punished with. From her memory though, wishing and hoping did so little. At least the dark eyed man came prepared.

Ah, Senghor. So that's his name, She noted internally, arching a brow as Wilhelm dragged him off and set right to work. Thank the Goddess Queen for him and the Drykas, Kaie was shyke at healing. She probably would've done more harm than good even as bad as the desert skinned warrior was. Instead she slid painfully from her saddle. A modest boulder became her head rest while her comrades went to work on themselves. Only then did she realize just how stiff her right side had become around the bolt, seizing up and throbbing like a hammer on an anvil. Goddess, she hated crossbows.

"Goddess, petching dammit!" She snarled in her mother tongue at the sellsword suddenly as he tore the bolt free of her flesh. Her left hand turned into a tight fist that jerked at him instinctively, but no contact was made. She had enough sense in her to understand the action was necessary as agonizing as it was. Furious hisses ebbed momentarily as she adapted, lips parting to thank him only to see him keel over.

Shyke...

With a grunt the young woman shoved herself from her rock toward him. With a grit of her teeth she forced stiffened muscles to once more do her bidding. In a tick Kaie had the wounded man on his back, hands pressed roughly against his middle. Her eyes flickered about wildly for cloth, anything to use to her benefit. All she found were Senghor's rags which were too far to reach.

"Drykas!" She called out in Common, cursing herself for not learning everyone's names beforehand when they had the time. No doubt he would be able to see how useless she looked over the fallen guy, her face pleading for help. At least she had the sense to apply what pressure she could. That much she knew. "I have no petching clue what to do!"

Suddenly she didn't care much for her own needs for once. The man beneath her had fought beside her, shed blood with her, and she'd be damned if he died after victory at her feet. Dira had been knocking on each of their doors for some time that day, and Kaie was hoping this once she could keep someone from answering her.

[Crypt]

All thoughts of leisure had been banished from Crypt's mind when he viewed Senghor's wounds.

"Darn, that's pretty bad."

No medical training, but I have bandages. Clean the wounds first before applying them. Use the ointment.

He crawled over to Senghor, dragging his injured leg, his eyes observing every wound visible on the exposed surfaces of his body. Swiftly and methodically, Crypt stripped him of his vestments, exposing the front of his body - more of a mass of wounds - and scanning it quickly before snapping at one of the non-mercenaries who was staring into the distance.

"Water!"

His order was obeyed instantly, and Crypt caught the waterskin. He opened it and took a piece of cloth, wetting it before applying it to Senghor's skin, cleaning it of dirt, Yukmen fluids and the human's own blood.

He kept his voice terse, speaking swiftly as he administered to Senghor.

"Clean the rest of his body. I'll tend to his upper body. I don't know much, but we have to prevent infection and staunch any bleeding. Make a thick dressing with any clean pieces of cloth you have and place it over the wound before bandaging. Use the bandages for the dressing and use his rags to tighten it. if Remove all foreign matter if possible from the deeper wounds, and apply a few drops from this vial. Use the wound-cleansing potion on the deeper wounds."

He worked on his self-assigned part, using his wrist knife to dig out the occasional rock shard that had pierced Senghor's flesh. Senghor was far too deep into pain- and tiredness-induced unconsciousness for him to feel most anything, though there was the occasional flinch whenever Crypt had to apply some pressure to remove something from his wound.

He turned Senghor on his back once the twain were done, and repeated the same motions.

While this was being done, he pricked his ears, having heard the all-too-familiar sound of hooves against hard ground.

"Hist! Riders are coming."

[Razkar]

"Rhysol, what do we do?!"

"Just do as your told and help me with this!"

Wilhelm heard all of this, and he felt his body moving, but... he couldn't see it. The voices slid and jostled into his ears and he knew, somehow, they were talking about him. But they seemed far away... or separated by glass, so whenever he tried to speak and batter his will into the world, he was stymied.

And there was the pain. Throbbing, aching, gouging under his skin, but... fading... and with its slow release, he knew his life was dripping away with it.

"Gods..." Jacen spat out, biting his tongue as he ripped away Wilhelm's tunic and saw the nauseating riot of red and black around the hole in his stomach, the scarlet pumping from it. "Give me your shirt."

"Wh-What-"

"NOW, GODSDAMNIT!"

Few people should be subjected to the site of Darrick peeling clothes off his ample and wobbling torso, but the upside was, there was plenty of material. Jacen ripped it into strips, ignoring his pleas about how much it cost, and started packing it around and onto the wound, grabbing the younger man's hand and slapping it hard onto the gushing hole-

"Press down, hard!"

"J-Jacen, I-"

"By Rhysol's Breath, boy, you're training to be Stryfe! Think you won't see any petching blood in that time?! Hard! Now!"

"Hist! Riders are coming."

The group stiffened but there was no real shock, no call to arms (save from the Drykas and Myrian, perhaps). What defense could they mount, after all? More than half their number were wounded and near-crippled; the others were not warriors, and were exhausted in equal measure. Darrick's lip trembled and Jacen planted his hand over his own, drawing his eyes-

"Don't let go. Don't stop the pressure."

"They c-could be bandits!"

"Yes..." Jacen said as he looked around... and then his face seemed to sag in sheer, fatigued relief. "But they are not."

Darrick grinned like a madman as the colors of the Ebonstryfe hoved into view, bounced up and down on black steeds. Four armed and stone-faced men who reined in their horses at the foot of the hill, Alfred taking stock of it all with a single seasoned glance.

"What happened to you? Bandits?"

"Not just bandits," Jacen called out as he soaked a strip of shirt in water and fashioned it into a crude bandage. "Yukmen! We were in the Everstone Forest, going climbing in the caves. These folk... they are our protectors."

Bart managed a sneer despite the wounded and bedraggled people he saw. "Not very good at their jobs, eh?"

"We would have all died if not for them," Darrick said sharply, showing he did have some sense underneath his many layers of bluster, "We... We lost two friends, in there. Lared and... and Mathias."

His eyes watered and Jacen let his hand slide away, slapping the new bandage over Wilhelms now-staunched wound, wrapping it tight around his back and stomach.

"There were more sellswords, too, but these were the only ones that survived. The bandits who ambushed us are slaughtered or fled; the Yukmen, though..."

Alfred didn't need him to finish the sentence. A Yukman horde, even bloodied, was a danger to everything that walked and crawled. The longer it survived, the more it would learn, and the harder it would be to put down. His eyes snapped to his underlings.

"Bart? Ride to the tower. Send word to the city that a fresh horde of demons is amok, and needs to be hunted. Johan? Hitch up a wagon and get it here as fast as you can for the wounded."

"Sir, why can't-"

"Now, boy!"

Bart may have been young and hot in the blood, but he wasn't dumb enough to question a superior officer. He flashed a smart salute and galloped off with his comrade, leave Alfred and his fellow long-timer Reginald to dismount and walk towards the prostate mercenaries. Alfred's lip curled at the Myrian, not even hiding his disdain, but...

"This one helped you, you say?"

"Yes. Without her, the leader of the bandits, he would have killed us. She slew him in a duel. He fought hard, but... but she was victorious."

"Well, hail Myri," Alfred mumbled blasphemously, but still got down to his knees and flipped open his pouch, "Stand easy, savage. I don't have the herbs and skill that we do at the tower, but I have enough to stop you bleeding to death. Reg? See to the Drykas, he looks bad."

OOCFeel free to move it along and get you guys in the tower. Nearly on done, guys, just a few more loose ends to tie up...

[Kaie]

Almost immediately the Myrian woman fell away from the dying mercenary with the arrival of Jacen and Darrick. Their voices were urgent, movements quick and rushed around Wilhelm's body, but Kaie hardly comprehended their words. Her shoulder throbbed something awful with a pain likened to that of a pounding drum. Even with the care of her comrade she was exhausted, bloody, and every muscle in her body begged her to submit to much needed sleep. Bewildered amber eyes stared blankly forward, her expression appearing vacant. Once or twice she had stolen a glance toward Senghor and the skilled Drykas man, but she simply couldn't will herself to move. Cracked lips would part but no words were spoken. She simply hadn't the energy. The arrival of a new potential threat, however, gave her the sense to return to her feet.

As if we haven't had enough shyke for one day...

With the two clients tending the wounded and Senghor looking as vulnerable as he did, Kaie did what any soldier preparing for a second wave of battle would do. She looked to the next able bodied fighter: the Drykas. Within several painful ticks the Myrian made her way toward his flank. Her eyes were colder now that exhaustion had sucked the life from that once heavily stoked blaze. Even her right hand upon her gladius handle was noticeably shaking slightly. It wouldn't be a challenge for the two horsemen to ride them down, but at least she'd die with a sword in her hand.

"Wait," She murmured in Crypt's direction, extending an open hand his way as if to signal her own doubt of a threat. Then came the exhale of an almost cynical laugh. "Well I'll be damned. Rhysol's finest to save the day." Kaie recognized their all too familiar uniforms. Only days ago she was hired to assist one of the Stryfe's Lazarins in a raid on some group of rebels. The man had paid her fairly, and though she wouldn't think twice before aiding him again, anyone knew better than to trust followers of Rhysol, even if they had been nothing but a benefit as of late. In fact she would've been content to let the humans handle the two had it not been for the snide remark.

The savage's lip curled and a feral growl escaped her lips, but even she had grown too tired to defend her pride. It's not like there was evidence on the contrary anyways. Not with everyone looking as poorly as they did. She was shocked when one dared to speak in favor of the sellswords, but she dared not voice agreement. Plenty of men had died that day and it was quickly beginning to weigh on her conscience. They seemed to have treated her as the one in charge, and that made her responsible for their deaths. Sure they had survived, barely. Yet to call such a day a victory would be shameful, especially when it was a Myrian female supposedly leading.

"This one helped you, you say?"

Kaie's head snapped up from where her gaze had wandered into the woods, only to find one of the Ebonstryfe glaring at her with visible scorn. The way he had spoken revived the defiance naturally in her features. A bronzed hand twitched foolishly toward her gladius for a split second, abyss-like pupils staring him down in a sinister fashion. A slur of murmured Myrian cursed were spat his way in one short burst, but it was only when he mocked her Mother that she took one short step forward. Yet the Stryfe superior had seemed to already guess her reaction and reminded her of the more dire circumstance.

"Stand easy, savage. I don't have the herbs and skill that we do at the tower, but I have enough to stop you bleeding to death. Reg? See to the Drykas, he looks bad."

He was a leader of the small group for a reason, and though she might've just danced out of Dira's embrace, she was by no definition a respectably skilled combatant. Even well rested and fully healed the man before her certainly had the edge with experience. Besides, they had what she and those in her company needed badly. Without their aid, none of them would last long. Despite her ability to stand and function, the risk of infection from her wounds was high. Only an idiot would turn away.

Kaie had waited there speechlessly for some time eyeing Rhysol's men with distrust. It wasn't until she was convinced no harm would come to Crypt by their advance that she finally prepared to leave for the tower, but not without Senghor. After retrieving her horse once again and leading him toward the wounded man, she nudged him softly with her boot.


"Have to go. Time to go to tower," She reminded him calmly, turning back toward the saddle of her horse. Carefully she eased onto the saddle without the grace (if any) she had before. Kaie would wait for a moment to see whether the desert skinned warrior would choose to ride with her before, aiding him onto the horse if he so chose, before departing. If no she'd simply shrug her shoulders and venture where the Stryfe had come from with the rest.

[Senghor Vilhjalmr]

Half naked, warm and in pain. Who's the lucky little whore he may have picked up and shacked this time? Well there was none but the stinging and utterly unbearable pain sure did remind him that he hadn't died and went to some form of unearthly paradise, instead it reminded him of each mistake he'd come to achieve to lead him to where he currently was, lain flat on the earth and ridden with scars and in an ungodly amount of pain. He could feel his muscles throbbing, it was as if each one wanted his undivided attention, in a cramped room and hollering over the call of another, it was unbearable, so painful that it was another form of maddening. His breathing was rugged yet eased enough that he could have a proper respiratory circulation, he felt the nudge of a intruder at his side and he stirred aggressively, "Fuck off..." he spat ever so lowly that it was inaudible, it was only when the familiar voice of the young myrian woman entered the confines of his hollow ears that his stirring came fully to life, like the warrior that he was his hands planted onto the ground and he pushed own onto the earth, and as with each positive reaction applied and equal and negative force would return. An girth in his grunt was so savage that the guards there nearly confused him for a myrian, a lean, towering myrian riddled with scars as if a psychopath of a painter had gone insane upon the canvas. Seng stood, with a shaken body and the mixture of water and blood dripping seductively off his muscular physique. He willed himself to keep standing but when his eyes looked at the extra hands there something aggravated his sarcasm, "Oh No... No help's required" He said loud enough to be heard as he moved over to the horse the myrian had brought over, he wondered where his stead had disappeared too, whether it stubbornly returned to the city or maybe it was lost? 'No, it's to smart for that' he thought to himself as he neared Kaie's stead and held onto the one of the harnesses, with whatever strength gained from the unconscious sleep he forced himself onto it with a grunt, growl and new vocabulary of vulgar language. With the aid of the myrian he saddled onto it and he sighed heavily whilst letting the stinging pain wash away, he realised that he'd have to get off when they got the, yet he couldn't concern himself with that yet, he'd more important things to attend too, like his sword and shirt. He called for one of the Stryfe boys to hand him his longsword and when he turned to look for his shirt, he couldn't it... Somebody had some explaining to do, on their way back the nagging question finally got to him and he asked with a tired tone. "What happened to my shirt?"

[Crypt]

Crypt visibly relaxed as he saw the strangely reassuring outfits of the Ebonstryfe minions, sinking to the ground slowly. He placed the crossbow he had... liberated from the hands of one of the bushwhackers next to him, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth as one of them tended to his wounds.

"We'll have to get that bolt out. Carthu, raise his leg!"

Placing a strip of leather between Crypt's teeth, Carthu raising the punctured leg in order to reduce blood flow to the area, Reginald removed a pair of forceps from a wooden case and moved closer to Crypt, examining the entrance of the wound and probing slightly with the surgical instrument.

"Bite down nice and tight on that leather, don't want to bite off your tongue after all."

In one swift motion, Reginald maneuvered the forceps into the wound and grasped the bolt, before pulling it out. He placed the forceps and bullet on the ground before snatching cloth from his bag, pressing it to the wound. During and after the process, Crypt made a strangled yell, biting halfway through the strip of leather. He slumped against the tree, eyes looking upwards as if he was making a prayer to Rak'keli for the cessation of pain.

Minutes passed as they waited for the bleeding to stop, Reginald replacing the soaked bandages once in a while. Finally, Reginald dressed the wound, wetting both dressing and exposed tissue in a strange, pungent-smelling liquid that sent another spike of intense pain through Crypt's leg before fading to numbness.

"That's it. Carthu, help him up. He won't be able to walk for some time. Where do you stay?"

The Drykas spoke tersely, perhaps even a little hoarsely. Most notably, his exhaustion could

"Work for Nitrozian. NHC cubicle."

As Crypt was led to a horse, he glanced around, watching Kaie and Senghor.

"Shut up. Healer. Ravok guard. Not enemy."

The disconnected words were directed at the discombobulated scarred manI say, you do enjoy connecting everything to coitus.

[Razkar]

"Sylir's dead dick, what did you do? Stop for a bath on the way?!"

Johan quailed under his commander's blazing glare, bowing his head like the naughty schoolboy he was only a few years older than. He didn't even see what the big deal was: two of the mercenaries were atop horses by the time the two-horse wagon had trundled back to the base of the hill... but the other two?

"Wheels got stuck again, sir, I tried to-"

"Alright, alright," Alfred said with a dismissive wave, "Did you get what we needed?"

Faced with a chance to redeem himself, Johan leaped down in a blur of energy and gestured to the back of the wagon. "Oh, yes."

The two stretchers rested on a bed of straw, all the better of absorb the bumps and potholes in the road. Between the four of them - Reg, Alfred, Carthu and Johan - the two grievously wounded sellswords were about in chimes and straight afterwards Alfred had hauled himself up into the saddle to-

"Alright, move out!"

As one the odd and bipolar procession began a swift ride back to the outpost. Four were wounded to varying degrees; one of them perhaps would not wake again. The rest were sharp, edgy, casting nervous glances behind them every few yards, the youngest expecting to see a horde of screeching Yukmen pouring after them. The oldest willed them not to appear.

Not today. Not this close to the end of the shift.

Less than half a bell later, Jacen and Darrick breathed twin sighs of relief as some semblance of civilization hoved into view. The tall, solid Southern Outpost, cluster of tents and stalls surrounding it like fungus would an oak, stretching up and up and by Holy Rhysol, it was almost enough to make Darrick's eyes water all over again.

"We made it," he managed to gasp out, wiping his face, "My His Grace, we made it out..."

"Many didn't." Jacen reminded him, staring down at the cooling Wilhelm, gripping his hand, face mournful and flinty. Hard eyes looked up at his younger friend. "Don't forget what they did for us, Darrick."

Much as he hated being reminded, Darrick had enough sense to keep his mouth shut and just nod. Lared and Mathias... gods, they hadn't even the time to reclaim the bodies. Rhysol alone knew what those monsters had done to them in that time.

But if not for the sellswords, we'd be with them. Well... we could probably have fought our way out, but it would be... proper, to pay them fair.

"Yes, well," he said, moving hurriedly on but at least with a good point, "Let's get them upright first, eh?"

Alfred and his men seemed to be working on the same principle. Within a few chimes of stopping next to the stone tower, Seng and Wilhelm had been carried inside to the modest infirmary, Reginald cleaning and preparing the tools he had there, pouring alcohol on his hands as he looked over Wilhelm with grim professionalism.

"Gonna be a bad one," he said, not wasting his words, looking up at the rest of them, the walking wounded and the civilians with fresh thousand-yard-stares. "Carthu? You'll assist. The rest of you, if you want to stay, watch your friend, you're welcome. But stay out of our way."

Then he got to work. Jacen and Darrick didn't stick around: they knew they'd just clutter up the already cramped space (thanks to Seng's massive bulk) and besides... they'd been around enough fresh blood for one day. Jacen sat outside by the wall and sucked on his pipe, exhaling slowly, savoring every tingling, sooty taste of Red Dragon.

All the sweeter, once you know just how easily it could have been stolen from you.

The man shifted and as he did, the fat purse that was still firmly attached to his side slid across his thigh with a sound like a rock slide made of tin. He'd wait for the Myrian to come out, then settle up.

They swore they'd bring us all back, and they didn't... but without them, none of would have made it.

[Kaie]

It was quite a gruesome procession up to the Stryfe's infirmary. Wagons of dead and dying men, the wounded still capable of holding themselves upon a horse were leaned far over their reigns with tired, haggard expressions. So difficult was it to rejoice in the cruel mercy of the day that left most of them so barely alive. There was hardly any room for foolish bliss, no energy left to shoot a triumphant fist into the sky and mock Dira for her failure that day if they had so chosen. All there was was the ride, and though it was back to civilization and comfort, it was no less painful.

Kaie clutched the reigns on her ebony mount within tightly closed fists. Her gladius thumped silently against her hip as they rode like a trusted companion, a cool steel that was as much her blood brother as the very men she fought with. The brown cloak draped around her shoulders billowed limply behind with the gentle nip of fall wind. The horse's canter was far less proud compared to when they had first journeyed away from Ravok. Its elegant limbs gripped the ground with some uncertainty, its hooves shaking every so often as it touched down upon crackling leaves. Now that she thought about it, her own hands had begun to shake. Whether it was due to the stress of the experience or exhaustion was unknown. She was too fatigued to care.

It wasn't much longer before she had dismounted and followed the others inside. The Myrian female did her best to keep her eyes from wandering to the still body that belonged to Wilhelm, for when she had there always came a more potent throb to her shoulder. All the faces of the survivors were grave including her own. No words were exchanged. Only silence. Like the others Kaie did not stay long within the infirmary room. Once she was convinced Senghor was in capable hands she was gone out the door into the hall. That's where she found Jacen against the wall with his pipe. She smelled it before she truly knew he was there. The heavy purse at his hip was enough to remind her there was a transition to take a place.

Business.

"I should think this is the time we talk about coin," The Myrian woman said grimly, arms folded as she eyed him vacantly. It was high time they ended this agreement with proper terms. Everyone had had enough suffering for one day. Best to get it over with and put it to rest like the cold body on the stretcher.

[Abstract]

Grade Awarded!

Kaie

Skills

~ Observation - 2
~ Riding - 2
~ Tactics – 2
~ Planning – 2
~ Weapon: Knife – 1
~ Weapon: Gladius – 4
~ Running – 2
~ Weapon: Kukri – 2
~ Leadership - 2

Lores

~ The Everstone Forest Party
~ Yukmen Or Bandits: Bandits
~

Other

Due to the extreme circumstances, Kaie was paid 150gm

Crypt

Skills

~ Observation - 3
~ Auristics - 2
~ Morphing – 1
~ Spelunking – 1
~ Weapon: Longsword – 2
~ Weapon: Assassin’s Dagger – 2
~ Stealth – 1
~ Brawling – 1
~ Planning – 1
~ Weapon: Crossbow – 1
~ Medicine – 2
~ Leadership - 1

Lores

~ Members of the Everstone Forest Party
~ Extra Rope is Always Useful
~ Yukmen Or Bandits: Bandits

Other

Due to the extreme circumstances, Crypt was paid 150gm

Senghor

Skills

~ Observation – 3
~ Riding - 1
~ Weapon: Longsword – 4
~ Brawling – 2
~ Tactics – 1
~ Endurance - 1


Lores

~ Members of the Everstone Forest Party
~ Fighting Close to Death
~ Fighting Two Opponents at Once
~ Saved by a Horse!

Other

Due to the extreme circumstances, Senghor was paid 150gm

Notes

Faval and Razkar have not been given grades for being inactive. Senghor, there are some serious problems with your ledger... I suggest you check them out. Before you fix that, I cannot give you a grade.

I have to admit, the Ravokians were probably hoping for Rhysol to save them, but I honestly think Rhysol would have just laughed at the whole situation.

And I did it! Man, that was long… much too long v.v