[Flashback] Moments of Glory

by **Rhuryc** on August 11th, 2010, 9:20 am

Unknown Location, Dawn
92nd Day of Winter, ???

"Duty falls upon your shields heavier than the weight of the world." He could taste the blood in his mouth. This was to be his final stand. "Go if you fear death, but stay if your honor begs of you greatness."

The carrion fowl had already come for their meal. Bodies littered the open field in a mass of dead, torn amidst cries of anguish and suffering. The metallic taint of blood was on the wind and every men still living could taste it. Darkness reigned. The few hundreds that remained of the haggard legion were exhausted, doomed, weary from the course of constant conflict and a certain end. Infantryman and Cavalier stood shoulder to shoulder, intermixed with peasant and solider alike, all bruised, bloody, and broken; none cared for their station in this realm of chaos. They stood, together, shields linked in a defiant line, banners blazon across a chain of ruined metal. No one dared speak nor move, their eyes alight with the fear of death as they stared ever forward into the very jaws of annihilation. A shared camaraderie kept them steady, spurned their bravery, and spearheaded their resolve. None would abandon their cause.

"If we break than every man, woman, and child behind us dies. We do not fight for victory brothers, sisters, we fight for time. Gods be with us, we will show these bastards why we are to be feared." Rhuryc's voice carried over the line with a supernatural volume, his thick baritone searing the silence of fear with the tenacity of a blade itself. No one would be running this day.

The sun rose over the horizon. Rays of blissful warmth pierced the veil of the moon as the man, clad in the white-gold plate of his station, broke his own rank among the line and took several pointed strides forward. Steel scrapped against leather in a roaring call to arms, the blade of Narvane held high as it caught the morning light and reflected it across the faces of the damned. A chorus of voices took up behind the man and their cries carried across the field in a triumphant scream of battle, dulling even the greatest woe and giving hope to those that stood so united against the oncoming horde. Harrumphs of satisfaction followed and shields clattered against the cold, hard ground like drums of brazen victory.

"Let them come." He whispered, shield raised high and sword lowered as he watched the coming tide.

The very earth below them shook. Thousands of steps drowned the cries of the defenders in their wild charge, weapons extended in a wall of inevitable violence. Rhuryc thrust his shield forward. The haft of a spear splintered on the steel and the clash of war rose into the air like a storm, blade versus blade in a desperate foray to cleave flesh and spill blood. The man felt his sword pierce metal and he ignored the gasp of air from his opponent, booted feet swinging about as he forced himself beyond the line of conflict. A satisfying crunch accompanied his shield as it bashed a soldier away, his sword following in an ever vicious motion, hacking into the exposed skin of the nearest foe. Rhuryc ducked an incoming sword and stepped again, his own weapon slinging past into the back of an engaged combatant. Blood flew. Something struck his back and the man turned, his brow furrowed beneath his helmet in disregard for the thick plate. His reaction was swift. Another body hit the ground without a head.

"Form ranks your witless bastards!" Rhuryc's voice cut through the chaos of battle without a hitch. Neat trick, that. The myriad of mismatched defenders shifted as they began to close the gaps in their formations, orders carried down the line by what few officers remained. The man himself began to cleave his way back to towards the line, sword hacking apart any who dared bar his path. His armor now tinted red, Rhuryc rejoined his companions and turned aside, ignoring the steam of blood that poured from his side. He locked his shield with the man beside him - he did not bother to look - and stepped forward, pushing against the cashing waves of savage enemies. "If any of you morons die before I give you permission I swear I'll come into the abyss after your sorry asses!"

A few men dared to laugh.

A red sky took reign on the final rise of the sun, the moon now obscured behind the magnificence of day. Under the guise of the darkness the field was smaller, less populated than the light now revealed. Everywhere there were dead men, men under the banners of allegiance. While they were scattered amongst the failings of their enemies no defender could stand the sight of their friends, companions, lovers, all splayed in a horrendous image of causality. Here too their bodies would lay. Here they would fall without a shred of decency or grace. Yet it was duty, courage, that drove them to stay. While the birds above sang of their death what few remained fought for life. The contrast was heart breaking.

Rhuryc felt something catch him in the head. He tumbled into a mass of flesh and metal, his ears ringing from the impact. A grunt followed and he swung his arm up, the helmet removed as he flailed his shield around, staying off his final death for yet another moment. His vision now free of obscuration Rhuryc took to his feet and twisted his torso, the blade of Naravane digging deep into his assailants stomach. The sword came free again with a fresh coating of red. He turned and saw as men broke their line in a myriad of locations, his brethren falling one after another in heinous death. A ferocious roar left his lips and Rhuryc streamed forward into the mass of enemies. The shield came first as the steel slammed against the face of an unsuspecting soldier, his skull cracking beneath sheer power. An arm was cleaved from another and Rhuryc flew into a furry of chaos and destruction. His grasp loosened on the shield and he hurled into the mass, some poor bastard taking the brunt of it and hitting the ground with a solid thud. Quick to act, Rhuryc replaced the board with another blade from the ground and the entirety of his motions became an unyielding offense, a bladed, red whirlwind.

Something hit his back. He ignored it. Another impact on his side. Still, he pressed on. For some reason his steps were smaller, his cries less powerful, but no matter. Both blades slung into flesh without so much as a second thought, ripping and tearing at men like a lion, powerful and violent. Why was his chin wet? Another satisfying crunch fed his need for death and another, a never yielding supply of violence to satiate his desire for blood. A skull cracked, bones snapped, flesh was separated from muscle, all of it by his hand.

Why was it so quiet?

Rhuryc whipped his head around, his breath heavy. He felt his heart beat in his ears as adrenaline soared through his body, eyes wildly flickering from one opponent to the next. They had stopped. A ring formed around Rhuryc and hundreds of eyes were locked onto the torn armor, the beaten man. A spear stuck out of his side and two crossbow bolts were lodged into his back. Several wounds poured blood like a river and still, he stood, blades attached to his hands as if they were apart of his body. The soldiers looked on in awe. All around the man bodies littered the ground, forms of foes, hacked apart in a swath of destruction so great that the god of war himself would be jealous. These faces were all foreign. Where were his men? His friends? None stood. Lightless eyes looked up at the man in twisted expressions of horror, all familiar, all known. He was the last, alone.

"Come then! Let us see how brave you are."

by **Rhuryc** on August 11th, 2010, 9:26 am

Pavi Lake, Midnight
92nd Day of Winter, 505AV

Rhuryc's eyes fluttered open. He glanced aside at the towering stone structures of the lake, each silhouetted against the pale light of moon reflected from the shifting waters below. A gentle wind blew across the shore and the boy wrapped his blanket about him in a tight fixture. The waning cold of winter still gave a chill deep as bone. The images of the dream cast themselves like shadows in the distance as they played out before Rhuryc's gaze, figures without detail mirrored over the surface in a desperate struggle for supremacy. He watched as the scenes played themselves out over and once again, men torn between life in death, men torn asunder and ripped to pieces of their former selves. Were they real? He was no general. No great leader. And yet the sequence felt so real, like he were privy to the events of the past. Whoever they were they fought against impossible odds and they died in futility. Was that to be the final road? Did all good men lose in a quest to realize their ideals?

The crackle of a fire brought the boy into a state of consciousness. Silently he raised his torso from his mat and turned toward the flickering light of the flame, a crackle and snap accompanying his motions in some queer greeting. Tristan sat across from Rhuryc, still up, his hands locked and poised just above his chin as he scanned his nephew, eyes alight with fervor. The two exchanged a long stare. Neither spoke nor moved, still beneath the darkness with their forms illuminated by blissful heat. Finally it was Tristan who broke the silence.

"I got you something." Tristan said as he reached for his pack. A moment of rustling and the man produced a small signet ring, plain in design, made from silver with a rose ingrained on the top. He tossed it across the fire and Rhuryc caught the item in a quick snatch. When his palm opened the boy studied the ring with a quizzical gaze, questioning.

"Why?" His voice was curious, yet partially stoic. He had yet to accustom himself to consciousness.

"It's your birthday, idiot." The soldier spoke with a scoff. He was amused that his nephew did not remember the date. "That ring belonged to your mother. She would have given it to you today."

Rhuryc bobbed his head. He pressed the ring between his fingers and fiddled with it, pressing it to his palm just to see the outcome of the indent. A strange image. When he was satisfied the boy tested it out on his digits before he found the only place it fit was his pinkie - his mother, he imagined, must have had small hands. Slipping the ring on he looked back at his uncle with a curious expression. Rhuryc realized he knew very little about his mother. Or his father, really, the had both died before he was too young to ask questions. There was no sorrow, no regret in those thoughts, but the curiosity was difficult to stem. Tristan rarely spoke of either of them and when he did it was usually in some form of insult or degradation. The subject, Rhuryc imagined, was sour.

"How well did you know her?" The boy asked, his eyes lingering on the ring.

Tristan snorted. "I loved her, in my fashion." The man's vision glazed over as memories rushed to the forefront of his mind. Rhuryc was surprised at the answer, but not overwhelmed. "To shorten a long, boring story, she chose my brother over me. Your father. Half-wit never realized what he had."

A myriad of questions took the boy's mind. All of them revolved around past relationships, conflicts, possible scenarios. Was there more to the history than Tristan let on? Perhaps, but Rhuryc found that his speculation was better kept silent. Prodding the man would only end in furry, or worse yet, the next day's events would be riddled with torture. Not that they were not already. Instead the boy turned and laid back down. He pulled his blanket up around his shoulders and huddled his hands close to his chin, his eyes locking onto the signet before he gently drifted off to sleep.

Tristan watched the fire beneath the stars, his expression stoic, unyielding.

by **Rhuryc** on August 11th, 2010, 3:16 pm

"Do you need another lecture, boy?" Tristan grinned as he stepped inward, the blade of Naravane raised high into the air. Noon had come early that day.

Rhuryc was distracted. He fought currently with his armaments switched, shield in his right and sword on the left, but that did not remained the reason for his haze. A quick juke and the boy brought his shield around, the edge scraping beneath the flat of the outstretched blade. With a following flurry, his own sword clasped over the top of the offending weapon and Rhuryc stepped in, sweeping Tristan's grip around and loosening his hold on the hilt. He then pulled both armaments back and watched as Naravane came flying out of his uncle's hand, tossed aside in some casual discard. Now that was new. The old soldier stared at his nephew. Neither moved. For the longest time the two remained locked in some queer staring contest, unsure of the particulars of what just happened. Rhuryc was astounded. He was mimicking the motions he witnessed the previous night in his dream. Something seemed wrong about that.

"I didn't teach you that." Tristan said as he moved to retrieve his sword. "Who did?"

The boy was unsure how to answer. "I watched a Knight do it." He lied. At least that scenario was believable. "Back in Syliras."

The man grunted. Naravane back in hand, Tristan turned towards Rhuryc and gave him a nod - the usual sign to start again - and the two squared up with one another, blades raised in protest. Just before they clashed a sound drew their attentions. Both heads turned toward the clatter of hooves and two separate riders, men clad in armor and possessing various weapons. That was never a good sign. One held a sword in hand, a short, singled edged blade - a calvary saber of some kind - and the other sported a long hafted spear, the business of which was pointed at Rhuryc. Directly. Oh.

"What the hell did you do?!" Rhuryc exclaimed as he turned his body toward the horsemen, his shield rising to his chest.

"Me? Petch off, whelp!"

How was he supposed to fight a mounted opponent? He had no idea how to fight a horse. Or a man with a spear. On a horse. Damn it! Enraged, Rhuryc felt his gaze narrow. He threw down his weapons and lowered his torso, staring into the face of his would-be murderer. As the man bore down on the boy, Rhuryc swept his arms about and simultaneously twisted his body to the side. The point missed it's arm and Rhuryc closed his hands around the spear's haft, grabbing the weapon and turning with it. He pulled back and flung the base over his shoulder - much to the surprise of the weapon's wielder - and the rider was summarily dismounted. The assailant hit the ground and tumbled away. Grumbling, the boy followed after, armed now with a weapon of which he had no idea how to use. Great. Unharmed by his fall, the rider was up on his feet within moments. From his hip he produced a broad headed sword that was curved at the spine. He bore down on Rhuryc as the boy came closer, the two now locked in mortal combat.

There was no guessing at the aggressor. The rider swung wildly with his blade, charging at his younger with a wild tenacity. Rhuryc was reminded of Tristan. The boy ducked the initial blow and followed by stepping in. He brought the haft of his spear up and bashed the side into the rider's chest. The man stumbled but remained upright, albeit the motion was not meant to kill. Use your advantage. Rhuryc separated from the combat and backed off, putting a few feet of distance between himself and his assailant. Both paused and stared the other down, feet crossing one over the other as they began to circle. There was a quiet calculation in their poise as they waited for the other to make a mistake.

Finally it was the rider that produce an opportunity. Impatient, he ran forward, his blade held out in front of his chest in defense against the spear. Rhuryc was happy to deliver. Deviously, he thrust forward with the edge - an expected attack - and the weapon was beaten aside with ease. As the sword parried Rhuryc released his hold on the spear. Instead of following through he leaned in and charged, his torso ducking beneath the extended blade and arms lashing out. The boy twisted his weight and slammed his shoulder into his opponent, the force of which knocked the two onto the ground. In a scramble Rhuryc grabbed the rider's sword and kept him from using it while he took a swift kick to his side. The pain was easy to ignore. A hand shot forward and the boy found several fingers wrapped about his neck in a tight squeeze, crushing his throat with raw strength. With his free arm Rhuryc flailed about, grasping, searching, and with a satisfied motion his palm rubbed against something hard, a handle. A clang rang out across the lake.

The rider recoiled and loosened his hold on the boy's neck. Rhuryc, on the other hand, did not stop. Clang after clang resounded against the waters as the boy beat his opponent into a state of submission, not satisfied to stop until he saw blood. A gasp escaped his lips and he rolled over off of the rider and onto his back where he raised his trusty weapon into the air above his head. An estranged chortle leapt from Rhuryc's throat when he realized his savior's form and he dropped the item, breathing heavily between fits of laughter.

He had killed a man with a frying pan.

by **Rhuryc** on August 11th, 2010, 5:05 pm

"Get up, boy! Up!" Tristan ran over to his nephew with a horse in tow. The man sent a swift kick to the boy's side and Rhuryc found himself up in seconds.

"What? Why? We were just attacked, I think we can take a break for just a little bit." Rhuryc was incredulous. Always the bastard his uncle was.

"It wasn't random. Take those weapons and your shield, leave everything that will slow you down. Go!" On orders, the boy followed what he was told. He ran back to his shield and gathered it along with the spear and the fallen sword. A quick bit of maintenance and Rhuryc claimed his assailant's scabbard as well. Sufficiently armed, the boy rejoined his uncle to find the man mounted and the other horse reared in for what he assumed was his own use. Of course this would be Tristan's way of introducing him to riding. There was no better education than an a working one, after all. Without complaining, Rhuryc attached his shield to the saddle - after fiddling with a few of the buckles and straps he just shoved it between some of the more secure fastenings - and stuck a boot into the stirrup. He struggled at first. That was to be expected. With both hands on the pommel, for that seemed the easiest place to grab, Rhuryc hoisted himself up once, twice, and on the third time he was able to get his legs up. That was not so hard.

Looking about, he found a holster for the spear and so he set the item aside. With his hands free one moved to rub the horse's neck. He scratched at a white splotch of color amidst the stalk black of the hair and the boy suddenly felt quite uncomfortable. The horse snorted and stepped back, leaving Rhuryc panicky. He grasped the reigns and pulled back on them. When the mount complained he let go and stared at the back of its head, confused as to what he was supposed to do. At least he was on the saddle, though felt as if he was somehow sitting incorrectly. Already his legs felt strange and felt his muscles tightening. Grumbling, he drew his feet in and bent his legs at the knees, the feel somewhat natural, and he straightened his back, adapting a more proper posture. Perhaps that would work. Or he would fall out of the saddle.

"How do I get it to move?" Rhuryc blinked, confused as to both his scenario and the situation as a whole. Who were those men? Why had they tried to kill himself and Tristan? He knew better than to ask, the response would just be some cryptic wording with an insult tacked onto the end.

"I don't do horses. Hit its flanks with your boots, that'll make it go forward. Anything else? You're on your on. Don't follow me. Head back to Syliras." What? Rhuryc stared at Tristan.

The man said nothing more. In the span of a few moments Tristan's horse reared back and started off away from the lake, angled away from the city in a fast gallop. Rhuryc could only watch as his uncle left him, alone, beside the lake on the back of a creature he knew nothing about. None of this made any sense. The boy took in a deep breath and tore his eyes away from the fading form of Tristan, his attention brought back to the situation at hand. Whatever his reasons the man was clear. They had to leave. If those two men were part of some larger group - scouts, maybe - than the rest would be soon to follow.

"Go!" Rhuryc said. The horse did not move. "Mush!" Nothing. "Walk." No response. "Run you stupid animal!" The horse shook its head, hair waving back and forth in a cool, lake-born breeze. Was it disagreeing with him? Better question, what was he doing wrong? Rhuryc frowned and in his frustration he kicked inward. In response the horse moved. Fast. With wide eyes the boy wrapped his hands around the extended neck and held on. He felt his body vibrate with each long, striding gallop, the pace far too great for him to even comprehend control. The ground seared past his vision as fast as he had ever seen, the speed at which he traveled an entirely new experience for the boy. After several minutes of a harrowing run, Rhuryc finally brought his head up. Realizing that he was stable enough to act the boy grabbed the reigns with one hand and pulled back with all of his might. The Colorsplash was amiable to comply.

Rhuryc did not like the sensation of falling. One minute you were fine, the next you were on the ground. At least he was used to that last part. With a grumble he rolled over onto his back and stared up into the sky, ignoring the horse as it pushed its muzzle in front of his face. Huh. So it was a female. He would have to name her.

by **Rhuryc** on August 12th, 2010, 9:47 am

Now that was better. Rhuryc sat unsure in his saddle, but after some trial and error he found that his new friend responded to his legs quite well. Although he still uncomfortable in the saddle the boy realized that he only needed to squeeze his legs in order to get his mount to move. A kick, he figured, sent the beast into over-drive. Now he just needed to figure out how to direct the animal. So far Rhuryc managed a straight walk with Rose - his friend's new name - but their current direction was away from the city. The task at hand was one of simplicity: turn Rose. His initial attempt was admirable, but silly. He tried only squeezing one leg. While the mount responded by glancing back (Rhuryc could not help but feel that she was making fun of him) there was no change in pace. The reigns, maybe? Gently, Rhuryc tugged on the left side of the horse's head and was astounded to find that she followed through. Ahah! Rhuryc was so ecstatic that he did not realize they were traveling in circles.

Blasted horse.

After bring the animal to a stop again - Rhuryc found that by pulling gently on the reigns and leaning back seemed to work without Rose complaining - the boy sighed and rubbed the white splotch again, unsure how to continue. Even if he was headed in the right direction the journey would take a few days. And he had no food. Rose would speed the venture but either he would starve or have to find some way to feed himself. A grumble escaped his throat and he moved to dismount, right leg coming over the side of the horse just as a cramp formed in his left. That was not good. Flailing, Rhuryc lost his hold on the reigns and fell, his back hitting the ground for what must have been the hundredth time that very hour. While the experience was never pleasant the boy often had his greatest epiphanies in his reversed prone state. Leaving the horse in any other fashion might take some practice. At least there was no Tristan to yell at him.

Maybe he had time to practice. On his feet, Rhuryc moved back over to the side of his mount. There he stood, staring. The last few times he tried raising himself up the saddle shifted about too much, making his ride uncomfortable and undoubtedly giving him some kind of rash. This time, with his left foot in the stirrup, the boy placed one hand on the back of the leather and the other on the horse itself, using both as an anchor to hoist his torso up and over. With a wide arch he tossed his leg around Rose's back and found himself neatly seated without a hitch. Victory! Finally! Rhuryc was thrilled. He could mount his horse, walk her, and even get her to turn! Now if he could learn how to get off without falling. That would be a neat trick. Resigned to his current station, the boy squeezed his legs and tugged gently on the reigns, guiding Rose back to what direction he thought the road lay. His back straightened - that was the most comfortable position he had found - and he dug his knees into the front base of the saddle, finding there to be some kind of leathery padding as if they belonged there. Maybe they did.

What lay ahead was disheartening. To lose your way in the Bronze Wood was a simple matter and Rhuryc knew next to nothing about the wilderness. The camp was the safest bet. Wait there until Tristan returned, but the urgency in the man's orders was specific. He had no intention of returning. A discontented sigh poisoned the air. For once it would not hurt to be prepared.

"There!" A voice called from behind. "Dead or alive, I don't care. Get 'em!"

Rhuryc sent a glance over his shoulder. There he saw four more riders, three on of the splotched color variety and one, at the lead, with a pitch black mount with a mane of gold that burned bright like a head of fire. Damn it. They were all armed, wielding various mounted weaponry with one even possessing a short hafted bow. The three "followers" separated themselves from their commander and their mounts pushed into a gallop, riding hard to break the distance. Rhuryc was not about to let them. Time to see how long he could hold on. A swift kick with both legs sent Rose into a flurry and the horse blasted forth toward the wood. Rhuryc lowered his torso and shoved his boots farther into the stirrups on impulse. He just had to stay on. His body began to vibrate again and he found it within his best interest to hold the reigns with only one hand while his other grasped at the pommel. If he could just get into the woods.

Something flew past his ear. Was that an arrow? Gripping the saddle with his knees, Rhuryc tore a hand from the pommel and grabbed his shield, the wooden board brought around to cover his side while he rode. Balance here was essential. In some strange, awkward positioning, the boy raised the shield and twisted his torso uncomfortably in the saddle, allowing as small of a profile as he could while still keeping himself up and aloft on his mount. For once Tristan's training came in handy. Pain was easy to ignore. Another arrow sunk itself into the shield and Rhuryc allowed himself a brief moment of release. That would keep him alive. If just for a little longer.

The riders gained. With his lackluster knowledge of horses Rhuryc was not surprised. The boy cleared the canopy of the wood and began his crash course in evasive maneuvers. Trees! Of course. Why had he not thought of that? While Rose seemed to be content avoiding the towering wood, she was also inclined to slow down. In protest Rhuryc kicked her flanks again and the horse sped back up. As obstacles came Rhuryc responded on sheer reflex, jerking the reigns to the left and right as he passed through the sparsely populated outskirts. At this rate he would be able to lose his pursuers and maybe, just maybe, reach the road.

Instead Rhuryc watched as an arrow sunk itself into Rose's neck. Nice shot. The animal came to a skidding halt and tripped over her front legs, sending herself and her rider into the ground with a tumble and a roll. Fortunately the boy was sent away from the girth of the horse and he hit the ground in a similar fashion. The edge of his shield snapped and Rhuryc came to a quick stop, ignoring the splinters from the broken armor and pushing himself to his feet. The shield came between him an an arrow just before the head caught his eye. His vision locked onto the lodge missile for a singular moment. Death, it seemed, had finally come. Rhuryc was not a fan. As with his dream the boy adapted a defiant posture and ran forward, his shield held out ahead, the distance toward the now-dead Rose covered in seconds. His free hand reached down and he ripped the still in-tact spear from its holster. Where were they?

The sound of incoming hooves gave him his answer. One of the riders, this one armed with a calvary saber like the last, was set on a straight collision course. Fun. With gritted teeth and narrowed eyes Rhuryc dug his heels into the wet ground, challenging the incoming foe. The two crossed, but the boy had no intention of attacking the rider. The end of the spear slicing into the exposed chest of the horse and the beast reared back, whined, and summarily keeled over. Its rider went along. Rhuryc leapt over the twitching soon-to-be-horse-corpse after releasing the spear and brought his broken shield down on the struggling assailing. Two swift blows to his head - with the jagged edge no less - stopped his jerky movements and Rhuryc bent down to claim the saber. One down. Now for the others.

With a satisfied countenance the boy turned just in time for an arrow to enter his side. At least it missed his stomach.

by **Rhuryc** on August 12th, 2010, 11:19 am

Rhuryc hated arrows. He hated bows. He hated people that used bows. More so, he hated people that used bows to shoot arrows at him.

More hooves. Great. Rhuryc gasped and turned his head to the side. His eyes locked onto the oncoming form of horse and rider. Another sword. The boy felt his body sway and his vision blurred. The world itself was nothing more than a haze, a fading darkness that threatened to overwhelm his mind. He had to fight. The pound of his heart flooded his ears, the beat stepping in tandem with the clatter of incoming hooves. Closer. A sword raised into the air, was it his or the rider's? Time seemed to slow. Suddenly he was caught between two worlds. Images from a lost dream came to the forefront and Rhuryc found himself surrounded by men in armor, all looking on in awe. Bodies lay around the woods in a mass of chaotic dead. This was not real. Yet it felt right. Was the dream an omen? A defiant death, yet one that held no glory.

No.

Rhuryc snapped back to reality. With a flurry of motion the boy ducked and spun his torso around just as the rider came, the blade of his own sword slicing into and through an outstretched leg. Kill the horse, kill the rider. The beast fell into a pile of pain and blood, whining frivolously as its ankle rolled aside. The rider rolled over his mounts head and stumbled toward the ground. His teeth clenched, Rhuryc stood and leapt over the fallen mount, bearing down on the man with rage alight in his eyes. A thrust brought the blade down and steel punctured flesh, leaving the second of the three perusers dead. The boy's adrenaline flowed in droves, his senses enhanced far beyond their normal frequency. From somewhere close he heard the twang of a bow. The boy spun his shield around and flailed the wooden board in a wide arc, the arrow deflected and sundered in its path. The boy's narrowed gaze came to a stationary rider, one close, brow furrowed in both worry and frustration. Rhuryc was unamused.

A ferocious cry leapt from his throat and he charged the bowman. Another arrow was knocked and Rhuryc removed the strap from his arm, the shield hurled through the air like a boomerang. The jagged edge slammed into the bow and the rider found his concentration broken. Rhuryc, furious, brought both hands to the hilt of the sword and swung with a reckless abandon. He heard a snap and cringed in pain as the arrow broke. In a simultaneous event his blade seared through cloth and flesh once more as it took the knee of his assailant. Distracted by pain the rider was slow to act and the horse, nicked by the weapon, panicked. It threw its front two hooves into the air and the bowmen was sent teetering over, his back hitting the ground in a sickening crunch. Rhuryc, as before, followed, his steel tasting blood once more in an unceremonious coup-de-grace.

The boy dropped his weapon. He heard the horse gallop away as he fell to the ground, seated with his shoulders haunched over, one hand grasping at the arrowhead in his side. There he felt part of the shaft still sticking out, was it enough to pull? Rhuryc unleashed a strange, primal grunt as he turned his head and tilted his neck to get a view of the wound. Was the metal twisted? Logic dictated that if the head entered the body at a spin it would do more damage, at least, he had gained as much information from Tristan. From his vantage point he could see where the arrow entered and maybe, if he was careful, he could get it back out. With a deep, drawn out breath Rhuryc grasped the half-broken shaft. Every so gently he twisted the wood and he felt a jolt of horrific pain cast through his insides. His breathing became erratic, pained, and his eyes watered, but he could not stop. His vision locked onto the wound Rhuryc shifted the head, his voice just below a scream. An eternity passed. When he thought that it was safe to pull the boy did so, his knuckles whitened around the shaft.

He gasped violently when the arrowhead came free. The missile was thrown aside and Rhuryc cringed in his despair. Was there no end to the pain? Clean. Tristan had cleaned his wound from those months ago. Half crawling, Rhuryc pulled himself over to the dead bowman and removed his own tunic in the process. He searched the body, tossing aside a belt and a few bags before he produced, thankfully, a water skin inside the pocket of the man's own coat. First things first. Rhuryc drank. His mouth was dry from all of the action and the cool liquid was a relief as it flowed down his throat, performing at least once luxury for the day. Afterwards the boy used the remaining water to douse the blood from his skin and the wound, clenching his teeth at the clear, stinging sensation. Next came a bandage. Without any proper material the boy improvised. He took a piece of his recent kill's tunic and cut around the bottom, producing strip of cloth that he proceeded to wrap around his waist. Both ends met and he tied them off in as tight as a knot he could muster.

Well. That was settled. Content, Rhuryc summarily passed out.

by **Rhuryc** on August 12th, 2010, 4:21 pm

By the time Rhuryc woke night had fallen. His eyes opened to a light canopy above, streaks of moonlight piercing the veil of budding leaves. A myriad of stars dotted the sky that night, small, insignificant specks of light that decorated the darkness like the pattern of a familiar blanket. He was alive. Maybe. The wound in his burned. He was hungry, tired, and in bad condition. The boy grunted as he sat up. Nothing had changed. From what he could tell a few animals had begun to pick at the dead horses - fortunately the mounts kept them away from Rhuryc - and no one had yet to come looking for the missing riders. That or whoever "they" were did not care. He could only pray for the latter. A push aided him as the boy stood, his legs shaky. The loss of blood and festering wound at his side complained but he had no time to worry. Instead he gathered supplies from the fallen. Water, some rations, Mizas, but most importantly he found that each carried their own make-shift supply of first aid "kits". While he did not recognize much of anything bandages were far superior to shirts. Rhuryc lifted his tunic and removed the shoddy patch job of his own make, giddy at his discovery. He washed out the wound again and applied a healthy dosage of something, some kind of strange paste that he was ultimately unfamiliar with (he only hoped that it was beneficial) and wrapped the clean, cured bandages about his waist.

There. Maybe he would not die so soon. The rest of the supplies was gathered into a pile and then tossed onto a blanket liberated from the back of a saddle, tied, and knotted before Rhuryc shoved the haft of his new favorite spear through one end. The blade come out the other with some wiggling and he was in the possession of his very own sack. Great. Partaking in some liberated jerky Rhuryc moved on to collect the rest of the forlorn weapons scattered about the battlefield. His saber was reclaimed and sheathed along with what remained of his shield, taking his time to remove the arrows lodged into the front. By the time he was done Rhuryc felt like a regular adventurer, off an a quest to slay demons. Or just go home. He preferred to head home.

Now if only he knew which direction to go. The road was east. The lake west. So logic dictated that if he were to head east Rhuryc would eventually find the road. Right? Right. Maybe. The hike began with miserable prospects. Each step brought a new sensation of burning, the arrow wound proving to be effective at devolving his pace into a walking crawl. Rhuryc surmised that he only had enough food and water for a day, if that, and his trek stem after that, especially in his condition. Willpower remained his only driving force.

A snort took the boy's attention. A glance to the side revealed a horse with its head in a bush, no doubt in some desperate search for food. Rhuryc blinked and made his way over. He made a small effort to approach stealthily, his footfalls soft as he lifted one leg slowly over the other, coming down with as light a touch as possible. His boots, though, made the endeavor all but possible. Some brush caught the leather and the horse rose its head, alert. Rhuryc leapt into action and grabbed the reigns as the animal packed off, staying the creature's retreat. Finally. Luck. With a half-bemused countenance the boy gave the horse a brief once over and eyed the bit in its mouth. Surreptitiously he reached in and removed the item, his hand coming up to scratch the animal on the side of its neck. The animal was a proud one. Colored dark like that last, this one had more white splotches and none on its neck. Rhuryc decided that this one would need a name, too. With a quick check on gender he muled over a few titles.

"Oh. You must be hungry." A frown accompanied those words as he moved about to the side of Reina (said horses new name) and examined the gear still tied to her saddle. Unlike the others all of it was in tact. A search revealed two items of important, both a feeding and water bag, no doubt included for long-winded trips. An examination of both items revealed hooks that connected to the bridle and Rhuryc went about tending to his new friend. While the horse fed, so to did the boy, resolving the still ravishing hunger that sat in the depths of his stomach. In some strange commune the two feasted with one another, silent in their exchange, but present in company. Even thought Rhuryc was sure the horse was far from sentient it was nice to not be alone, lost, and in the wilderness. Once finished Rhuryc replaced the bit and moved to the horse's side. A tug and a hoist and the boy lifted himself up into the saddle. He sneered at the jolt of resulting pain and sat in proud defiance, his hands taking hold of the reigns.

"Alright, girl. Let's try and get to the road, huh? Nice and slow." Rhuryc squeezed his legs and felt relief wash over his form as the horse started forward.

by **Rhuryc** on August 13th, 2010, 8:25 am

Hours passed. The quiet cant of hooves accompanied Rhuryc's occasional grunt of dissatisfaction in a quaint call and answer. The lose, sparse wood had given way to a densely populated expanse, the thick canopy above shielding the only source of light of which to determine detail. The lack of vision made the journey impossible. While the boy did his best to guide his companion the horse was weary and more often than not would meander off of her own will. Rhuryc had at least learned how to turn the animal, and well at all. The past few minutes proved that he could anticipate the twists the mount. Whenever he let up for any decent amount of time Reina would drift, idle in her intent. This, combined with the fresh, new soars on his backside, lead Rhuryc to believe that he had done some great wrong in a past life. He also decided that he hated horses. Not more than arrows, or bandits. Or people that wanted him dead. And why did they want him dead, exactly? Tristan had something to do with it. Had the man let Rhuryc lead them away? The thought sickened him.

Snap. Not again.

Rhuryc shot straight up in the saddle. He knew that sound. The boy swept his gaze around the immediate area as he gently pulled back on the reigns, one hand coming about to draw the saber from his side. Silence followed. He had no idea how to fight on a horse. Swiftly, the boy shifted his weight and dug his foot into the left stirrup, his torso twisting to dismount. Reina loosened a loud whine. What? Rearing back, the horse sent two legs forward into the air and the boy threw his arms over the saddle, gripping the side for all he could just to hold on. The beating of hooves filled his ears and Rhuryc felt his body vibrate as his mount sped off, galloping ahead with a wild passion.

"Slo-owow Do-owow-own!" The boy yelled as he struggled to keep hold. He kicked his legs as he felt his boots hit the ground and in desperate he lashed out and grabbed the reigns. A hard jerk brought Reina to a jolting halt, her pace slowed and directed aside. Rhuryc lost his grasp as the animal cast back once more and hit the ground at a stumble. Another fine dismount. His wound burned and he could hear voices call to one another, the details of the conversation lost in his haze. Annoyed, tired, and weak, Rhuryc pushed himself up and limped back to Reina. He had just enough time to produce his half-useless shield and spear, the latter cleaned of its baggage and brought to rest up in front of his chest. He was better with a sword, he knew, but that would come next. Let the bastards charge. The saber was sheathed and the boy prepared himself, staring straight ahead into the darkness.

Two men emerged from the trees. Both were clad in similar armor, chain mail with tabards over the top and wielding swords flanked by shields. He was dead. The men split and circled their prey, weapons raised and motions crisp. These individuals were trained soldiers, much different than the riders he had fought before. Rhuryc did what he could to keep an eye on both of them. He turned his back toward and tree and watched as they formed up on his sides, weary of the spear's reach, but confident in their abilities. Silently, they advanced.

Rhuryc thrust the spear forward. The edge was caught between a shield and bashed aside, the already weakened point severed. The saber came next, brandished in tandem with the shield as the first assailant came close enough to strike. Rhuryc felt the sword of his foe clash against his weakened defense and responded with a quick slash at the man's side. The blade scraped against his armor in futility. Annoyed, the assailant hacked at Rhuryc's shield and knocked it aside, a kick following and colliding against the boy's chest. He knew that strike. Stumbling back, Rhuryc brought himself to a halt and placed both hands on his remaining weapon's hilt, the sword raised above his head and his torso aligned with his incoming opponents. For a moment the men paused and glanced at one another. What was that about?

"Enough!" A voice seared through the air like a roaring flame. Tristan? Another man, this one a rider, came from deeper into the woods, clad in a similar fashion to the infantrymen. Only this man wore a proud brazen simple of Syliras, the wind oak embedded on his tabard in full view. He carried knightly weapons, a lance, sword, and shield, all arrayed on his saddle in an organized fashion. So that's where you put the shield! Rhuryc would have to remember that. "What are you two doing? He's just a boy." The man spoke again, chastising his subordinates.

"Forgive us, Sergent, but he rides one of the horses stolen from the merchant. We thought him one of the hunters." The man who had not engaged spoke first, seemingly eager to explain himself. His voice was much less masculine than Rhuryc would have imagined. Almost feminine. "He wields their same fashion of weapons'as well."

"And looks like hell." The aptly deemed Sergent spoke with a smirk. "You, boy! Can you explain yourself?" That was an order. The powerful man sat atop his mount like a king. He was majestic, surely, and spoke with an undeniable force from the back of his sleek, black stallion.

"I've had better days." Rhuryc grunted, his hoarse voice weak amidst the night air.

The Sergent laughed. "Good enough. Bring 'em, and take the horse. I'm sure our friend will be happy to see her return."

Rhuryc blinked. So he was not to die. Today, anyway.

by **Rhuryc** on August 13th, 2010, 10:11 am

Knights. Better than bandits. Rhuryc was brought to a small campsite along the Kabrin road. There were various tents and wagons that formed a make-shift barrier for the inhabitants which themselves consisted of a small wing of Knights and what appeared to be caravaners. A small group, but a friendly one, once the boy explained his situation to the Sergent - whom had introduced himself as Bailen Nigriso - they were more than willing to aid him, tending to the shoddy patch job and offering some real nutrients. And water. The horse was returned to its right owner, merchant robbed some days ago, and Rhuryc found himself to be in good company for once. He was regarded with a warm atmosphere with most of the soldiers taking pity on his station. In truth he felt like a bit of a runt, surrounded as he was by large, trained men clad in metal armor.

"Your uncle drew them away then?" Bailen spoke with a degree of curiosity, standing with his arms crossed just outside of his tent. Rhuryc glanced up at the man from the nearby fire, flanked by the two Knights that had intended to kill him. Javier, the one who kicked Rhuryc, was especially friendly, most likely regretful for his actions. "Quite a feat to engage three riders on your own though."

"They didn't come at me at once. I was lucky." He said, frowning. Rhuryc knew that was the only reason he was victorious, that and maybe some over confidence from his foes. "I'm not so sure Tristan escaped." There was not a doubt in his mind that the man was in some sort of trouble. The feeling had nagged at him for the better part of the day.

"Tomorrow, perhaps once you've had some rest. For now though how did you come to learn to fight like that? You took that hit like you were used to it." The Knights around the fire latched onto those words, curious themselves. Javier seemed especially interested, his pride wounded from Rhuryc's defiance.

"Ah." He did not want to make Tristan out to be villainous. "Uncle was a soldier, a Knight, I think. He taught me how to fight."

Bailen smirked. The hesitance was obvious, but the man let it slide. The rest of the night passed in a similar fashion. The group exchanged stories and Rhuryc was included without care, albeit he was made the focus of several jokes and lessons. His engagement with the frying pan was a hit and the boy became an exalted, in temporary, member of the retinue. When the frivolities calmed the boy was given a mat and a blanket, where he slept better than he had in days. Despite the wound, the exhaustion, and the events, he felt safe. No fool would assault him here, protected by merchant guards and knights. The night drifted by peacefully and when the sun rose Rhuryc stirred with a satisfied yawn, still tired perhaps, but well rested enough to join the encampment in its morning activities. He helped the Knights in their duties and he paid special attention to merchant's men as they tended to horses, giving them a close inspection as to where they put what on the saddles. He watched the hands brush and inspect their mounts, apply the bridles and other riding concoctions with a quizzical gaze, astounded by how much work went into preparing the beasts. Rhuryc liked horses even less.

"Our job is to escort this merchant and patrol the road." Bailen said as he came up next to the boy holding up a small bundle of items. "And I would ask you don't go out after your uncle, for my duty is set." The Knight coughed, falsely, and dropped his hands. The clatter of equipment followed. "I can spare no men to aid you, but it is unfortunate that my two best scouts have a habit of disappearing on their runs. I wish you luck, Rhuryc." Bailen winked and with a curt nod he turned aside, seeing to other, more pressing matters.

Rhuryc blinked. Glancing down he found a pack, an iron shield, a scabbard, and an over-sized coat. Huh. He was quick to don the leather, grateful for its warmth - even if it was a bit large. The sheath was belted to his waist and the blade itself left alone for now, the standard Knight Longsword something that would be much more reliable than that shoddy saber. Last, he slung the pack over a shoulder and attached the shield to his arm, more than willing to bare the brunt of the weight in favor of the constant protection. There would be arrows. There were always arrows. Without so much as a single goodbye to the other men, Rhuryc turned and set back into the woods where both Javier and Alexis - the other Knight whom had tried to kill him, Rhuryc had not realized she was female under the armor, much to his surprise the night previous - awaited him. Alexis was a slight woman, muscled, and more handsome than pretty, she was tall for her gender and held herself lightly. In comparison Javier was a short, thick man, bearded from one chin to the other and ugly, but physically powerful.

"I appreciate the help, but you don't have to do this." The boy started, frowning at the two.

"We would have killed you," Alexis started with her Zeltivan accent. "It is a debt to be paid. Besides," She shot a devious smile at her companion. "Javier likes you."

"You would have tried." Rhuryc grinned. Javier harrumphed.

"I found tracks off the road yesterday, I believe they might lead us to your assailants, Rhuryc." The man started, gesturing to the northwest. "C'mon Boobs, we'll need that bow of yours." Alexis glowered at the title and Rhuryc barely withheld his laughter.

In their trek Rhuryc found his companions to be infinitely more competent than himself. Javier was able to track just about anything and Alexis knew more about the wilderness than the boy even figured there was to know. As they traveled they took turns educating him on basic survival techniques, in dismay to his rampant lack of awareness. Alexis pointed of various flora, berries that were edible, berries that were poisonous, how moss grew on shaded parts of trees (the north side while in the north and vice versa for the south), and the basics of how to start a fire, that which Rhuryc tried and failed at on a repeated basis while they moved. The event was humorous to behold, the bow holding flint and steel against his arm while in his palm he carried some kindling, flailing as he tried to strike sparks into the mass. He never did give much thought as to what would happened if he succeeded. Javier, on the other hand, kept his attention up, pointing out signs as they came across them. Broken branches, twigs, he noted that animals rarely caused such distress in their own environment and how boots scattered the decaying life of the wilderness floor. The man's attention was more focused on following the trail though, and he kept a close eye on the area around. He seemed to expect an ambush at any moment.

A few hours passed and Rhuryc felt himself pulled aside. Unable to stop the motion, Javier clasped his hand over the boy's mouth and whispered a soft "shh" into his ear. Their armor abandoned for the sake of swift movement both Knights were clad in dark, earthen tones, cloaks and tunics, light leather boots and little loose material. They were both armed with similar weapons, bows, longs swords, but no shields. Javier carried a hand axe as well near his off hand, no doubt intending on wielding both weapons simultaneously. As it was, though, the lack of metal allowed them to move with a degree of stealth, the exact concept in which the man attempted in instill in Rhuryc's mind. Hidden behind a thick tree, Javier slowly released the boy and the both slid down the base while Alexis took up her own hiding place nearby, climbing a trunk with the grace of a chimp and drawing her bow. The reason for their stealth became clear soon enough.

"D'ya think those Knights are gone?" A voice spoke carelessly into the unknown. Another joined it, a husky tone in contrast to the lighter, somewhat paranoid nasal.

"No reason for 'em 'ta hang around. Le's jus' ge'back 'ta boss, eh? We go'tha idio' we came for."

Javier motioned to Alexis and the woman loosened her draw, the bow brought down to state of rest. To the heart of the beast it was.

by **Rhuryc** on August 13th, 2010, 11:41 am

The three came to a halt behind a thick grouping of sprouting trees. They knelt and remained close, Alexis taking up some sort of watch with her bow drawn again as Rhuryc and Javier surveyed the camp. Situated in a large clearing there were various temporary tents and horses scattered all around, tied to various trees and poles, whatever prevented them from wandering off. These men were no ordinary bandits, though. They moved with a semi-military precision, their gear organized and they were spread out in a fashion similar to the Knights. Unlike his previous assaults, Rhuryc knew that storming in would just get them killed. Most of the men were awake and moving around, seeing to chores and duties that he figured were assigned them. With a collective sigh both the man and the man turned and hunkered down beside their tree 'fort', exchanging glances with a frown.

"Not going to be easy." Javier spoke in hushed tones. "I counted about ten men and an Akalak. Big sucker, too. They have a lookout but he's isolated, if you can take him out, Boobs, we might be able to get close and take them by surprise." Rhuryc blinked at the summary. He had not seen a lookout. Alexis just glared at the title.

"If we take anyone down it will alert the rest of the camp." Rhuryc whispered, his hand already resting on the hilt of his blade. We're a little outnumbered."

Javier grinned in the boy's direction. "Probably, but they're not prepared for battle. We can probably take most of them before they're even armed. Boobs'll stay back and give us some cover." The man finished by slowly unsheathing his blade, careful to hold the scabbard straight to avoid scrapping the leather. Rhuryc followed suit, mimicking his elder in the stealthy brandish. That was a trick he would not soon forget. With a nod Javier swept out from their hiding spot and lead the way, his torso kept low when angled from one location to the next. The man was like a shadow. As with the sword Rhuryc did his best to reproduce the actions, and although he failed to gain the same results, the twang of a bow signaled that there would most likely be no one to watch him mess up.

How did the camp not see the arrow? Rhuryc mused in the presence of the Knights. With all the training Tristan had given him the boy was outclassed. Even without him they would no doubt be able to take the camp. At least he could as fodder. Pushing such thoughts out of his mind he continued along after Javier with quick steps. Before long they reached the very edge of the clearing, poised just across from a nearby tent. Without even a second's hesitation Javier pushed through the foliage and canted up behind the whitened material, standing just high enough to keep his body covered. He waited and listened, giving the nearby men time to pass before he waved Rhuryc on. Convinced he would give them away, the boy left his cover anyway, crossing the same expanse of dirt in what felt like hours. There were no cries, no shouts, and Rhuryc stood just beside Javier, his shield and sword pressed up against his body like precious stones.

The knight made some strange had gesture. A chorus rose up around the camp and Javier stepped out from behind his tent, sword and axe in hand, charging ahead into the camp proper. Rhuryc swallowed and did the same. With his shield forward the boy came face to face with a bemused individual who sat next to a dead companion, one with an arrow in his head. The man had not yet comprehended they were under attack and he never would. Rhuryc's sword cleaved into his neck - the weapon sleek and elegant in its destruction - and the boy continued on, his gaze flicking about the area for another target. Another arrow sunk into an exposed chest and Rhuryc found his hatred for projectiles lessened to a degree. Javier crossed the boy's flank, his axe already covered in blood, his sword extended as another fell, missing an arm and bleeding from his abdomen. That was four. Rhuryc gritted his teeth and continued moving. He sailed across an unlit fire pit and bashed his shield into a scrambling target, the impact knocking aside a sword that came about in protest. The opening was clear and Rhuryc felt his weapon penetrate flesh once more. How many men had he killed now? Counting sickened him.

A ferocious roar took the boy's attention. The aforementioned Akalak stepped into the field and he towered over the rest. He was armed solely with a mace and blazed a trail straight for Rhuryc. The train of pure muscle and power held no mercy in its eyes, built for nothing but destruction. Rhuryc had never realized what real fear was. The blue-skinned warrior bore down on the boy like lightening, the mace brought about in a furious swing that was only just deflected by the plate of iron. A dent sent a searing pain down the boy's arm and it reminded him of his other wounds, that which found a perfect opportunity to call for attention as Rhuryc recoiled. He shuddered from the impact. Such strength. The Akalak pressed forward and raised his mace over his head, his gaze focused on his target. That was until an arrow lodged itself into his shoulder. The warrior screamed, his arm falling limp, but he was in no way finished. A leg came forward and caught Rhuryc's shield again, the sheer forcing knocking him back onto the ground. Of all the familiar places. Like a rabid dog the warrior struck. He leapt over the boy and unleashed another vicious roar and reached down where he tore the shield away. Rhuryc glared, his adrenaline taking over, and he thrust upward. The Akalak caught his blade. Although blood ran down the metal, the creature was unfailing. He laughed at his prey's plight and ripped the sword from Rhuryc's grasp, armed once again.

Another arrow struck the beast. That only pissed him off more. Intent on murder, the Akalak flipped the sword around and grabbed the hilt, just as a blaze of motion shifted from above. Suddenly Rhuryc was relived of the additional weight and he watched as Javier tackled the massive warrior, his sword extended into the beast's chest. The Knight twisted and brought his axe over head, the metal sinking deep into the skull.

"Damn blue demon! Die!" Javier yelled and pushed himself up, his weapons brought to bear toward the rest of the camp. Rhuryc was quick to realign himself. With a scramble he first reclaimed his shield and got to his feet, in time to be greeted by yet another combatant. This man was different than the rest. Clad in plate, he wielded a shield and a bastard sword. Not just any sword. The markings were clear. The armor itself was black and sleek, dark and nefarious in appearance. Rhuryc felt rage overcome his emotions, his knuckles white on the shield. There was no doubt now, Tristan was dead.

His arm still hurt from the Akalak. All Rhuryc could do was defend himself. The black knight stepped in with his sword brought about like crashing thunder, one impact after another slamming into the thick, iron shield with a reckless devastation. It felt like every blow was Tristan reminding him how weak he was, how he was not able to hold up to the training. The boy felt his teeth grind. His vision became narrow. Rage flooded every facet of his mind. This man, this bastard, had killed his uncle. The boy released a noise similar to the Akalak. With a new found ferocity he flailed his shield out and deflected the incoming blow. Allowing the momentum to carry him, Rhuryc spun about and thrust his shield as he came around again, utilizing what his uncle had taught him. There was no contact. As if he could predict the motions before they happened the dark knight dodged the assault and retaliated with his own, shield sent forward and slamming into Rhuryc's face. The boy twisted and was sent off in a roll. His vision blurred and his consciousness wavered. Everything went back.