Closed Misfits of the Eastern Road

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick listened to everyone’s responses carefully, distracted as he was by the occasional whistle of an arrow as it flew by, or the thunk as one hit the boarding of the cart. As Archailist shared his weight with them and the Kelvic did the math in his head. As the crux of the situation dawned on him his hopes fell, but it did nothing to snuff out his resolve to see the plan through. “Oi can’t carry that much weight.” Marrick said with sigh, a concerned look beginning to grow on his face. Yet, when Archailists Patron spoke of an alternative method for his companions delivery Marrick nodded with a grin. “Oi feel bad fer the bastards. The last thing Oi’d want getting tossed at me is twenty three pounds o’ pure feisty.” Marrick chuckled along with a couple others as he gave Archailist a gentle nudge to let him know his intentions were friendly. “Aye, then. Guardsman! Whats yer name?” Marrick spoke bruskly to the man who had said he could ride. The older man turned toward him with a slightly preoccupied look as an arrow wizzed by. “Hamel, Ser Knight.” The man said, a look of fear concealed in determination adorning his hard and grizzled features. “Oi’m naught a Knoight, jest a squire but that’s naught important fer the toime bein. Take Moy harse teh the gates, and give them this.” Marrick said as he unbuckled the pauldron with the Windoak on its face. “Let them know that this mornins advanced patrol ran intah trouble near the fifth marker n’ it looks teh be bandits. We’ll need more knoights teh give chase if they flee intah the bronzewood.” Without another word to the man, Marrick handed him his pauldron and Kiter’s reins and gave the Great Mare a reassuring pat to the neck which the horse nudged against his shoulder in response. “Bring us all home, bonnie lass.” He whispered to the horse. Like a man walking to the Gallows, Marricks face seemed calm and composed knowing his fate was close. Yet he was unsure of what might happen, the Kelvic was ready. He unbuckled his breast plate and stripped his gambeson. With a deep breath, he found the raven inside him and his flesh shimmered and shifted with a dull light for but a tic or two. His boots, pants and chauses fell away to the ground, as if he had evaporated inside. Like an Ink stain on a white sheet, there he sat in his raven form, atop his now empty steel armor. He shook himself out and preened for a just a tic if only to shrug off the concerns he had for the task ahead. The Raven fixed Archailist with his icy blue bird eyes so like his ones in human form. “Ready-teh-go.” He croaked in a close approximation to his human voice. With a nod to his own Patron, and Archailists he took flight in a rush of black feathers. It wasn’t long before he heard shouts from the men in the wood. “They’ve released a messenger bird! Shoot it down! Don’t let them send for help!” The voices were scattered but he got a good idea of the general location of where they were coming from, though he had bigger concerns for now. He heard the thrum of a bow string before he saw the arrows arc. Awkwardly he tilted his wings in a roll to evade the long shaft with its barbed tip. He felt a rush of wind as it sailed past and Marrick stretched his wings into a sharp diving glide. If he couldn’t only make the tree line he’d have cover. He had to make the tree line! Another arrow brushed his breast with its fletching and Marrick used the opportunity to feign a hit. He plummeted like a stone. The Kelvic let his body flail loosely like he’d been stuck dead, until he felt the rush of the ground as it came up to meet him. With a swift flex of his broad wings he opened them into a controlled descent. His clawed foot make contact lightly with grass, and propelled himself forward as low to the ground as possible with a strong beat of his wings. Using what little cover there was out in the open he wove his way into the tree line and up into the nearest branch. No more arrows flew his way, just the shouts of triumphant idiots and a gloating call. “Your birds dead! Send any more and we’ll kill them too.” If the Raven Kelvic had had lips, he’d have smiled broadly. The large raven stuck to the canopy marking off where the voice was coming from, and took flight. As quietly as he could manage he glided from tree to tree. He followed its tone until he alighted on a long bough and looked down on a man dressed in buckskins, his bow laid across his lap. He swiveled his head around and called out over the rock he hid behind. “We’ve got loads of arrows! Best give up now!” Marrick bobbed his head in confusion as he eyed the man. He only had but five shafts left in his quiver. ‘Wee liar.’ He thought vexed. He watched the man for a moment more and saw him making silent hand gestures to at least two of his compatriots. Marrick waited watching to see where they hid and indeed, with enough time, they revealed themselves. One had a similar buckskin suit as the first, and the second was mostly buck skin with some treated leather mixed in. The other buckskin bowman was sending on commands to another person out of site down the line, but the other was still, and frequently looked to the leader for hand commands. He was isolated, hidden both from his own people, and the cart. ‘Aye, that one.’ He thought contemplating his attack strategy.

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[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

Archailist could only sit in the corner and admire how quickly Marrick took to water with the mercenaries, ordering them about in the time of crisis to the squirrels plans, even as he made his own. If he could, the squirrel would have joined in as well.. but he had bad experience when it came to taking hold of leadership positions. He lacked what many called the physique for it - five inches tall and shaped like a small prey mammal, not many people really took his threats or his orders to heart. It took little more than a glance for a dismissal to be given. One day, eventually, the squirrel would be able to stand up and take charge.. but today would not be the day. Instead, he held back with his dog at his side, waiting until they were all prepared for the battle. "It's settled then, I suppose. Ser Iros will throw me into the battle.. and you'll fly in. The words barely made it from his mouth before he was introduced to his fellow squire undressing himself from what little armour he held.

He'd met up with Kelvics before - there was one working in the Menagerie that had been helping him with his dog, Xarex. He'd never seen one transform before, though. He'd seen Dhani transform but that was about the limit of his knowledge. It was much faster and much.. less eventful than the change from human into serpent, he had to say. There was a bit of light, a shimmer, and then the clothes all toppled down on a squawking mass of black feathers. At least the snake looked cooler. They weren't there to see who could make the coolest transformation any way.. mere ticks after he'd seen the transformation, he felt a large shadow looming just above, that materialized as fingers pinching against his sides and lifting him high into the air.

Ser Iros was, by no stretch of the imagination, a gentle giant. The fingers pinched far too hard and left half-moon indents thanks to his nails digging into the squirrels clay. Eventually the hand turned over and the squirrel landed flat on the palm, but the knight didn't really give any warning - not even a glance back. He just reared back with his hand stretched out far, fingers cupping his small body. "Hold on, holdonholdon I'm not ready I'm not ready I'M NOT READY!" No matter how much the squirrel squirmed, gripped to the fingers, or shouted at the top of his lungs, it still came. The arm came around with phenomenal force and literally catapulted the squirrel pretty damn high into the air - and a fair deal faster than the raven was going, too. A lot more screaming. "OOOH WYSAR, HARAMEUS, DIRA, OH DEAR OH DEAR OH DEAR."

He was spinning, head over heels, over and over. He was used to catapulting himself small distances using the Py-Pole, but that was incredibly small. He was used to jumping rather long distances between buildings, but that was jumping, when he had control. This was neither.. this was being thrown pretty damn far, straight through a full canopy of branches and leaves as well. He could only catch glimpses of them as they loomed ever closer, sliding in and out of his field of vision, but they were more than enough. His arms and legs tucked in as tight as possible, making the squirrel spin even faster, just before his tail pulled tight to his underside and crashed through the branches - snapping some, shattering others with splinters shredding through the surface of his clay. Then, there was a solid thud and the world stopped turning.

When he uncurled himself once again and took a look at where he'd landed.. he found the ground wasn't underneath his feet, but rather several feet below. He'd managed to land with such force that the bark of the nearest tree trunk had buckled and dented around his body, forming a little crater. Thank you very much, Ser Iros. He wiggled within the newfound cusp, and grasped at the edges of the bark with the soft claws of his paws until he found a decent grip and managed to lift himself out. Just below was a branch that supported his weight when he tested it with one leg, so he soon scurried atop it and began searching for signs of life down below. An unintentional advantage - I have a birds-eye view from up here. Thanks, Iros. He could see a head or two just below, with bows prepared and arrows in their hands. There was even one that'd taken place a little above on one of the lower branches, taking sentry. Oh, that's just perfect.

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick eyed his target one more time and realized he had not seen Archailist. Lost in the greenery and brown of tree trunks Marrick had little hope of seeing the little squirrel shaped Pycon. No matter, Marrick, and Archailist had Ideal cover to start wreaking havoc and that’s all they really needed to do. Get them distracted, or at least looking the wrong way. Like a dark kite without strings the Kelvic spread his broad wings and glided to the Archer he had been watching. With a short crackle of talon on stone he landed just out of earshot of the bandit. He would steal a quick look, then hop a little closer. Then again a quick look, and closer yet again, stealing the meters with a thieves prudence. When the vagabond looked his way he would stand stock still and try to blend in with the scenery. Until at last, after a painfully slow stalking, he was only a short couple of hops from the criminal as he watched their target. Just one hop, to get within range. That was all it would take. One hop, a transformation and this jester wouldn’t be entertaining for a while. The Kelvic tried to focus on a smooth bit of moss covering a stone immediately near the highwayman. A soft landing was all he needed to maintain silence. His wings might make a little drafting noise, but only if he had to flap. Marrick made a little prayer to Sylir in his head, and hopped. His wings extended in a deep tilt giving him a little lift and he drifted like a little black ghost to the mossy bit on the stone. Accept it was not moss, but Lichen. The Raven’s feet clattered against the hardened bit of crusty plant material. Like a child who’d be caught with his hand in the cookie jar he awkwardly righted himself and for whatever stupid reason, froze… Marrick could only imagine what the man was thinking when he turned with his bow drawn. A sneak attack, a fight to the death, or perhaps one of his own was preparing to betray him with a knife in the back. Yet when he turned and saw the unassuming bird staring at him with a look that could only be described as “hungry” he smiled, and brought his finger to his lips in a shushing motion. If the Kelvic had eyebrows they would have been raised high enough that they’d have made a fine addition to his hairline. Yet, Marrick did not move, only cock his head to one side in a curious lilt, which for some reason delighted the vagabond. But the silence that the Raven held seemed to comfort the archer enough that he returned his attentions to the cart on the road. Marrick’s breath which had been frozen in his throat like a death rattle slowly released making his Ravenous maw make an almost purring sound, and the Kelvic realized that would be a little too unusual. Quick as a rabbit from a lurcher the Raven melted into a man, concealed from the rest as he was. When the woodsman turned again to see a testament to nakedness standing in front of him, the realization dawned on him that he was in trouble. The Squire wasted no words. He whispered no threats. He demanded no surrender. There was but a simple statement delivered by the two hardest knuckles in his closed right fist. Marrick’s strike made the soft snapping sound of something blunt and heavy hitting meat when it connected with the man’s Jaw. Almost like a butcher’s tenderizer mallet as it pounded a side of beef. The force of the delivery sent the scoundrel down like sack of potatoes and the Raven Kelvic wasted little time stripping him of his clothing. Cool eyes took note of how the vagabond wore his buckskins and replaced them as closely as he could manage as the man was a cinch or two smaller than him. The clothes fit snug over Marrick’s athletic frame, but the illusion would be enough at a distance. The thief had packed lightly, carrying his water skin, his quiver, and a small pack that hung from his belt. His clothes were made to handle harsh weather, and his pack carried minor items. A curved knife, and Sylir be blessed, a small length of rope. He bound the man as he was beginning to weakly come to, and stuffed the criminal’s own deer skin cap into his mouth. “Sorry fren, But yeh chose the wrong folk teh attack.” The Kelvic whispered softly in the man’s ear before he tied off the gag, and gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. Wary as ever he peaked over the rock toward the wagon cart that still held its place, the occasional arrow landing into the back end. His eyes darted to where the leader still waited and watched, notching an fresh arrow into his bow, and Marrick wished for a full quiver as he was not more than a novice. ‘Where is Archailist. Blasted wee pycon. Curse his soize n’ color.’ Marrick thought tensely to himself as he searched the forest for his companion. He was clearly not on the ground, or at least anywhere he could see. Desperation to find his friend began to furrow his brow as he began to search the trees. That was when he saw the archer, bow drawn and ready, about halfway up a massive oak, and stably set on one of the boughs. Marrick nervously chewed the inside of his cheek at this new development until he caught sight of Archailist. ‘Bless that wee bit o’ dirt!’ He thought, as he watched him assess the situation about them. His focus seemed squarely on that treed archer, and Marrick knew he could count on him to get the Job done. The Dark haired squire watched patiently, waiting for Archailist to see him. This was hard as the Pycon’s eyes had no pupils. Yet, somehow Marrick could swear that the little squirrel could see him. Now, there once was a very wise scholar who said that ‘anything that can happen will.’ Perhaps not in those words, but the sentiment rose from the simple and frustrating happenstance that caused things to go wrong. So when Marrick felt a firm hand grasp at his ankle he was not surprised when realized that the tied up criminal was trying to hamper his progress. Ready or not, Marrick couldn’t keep sharing the hole with this fool. ‘Oi hope yer ready moy little friend.’ Marrick thought to himself as he kicked away the criminals hand, hopped over the stone, and drew his pilfered bow. The long bow, was a strong piece of ash. Not ornate, but simple, resilient, and functional. The taut string was made of deer gut which made sense as these men seemed to hunt in between robberies. The arrow he drew was broad headed, and straight. The tip glinted brightly in the light that shone through the canopy of the trees and into the thicket, and Marrick had just managed to bring the leaders broad shoulders into view when the Vagabond behind him began to shriek through is gag. The leaders face tilted to look at his comrade’s position, and it was odd how large his face seemed to the Kelvic as the tip of the arrow seemed to tickle the highwaymans chin in his vision. The shaft felt rested and ready to fly from the bow he had drawn. The Kelvic loosed just as he saw the leaders eyes widen in the comprehension that it was not his cohort that aimed his bow at him. The arrow sailed gracefully in a swift and shallow arc until it buried itself in a tree next to the Bandit leader’s position. Suddenly everything started happening faster than a flux master. Marrick ran for cover, frantic to avoid the arrows that whistled past him. With a controlled slide he skidded through the dirt to rest against a large tree trunk and shouted. “FOR SYLIR!!” The Kelvic felt awkward saying it, but he knew no better battle cry that would alert the Knights at the Cart that they had engaged the enemy and needed support.

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

As long as he kept a grasp on the situation.. as long as he knew where the bandits were.. he could beat them. They couldn't hit him, as long as he knew they were there.. that much he could be mostly assured of. The most important thing, was to count exactly how many of them there were and find their positions.. he doubted there were only three or four of them moving in a small group and taking their chances against caravans that could hold.. countless hired mercenaries. The second important thing, though, was to keep his existence a surprise.. because, well, surprise attacks were where he'd be able to flourish. If he could stay in the trees, drop down from above.. he could cause some serious damage and have them gone before they even knew what hit them. Just because I have to keep it a surprise, doesn't mean I can't hit them at all...

Far from it. The squirrel grasped the trunk of the tree he was currently perched upon to climb higher, to the next branch up, before he leaped off it and spread both arms and both legs, narrowing his eyes - or at least his sight - until there was just the bandit. It was a serious blow that he dealt - coiling one arm close to his chest and hardening the clay around his arm and side, especially shoulder, to slam straight into the back of the man's head. He didn't know if he was slammed unconscious from the twenty-three pounds of clay hitting him from behind, or from slamming face-first into the ground after his balance was toppled and he fell from the tree.. but he didn't get up after that. Unfortunately, the squirrel paid the price for not paying attention to what Marrick was doing at that very moment.. and likely vice-versa. The slump of the body attracted the attention of the other archers, including the potential leader.. who all turned around just in time to see where the arrow came from, revealing Marrick.

Marrick's yell and his foiled assassination attempt at least stopped the bandits from noticing the squirrel quickly bounding from tree branch to tree branch, scanning beneath for potential targets. There were still the two bandits lower down on the ground, now alternating between the caravan and the emerging mercenaries and knights, and shooting at Marrick. There was also that damnable leader, armed with a bow and what looked like complimentary shields and swords sheathed at his sides and back. Well, isn't this going to be fun. He couldn't go for the leader, much as he'd love to, because the man had a heavy-looking metal helmet and attacking from above just.. wasn't going to cut it. He'd have to go for one of the others.. most of whom were wearing lighter variations of animal-hide and leather. Neither of which could deflect the sheer weight of the squirrel dropping from above.

Through the branches, the squirrel could just about catch Ser Iros marching across the gap between the trees and the caravan, his tower shield lifted and pretty much covering all of his body - arrows thudding repeatedly off it and tumbling to the ground shortly afterwards, or embedding themselves with apparently little ill effect. "FOR SYLIR!" he yelled in a booming, baritone voice echoed just barely by one or two mercenaries following swiftly behind.. at least, the ones that weren't on horseback.

[Marrick Corvis]

Everything happened faster than the Kelvic truly wanted. Arrows ricocheted off what little cover he hid behind, and lodged in the dirt all about him. Even if he could leap out of his position to find better cover, he would have more shafts in him than a Ravoki Courtisan. Like a lull in the storm the bow twangs stopped and Marrick spied several of the archers shifting their positions to improve their cover or lay fire down on Ser Iros. Maneuver and attack. These were not just simple highwaymen. Their tactics held a military edge to them. The Kelvic realized there was not enough time to think it out. Survival was paramount, the Cart and rider were escaping while Ser Whitevine was nowhere to be seen. Ser Iros however had advanced to the tree line, along with a majority of the guardsman. Like a child unable to keep from peeking into a boxed gift Marrick stole a glance around the side of the tree. Many of the bowmen were still on the move, maneuvering into a better position of attack and defense. ‘not if Oi can help it yeh bastards.’ The Kelvic thought with ire in his heart as he maneuvered with them to a large boulder near a little stream. The dark haired squire’s heart beat in an insane flutter of adrenaline as he vaulted over fallen logs and roots to slam hard into the boulder, his refuge from darting arrows and scanning eyes. The Kelvic notched another arrow from his pilfered quiver into the bow he carried and slid around the rock with all the slimy cleverness of an eel. His Patrons words echoed in his head as he drew his breath in like a bellows. His arm pulled back bowstring and fletched arrow in the soft hiss of wood against wood and he scanned for his target. As Marrick aimed along the arrow shaft a highwaymen stood clear of cover searching with a most perplexed look on his face as his eyes searched the trees. The Kelvic reasoned that he was likely searching for Archailist. No time to waste stopping that notion. The Kelvic made a sharp squeaking sound by sucking air through his pursed lips after he levelled the arrows broad head at his target. The vagabond’s attentions shifted as Marrick loosed the arrow. The man had but a hairs width of a tic as the shaft buried itself in his chest. The dark haired squire watched with the greasy sensation of knowing that he had wounded the man badly without killing him. The feeling sliced at his heart like a knife. The Kelvic knew he was not an expert bowman, but for whatever strange reason he felt excessively cruel in that moment. The wounded man gasped for air as he fell backward the arrows shaft gripped firmly in his hand. While Marrick shrank back into the cover he had, to the sounds of the wounded highwayman trying to gasp for air, and beg his comrades for help. Yet no sound came save for a soft gurgle. The Kelvic did not realize, but he had already begun to lose his composure. His mind swung back to the last time. It had felt wrong then too. Yet, then he had been coerced. This time he defended a comrade. Surely this was reasonable. The Kelvic was shaken out of his maelstrom of thought by a loud cough and burbled breath. “Here!” came the weak and desperate cry of a man with one foot in the grave. “He’s here!” The injured man was hacking out his life blood and he was warning his comrades? Marrick quickly searched for a new place to take cover but was too little too late. Like a mountain cat about to pounce on his prey, one of the highwaymen leapt atop the rock that the Squire hid behind, dirk drawn. A wild look in his eye, and a menacing sneer on his face he leapt with a shrill battle cry. The Kelvic barely had time to even stand up, before the man was upon him. As the pair fell, somewhere in the writhing confusion Marrick gripped the highwayman’s knife hand in his, as if his life depended on it. The man sat on his chest feebly trying to punch the Kelvic in the head as the dark haired squire redirected the man’s blows with equally frail flailing of his free arm. All the Raven Kelvic could do was focus on the man’s eyes and how close they were to his. They were icy cold, and no question that what he was doing was wrong sailed the pools of those eyes. Then somewhere in the back of his mind he heard the man he shot before gasp a lastly bloodied breath. The sound shook him from his distraction, and he tried to focus on getting out from under this filth. The Vagabonds eyes caught his attention again. That was when the idea occurred to him, just as it would have were he in Bird form. As Marrick batted away another blow to his head the Kelvic drew back his arm as far as he could go and, with what little might he could muster with the space provided, drove his index and middle fingers into the man’s left eye socket. Like a child who’d been poked in the eye while at play he dropped the knife and howled. Just as Marrick had used Oriah’s Tamos the Kelvic picked up the little dagger and slid it fluidly through the scoundrel’s neck. The way the man stopped struggling drew Marricks cognitive mind to the surface as he beheld the flow of blood as it spilled across his arms chest and face. All the dark haired squire could do was look away as the man’s dead weight fell down on top of him.

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[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

The dense network of branches shuddered with the sheer force of the mercenaries and knights on horseback storming towards the highwaymen. Thanks to the diversion created mostly by Marrick and the mostly-silent executions of a few of the forces already there, the group looked like it had a fair chance of making it towards the strong-point that the vagabonds had dug out for themselves. Marrick only seemed to be making it better, and Arch was in no position to let the Kelvic take all the glory from it. His distraction was perfect however - a good selection of the group turned to hear the cries of one of the men farther back in the group, distracting them and even causing three or so to peel away from the small lines in order to take care of the Kelvic. A slightly manic man was closer than the others and managed to slip over the rock before the squirrel had a chance to make his own entrance.. however, the other two that surely would have overwhelmed Marrick were stopped as one had a rather unusual weight land on his shoulder from above.

He stumbled for a moment with his balance upset, and the squirrel wasted no time. Perched on his shoulder, he drove one fist right into the mans cheek and then pulled it back while the other came forwards and extended just enough to slam into the side of the bridge of his nose, sounding a soft cracking sound as it broke and blood began dribbling in excess down his lips and cheeks. He wasn't down for the count, though.. he soon reached up to grab at the squirrel, but all he caught was air. Archailist had already taken the time to turn and slide underneath his thin buckskin, riding it down the length of his spine to be deposited out the back of the bottom and land soundly on the ground between his feet. With one suddenly left bloodied, the other highwayman stopped to watch, unsure how to really help when faced with a squirrel.. but he tried his best anyway, much to Arch's delight. "Hold still, I've got the little shyke!" The man tried to raise a foot and slam it down onto the squirrel, but he was just too slow. Dealing with the same waves of squires and knights who used their brawn instead of brain had left the routine monotonous.

It was a little challenging when the second, bloodied man joined in. Two sets of feet stomping around above him meant that he had to keep running to avoid one, but then leave enough room for the second to make the attempt so that he could evade that as well. They were still clumsy, both trying after the same creature, and an opening appeared when they both tried to make a step on the squirrel and ended up nearly tripping over each-others legs in their haste to be rid of the annoyance. That brief moment of instability was all it took, and the squirrel turned and launched himself straight for the bloodied man's right ankle to slam into it with all of his might. His arms flailed comically as he landed on his arse, and the other would have followed, as the squirrel turned and readied himself for the second attack.. when he fell of his own volition.

For a tick there was confusion and hesitation.. until he saw the mercenary standing to the side with his round shield lowering back to his side. Apparently shields now made excellent clubs as well. By distracting both of the others for long enough, the group had closed the gap and made short work of the front lines. Ser Iros, now dismounted, was engaged in a stand-off with the leader of the group while the other mercenaries were busy fighting with the other vagabonds. There were still one or two archers hidden farther back, though - there were arrows still flying left and right, and one mercenary was lying in the dirt with two arrows embedded in one leg, crying out in pain. Nobody had seen to him yet - either to help him, or to finish off the job. Marrick also seemed fine, thank goodness.. there was so much going on, he needed to take stock of everything so fast. The mercenary that had saved his life was gone already, to deal with another fight.

[Marrick Corvis]

The dead weight squeezed the air out of Marricks lungs as he felt exhaustedly flattened by the sheer mass of the man on top of him. With a low grunt of exertion the Kelvic managed to shove the body until it rolled away. As the dead weight rolled away he kicked away any remaining limbs and crawled to a tree to take cover and catch his breath. The Squires face was slick with blood. It was one thing to fight, another to maim, and something else entirely to kill. yet, somewhere in the darkest part of Marrick's mind he screamed. He had killed before it was true, but he had hated it each time. It was like a part of him died along with the person he fought with. Part of him wanted that struggle for survival. The feeling of being alive when your enemy was dead. Part of him felt shame for letting the animal within him guide his actions. On another level entirely though, Marrick knew that this man had a home once, a family, a mother and a father. Someone cared for him. Visions of camaraderie around a fire with his fellow thieves danced in his minds eye. He saw them laughing, and eating. Patting one another on the back and protecting one another from the elements. Then in his head, Marrick listened in on those conversations a little closer. He heard their boasts of who they'd killed. Who they'd raped. Things they'd stolen. With a quivering hand, the Dark haired squired wiped away the blood from his eyes and searched for the Vagabonds bow. It lay nearby with misted spray of the mans blood on its soft grainy wooden surface. The Raven Kelvic felt a strange sorrow to see a weapon so kindly crafted be abused in such a way. Yet now was not the time or place to be focused on such things. In this moment it was a tool. A tool of death meant to be used, and bent to the will of its user. Blood and dirt smeared across his face, Marrick peered around the large oak he hid behind only to see many of the few remaining thieves fleeing into the wood. Swift as a breeze the Kelvic recovered the bow and drew an arrow by its fletching from the quiver at his hip and notched it. With a deep breath the squire brought the fletching to his cheek and aimed down the shaft at a lone figure as he ran like mad through the wood. Marrick tracked the vagabonds movement as he ran until ultimately he relaxed his arm, and watched as the thief leapt like a deer over a log. With a final jostling of leaves he disappeared into the woods. With a calming exhale Marrick unstrung the bow and hung it over his shoulder with a casual air. Now it was time to get back to the rest of the patrol. As he made his way to the advancing line he unbuttoned the top couple of loops in the deer skin coat letting the air in. With a fastidious rubbing he spat onto his arm and tried to rub his face clean of muck and blood in the hopes that his comrades would recognize him. As he crested a tree covered hill he watched the end of what appeared to be the fight between the Ring Leader and Sir Iros. The great Akalak stood triumphant over his opponent, massive spear at the Vagabonds throat. The man was bloodied and beaten, but he lived and breathed. The Kelvic was astounded that a knight as monstrously intimidating as Sir Iros was capable of mercy, but perhaps the mans life was spared for some alternative design. After all, one cannot interrogate the dead. A couple of the mercenaries drew steel out of habit when they saw the deer skin hide that the squire wore, but quickly lowered their weapons when they realized it was him. Marrick felt a strange numbness in his hands as he came and joined the others about the fallen leader of their attackers. The mans helmet lay dented a few meters away and the Kelvic stooped, picked it up and brought it to the circle of embattled men. The mercenaries had a couple of casualties but they lived. The men would have a few more scars to tell stories about. Yet Marrick could not find any joy in this. He felt winded. As if he'd run for miles, or flown for days. That was until he saw his little Pycon friend. "Glad teh see yer aloive little brother." Marrick said with a struggling smile. "Squire Corvis reportin Ser, two dead, one yielded." The Kelvic breathily spoke. "Where is Sir Whoitevoine?" Not a tick after Marricks question had left his lips did a call rise from deeper in the wood. "SYLIRAS!!" Marrick barely managed a sigh of exasperation before he turned on his heel and bolted toward the sound of his Patron. He ran hard for the noises of battle, unsure of what might have happened.

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[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

It seemed as though they had turned out triumphant. Most, if not all of them thieves that could have, had fled from their posts and disappeared back into the depths from where they'd come. The remainder lay over the battlefield, either bloodied or merely winded and held at knife-point. Other knights would be arriving any moment by now, surely, to assist in carrying the remainder back to the city to be judged, and escort the caravan of travelers into the safety of the city wall. All looked well, and the squirrel stood in a rather triumphant pose not too far from the huge Akalak that was his patron. In a way, despite them being so different in oh-so-many ways, mentally and physically, there was a hint of Ser Iros somewhere in that little squirrel. There might have been a little squirrel in Ser Iros.

They were all out of breath by now, weary.. and yet, the shout that echoed from deeper into the forest sent the squirrel sprinting after Marrick with all his speed. Shyke, when will this all end.. all I want to do is go home and have a nice rest now... He was sure that they all did. Just behind him, he could hear Ser Iros taking command once more to order the mercenaries back towards the caravan. The few prisoners they'd taken, including the leader, were taken back with various blades held to their throats. Once they had Ser Whitevine safe and in their hands, all they'd need to do would be to draw him back to the road once more. What could he possibly have found so deep into the forests here, anyway? Surely they'd found enough of the damn thieves to be able to fill the Tank to the petching brim, they didn't need more of them.

Marrick was much faster than the squirrel, given his size and the length of his legs. Arch was soon lagging behind, panting heavily and flagging his tail in an attempt to clear more room for his legs to move. He'd fought off more of these men than he'd ever even attempted before, nearly come to his death and taken more than a few whacks to his body from being thrown right into the middle of it all... literally!

Suddenly, there was a barking behind him. An all-too-familiar sound that could only mean one thing. "Xarex?" Either the dog had finally grown fed-up of sitting near the wagon while his owner had all the fun beating up thieves, or Ser Iros had already reached the thing and sent the dog out to fetch his master. If it was the latter, the man had moved remarkably fast to do so.. or the squirrel had been moving exceptionally slow. "Come on then, let's go and fetch ourselves a knight." The dog easily overtook the squirrel and stopped before him for just long enough so that Arch could climb up onto his back. Then, with a quick spin, they were off again.

They weaved easily through the trees, ducking under the low branches of bushes blocking their paths and hopping over the small streams that branched out deeper within the Bronze Woods. In little time, they could see Marrick.. but they couldn't catch up with him at his sprint. They may have worked well together as a team, Xarex and Archailist.. but it was still a young relationship they shared, and the squirrel was still rather haphazard when it came to riding on the back of his favourite companion. There still came the occasional stumble, the misdirecting tug of the reins; they'd not be far behind, but they wouldn't be able to take the initiative here.

[Marrick Corvis]

The Kelvic was vaguely aware that Archailist was at his back as he darted over log and stone through the dense woodland toward the sounds of battle. Each footfall brought him closer to his patron and the hope that he yet lived with the onslaught of so many remnants of the brigands. As he grew close the sounds of battle died and the Kelvic felt an overwhelming concern for his Patrons life. Like a clown in a show he burst through a smattering of low shrubberies only to be met with a sight both incredulous and heartening. Ser Whitevine stood atop his horse, his long sword draped casually across the notch in his gorget. And the great lout was laughing… Laughing!!! Marrick could understand the position but it was truly frustrating to have thought his patron was dead, or wounded. The Kelvic stood catching his breath, while he took in the situation around him. His Patron stood flanked by no less than three knights and their squires. It seems he had found another Patrol, and they’d broken away to help them with the threat. The remaining archers knelt with the knight’s lances and spears at their shoulders. It seemed the day was won. Marrick let out a long sigh and took a knee. Now was not the time to yell at his Patron for scaring the shyke out of him. It wasn’t the time to dance triumphant, and look the fool. They had another task ahead now. Take these scoundrels to the tank. The other patrol would likely pick up where they had left off. When Archailist caught up, Marrick gave the little squire and his steed an encouraging nod. “Oi think this is most of em. Save fer the few back with Ser Iros and the Mercenaries.” The Kelvic sighed heavily and unstrung the bow, laying it across his tired shoulders. Ser Whitevine and the other knights set about binding the criminals, while one of their squires presented Marrick with his armor and other gear he’d dropped. “Whats yer name, ladd?” Marrick inquired. “I am Squire Lawrence Redwine.” The squire said as he handed Marrick his things. “I’ll bring up your horse.” Marrick barely had enough time to shout out his thanks before the young man disappeared amidst the knights, squires and horses. The Kelvic shook his head and began undressing. He had to go all the way this time though. He couldn’t just magically manifest into his armor. Marrick stripped down to the clothing the gods had deemed necessary for him. Well, at least there weren’t any women about. Just as Marrick finished his thought, a female knight rode by with a couple of the vagabonds tied to her saddle horn. “Squire, you need to keep your sword in your sheath.” She said with an air of teasing, followed by the snickers of the men she had in tow. Their scathing looks didn’t last long as she gave the ropes about their necks a sharp tug making them bolt forward to prevent their necks from snapping. “Well Pech.” The Kelvic said as he pursed his lips and got to putting his gear back on. When all was back to normal, Squire Redwine had returned with Kiter. The horse looked as relieved as a horse could, clopping her massive bulk up to him and nudging his face happily, a low nicker in her throat. “Alroight lass. Oi’m alroight.” Marrick stroked the horses neck affectionately before stepping around to her side. He stepped into the saddle and lifted himself up into it with a grunt of exertion. He was ready to head home. Yet, one of the squires stopped him. “Squire Corvis, what did you want to do with the archer’s equipment?” Squire Redwine said as he lifted up the deer skin hide clothing. The Kelvic eyed them a moment and took them from his fellow squire. They weren’t the finest clothing in all of syliras, but well made. As was the bow. “Oi think Oi’ll keep them.” The Kelvic said as he stuffed them into one of his saddle bags. “As well as the bow. Twas a foine weapon if Oi ever held one before.” The Kelvic stowed the weapon alongside his issued longbow a look of muffled triumph upon his brow. The adrenaline was starting to lose hold and he felt a strange urge to sob. He shook away the gloom and looked to his new found comrade in arms. “Well, Archailist. Loike I said, eh. Ready the foight a legion o’ brigands n’ thieves.” The Kelvic smiled at his little friend. He was glad to have survived. Yet, Marrick knew other fights loomed in his future like deadly beasts that hungered for his blood. He would have to meet them headon. Though, in this little ball of dirt, this little Pycon Marrick did feel he could take on an enemy twice his size. After all, isn't that what the little squirrel did every fight?

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

When Marrick stopped, the squirrel nearly fell off the back of his mount as they ground to a halt in order to stop themselves smashing straight through his ankles and toppling the other squire in the process. However, what met his lidless eyes nearly had him falling off for an entirely different reason. "Well I'll be damned by Rhysol himself.." he muttered under his voice as he glanced through the knights and their entourage of squires. The battle was over, it seemed.. what few they could find would be taken back now, held for trial. With the battle soon winding down again to normal levels, the squirrel finally had time to sit back and take a breath.. before passing a shyke-eating grin to the other squire, Marrick. "I don't care if we only caught petching one of them. With the shyke we've been though, I'd be happy for just that." He had to face it - what they'd done that day, all of it, was about the biggest amount of luck he'd ever taken upon himself. Not to mention the fact that he'd been thrown across the length of the damn Bronze Woods.

As the others were finishing up rounding the vagabonds and ensuring they'd be secure for their long ride back into the city, and while Marrick was busy getting back into the armour he'd lost during the transformation, the squirrel turned the dog around and slowly made his way back towards the Kabrin Road. It was much longer than he remembered.. but then, he'd been practically driving Xarex at a full sprint on the way there. Once there, he could see the work had already been finished off there as well.

What men hadn't been too severely injured to be able to make the long journey back had been hoisted and lined up, their bindings lashed together with what spare rope could be borrowed from the kind travelers and their mercenaries who now stood together. Those too severely injured - notably, a few that the squirrel sheepishly remembered giving a fairly hard slam on the back of the head - were carefully dragged off and set in the back of the wagon, along with the few that had been injured from the assault that the vagabonds had laid out on the family.

Standing there, looking from atop his mount over the thieves and murderers that lay next to the very same people they had been attacking, in the same cart, being sent off to be helped by whoever they could find back at the city, was somewhat sickening. However, he knew what would happen when it was all done. Each and every one of those vagabonds would be given their justice, one way or another, once they were thrown in the Tank. That didn't stop him from passing a rather mean snarl to those that did pass him. The ones that had seen him recoiled slightly, while the others seemed to merely scoff - it just made him snarl all the harder as they were taken up in their ranks behind the cart.

So engrossed in the procession, the squirrel didn't even notice the Akalak sneaking up behind him until he spoke up. "Easy there, Squire Archailist. There's still a long ride back to the city, and we'll all be needed to keep all of them in check while we make our way there." He nodded quietly to himself as he spoke, before glancing back over the few bodies that littered the ground off to the far side of the wagon. The squirrel could see the message quite plain and clear - he didn't want any of them escaping. He didn't want to have to deal any more damage than had been done already to these people.

The travelers had disbanded from their tight huddle behind the cart, but had never truly left one-anothers company. They were constantly wary whenever near the vagabonds, and were never more than a few feet from another's company. He couldn't blame them, in all truth.. if anything, he felt almost a duty to try and comfort them. Instead, he stayed his ground and kept a close eye on the group as they were slowly wound up. Ser Iros took up a place at the left of the procession, and Arch took the right side. "Come on, Marrick! We need to get going before Syna's light fades on us!"