Placeholder The Little Ones.

[Markus Andres]

91st of Fall 514 AV

The knight tugged the cloak a little closer with his free hand. The fabric seemed entirely too thin in the biting wind. He had endured the bonesnapper in his youth, but Syliras had softened him to biting winter winds. Although it wasn't technically Morwen's time to shine, it certainly felt so to his fingers. It was a constant reminder that he should pick up S'Essy some day and the two of them get prepared for winter. Warm winter clothing. Fur. Everything to ensure that his lover and his future daughter in her belly would not freeze. There was a small koo from the bundle in his other hand and Kvist ceased all thoughts that did not concern his immediate surroundings.

Kvist ducked behind a tree. There was a sense of urgency behind every action, but he knew that already. No need to give in to the feeling and make mistakes. The brief moment of respite gained there was a life saver. The darkness was not as complete as he would have liked, Leth peeked his scarred face above them all and bathed them in his pseudo-luminescent light. The bundle placed on the ground as he made himself as small as possible. Folded in closely so that no light would peek through. Sorry little one. Eyes flickered away from the bundle. The knight sought inwards and felt the energy that consisted of his soul. Beckoned it to obey his will. To forego their natural patterns. A year ago this control would have been a far off dream, but today it responded far more faithfully to his manipulation. Kvist slapped a hand flat against the tree and propelled himself forward in a sudden dash. Bark gnawed into his cold hand – the slap more painful than it ought to have been as it stung his cold hand. He ignored the pain. More important things to worry about. His left hand came forward. Cold steel grasped tightly. Left hand reached out ahead. Fingers closed.

There was a brief shriek. Not brief enough - the others turned in the direction. Kvist cursed to himself under his breath. The struggling man whose blood now warmed Kvist's left hand. The right hand holding a piercing grip on the mouth. Foolish. He had warned himself not to make a mistake and keep himself focused on the task at hand. And he makes such a blunderous mistake that even a bumbling squire wouldn't have made.

Clamp hand around mouth, insert dagger to vitals. Not stab and clamp you petching dolt.

To his own defense, he was not the cloak and dagger type. He was meant for straight up fighting between real men. But he was a pragmatic fighter, so when he had seen the opportunity to reduce the enemies lined against him by one, and had he not made his mistake, it would have been relatively risk free strike. Now that four people had turned around and was looking straight at the knight. Kvist had seen better days. Blue light bathed the faces of the men lined against him. Had there not been more?

Did they really split up to fin- His stream of thoughts was interrupted. ”He's over here!” Came a loud shout. That explains that. Kvist drew a sharp whistle of a breath and the chill tore through his throat as if Morwen had just french kissed him. Winter was going to be rough the knight feared. He twisted the dagger and a sharp breath was exhaled upon his hand. Organs ruptured and twisted open by the unforgiving iron.
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[Markus Andres]

The man fell as a sack of potatoes as Kvist released him. He shrieked the hole way down. His wailing could be heard through the silence of the night for miles around. Stealth was no longer an option, so why bother with the silence. Right hand found his sheathed dagger as he fell and relieved him of the steel. Now armed with a pair of daggers, he stood a little better chance. Hopefully the shrieking man would unnerve the remaining men. Though it seemed they cared enough for their buddy to instead get enraged by the killing. The knight felt the wrath pierce him. There was discipline in these men. Common brigands would have attacked, but these waited for their reinforcements. Kvist felt the ice in his stomach settle. Nerves that had flared before calmed as he took a deep breath. He could not stay still. Could not let them join forces. The magic still moved within him. Powerful as he was, without the magic he would not come through this fight. He looked aside warily. The wind brought the sound of men moving through the forest. The silence of the night broken by shrieks from before him and the more silent sound of twigs and branches being cracked in the cold. He could not stay. They would surround him. Emerald eyes flared as the tactician weighed his options. The options were limited.

Run or fight...

Teeth flashed in a hungry grin as the knight felt the familiar sensation as the cold breath of Dira came upon his neck. The temptation to give in and attack beckoned him. Bade him to go out in a blaze of blood and guts. The coo came again from behind him. Drew the knight back to his senses. Magic was commanded. Wielded as another weapon as the knight took a step forward. Right foot slammed into the ground. The entire body twisted with the motion. Body pivoted around the grounded foot. Energy torqued through his body. Seeking release. The right arm swung down with the full power of the accumulated energy of both the magic and the pent up power of his technique. The dagger in his right hand was released. Flew with an impressive speed, though the accuracy was lacking. It managed to nick a man across the side of his face. The surprised shriek of pain was enough to make the others look to their injured comrade. Fearing that five had now turned into three.

Kvist bothered not wait for them to find out whether or not the fourth man was dead. He knew from the trajectory of the dagger that any damage beyond the superficial would be divine intervention. He had continued the pivot, used the remainder of the energy in his leg to propel him away from the gathered men. He knelt for the briefest of moments as someone shouted a HEY behind him. He raised the bundle of clothes and off into the forest he ran. Someone on the other side of the tree was as surprised as the knight that someone else would emerge from behind the large tree. Eyes went wide. Kvist grimaced as he lowered his right side. Trying to safeguard the bundle from the sudden attacker. He felt something heavy hit his shoulder. It dipped back as the left hand came forth, still holding on to his own dagger. It tore open the man's cheek as Kvist forced it through before his forward momentum forced his shoulder deep into the man's chest.
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[Markus Andres]

Kvist felt warmth in his right shoulder. A chink in the armour that had loosened and cut him open? The man had gotten lucky and managed to pierce him? The knight felt warm blood splatter across his face as the man emptied his lungs in a gasp. Cheeks flapping as the air rushed out. The girl in his arm cried out. A wail that pierced his inner soul. He had hoped she would sleep through it all. Stay calm as she had when he picked her out of the makeshift crib these scum had held her in. Somehow the little girl had calmed the moment he had picked her up. Girls were mysterious creatures. Konti ones even more so – even he who dated one of them didn't know everything about them. Which undoubtedly infuriated the woman he had at home.

Kvist kicked out viciously with his right leg. Foot came across a shin with the bottom. The leg flew back and the man fell face first to the ground. How he wished he was not a glorified bodyguard at that moment. That he could draw the Peacekeeper and slay these men where they stood. He growled as he sped off again. Scouting for a path through the forest that would bring him and the little girl bundled up in blankets to safety. Shouts from behind. Some ahead of him. Sounds of grown men crying out in pain. Some in anger. He noted the direction and turned sharply to the right. The direction that it seemed the least of the sounds came from.

He could hear them behind him. Their heavy boots landing on the hard ground. The underbrush being trampled and destroyed as they pursued him. Slaves were a valuable commodity, enough that these men seemed prepared to die for the gold the little girl in his arms could fetch. Or were they mere kidnappers seeking a quick buck by ransoming her back to her father. Kvist had not bothered with such details, the only fact he had cared about was the location of the scum.

For in the end, it didn't matter, his opinion regarding the kidnappers didn't change. Kvist felt the cold bite as breath turned to mist. He was sweating and halfway deaf from the crying child in his arms. The men would have no trouble tracking him down as long as the child kept crying. Kvist changed direction again and chose a steeper route up a hill. Legs pumped under him. Mist turned thicker as his breath quickened. He could not keep running, but if he turned around to fight, the little girl in his arms would see the blood of men splatter upon her. Even more. Already had he been forced to violence before the innocent little girl. Kvist gritted his teeth as he jumped across a knocked over tree, not yet scavenged for firewood by the city. He felt it burn in his legs as he landed. But he could not stop. Not now. He could hear them. Hear them close in. Grunts as they cleared the tree as well. The sound of one of them falling. A grunt of pain. Kvist didn't bother looking behind himself. They would be there somewhere, darting between the trees. Hunting him down like a pack of wild dogs. Kvist felt the warmth on his right shoulder. The cold of each breath sucked in. There were too many of them. Around him. Everywhere.
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[Markus Andres]

Her piercing wail startled him. Emerald eyes looked at her as he ran on. Now was a good time to scare the shyke out of him, apparently. He held her tighter with his uninjured arm as suddenly jumped across a stream. His feet sunk into the wet and not yet frozen ground. He grimaced as he stabbed the dagger into the ground for support as he pulled himself up again. He slid. His ass found the ground just as one of the men jumped across the gap. Kvist's sudden halt surprised them both and when the man landed he fell as badly as Kvist had. Only his chin didn't hid the soft ground. He smashes his chin against Kvist's shin. Netting a sharp yelp of pain from the knight. Kvist rose the other leg weakly as the fire burned intensely in the drained muscles. He kicked down at the man and he rolled into the tiny stream. Creating a dam of water. Kvist didn't bother spending any time watching as he either drowned or got up again. The bundle wailed again and Kvist found himself running between trees again. Suddenly found himself in relative free fall. There was a sharp drop. One foot hit the ground and Kvist managed to keep himself upright. But for each step he knew he was one step closer to falling. Left arm swung out, a grimace as the wound exploded in pain. The arm found the tree.

From there, things turned to the worse. Kvist pivoted on the foot that had been touching the ground at that moment. All sense of balance turned and twisted as he continued to fall. At one moment, he knew staying upright was downright impossible. So he fell. Landed on his back and the wail that ensued made his heart ache with worry for the baby in his arms. His armoured back slid down the hill. Dragging a long line of dirt, leaves and twigs as he descended. Slowed his descend but tore open his cloak two dozen places. He heard the rip of the fabric, even as the babe in his arms cried her eyes out. Kvist gasped when he hit a rock.

He lay there. Disorientated for several long ticks. He looked around. The darkness seemed to envelop them. Only Leth gave a glimmer of light. As he forced himself to his feet. Eyes swam a little in the darkness. Of in the distance a brief window a light was seen. The outline of a city against the stars. Kvist felt his lungs burn. Realized his lungs had been knocked clear of oxygen. He bent over. Coughed emptiness and saliva. Trying desperately to suck in air. He struggled onwards. Felt the ache of one of his legs after the long scrape. Fortunately the material had not torn, or he'd begun to freeze more than he already did. He knew the direction of the city and he would – eventually – make it there. Sooner or later his lungs would stop burning as the muscles recovered from the blow to his abdomen.
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[Markus Andres]

His shoulder bumped against a tree and he felt tears appear in his left eye as the wounded shoulder protested against the mistreatment. He felt the air slowly seep through to his lungs as he fought onwards. He could not linger. Could not stay. The men would follow him. Catch him and he felt too drained to put up any resistance. He needed to gain some distance. Reach the city proper. Then get through it to the harbour. Insurmountable challenge for some, but Kvist was a knight. And the pride of that simple fact kept the burning muscles going forward. Knowing that out there his gods stood over him and kept him safe from the heinous gods of Ravok. The city was not far. Another couple of chimes and his shoulder would be bumping against houses and not trees.

”Shh, it is okay... We'll be there soon.” He spoke softly. Trying to silence the babe in his arms. The wailing did not stop. He could relate. He was frozen, miserable, muscles ached, heart pumped blood through the wound into the open. He took a deep breath of cold air as he neared the city. Throwing glances over his shoulder every so often. But it seemed the men had given up. There were no sounds of people following him. It was too cold for people to get out, he hoped. Into the streets of Sunberth he stumbled and huddled over the babe as he was as he moved. Still wailing, but Kvist was used to the sound. Only when he was by the ship and the man who had hired him would there be any chance the babe would silence herself. He made a sharp turn when people stumbled out from a tavern. He was sticking to the larger roads. No back alley shyke tonight. The safer and faster route for him. Onto the harbour areas he made it, realized he was some hundred feet away from the ship that had hired him for this simple sounding task – but had been much harder than he had thought.

'Who goes there?'

”The Lion.” The knight simply responded and the man looked perplexed for a moment before he remembered the man who had been hired by their captain. Kvist made his way past the man and into the captains quarters. The man had been awoken just moments earlier it seemed as he was barely dressed. But he rushed over to Kvist and took the still crying babe from his arms and unwrapped the swaddle of cloth that Kvist had used to protect her. The captain held her tight and Kvist leant against the wooden wall as he made a deep sigh of relief. Watching the pale skin of the little girl. The fingers that had webbing between them. The gills – scales on her face. He would be the father of a similar baby in a couple of seasons. Kvist missed S'Essy then. Wanted to go home to the Quay and embrace his lover tightly and tell her he loved her.

Continues here
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[Shakune]

 

Markus

Skills
Flux +2
Dagger +3
Stealth +1
Tactics +2
Intelligence +3
Endurance +2
Running +3
Acrobatics +3
Unarmed Combat +3
Childcare +2

Lores
Sunberth's biting winds.
Stealth: Avoiding Leth's luminescence
Tactics: Recognising a disciplined opponent
Tactics: Run or Fight?
Throwing a dagger with flux
Defending a precious bundle
Girls: Mysterious creatures
Childcare: A soothing voice


Other
A cut approximately 4-5 inches long on Makus' right shoulder from a chink in his armour. Will heal in a 3-5 days.
Several bruises on the shins and knees from jumping over a fallen tree. Will heal naturally in 6-7 days.
Concussion for the next 12 bells from landing on a rock.
General muscle pain from running around and from the cold. A warm bath will ease any discomfort.

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