[Flashback] My Forest! (Markus)

[Rhuryc]

22nd Spring, 510 AV Bronze Woods He was up before the sun. The last, wisping trails of the fire drifted unto the still-dark morning sky, traces of the moon and its blanket of stars visible through brief glances of the forest canopy. The wood was oddly silent. Rhuryc stood vigil in his own fashion, his wounded body held limp as he watched over the graves of the recently fallen. They were strangers. They always would be, but as he understood it they had no one but one another. Strange to have one's slayer give such a courtesy , but what was to be done? Markus needed to sleep and he, will, his arm bothered him too much for such things. He dosed off at one point or another, for sure, yet his night was spent in silent contemplation, watching, guessing, musing over the failings of the previous day's trail. Killing never sat well with the man. No matter if it was to protect himself or others. Though from the exterior there was little sight of such mishaps. Rhuryc was a stone. Bereft of doubt and misgivings, he portrayed nothing less than sheer stoicism in the face of emotion. For now, anyway. The sun rose without fanfare. No birds, no wild calls. Just the crunch of his boots. Rhuryc circled the foreign camp once before he found his way over to his squire companion. He kicked his arm - lightly - then made a swift effort in collecting his gear. He slung his coat over his torso - with a degree of struggle - and slung his shield over an arm, sword then clipped onto his waist at the left hip. This day was going to be wrong. He felt it. "We should get back to our camp." Oh, cooperation? Rhuryc was in a much calmer state of mind. He would not have minded sharing the camp before, but there was always a matter of pride in these situations. "Then we head back to Syliras. Too many more nights out here and I imagine I'll lose the damn arm entirely." At least it did not smell. That was a good sign. Yellow and that rotten smell. Then he knew he was in trouble. He gave the camp one last look. There was nothing useful to be taken - nothing that he bothered to stake claim in, anyway. He had gathered up some of the food, the stray medical supplies, and the flask of alcohol, but otherwise the gear was left alone for whatever scavengers desired it. Anyone lucky to stumble about those golden mizas would definitely have a better day ahead of them. All there was to do now was wait. And so he did, arms folding up under his chest in anticipation. Ah, damn. That hurt. His shoulder complained, burned, then settled itself, making itself heard at the unwanted movement. That would be fun to deal with.

[Markus Andres]

Markus had awoken several times during the night. Never with a sudden jerk. It was always just his eyes shooting open and staring at the darkness. Every time he would feel the minor cut on his shoulder make its presence known. It wasn't much more than an annoyance. After that, it took him a couple of chimes to fall asleep again. His dreams kept being haunted by the image of the lifeless eyes and of deeds before his time with the knights. Something he felt was best left undisturbed. In the morning, despite Markus didn't feel it was so yet, he felt the other male tab him with his foot. A sure sign that he wanted them to get up and go. Markus sat up and stretched his stiff arms, ignoring the aching muscles, to get his body loosened up a bit before the struggles of the new day. He could feel he had overworked himself the previous day in his emotional fit. Markus wasn't in a good mood. He had thought troubling dreams had been a thing of the past. He would have to return to Syliras and discipline himself again. Markus rolled over on his stomach and tried to do a single push up. But found his aching muscles did not work with him. Perhaps he should skip his usual morning ritual that day. It would only make it worse if he trained. He hated when he had to skip his morning practice. He got to his feet and silently picked up all his weapons and gear and the cloth pouch with coins he had found. He already knew what he was going to do with those coins when he got back to Syliras. When Markus was ready he looked around the camp to see if he had forgotten anything. Then he looked for anything he could recognize, what path they had taken. As he did this, he noticed the old man move his arm around he also noticed the signs of pain the old man was making. "If you're ready. Then let's go." Markus had no desire to return to the other camp and be confronted with the man he had left to die there. Should the old man say he was ready, Markus was walk in the direction they had come from the night before. Heading for the camp. It was quite easy to find his way, from the start, as the drag lines of the bodies were still apparent. Something that sent a shudder through his stiff spine. He wasn't in the mood for talking. He just wanted to get back to Syliras and deal with what had happened or forget it had happened.

[Rhuryc]

The return trip was a somber one. Rhuryc was little for conversation, focused as he was on the occasional sharp jolt that seared down his arm. He grunted every so often. Otherwise he made enough ruckus through the forest. Heavy set boots crunched their way across the forest floor while his gear clanked and shifted about, filling the trees with that man-made cacophony. On any other day he would have been aware, alert, paranoid for some haphazard jaunt at his life, but all the plagued his mind was the will to move forward, to make it home before anything else could beat the hell out of his pride. Though maybe it was too late for that. Should he have been listening like he always did the crack in the distance would not have escaped his notice. By the time they came it was too late. Rhuryc spun to his side when he heard it, the sudden rush, the rustling of bushes, all at once men surrounded the duo. One slammed into his torso and pinned his arms against his side while the others maneuvered about. Son of a bitch. Rhuryc shoved his legs into the ground and came down, butting his forehead into the assailant's face. Blood flew. In the recoil Rhuryc freed his arms and locked the bandit's - or whatever the hell he was - head in a lock, twisted his torso, and spun around to face the rest of the crowd. Damn, too many. And they had all gone about acquiring weapons. Blunt ones, maces, some had saps. Did they want the two of them alive? Damn it! With his new hostage, Rhuryc moved with the attackers. He shoved the bastard around with him and used him as a buffer, never ceasing his motions. "Don't let them surround you!" His voice cut through the mess of combat at Markus, that whom he had lost sight on. So he turned his attention on the men around him instead. "Come any closer and he dies." Rhuryc squeezed and the man gasped. The rest did not even hesitated as they stepped forward. There was a snap and Rhuryc released his dead prisoner. When he reached for his blade three of them came at him at once. Steel scraped against leather and the sword came free only in time to have a club beat his shoulder. A torrent of pain interrupted any thoughts he might have had. First came the misery, then came the rage. With a ferocious cry, Rhuryc lifted his wounded arm and grabbed the bastard with the club by the neck. His sword came next. The weapon pierced the man's gullet and stuck out his back. Those few moments were satisfying before something hit Rhuryc from behind. All he saw were spots before he hit the ground, his vision fading to black.

[Markus Andres]

Walking in silence suited Markus well. For he was hardly in a good mood. The face of the man he had killed was imprinted on his mind as he walked. He kept trying to justify the kill. But no matter what, he came back to the same conclusion. He had killed a man. One of his own race. His thoughts were only interrupted when his stiff and sore body ached if he moved in a certain way or moved too quickly. He just followed in the older man's footsteps. Hoping he knew the way back to Syliras. Markus' entire body screamed in protest when he reacted to the same as Rhuryc. They were under attack. Again. How many bandits were there in the forest? As the men appeared from everywhere, the answer was pretty clear: Too many. Markus' first reached down for his bastard sword, but the nearest man was already on him and instincts had him draw the far shorter dagger. He turned his left to the man and suddenly dashed forward. The shield slamming into the man's torso. The follow up attack of Markus stabbing the dagger forward into his guts worked admirably as the man yelled in horror as he staggered away trying to get the dagger out of his guts. Markus figured the man to be out of the fight and instead focused on the other nearer guys. They were way too close for his liking. Too close for him to be able to draw his bastard sword safely. Markus' shield arm went up and he stepped forward and to the right. A mace hit the shield hard, but Markus had expertly angled it so the mace would be deflected down his left side. Markus' hand went forward and smacked the man right in the middle of his face. That was when Rhuryc yelled something that Markus assumed meant he had taken a prisoner. A moment of respite would be good. But to his surprise, none of the attackers hesitated. Markus reached down for his blade and tried to draw it, but had the suddenly jump back as a mace came dangerously close to taking his head off. "We have to break out! Follow me!" Markus yelled as he drew his blade and charged forward again. His blade slashing down with all of the force Markus could bring behind it. It powered through the feeble defense of the mace wielding man and sunk into his shoulder. Markus did not have the time to carefully get his blade free, so instead he just charged into the man and knocked him to the ground, forcing his blade free at the same time. Years of training saved Markus as a mace collided with Markus' hastily raised shield. Markus could see the wood on the inside of the shield break and shower his face in splinters. Markus closed his eyes and felt the splinters sting his face. None drew blood, but Markus certainly felt it. Markus stumbled back, but felt something hard collide with the back of his head and Markus merely slumped to the ground as everything faded to black.

[Rhuryc]

His head throbbed. All he could see were spots at first, the hammering, black depths of sightless vision. Slowly the light drifted into his eyes. A sliver of white. Color came next. Noises filled his ears, boots scuffing across earthen terrain, crunching leaves, incomprehensible voices. Pain followed. His shoulder ached, his wrists burned. Burned? When he tried to move Rhuryc found only resistance. With some struggle he discovered his hands were bound - rope? - and tied to a dead weight behind him. Despite the freedom left to his legs he could barely move. At least they left him his clothing. He was in a clearing. Several men came to and fro, engaged as they were in various activities; seeing to what they could in the make-shift encampment so far off the road. He recognized them. Bandits, slavers, whatever they were, their intent to Rhuryc's fate was clear. From what he could tell it was midday. The canopy did a fine job of obscuring the sky and he was too weak to care. Most of what he saw was blurry. Muted. Greens melded with browns in a mess of design, where the trees ended and sky began was as much a mystery who had captured him. And Markus. That's right, the Knight. Or Squire. Whatever he was, Rhuryc felt a pang of guilt eek down his spine. Damn it. His head reeled in an attempt to locate the man, his eyes barely focusing in a taunt, exhausting purview of the surroundings. Nothing. No one. Just ugly, ill kept men all around. Tents, discarded equipment. There was a wagon not so far away and he could hear the baying of horses nearby. Iron clanked in the distance. Only the sounds of men played for them, the woods about silent in fear of the unnatural. Someone was cooking. The scent of frying meat reminded Rhuryc of his own hunger. And misery. He watched a sentry pace about the outskirts of the site, a man armed with sword and bow whom occasionally sent a glance at the prisoner. That boded well. With a sigh he leaned back and found Markus. The back of his head clattered against another. If he had not been awake before, now that much was certain. Rhuryc almost laughed. Instead, he silenced himself and tuned out the idle chatter of the background, his senses clear as he listened for breathing. There. Good. They were both alive for now. "You alive back there?" He spoke quietly in an attempt to mask his joviality from the captors. "I can't see much, there may be few enough of them to escape." Great plan. Rhuryc neglected to inform even himself of just how they were to do away with their bonds; all he could do was hope that Tyveth really was watching.

[Markus Andres]

Markus eyes opened slowly to a world of pain. His groggy eyes saw everything through a daze and he was quite confused as to what was going on. He was sitting. He could feel that much. He could also taste blood in his mouth. Every single muscle in his body ached, even some he didn't know he had. His head slowly moved from side to side. Trying to understand what was going on. Tents. People moving around. Trees. Weapons scattered. Was he in a squire camp, out training? No. The men were too ill kept. Then he remembered what had happened. He had been captured. These men were hardly knights and squires. They were the opposite. They were scum. His eyes shot open when he realized this and he was about to struggle when something hit him in the back of his head. Markus contemplated doing a reverse head butt to get even with whoever was behind him. Not "whoever". He knew full well who was behind him. ... Yet he still contemplated the idea. Ever since he had met the man, he had either been fighting or in pain. Most often both. The man was his own personal curse. But he decided not to do it, he needed the man if he was to escape. When he spoke, the joviality, although masked, in his voice made Markus reconsider the headbutt. It annoyed him and yet it gave him hope. For if the man could find anything jovial about this situation, that meant he had a plan... Or that he had lost his mind. Markus silently prayed for the former. His hands were bound. That much he could feel. His feet were free. The old man was behind him. There were some tents and some men standing around. Markus could see a pair in the distance argue. Their voices were hushed but their arm movements exaggerated. They often gestured towards the two prisoners. Too often for Markus' taste. Markus tried to get his hands free of the rope. But he was bound too tightly. "I am" He whispered back. Perhaps a bit unnecessary when he could feel him struggle. "Any plans for getting us free?" Markus whispered. His mind slowly recovering. It was good there was someone else there so his mind could jolt back to life all that quicker. Markus looked at the vicinity of his feet. Looking for something sharp. A jagged rock or similar. Nothing. His hands touched around for something to grab. Instead he just touched the old man's back. For a moment Markus was wondering what was going on. Had they tied the two together? "Are your feet also free?" Markus asked in a whisper. "For it seems we are only tied to each other... We could slowly try and move over to somewhere with something sharp we can undo the bonds with..." Markus offered. It was either that or just stand up and keep the bandits at bay with their legs alone. Either case, he would let the old jovial man decide.

[Rhuryc]

"Yeah. I have," Rhuryc paused. Odd. He squirmed around a bit. "...an idea." "OI, PRICK." His voice was like thunder against a drum. The two arguing men so near by stopped their antics and turned, both unsure of what to make of that. For the longest moment they were silent. It wasn't until the second comment that they felt the need to act. "Yah, ya lot there, wass'a mattar, eh? Tha' missus there givun ya trouble? I s'pose ya'jus' gonna hav'ta take her down a peg, hah! Ya know wha' I mean darlins!" The first of the bunch snarled. His footsteps drew monstrous quakes as he stomped his way toward the prisoners. The second fellow was not far behind. He stopped not but a few feet away from Rhuryc. "Shut up, dog, before I feed you to the dogs!" "Ah? Tha' all ya got? Bes' thinkin' I had't wrong sally, ya'r bein' tha woman then? Migh' be lettin' yer husb'n do tha talkin'." Red flared on the bandit's countenance. Fueled with rage, the man stepped forward and raised a boot. Rhuryc met him in kind. He snapped out with a kick and caught a shin. There was a loud 'ooph' and the bandit crashed into his prisoner's torso, his head held just at eye level. Rhuryc's forehead found the bandit's face. There was some blood, but more importantly the man was sent tumbling aside, his companion left with a dull, stupefied look. "Up!" Some plan. Rhuryc pressed his back against Markus and dug his feet into the ground. He pushed against the strength of his 'friend' and lifted himself from their tandem seated position, muscles straining from both the still-fresh wound and the exhaustion of the exercise. They had to move fast, yet it was only a matter of time before the entire camp was up in arms.

[Markus Andres]

When Markus heard his ally yell the word prick, he groaned, partly because of the loud noise close to his ears. Being knocked out cold tended to leave a headache. In Markus' case, the headache was almost the part of him that hurt the least. Markus wondered what the plan might be. He really hoped it was a good one or else this would be the end of them. But he supposed it beat just being executed or ransomed to the knights if they found out Markus was a squire. But he listened to the old man provoke the men. Markus tried to turn his head enough to see what was going on when a second voice joined the fray, but he could see nothing. It seemed that the provocation had worked. Moments later, he heard the bandit make a pained sound and then there was a sudden jerk behind Markus. The old man had done something. Only Markus had no idea what. Markus instinctively reacted when the old man shouted his command. His feet dug into the ground as well and forced him to stand up again. There was nothing like doing squats when half one's body felt closer to death than life. Markus waited a second after standing up, his eyes seeking a way to free his bonds. Another second passed and his ally was still quiet with the follow up plan. The third second Markus realized to his horror that this was the extent of his plan. Standing up had been his plan? "And now wha-, DUCK!" Markus heeded his own command and ducked low as a swipe from one of the nearer scum passed over his head. The man had tried to punch him. The command had perhaps been in vain as the fist had only reach enough to hit himself. Markus instincts took over as he was quick to get up again as the immediate danger had passed. His right foot lifted quickly and precisely as it launched itself directly up between the unprotected legs of his attacker. The man eyes crossed as he yelled in pain as his hands went for his groin. The bottom of Markus' boot found his knee and knocked him to the ground. Markus really disliked kicking. "Choose a direction and go!" Markus ordered as he looked around for the next would-be attacker.

[Rhuryc]

Duck? What? Oh. Oh! Rhuryc felt the tug. He grunted and went low, his knees bending as he shifted his torso toward the ground. There was a commotion from behind, some along the lines of squealing and sorry fall, but there was no time to consider the actions of his companion. As suggested, Rhuryc picked a direction. He tapped Markus' left side and stepped with his right, tugging at first, then practically pulling as he tried to gain speed. The additional hundred and a half or so pounds on his back did not help the endeavor. He moved like an Olympic leper. One foot stomped, the other dragged, all the while he expected the squire behind him to jog backwards. Maybe they could form their own circus. Later. For now they had other concerns. Such as the yelling. Already the camp was stirring. Still caught in their lazy, early morning endeavors, most of the bandits were still as of yet unaware of the attempted escape. That did not include the two men running toward them. With weapons. Tyveth's balls! Rhuryc grunted. "Kick!" That was all the warning Markus received. Up! Rhuryc leaned forward and thrust out his hips, his back straightening and his body turning in a bloody odd motion. He stepped out and, with little more than the strength from his shoulders, he threw Markus about his own self. They spun about one another, or rather, Rhuryc spun the other about, and came a sudden halt at the end of the maneuver. What the hell? He shrugged and sent a sharp kick to the knee of the only standing combatant and followed it with another as the man took an unwilling knee. This time his boot caught a face. Ouch. "We need to cut these bindings."

[Markus Andres]

It was quite strange to be fighting with his hands bound and it took almost no time before Markus no longer felt his body's fatigue from the previous night. Similarly, the pain faded into oblivion as well. He felt the sign from the old man and he instinctively followed, it always felt strange to run backwards, he trusted that his ally had chosen the right path. His eyes went from right to left, trying to see who would pursue them. A word reached his ears. Kick!. Markus was perplexed for a moment and then he was lifted into the air and swung around. Quick thinking had saved Markus from many humiliating defeats against his master. Now that same quick thinking meant a bandit's jaw was dislocated. Markus left foot swung in viciously and got the bandit right in the side of his head, taking him completely by surprise. Markus could feel bone shatter as his foot connected. It felt envigorating! Markus saw the man fly to the side from the kick, before Markus was spun out of view again. As he gathered his senses again, he could hear another bandit succumb to the older man's feet behind him. Markus felt like responding with a very sarcastic reply when he heard the words but he refrained from starting an argument now. Would not be the best of times. "Dagger!" Markus said, his eyes had spotted a dagger on the hips of the man whose jaw he just had dislocated. "Stomp the petch and crouch, I'll get it!" Assuming his ally did as he was told, Markus would crouch over the man's hip and his fingers would be trying to get the dagger unsheathed. After a couple of seconds he managed to get the dagger out. "I got it!" Markus said with joy in his voice, as he got up again. He twisted his head as far around he could and looked as far down his own back. Trying to see the dagger and bindings so he didn't cut into either of them, the gods knew they were both tired and injured enough as it were. Then he flipped the dagger around so it was pointing upwards. Pressed it against their bindings. The muscles on his arms bulged visibly as he cut into the rope. Markus felt a sharp pain from his hand as the dagger suddenly cut through the rope. It seemed he had cut a little up his forearm. Blood dripped from the wound, but he had no time to waste on that. He turned around and started cutting through the bonds that held his ally trapped. Being careful not to cut him like he had himself. "We need to find our gear." Markus said with steel in his voice. He would not abandon his grandfather's blade to be used by the bandits. He held the dagger ready for the attackers that would soon be on them. "Did you get a head count?" Markus asked while looking around for a weapon more suited to him. Meaning a big heavy blade and if he was lucky, a nice sheet of metal or wood to cover his large frame with.