Atulon's Pass (Full)(Started!)

[Sporky111]

Orson couldn't help but worry about Seiben. The soldier was in poor shape, and seemed to only be getting worse. Unlike Orson's wound, which only hurt when he moved to much or too fast, Seiben's seemed to be causing him constant pain. And while both were cold and pale from his blood loss, Orson felt that was on the road to recovery while Seiben was quaking and looked as if he could breathe his last at any time. It felt unfair.

Earlier that day, Orson had asked Rinus to let him lead one of the carts instead of ride in the infirmary. He'd argued that riding a slow horse would be low-stress and that he'd still be able to be of service, instead of a liability. But between Rinus and Iemben, they'd decided he wasn't yet well enough. So Orson was left feeling like a neutered dog; without his armor and without his sword, and denied his need to assist those he was charged to protect.

"Stay strong." he said to Seiben, laying a hand on the soldier's thigh. He sounded optimistic, but he couldn't help but feel hopeless in this place. Any place for the infirm was split between recovery and death. But he felt there was nothing but death being held at bay around him. He couldn't imagine how the doctor was dealing with it.

The wagon lurched forward a step as the horse became restless, and Orson put a hand beside him to steady himself. He was sitting closest to the back of the wagon, with his back against the side. Letting out another sigh, he reached under his cloak and pulled out a small packet that Ochrem had given him. Inside was a mixture of various herbs, and while Orson didn't know anything about herbal medicine, he could smell a bit of mint in the concoction. And maybe some tobacco, but he wasn't sure on that. But he had been told it would relieve his pain, and he trusted his grandfather more than anyone else, so he took a pinch from the packet and pushed it under his tongue as he'd been told to. It tasted vile, and as soon as it was in place he spit on the ground to try and rid himself of the taste. It stayed in his mouth for several minutes, but after a while he found that it had a numbing effect on his mouth first so he couldn't taste it anymore.
[hr]A bit farther ahead, Ochrem was watching as his son and daughter-in-law packed their belongings. They had made him promise to stay with them from now on, since his frequent and almost fanatical rushes to check on Orson were starting to worry them. He might get lost and left-behind, or trampled, now that the convoy was moving again.

"Iemben will take good care of him, Dad. And Orson looks to be gaining his strength back already."

"Yes, yes . . . " Ochrem said. The mood was solemn for all of them, still mostly in shock from having the youngest of their family so close to death.

Spoiler

I think I can take control of Weiss, and perhaps Elliara.

 

[Lost In The Void]

Felon winced as his horse walked forward. While nothing had been broken, a few of his ribs had been cracked and that made any activity hell. Despite this he rode in his attire anyway, to show the crowd that despite the fight, he was alright and would be ready to defend them at anytime. It was a simple message to send, but one that these villagers needed more than ever. With the barbarians drawing nearing everyday he had to be ready; not just physically, but mentally. This wasn't the first battle that he thought he would fall in, but after their last encounter, well this was the first battle he feared of dying in, before it had even started.

Emma was with the rest of the women walking while tending to supplies, children and other such small work while the caravan slowly moved through the snow and ice. She kept going back to her thoughts from the night before. It was a stunning revelation to be sure and she wanted to tell Felon about it; now she feared that he would think she was grasping at straws though. For now she busied herself so she wouldn't think too much on it. She looked up to see him stoic and proud in the saddle of his horse trotting towards her. In one smooth movement he swung from the saddle and landed on the crisp snow with a small wince

Felon looked at the surprised face of Emma; he was here because he needed to apologize to her for his rude behaviour; there had been more graceful and polite ways to turn down her proposition and he had ignored them for simple avoidance. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head, "M'lady will you forgive me for my actions the night before? They were most improper and unworthy of the immediate dismissal I gave you a simple forenight ago."

Emma was shocked, he was apologizing for his abrupt departure from her tent and she didn't know what to do in this situation, she had never had a knight apologize before, much less beg for her forgiveness. She gave a small smile and shyly and most of all very quietly, "I forgive you brave knight, go in peace."

Felon rose and returned the smile, "Thank you m'lady, I shall seek you after camp tonight, we may discuss further actions and such at that time," he remounted his horse and trotted back to the line of soldiers. His bruised ribs may not have healed yet, but his bruised pride was very healthy now.

 

[Yorgmiester]

The villagers packed hastily, eager to be under way now that the sun was bright and the sky was clear. The comfort of hot food from the night before was still warm in their bellies, and thoughts of darkness and fear were now hidden slightly under the heated facade of fire-dried clothing. The valley and mountains around it looked almost inviting now, to their hope-fed eyes.

As the sun slowly climbed over the eastern peaks the caravan set off, making for the center of the valley where the trees were thick. They kept about half a mile from the stream, on the north side, to avoid any enemies who may be watching it. The soldiers began their scouting rotations, riding far to the north and south, near the edges of the valley where visibility was best. At midday they came across the tracks of a large group headed in a southwesterly direction, and only an hour later Yan returned with news of an enemy party visible on the far side of the valley, headed west. The caravan continued onward at a quicker pace, keeping towards the northern edge of the forest. The temperature continued to rise as the morning passed into afternoon, and the refugees made good time.

The day's first scare came abruptly when both Buyir and Aryana returned from their scouting runs with news that the large enemy party had doubled back and were headed swiftly eastward, towards them, on the northern side of the valley. Thoughts of capture and death ran rampant among the villagers, but panicked was averted. The caravan made a hasty cut across the valley to the southern side of the river, hoping to dodge the oncoming enemy. Half an hour later and the scouts reported that they had narrowly escaped; the Easterners had continued onward and apparently headed out of the valley at the east end.

Most of the villagers were in high spirits now, having braved death yet again. The sun was still high and the weather still clear. It looked as though the sky would stay open for another day at least, and for the villagers the journey ahead now looked bright. The enemy was left behind, having clearly given up on the search.

While the sun finally began to dip away behind the western mountains ahead of them the caravan drew near to the valley's first major bend. Soon they would lose sight of the Highburn Gap and plunge into the deep shadows of the mountain crevasses. They stopped briefly in a grove of pines to put some food in their stomachs against the coming night's chill. A small, concealed fire was started to warm some blankets and water for the wounded, but no other light was permitted. Despite their apparent safety Rinus wasn't about to abandon caution, not while they were still within the enemy's reach.

~~~​

Silas nudged the pile of frosted meat and fur with the tip of his boot, taking it in with disapproving eyes. "Hell.."

He and several other soldiers were standing around the carcass of a horse which had been discovered a short distance from camp. Its legs were bloody and bruised, frozen foam clung to its lips, and a cruel-looking arrow protruded from it's side. It's tracks came from the southeast, and the rider's tracks headed almost due north. Whoever it was had survived, obviously, but were now riderless. They weren't far off though; the steed's body was still hot.

"One of ours?" Buyir asked fearfully, noting the Imperial design of the saddle and trappings.

"I think all of us are accounted for." Silas replied. "Jutani and Lera are the only ones out there right now, I think, and neither of em' were supposed be near here. Besides, why would they take off northward?"

Rinus arrived at a brisk pace and observed the horse quickly, noting the condition, the saddle, and the arrow. He then turned to those gathered around with a grave expression. "Lera just got back. She spotted another enemy warband. They just disappeared beyond the valley's bend however, and they came from the south."

The soldiers were silent. This meant that, at the very least, their path ahead was blocked. It also brought up the possibility that there was yet another group of enemies nearby, a third one, that they hadn't spotted. It was unlikely that the group Lera had seen would have been anywhere near this spot; the kill was still fresh, probably only an hour old. There was also the uncomfortable possibility that this horse belonged to Jutani, the only scout who was still out there. He was supposed to be away northwards, but...

Rinus stirred, his decision made. "Felon and Weiss: follow those tracks. Swiftly. The rider can't have gone far, especially if he's wounded. If you can't find him in fifteen minutes, though, give up. I'm not gonna lose two men for one. The rest of us will keep heading west with the villagers."

"What about the enemies around the bend?" Samuel asked, his tone dark. "The valley is gonna be pretty thin from here on out. It'll be hard to avoid them.

"We'll just have to hope we can sneak by." Rinus replied. The other possible course nagged at the back of his mind, but he wasn't ready to resign them to that. Not yet. The warning of Shilas still rung in his head.

Spoiler: OOC

Ok, things are about to get a bit complicated. I'm about to post some explanation in the usergroup.

 

[The Hairminator]

Yan eyed the dead horse lying in the snow. The arrow crudely burrowed in its belly was eastern in its design, so unless the enemy had some internal conflicts, it wasn't one of them. The horse itself didn't look like the significantly smaller, but strong horses the easterners favored.

After Vin's death Yan had chose a new horse. This time a dark brown stallion captured after the skirmish, presumably the steed of an officer of some sort, as it was among the finest horses he had seen. It was different, however. The new stallion not as high as Vin had been, but what it lacked in size it had in muscle power. It had an unruly temperament, and lacked Vin's calm intelligence, but was at the same time probably less doubtful in battle. It had been with sad smile he gave his new horse its name. He hoped the spirits of the dead would not haunt him for it, but he had named his new horse Krin.

Yan kept on riding, a fair bit infront of the others now, scanning for movement. His mind, however, was elsewhere. Thoughts about Aryana was as usual occupying his head, he imagined her eyes on his back, watching him from afar. After what had happened the other day she was bound to hate him, and though he never could imagine himself thinking it, it was probably a lot safer and less painful emotionally. Yan himself was eager to see his next battle, a warrior's death was the only thing left for him now.

 

[Lost In The Void]

Felon nodded and moved his horse onto the trail created by the rider's footprints. The man might be hurt and needed to be found. He motioned for Weiss to follow him and the two began to trot through the snow. Though his primary thoughts were on locating the rider and figuring out what was going on in terms of the Barbarian's troop movements, he was also trying to decide what to do about the own going ons in his life. Was it right for him to even attempt to court Emma? Was it proper to make her love a soldier that could vanish at any day? Was love worth that?

A warm embrace of love is wonderful and better than the cold embrace of death

Of course that was true but would the two nullify each other in the long run, or in his case; what could be a very short run. He would have asked someone but he had long since affirmed to himself that others had their own problems and he would not burden them with his issues as well; for now it was time to find their target. His eyes glanced down to see a few speckled drops of blood that would have been invisible if not for their sharp contrast against the white snow they trekked against.

He spoke to Weiss, "So he is injured, we need to quicken our pace."

 

[revolverwolf]

How long had she been moving? Minutes, hours, days? The concept of time was lost on her. All she could feel were her aching limbs struggling to keep her moving northwards. She kept the cold at bay as best she could, her fur scarf was wrapped tightly around her neck and she kept her arms close to her chest to keep the warmth in her, making sure to apply pressure to the bloody wound on her right arm. She could feel the warm blood flowing; how she'd managed to keep herself alive for this long when the rest of her unit had presumably been slain was a wonder.

Not that it would matter to try and understand now. Death was inevitable for her; she'd be staring eye-to-eye with Vfraar soon enough. Be it by an Eastern-forged blade or the mountain frost, death was closing in on her. She almost questioned why the Syn'Eir had let her live through the battle just to have her die now; what purpose could it serve them? Maybe she could ask when she died...

She brushed a frozen curl of blonde hair from her vision, along with several dozens of flecks of ice and snow, trying to see clearly where she was going. She looked in each direction, quietly dreading the ever-present possibility of Easterners sitting just beyond her sight, and her right hand drifted to her sword to make sure it remained in her reach. She wouldn?t be able to fight with any sort of efficiency or skill, but just knowing she still had her sword with her made her a little less paranoid.

Her footsteps started to slow as her ears picked up noises among the blowing of wind. Something was moving closer from behind her, faster than she was able to move. Had the Easterners been able to find her again? It didn?t sound like enough to be another lot of Easterners, she thought it was only a few noticeable hoof beats in the snow, but they might have sent a few scouts out to come find her. She took an unsteady breath in, turned where she stood and drew her longsword from its scabbard, ready to defend herself as best she could.

 

[Sporky111]

Weiss kicked his horse into a swift gallop at Felon's urging. His horse's hooves churned and threw the snow with each step, and the low branches were whipped aside in the their wake.

The soldier regretted the waste of the horse's life, and he wanted to do his best to make sure it's rider didn't share the same fate. The blood worried him, this person was obviously injured. How badly, he couldn't know. But he hoped it wasn't as bad as he feared.

He broke through a branch and pulled hard on his reins, bracing himself as his horse dug in to stop itself. In front of him was likely the person they were seeking.

"We're not here to hurt you." he said quickly, noting the weapon she was holding and the fact that she looked in no way like the enemy. But his hand fell to his sword's hilt, just in case. "We're part of a caravan fleeing into the mountains . . . it appears we share an enemy." He added that last bit as he saw the deep red stain on her arm, "We want to help you."

 

[Shapsters]

Aryana's eyes drifted away from the dead horse, seeing the poor beast reminded her of Vin, which of course brought her mind back to what she had been temporarily distracted from. Her now saddened gray eyes stared into the back of the man she so dearly loved, he rode ahead on his new stocky and powerful looking horse, his tall, lanky frame bobbed back and forth as he blankly looked forward. The Yan she fell in love with was gone, it was as simple as that, she could see it in his eyes, the way he held himself and his stature. Sure the enemy and the general circumstances surrounding the last few weeks took a toll on everyone but it was more than that for Yan, and it was all her fault. She let herself fall for him and by her actions let him fall for her, her emotions got a hold of her she held no regard for the consequences of her actions. No more than a month ago Aryana would have thought everything through, thought of the pros and cons of every action. Now suddenly she just threw all that out the window because she fell for a soldier? Disrespect and ignore everything her father taught her about how to live life just because of Yan?

Well no longer. The old Aryana is back, more cold and calculated than ever before. Her ignorant and foolish actions will never again be the cause of a death, even if it was to the point of being a cold hearted ***** she would not make the same mistake again.

"What's your name?" A quiet voice murmured at her from the ground, glancing down Aryana saw a young girl, no more than nine or ten. The little girls brown hair hung in front of her kind, innocent eyes and a slight smile spread across her face.

Useless conversation, wouldn't want this girl getting attached to me should I fall in battle

Aryana turned her head back up and blankly stared forward.

 

[revolverwolf]

Jovy breathed a sigh of warm relief and sheathed her weapon as the man spoke, satisfied that the two soldiers were not Easterners. Even in her current state, with her vision unclear, she could tell that they were not Eastern in origin. They had managed to keep her death at bay for a little longer rather than cutting it short, for one. Not only that, but he said a caravan of people was nearby too. A caravan meant people, people meant supplies. At least one of the Syn'Eir must really have been smiling upon her today. She would have to thank them properly later.

However, one word he said had not made her feel as relieved: fleeing. It meant the Easterners were after this caravan too. She feared another encounter with them, the visions of her unit lying butchered and dead in the blood-soaked snow were still heavily imprinted in her mind and she doubted that they would ever truly fade, but accepting their help and risking another encounter was preferable by far to a certain death alone.

She didn't want to waste what was left of her strength with too many words or make herself more cold by lowering her scarf to speak so, in reply to the rider, she nodded.

 

[Sporky111]

Leading his horse closer to their charge, Weiss dismounted and offered to help the soldier into the saddle. Her injured arm was troubling, so he didn't want to risk hurting her more by just pulling her up.

He steadied her as she put a foot in the stirrup, then tiredly settled herself in the saddle. Weiss then climbed up after her and sat behind her, wrapping his arms around her torso and taking the reins.

"It won't be long before we can get you safe." he assured her, giving Felon a nod before setting off at a swift pace back toward the camp.

Spoiler

I was giving LITV a chance to post, but this was taking too long.

 

[Yorgmiester]

Dusk deepened around the villagers as they continued their westward march at a quickened pace. They were under the shadows of the western mountains now; the cold was once again bitter. Bodies shivered beneath tightly wrapped cloaks and shawls. They ran close to one another but tripped and stumbled in the deep snow, casting their eyes about the darkening wood in fear. Uphill their feet now labored, and the valley's first bend approached, the high and rocky ridges that enclosed it looming high before them. As if to take advantage of their plight the wind returned in strength, blowing mercilessly down from the valley ahead of them, stinging their faces and slowing their steps.

Rinus reigned in his horse and turned around briefly to gaze at the valley behind them. The visibility was far too good for his comfort; the large group of slow-moving civilians would be much more exposed than experienced warriors, barbarians or no. He felt danger approaching. A familiar apprehension rode the wind. The captain could see the Felon and Weiss through the trees on the slope below, only a couple hundred yards away, swiftly catching up with the caravan. It was good to know they were unharmed, but the fact that he could so clearly see them from still so far a distance was unnerving.

Rinus shook his head and started to turn his horse around when his eyes suddenly caught something, and he yanked the reigns back. The horse snorted in surprise, and nearby Buyir suddenly gave a loud cry, for he too had seen what had stayed Rinus' eyes; about eighty yards behind Felon and Weiss a dozen dark shapes sped through the trees, swiftly closing the distance.

"Enemy riders!" Rinus yelled, spurring his horse. The steed leapt forward in a flurry of snow, but it's valiant charge was halted, for at that moment the true nature of their peril was made known.

All around the crowd of villagers snow and branches were flung apart, and upwards rose a host of bowmen, their arrows drawn! No sooner had the Imperial soldiers realized their enemy's sudden appearance than had they let their missiles fly. The cruel song of bow strings filled the air and the caravan halted abruptly as arrows penetrated it from all sides. Terror and chaos instantly descended as villagers screamed and fell, and horses wheeled in madness at their sudden entrapment. Blood painted the snow.

 

[Lost In The Void]

"No!" Felon yelled as the volley of arrows rushed through the air and stained the snow red with the blood of the villagers.

He was then thrown to the ground as his horse took an arrow in its flank and spooked. Felon shakily stood up and saw they were surrounded. There were many times in his life he thought he would be dead, but none seemed as close as this one. He pulled his bow from its sheath and knocked an arrow, pulling back, feeling the frost on the string crack as the string was strained. Finally he released the arrow and struck one of the barbarians, time was slow but the arrows quick as they struck the snow around him, one of the deadly missiles barely missing his head, drawing a small cut on his cheek.

It was as if he was in shock though, not from blood loss but from their entire mission seemingly ending right here, what a waste he thought as he watched the chaos unfold around him. The only thing awakening him was a scream that he recognized. Mostly because he had heard it all those years ago, "Emma," he whispered to himself before running through the camp, the heat scorching his cold face and causing the frozen ice in his eyelashes to set into his eyes.

An old vow echoed through his head as he ran

Through life and death, till the final breath
Forgone and alone, travels on roads of dust
come to an end, together as one.
Together forever till life we depart.

Those words were the final ones he spoke at his wedding and the funeral of his family. These words drove him on, he would not lose another person in his life to this Void that threatened to consume him. He came upon a crossbowman who tried to sight him up for a shot. Felon tackled him into the snow and the two wrestled for a while the bow being fumbled between the two men. Finally Felon overtook the man and fired a bolt into the man's leg, causing him to holler with pain before Felon snapped his neck, silencing him.

He looked for the source of the scream and saw a barbarian dragging Emma across the snow by the hair. Felon raised the crossbow and sighted up the brute. The man saw Felon and pulled up Emma in front of him as a shield, laughing, showing the broken teeth in his mouth. Felon continued to aim. He pulled the trigger.

Emma had tried to help the women and children when the attack happened. She had picked up the sword of a dead barbarian and shakily went to find the group of children; she was going to do her part for the group, she had to do something. Thats when she had been jumped by one of the brutes, she swung once and felt a warm sensation across her face. She saw the man's gasp of shock and the blood splattered on her hands and sword. She took in a sharp breath and fell backwards out of shock.

This was when another barbarian grabbed her roughly by the hair and slapped her when she tried to scream. She screamed anyways as he began to drag her across the snow, walking like he was on a mission all of himself. Her heart stopped as she realized what she was going to be used for once this was over, she didn't want it to end like this, not as some pig's toy. She was interrupted as she was hauled up by her hair. She saw Felon with a crossbow and a fire in his eyes that she hadn't ever seen before. The barbarian yelled something incoherable and Felon refused to move. The brute yelled once more and raised a knife. It was at this moment that she heard a twang and then a deadly missile headed towards her. She screamed. She then felt as if the pressure was lifted off of her hair and the man behind her toppled over gurgling blood as the bolt was trapped in his open mouth. Emma collapsed out of shock and her vision faded just as Felon ran up to her.

Felon watched as the barbarian had toppled after his shot and was happy with his work. Emma then collapsed and he ran to her side, lifting her up and carrying her to where a few more of the villagers were trying to take cover, "Take care of her!" he yelled, "And I will take care of you!"

He then loaded the crossbow with another bolt from the quiver he had obtained from the barbarians and began to periodically fire at the hoard, while taking cover behind a charred cart to avoid being struck himself. He still wondered how much time he had left.

 

[The Hairminator]

Yan did not have to use his tactical thinking to realize the ambush was a tactical nightmare. From scouting in the front he could see the real scenario, unless a miracle occurred, this was bound to become a slaughter. With a growing feeling of panic, though without any hesitation, he retrieved the bow from his back. He quickly turned his horse and jammed his heels into its sides setting his newfound runner into a gallop. He could feel animal's muscles work furiously underneath him as the horse accelerated faster than anything Yan had ever experienced.

He had barely pulled his first arrow out of its quiver when he came in range of the first enemies, who had now partially started to charge on the villagers who had taken cover behind dead horses and carts. He put the arrow on the string, and quickly sent it flying towards a cluster of enemies. Yan figured he would still have some time before the archers would target him. He was wrong.

Krin the horse was now nearing the center of the battle. Yan gravely missed his next arrow, sending it flying way too high, as his ever charging steed pressed on and carelessly ran over an easterner in its fearless rampaging. As Yan pulled the reins it gave off a satisfied neigh. He had at least named the horse right, he thought in a sudden notion of dry humor.

The sound of an arrow swooshed by close to his ear, and scanning his surroundings he could see that there were more to come. Still bow in hand, Yan quickly dismounted. Still in the cover by his horse he slowly ran his fingerless gloves up and down the length of his family bow. He felt the inscripted ancient runes. His father had told them the meanings of them all once, but Yan only remembered the ones for courage and concentration. He would need both those virtues now, or he would surely be a dead man.

Happy that his horse was still standing -the easterners probably wanted all the loot they could get- Yan ran away from the cover of his horse in favor of an already dead steed. As he came closer he realized it was Felon's, but the man was nowhere to be seen, dead or alive. Without further hesitance Yan pulled the remainder of his arrows out of his quiver, he quickly counted them to be around a dozen, and jammed all but one loosely down in the ground. From the cover of the horse, Yan started to pick off the remaining archers, one by one.

The battle had made him realize that he wanted to live. If not for himself, to protect the innocents of the village. The dead on the ground around him served now only to motivate him more. But more importantly- Aryana.
He remembered what his mother had told him on her death bed:

"Live life to the fullest, and always follow your heart."

Yan had made a decision. After this battle he was going to set things right. He could feel a small part of his old cheerful self that he had thought was lost forever coming back.

 

[revolverwolf]

Jovy's blood froze still in her veins as she heard the cry go up and then the pain and anger of her earlier fight returned to her. She'd already seen enough of this death to become familiar with it, but by no means had she dulled to it. Each scream recalled horrid images of her earlier encounter with the Easterners but, as a soldier, she had to block them all out.

She knew she had to help these soldiers and villagers somehow, even in her current state. She doubted that victory in any form would come easily to them but even if she only killed one Easterner that would bring victory that much closer. She brought her spear to her left side, guiding it with her stronger hand. Her grip was weaker than usual and her strength was drained, but both were still enough for her to be able to pierce an Easterner's armour. Weiss could guide the horse to the Eastern-born foes and dispatch them with his sword; Jovy would do as much as she was able to help against the attackers.

 

[Shapsters]

"Shit."

Aryana did not immediately jump into physical action however her mind immediately began to run. Knowing her shooting wasn't as accurate on horseback she decided she would ride toward the battle but jump off the horse when she got close enough. By now her horse had taken off into a run, thundering toward the battle as arrows flew over her head,

"Keep your heads down!" she roared, hoping the villagers would be quick enough to avoid the flying arrows and cut down on casualties.

Eventually she had gotten as close as she felt she needed to be, slowing her horse down slightly she jumped off the steed, going into a roll she stood up and began running toward the soldiers. Pulling her bow out she loaded her first arrow, firing immediately into the crowd of enemy soldiers she missed. Her next arrow however struck a soldier directly in the chest, gripping his chest he sputtered and fell to the ground. Looking around at her fellow soldiers she needed to keep an eye on them, slightly hesitating as her vision came across Yan.

Shaking her head she brought her mind back into the battle, pulling out another arrow she prepared to fire another shot.

 

[Sporky111]

Spoiler

Oh shit, I was so sure I'd posted in here. Major brain-fart, I'm sorry.

Weiss ducked down instinctively as the chorus of snapping bowstrings surrounded them. A bolt deflected off his helmet with a loud *clang* making his vision blacken momentarily. But he didn't allow himself to be taken so easily. With a shake of his head, he set the horse at a gallop in an arbitrary direction as he surveyed the scene.

A hard lump formed in his throat as he saw the area around the caravan littered with bodies and stained red with blood. It was disgusting, a tragic waste.

He yanked his steed's reins and turned to the left, moving toward the forest where the easterners were flooding toward them. He would kill today, and he wouldn't regret it. Not if it would protect all the villagers from certain death.

The soldier in the saddle with him brandished her spear and killed the first enemy they met, and Weiss gave a grim nod. He drew his own sword and brought it down on an easterner from the opposite side. Bone cracked and blood sprayed, and Weiss wrenched his sword free before the man could even stumble forward.

"Can you keep this up?" he shouted to the woman with him, not even knowing her name yet. With her arm injured, he didn't know how much she could fight. And when she couldn't they'd both be in danger.
[hr]SEGWAY. If you can read this, good for you.[hr]
The infirmary wagon was rattled with the sound of hollow thumps and tearing fabric as the first volley of arrows fell upon them. Orson shouted and lurched forward as a sharp pain pierced his back. With a gasp of pain, he turned around and saw the tip of an arrow protruding through the wall of the wagon. The cruel metal tip was stained red, but Orson could tell it wasn't terribly serious of a wound.

The still-recovering soldier looked at the other occupants of the wagon. Some were hit, but with them already in poor condition any injury might be fatal.

Orson wasn't going to sit down anymore. They might have told him to stay for the ride, but he wouldn't under the attack. He gritted his teeth and swung his legs off the edge of the wagon, dropping to the ground. He held his stomach and grimaced, then recovered and ran to the front of the wagon. The man who had been leading them was on the ground with an arrow holding his arm to the side of his chest, a trail of blood flowing out of his mouth and nose.

Dismissing the difficult sight, Orson went to the large chest on the wagon. He knew that inside it was the gear he'd been wearing when he was hurt before. There would be no time to don his armor, but he could at least get his sword.

Pulling open the wooden box, he was lucky to find his weapon laying right on top. Looking over his shoulder once to see that it was clear for the moment, the decided to get his shield too. It took a few moments to remove it from the rest of his armor, as it seemed they had simply torn it all off him in order to get to his wound.

Sliding his hand into the gauntlet and holding the shield, he was just in time to hear the bloodthirsty howl of one of their foreign enemies behind him.

He whirled and raised his shield to catch a downward swing of the brute's mace. The impact sent a sickening jolt through him, making his stomach scream in protest. Orson shouted and kicked the man between the legs, then bashed him in the face with the shield. He stumbled back in shock and pain, and Orson wasted no time delivering the killing strike to his throat.

Tasting blood on his lips, Orson went to the back of the wagon unsure if it was his or not. But he had to defend what he could, whether he died or not. His damaged body protested every move he made, and by the time he got to his chosen post he was forced to lurch forward and spill the contents of his stomach.

 

[Yorgmiester]

Despite their valor the soldier's steeds were too great a target. An arrow struck Weiss' saddle just behind his leg and the tip scraped against his horse's flank; the animal whinnied in pain but did not waver. A second whirred beneath its legs, and a third sliced the air just above its head, tearing a gruesome gash in the poor beasts ear. Still it fought on. Before it suddenly their stood a wall of spearmen, their shields broad and their lances long. There was nowhere to go but forward, and so through their ranks it sprung, its hooves dashing their shoulders while the weapons of his riders clashed with steel. A spear narrowly grazed its neck, but then it was free. Trampling over the last of the pikemen it rushed onwards. A single warrior ran towards it, an axe brandished, and the horse stormed towards the man to ride him down.

But the warrior leapt to the side suddenly, and raised his shield! Weiss' blade tore into the woven leather but did not pierce the wood beneath, and the warrior swung his axe as they passed by, and carved the horses' leg. The animal screamed and fell to the side, throwing its riders to the frozen ground.

Enemies began to converge around the fallen riders. The axeman who had brought them down rushed towards the woman, his bloody weapon held high above his head and a cruel yell of victory and bloodlust on his lips.

~​

"To me! To me!" Rinus cried, galloping to the center of the caravan where villagers were gathered tightly around the cover of the carts. Some of the soldiers mustered to his call and surrounded the blockade with shields raised high; but many more still had been caught up by the chaos and now fought far from the group's defenses. A dull lump clenched in the captain's throat as he witnessed a horse carrying two of the newcomers go down hard, far out of his reach. More terrible still were the dozens upon dozens of villagers now beyond help, running wildly amidst the melee and falling like farm fowl in a raid of wolves. There was nothing he could do.

"To me!" he roared again, his voice hoarse and raw from the bitter air. Riding swiftly to the large knot of villagers and defenders in the middle of the battle he leaped from the saddle and ran to their side, curling his shield down off of his back in a fluid motion as it shuddered under the strike of a missile. An enemy brute lunged in from his right; he parried the blow and drove the edge of his shield into the man's torso.

A trio of long metal spikes suddenly sprouted from the Easterner's chest, and he was lifted from the ground. A spray of blood accompanied his horrified scream, and then his body was forced back down into the snow. Griger Lucas put one heavy foot on the warrior's back and yanked out his pitchfork. A fiery vengeance was in the big lumberjack's eyes, and he nodded at Rinus with something like recognition.

Behind Griger stood Shilas, firing arrows into the enemy from the partial cover of a dead ox. Next to him was Io, shouting insults and heresies at the Easterners and obliterating anyone foolish enough to come over their barricade. At her feet, huddled against the oxen's corpse, sat two children and a young woman, their bodies shaking and tears streaming down their faces.

"How far to the nearest entrance?" Rinus asked fiercely as he stepped close to Shilas. An enemy ran against his shield and he pushed it off, running his sword through the man's neck.

"A few miles. It is only just below that ravine!" Shilas pointed northward. In the dark and heat of battle Rinus could see little of the mountain's details, and he had not much time to look. Still his mind worked feverishly, even as he side-stepped a rushing spearman and sliced open the man's back.

~​

Though the sturdy walls of the infirmary wagon enclosed him and the other soldiers fought valiantly all around it, Seiben felt far from safe. Arrows were constantly sailing over the edges of the cart like waves over the railings of a ship. Already half of the wagon's occupants had been struck; two had died where they lay. Orson was gone, though Seiben couldn't remember when it was he left. He was probably dead.

The rear gate of the wagon suddenly fell ajar as an arrow struck one of its rusted hinges. Seiben stretched to catch a brief glimpse of the battle without, but ducked back down as a long javelin abruptly flew through the opening.

The cruel weapon pierced straight through an old woman's stomach, pinning her to the opposite end of the wagon. A look of shock spasmed onto her face for a moment, replaced quickly by horror. She screamed and cried and struggled against the wooden rod embedded in her body as the doctor and his wife rushed to her side with towels and water. Blood spurted and poured from the horrendous hole with every anguished, jerking movement the woman's body made. Seiben turned away and vomited into the corner.

~​

William watched the soldier's heroic rescue with awe. The way he fought so ferociously for that woman; he killed with ease and brutal efficiency, and yet also with grave reverence. His shots were sure and true as if guided by righteous fervor. The boy had never seen one so attuned with the nature of death. It seemed sad in a way, but also beautiful. It was intriguing.

Holding his bow close to his chest and taking a deep breath, William sprinted across the snow from his shelter by the food wagon to the small overturned cart behind which the soldier had taken cover. It was not a long distance nor particularly exposed, though to him it seemed like a wide open shooting range. Arrows flew overhead, and although none were actually near him or meant for his undoing, they felt extremely perilous. He threw himself to the snow next to the bowman and huddled up next to the comforting wood of the cart, his eyes wide with fear and excitement despite himself.

"I am William." he mumbled under his breath as he got to his knees and peered over the edge of the cart. He wasn't sure why he had told the soldier his name; it didn't seem likely the man would care. The boy felt suddenly foolish. He hurriedly drew and knocked an arrow, though he knew not what he was intending to do with it. He had never shot a man before.

Resting the shaft on a wooden edge he took aim at the Easterners. Suddenly his hands were shaking, something that had never happened to him before. His grip was always steady and strong! Glancing at the heroic bowman next to him, William noticed with surprise that he too had faltered; but not for the same reason. Nerves did not stay the archer's hand. No, a band of the enemy had grown smart and were now advancing rapidly on their position in a wall formation, with broad shields overlapped like dragon scales and spears thrust forward. William swallowed hard and gripped his bow tighter. His left hand drifted to the hilt of his hunting dagger. He had never stabbed a man either.

~​

Looking about himself Yan saw that his chosen position behind the dead horse was flung far out from the rest of his allies. The enemy was now not only before him, but around him. He heard the sounds of battle behind him and realized that he had been cut off from the others. Casting his gaze around the battlefield he could see no sign of Krin.

A mighty roar caught Yan's attention, and his eyes fell on a huge brute of a man standing thirty or so yards away from him. Even in the freezing snow this hulking easterner wore nothing but a pair of crude leather boots covered in metal studs; the rest of his body was completely bare and caked with dried blood. In one hand he held a chain, attached at the end to a splintering block of wood laden with metal spikes. In the other he held a long, curved, black scimitar. Two arrows already protruded from his chest and back, yet they phased him little. Still he grinned and laughed harshly, pointing his blade at Yan in challenge. Then he sprinted forward, dragging his gladiator weapon behind him and swinging his scimitar wildly in the air.

~​

As Aryana fought she felt her back suddenly collide with something, and she twirled around, sword drawn into the air to block a blow. Her blade caught a hatchet covered in blood. She recognized the man carrying it as Kristof, one of the villagers from Highburn. He too recognized his mistake, though barely it seemed. His eyes were bloodshot and wide with fury, or fear, and as he lowered his hatchet and turned away he glared at her, like a dog warning someone away from its food.

An easterner rushed towards him as he turned around, and with a blood-curling scream of anger he tore the enemy's arm clean off with one swing of his axe. The shocked man barely had time to stumble backwards before Kristof landed the bit of his hatchet deep into the Easterner's head. He swung again, and then again, a new layer of blood coating his body and face with each impact. His crimson teeth were bared in a feral snarl. Grasping at the body as it fell, Kristof dug his fingers into the Easterner's now featureless pulp of a face and brought his hatchet down on its neck. With another scream he flung the head into the air.

Another pair of enemies approached, and Kristof flung himself against them with abandon, ripping their bodies to shreds as his axe coated the snow with their blood and entrails. Aryana's eyes were drawn to the ground around this villager; the snow could no longer be seen under the heaps of unrecognizable bodies, pools of blood, and mangled pieces of flesh. At the center of it all lay the cold bodies of Kristof's wife and babe, both pierced with many cruel arrows. He would not leave their side.

~​

 

[The Hairminator]

"Alright, big boy.. You wanna fight?" Yan mumbled to himself as the giant of a man started his charge. Without breaking eye contact Yan pulled up his last arrow and put it on the string. There was still time, he could survive this.

Yan's shot was more or less flawless, making its way towards the man's neck with tremendous force, but the giant warrior twisted his torso and the arrow instead embedded itself in his swords arm's elbow. The man gave off a grunt of pain, but did not for a second slow his charge. Yan realized his best bet of taking his opponent down was gone, but maybe the ravaging of his enemy's sword arm would give him enough of an edge.

The man was now closing in, menacingly swinging his chained maul in circles behind his back. The first swing passed narrowly above Yan's head, but a roll to the side saved it from being crushed. In the time it took for his enemy to seize his momentum and turn around, Yan had already prepared his shortsword along with his dagger, holding one in each hand. He decided to try to end this as fast as possible, as he would prefer to not have other easterners attracted into the duel. He charged.

As he closed in on the still turning man, he visualized the few next seconds in his head. Hopefully the brute would fight exactly like he was supposed to. The flail suddenly came flying against him again, and Yan barely had time to put up his sword as shield. The chain wrapped itself around the blade, and eventually yanked it out of Yan's grip with a tremendous force. Only the dagger left now.
But it had worked- Yan was now within the man's reach with the flail, and the arm with the Scimitar would be severely weakened -he hoped-. He also hoped that the man wouldn't get the idea to crush him with his body weight, at least not yet.

As the brute once again raised his arm for a blow, but this time with the weakened arm, Yan grabbed a hold of it, managing to slow it down. With his other hand Yan quickly jammed the dagger to the hilt into the man's exposed armpit. Yan's face was soaked in a cascade of blood as the man dropped to his knees, gasping for air with a punctured lung and quickly going into shock. With a killers cold Yan put his boot to the man's equally exposed ribs, and used it as balance as he pulled the dagger out. He stabbed the man again, but this time in the neck.

Yan could feel it, the adrenaline, the bloodthirst... The excitement of battle was easily forgotten by one occupying his time by fleeing. But then he remembered the people being massacred not far away, and he immediately felt bad for his thoughts. He had better things to do- like regrouping with the others.

 

[Lost In The Void]

Felon looked at the boy, he seemed terrified and Felon could understand why. This wasn't a small skirmish against the barbarians, this wasn't a small civil dispute, not when you looked at it from their perspective. This, to many, was their first taste of death, human evil and the other various factors in invasions and wars. He glanced over the cover again; they were still employing the "Dragon Scale" technique as it was called by the barbarians. Felon knew it by its true name. The phalanx was one of the best defences against archers, but it had a weakness, every formation had a weakness. There were a few in this case, most of which they needed more men. There was one though, that Felon could start, but he would need this boy's help, "William," he said stoically, "This is your chance to be a hero, all you need to do is stay behind this cart and stay hidden well enough to not be a target for them," Felon knew he was gambling with the boy's life but in this case, he had no other choice, "I will be back once I've distracted the men."

Felon moved from cover to cover while the troops advanced on his old position. He took cover once he was on par with the side of the formation, the armour of the phalanx was only in the front and as the Dragon's were said to have one glaring weakness, Felon had located one here. He pulled a crossbow bolt and fired into the gap in the formation, bringing down the man, he hoped that this would be the start of the battle's turning tide.

 

[revolverwolf]

It should have ended right there for Jovy. If not for the adrenaline rushing in her veins she'd have been conversing with the Syn'Eir within the next moments, as an axe buried itself deep within the snow her torso had just rested upon. Her quick half-roll ended as she pulled her sword from its scabbard and drove it under the attacker's ribs. His bloodthirsty shout became quiet and she kicked the axeman away with all the strength she could muster.

Any enemy could kill her as she lay on the ground; no amount of intervention could prevent a sword from slicing her neck or a spear from piercing her heart, so she forced herself to stand. As she reached a point that could be considered standing she pulled the shield from her back and tried to focus her attention on an Easterner. She stumbled backwards as a sword clashed against her shield and she thrust forwards with her sword in an attempt to strike back.