[The Kabrin Road] When in denial (Markus)

[Mikkeyla]

5th of Fall, 511 AV The days were slowly beginning to cool, a welcomed relief from the sweltering heat that had pounded upon the land for most of the season. Summer still maintained a strong grasp on the weather but the gently cooling air gave hope that it would soon be over. A mild breeze swept through the forest and invited the branches of the trees into a slow dance, one that filled the air with a rustle of leaves and a distinct scent of fading greenery. A golden tint was granted to the edges of thick trunks as the sun swiftly fell from the sky, allowing deepening shadows to throw far ahead of bushes and plants. They spread across the road like a delicately crafted lace, effectively creating a play between shadow and light upon the ground as the path carried on toward the south. Breathing in the scent of warm earth and bark, a woman walked with steady steps along the side of the road, not fast due to a heavy limp but with a determination that came from knowing exactly where she was going. A heavy skirt swished for each stride without slowing her down, carried with the same effortless ease as a cat might hold it's tail. From the fold of an arm a basket dangled casually, mostly empty now save for a folded piece of cloth and a pouch of coin. As always the times she got to spend on her own were appreciated, a welcome relief from the hard work on the fields and in the home. It wasn't so much that she enjoyed the bustling crowds within Syliras, but rather how she was allowed to escape the ever watching eyes of the Knights for a while. The feeling of being closed in and confined had grown stronger recently, and was slowly reaching a point where she found it hard to face the high-strung men and woman with a calm face. While she knew it wouldn't help for long, this opportunity to leave the small outpost in order to deliver some of her grandmothers cookies and herbal remedies to an acquainted family had been accepted willingly, even eagerly. Mikkeyla allowed her thoughts to drift as she walked and payed little attention to her surroundings beyond a dreamy appreciation of the milder weather. The road she walked along was without doubt one of the safest in the region, frequently traveled by merchants and farmers alike, and frequently patrolled by the ever present Knights. Making her way southbound from the large city and towards her home a few hours away, the young woman calmly watched the sun sink between the trees and turned her attention inwards, attempting to plan out the remaining tasks of the day while moving. Granny would have a stew cooking by the time she came home and after eating she would need to sit down by the loom and finish the ribbons she were making. They would be needed later, the miza's were slowly beginning to run out and with no news from her father at Evantide Tower it was uncertain whether they would receive any extra funding. Every extra coin they brought in would be needed, without doubt... Shadows slowly darkened around her and deep in thought as she were it wasn't until the sound of voices reached her that she blinked and looked up, pale gray eyes searching ahead to find the source of the noise. It sounded like an argument, deep male tones mixing and cutting each other off in a steadily rising and flowing stream. They grew increasingly louder, until a bend in the road straightened out and revealed two men that stood face to face with one another, arms gesturing and faces wild in their expression as they argued. Mikkeyla felt her brow lower slightly at the sight, and unconsciously she slowed down as she headed closer. She would have to move past them, but the sight of them was unsettling. One of them were tall and thin, with the dark toned skin and dark eyes of a Southerner. He had cloth wrapped around the head and a strange cut to the clothing, and a heavy sword hanging from the hip. The young woman eyed it warily as his hands more than once seemed to draw slightly too close to the hilt, in her eyes he seemed both willing and eager to make use of the steel to prove his point. His companion was slightly more familiar in appearance, clad in the worn leather and sturdy wool of a hunter or pathfinder. He too was armed, with a longbow slung over the shoulder along with a quiver of arrows, and a dagger that looked more like a short sword hanging from the belt. The tanned skin was pale only in comparison to the benshira he stood next to, and as he stared at the other with flaring brown eyes he repeatedly pushed a hand through a mess of dark-blond curls, a frustrated gesture that made Mikk want to think that he was slowly loosing whatever it was they argued about. She did her best to keep eyes and ears to herself as she walked closer, but after a while it was impossible not to perceive the words they flung at one another. More than once she bit back a desire to gasp and blush from embarrassment, the oaths of their curses both musty and oftentimes obscene. Her face slowly grew more and more rigid, and as she came up alongside the fighting men the blonde girl was tense and carefully looked away from the two, hoping to pass unnoticed. It wasn't more than a bells walk left to Mithryn and while the sun had set it was still bright enough to see, so much that when she threw a quick glance over her shoulder she could see two pair of eyes following her uneven march intently, gleaming brown and black orbs not averting even as they realized that she had seen them... Her breath had barely started to catch in the throat before the slender woman found her path hindered by the swarthy southerner and the woodsman at her back. With widening eyes her fingers gripped at the coarse fabric of her woolen skirt, she had to halt if she weren't to bump into the meager chest of the man. The sudden silence seemed to echo between the trees, broken only by the sighing of the wind and her own rapid heartbeat. "Good evening, miss" a smooth voice greeted her. It managed to sound both ominous and threatening, and before she knew it she had tried to turn around, only to be faced by the curly-haired archer. "A little late for such a young lady to be walking alone, is it not" the other said, and smiled towards the her. "She should take more care, someone might try to harm her.." "This road is well traveled and heavily patrolled" she interrupted, and tried to swallow down the uneasy feeling that wanted to clot her throat."Only a fool would try anything at a place like this." "A fool" the black eyed man agreed behind her with a nod, "or someone desperate. You will be allowed to choose whichever you prefer for yourself. I will have to ask you to come with us though. Peacefully, if you will, since it'd be a shame to add scratches to that pretty skin of yours."Mikkeyla flinched and tried to slip away from the hand that reached out towards her, but couldn't make her leg move fast enough. Rough fingers closed around her wrist, and as she lifted the basket to angrily fling it at his face the other arm was grasped from behind, her retaliation prevented by a quick motion from the woodsman. The seriousness of the situation was slowly beginning to dawn on her, and along with it the dreamy calm of the woman was replaced by hissing anger. "Release me! I will not go anywhere, you hear me? Let me the petch go, I said!" She struggled against the grip on her arms and tried to kick the men on the knees, hissing and swearing like the farm girl she was as they began to drag her towards the edge of the forest. Cold chills of terror washed down her back, this was not good, this could never end well. It was desperate and bound to be nothing more than a waste of air, but even so Mikkeyla threw her head back, the thick blonde braid bouncing against her back as she gave up a scream, shrill and desperate enough to send a nearby flock of birds into the air in a flurry of feathers and caws.

[Markus Andres]

It had been a tough couple of days for Markus. After his spar with Xalet a day and a half ago, he had ventured into the wilds to spend a night under the open sky. Practice his Wilderness Survival so he was ready to travel alone when the time for his knighting quest came. It had been a very rough night and his usually shiny armor was dotted with dirt and mud and what not. His body felt sore and a dozen small scratches or the likes dotted his body underneath the metal armor. He trotted along through the forest. Trying desperately to find the Kabrin Road again so he could walk in relative safety back to Syliras and avoid getting lost. Again. He was wearing his dark colored cloak over his armor. So he was practically a shade moving through the forest. His metal boots were covered with linen as not to make too much noise as he walked. But an occasional squeak from the joints in the armor. He had his shield strapped to his back. His Bastard Sword on his left hip and further up below his left armpit, a dagger was located. Markus felt quite safe as he moved through the night. But still, his senses were alert. He did not want to be ambushed by any wild animals. But then a shrill and desperate scream echoed through the silent forest, accompanied by the sound of birds flying away in terror. With barely a conscious thought, Markus was running in the direction of the scream. His left hand reaching back and taking his shield. His feet steadily pumped below him. Putting him well past a speed where he could easily control himself. But Markus had already gone past the point of self-preservation. He felt like he could crash through a tree if it was in his path. His eyes were accustomed to the darkness and when he came closer, he could make out the figures in the darkness. Two figures holding a third. Visible under the moon light. Trying to drag someone into the forest on the other side of the road. Anger flared in him as he leaped out onto the open road and stood for a brief moment and observed the two thugs. Conjuring up a battle plan in his mind before he was moving forward again. He drew his blade as he ran. No easy feat with a blade of his size. In a heartbeat he crossed the road. He judged the range and When he came in range of the thug on the girl's right side. His shield would be thrust forward, the edge of the shield, metal edge, would be aimed at the man on the girl's left side. The horizontally held shield was aimed at the man's right arm. An arm that would most likely break by the sudden attack. His sword hand would cross his body and with the metal gauntlet and hilt of his blade, he would attempt to strike him in the middle of his stupid face. With either the hilt of the blade, or just the metal gauntlet, Markus assumed the man would be hurting too much to be an immediate problem and he could focus on the other man. He would point the blade in his direction and stab at his arm. Trying to stay clear of the girl. He didn't want to accidentally stab her. Markus had a lot of experience with the Bastard Sword. The stab at the man was aimed to only draw blood. Only nick the man's arm so he would let go of the girl. He didn't want it to turn into a hostage situation. "Let go of her, or I will kill you where you stand." Markus yelled in a deadly authoritative tone of voice. Markus almost hoped the man would try and struggle, just so he could rid the world of his worthless existence. He could feel his anger at the man. Almost driving him to outright murdering him.

[Mikkeyla]

A hard slap over her face cut off the scream and jarred her mind, for a moment ceasing her struggle against the hard hands. Voices cursed at her, Mikkeyla tried to stop the steady march towards the darkening forest and scraped her feet over the ground. The shadows beneath the trees frightened her beyond belief, she didn't want to be taken in between them where no one would be able to find her. She didn't notice the arrival of another until the dark-skinned man on her left suddenly jerked to the side, the sickening sound of impact with his face making the young woman recoil. She felt the grip on both her wrists loosen and jerked herself free, her legs moving her away from the men as quickly as she could with her limping stride. Once she thought herself clear of the most immediate danger the blonde woman turned around, eyes wide and startled as she saw what happened before her. The black-eyed southerner cradled his arm with a dark expression on his face, blood trickling from his broken nose as he slowly creept back and away from the unexpected intruder. The curly-haired hunter had let go of the girl and moved back, the stabbing sword only tearing his sleeve and dealing no real damage; the bow was in his hand with an arrow already at the ready. His eyes were wild as he looked between Mikkeyla and the armed opponent, trying to decide who to aim at. His hands looked like they were shaking, the surprise attack apparently not something that had been discussed before. "Not the girl, idiot!" his comrade hissed with pained voice, his steps unsteady as he tried to get closer to Mikkeyla. She shrank back in turn, eyes looking wildly around the large circle that had been formed, with her on one side, the shield-carrying man on the opposite and with the villains placed on either side of them. The archer swallowed and did as told, the bow creaking as it was plied and lifted, aimed towards the sword-bearing attacker. "This is no time to play hero, boy. Turn around and walk away, this is not your fight" the southerner warned, his injured arm left to dangle as he reached for his sword with the left hand. Sweat beaded at his forehead and there was a desperate gleam in his eyes that overruled the pain he must be feeling. Mikkeyla took a step back as she watched them both turn towards the interfering person, hands rising to her mouth to hold back a gasp. She was grateful that he had arrived, but by Syna how young he was! Probably no older than her if even that, and now he had two opponents to fight. Words pressed on her tongue, she wanted to say something but didn't dare. What it she drew the attention of the wrong person?

[Markus Andres]

Markus blade only cut through his sleeve. Annoyance coursed through his body. If he had just hit the darned arm he could have avoided what happened next. The man quickly pulled back the string and Markus had a hostage situation at hand. But then the man's buddy gave him an advice that Markus felt was incredibly stupid. Aim at the battle ready and almost honor bound squire, rather than taking a hostage. Markus was not about to squander that chance away. When the bow was firmly set upon Markus, he didn't waste a moment. He swung the shield in front of his body. Ducked his head below the edge of the shield and ducked his body. To have the shield cover as much of his body as possible. "Get to safety!" Markus ordered before his legs propelled him forward at an astonishing dash. The metal heater shield leading his short charge into the archer, hopefully. Markus let a powerful primal yell emanate from his lungs. A yell of intense and pure hatred. Unless the archer was quick to side step, he would find a 200+ pounds heavy guy slamming a metal heater shield into him. He would turn the shield a little to the left to give him enough space for the next attack. He thrust his bastard sword forward. Aiming to pierce it through the man's abdomen. The man had had his chance to surrender. Now, Markus had no choice but to kill the man. He had done it before. He could do it again. Markus would expect his blade to pierce the man completely. Should it succeed in piercing the man and mortally wound, if not outright kill him, Markus would waste no time trying to try and wiggle his blade free, he had to be quick. Very quick. He would simply leave the blade in the man and instead his sword arm would unsheathe his dagger by his left side as he spun around to face the man he had attacked first. If the girl had not heeded his word to get away, Markus would quickly get between her and the remaining man. Watching him with eyes bordering between a deadly calm and a seemingly endless pool of hatred and despise. Just waiting for the man to give Markus an opening so he could plunge the dagger into his chest and remove the man's worthless life from the face of the world.

[Mikkeyla]

The archer seemed to realize his mistake as the intruder came charging towards him with the shield covering most of his body. Mikkeyla pressed her hands firmly over the mouth to suppress a shriek as the twang of the bowstring sent the arrow flying towards the young fighter, sizzling through the air only to bounce harmlessly off the shield, the force great enough to leave a dent in the metal. The command of her helper made the young woman flinch and took a halting step towards the road, then another - her limbs felt heavy and stiff and even with her best effort she couldn't manage to move faster than a slow jog that was made awkward by her heavy limp. Watching from the corner of her eyes she could see how the archer tried to nock another arrow to the string, his face pale and the hands shaking from apparent fear as the armed man came charging towards him. Taking the full force of the slam he stumbled back, dropped the bow and screamed in pain as the long sword dug into his body. The sound of metal cutting through flesh made the girl sick to her stomach, she tried to close her eyes to avoid seeing the horrible crimson that rushed out from his gut - stumbling on blindly, her foot was caught by a root and she fell to the ground, the air pressing out of her with a silent huff. Meanwhile the dark-skinned thug pressed forward towards the young squire, carefully watching the battle. Seeming to be far more competent than the fumbling archer he kept his distance and adjusted his grip on the scimitar in his left hand, keeping an eye on the girl and on the light-haired attacker that had ruined his day so thoroughly. With the broken arm hanging limp along the side he slipped forward, knees bent and the sword held low before him as he tried to cut off the defender from the girl - grimacing as his comrade fell and his attempt at claiming a hostage failed his attention was focused on the man, teeth clenched into something that might be a grin. "You sure about this, boy?" he wheezed with rough voice and shifted the weight to the front of his feet, carefully watching the terrain around them and planning his next strike. "Now it's your dagger against my sword, and unlike you I don't have anything to protect. All the shieldwork in the world can't keep you from getting hurt. There's still a chance to back out..." The girl shuddered at the chill of his voice and rolled over to her back, peering at the southerner from behind the back of the squire. She didn't like the implication that she was being a burden - even though it was true - and clumsily stumbled up on her feet with dirt and leaves clinging to the heavy skirt and her hair. Her heart was beating quickly, adrenaline and fear seeping through her as she looked between the injured brute and the tall youngster before her, unsure what she should do. The violence displayed by these men had thrown her off guard, numbed her mind and made it hard to think - she was a farmer, not someone accustomed to facing these kinds of situations. If anyone ever really were. How the blond man before her could remain so undisturbed by the shedding of blood was beyond her, it was as strange as the complete lack of emotion the remaining brute showed at the loss of his comrade. But those were unimportant thoughts. The real question now was, what was she supposed to do? She couldn't run, and it didn't feel right to leave the young fighter there alone when she was the cause of all this, and to be a burden and be in the way was something Mikkeyla simply couldn't stand. She had to make herself useful somehow, so that the situation wouldn't get any worse... A stir to the side brought her attention to the archer, who lay slumped on the ground with the sword still jutting morbidly out of his gut. The girl gave the fighters a quick glance and stepped back, giving them a wide berth as she began to inch her way towards the dying thug, with a vague thought forming as she gazed at the bow and arrow beside him. At the same time the strangely clad foreigner slipped forward with practiced ease as he swung the curved sword quickly in a whip-like motion, aiming low towards the left leg of the squire before pulling back again, black eyes wary and grim as they met with his opponents gaze.

[Markus Andres]

There was nothing but disgust in Markus eyes as he looked at the remaining criminal. He had been at the hands of such men before. Never again. He would root out their corrupting presence from the lands. No matter how long he had to work for that goal. His eyes narrowed on the man and his face turned into a scowl when he dared speak to him. Try and have him back out. Markus snorted at his offer. Apparently this guy didn't know what a Syliran Knight was all about. Markus looked to the broken arm. Then the scimitar. Then back at the face. A humorless grin crossed his lips. "You got a broken arm. Your nose looks like shyke... Of course, judging from the rest of your ugly mug, that seems normal for you. Why don't you surrender your weapon before I cut you down like the worthless piece of shyke you are." Markus would respond confidently. Perhaps arrogantly. But there was a reason for his mocking tone. Angry people were sloppy fighters and the scum did had one valid point. Markus was wielding a dagger rather than his usual bastard sword. Still, every part of his body was hoping the man would make the mistake of attacking Markus. A mistake the man made. The squire's combat instincts kicked in and the shield was lowered to intercept the attack at his leg. The odd blade was easily deflected, but Markus was a bit surprised at the proficiency of the scum. The man knew how to wield that scimitar. Markus had no time to look into the eyes of the man. His eyes were focused on his chest. Where he could see any movement the man made. But Markus was not one to lean back and let someone attack him repeatedly. He was an offensive fighter. None of that defensive shyke for him. He would quickly counterattack. Step forward and to his own right with the shield protecting his front and left side from any slashes with that blasted scimitar. Markus' right arm would shoot out quickly from below in an upward fashion. His aim was to have the dagger go in between the ribs on his left side and strike at his vital organs. But his training with the dagger had not been as throughout as his practice with the bastard sword. So the aim was off. And he aimed far lower than intended. Around the area of the guts instead. Hoping he had put enough power in the thrust to pierce the scum's armor.

[Mikkeyla]

A heavy snort left little doubt about what the robber thought of the vehement challenge. For a moment a wry smirk twisted the ugly face, his face difficult to read but with something close to eagerness gleaming deep down within the dark gaze. The thug quickly turned his head to the side and spat on the ground, a disgusting lob of blood and spit that served as a rude dismissal of the terms of the arrogant whelp. Attacking with surprising skill, the clang of metal against metal as the shield blocked his sword didn't seem to phase the way man save fort a grimace as the connection of armament appeared to jar his broken arm. The step backwards was taken in a fluid movement. With an ease that was put off only slightly by the dangling arm the swarthy man spun away to his right and slipped away from the clumsily aimed dagger, avoiding damage save for a long rip on the shirt. Making use of his momentum and the short reach of the dagger, the left hand twisted the heavy sword slightly in an attempt to get past the shield and slash at the back shoulders of the young squire before regaining the balance behind him. Should the sword miss and hit the shield, the thug would instead aim a kick towards the back of Markus left knee, hoping to make him loose balance or even fall down. Sweat beaded on the dark brow of the man, likely from pain as much as the effort to move on the soft ground where rocks and roots made the footing precarious. There were plenty of things to trip on, even without the help of the black-eyed bandit. Meanwhile, Mikkeyla watched the fight from the corner of her eyes as she slowly made her way over to the dying hunter. Her mind felt strangely empty as she bent down and picked up the bow, as if she was watching the events from outside herself. If there was emotions passing through she wasn't aware, everything was turning into a blur and it was impossible to say what was right and wrong, good or bad at that moment. The weight of the weapon felt strange in her hand, the fingers trembling as she reached for the quiver and pulled out an arrow. The man on the ground was pale and reeked of blood, it was impossible to see if he was still breathing; even so, just to be on the safe side the young girl made sure to keep distance between them. Her mouth felt dry, the teeth clattering against one another as she fumbled with the weapon, trying to attach the arrow to the string and ply it. The task was difficult with hands that shook from hurry, and as she saw the southerner try to get in behind the blond young man she winced, worried that the shield-carrying boy wouldn't be able to block it. If he got hurt it would be her fault.. With a deep breath the young woman finally managed to get everything right and pulled the string back clumsily with her right arm, while the left trembled from the strain of holding the big bow up and plied. The tip of her tongue darted quickly over the lips as she aimed towards the two combatants, sweating and praying that she would be able to hold until she got a clear shot of the thug - the last thing she wanted was to hit the man that had come to help her.

[Markus Andres]

As the dagger missed the target, Markus barely registered the fact. For he knew what that meant. A counter attack was imminent. Markus had underestimated the dirty scumbag. A mistake he hoped he would live to not make again. The man escaped to Markus' right, it was easy to guess the direction of the attack. And had he been given more time, Markus could probably have thought of a full defensive position on the go, but he didn't have time to do much more than rely on his instincts. Markus slid his right leg back a little as he withdrew his right arm. His legs bent as he crouched lower and his shield was raised to block any downwards blows. It was the best he could do in the situation he had put himself in. A reminder he needed to train with other weapons than his usual bastard sword. A lesson he should have learned when he was captured in the mines almost a year ago. But the man had went for Markus' shoulders or head. Either way, Markus would have been done for had he not ducked below the strike. The wicked scimitar would hit the top of Markus' shield and be deflected by the metal edge. Markus' feet dug slightly into the ground as he pressed off. There was a flare of hatred in his eyes. One that had only been shown rarely since that botched mining mission. He had been put in a position of helplessness by a dirty scum. If only for a brief moment where he was in the power of that man. It was a moment too long. His legs where like springs pushed too far as he suddenly pushed off. The shield leading into the stomach of the man foolish enough to face Markus in real battle. Markus felt something hit his thigh as he jumped forward. The man had probably tried to kick Markus. But he barely felt it. He had one goal in his mind. Kill the man who had put him into that position. With the thug having only one foot on the ground, Markus knew he would be hard pressed to escape justice. The dagger would whip out below the shield as Markus continued to push the man in front of him. Not give him time to regain his balance. The dagger would whip out below the shield again and again into the guts of the thug. Sooner or later the man would have to die from the wounds Markus could be inflicting.

[Emblem]

Congratulations! You Get Glorious Experience! Markus Skills Dagger- 4 XP Shield- 2 XP Bastard Sword- 2 XP Tactics- 1 XP Lores A Damsel in Distress Comments : It's a shame the thread couldn't be finished but it was a good read regardless. Hopefully the lores and skills make sense, and if not, go ahead and PM me!