Progeny (Hadrian)

[Imass]

Ser Imass gripped his shield with all his strength and large bolts slammed into the makeshift shield wall. For a moment, the Knight ignored Trente who was huddling under him. Looking through the slit of his helmet, Ser Imass noticed that the juggernaut was bounding to the center of the street, taunting the Knights. His arm began to burn as he held his large round shield high over head. The young man tried to stand straight in his dazed state to confirm he was ready to fight, but Imass pushed him down again with a gauntleted fist, "Down!" One of the bolts glanced off shields and clattered through the defense. It almost got stuck in Trente's face but instead it slammed into the dirt.

As the shield was being hit with arrows, Imass laid out the basic plan while yelling, "We engage after the next volley. We will hold the center," Imass said to the bigger of the two Knights, "you send for horse and lasso quick, get the neck!" The smaller Knight nodded, "Zeltivan, you cut the achilles tendon or hamstring. Be safe. We are counting on you."

The clatter of arrows stopped and the group broke formation. One ran towards the fighting cavalry down the street. Imass and the other Knight sprinted directly to the Juggernaut. Imass yelled at him, "Fight me coward!!!" the Juggernaut turned and wailed loudly. Standing side to side with his brother, the Akalak got into his stance.

No more time for thinking. He clasped his shield close to his heart and exhaled. The Knight would stand toe to toe with the Juggernaut regardless of the consequence. He had taken a vow. He had made a promise. It was his duty. He held his broadsword at his right hip, tip pointed at his opponent's face. His brother took up his stance next to him. The Juggernaut attacked.

A giant mace came down towards Imass. The Knight took two slid steps backwards by pushing off his leading foot. The giant's weapon smashed into the floor kicking up dust. The Knight instinctively started to move to his right. His partner's sword came down on the gaint's hand to no avail.

The mace came down again aimed at Imass, the Knight slid a step back again narrowly dodging the weapon again. All his attention was on the Juggernaut now as the tunnel vision set in. The other Knight threw another hack, but nothing happened. The Juggernaut turned his attention to the other Knight. Imass charged trying to stab the giant but instead he was backhanded with a fist as big as his head.

Vibrations went through his shield and into his arm. Before he could blink he found himself with his back on the floor. Popping back up to his feet, he noticed the other Knight was crushed by the giant mace. Before he could act though the Juggernaut backhanded him again. Vibrations went through his shield arm again and his shoulder was on fire from the strain.

Imass stared the Juggernaut in the eyes and tried to edge away on the floor. No armor would protect him from such a massive blow. He had no idea how to fight this beast, there was nothing he could do but rebuke him, "Your a craven and a coward!" His words where meaningless, but he got a laugh from the giant.

A massive mace was raised in the sky block out the sun. Everything went quiet for Imass. His death was near, but the Knight was not scared. Death on the battlefield would be an honorable way to die...

Suddenly, without warning the Juggernaut buckled. Horses brayed and galloped in the distance.

[Trente]

*
Trente lay sprawled a moment on the ground following Ser Imass' strike, his mind leaving stretches of light behind that which moved around him. It was, perhaps, at that point when Trente truly realized what had happened to him. He reached up and touched the thin tube of metal lodged in his left arm and with a wince extracted it, against his better judgement. With a disgusted look he tossed the ammunition aside and kipped to his feet, stumbling horribly as he held desperately to his equilibrium at the land.

The volley ended and the proud Akalak let out his battle cry, which won an immediate retort from the crazy wizardly warrior, who had finally begun to win the ire of even his own companions, who must have finally begun to realize that this overgiven abomination was not only a skilled warrior but also a practitioner of the ever shunned magics of Sunberth. No citizen would stand in the Knights way not, not as they turned their attention on the juggernaut.

Trente wondered what the mans name was, then he began barreling toward them in what seemed to Trente to be a blur of steely light.

"Shyke..." Trente let out as his eyes tried to focus on the man's movements, desperately trying to gauge his intentions.

"Die!" The lost mage let out the twisted cry in a long drawn out slur of aggression as he took impossible bounds toward the steadfast knights. They had become the protectors of the people, moments before viewed as a threat themselves the mob roared still but those confronted with Ser Imass and his detachment froze, and had to admit, even if only for a moment, that the Syliran Knights were mighty, and stood for good. Even in the name of the unworthy, they stood, and protected.

One step, two, half the distance closed.

Trente's mind read the world with sluggish response, but internally he felt as if his mind moved ten, no a hundred times faster than usual, as if he had been enclosed into a tiny space where he was bound to watch the world slip by over the numbers of centuries, how perhaps the gods viewed existence.

He could predict the future, through pure logical assertion, the inevitable impact which would, without effort on the part of the ferocious fighter, send Trente sprawling to the ground, likely in pieces. He knew the man had no eyes for the unarmored mutt in Ravokian attire, only the knights who glimmered in godly glory under the flames of burning Sunberth. Trente would be left as a collateral smear of blood across the battlefield.

A single thought held his feet planted before the wall of knights, however, the most dangerous place in the world. Those eyes through the slits of tempered steel helm, steely and sure. Trente had never been so sure of any action in his own life, as he could tell that knight strode through each day with. Certainty.

He let out a bitter prayer in that moment and bent his knees only the distance he would need, focusing his balance. The flail fell with deadly force, aimed directly behind Trente, upon the line of soldiers. Trente pitched forward, and the world disappeared into streaks of refracted light and booms of scraping metal. He cleared the flail's chain and hulking descending arms first, then with grace summoned from some inexplicable source Trente found his feet and flourished awkwardly around the following metallic leggings.

Not wasting a moment he lunged forward, eyes scrambling along the mutled images of his mind for his diminutive target. His action was rash, and stance weak, for which he would pay dearly. Just as the blade drew near, the armor clad individual turned, heavy boot sliding backward toward Trente. His blade jammed back at his hand and fell downward, his feet failed him, and he watched in horror as the juggernaut towered above him swinging again at the knights, just feet from him.

Trente scrambled and draw his dagger with haste, forcing himself closer to his target only to have the world turn suddenly upside-down. His heart pumped like beating wind at his ears, and he felt as if his body would wash away from him under the current of some unseen force pounding through his veins.

"Yahal." The name flew from Trente's lips without his knowledge, as he reached for his disarmed weapon of choice, poised to be crushed beneath the man's heavy step. Trente's quick hands drew the sword up toward safety, and he managed to perch awkwardly to a sitting position.

His small victory became suddenly dashed by the sting of failure bursting over him in the form of a single wave of exsanguinated blood from the fallen knight. Trente's focus remained unwavered and he deftly pulled his legs out from under the juggernaut's next step, then brought his blades both forward in a flurry.

The first caught like the strike he administered upon roof top minutes before. His rapier inserted with a gut churning echo along his blade, then he released the spent blade, clasping both hands about his dagger and struck forward just below the leather straps of the man's second shin guard. Trente felt the resistance, then give and watched in triumph as the man toppled, pinning Trente's legs beneath.
*

[Imass]

Imass' whole body tensed up as he witness the chaos of the battle unfold. Everything happened at the same time. The Juggernaut had toppled down, which meant Trente was successful, but now the young Zeltivan was trapped under the creature's enormous weight. Crawling to his feet with all his might and speed, the Akalak pushed himself to the limit.

The thunder of horses was getting near. Clenching his shield as hard as he possibly could, he threw himself at the Juggernaut. Ducking under his shield, he fell on top of the monster's leg only to get smashed. Vibrations rang through his body. Now he was on top of Trente, physically shielding him from the opponents blows. The thunder of hooves got loud now. Looking through a visored helm the last thing Imass saw was a barreled fist; the last thing he heard was the crunching of bones and the scream of his armor. The Knight's visor was knocked into his forehead. The Akalak buckled over and blacked-out immediately.

When Imass got knocked out, his fully armored body remained ontop of the brute. The calvery finally arrived though. An expertly aimed lance smashed into the Juggernaut's cheek producing a glorious explosion of wood and pink mist. Then another lance smashed into the brute. Opening his eyes, Imass was greeted to a world of dark chaos. The creature groaned loudly and tried to push the Akalak off him in vain. A lasso looped around the creature's neck. Imass rolled. Another rope found itself around the brute's neck. More hooves. More ropes. Everything was happening at the same time and Imass had no idea what was going on.

Once the Juggernaut was lassoed, the mounted Knights began to pull with their horses. A gurgling wail escaped the dying man's lips. Finally the beast's head and arm was violently ripped out of their respective sockets. Blood sprayed into red river and all at once everything was over. They were successful.

Dazed and confused the Akalak spent a whole thirty seconds trying to stand to his feet, until other knights came to assist him, "Where is the Zeltivan? Is he dead? Is he dead?"

~~~

The Knight woke up suddenly in a wooden room. Everything was moving, swaying back and forth. For a split second the Akalak thought he was dead, but everything began to come back to him like the evening tide. At first his mind was hazy; he couldn't even understand why he was in a wooden room until he vomited burning bile and realized he was back in one of the Syliran boats. When more wits where about him, he touched his forhead where the skin was warm and wet. Immediately, Imass concluded that a Rak'keli marked had touched his battle wounds and healed his mind.

"Praise to you Rak'keli. Through the faith of your most humble followers my life was saved. I live to fight another day thanks to you," the Knight took a deep breath before continueing, "It is GOOD to be alive, Rak'keli, it is RIGHT to be alive!" Although Imass didn't realize it, but he was thinking arrogant thoughts. His mind flooded images of the battle in Sunberth. Mere seconds after praying out loud to the god of healing, he was already thinking about all the destruction he caused.

Just thinking about charging through the streets brought a wave of emotion to his heart. He loved the feeling. He loved forming rank. The call to drop lances brought fear into his heart, but the sound of his comrades beating down the alley with him nearly gave him a hard-on. His mind wandered to the souls of his fallen brother, but he dismissed it for now. Everything had happened so fast, his only concern now was to remember every detail of the battle and replay the scene in his mind over and over. Hundreds of words in Tukant couldn't even describe the tremendous sense of insanity he felt right now. Imass could not understand the sensation, but he felt so good. All the endorphines that were released into his body almost made him lust battle. Even now the excitement in his heart remained.

After a little while, the Knight sat up on wooden floor of the sleeping quarters in the ship. He sat alone in the room with Trente who seemed to have been recently healed as well. All of the equipment that he had carried into battle was laid next to him. Reaching over to gear, he picked up the dusty Lakan. Clenching the sacred weapon, he stared at the gilded handle. This was the most precious object that he owned and was likely to ever hold in his life. Despite it's intrisque value, he knew well what he needed to do; he could feel it through the steel. The weapon was forged through his father's sweat and Djed and tempered with the blood of Imass' enemies. Now it was his Duty to pass it on to Trente, the Zeltivan who risked life to save him.

Slowly, the large Akalak stood to his feet. He was wearing a simple tunic and beeches. His whole back side was drenched in sweat. The dry blood in his hair made the warrior look gritty and intense. Finally standing up, he realized that the ship was barely swaying at all. They were still in Sunberth. Leaning over he offered a hand to the Zeltivan who he met in the middle of battle.

"What do you feel?" the grim Akalak asked the human.

[Trente]

*
Trente watched through eyes that focused sharper than he felt they should after his extensive trauma, as the proud Akalak stirred and found his bearings.

Trente had already emptied the contents of his bowels in a spectacular display just shortly before, as he sweat a disgusting darkness which the priestess had wiped from his skin. He had not be as lucky as Imass to remain consistently unconscious as he was dragged from the weight of their paragon foe, and ferried to the ship's body to be purged of injury and illness.

Trente had not offered a word of thanks to the women who had saved his life twice that day, nor the goddess responsible before the muted sounds of battle overhead drew her above deck. He was disheartened, and shocked beyond himself that such atrocities could exist in the vast world. He felt none of the bloodthirst that his hued companion felt, and thus his nausea at the death was untempered.

When the weighty request was set upon him his barren gut lobbied he respond with a pained "disgusted," but his prudent mind and Syliran blood raised his eyes to meet the man's before him as he responded. "Alive."

A smile met his face, sardonic but honest to his thoughts. "I suppose I too should be giving thanks to the gods for that favor. And to you knights."

He thought of how he would like to thank the little raven haired atrocity and that self righteous priestess with a firm cup to the ear for their recklessness, and single mindedness. But the child hid bellow deck with the exhausted (and thus unstable) mage, and the priestess felt a higher calling than to hear Trente's piece of mind, which Trente found it difficult to give care for.

Let them be gone, and let the Syliran's forget it was the fair haired beauty and her defenseless child that began this all, them and their gods for sending them to a city they had no place within.

Trente's mind was burdened with understanding, understanding he could not believe any other upon their bulwark of a ship could fathom. In the wake of tragedy Trente always seemed to be cursed with knowledge he could never share, for he was the only one capable of baring the truth of such wickedness.

That those praised as saviors were almost always responsible for the threat.

Trente smiled his sardonic smile, and gave forth his false words so that the truth might fester within him where it could do no further harm. Let the gods rip his soul from his body if he was to let the ideals of justice forged by gods and dead men shape him into another truthsayer that brought nothing but more spilled blood to the world.
*