A Brief Intermission (Solo)

[Rhuryc]

17th Spring, 511 AV Talderan Wilderness Snap. What was that? Rhuryc bolted upright. He pulled his sword free at his hip and threw the sheath down, blade brandished and raised to the air. Silence. A soft, chilling wind blew through out the camp. The flame flickered, the snap and hiss of the fire disturbing the eerie calm of the tundra. Rhuryc's gaze narrowed. He scanned the edge of the sparse wood looking from brush to the next. The sound had come from behind. Another wolf? He examined the snow, watching for signs of movement or a variant texture. No. Behind the tree. He locked onto a thin line of fur stitched to some cloth. Humans? Who else would be this far out into the wilderness? Petch. Carefully, he bent to a knee and retrieved his shield, both body and mind sharpening to the surrounding terrain. Between them was the fire, behind himself the lake. There was no way to sneak up. The trees could provide valuable sniper cover, the brush a suitable escape. There was no cover but the tent. Damn. "The idea of hiding is for one not to be seen." Rhuryc spoke aloud, his thick baritone searing across the landscape. Neat trick, that. Hopefully he could intimidate whoever it was into leaving. "Come out, I know you're there." He waited, shield up, sword at the ready. A few moments passed. A stout, dark haired Vantha stepped out from behind a tree, his body clad in white furs. In his hands he held two blades, a long, curved sword in one and a shorter version of the same make in the other. It was impossible to tell if he had armor. Rhuryc grunted. He flicked his gaze away for just a moment, eyes scanning the area about his curious trespasser. More movement. Above him there was a swift, silent scratch at a tree - an archer? - and behind a brush another man waited, ducked low, clad in similar attire as the first. Three to one. Fun odds. The man spoke in Vani. Petch! From what Rhuryc could tell it was a warning, some kind of threat. Some of the words were foreign but the harsh tone of his voice gave it obvious intent. His vision came back to settle on the aggressor. "Do not want trouble." He responded in the local language. Best make sure they could at least understand him. "Leave or fight. No time for talk." That much they understand. He heard it before he saw it. The bow string. Thud! Rhuryc grunted and twisted his torso, the head of an arrow sinking into the leather that covered his shield. Center mass. Predictable. He wasted little time. With a shoulder down, the man put his shield out before his body and charged forward, boots sinking into the thick snow with a practiced pace. The distance closed. The furred bandit slipped to the side of the onslaught. He spun and scythed the long blade about, two blades meeting in a clash of steel in mid air. Rhuryc moved with his opponent. Be aware. He turned his shield inward toward the elevated archer and stepped back to keep track of his current opponent. Where was the third man? No time to look. The short blade came forward in a low thrust and the shield moved to counter, the edge brought down on the flat and blocking it from its path. The bandit released his hold, the weapon dropped, its fall cushioned by the snow. Crunch. He knew that sound. Rhuryc dipped his torso and ducked forward, charging at his first assailant. Something swung over his head. He twisted his shoulder in and braced himself against one bandit, his full weight brought to bear in a tackle that sent the man stumbling to the ground. Rhuryc hopped over his assailant and turned, the shield hovering over his side again and angled up at the exposed archer. The second assailant regarded him with cool eyes. Rhuryc backed off. For a moment the two of them stood and stared at one another, each testing the other's will. Calm, placid. Neither budged. The prone bandit stood and reclaimed his weapon. The two of them seemed to confer. One started to circle Rhuryc. That much was expected and there was little he could do to counter it. Unless. Rhuryc shifted. He set one foot over the other in a sideways cant, his weight remaining balanced over each knee. That archer was patient. The two bandits fell in step with their pray, one - the dual wielder - disappearing from sight. The man that remained in front was more skilled than his companion. He held only a single sword and kept the other back. Poised. This one was disciplined. Rhuryc continued to move, his eyes set on the man. Only the crunch of his boots accompanied the soft, threatening winds. That and the crackle of fire. He set his back to the fire pit, leaving only so much of himself exposed. The man before him smirked. Crunch. Damn it. Rhuryc snapped his neck back to watch as the assailant behind him ran and leapt over the fire. Shyke. He flung himself forward and sent his own shoulder crashing to the ground, his body rolling away from the incoming strike that slammed into the snow from where he once stood. Another was on him in moments. Rhuryc barely recovered before the next strike came. He flung his sword in its path. A clang rang out and a swift kick followed, the heel of the man's boot slamming into Rhuryc's face. The impact sent him reeling. He would try to finish it. The sword came down, but Rhuryc was ready. He rolled to the side and kicked at the bandit's leg, his own boot crashing into a heel. Thud! Now they were both on the ground. Rhuryc got to a knee just in time to defend himself. He threw his shield around as an arrow beat against the metal, the dull thunk and pressure sending shivers of pain up his arm. One of them had to die soon. Where was the second man? Rhuryc shoved his leg into the ground and stood, his body whirling around to counter his double bladed attacker. He came as before. Long blade first, Rhuryc stepped into the strike this time, his own weapon swinging from below and up inside the furred cloak. Sword met flesh. Red ran down the length of the blade and he watched the light fade from his opponent's eyes. He removed his sword from the gut. The corpse fell with a sickening crunch. One more. His head turned to the disciplined warrior and neither wasted time. They both stepped in, blades flashing in a furious flurry. Blade beat against blade once, twice, and again, the clash and clatter of their duel echoing out across the tundra. The bandit was good. In a feint, Rhuryc stepped too far and felt the hold on his weapon loosen. An expert twist followed and suddenly he was without a sword. Damn it! He sent his shield about and slammed the edge into the next assault. Drive by rage Rhuryc did not stop. He thrust again. And again. His shield came around, his shoulder forced into the maneuver. Like the tree before. Bash. Bash! Slam! The bandit was sent back, reeling back at each furious assault. He fell and Rhuryc followed. The shield came up and he forced the sharpened bottom into the warrior's neck. Blood splashed across his face. Another sound in the distance. With a look Rhuryc glanced toward the fleeing archer. No. He hoisted himself up and gave chase, shield deadlocked to his side. He was gaining. The young bandit looked over his shoulder, shock and terror present on his countenance. The wild, rage fueled form of Rhuryc barreled on ahead, arms pumping and muscles straining with each side. As he came closer he whipped his shield out and sent it sailing into the man's legs. He stumbled, his body crippling and face hitting the snow. Rhuryc came around and stopped over his body, eyes dark as he muttered in Vani. "Talk."

[Rhuryc]

"I said talk." Rhuryc's voice dripped with acid. He reached down and grabbed the archer by the neck. With one, solid hoist the man was brought to his feet and thrown against a tree. Rhuryc followed and shoved the man into the bark, his eyes hard with violence. "Tell me who you are. What do you want?" His thick, Vani accent was already difficult to decipher, but whether it was the fear or adrenaline the archer was somehow about to decipher the words. "S-s-saw you. Needed bodies. For. For. Some wizard. He h-h-hired us!" The young man whimpered. His knees weakened and he slumped against the trunk, the only force holding him up being the man that wished his early death. How pathetic. No wonder he fought with a bow. Rhuryc glowered. With a grunt he pulled the man forward and removed the bow from his prisoner's back. A snap followed. He tossed the remains of the weapon side and turned away, his shield recollected before he started his way back to the campsite. Damn it. Go figure there would be some raging psychopath in the middle of nowhere. The cliche of it almost made him vomit. "You will take me to them. If you run, I will catch and kill you." Rhuryc's tone was low and dark. Through the wood they stumbled. Leading, the surviving bandit retraced the tracks of his previous companions. Rhuryc had since reclaimed his sword, both blade and shield held aloft and ready beneath his fur cloak. He would no doubt be betrayed the moment they reached their destination. Crunch, crunch. Thick boots treaded over the soft snow. Beneath an ever thickening canopy of massive flora the two advanced, silent in their travel, yet accosted by the natural terrain. A chilling wind followed in their wake as if nature itself knew of the tribulations that lay ahead. Such signs were foolhardy to ignore. Both came to an abrupt halt. Ahead a man hung from a branch, his body suspended by a length of rope wrapped about his neck. He was stripped naked, flesh ripped and torn with dried blood caked to what remained of his body. How inviting. "Just pass here. That's where he is." The Vani brought Rhuryc's attention back to his living companion. He almost lost himself staring into those dead eyes. "Go then. Away. If I see you go toward your friends I'll make due on my threats." And that was all he needed. The bandits disappeared into a flurry of activity. Good, now he did not have to worry about the idiot warning his friends. Or whatever they were. From how willing he seemed life was a far more valuable ideal than the well being of his comrades. Once more he advanced. Taking long, quiet strides, Rhuryc adapt to as much stealth as he could muster. Beneath the fur hide and the suit of leather he was not much for mobility, but any attempted would be better than charging head first into an unknown degree of foe. He inched forward. Beneath the hanged man and through the brush, he traveled for some time in such a fashion until he neared the beginnings of a clearing. Or at least an area with less foliage. At first there was no one. Then- Rhuryc shoved himself against the back of a tree. Two men stepped from the mouth of a wide, dark cavern, both adorned with an array of weaponry and armed as the bandits before. He dared a glance. Holding his weapon close to the chest Rhuryc peered about his cover and watched the duo. They moved without much care, assuming their safety, one leaving the other as he made to relieve himself. Ah. Opportunity was a short visitor. Quietly, with so much finesse as he could muster, Rhuryc ducked from his hiding place, boots landing with near-silent footfalls. Crunch. Shyke. One of them turned. Rhuryc charged. Surprised, the bandit fumbled for his blade and brandished the weapon just as metal pierced his neck, the ringing edge slicing through the base of the throat. He fell. There was little hope for his companion. Still engaged with his natural business the other man flailed at the onset of an assault. He grasped wildly for some kind of defense, but fell short as Rhuryc descended. A quick, precise thrust caught him in the midsection. With a pull Rhuryc withdrew the blade and brought it around again, the kill finished with a gaping gash down the chest. A low grumble escaped the man's throat as he leaned down to clean his weapon. No mercy for wicked. For a moment he halted his trek to turn the bodies over. Shifting through the various garments he found little more than a few coins and their weapons, those of which struck him as useless. They must have lived out here from the looks of it. No survival equipment, no rations. No doubt there would be fortifications. At least they did not know he was coming. Eyes narrowed, Rhuryc turned toward the cave.

[Rhuryc]

A torch flickered in the distance. Silently, Rhuryc stepped into the dark, his blade held up at his side while he kept his shield out in front. The inside of the cavern hummed with an eerie, unnatural tune. Darkness spread farther than it should, the rays of the outside sun penetrating only so far into the mouth. Not even shadows stirred. Yet he advanced. One foot after the other in a slow, careful descent. The initial opening lead to downward incline, the rocky walls dropping immediately on all sides. Farther into the distance there were more, dim sources of fire, yet between each was a long stretch of the unknown. This was no place of sane creatures. His venture was painful. Tedious. Yet to be rushed ahead felt as if it would spell his certain doom. Besides, it was only a matter of time before those inside grew concerned for their companions. At least he hopped so. It was a comfort to believe these men still shared human emotion. Deepr now. Rhuryc came to a stop at the bottom of the incline, the cave now splitting off two ways. Great. There were torches down either. Something cracked in the distance. Footsteps? A door? No matter what it was Rhuryc shifted himself back into a pocket of blackness, his body pressed up against the wall. He pushed his hood up over his face and hid both weapons beneath the folds of his cloak. Sliding down, he coiled his body about his legs and waited. A set of rhythmic steps echoed from the left causeway. Far apart at first, the sounds grew ever more quickly in tempo. Finally a short, nasty looking fellow came into the light. Were they all like that around here? He stopped and glanced about the hall for a few moments before he called out something in Vani. Names. At least from what Rhuryc could tell. He was still puzzling out the finer details to the language. When there was no response the man grew patient. Grumbling, the bandit started up the incline. Rhuryc waited. When the individual finally crossed paths the young Syliran sprung from his cover. The poor bastard did not even know what hit him. The blade shoved itself into his neck and back out the base. Quiet. Quick. Whew. Rhuryc carefully removed his blade and set the slumped body on the ground. At least now he knew what path to take. That tedious adventure resumed. Down the old, natural tunnel, there was an odd collection of items strewn about. A few cases of food, some old blankets, supplies for the most part. Most of it stolen no doubt. The light never increased, yet the torches seemed to mark way points. Near the end of his route the path twisted, voices drifting out around the bend, rife with irritation. Rhuryc paused to listen. A man went on and on about mistreatment, someone about underpaid, then concluded with a few, choice curses. Ah, griping. From what he could make out there were two men. Maybe three. Should he move fast he might be able to take them out without a fuss. He hoped. He rounded the corner only to find himself in awe. There sat a small scale barracks, several bunks, chests, and quite a few more man than he anticipated. Much more. There were indeed two at a table near him, both engaged in a game of cards of some kind, but behind them were three more with dice - oddly quiet - and four more in their bunks. Shyke. They needed no more cause to rise than the man's singular presence. Yet for a moment there was a shared sort of confusion, a surprise that no one could have fathomed only moments before. Neither side acted. Then, in a sudden flurry of motion, the bandits sprung up, weapons brandished in a momentary revelation. Fight or Flight. Unfortunately for Rhuryc, the tactical withdraw seemed only like it would end in his ultimate death. He ran forward. As the men armed themselves Rhruyc sent a swift kick at the table near the entrance. Distracted by the act the two men sitting nearby were flung back with the wood while Rhuryc positioned himself between it and the wall. Funnel them down. Those in their bunks scrambled for their gear and the melee started in earnest. With a step the young man threw his weight forward, sword brought around and at the first charging aggressor. He twisted and juked a blade, his own weapon sent crashing against the exposed steel in a swift parry. The crash of his shield followed. And he never stopped moving. Rhuryc bounced from one individual to the next. He ducked a sword only to deflect an axe aimed at his head. With a push he disengaged from one aggressor and swung his arm about, the edge of his blade piercing flesh and sending a cascade of into the fray. Steel clashed against steel in an unyielding chorus. Step. Turn. Thrust. Parry. Deflect. Rhuryc did what he could to keep himself from being surrounded, his feet carrying him around the barracks in a dance of caution. Yet it was only a matter of time before one scored a hit. And indeed they did. Something hit him in the back. Pressure of some sort. Delightful. With a ferocious cry he spun and thrust forward, his sword lodging itself into the gut of his would-be killer. Another hit. Rhuryc's vision blurred. Damn. He stumbled, but determined, he slung back around, his shield flailing wildly to catch whatever he could. He hit something, but what? Get out. The thought occurred to him over and over again, but by the time it was clear it was too late. Darkness came for him.

[Rhuryc]

When he woke darkness greeted him. The air smelled of rot and decay, stiff, unfit for the consumption of a living creature. Yet here he was. Was he hanging? The rattle of chains rung in his ears when he tried to move his arms. Cold steel pressed against his wrists. He shifted his legs only to find the same. Muscles tensing, Rhuryc pulled his arms down only to find himself hindered in every way. He gasped and choked on the foul taste of death and mildew. Hard stone met exposed skin in a chilling realization. He was a prisoner. Worse yet, the bastards took his clothes. A torrent of fears took him all at once. Why did they keep him alive? Why hold him here of all places? Or worse yet, what did they intend for him? The hours that passed brought no answers. Small solace came when his eyes adjusted to the darkness. Faint, flickering light passed beneath the cracks of what he assumed was a door, the brief illumination enough to enlighten him on his cell. Stone. What a theme. A shoddily erected door kept him from seeing deeper into the cavern, but from what he gathered from the various corpses that kept him company there was not much he wanted to view. They were shadows in the corners, their presence a gentle reminder of what his fate no doubt would devolve into. At least the smell kept him from hunger. Whenever his stomach rumbled he did no less than breath and any desire for foot was swept from his mind. The thirst, one the other hand, never abated. How long was he there? Days? Weeks? Years? None, most likely, time was impossible to measure here. So he sang. Between the torturous visions of the future and the possibilities of his corpse being left to rot among the dead, the idea of lifting his voice to song was not such a terrible idea. He carried a hoarse melody that echoed across the cavern walls, a thin, yet still boisterous tune he learned as a child. It was nothing more than a few witty rhymes, limericks and humorous quips that came to mind. He sang one line than repeated another. There, within the heart of the darkness, listening to himself prattle on somehow dispersed the lonesome confines of his cell. As time went by he felt his throat dry up, the words became less and less coherent, but he persisted. Without what little sanity the music brought him Rhuryc was sure he would lose his mind. And he had to be alert. Aware. And so he sang. The loud, whining creak of the rusted hinges interrupted his revelry. Light poured into the cell and gave form to the innards. Rhuryc shied away, his head turning to the side as he attempted to shield his eyes. Footsteps clomped across the stone floor and he felt his comprehension return, his new, unwitting home becoming clearer by the moment. It was smaller than he thought. Larry, the body he could make out across from him, was fresher than he imagined, but no less a suitable audience for previous performance. Something stopped in front of him. Or was it someone. Weakly, Rhuryc turned his gaze up to the face that hovered above him. Gaunt. Arrogant. A steel, piercing stare glared down at the man as if it were weighing his stock. Clean shaved, his skin was pristine and washed - no bandit, their leader, perhaps? He kept his hair short and cropped and wore a set of black, embroidered robes. Gently, a hand came up from his side. Black with red veins. What was that? Rhuryc only just opened his mouth to speak when the man touched his forehead. His words came out as a scream. Every wound in his body erupted at once. Old pains, scars, all felt fresh again. Age old sensations flared in his mind. An arrow embedded itself into his side, a knife into his leg. A dozen blades marked his flesh. Was that laughter? Between his agonizing calls, Rhuryc heard a sadistic tone overpower his own voice, the obnoxious humor of his captor. The man enjoyed this. Rhuryc, on the other hand, could barely think. Searing pain flashed throughout the whole of his being, every inch of his body covered in memories of his past torment. He fought. With all of his might he fought it. Rhuryc clenched his jaw and ripped at his constraints, his hands balling into fists, knuckles whitening and shoulders tearing at their chains. He flailed and bucked, he pushed against the stone with every ounce of his power, yet there was nothing. Just the pain. And the laughter. Sweat poured down his brow, marred his hair, it covered his entire body before he began to convulse. Violent seizures took him. Then, as soon as it had started, the pain vanished. Rhuryc hung from the wall with little energy, his hagged, irregular breathing countering the silence of the cell. The man leaned over and smiled. "That is for the first man you killed. How wonderful it is that you took so many." His retreating steps pounded against the ears of the prisoner.

[Rhuryc]

The lull between 'sessions' was blissful. Rhuryc spent it lost to himself, thoughts left to drift into the silence of his cell. They never allowed him down, never released him from the wall, but on occasion they would feed him. And sometimes he could eat. Chewing seemed too difficult of a task. Always his jailer was silent, weary, perhaps the man took pity on the prisoner. The pain was irresistible. All throughout the day Rhuryc screamed, unable to fight back, and left to suffer in darkness alone. How much more he could take he did not know. He did sing sometimes. When he had the energy Rhuryc would lift his voice to song, between boisterous melodies a sweet, soft ballads, he kept his spirits alive. Somehow it brought him focus, it allowed him to keep his mind sharp. As he often did Rhuryc listened. This cave had its own music. Dark, twisted, but there. The scuffle of his feet against the stone floor, the occasional rattle of his bonds, even the clatter of footsteps that passed by his door, all of it composed the symphony of his incarceration. Somewhere in the distance he could hear revelry. Laughter. Sometimes steel gnashing against steel. Blades were sharpened, and every so often there would be other screams, other voices that dwarfed his own. The cave was a nightmare. And the instrument of that of its orchestration was that man. That bastard of a creature. His very presence was one of discord and strife, a mass of sadistic, unbound pleasure. The rage that welled up within Rhuryc at the very thought of his torturer was an intensity of emotion he had never known. Soon it was rage that fed him. Any sweet succor that might have remained was cast side. Anger and vengeance kept him alive, it drove him to resist, to fight, to persevere. The door opened. Boots clomped into the room. The man with the black hands wore softer foot ware, who was this then? The jailer. He was silent. They both were. A shadow stood at the entrance, the thick, armed guardian there in case Rhuryc attempted another escape. His first try had been hasty, ill prepared. When the Jailer first unlocked his hand Rhuryc made a wild grasp for the man only to be knocked out again by the bludgeon wielding companion. When he woke without food he had learned his lesson. Yet now things were different. Before despair had taken hold of him, before he was driven only to survive. Now he was driven. The cuff about his wrist slid open with a painful release. The skin beneath was red, raw. As always he let himself hang for a moment before he adjusted to the new equilibrium, his legs straightening out and supporting his torso. Muscles flexed. Hanging for so long as not only a test of strength but one of endurance. The weaker he became the more it hurt, so Rhuryc was forced to stand, to endure. His arm dropped to the side. "Go on and eat you pathetic shyke." The jailer kicked at his legs. Rhuryc shuddered, his gaze flickering to the stout, ugly man. His nose was far too big for that face. Weakly, he lifted his arm and grabbed the cup from the offered plate. He wanted to drink. To taste to the sweet liquid. He had to be free. With a sudden jerk Rhuryc flung the water into the Jailer's face. The man flinched and the prisoner reached out, grabbed a collar, and pulled the bastard in, his forehead slamming into the man's face and breaking his nose. A scream erupted from the cell. Fumbling, Rhuryc reached down to the jailer's belt and snagged the key to his constrains. The thick stomp of boots pounded in his ears. Quick. The bronze metal clanked against the cuff. Faster. He shoved the key into something, the lock? He twisted his wrist and something snapped. Rhuryc hit the ground as his arm was released, both hands flying out before him to break his fall. A resounding crash hit the stone above. Wild, unthinking, Rhuryc reached out at the armored feet before him and pulled. The guard hit the ground in a flurry, his arms flailing out as he attempted to subdue his assailant. With a pull Rhuryc brought him in and inched forward himself, his arms lashing out and wrapping about an exposed head. Something hit his side. He ignored the pain. What was pain to him? Crack! He slammed the man against the stone. Once. Twice. Again. Crack. Crack. Blood covered his hands. Again. There was no time to waste. Furious, Rhuryc pulled himself up and used the key to unlock his legs. What sweet relief. His ankles were sore, raw, blood staining where the cuffs had pressed into his flesh. More scurrying brought him back to reality. The Jailer inched backward. Rhuryc felt his eyes narrow. Filled with rage, adrenaline pumping, he reached out and grabbed the mace the guard had carried. Several, violent steps brought him to the retreating man. The power in his arms was almost divine. It only took one stroke to kill, but he felt himself continue. He beat that ugly face until there was nothing left to discern. Nothing left of either of them, perhaps. Clothing. He needed clothing. With a scramble Rhuryc stripped off the guard's breeches and tunic. They were both tight, the legs coming up to his ankles and the shirt too small to even ware. He grumbled and took the man's belt as well, the shoddy sword on the side a suitable replacement for the one taken from him. Could he find his gear? No. He had to escape. Metal scraped against leather as he brandished the longsword, the mace held opposite in his left while the sword dominated his right. More would be coming.

[Rhuryc]

Silent. Swift. His bare feet made him quiet as he advanced, the jagged, rough terrain scrapping at his flesh no more than a nuisance. He could fuss over the superficial later. For now he focused on the path ahead. This cave was unfamiliar. Once Rhuryc left the cell he was lost, torn between two corridors that both lead to the unknown. He guessed. Sweeping down the right causeway, he descended deeper into the cave, watching for the flickering torches in the distance. The shadows were his companion. The scuffle of boots clattered down the cave, echoing far beyond their true location as men scrambled to reach the cell. No doubt the screams had traveled. Rhuryc shifted. He placed his back against one of the stone walls and lowered his body down, taking to the darkness between the sparse torches. How many? He listened. Too many to take at once. Several clattering steps beat against his ears. Two? Three? Rhuryc waited, watching. They erupted into the light like ghosts. Two men, armed, half armored. They were close, closer now. Letting them pass was too risky. He swung the mace. A sickening crack proceeded the man's descent. His companion stopped and whirled around as Rhuryc came crashing into him, shoulder lowered and shoved into the exposed chest. They hit the wall with a solid thud. Desperate, the bandit lifted his blade and flailed at his assailant. Metal entered flesh. The man gasped, his eyes widening before they glazed over. He went limp. Something scraped the stone nearby. Rhuryc turned away from his kill and swept his vision over the tunnel, the form of his wounded prey retreating away from the former prisoner. His leg was mangled, broken. Pathetic. The man whimpered as he pulled himself away. Rhuryc followed. He stepped around and lowered his body, gazing into the frightened eyes of the Vantha. There was nothing to say as he slit the man's throat. Did none of these men carry a shield? Rhuryc cursed silently to himself. He cast the mace aside and replaced it with a short sword from one of the bandits. Damned if he knew what he was doing with two weapons, but he knew blades, and this was better than nothing. He was off again. How many more men could there be? There were nine before in the 'barracks'. And how many were dead? Four. He could remember if he took any down before. Time would tell. Rhuryc continued down the tunnel. There were no more footsteps, no voices, nothing but what seemed to be an infinite path to nowhere. He moved with purpose, with intention, every fiber of his being focused on his escape. There. Around a corner, that was light! The exit. His pace quickened. Soon Rhuryc found himself in a flat out run, his muscles pumping, legs throbbing. It hurt to move so fast, but his freedom was near. Faster now. He turned a corner and found a familiar sight, the original fork at the entrance. Good. Another turn and there it was! Sweet, sweet sunlight. Yet something was wrong. There, before his eyes was his egress, but as he came upon the mouth of the cave he could not pass. He stopped, suddenly, something invisible baring his path. What!? Why?! He shoved himself against the open pathway, his body too weak to put up enough force. There was no use. Footsteps. Damn it! Rhuryc spun about as three more men turned the corner. These men were different. And there he was. The king bastard himself. Clad his robes only now he held a staff of some sort, something wicked in design, he was flanked by what remained of his men, one of which held a familiar blade, the other a cloak Rhuryc knew well. He felt his anger soar. Rage grasped the very core of his being. This was it. There was no way for him to escape, and he would not be taken prisoner again. "Troublesome child. So spirited. Take him alive, please, or. Well. Take him, he does not need to live for long." The wizard's voice was like ice. The men advanced. They were slow. Methodical. They inched closer to Rhuryc, both keeping pace with one another, branched out, weapons up and ready for an assault. He was outclassed. Somehow time slowed. Everything became clear. The pain in his side beat like never before, the blood on his arm only now just apparent. He was wounded. Broken. Beaten. With every step he felt death circle him from above. For a moment he was a boy again, left at the mercy of his uncle. That chiding voice pounded against his skull. Fight. What? He was exhausted. His body ached, his legs shook. All he wanted was to rest. To let them take him. It would be over then. Something flashed. Light flickered off the blade of Naravane. The sword. His sword. Fight. How could he? There was only pain. Only suffering. Better to just lay down, to stop resisting. There it was again. That flash. Fight. His eyes narrowed. Rhuryc charged. Taken back, both of the advancing men came to a sudden halt, their weapons held before them in defense. With a wild swing the warrior sent the short blade into an opposing strike, the clash of metal echoing down the tunnel in a clarion ring. He spun. His body came around as something seared into his flesh, blood flew, yet he did not stop. With a flurry his long arm swept about, sword sent reeling into his opponent. The edge sliced across an arm, cutting deep and ripping muscle down to the bone. Naravane hit the ground with a clatter. The man backed off and Rhuryc move to face his second assailant. He was already poised to strike. With a twist Rhuryc turned his torso away. Too late. The burning gash spilled red down his chest. A ferocious roar erupted from the wounded warrior and he threw himself forward, body slamming against body. He brought a knee up and jabbed it into the bandit's groin. The small sword followed and found a neck. Foreign blood splashed against his own. Drunk with rage, with power, Rhuryc's head snapped to the retreating bandit and the wizard. Neither were impressed. The staff rose into the air. A strange, liquid-like gas eminated from the head. It formed suddenly and crackled to life with a raging fire, the orange, hostile flame lashing out and searing through the air toward the entrance. The wounded bandit was caught in the blast. He cried out in terror as the fire engulfed his body, searing the flesh clear from the bone. Rhuryc dropped his weapons. Petch. Without much choice, he grabbed the limp body at his side and flung the corpse in front of him, his own form lowering and ducking beneath the heavy, fur cloak. The wave washed over his form, scathing heat burning his skin even within his pathetic protection. Rhuryc leapt up as the air cooled. He tossed the still aflame cloak aside, the fires licking at whatever they could burn, yearning for more fuel. The corpse was charred. A glance revealed his weapons to be useless, warped. Damn it! There was that flash again. His attention wavered. Naravane. The Bastard Sword was unharmed. With a wild lunge, Rhuryc brought himself across the tunnel and snatched up the weapon. He spun with a rapid set of movements and charged the wizard, bounding across the distance in mere moments. The staff lowered. Somehow paler than before, the wizard brought his own defense about to meet the wild swing from Rhuryc. He parried the blow and stepped aside, staff whirling about and slapping the man in his shin. Rhuryc stumbled. Those few moments were all the wizard needed. He touched Rhuryc's shoulder.

[Rhuryc]

Pain. The pain was back. Rhuryc fell to his knees, howling, screaming, his old wounds mingled with the new, all of them searing with an intense heat. Blazing, unforgiving pain, it wracked his entire body, forced his muscles to contract. He convulsed wildly. Unable to think, unable to act, he was helpless and left to the mercy of his aggressor. Death again circled his soul. Flashes of reality passed before his eyes. The wizard was laughing. The sound were garbled. Somehow Rhuryc imagined himself watching, bulging, wide eyes locked onto nothing in a wild grasp for relief. He had to act. Nothing responded. Act! Move! Nothing. This was the end. Then there was the flash. That gentle glint of light. What was that? Light from the outside, shimmering from the shield to the blade of his sword. That was all. Just light. Freedom from this dank, dark cave. Freedom from the pain. There was no fight left in him, no ability, nothing. How sweet death would be, it's gentle release from the world. After all, what did he have to live for? A life of strain and struggle for nothing. Yet he held on. Why? Because he did not want to die. His hand moved. White knuckles firmed around the hilt of his sword. Persevere. Rhuryc shifted. He threw himself forward, the weapon brought him in a desperate, wild thrust, body and mind tossed into one, last ditch effort to save himself. Both men fell into a heap. Gone. The contact was broken. Rhuryc twisted his arm. He felt flesh resist. His body responded on instinct. The sword was withdrawn from the wizard's stomach. He raised it above his head and brought it down again, his voice lifting as he struck. He struck again. And again. Blood flew. It covered his face as he stabbed the wizar over and over, his rage unyielding in its revenge. Ages passed before he stopped. Rhuryc remained where he was, hovering over the mangled corpse, staring down at the mess in disbelief. Naravane clattered against stone. That was it. The torment was over, but there was no relief. He felt hollow. Distraught. Was that his own blood on his chest or did it belong to someone else? Rhuryc laughed. Hysterical, he fell onto his side and rolled onto his back, his boisterous tone filling the cave with its eerie echo. Confused, dazed, he could barely feel his wounds as they throbbed. The adrenaline wore off, but all managed was a laugh. There, alone, in the middle of nowhere, he embraced a moment of insanity, his mind exhausted and left to shambles. Soon the laughter shifted and morphed, the inane joviality turning to tears. What was the point? For days they tortured him. And for what? For enjoyment? Now here they all were, dead, dying, with him left, battered and bruised. Death would come for him soon. Sweet, sweet death. Only moments before he had wanted to live, but now he was unsure. So there he lay, distraught, tears drifting down his cheeks as he violently slipped into unconsciousness. He woke hours later. Darkness had fallen outside. His chest burned, his side ached, his stomach howled. His throat was dry. Rhuryc was miserable. With a groant he shifted onto his side and set his palms onto the ground, pushing with as much strength as he could muster. Getting to his knees was a struggle. He shoved one leg under his torso and leaned against the stone wall. His shoulder dragged against the unforgiving material as he used it to stand. The smell of death was thick. Charred skin and rotting corpses. His memories of the events were hazed, unorganized, but something pounded in the front of his mind. Survive. Leave. Not yet. He needed clothing, otherwise he would freeze. He was already chilled to the bone. Slowly, Rhuryc dragged himself away from the hacked body at his feet and ventured down one of the pathways. The barracks. It was this way. Down the familiar path. The sound of his own footsteps was almost surreal. The heavy, clomping dissonance against the hard rock. He continued around the bend. This time there was no surprise. The room was empty. Several beds lay unoccupied, tables with chairs pushed back as if they were suddenly cast aside. There was a door that lead farther into the cave, but he cared little for it. Instead he gave the 'common' area' a cursory glance. He needed clothing. And there. Tossed aside he saw his coat, his boots. None of the bandits were large enough to wear either. Grateful, Rhuryc limped his way between the cots and sorted through his belongings. His belt, his clothing. He changed as fast as he could manage, slipping from the uncomfortable breeches and donning his own ware, small clothes, tunic, and all. They even had his shield. Finally, events were looking up. When he was finished Rhuryc grabbed one of the bandit's cloaks and tossed it over his body. For a moment he considered staying. Sleeping. He did not know how terrible his wounds were, he could be dying, yet something urged him to leave. He had to get back. To run. This was no place to rest. He turned to go. As he passed by the wizard's corpse Rhuryc stopped. With a strain he reached down and grabbed his sword, tucking it into his sheathless belt. He lingered only for a moment to examine his captor, the source of his strife and agony. There, laying lifeless, the man was little more than a common human, no different than any other. Except for those hands. With a shiver Rhuryc forced himself to move. There, ahead, was the exit. Unlike before he path was not barred. He welcomed the chill of the wilderness, that terrible cold was something he never thought he would miss. But it was freedom. It was life. He took a step, body broken, but spirit free. He would live yet.

[Cheshire]

. Character: Rhuryc Experience: Observation +2, Weapon (Shield) +2, Running +4, Brawling +4, Weapon (Sword) +5, Intimidation +1, Singing +2, Larceny +1, Stealth +3, Weapon (Mace) +1, Dual Wield +1, Bodybuilding +1 Lore: Rousing Enemies From Hiding, Being Held Prisioner, Losing Track of Time, The Pain of Vexation, Survival of the Fittest Additional Note: Great thread! It was so interesting to read! PM me with concerns.