[Open]Amidst Grass and Raiders

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The Wilderness of Cyphrus is an endless sea of tall grass that rolls just like the oceans themselves. Geysers kiss the sky with their steamy breath, and mysterious craters create microworlds all their own. But above all danger lives here in the tall grass in the form of fierce wild creatures; elegant serpents that swim through the land like whales through the ocean and fierce packs of glassbeaks that hunt in packs which are only kept at bay by fires. Traverse it carefully, with a guide if possible, for those that venture alone endanger themselves in countless ways.

[Open]Amidst Grass and Raiders

Postby Conor on February 28th, 2010, 2:55 pm

87th of winter, 509 AV

Howling wind and dried grass that was what separated the grasslands from the wildlands, that and the temperature. Compared to the snowy hills of Taldera or even the winter climate of Syliras, the grasslands of Cyphrus were a lot warmer. The winter was ending, but no patches of thawing ice would be found here, no, nothing but grassy land that stretched for as far as the eye could see would be discovered here. That and the occasional water pool in between the grass. The temperature was much more pleasant for Conor’s warhorse, but for the young Talderan adventurer, these temperatures were a new experience, and he was tempted to take of his armor. Inside the metal splint mail Conor was already sweating and he longed for another quick stop at one of the few water sources here, in these grassy lands. He panted as he redirected his horse towards one of the water pools. Finally, he thought when he drank the fresh water, after adding a few drops of his water additive to it. He swallowed as much of it at once as he could, but it didn’t satisfy him. To his standards, this water was near boiling temperature, but for the people living here, it had the perfect temperature. Conor shrugged, at least he had water now, a great improvement. He had been travelling for days – if not weeks now and nothing interesting had happened. Except for the minor skirmish now and then.

But as he drank as much as he could, he saw the reflection of two man behind him, both of them armed and ready to strike. They wore simple brown tunics with some leather protection with iron studs on. They both had a mean looking sword with a hook at the end of the blade, and one of them had a round wooden shield to protect himself. “Stand up,” the leader – clearly the one without the shield - said. His voice sounded muffled from underneath his leather mask. He had a light accent like most of the inhabitants of the grass plains, but he spoke common fluently. Slowly, Conor got up again and he smirked at the leader. “Hand over your weapons,” the leader barked. “And then your money,” the other one sneered. Both of them raised their weapons, ready to attack him in an instant, but Conor didn’t shrink. Inside, his stomach felt like exploding, and his heart throbbed faster than ever, but his face had an expression of serenity upon it. The leader growled when Conor didn’t obey, and he approached the stubborn young man. “Now,” he commanded. Slowly, Conor unsheathed his sword, and then all of a sudden, he batted the man’s sword away.

A fight to life or death commenced as both sides clashed. Conor feinted and evaded an incoming sword. He hooked his sword around the nook in the leader’s sword and he pulled hard to disarm him. With his other arm, he hit the man in his stomach with his elbow. The steppe marauder panted as he dropped to his knees, but before Conor could finish him, he was struck by a wooden shield. Conor recoiled and jumped back to avoid a sword laceration, immediately, he jumped back while hacking into the shield with his own longsword. The thug roared obscenities as Conor cleaved a big shard out of his buckler. “Die you wretched outsider!” the man hissed. He stabbed at Conor with his sword from underneath his raised shield. Conor managed to jump aside, and the sword ricocheted from his armor. Behind him, the leader was up again, and he was already hewing at Conor with his scimitar. The young adventurer nearly got chopped in half, but he managed to deflect the blow and with his other hand he threw a knife into the man’s chest. Screaming in agony, the man sank to his knees and he tried to stop the bleeding. Crimson liquid stained his clothes and poured out of the wound. With another laceration of his sword, Conor slit his throat.

The bandit gurgled something, but his words didn’t make sense anymore. Blood squirted out of the open gash and more blood stained his clothes. The red fluid welled up on the ground beneath him, and as the man fell down face down into the dust, he went into spasm. His body moved around aimlessly as if he was trying to crawl to a safe hold that wasn’t there. But Conor had no time to enjoy his victory when the other bandit came to blows with him again. “You bastard,” he howled. He clearly was less familiar with common tongue and his words sounded twisted by his iron mask. Conor smirked and said that his mother had commended his love making skills over his. Enraged and going berserk the man swooped Conor’s legs from underneath him. The young Talderan tried to get up again, but first, he had to dodge a piercing attack that was meant to end his life once and for all. Conor had lost his grandeur now that he was lying on the ground and his victorious smile had disappeared. Fortunately, a wind blew up enough sand from in between the grass to temporary blind the steppe raider and Conor managed to crawl up again. Conor hit the man with his sword’s pommel, and the guy fell on the ground. With a mean growl, Conor moved towards his victim. And then , lady luck played a dangerous trick.

The disarmed raider tried to find his sword again with his right hand, but instead of retrieving his scimitar, he stumbled upon something equally dangerous. Conor didn’t manage to dodge the snake that was thrown to his face, and he cried out in dismay when it almost bit him. He had just barely managed to free himself from the serpent, when the marauder managed to make him trip again. Angry, Conor tried to find his sword, but he found himself in the same situation. But he didn’t find a snake… His opponent tried to hit him in the stomach but he only hurt himself when his fist conflicted with the splint mail. Conor pulled out a throwing knife, but the man managed to get hold of his arm. “Die, you cur!” Conor spat at him and he head butted the man. His nose broke and blood swamped his face. He lost hold of Conor’s arm and he was impaled by a dagger a moment later. With a victorious growl, Conor raised from the ground and retrieved his sword. And yet, whilst he was approaching his horse to leave, he couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him.
* Sire, we are surrounded!
* Excellent! Now we can attack them frome every side!
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Conor
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