Closed [Guest ST] Dug Too Deep

"... and woke the nameless fear."

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While Sylira is by far the most civilized region of Mizahar, countless surprises and encounters await the traveler in its rural wilderness. Called the Wildlands, Syliran's wilderness is comprised of gradual rolling hills in the south that become deep wilderness in the north. Ruins abound throughout the wildlands, and only the well-marked roads are safe.

[Guest ST] Dug Too Deep

Postby Senghor Vilhjalmr on January 15th, 2014, 7:43 pm

It felt like a new gale of pain passed through his body, all his senses at their peak for that moment singular when the head of the knife dug itself into the back of his shin, at first he didn't even howl, nor bellow in rage or pain.

All those nerves constricted, tightened around the body of the dagger before loosening and his lean body hit the earth with a thud, it was than that from his lips, verses of pain strung to the war drum of agony and all he could muster at that moment was the word that'd been so lost to him...

"Fuck!" he roared as adrenaline shot into his veins, his eyes dilated, his teeth clenched and he moved in such a manner that even he didn't know how he let go of the myrian he brought down with him.

Seng was lost at that moment, though the sounds of the myrian and his attack were deafened syllables that didn't even penetrate the cages of his ear drums, his body moved, slowly crawling before he felt a hot searing pain upon his cheek, his hardened body might absorb the force for all it was worth yet Seng didn't know how much longer his body could endure such abuse.

An than at that moment all the names of his predecessors returned to him and he kept his slow, staggered crawl forward, Akir, Cagn, Nassor, Gor, Jart and so many more were the names which allowed him to cling to reality, he couldn't meet Lhex just yet, not after so many hardships, so many things left undone, unlearnt!

The earth around him seemed to move as he raised his head to look ahead, at salvation, at freedom from all this damned mess, he seemed to growl in agony, and what firelight of rage still lingered within, he kept his prone whilst inclining in head to look behind him, two figures looked in battle (?), his blurred vision could process the battle well enough.

'First a Yukman, now this shit!... I'm not getting paid enough!' he thought angrily, it was than that he stopped and fell into a position that allowed him to reach the back of his shin, he grunted in pain as he touched the hilt, it seemed like another extension of his body when pain shot up his body and he bellowed in rage whilst wrapping his hand around the hilt.

In one swift, painfully slow tug he pulled the dagger with sickening growl, than another wave of senses played out its symphony for him, pained euphoria bathed him as a trickle of blood danced its way down his leg whilst his forehead touched his knee and through his clenched teeth pain was the only registry entity slipping through him...

Seng shook his head slightly, he wanted his vision to return hence he tried his best to return it. His knuckles dug into his ground and he propped himself up, it was a slow and agonizing process yet Senghor wouldn't let out, he needed too, had to get up and moved, get away, leave!...
From the soil we came, From the soil we conquered,
My past is dead, my path dark, my rage is the herald of my blade.
Kudos goes to Alea for help with my CS.

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[Guest ST] Dug Too Deep

Postby Crypt on January 20th, 2014, 3:06 pm

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Got him! Well... not in a vital spot, but I've stopped him from shooting at me. Now I have to deal with two men in close combat. I must say, meeting Lhex sounds more attractive - what am I thinking? That sadistic bastard, he'd probably assign me to a dozen lives where I'd had to endure being killed in the exact fashion over and over again. Knowing him, I'd probably have full knowledge of what was to happen and be unable to change a thing.

Crypt ignored the other mercenaries and the dim possibility of being paid (although looting the dead bodies once he got out of this mess and obtaining some Yukman parts and blood - they were sort of magical reactants, rights? - to sell to Black Tar sounded probable) in favour of saving his own skin.

I can't quite move fast right now. Best to stay put and let them come to me.

He struggled upright to lean against the wall in a rough sitting position with legs stretched out, careful not to jar his injured leg any further.

Longsword? Perhaps. Need to trick them. Distract them. Blast this leg. I can't sustain illusions. But for an instant?

He allowed himself to collapse on the ground, head lying against the rock at such an angle that it afforded him a clear view of the incoming bandit. He slipped his dagger from its sheath, holding it against the ground and hiding it with his forearm.

He came slowly, almost as dramatic as the protagonist in all of the plays Crypt had watched.

No words. Only a strictly regulated breathing rhythm, one that allowed Jurgen to master his pain, barely audible over the

And the groan.

Both foes stiffened for a moment as they heard the Yukmen nearby, but Jurgen returned to the more immediate task at hand.

Crypt glared defiantly at the bandit, attempting to portray realistically a man that was about to die, one who would fight to the end. He noted mentally that he seemed to have done well, considering that Jurgen simply laughed before raising his dagger, ready for the expertly-aimed blow that would end Crypt's life in an instant.

No torture then. And let the curtains fall...

Crypt raised his hand, making sure that it was trembling slightly, stretching out towards the bandit in what seemed like a feeble attempt to stave off the blow.

In a sudden transition from near-death to action, Crypt splayed out the fingers of his outstretched hand, using it as a catalyst for Ionu's mark to create an illusion for a second or two.

I cannot stop light from penetrating this area, but I can make it seem like the outer membranes of the eyes, that which protect the tender parts from dust and the like, have simply turned pitch-black.

Surprised, the bandit placed both hands to his face, dropping the dagger, scrabbling about in a futile attempt to return his sight.

Whilst he was occupied, Crypt took up his longsword and heaved it at the bandit.

It struck true, creating a deep slash in the midsection of the bandit.

He released the illusion and crawled forward as he turned the tables, using the dagger to facilitate his movement.

"Looks like I win, old boy."

A few stabs put paid to the bandit... And Crypt saw Jax running away with a small pack of Yukmen at his heels.

"... You must be petching kidding me. Seriously, Lhex?"

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[Guest ST] Dug Too Deep

Postby Razkar on January 24th, 2014, 1:07 am

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"Oh, bugger this fer a game a' soldiers!"

"What?!"

"Means "Fucking run!""

The last two bandits decided that the risk were no longer worth the reward, perhaps because they were just that. Jurgen getting sliced up by the foppish sellsword... Max and Erhardt laid to waste by the giant... even the bloody civilians were getting in their digs!

Ah, I forgot to mention Jax. No. Wait.

I didn't.

The sight of him being taken down by a tide of ravenous claws and teeth would haunt them forever (and scare one straight, but that's a whole other story entirely and we're pressed for time). The rest of the Horde howled in jealous rage as the quintet of snarling, hooting Yukmen ripped Jax apart like he was made of clay. Limbs were pulled from sockets and he screamed and wailed and pleaded and shit himself, all to no avail.

So engrossed were they in their first meal above ground that the Yukmen barely noticed Crypt and the duellists and the clients and everything else... but only for the moment. And speaking duellists-

"Fuggin' bith!"

Heinrich's snarled curse was a lot less threatening (not to mention intelligible) when he spat it through a broken nose. The middle of his face resembled a hunk of tenderized meat, dripping blood and snot into his mouth, staining his teeth as he hobbled...

... drawing a dagger from his waistband as he shook the spiderwebs from his head. This was dragging on, and it was his stupid petching pride that was doing it. Where you saw one Yukman (or five) that meant ten times that many were on the way. He had no intention of being around to see if that ratio was correct.

"Enuv vun," he growled, "Time t'en' dis!"

Words for a saga, but unless you spoke Bust-Nose, you wouldn't understand them; not that Kaie was probably interested as-

-Heinrich lunged forward and forced her onto the defensive, lashing out in broad sweeps with his bastard, keeping her away from him, darting in with his dagger to stab and thrust at any advantage he could see. Rage grew and flamed and hungered in his eyes, unwilling to turn from her... even when he turned his back on the panting, near-crippled Senghor.

No matter. After her, he's next... and then I'm the petch out of here.

++++++++++


He felt the wind. It kissed skin like caked mud and dried blood. The Alpha hissed his surprise, some glimmer, some doomed fragment of a real consciousness, an echo or an embryo, sighing deep within his mind at the simple sensation of the wind... and what it represented.

They were close.

Then distant sunlight peered at them, lashed that pale and flaking forms. The Horde broke into a desperate, joyous run.

OOCWell, I take it back: NOW it looks like crunch time. Don't push it here, guys. A horde of Yumen that size makes contact with you, they WILL overwhelm all of you in short order. Time to leave. Oh, and I am SO sorry for the delay. Got caught up in some other threads.




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[Guest ST] Dug Too Deep

Postby Kaie on January 27th, 2014, 4:56 am

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The Myrian woman found her head tilting a bit like a confused animal when the brutalized mercenary barked his mangled orders. With the amount of blood and saliva stringing down and dripping from his lip, she wondered if anyone caught a word that was spoken. In the end, it didn't matter. Right then she needed to silence him. Permanently. And fast.

Gladius met bastard sword with a metallic screech. Her parries weren't nearly up to the same par as they had been before. Her wrists didn't steady quite as well and each connection made resulted in a flimsy rebound of her weapon from his. Nonetheless she often managed to yank her defenses right in line with his attacks. A well timed lunge with his dagger tore across the side of her rib cage, meriting a sharp inhale and snarl from Kaie. And as the yowls of Mizahar's bastard creatures intensified, both combatants knew there was little time left for victory.

An ambitious inward swing of the bastard sword came and Kaie was soon dancing beneath it. With her sword angled toward his body as she rushed forward in her crouch, the already bloodied gladius enacted its revenge with a deep slit above his hips. A nasally yelp rung out just before the savage turned to strike her shin against the back of his closest knee. Heinrich dropped onto his back with a hollow thud onto the rocky earth. He raised his defenses just in time to ward off a crushing blow of a downward striking gladius. Their weapons shrieked their calls for dominance at one another before they parted, only to meet again when Kaie hammered down at him a second time. Unfortunately, the Myrian's era of advantage dissipated almost as quickly as it came. Heinrich wrenched his bastard sword to knock her weapon from her hands, and scampered to his weakening feet. Fearing a vicious backlash from the duel-wielding mercenary, Kaie tore a Kukri from its leather prison and paced backward.

He's a tough son of a bitch. I'll give him that much.

Heinrich smirked in a rabid fashion and spat blood in her direction. The Myrian's lip curled in disgust at her foe, fingers wrapping tighter to her curved machete. Her odds weren't great, one weapon against a man with two. Yet now was not the time to be a hero. She needed to be smart and tactful. But how was she supposed to get around his defenses when he had the greater range? Her opponent gave her little time to ponder and plan.

As soon as Kaie tried to deter the mercenary from doling out the first punishment with a false lunge, Heinrich was quick to send her back on her heels. His sword lashed out at her viciously, making it clear he would be the one controlling their final encounter. The next round was delayed a few adrenaline fueled heartbeats before the dictator made a move. The bastard sword raced horizontally at her, forcing her into a retreat, followed by an equally malicious back swing. It was that opening the Myrian raced into. Naturally the dagger created a nice buffer between her offenses and his body. Yet it wasn't his body she wanted to attack. Not yet.

With a panicked jab forward of a dagger to force her away, Kaie seized opportunity. Kukri still tightly grasped, she placed her fist right against his inner wrist while her free land hand smashed against his hand. With fingers forced to loosen and the angle of of wrist movement limited, the dagger was launched clean from his wrist. His eyes widened in shock but the Myrian had swooped from his range before he could make a go at her. All had simply happened too fast. And all the pieces were falling into play.

He muddled out something incomprehensible but undoubtedly offensive, brandishing his sword as if to remind her his advantage was not stolen from him. He was right. What's more, the screams were drawing nearer to a dangerous distance. They'd be swarming from the mouth of the caverns soon. Kaie could take the delay of fate no more.

"What are you waiting for?! Come on!" She screamed at him, baiting him with muscles tensed and chest heaving with fury and fatigue. As if to further convey how done she was, she returned her Kukri into its sheath at her back and showed off her empty hands. Her shoulder burned something awful. For this, she decided to play to her strengths. What little of them she had left anyways. She'd have to push her wound and her limits. Just once more. She could do that one last time. She had to.

Heinrich cleaved his sword down at her from above with a victorious grin, finding little left of his opposition. He was wrong. With teeth grit and eyes ablaze, the Myrian stepped off center and blocked at the level of the elbow and wrist with her hands. Next she wrapped her right around the arms to grab the sword hilt, while the left remained in control of the mercenary's elbow. With Heinrich's wrist effectively locked as a result, Kaie jammed his elbow up and tore the sword up with it, a cry escaping her lips as she strained her shoulder muscles. His own sword turned back against him and ripped him open from belly to sternum. Heinrich fell back with a choking sound and a wail of disbelief. His cries were short lived. With a clang of the sword hitting stony ground, the Kukri returned to slit his throat.

No battle cry for victory or dominance came. No wretched shrieks and empty threats to the world from the mouth of a juvenile killer. She could feel them now. The way the whole world seemed to turn. They were emerging, the Yukmen. Kaie turned in time to see the Alpha plunge into the light first, but wasted no time to watch the rest. With a strangled groan, she rushed to recover her nearby gladius and got a move on. Breaking into an agonizing jog back in the direction of the horses, but not before pausing beside the downtrodden desert skinned barbarian. Without a word, she slipped under his arm and forced the two of them to a stand. Heart pounding and anxiety rising with every scream of the atrocities climbing to higher ground, she hobbled painfully toward their only escape.


"Hey! The horses! Get to the horses!" She shouted hurriedly to the remaining sellswords and clients alike. The good (and morbidly cynical) news was with the original ground-level team of sellswords slaughtered, there would be enough horses for the whole lot of them. And Kaie had her eyes for the familiar ebony mount she came with.
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[Guest ST] Dug Too Deep

Postby Senghor Vilhjalmr on January 29th, 2014, 3:30 pm

He tried to grasp at the foundation of consciousness, his vision was nothing more than a blurred mass whilst his body felt like a plaything to pain and only pain, each one of his steps as he inched forward seemed dragged, slow and seemingly unmoving.

'Argh, screw this, I give up' he said to himself whilst feeling his very body give in on itself and fall over, yet strangely there was not thud, not searing pain that reassured him of death, there was nothing but voices, whispering in his ears repeatedly, saying something...

A groan left the lips of Seng as a soft pain seemed to be poking at his side, his eyes opened yet as his blurred vision remained the way it was he could see the ebony muscular leg of a steed, at first it seemed to be in a full sprint and this slowly before unconsciousness grasped him once again.

A couple of chimes later and his eyes flattered open to the steady rocking of the stead, he mutter some incoherent nonsense about money and freedom yet it couldn't be made out, Seng was still grasping the context of reality but unknown to him, he was unceremoniously straddling the horse, laying on his stomach like a saddle.

In his mind he must have been in some twisted paradise where he was upside down and being poked by some strange entity whilst all he see was the leg of a horse.

'Some paradise...' he thought sarcastically whilst inclining his head to side, he could see another horse, a stallion (?) it seemed to rearing closely behind their horse.

Senghor still couldn't understand how he'd gotten where he was, the last thing he remembered was nearing nowhere fast and all that... Pain!

"Argh!, Damnit!" he cursed loudly to himself as his body reminded him of what had come to pass, he remembered, the yukman, the blasted knife in him, all the pain, for what?, nothing!...

He cursed, spat and swore whilst still feeling the very thing that would haunt him, pain, he didn't care anymore, he just wanted to get paid, to leave, to just get petching paid!...

His distress seemed to cause the horse to buck but than he stopped and just let the pain take over and just faded to black...

"Wake me when we get there..."
From the soil we came, From the soil we conquered,
My past is dead, my path dark, my rage is the herald of my blade.
Kudos goes to Alea for help with my CS.

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[Guest ST] Dug Too Deep

Postby Crypt on February 2nd, 2014, 3:05 pm

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"Well, that went better than expected. Now, to escape! To scarper! To abscond! To flee!"

Crypt ignored Jurgen's dead body (and the possible plunder it could contain) and the devouring of Jax, opting to prioritize his escape from the disastrous expedition, leaving the lamenting of having no payment for all of his troubles for later.

His longsword would make a rudimentary crutch, the ground being hard enough to allow that.

Leaning heavily on his makeshift walking stick/piece of metal, Crypt moved as quickly as he could towards a small clearing in the distance, where his bay awaited him patiently. Or as patiently as a horse could be when faced with an incoming horde of Yukmen.

As he struggled to maintain a steady pace, Crypt's mind wandered over to the emerging multitude of creatures - what would they do once he escaped? Rampage around the forests? Fight and cannibalize each other?

No time for that.

He noted that Kaie had picked up Senghor (to Crypt, it was more of dragging him) and was now moving faster than he was towards the horses.

He limped the few remaining metres, gritting his teeth and doing his best to ignore the pain emanating from the crossbow-inflicted wound.

Ahh... Shyke. It might already be infected, what with all the dirt I've exposed it to. Thank goodness it hasn't bled much. The bolt's stoppered the damn wound.

Once he managed to grasp the ropes of the saddle of his chosen horse, Crypt fell to the ground, letting out a gasp as he lost his composure, grimacing as he moved the muscles the bolt had pierced through.

"Damnit! One more step, and I'll be home. After a horrible horse ride."

One last exertion of strength had Crypt struggling onto the saddle, tapping the bay with the foot attached to his uninjured calf and thigh to spur him on towards Ravok.

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[Guest ST] Dug Too Deep

Postby Razkar on February 6th, 2014, 12:58 am

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Whatever euphoria or relief their victory and survival produced was squashed within moments when the insane litany of "yukyukyukyuk" cut into the open air like a saw. Jacen and Darrick bolted for their horses, not even bothering to sheath their swords, Wilhelm hobbling after them, bodies of their enemies and friends both still cooling at their feet.

"C'mon, move!" The mercenary snarled, gritting his teeth and feeling a fresh swell of sticky warmth spill over his stomach as he heaved himself into the saddle. "They're coming!"

All too true. Muddy monsters with stones and shards lodged in their skins burst into the narrow canyon like bacteria across an observation glass, a hundred eyes and one purpose behind them all. Food. For their hunger and their angry, restless hands; their souls empty of all but the thirst for blood and destruction. The Alpha lead them, raising on massive arm and bellowing-

-at the rapidly receding figures.

"Blessed Rhysol, protect and keep me for I am Your true servant," Darick quavered under his breath, spurring his bedraggled horse onward, not even remembering yet if it was his and not just the nearest one. "In thy name I will give offering of gold and food to-"

"Gods, just fucking kick the bastard, will you-?!"

Wilhelm didn't wait for the boy to listen: he just leaned over and slapped Darrick's steed with the flat of his steed, rewarded with an outraged and pained neigh as it plowed onward, Darrick bobbing and yelling atop the frightened animal.

"What about the others?!

Wilhelm didn't even spare a look behind him. "They knew the risks! They should be-"

As if to answer his prophecy (if it was going to be one), a trio of figures sped by him. All three were bloody and battered, but one in particular bounced around on his mount like he was lashed to it. Huge and purple and blue with bruises and slashed nearly to ribbons, Wilhelm wondered if the man would even make it halfway back.

"-there, I bloody told you, now go!"

The Alpha roared his fury as their morsels departed, growing smaller and smaller atop the queer animals he had never seen before, but which looked even more satisfying to his stomach. In a pique of anger he cast his arms around and picked up a squirming Yukman, raising the squealing thing high, threw him-

-to smash against the canyon wall, back broken, eyes rolling pitifully as it hit the ground like a broken doll-

-immediately set upon by its fellows, feeble defense overblown in ticks as dozens of hungry claws ripped it apart, kin feasting on kin without regret or hesitation...

Only the Alpha abstained, growling at the plume of dust that marked his failure. The rage in it dulled a fraction, crude but toned senses tasting the wafting air...

Ah. There was much in this Over-World. More than the bugs and crawling, nameless things of the deep. The Alpha snarled with a mouth like rows of stalactites, the closest it could come to a smile.

They would find more. Always more. Until there were none left to slaughter...

OOCWell, good job vamanos-ing, guys! We'll be tying up loose ends from here on in, so the pace will slow a little. Medical attention is priority, natch.







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Razkar has been cursed by Yahal, and as such finds little acceptance from others; they will instinctively view him as being deceptive and traitorous. However, when close to one blessed by Yahal, the effect is negated. The curse is etched onto his left pectoral, and viewing the mark causes others to feel dirty and unclean.
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[Guest ST] Dug Too Deep

Postby Kaie on February 9th, 2014, 5:42 pm

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An urgent harmony between galloping hooves and racing heartbeats rang in the young woman's ears. Agony surged around her shoulder with each rhythmic bump of the ride. Her left hand clutched the reigns of the familiar mount for dear life, as if the ride alone was what was keeping her alive. In a way it certainly was, for without it she might've been long lost in a sea of ravaging bodies eager to tear her limb from limb. Her right hand held the horn of her saddle pitifully, her teeth grinding at the thought of its current uselessness. Every now and then she forced it behind her to ensure her comrade remained on the horse, but even that was becoming a chore. At least what was left of her crew remained alive. Some were more severely banged up than others, but most had come out in one piece. Even the dark eyed man she fretted for earlier in the fray.

Only the curses and groans and the newly awakened warrior at her rear willed Kaie's gaze from the trail. She glanced over her shoulder at him, brow knit together with momentary concern. Really she was just hoping he had the brains to keep himself on the damn horse. Stopping to retrieve him like a packaged loose from its convoy was not something she was feeling up for.

"Wake me when we get there..."


"As long as you promise not to petching die on me," She shot back seriously despite the flashy grin that appeared for no more than a tick upon her features. Then it was all back to business, back to focusing on the ride and keeping up with the men who had gotten a better start. After the whole scare with the airborne Yukman that shattered in a plume of rocky debris, it seemed the team had definitely gotten their asses in gear.

I just hope this petching nightmare of a trip was worth it. I hope they found whatever it was they were looking for...

Not too much later the riders ahead of her at eased their pace into a leisurely trot. Kaie came up along them soon enough with a curious look, yet she didn't voice any budding questions right away. Her throat had dried up some time ago to leave her utterly parched. On top of that she still had some sorely open wounds needing some looking after. Never would she have thought prior to all that conflict she would ever so fervidly wish to see the comforts civilization again. She might've even been crazy enough to strut right into the Lake City if that meant finding some soothing waters and a warm bed. Oh, and how good would a couple ales be?


"Is this it?" Kaie finally inquired hopefully in a voice wracked with exhaustion. Already was her good posturing ebbing away with time until she was leaning precariously forward on her saddle. Both herself and her wounded acquaintance were overdue as far as rest went, and his wounds needing far more tending to than hers.
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[Guest ST] Dug Too Deep

Postby Crypt on February 15th, 2014, 1:50 pm

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Loot, loot, wonderful loot. All lost, because of the thrice-damned bandits and Yukmen.

Crypt's attempts to occupy his mind with anything other than the pain his wounds were causing him succeeded partially - but only because he was already distracted by a sudden tiredness that came over him as the distance between the Horde and the motley crew of men and woman. He tended to perceive and interpret things from a different perspective then. Concentrating on his tiredness helped a little, and the pain would prevent him from falling asleep.

He alternated between the front and back of the group, urging his steed to gallop forwards for a distance to scout out anything that might hinder them, falling backwards to ensure that any help required would be provided. He was, after all, the least injured (thanks to his non-emulation of Senghor's and Kaie's exploits), and he was better than the remaining survivors of the non-mercenaries at everything essential.

The Black Sun might want to know about the Yukmen horde here. It's not close enough to Ravok that it might pose a concern, but then again the Ebonstryfe might have people interested in Black Sun. Perhaps it might get me a smidgen of credit with them.

As Kaie spoke, breaking the silence that had persisted betwixt them all, Crypt held up a hand, motioning for the others to stop and dismount.

"Unfortunately, no. Let us have a short break to lick our wounds, in a matter of speaking. No more than half a bell. 'Tis already approaching evening, and we still have some ways to go before we reach Ravok, by my reckoning. We need to tend to our wounds as best as we can. I have some bandages, healing ointment and a few doses of mild painkiller. A vial of wound-cleansing potion. It should be safe to mix the painkiller or potion. It might do strange things. Drink up."

Crypt dismounted slowly, holding onto his horse for support, before placing his backpack on the ground, withdrawing the aforementioned items and a water bag, then sitting down, legs stretched out, with a groan.

He opened a bottle of painkiller, grimacing as a stench emanated from it. He threw it away, opening another, and was relieved to observe that it was fine. He passed it to Kaie before opening his last bottle.

Taking a swig of water, he luxuriated in the sensation of the fluid wetting his throat and mouth before swallowing it. He washed his minor wounds first, using as little water as possible, then used his finger to swab some of the painkiller on them. They would grow numb in a short time.

He then turned his attention to the bolt wound in his thigh. Inspecting it gingerly, probing here and there with the flat side of a wrist knife. He noted that it did not have a barbed tip, thankfully, as tugging at it did not intensify the pain. He would leave it there. He had absolutely no experience at treating that kind of wound, and the Healing Hand would not accept him as a citizen. He would have to approach the Nitrozians. His pay would most probably be docked, more restrictions would added to the contract, but at least he would still be alive.

He poured water on it, wincing as the water ran over the blocked puncture wound. A few drops of the wound-cleansing potion (since the wound was rather small) sufficed, and he added liberal amounts of painkiller - even though it wouldn't do much good - before and after he wrapped part of a roll of bandages around it, careful not to make the bandage too tight.

"How's Senghor?"

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Done by the one and only Assilsa Curare!

8200th member. :)

NOTE: I will be on holiday from the 9th to the 25th, so don't expect me to post anything! Apologies.
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Crypt
Apophenia.
 
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[Guest ST] Dug Too Deep

Postby Razkar on February 17th, 2014, 1:04 am

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"Well, he's not dead yet..."

Wilhelm gave his expert opinion as he hauled Senghor roughly off his steed and let him tumble onto the grass. They'd stopped in the cover of a hillock, the men and horses hidden by its rise, the to civilians laying on their bellies, wide and fearful eyes fixed on the way they came. The seasoned mercenary quickly cut Seng from his clothes and ran his hands over skin that seemed more bruises and gashes than actual, well... skin.

"Lotta bruises... maybe a few broken bones-" the hulking, unconscious human stiffened as Wilhelm pressed his hands to his ribs "Hmm. More than a few. But he's not bleeding out and once the Drykas gets to work, he should be fine after a few weeks rest."

He moved smoothly over to Crypt next, the three of them including Kaie laid out before their milling horses. The gallop/trot over had been arduous for their wounds and Wilhelm himself was pale as a frozen sheet. But this needed to be done; they'd escaped, they'd cheated Dire for another day. He'd be damned if someone on his squadron died now, after the fact.

"Shyke," he mumbled as he peeled away the blood-soaked breeches, "Bad... but I... I don't see any clothe or leather inside it." Grey, bloodshot eyes looked up at Crypt. "Means you probably won't lose the leg. But... the bolt still need to come out."

Kaie was the last one up, and the human took special care of her. She was the leader, after all... meaning she held the paychest, and what was a sellsword without that? Without a word he snapped the arrow in her shoulder in half then yanked it clear-

"Sorry!"

-from the back, an impotent little spurt of blood following it.

"Couldn't leave that there." His eyes roved over the gashes on her body, and he nodded to Crypt. "He's got the gear, he'll... he'll take... take care of you..."

Words so strong now faltered; his composure finally reached its limits. Damnit, he'd wanted to hold on for longer, just a little more. But... no... his feet were floating under him like clouds, and he fell to his side, clutching his stomach-

-which didn't hurt anymore. Oh, no. That wasn't good...

++++++++++

"What's it look like?"

"No bloody clue, yet... but most of 'em are wounded pretty bad. Shyke. One of 'em just fell over."

Nervous shuffling next to the older guardsman. Boy was probably itching to charge out and get himself into some derring-do... but Alfred knew that just got you killed. Better to stay and watch... at least until you knew where you were charging.

"Well, what do they look like?"

"Hmm." He squinted harder down the spyglass, focusing on the ragged, tired group. "Look like... warriors. Maybe sellswords. But the two on the hill... civilians. Probably being paid to escort them, ran into some trouble."

"Then we should help?"

The answer took a while. Self-preservation warred with duty, trying to redefine that word to be more helpful to said preservation... but eventually Alfred lowered his glass and nodded to Bart.

"I suppose."

A chime later a quartet of horsemen thundered from the post, galloping for the stricken group.
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My Words | Your Words | Myrian | Fratavan | My Thoughts
Razkar has been cursed by Yahal, and as such finds little acceptance from others; they will instinctively view him as being deceptive and traitorous. However, when close to one blessed by Yahal, the effect is negated. The curse is etched onto his left pectoral, and viewing the mark causes others to feel dirty and unclean.
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