PM to join The Road at Twilight [Markus]

[Dalavesta Stalinsa]

Dalavesta Stalinsa

48th Winter - 513 AV - The Kabrin Road - 4 Bells North of Syliras

The snows had managed to convert the once beautiful, multi-coloured landscape into a monochrome frieze, for the time being at least. Dalavesta’s breath misted, curled around her face with a life of its own, as she stamped her way through the little that remained upon the stone road of Syliras. There was only [/i]one[/i] road in her mind and right now she was immeasurably grateful for its existence. She had been out hunting for game, fur selling well of late and in colder months sometimes better to keep for yourself. The pickings had been sparse though and she had nothing to show for her little jaunt. She had achieved some practise with her archery but somehow, with her very bones freezing, that was not as much of a comfort as it usually was.

I’ll be able to appreciate it more with a mug of warm broth and a blanket! Perhaps even an extravagant second blanket… she thought as a shiver rippled through her and her hands clenched.

“And I said aSquire wasn’t a Squire without their plate and mail…” the words trailed off bitterly as her teeth chattered together.

She pulled her cloak tighter and paused to glance up at the sky. It was getting late, the light of the day beginning its slow descent into oblivion. There were three Bells of light left, perhaps four before total eclipse occurred and only the light of Leth ruled. There was enough time to get back to Stormhold and bunker down to weather out the night. She didn’t have watch duty this evening. She continued upon her way, all the while cursing the idiocy of her zealous nature. Wearing metal armour in the bitter cold and snow had been a mistake, the chill radiated too much – it lulled her, called her to sleep. It was a danger, that type of cold. It was the whispers of lethargy that killed people not the chill itself.

She looked up from her trudging.

What do we have here? she mused as a picture coalesced around a bend in the road, small hills either side shielding it from her view previously.

It was a wagon and several people were clustered around it. A couple of them were gesticulating and she imagined that perhaps something had broken. It was difficult to tell at her current distance and so she sped up her pace, blood warming her a little more and approached without hesitation. People in need were to be aided in this realm without reservation – so long as their motives were pure. Either way she was obliged to investigate.

“Ho there! What’s the trouble?” she spoke up in loud greeting as she closed the distance, hand upon the hilt of her broadsword and the shield being loosened upon her back just in case.

After all…criminals must be punished she told herself firmly.

[Markus Andres]

Markus Andres rolled with his shoulders and straightened his back after the second fruitless attempt at lifting the wagon so someone could get under it and put the axle back on again. It was still too heavy even as they had taken some of the provisions out of the wagon. But Markus had hoped to save time, as he had seen that Syna would descend within three or four hours and that was about the time it took to Syliras in a good pace. But with a wagon on snow and ice, the travel time would increase very dramatically. Markus looked to the father of one of the two families. He looked like the oldest one in the bunch and he was the one who had talked to Markus when he had offered his help. They seemed law abiding and they had not yet done anything to earn Markus' distrust, so he trusted that they wouldn't betray him. "It is still not enough and we got to hurry if we wish to be in Syliras before darkness falls. Let me get another look." Markus said before he knelt next to the wagon and took another look at the axle. He could hear some of the men argue and he could imagine they would have a heated father-son discussion when Markus was not around. Luckily the axle was not broken, Markus focused on that rather than listening to them argue. It had just had come undone by the slippery surface and an unfortunate twist. Only some superficial damage upon the right side of the wagon where the wheel had come off and the rest crashed down. He shivered slightly, but he did not notice the cold other than his wet knees against the ground. The padding insufficient. Markus had intended to spend this day in solitude. Away from people, turns out he was now going to escort these families back to Syliras with their cargo. He wore a mix between heavy and light armour. The breastplate was made of steel with padding. The rest was simple hardened leather. It was too cold and slippery to be wearing heavy armour. His shield was on his back, the Bastard strapped to his left side just below a sheathed cold iron dagger. He wore a dark blue cloak over it all to keep him warm. “Ho there! What’s the trouble?” Markus tensed when he heard the voice. A woman he judged from the voice. Markus got up on his feet again. Markus' eyes first went directly to the hand on the broadsword. Hostile? The attire struck him next, she wore a lot of armour. He could tell. Which meant she were probably a knight he had not yet met. Her cautionary approach was only natural. But one of his sisters of the sword! Excellent timing! Markus moved to greet her, for he was not familiar with this particular member of his huge family. Markus gestured to her in two ways, one with the Syliran knights sign language. Right hand making a simple motion. Friend? The other was used with the same hand, tapping against his own single miniature sword signifying his rank as an unranked knight. Before extending his hand for her to grab. "Hello sera. The right wheel has fallen off, wanna give us a hand? Oh and it is always good to see a friendly face out here. Although I don't think we have met before, name is Markus Andres, Syliran Knight, 1st regiment silver quadron, yellow company." Markus already felt safer with another knight present. He had felt like a sitting duck with a broken wagon between a pair of hills. With another knight on location they might have the necessary manpower to get the wheel back on the axle again.

[Dalavesta Stalinsa]

Dalavesta Stalinsa

As she drew closer she could see that the party was having difficulty, it looked at a glance as if one of the wheels were broken. That was bad business at this hour and in the cold conditions of winter. She was obliged to help them and she stepped forwards to do just that, carefully placing her feet so as not to get caught out by a hidden slick of ice. The weather had not been overly terrible of late but it paid to be cautious, especially when a fall in plate armour could do considerable damage to her. She was used to the weight of wearing it at any rate, she had practically grown up in it – literally. As she got closer she saw one of them break off from the rest and come to greet her. It was only as he drew nearer that she recognized the man for what he was.

A knight! A real one for once, not a squire pretending. I must be decent, I must impress. They are the guardians of us all she told herself as she watched his hand make a complicated series of gesture – knight’s sign – that she could not read. It was not taught to squires.

She could not tell if she were awestruck or egotistic at the fact he had mistaken her for one of his rank. She wondered if she looked the part, if she had mastered the way of walking of the aura of authority. Had she finally grown into Squire-hood to the point where she was beginning to verge upon the rank of Knight? The very idea filled her with an inner light, passionate and fulfilling. She allowed a small bask in its glow before dropping herself back to reality and retreating into the correct protocol. She gripped the Knight’s wrist, wishing fervently that she wore the sword pin for truth, and stepped back to salute her superior.

“Ser, Squire Dalavesta Stalinsa Ser,” she finished and nodded her head respectfully at him, “pleasure to meet you Ser Andres. No Ser, we have not met before. Can I help in any way Ser?” she asked with an edge of eagerness.

She always wished to help her superiors, it often was mistaken for sycophancy but she held nothing but a zealous wish to serve the Knights in her heart. There was never an agenda. She looked at the wagon and listened to the quarrelling that was taking place. It was easy enough to see now that it was a simple matter of placing the wheel back on. Or it would have been simple were Leth not making a march to conquer Syna. They were not going to get anything done by arguing or standing around, that much was a certainty.

“Slipped wheel? Permission to help lift the wagon Ser?” she asked, awaiting the nodded permission before taking up her position on the broken side, bending her knees and bracing her back. Her grip was sure and she held no fear of splinters.

“One! Two! Three!” came the command and her legs bunched as she tried to surge them upwards.

Muscles groaned and the wagon shifted ever so slightly upwards. She tried to give it everything she had but her strength was not as great as that of Markus she was certain. She hoped she would measure up to the task.

[Markus Andres]

The woman did not react to his sign language. Either she did not see it or more likely, she did not understand the sign language. But he saw no hostility in her eyes, only respect and stiff discipline. Most importantly was that her hand moved away from the sword strapped by her side. Looking into her eyes as their hands gripped, a slate grey. Not the sort of colour he looked for in women, it was a shame for she apart from the eyes that didn't speak to him, she looked rather attractive. She spoke then, correcting his mistaken belief that she were a knight. She looked perhaps only a few years younger than him. He considered them of the same age, she probably saw him as an old fart. But if she did so, her tone of voice did not betray her thoughts. Extremely formal and well disciplined. Almost too disciplined for even Markus. Her surname, Stalinsa, the keeper family - a first winger. A most respected name amongst the knights and he wanted to test her skill with the blade, they always produced great swordsmen. He could forgive her for her most eager and formal tone of voice. Nothing less could be expected from such a honourable family. Would be strange to be giving orders to someone of that family, almost felt it was a sully to their family name to let an Andres order around a Stalinsa. Though his pride quickly buried that thought. "Permission granted, Stalinsa." Markus smiled at her eagerness to help and walked back to the carriage. "We'll give it another try before we start unloading everything and get to Syliras in the night. Right, Stalinsa, take position there." The older man stood ready at the side and the two younger men, one from the other family, the other his son also stood ready to lift. His arms bulky from years of toiling in a smithy. Powerful arms. His beard was grey with streaks of white in it, face dirty from the long journey. His hair was beginning to recede and the back of his head already got a bald spot. Still, Markus could tell he had once been favoured with good looks. At the other end Markus got his hands under the carriage and made sure he had a good grip. The smith's wife stood struggling with keeping the wheel upright. She looked thin, but with a rounded belly in front. Markus almost ordered someone else to take the wheel, but she looked at him fiercely when he was about to speak. Daring him to get someone to help her. "On three. Right, One! Two! Three! Lift" Markus felt his legs dig into the ground as his muscles bulged to lift the broken wagon. Felt the strain all the way up his body. But the wagon raised, slowly. But once it was in motion smart people often said it was easier. Markus did not feel like it was getting easier. He grit his teeth together veins became visible as he exerted himself fully and the wagon got raised as high as they could get it. Fortunately, it was enough for them to get the wheel back on. "Quick, get the wheel on while we hold it." The knight ordered the old man next to him. It was his wagon, he ought to know how to put the wheel back on. Markus felt the extra weight when the old man let go and it shifted to the other three holding the wagon. But it was easier to lock the joints and keep the wagon in place than it had been to lift the wagon. Markus saw as the old man got to work. Pushing the wheel back on the axle and got to work on making sure it would stick. He clapped his hands together and gave Markus a wide smile with several missing teeth. Markus flashed a wide smile right back and admired his wonderful grey streaked beard. They could carry on towards Syliras and perhaps a safer life. The smith's eyes went wide and his chest suddenly shot forward. He let out a pained yelp, smile on his lips stiffened and he fell forward against the wagon. Arms fighting to keep him from falling. Markus stepped forward. Grabbing the old man. Not knowing what happened until he saw it. A single white-feathered arrow protruded from the back of the man. They were under attack. It looked as if it had hit low enough to avoid the lungs and heart. But unless they found a healer to take care of him, he would probably die. His eyes went up the hill and he saw the men moving about up there. A second arrow was loosened, it landed hopelessly short of the wagon. Followed by another arrow. Markus saw it in the air. Saw as it viciously came straight for him, but he was carrying the old man. He could not just drop him and save himself. He had to hold on to hope that this man could survive. There were worse ways to die, he thought. It was rather anti climatic when the arrow failed to even dent his breastplate and fell to the ground. It was the wake up call he needed though. "Get behind the wagon! Now!" Markus was already moving as shouted the order. Taking command immediately the way Imass had shown him. Carrying the smith with him as he went. Seeing one of the younger men slide in his panic and land harsly on his back. Markus handed the man over to his pregnant wife and grabbed onto the fallen man's hand and dragged him to safety. Petching civilians, always panicked. He was alright, just an oaf who had fallen. Markus looked to the Smith, more worried about him. The man was still moving. Arms weakly flailing in his wife's grasp. Chest still heaving up and down. The knight would save his life, this he was determined to do. He was determined to save them all. His tactic was a bit naive if these bandits had something between their ears. Two hills, don't let them get to cover behind the wagon by also positioning people on the other hill. Petching bandits. Markus would tear each and every one of their throats out. But listening to the old man in his arms breathe and rattle, he knew his priorities right now were not to destroy the enemy, but getting these people to safety. The wagon had been repaired and their old horse stood nervously on the frozen road. They had all come behind the wagon now. In relative safety until the second group of bandits attacked. An attack Markus expected any moment. But when no crossbowmen appeared, he felt relieved. Only one flank. "Petching bandits - Stalinsa, we need to get these people to safety. You people, stay behind the wagon and let us handle this. You two, take care of him and don't pull out the arrow!" Markus moved over to Stalinsa. "I counted three, you?" Another couple of arrows hit the wagon and around it. They could make their escape impossible if they hit the horse, but it was rather valuable, either for meat or gold, so killing it would be a waste. Keeping his calm even though he was rather furious with their cowardly tactic. Waiting for her to reply before he continued. "Well, we need to create a distraction so they can get away - It is our duty. I would normally not ask this of a squire, but your heavy armour will render their arrows almost useless. So I want you to take the lead up the hill." Markus took a deep breath. He was basically ordering them to charge up a frozen hill wearing armour. This was the only choice other than sitting tight, but that would certainly doom the smith if they stuck around here. If they tried to escape in the wagon, they would just shoot the horse and accept the loss. Might even carve up the horse right there and bring the meat. He petching hated bandits. "Right, I'll be right behind you. Take a couple of seconds to get ready." Markus turned to the civilians, frightened as they were, ducking their heads under the solid sides of the wagon. "Okay. Here's the plan. We will go out and distract their archers. While we do this, you get him loaded onto the wagon and get out of here and for the love of Sylir, do not break the wheels again. By Tyveth, I promise we will do our best to protect you so do not panic and you should get out of here safely! Good. Get ready." Markus turned back to Stalinsa. "You ready?" He awaited her answer. If it was an affirmative, he would give the order to go, if negative, he would wait for her question. But it was first then Markus got his teethed heater shield off of his back. Ready to crush some bandit skulls if they got close enough.

[Dalavesta Stalinsa]

Dalavesta Stalinsa

It was agony, her muscles strained and bulged in palces she was not even ware she possessed them. She was not weak, far from it. A life of frugality and rigorous training had given her a strength that few women of her years could hope to possess – just to walk normally in plate armour was in itself an achievement few managed to greet with ease. Yet her training was in weaponry and similar activities, she was ill equipped for heaving a static load upwards and sensed that Markus was taking a lot of the weight himself. She doubted that he would admit it to her, even if she had asked. In truth she saw no malice in it – as far as she had assessed him he was honest and direct. He had given an order and she had obeyed. Pride rippled through her and though the strain sweated her brow she refused to complain or give in.

I must impress! Must give a reason to be remembered! I am a Stalinsa! Knights are worthy of my sweat! she told herself as spots appeared in her vision and after what seemed to be an eternity the order was given to release the rough wood of the wagon’s underside and the wheel was repaired.

She breathed deeply, her hair now in a tangle of small rat’s tails created from her perspiration. She smiled at Markus, a genuine smile that slipped through her mask of obedience before she reddened and covered it over with a smooth countenance of readiness. She nodded and gave the wheel a small kick to make sure it was in place properly, her metal foot thudding dully for all to hear. She was satisfied and turned to her superior once more.

“Escort to Stormhold, Ser?” she asked smoothly, hoping he would not have noticed the break in discipline.

That was when Dira stepped amongst them, the moments flashing before her eyes as her composure broke and her lips managed a surprised circle, eyes wide as the man fell forwards an arrow embedded squarely in his back. Markus was fast, faster than she, and grabbed him. His order was firm, solid and all obeyed. Dalavesta helped him to drag the man behind the wagon and then took up her position upon the other side of the wagon from Markus – tactics dictated to have one of them on either side of the civilians for true protection. The civilians….they were jittery and apt to do something stupid. She was not cruel but she was smart enough to know that they needed calm. She slammed her arm across a couple and shoved them into the wagon’s shelter.

“Stay down, stay quiet! Quiet I said! You want to live?!” she snapped, her tone harsher than she felt. It was mostly to make sure they followed her lead and they obeyed all too meekly, huddling down and cuddling into each other. Her heart went out to them.

And we have already lost one…not another. NOT another! she made the oath to herself privately as she slipped her head out to look at the ridge – there were two but only one was occupied. The bandits were foolish in their traps at least, that much was to be thankful for.

“Three Ser, for now. Don’t know what might be behind the ridge though,” she responded quickly as she took shelter once more, “ready when you are Ser!” she finished as she pulled her shield close, kissed its rim and closed her eyes.

Tyveth, grant me the strength required to defend these travellers. May they be safe, even if my life be required she prayed silently. She kissed the blade of her now unsheathed sword and looked to Ser Markus once more.

She nodded.

She rounded the wagon and heaved her shield into place in front of her only body part that was not adequately protected – her face. Granted it wasn’t overly worth preserving but she liked her life as it was. She ran as fast and as hard as she could, reaching the bottom of the hillock with arrows bouncing off of her armour and shield with thuds that still would cause minor bruising. She lowered her metal cover a fraction to see where they were – one was to her right slightly and the other two were to her left. She angled towards the one on the right so that the shield in her left hand would protect her.

She could here the trudging of Markus’ footsteps behind her. The hill was a small incline but still tiring as she charged upwards. A few more arrows scattered around her and she was upon her quarry, sword at the ready. The foolish bandit had not really readied his weapons, perhaps hoping she would fall before the ranged onslaught. She smashed into him, shield rim ramming into his shoulder so as to put him off balance. Her broadsword darted out and slipped past the guard of his own blade momentarily, drawing a streak across his chest before she was farced back by a wild swing. He was not trained and she was a squire – the outcome inevitable. She stepped into his next swing, the blade ringing upon her shield before she swept her arm sideway to leave him open.

Her broadsword stabbed into his chest, catching upon ribcage slightly before ripping it backwards to leave him bleeding out in the soil. She turned and charged towards the other two that Markus was engaging already, blade seeming to dance with the all too deadly skill of a master.

She doubted he would need further help but he was a Knight and her life was lesser than his. She would aid as best she could.

[Markus Andres]

Markus nodded to Stalinsa. Impressive squire, knew to keep her head cool and the way she had handled the civilians while he thought of a plan and made sure their position was safe. Impressive. If they got out of this one alive she would certainly live up to her name one day and he would find her patron and praise her or his squire. Markus' mind once more focused on the task at hand, he had still not seen the woman in combat. That would soon change. She followed orders, got out when he commanded it and Markus slipped in behind her, he was by far larger than her and using her armour as a cover would not work if they knew had any sort of aim at all. Still, his focus was simply to close the distance and cut into them. He held his heater shield over himself in a down sloped angle that some of it protected Stalinsa from arrows from above. That was the general idea at least. It was not hard to keep up with the squire, she wore heavy armour, his was mostly light armour. It was impressive how well she moved in the heavy armour. Keeping her balance and not slipping on the slope. "Break off when we get in range. Kill the nearest one, I will get the others." The young knight ordered as they advanced. They were soon close enough for the archers to cease their firing and prepare for a skirmish. Though they seemed less thrilled about this aspect of the fighting. Markus could see the fear painted on the face of one of them. As the two members of the syliran knights broke off their formation, Stalinsa going straight for the man closest to them. He was a filthy bandit, she were a proud member of the greatest military organisation Mizahar had ever seen. She would probably tear him apart with ease. Markus moved past the squire with the bastard in his hand. "For Sylir!" Markus said loudly. That left Markus with the guy almost shyking in his pants as he held his spear weakly and a rowdy looking man with a thick bushy beard and brandishing an axe. Petching farmer's tool. He looked a little more confident than the other man, perhaps because he misinterpretation Markus as the squire of the duo because of his lighter armour. Markus would never find out, for he engaged the man in combat. A pitiful yell and the man with the spear on the left thrust it directly at Markus' centre. Markus effortlessly slapped it aside with the sword. Markus kept moving forward. The bandit swung the spear back in. The wooden pole striking Markus' armoured side. He didn't even feel it as it connected with him. But he did notice the other bandit. Axe lifted high. Rushing in to finish the knight off. The bastard was thrust directly into his chest. Easily piercing the scratched and worn leather chest piece. His forward momentum pressing the blade in further. The axe dropped from his trembling hands. His lungs exhaled a cough of disbelief. Before he fell back and to the ground. Hands clutching his chest as he quickly bled out and the lifeless corpse rolled down hill like a rag-doll. Markus' focus returned to the spear wielder. Looking more afraid now than ever, desperately trying to wriggle the spear free. Markus swung in the bastard hard and viciously. Death in his eyes as the man's mounting fear could not deter Markus from ending his miserable life. He raised his arm, trying to shield himself from the blade. All he succeeded in doing was make his last moments more painful. As the blade tore through several fingers before cutting deep into his shoulder and chest. Despite everything, Markus' eyes went for his eyes. The soft blue eyes went wide as the realization struck him. He was about to die. Brief moment of surprise and perplexed look on their faces, until pain kicked in. The young man let out a howl of pain. A deep terrifying howl of pain that boomed through the surrounding forest. Marked glanced to Stalinsa, she had dispatched of her foe and the desperate trio of bandits had been dealt with. Markus hated bandits, but he still felt pity for the lost souls. It was never easy to end another man's life, but he knew it must be done. Remembering the shocked face as the smith had slumped over the side of the wagon was enough to fuel Markus' anger to ignore their humanity. "Well done, Stalinsa." Markus would have said more, offered a little more praise. But looking into the forest he saw several figures moving closer. Many people moving in the shade of the trees. That was when he saw it, a bear of a man holding a crossbow, it looked flimsy compared to his size, but Markus knew the power of those things. It was Lined at Markus. He heard the twang as the bolt was unleashed. His shield had been out wide, a foolish mistake, he tried to move it in the path, but he was a fraction too slow and he exhaled sharply as the pain flooded his mind. Not so anti climatic any longer. Looking down he saw a crossbow bolt that had pierced his chest. Markus could feel the tip of the bolt inside of him. Could feel it scratch against his abdominal muscles. Reflexes had him pull the arrow out and to his surprise, it had barely penetrated the armour. Looking at the blood soaked tip of the bolt. Seemed it had penetrated enough to draw blood. Pierced through the plate armour and the padding underneath. Half an inch into his abdominal muscles and it hurt a lot. His breath became faster and every one was pained as he was reminded of the wound in his stomach. "Petch." He peeked over his shield and saw many figures moving for the two Sylirans – a single huge figure bent over, reloading his crossbows. He counted eight or nine. Too many for them to handle alone. Markus might have been able to if he had worn full armour. Ignored their attacks and pummelled them. But not now. Especially with Markus wounded, he would live and he could still fight. He could hear some jubilation from between the trees. Someone was happy that he had been hit. Someone was going to get killed for that joy. Markus was reminded of his duty then as he heard something behind him. Something that went over the sounds of the bandits. The crackling and sounds of a wooden wheels rolling wildly against stone. Looking back he saw the wagon was moving away from the scene post haste. They had succeeded in their mission, thus far. Time to finish the job. ”Stalinsa, get over here.” Markus sounded surprisingly calm despite the situation. Markus had been in combat enough to not lose his cool. That got men killed. The knight crouched and held the shield between him and the petcher who had taken a shot at him. Markus had tried worse injuries and he would live through this, he worried more for the civilians than his own life. ”Next time the crossbow is fired, we charge.” Markus ordered before peeking out from the shield at the enemy approaching. Most of them in full sprint at the two. He counted nine people with different sorts of weapons, he counted axes, blades, spears and one of them even carried a warhammer. The bear of a man behind the others waving his flimsy looking crossbow back and forth as his heavy set body lumbered forward. When he stopped, Markus knew another arrow would be sent at them. Several long seconds passed as he aimed at them. Then the bolt was unleashed Markus felt it clang against his heavy metal heater shield. It was too tough for the bolt to pierce. ”Now! Attack! For Sylir!” Markus raised the shield and quickly moved forward. Hindered in his charge by the bleeding wound in his gut, but not enough that these petchers wouldn't feel his fury. The first man swung at Markus wildly. Trying to tear off his face with his chipped axe. Markus shield met it head on and smashed the man's arm out wide. Markus would have plunged his blade deep into the man's chest, but another petching bandit came on his right with a shortsword and a buckler that had seen better days. Years of active combat and training meant Markus had a solution present moments later. Markus stepped forward and swung his upper body to his right and braced his right back leg for impact. The first bandit had come with much force and Markus would exploit this to the fullest. The shield was an excellent weapon. The bottom of the shield dug into the bandit's chest. Markus could hear above the pained howl that a rib or two broke. He knew that the teethed shield was already biting into his flesh and tearing it apart. The second bandit felt why size did matter. Markus had far superior range with his bastard sword. Swinging down hard, below the man's raised arm and protective buckler. Just before the right leg touched ground, the bastard sliced into his thigh, carving into the bone and scraping down as bone and flesh separated. His blade emerged again as it tore through on the same side, but down at the knee and dug into the ground. The man in full sprint could not stop. His right devastated leg tried to keep balance as he ran, but it would not respond. He tripped over the bastard. His howls of terror, as his brain was flooded with pain, almost made Markus shiver with disgust at what he had just done. The bandits lack of balance had him crash into the other bandit who were desperately trying to get air into his lungs as broken ribs had pierced his right lung. They would probably die of those injuries, but not before having suffered for a long time before Dira claimed them. Both bandits fell in a heap and one clutched his chest, the other what remained of his leg as a large chunk hung freely from the bone. ”Wysar give me strength!” Markus spoke under his breath. It was not physical strength, it was strength to block out their howls of pain as he continued. He most of all wanted to end their pain right then and there, but they had buddies. Plenty of them and Markus couldn't spare a moment to finish them off for their own good. Markus glanced at Stalinsa, make sure the female squire was doing okay. Before moving to engage and intercept more bandits.

[Dalavesta Stalinsa]

Dalavesta Stalinsa

As she turned to Markus fear rippled through her, the bolt seemed to move slowly through the air as time slowed down and she wondered if oncoming death felt like a dream, slow and inevitable. She saw the bolt smash into the knight, pierce his light armour and would have given anything to have been the one to be the one to take it instead. Her armour would have taken the impact, shielded the knight from the cold embrace of finality. The scene froze and her breath caught in her chest as rage battled with sorrow at such a passing – then Markus tore the bloody bolt free and time slipped back into its normal rhythm. She heeded his order and ran towards him, placing her shield up next to his own for added protection.

By Sylir! That could have been it! A knight dying before me! A knight! What chance do I have? was all she could think to herself, fear vying for control within her as the orders were barked to her through gritted teeth.

She only managed a dull nodding of her head as she shuddered and threw back her fear for now. The clang of the bolt hitting Markus’ shield felt like the invitation of Dira herself. She swallowed and broke cover, following Markus as he sped forwards. She couldn’t keep up in her heavy steel plate, training or not, and he had already engaged two of the bandits before she had come within range of those second closest to the duo of warriors.

She crashed her shield into the first, his shield smashed into hers and number her left arm with the impact. She was rough, brutally simple with her response as she dug in her heels and pushed. Muscles strained as they vied for control of the shield lock, jaw hard and teeth crunching into each other as spots blurred her vision. She could not win, she was not as strong as the giant man before her no matter what she tried. She brought her broadsword around and forced him to disengage with a hacking motion towards the arm holding his vicious axe – he was left handed she only now realised. She didn’t let him step back and regain the initiative, there were too many to allow that.

“For Slylir!” she screamed as she thrust her shield forwards, bringing it across to attack the weapon side of her opponent and receiving a solid snatch of his shield into the shoulder of her plate armour even as she forced his guard to open.

She stepped inwards and hastily hacked towards his neck, blade sinking in and to her horror she found it stuck in the bond of the spine as blood spurted from his severed jugular to cover her from head to toe in a deep red mist. He gurgled as he fell, taking her with him. She would always remember that, the messy death caused by an inexperienced squire. She was forced to follow, being brought to her knees as she tried desperately to keep a hold on her broadsword. A second bandit took the opportunity to try to end her life, bringing a heavy club down towards her. She brought her shield up just in time to stop her head from being caved in and the shattering force turned her upon her back – swords tearing free of her second corpse and almost beheading it she saw.

Tyveth! Sylir! Please! Don’t let me die here! she pleaded as she found herself upon her back and the only wall between her and death her shield.

Blows rained down upon her, smashing her shield into her torso until she was sure her armour must have broken by now. The bandit shifted tactics and instead swung sideways now, the left side of her ribcage taking the true definition of a hammering. She screamed with pain and rage, timing her shield push with the rhythm of the swinging so that it caused the club to rebound. She had one opportunity and used it well, lunging forwards with all her might to ram her broadsword into the bandits leg. It bit into flesh, sunk and cut through the inside of the man’s thigh. She was again covered in crimson as she levered herself upwards as quickly as she could – clumsily in the least.

The man was upon his back, she upon her knees again and rammed the edge of her shield into the throat, finally ending his misery and collapsing his windpipe in another gurgle of ebbing life force. She was tired now, so tired and knew all too well how unused to true combat she was. She heaved herself upwards as another bandit threw themselves at her, a wild eyed woman she saw with a spear in hand – thrusting towards her heart.

She brought her shield up and felt the impact even as the tip of it slammed through the metal and stabbed into her forearm despite her armour.

“Ser Andres!” she shouted, hoping to all the world that he was still alive.

[Markus Andres]

The knight pushed forward. The cries of pain and terror behind him where ignored to carry on the battle. Discipline and control! The constant pain emanating from his guts was a powerful reminder for him to stay calm and collected and finish the job. The squire looked as if she were having trouble. Then Markus saw her almost lop a man's head off with a vicious strike. The focus returned upon the bandits still coming in, visibly shaken by how easily the knight had taken care of two of their friends. Less eager to attack him alone. The trio worked together well, their trio of blades coming in quickly and at odd angles. It was a beautiful symbiosis between the three men. The shield and bastard working in a intricate and delicate patterns, the shield swinging back and forth, catching blades in the side and knocking them away from the knight. The blade intercepting blades and often whooshing out in quick thrusts and swings to keep the men on their toes and in front of him. He had managed to score a nick on one of their cheeks. Fresh warm blood oozed from the wound. But the man did not look bothered. His focus still intensely on the knight. The man on the right came in for a vicious overhead swing at Markus. Markus relaxed in his knees and ducked below. Swung right side forward and raised the shield and caught a man by the hand as he swung down at him. Markus heard a crack. Probably a finger broken and the man's gasp of pain and following curse confirmed Markus' suspicion. The bastard swung out low to get the man in the middle in the legs and hamstring the man. But he had either read Markus' attack or he had a finely tuned reaction speed. For he leapt over Markus in a forward roll. Markus followed suit and followed the direction of his mass and rolled forward and was happy he did not wear the heavy armour, or his noticeably lack of grace put him back on his feet awkwardly. Looking at the three men with a new found respect. These men were no novices to the trade. They were still scum, though. The part of him that he sourly denied existed was beginning to enjoy this fight. Until his eyes caught hold of the men lying behind these three men. Wounded and injured beyond repair. One of them already succumbing to shock as pain and blood loss slowly killed him. Markus eyes narrowed on the three combatants. Eyes quickly moving from person to person. Who would attack first of the three. Left man came in, but stopped, a feint. Middle guy yelled threateningly, right guy remained sour looking and quick morbid as a part of his face was a 'fall of blood. It was all a feint, just trying to unnerve Markus and bring him out of his cool. There were yells of pain and an eye went to Stalinsa, having her own trouble as bandits stood around her. The knight had to force their hand. The shield was lowered on his left, Bastard came down hard from above at the man on the right. The right man moved to block the strike. The guy on the left moved forward and chopped down at his head. Middle guy sprung forward to thrust his blade into Markus' guts. Excellent timing on their part. Markus had prepared for his favourite trick. Original strike had been a feint, blade had never descended more than a couple of inches, but enough to give the illusion. Markus quickly stepped to his left. Shield raised to catch the descending weapon. As he used the left foot as a anchor to pivot the right leg about and get his body behind the shield. The shield caught and redirected the enemy sword. To where Markus had just stood. The bandit overextended and leant forward automatically. His balance compromised. Markus blade trust closely across his own body. The tip poking just above the rapidly lowering shield. Catching the man by complete surprise as the cold blood soaked metal pressed against the side of his throat. It all went smoothly, just like when he had used it during sparring sessions. This was where the technique stopped when he sparred. This was not a spar. He pressed on. The Bastard gashed the throat open. Blood splattered and oozed from the wound. The man stumbled back a step or two before falling to the ground. Weapon-less arm trying desperately to close the wound. But it had been a vicious cut and the nicked blade and it would be moments of agony before Dira would finally take the man. Par divine intervention, this man would succumb to his wounds. Luckily for him, he would not wait as long as the men behind him. One of the others called out a name. It was lost to Markus as he had a job to finish. He did not see as the two men's face turned to rage and their swings became wild at the advancing knight. Their cool gone, their unity shattered. What they lacked in unity, they made up for in sheer outrage. Powerful swing hit his shield, Markus' right foot slid out as he regained his balance and pushed backed. The other man swung down at him. The Bastard intercepted the attack and bashed it aside and riposted. The hungry blade sticking deep into his body and Markus twisting the blade. Carving a deep and wide wound into the man's chest. Too far Markus soon realized as he would not be able to pull it back in time. Instead, he advanced. Stepping into the man. His superior physique sending the man back. Something whizzed past his head and burrowed into the ground behind him. Markus spun around, shield catching the incoming weapon of the remaining scum. Pushed it aside with a grunt. His right arm swung out. Hand rolled into a fist. Slugged the man right across the jaw. Knocking a tooth loose and he staggered sideways. Somewhere someone yelled out for him. Voice filled with pain and panic. He was needed elsewhere. Could not finish this man off. He hoped he would not regret that later. Markus spun around again. Leaving the sword sticking out of the second bandit. Corpses and dying men littered the ground as Markus sprinted to the source of the sound. The man standing before squire Stalinsa. In a stride or two, Markus covered the distance. ”FOR SYLIR!” Markus voice boomed as the teethed shield came in sideways edge first. The man turned his head in time for his shield to shatter the nose bone. As his head lowered from the force of the impact. The shield slid down his face. The teethed edges cutting into his cheeks. The shield cleared of his face. It continued directly into his shoulder and collar bone. The latter snapped almost instantly from the pressure. Always had it been a weak bone. Markus tore his shield back. The bandit staggered away from Markus, the knight followed. His right arm went forward again and again. The cold iron dagger cut deep time and time again. The man would have howled in pain did blood not turn it into a gurgled sound. Markus fist swung in and hit the man square in the already completely shattered nose. He swung about and the remaining two bandits were in full sprint away from the two warriors. Fear had defeated the rage of the bandit Markus had ungracefully slugged across the jaw. Fitting to see them flee. Markus was not about to give chase. Did not want to follow them into the woods. Injured and alone. Plus, he had to take care of Stalinsa. He turned to her once more. "How bad is it, Stalinsa?" The knight looked at her worried and his voice full of concern as he got by her side again. Staying away from the spear that had hit her. They would both have to go get help. Medical help. But neither wounds seemed fatal. At least the family got away somewhat safe.

[Dalavesta Stalinsa]

Dalavesta Stalinsa

The world passed in a blur, pain her companion as she gritted her teeth and hissed breath inwards and tried not to wrench her arm away and cause further damage. It was difficult not to do so, to recoil and flinching in the face of such a piercing onslaught but she managed to hold her ground and waited for the ultimate end. Then rage flickered, wrath surging as she felt the tip slide out and warmth oozed outwards and began to fill the metal of her gauntlet. Red smeared the back of her shield, a non-lethal injury but it bled profusely and would do so for a while. Her finger’s slick and with nothing else to do she brought her foot up to lash out viciously at the man’s knee – just in time to cause a slight stagger of balance and the battle charge sounded, loud and filled with grim foreboding. The Knight slammed into her enemy and it was a brutal show of efficiency at killing. She pushed herself to her feet, body aching and energy low, but alive.

I survived, lived. Not smoothly but it is enough she nodded to herself as she gulped in massive lungful’s of air, as much as she could and winced slightly. She shook her head at the question, sheathed her sword and waved her now free hand reassuringly.

“I am fine, got through the shield though. Need to get it patched,” she panted, she had never been in a situation like this before and nerves got the better of her as limbs began to shake as adrenaline left her shocked body, “that was amazing! Thank you Ser. Thank you. I- I will do better next time” she looked out over the remnants of the carnage and approved of their endings.

Thieves deserved no mercy, killers deserved to be cut down. What drove them to attack here? Were they so desperate? The wagon was gone, the people protected at the costs to themselves and that was what she latched her mind to. They had done their duty, had saved most of them. They would need to report the encounter of course, the Order needed to know of the bandits and that some remained to be hunted down like the slimy dogs that they were. She looked back at Andres, his chest was heaving with exertion as hers was but he held a strength bout him – an endurance – that she couldn’t hope to match. He was admirable, someone worth following and listening to. All Knights were of course but it was good to see it first hand, letting it solidify her life’s choices and promises to herself.

“Do you think they will come back? The wagon won’t get very far quickly. Should we fight rear guard for them? What are you orders Ser?” she owed him the rank, he had saved her life and that was precious.

She blushed slightly at the thought, it sounded strangely sordid in her mind. She shouldn’t think that way, they were doing their duty – that was what it was. She firmed her mental walls and the mask of the eager squire, the mask that was not a mask, slipped back into place as tiredness seeped into her bones. It would be a long walk back to Syliras and her bed. At least she could sleep in…a little. They would allow it after hearing if her actions, after the debriefing of course. Lots of talking when she could be resting, she sighed deeply. A shudder as breathing began to slide back towards the normal. She looked at him and nodded.

“Are you okay? You got hit by that bolt Ser?” she asked softly, hoping she wasn’t going to have to support him as his own body slipped out of its fight or flight survival mode of being.

She wasn’t sure she was strong enough.

[Markus Andres]

Why do I always end up punching them. That petching hurt.

Markus knuckles felt raw as he sheathed his dagger again. Protective gear or not, he had put way too much power into that punch. As he realized he could feel that pain - he knew he would soon be without the luxury of adrenaline and every little muscle and damaged nerve would be flooding him with useless information. He exhaled relieved when Stalinsa responded, at least she was clear headed enough to hear and understand him, that was a good sign. The blood that oozed out of her arm, was directly the opposite of calming. But Markus had seen and caused his fair share of grievous wounds in his time as a knight. But he was not a doctor, far from. But he figured applying pressure to the wound would be the right thing to do? He looked her firmly in the eyes, the concern present, but also pride that a squire had stood her ground. She was a fine squire and Markus knew talent and courage when he saw it. Would be a terrible shame to loose a dedicated squire like Stalinsa to foul bandits. She mentioned patching her up, Markus figured that was as good a solution than any.

"You did admirably, Stalinsa." He said with a stern look, but the words were genuine enough. She was a strong woman, getting to her feet even with her arm gushing blood. "We don't have time to get you patched now." Markus decided. If the two were getting friends, they would be here soon. It was unlikely, but Markus would not be caught here in the open again. He mused to himself for a brief second before he pulled forth his cloak and tore off a large piece of it. He found a relatively dry area and handed it to the squire. "Just apply pressure to the wound, it is the best we can do for now until we catch up to the wagon or find one of the cabins." Her question that followed made sense, she was also blessed with a cautious tactical mind. Many talents this woman had. But Markus' mind was too focused on the task at hand to pay any particular mind to her talents. Instead he worried for her safety. For he believed he had only just scratched the surface of Stalinsa and she had much more to prove in the future. She even asked him for orders. Markus snorted at the idea of him ever doing that in the past.

"We need to make sure the wagon is safe" - Markus had been in a lot of fights through the years and he always managed to keep his cool in all but the most absurd of them. Today was no different. He knew their position was vulnerable. Leaving the hill could also prove to be a fatal mistake, but it was their best option and the quickest solution. The forest was a no go. He knew this as his glance was thrown about. The primary concern was getting the civilians home. Secondary, keep Stalinsa alive. Finally, he could worry about his own well being. Although it appeared he had a woman nearby who had that as one of her primary concerns. Markus threw a glance in her direction when she spoke to his well being. Looking to where the bolt had pierced his armour near the abdominal muscles. It was beginning to hurt as the luxury started to wear out in his system. Pain began to cloud his judgement. Made it hard to focus on what path to take. He looked to Stalinsa. Her words of concern touching, but unwanted. He would survive this ordeal.

"Nevermind me, it is nothing I haven't tried before. Breastplate protected me from the brunt of the force." He flashed the squire a crooked grin. "We wear the heavy shyke for a reason, Stalinsa." She had snapped him out of his indecision. They needed to get off the hill. They were an open target up there, better to try and remain hidden from sight further down. "Right, we're moving after the wagon. You take the lead, I have something to take care of up here. " Markus moved to fetch his blade. Tore it violently from the dead man's chest. He could hear bones break as he twisted and yanked it clear. Smeared in his and his friend's blood. A waste of humanity these men, if they had just followed the law this unnecessary waste of human life could have been avoided. He used the man's clothes to try and wipe the worst of the blood off of the blade before he sheathed it. He would have to clean later. When he found the time. The knight turned towards the men still alive over on the hill. Those he had wounded first. Neither would not survive their foolish attack and possible murder of the blacksmith. Did not mean Markus was done with them. His rage had been masked by his concern for his squire.

This he knew he would regret later. Just like all those years ago in the forest with the old man. Still haunted him in the night. Markus brushed aside those worries, he was a knight, he could shoulder such trivial things. He had to in the name of duty.

"Stalinsa, after the wagon. I'm going to try and see if I can get some answers out of these men. I will catch up to you in no time, so go. And keep pressure on that wound!" His voice grew hard, he did not want to hear any arguments from her. It was time for her to go. She did not need to see this side of Markus.