Closed Bandits of the Wilds (discontinued)

Migration Caravan - Part II [Karyk, Loken, Salara, Kesh, Tollivant & Oleander]

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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.

Bandits of the Wilds

Postby Salara Kel'Halavath on June 16th, 2017, 12:52 am

Standing lookout upon Karyk and the herd far enough not to incite more fretting in the animals, Salara’s attention drew to Kesh’s call of something on the wind. Her muzzle lifted high, whiskers curled forward about whiffing nostrils. In a moment she shakes her head ‘no’. It was really more likely Kesh was the better smeller, but she could hear.

Stepping forward her ears swivel forward, around, back, and turning her head just to the side, they stand directionally forward. A deliberate nod confirms his warning. She could hear pounding hoofbeats, huff of heaving breath and creaking leathers. More than a few and they were coming in fast. If they moved now they might close the distance between the mounted men and the caravan sooner. Kesh could certainly; but Karyk might have more trouble, which was just fine with her. He was hurt worse than he let on and this would keep him out of action longer.

The unexpected roar of the Jamora, rather closer to her than the caravan, startled her into a defensive crouch before realizing the source as the great ape copied her thoughts by galloping straight away. She turns her sleek head to catch Karyk’s gaze as he begins to react as well. “RROOWRR,” her cry almost an apology for leaving him behind, almost. Turning her back to the herd she shadows off, not directly toward the caravan; but angled more to intercept these very unwelcome visitors from behind.

>>------> <------<<

The closer the bandits rode toward the caravan the more Damoden liked what he saw. A road weary beat down group of homesteaders – farmers, merchants and such – lugging everything they owned packed tidily away. Sure there were a few guard scouts and, it seemed, some capable hands. They’d killed off the wolves well enough. But he was backed by a group, ragtag such as they were, of ex-mercenaries, defectors, and just plain hard fellows. Nowhere to go and nothing to loose, blades and bows were their life and livelihood and this is what they did.

Riding near in a roiling cloud of dust they are stopped short when a roar rolls across the land, causing several mounts to also buck, skip, and rear. Hawing and curses flew at the horses as the men sawed at their reins for control. Then the curses were harsher as several bandits saw the black beast galloping towards the caravan in roars.

Damoden, finally getting his horse under control, watches expecting the monster to tear into these townfolk like a Yukman on live human meat. Instead it pulls up short before the people, turning with shouted orders before facing them. He hears the shock, muttering and questions behind him but is pleased at the sound of bows creaking with arrows held at ready, not yet tight to cheek. How many arrows could the beast handle before his blade got near enough to finish it off? He hoped this would go easy but they might just have to find out.

Holding his hand high signaling to the men, ‘at ready’ then ‘come along,’ he kicks heals to hide, moving his horse forward at a steady pace. As they get within bow shot several archers pull their tensions more tightly. He knew they’d keep wary eye on the beast. Slowly pulling to a stop he barks out, “I’ve got business with your leader.” Gazing as if casual across the faces, with a scowl he notes unhappy murmurs from the crowd. Mostly women, beardless boys and scrawny men it seemed. “Whose in charge here?”

Many of the caravan folk tightened grip on their weapons whatever kind they held.
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Salara Kel'Halavath
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