[Birthright] (Main) The Excursion to Xarxet

----- Uriel of the Hellguard -----

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----- Justiciar -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (military caravan, front) -----


Uriel found the Captain's reaction to be surprising. Soldiers didn't usually show this much respect towards the Sanguine. On the other hand, the Exorcist's verbal duel was much to Uriel's dislike. She was always one for action rather than talk, and this conversation reeked of lies and taunts. She was just glad that the caravan continued marching. The sooner they got to Xarxet, the better.
 
----- Feris Grehyl -----

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----- Paradigm -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (Military Caravan)-----

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The unchaining of the Sanguine left a lump in his throat, a bead of sweat grew on his forehead. Feris questioned the wiseness of the decision, but inside, he applauded the Captain's decision in the end. It was not right for her to be chained up like an animal, for she to was a human, merely... somewhat tainted.

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Tainted. The word passed through his mind. Was it her fault that she was like this?

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'It is not her fault she has been cursed, but her actions undermine any resemblence of purity.'

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'Yet she must do what she must to survive... although she seems to be enjoying that aspect rather well.'

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The spirits guidance did little to ease Feris' worries. Perhaps time would tell if she were to be trusted.

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The caravan resumed its travels, the oasis of noise resumed, no longer distracted by the allure and fighting of the two women. The hammock was rather comfortable, but Feris got out anyway, stretching his arms and legs as he got out. It was quickly filled by another soldier, sighing with relief. A loud groan of wood creaked as his weight pushed down on it. "A good sleep to you, friend." Feris said, smiling. The soldier nodded his head, his helmet covering his eyes. Feris walked forwards, his scarves waving around himself ever so slightly. Dust was entering his eyes for the first time, irritating them. Putting his hand infront of his head, Feris sat down next to the Justicar. At least she would give some cover to the dust, but perhaps some conversation could be made. Her staunch face peered outwards, looking endlessly at a single point. Feris tried to see what she was gazing, but found herself staring at the Sanguine again. Worries crept up inside.

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"Do you believe it is wise for her to be unchained?" Feris asked, motioning his free hand towards the Sanguine. "She is one of us after all, but I have my doubts."

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Feris waited for her reply. No doubt she would detest the actions of the Captain, but Feris was interested in her views as one of the Hellguard all the same.

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----- Uriel of the Hellguard -----

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----- Justiciar -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (military caravan, front) -----


Uriel turned her gaze aside and saw a brown haired man next to her, partially armored, and she immediately recognized the symbol on his temples: The Paradigm birthright. Uriel only once met one of his kind, briefly, but at Arden Sol she learned about them. Paradigms were possessed, so to speak, with two ancestral spirits from the day of their birth. A person's decisions and actions are dependent on how those spirits agree or disagree, thus making them generally unpredictable. They were also adept at summoning different magical weapons, bound to their birthright.


Uriel was unsure whether the man knew who she was. Her birthright was hidden from sight, and there was no other way of someone telling a Justiciar, but Justiciars in service of the Order, which meant most of them... Well, it wasn't difficult to tell a member of the Hellguard, at least not for anyone who ever encountered one before.


"I doubt a single Sanguine could cause significant trouble before she is put down." the woman replied. "Not that I expect her to try. Do you?"
 
----- Sontaz Detakye -----

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----- Scorpionis Album -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (Front of the Caravan)-----


The dust was of little hindrance to Sontaz as the his hat and his father's cloth protected him from the worst of it. He had overslept the other day, another of his nightmares keeping him up at night, so he had missed the caravan's departure by a good five hours. He did not hurry to catch up to the caravan, he couldn't. The Bounty's were dry and he spent the night outside on the ground sleeping, unable to afford a night in the inn and unable to purchase food.


Tired and hungry, Sontaz spent the better of the day catching up to the caravan. His body began to freeze up on himself when his hunger let it self be known and gave out a growl that he almost mistaken for a beast. He had to find something to eat before he collapsed.He took off from the path he knew the caravan was taking and began to look for game. His hunting prove futile, and he realized he was further away from the path the caravan took then he had intended to be.


Two days had passed as Sontaz searched for food and his way back to the path. The first day he had given up on finding any real game, realizing the dust must have chased off any animals living in the vicinity, and began looking towards insects for nourishment.He had also given up on finding the path and instead choose to follow the direction he knew Xarxet to be.The second day proved to be uneventful and tiring.


On the dawn of the third day, Sontaz found the path once again. Tired, and hungry he could hear the sound of men and woman bickering.Turning his head he could see what appeared to someone of noble birth riding on a horse with a paled skin woman riding alongside him. Behind him it appeared he was leading a large group of savage untrained brutes with a few exception.This is the military caravan the lord has sent? Father always taught me never judge book by it's cover, I must look worst.But still.. Suddenly he began wondering if the freeborn's were really to blame for their rebellious assaults.


His clothes and body dirtied from the ground he slept on, and torn, the sullen eyed Sontaz approached the man he assumed to be in charged. Standing in the way of his horse and making eye contact with him as the man's horse trod on towards him.Raising his left hand he beats his chest when the man is closed enough to hear him.In a calm and serious voice he spoke, "Hail, I am Sontaz Detakye sire, I'm here to join the caravan.I apologize for being as late as I am. " As he spoke he suddenly realized how dry his throat was and began to look at the caravan wondering if he could finally have a proper meal and possibly even rest.
 
-----Conner Redfur-----

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-----Beastwalker-----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (Captain's Shoulder) -----


About ten minutes after going off hunting, a large bird, either a falcon or eagle, dove right into the middle of the military caravan. Just before smacking into the captain, the bird opened it's wing and landed on the captain's shoulder. It seemed to be cleaning itself, but was actually whispering. Seeing as how I only run into them, this is a freebe, While I was hunting, I ran across the scent of a few humans. I was curious, so I tracked them down. I found a small group of three men waiting for someone, and they were not sounding friendly. So I mauled two of them and interrogated the third. We're about to be attacked by freeborn guerrilla, about thirty men from both sides, from what I could understand of the man's babbling. He too was taken care of. I'll scout the air, see if I can't locate the others. Listen for the falcon's cry. And with that, the falcon took off to the skies again.
 
----- Feris Grehyl -----

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----- Paradigm -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (Military Caravan)-----

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The woman gazed towards Feris slowly, her eyes piercing into his face. They moved towards slightly to the right, gazing at the symbol upon Feris' temple. She didn't seem to care or worry, her voice was confident and unshaking, a welcome change to Feris' conversations. Those with heresay and rumorous knowledge of Paradigms feared their unpredictability. He smiled inside, as he remembered a particular women fleeing as soon as she saw Feris' symbols. The woman spoke again, words of arrogance, or perhaps she underestimated the Sanguine? They were frightful beings...


"No, but all the same, she is a Sanguine that has..." his mouth hung open, the words were slightly shaken. He stumbled to think of the words. "...embraced her curse so to speak. I trust her to not act upon it towards us, but when the night comes, when we are unaware, I then have my... doubts." He was about to say fears, but quickly changed it. As he ended the sentence, he coughed into his hand, the dirt had started to irritate his throat. He pulled one of his scarves to his mouth. The Justicar didn't seem to mind the dirt too much, then again, this was the first sentence he had heard from her, and a surprising one at that. The last Justicar proudly boasted his service of justice and order when he was taking a younger Justicar away from the orphanage for conscription towards the Hellguard.


The caravan stopped all of a sudden, the jolt nudging Feris forward. He peered out, seeing a man on a horse, his face uneasy, and lifeless, his clothes dirtied and ragged. He spoke, or atleast tried to with the strength he had left, though Feris couldn't hear his words. The captain looked at him, listening. Feris leant back against the caravan, feeling the warm wood against the back of his head. Looking down, he noticed the dust collecting on his attire. The sun reentered his eyes as he used both of his hands to brush it off. He swallowed, and closed his eyes, knowing this journey was going to end sooner or later.
 
----- Captain Alister Sanctum -----

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----- Zealot -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (Military Caravan) -----


Alister greeted Sontaz and allowed him to join the caravan, forgiving his tardiness. After he took his place in the caravan, it continued to move for another few hours, it looked like the sun was settling before a falcon flew past everyone, startling some and settling on the Captain’s shoulder. It appeared to others as if it was cleaning it self but it was actually whispering urgent news to the Captain, acknowledging the bird, it flew off.


The Captain halted the Caravan by raising his hand and yelling “We are about to be ambu-” but it seems it was too late as a dense fog descended over the caravan and instantly someone fell dead to the ground by an arrow that had hit perfectly hit the man inbetween his eyes. Shit the captain thought as he got off his horse drawing both his swords and signaling battle stations. In the fog every one could see shadows of what appeared to be soldiers surrounding them.
 
----- Uriel of the Hellguard -----

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----- Justiciar -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (military caravan, front) -----


Uriel's senses could smell the fear in the Paradigm's words. She smiled faintly and advised him: "Sanguine are like animals. Show no fear, and they're more likely to pick a different target." That's what she heard from someone back at Arden Sol.


When the caravan stopped, Uriel was half hoping for an ambush, but it turned out they were simply joined by another soldier. But a few hours later, she got what she wanted. The Captain raised the alarm, but it was in the last possible moment. A thick fog descended on the caravan from nowhere, and shadows of soldiers attacked from both sides.


The Justiciar drew her runed sword with a look full of determination. "Finally, some action." she said to herself and the Paradigm whose name she still didn't know. She focused on raising her awareness first, so that no one could take her by surprise, and moved to stand closer to the Captain, the runes on her blade gleaming gold.
 
---- Feris Grehyl -----

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----- Paradigm -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (Military Caravan)-----

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Feris listened intently to the Justicar. Animals? No, simply humans that have been cursed with a foul birthmark. Though he heeded the second part of her advice. It makes sense to hunt those who fear you, then to those who don't. Her comparison to animals appeared to make some sense. The thoughts continued in his head, the Justicar now looking away from Feris.

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A few hours passed after the soldier had talked with the Captain, and entering the caravan with Feris onboard. The irritation in his throat started to settle down, the tattered red scarf blocking the dust, though the dust to started to settle down as the caravan exitted the prairie, and entering one of the forests. He brushed off the last remnants of dust from his attire. His lips arched upwards slightly. No more damn dust. He moved his head back, but froze halfway upon hearing the cut-off words of the Captain. An ambush? Damn bandits.

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He peered out again, the Justicar exitting swiftly, her drawn sword glowing with golden runes. Fog shrouded the sky above, as well as the sides, a veil of darkness enshrouding all sides. Feris to was about to exit, but his spirits spoke against the action.

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"Walk out, and do what? Wait for the enemy to advance and get shredded by arrows?"

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"Indeed. Wait until they approach, then slay them for daring to raid a wagon of Westborn!"

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The advice made sound sense. Feris waited in the wagon as soldiers started to pour out, some giving him an odd look, Feris swore he heard one of them mutter "Coward" under his breath. The word meant nothing to Feris, he waited in the wagon until the time was right. He held out his arms, a purple glow starting to form two shapes, one of a small shield, the other a thin blade attached to an intricate handle. The wagon was hit with a thunk, and another thunk, as arrows hit the sides of it. A soldier fell down outside, his helmet pierced by a bolt. The Templar inside him was objecting to wait, rather wanting to attack here and now, but the Conqueror swayed Feris against such an imputent action. He would wait until the two forces clashed.

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----- Zahira Lorebayne -----

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----- Exorcist -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (Front of Caravan - Captain's Horse)-----


The fog wasn't anything unexpected to Zahira. She detected its casting a few minutes prior. They walked into the field of range just as the enemy anticipated. She could have raised her voice like the Captain, but she thought better of it. Being an ambusher herself, she knew their attackers would abandoned their efforts if the caravan showed any change in movement. Yet if anyone truly paid attention, which hardly anyone did, when they reached the forest, Zahira's posture changed. She withdrew her knees from the Captain's backside and felt around her belt for her two sickles. She did this quietly, hoping not to alarm suspicion, and for the most part it did concede properly.


The fog moved in rapidly, it bellowed more than manifested. In a great gust of wind the entire area was covered in a humid wet atmosphere which was delightful for most, tired of the dry air and dirt getting into their mouths. The fine mist appeared just like any other fog, but it twisted and turn unnaturally. It could make loops, and surround targets with thicker clouds than others. The wagon was fully submerged in the gray that consumed the forest, and the entire path turned dark as the fog covered the sky and sun above them. It was a good thing they didn't have birthrights that relied on the sun...


Zahira moved stealthy, removing herself from the Captain's horse. With some grace, she stepped with both of her feet down. To the average man, the cloud was nothing more than an abyss of water and nothingness, a void of anything. This was no so for an Exorcist. It was particular battles such as this one, that a sixth-sense is preferred. She examined the clouds with her eyes and even gave a good whiff of the fog. It was concluded then, there was more than one. More than one, that was certain. The fog had percolated rapidly and spun to make shields of cloud, but this wasn't difficult for an average Indra. Rather basic considering the Birthright that can create thunderstorms in the desert. Indra were legendary for supposedly having wind, thunder, and lightning, in their veins. Most avoid combat though, preferring the simple goal as rainmaker for agrarian villages.


The questioned remained then, why were Indra attacking them? Zahira really did not care much for reasons, but all of it seemed rather strange and sudden. More importantly, why was two required, were they that inexperienced because one Indra could persist the fog, it would not require two, if a partnership of Indra did occur, the other would more likely strike the entire caravan down with a force of lightning while we groveled in panic.


That is when it became obvious... Freeborn. The poor wretched souls of the interments of stars. They would be mimicking the magic of Indra. Yes. She could smell it now, their scent was different. Zahira looked back at the Captain who was the only other person her regular eyes could see. The Sanguine regardless if she was three feet away or forty, she had disappeared in the fog. "There Freeborn, Captain, mocking the Indra's call " Zahira said in a very solemn tone, her joking now subsided temporarily.


She turned to see a portion of the fog glow, Zahira detected it now. The so-called holy magic of the Justiciar. Retrieving the loaded Crossbow that rested on her back and right shoulder, she looked to the Captain. "Are you coming with me, I know where they are, but I am afraid there is more than I can detect and I might need a useful distraction." Her fox-face smile returned to her, her expression only revealed she was enjoying this.


The Justiciar was in some sense a distraction. In moments of revealing her stunning blade, or what Zahira thought was her blade (she couldn't actually see more than a faint glow), Zahira detected several fiery attacks from unseen individuals surrounding the Justiciar on three sides. Basic fireballs most likely. Zahira's other hand withdrew her sickle.
 
---- Feris Grehyl -----

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----- Paradigm -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (Military Caravan)-----

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A fog enveloped everything, twisting and surrounding the entirety of the military caravan. Feris was waiting inside, his soul-bound tools of war in his hands, as the fog entered, becoming thicker and thicker. His vision was greatly reduced, he could barely see the other side of the wagon, though its wet, moist feel was certainly welcome. He inhaled it, soothing his dry throat. It was like drinking air. The thunks of arrows and bolts stopped, the archers no longer able to see their targets, though the sound was replaced with a much heavier one. The sound of metal and shouting. From both sides of Feris came roars, the thunderous steps of many charging men. But a single word filled his head, the word spoken by the Exorcist, whom now clung to her sickles.

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"...Freeborn..."

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The single word engulfed Feris. These wern't bandits at all! These were the same men Feris swore to destroy, the entire reason he had joined this brigade! The Exorcist, an expert on all things magical, would surely know if this was the work of Freeborn! He clenched his weapons tightly, his body lurched forward out of the wagon, leaping to the ground, his scarves hanging low wet with the mist's water. His head looked to the side, though the vision here was as poor as inside the wagon. The rattle of armour was growing ever louder. Feris overheard the Exorcist speaking more, talking of a birthright Feris hadn't even heard of, but quickly guessed they were the cause of this mist. The spirits interjected.

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"Kill them, and our visibility is restored! We'll regain the advantage!"

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"And leave these soldiers on the battlefield? No! We must hold and let them deal with the Indra-mockers!"

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Feris laughed to himself. "Oh no, you're both wrong. I'll destroy these damned Freeborn. All of them!" the thought filled his arms with strength, and his mind with fury. Himol may be dead, but these freeborn would pay with their lives. The spirits remained silent, knowing that rage had consumed him for this battle, and that their words would fall on deaf ears. Feris' eyes narrowed, gazing at his rapier, expecting it to be drenched with their blood by the end of it all. As he returned his gaze towards the enveloping fog, he quickly dodged to the side instinctively, a flaming fireball passing him by, its flaming trail heating Feris' face. The roaring of men and women were only a few meters away, the clashing of sword and shield commencing. Feris' first attacker charged through the thick mist, his longsword swinging downwards, the hilt gripped by two steel gauntlets. The rest of the man was mostly shrouded, but Feris guessed he was heavily armoured, though the details wouldn't matter in a few seconds. He swiftly rose his buckler to meet the blade's strike, deflecting it, whilst he thrusted with his rapier. A sharp, piercing sound of metal on metal came as the rapier made contact with the man's armour. Feris retracted his rapier, and jumped backwards.

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The mist started to grow thinner around Feris and the man, a shrouded arena within a battlefield. The man was taller than Feris, and certainly looked stronger, he wore no helmet. The man's face was ugly, a deep scar down the right of his cheek. His chin was coarse with hair. He gave a grin, one of his front teeth missing. "Bloody Westborn scum, I'll gives you a right thrusting on my sword! How's that sound little boy hmm?"

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Feris, normally calm and analytical, fell for the man's taunt, his rage blinding him. He charged forward at the man, his voice shouting with fury, his mind with thoughts of Himol. He raised the rapier aiming for the Freeborn's exposed neck. The man easily sidestepped it, his sword swinging for Feris' neck instead. The strike was swift, but Feris was far swifter, his knees bent, his head lowered. The sword passed over him. Feris with incredible speed, retracted his rapier, and thrusted it into the man's leg, a gap between the plating of his armour.. Gripping tightly, he turned the rapier a little whilst it was still inside the wound, and pulled it out. The man was screaming in pain, his longsword now on the ground. He fell alongside his blade; his voice a wail of agony. Feris didn't care for him, he impaled his head with a downwards plunge. The voice gurgled and slowly drained away, the blood matting his rugged, hairy face.

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----- Uriel of the Hellguard -----

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----- Justiciar -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (military caravan, front) -----


Regardless of what the other soldiers in the caravan had thought of her, this was the moment when superior Hellguard training came into focus. Despite being young for Justiciar standards, Uriel was highly skilled with shield and sword. How could she not be, when she'd been training for the last fifteen years, from the age of ten?


Freeborn.


She was close enough to hear most of what the Exorcist had said, and it made sense. However she was not given the time to contemplate, as she soon found herself in the middle of heavy fighting. The fog made everything around her dim and blurry, and reduced everything beyond a dozen feet away to dream-like shapes. But it was more like a nightmare of blood and steel. And then fire. The first fireball missed her and disappeared off into the haze. The second fireball she dodged, but only barely. Realizing she is being focused by enemy mages, and that she forgot her shield in the wagon, she quickly used her powers to empower her armor with a shield of golden light. Immediately afterwards she was directly hit by two fireballs but the shield persisted.


With the sun setting and the fog clouding up the surroundings, it was somewhat dark, and getting darker. All this made the Justiciar appear ever more in contrast - first her glowing runesword, then the shield of light across her armor, and she might as well have been the Sun itself at that moment, for what the nearby soldiers were concerned. The hope of men had always resided in the light of the Sun, so it was no surprise that many had rallied close to Uriel. For those who didn't know a Justiciar was with the caravan, or were wondering about the woman's birthright, there was no doubt now. "In the name of the Light!" They were drawn to her side in the growing darkness, and the enemy lines were soon thinned in her vicinity.


Uriel stayed with her back to the wagon at first, so she at least didn't have to watch her back, but as more and more enemy soldiers fell, she and the rest of the Westborn were slowly advancing towards the edges of the road. She saw the Paradigm she talked to earlier following vigorously, savagely cutting down a Freeborn even though at first it seemed he was at a disadvantage. He was killing as if he had a personal stake in the matter. Uriel, on the other hand, took no pleasure in the act of killing itself, but rather the action, the adrenaline, the rush she felt in the heat of battle.


The Justiciar's movements were swift, her reactions quick. Her style relied more on dodging and half-parrying than bludgeoning forward. The fog made it harder to anticipate enemy movements, but her light helped, and the runes on her blade burned with a golden glow through the gleaming blood. She managed to intimidate her opponents with decisive blows and appearance, and when harder foes got in the way she was thankful for the heavily armored soldiers fighting at her side.


It was difficult to be accurate, but to Uriel it seemed that the enemy had suffered more casualties than the defenders, and more and more ground was being freed from the clutches of battle, at least where she had been fighting.
 
-----Conner Redfur-----

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-----Beastwalker-----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet -----


The fog was unexpected, and it obscured the falcon's eye, so Conner had to change tactics. Diving in low, he shifted form to that of a half man half wolf beast, about six feet tall and fur rippling with the corded muscle of an old wiry wolf. He sniffed the air, and detected several smells in the fog that were unfamiliar to him. He went for these first. It would be confusing to most, but Conner could accurately tell where the others of the merry little band were. The Zealot captain's smell was easy, as he smelled like a fresh desert breeze. The Sanguine smelled like old blood, left for ages. The Eye smelled like rot and decay. The Paradigm was hard to focus, as his scent changed constantly. The Exorcist smelled like overly sweet honey mixed with garlic. The ligen smelled like a cross between a wolf and a man. The shaman smelled like thyme and monkshood. And last but not least, the Justicar, who smelled like old parchment and burnt ozone.


That didn't matter right now though, as he had freeborn to deal with. Their fog was ineffective against those who could track by scent and hearing, and they learned this quickly. Without wasting any time, he had mauled, hurled and torn apart a few men, who didn't seem to be incredibly adept at fighting. Or maybe they were just awestruck by the beastwalker. No matter. Finally, he came to a real opponent, a large burly man in a suit of armor and wielding a greatsword. In the first few attacks, Conner quickly realized that his swift wolf form wouldn't be enough to crack the armor of this one, so he changed tactics. Clashing bastardsword and greatsword, the Armored man had the advantage, but that quickly disappeared. Growing even larger, bones cracked silently and fur rustled as he shifted from a wolf form, to a white tiger form.


Now larger and stronger, Conner threw the guy off balance, and taking the advantage, swept him off his feet. Before he could react, sharp teeth tore through chain and sinew, and with a sound of finality, Conner bit right through the man's neck. Picking up the lifeless corpse, he threw it at a crowd of freeborn, knocking them off balance. With almost a maddening glee he leaped into the fray, tearing apart any who was foolish enough to get near him. All the while he made his way to the captain. It was a dire situation, and not even the joy of battle could make Conner forget that.
 
---- Feris Grehyl -----

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----- Paradigm -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (Military Caravan, Front-Right Side.)-----

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His foot smashed into the man's face, the rapier impaled inside the man's skull pulled out, the blade now in the air, the blood drenched on it dripping downwards onto its hilt. Feris breathed deeply and erratically, he leaned back onto the wagon, trying to stay in control of himself. The rage was like a hurricane inside. Overwhelming and impossible to resist. He closed his eyes, focussing on his breathing first, but that didn't change. All his mind could think of was Himol and his... he couldn't bring himself to accept the word. A mistake? A failure? Something hot whizzed past Feris, a loud fizzle of flame exploding a few metres down on something.

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No, it was the same choice he would have made if played over again. The response was doubtful at best, though Feris prayed he would never relive the event. The contemplation helped ease his mind, but the rage still coarsed through him. He stood upright off the wagon, and searched for another damned Freeborn. All around him was the grey mist, though to the left was the powerful emination of light, most likely from the Justiciar. He looked to the right, and immediately his left arm rose infront of him, his buckler at his chest. A wave of fire splashed across the buckler as a fireball hit it; the flames spreading outwards, some of it singing his scarves. The fireball was coming from above; the damn pyromancer must be on the hills, mimicking the same magic Himol had, though not nearly as powerful as he could.

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He charged forward, his leather soles splashing into the now wet mud. All around him were more clashing of steel, and cries of war. A shout came to the right of him, a shout of a dying man in agony, accompanied by the taunt of someone else, "Freeborn scum!" The sound afterwards was the crushing of a mans skull. Up ahead was a small glow, which appeared to grow larger as Feris approached. He started to ascend the hill, the mist's effects now no longer hampering Feris' visibility significantly. He could make out two or three pyromancers along this side of the hill, though the mist shrouded himself from their sight. The one ahead of him however, instantly saw Feris. He was dressed in leather and cloth, his hands bare, though the hem of his sleeves were frayed and singed. His mouth was open, shouting, his eyes stared at Feris'. Rapier raised, Feris charged forward into the man as he let go of his half-formed fireball. Feris moved to the left, his buckler raised, but the fireball exploded onto Feris' left shoulder. The knockback was enough to cause Feris to lose his footing on the sloped hill, his body sliding back into the depths of the mist. His face was partially burnt, his shoulder plate had blackened, but otherwise, he was fine, though the smacking of the back of his head on the mud certainly didn't help. He was glad that the fireball was both half-formed and from a rookie, Himol's fireballs would have most likely incinerated Feris even at such a premature stage.

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He got back up, gritting his teeth. He shook his head, the piling of mud on his hair shaking off. Looking up ahead, there was no glow. The pyromancer would not have a second chance to survive. He restarted his ascent, and as he reached the top, the pyromancer was channelling another fireball. His hands cusped around themselves, a small light eminating from within. His focus was on the fireball itself rather than what was ahead, his face was full of shock and surprise as a rapier plunged through his heart, the blade exitting through his attire. He kicked the pyromancer into the forest rather than exitting the blade from his chest, his arms flung to his sides, a thin line of fire trailing from his hands. He hit a tree with a soft thunk. Two fireballs missed Feris, the other pyromancers realizing someone had exitted the worst of the mist. Feris dashed to his right - down the length of the rest of the military caravan - to eliminate the rest of the Pyromancers, his scarves billowing around him, and his rage starting to grow stronger. He clutched his scorched buckler and bloodied rapier tightly.

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----- Zahira Lorebayne -----

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----- Exorcist -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (Front of Caravan - Captain's Horse)-----


Freeborn.


That was the word at the edge of Zahira's tongue when she spoke. She abandoned the Captain, vanishing into the fog after declaring her offer towards him. The fog made it difficult to do any proper combat but going blind was not something new to Zahira. She let her detection abilities, the aura and scents of magic led her to her prize. However even that became challenging as there was many different types of magic being casted all around her, from her allies and from her foes.


The battlefield strangely morphed. In some aspects the caravan had a tremendous advantage to their position, at others the men were being slaughtered. She knew this for the soul reason that a caster's magic would disappear rather suddenly only after a magical ability was just brought forth by one of the assumed enemies is if that the said caster was somehow eliminated. It was an unclear radar to Zahira, she couldn't tell who was friend or foe, but she certainly knew the positions of the various bodies. She had to move quickly because her neck-hairs immediately stood up in attendance at which a massive aura was being brought forth, the taste on her lips, it reminded her of a lightning attack, but its smelled of a fire magic. She ran dumbfounded towards the source of the fog, seeing it as a greater threat. She gave no attention to the strong heavy sword wielder as the feral wolf hound Beastwalker pounced on his body.


The situation looked bleak from Zahira's perspective, even if the Justiciar could clear her area of battle, the only way they could stand a chance was if they cleared this fog. She ran rather rapidly, trying to avoid targets she picked up magically, but those who didn't use spells and crafts Zahira was as blind as anyother and found herself in trouble. Her stealth was ingenious, just like all of Zahira's skills, but her stealth was rather suddenly ended, when a large blunt object, possibly someone's armor, bludgeoned against her chest (her least armored part of her body), knocking her back an entire two steps.
 
----- Kaladan Farstar, Darkclaws -----

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----- Ligen -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (Front of Caravan)

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"Freeborn." Kaladan muttered as if it were a curse. He crouched down and stringed an arrow in his bow. His wolf sences eaisly picked up the smells all around him, and Darkclaws quickly took off and pounced on the man nearest.

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Darkclaws ferocity is usually enough to overwhelm any man, but this paticuler soldier was apperently made of sterner stuff. The three deep cuts running down the man's back was not enough to stop him as he wheeled around to face Darkclaws, he quickly brought up his sword to bear, pointed directly at the wolf to prevent him from flying at him once more. A bow twinged, an arrow flew, and the man looked down to see an arrow sprouting from his chest. The bulky soldier fell with a great huff and laid still on the ground.

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I diden't need any help... Darkclaws thought at his Bound Partner. Kaladan smirked, and re-strung an arrow to his bow as Darkclaws flew off into the fog towards another soldier.

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(OOC: Sorry for the late post, I lost my motivation for a while... But I found it again, so no worries!

:) )​
 
---- Feris Grehyl -----

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----- Paradigm -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (Military Caravan, Right Hill)-----

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His feet arched across the hill, landing on land far drier than the wet mud below. Feris' buckler stretched infront, with his rapier close behind. The Pyromancers looked towards the attacker, their hands in intricate motions and patterns, flames pouring from within. They grew larger and larger as Feris drew closer, the light from their hands now red and bright. All of a sudden, they erupted from their hands, the fireballs flung towards Feris at the same time. Feris leapt into the air, his legs raised with his body, the fireballs flying underneath him. He landed with a soft thud, and continued his assault; the Pyromancers desperately trying to initiate more flaming creations of destruction. Feris was halfway to the next Pyromancer, where a crucial detail suddenly became known to him.

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And he paid for it with a shock of pain shooting up his leg. The archers. In his rage, he hadn't paid heed to his surroundings, the thunking of arrows and bolts now became more clearer as he realised his mistake. He looked at his thigh, a bolt had pierced his leather armour, and lodged itself straight in the middle of it - most likely hitting the bone itself. It... hurt to move. He collapsed onto the ground, his hands digging into the grass, his head still forward. Two more archers with their bows took aim at the downed Feris infront of the Pyromancers. The pain was unbearable, and grew even worse as Feris let go of his body, rolling down the hill. His leg writhed in flame. Each time he turned, the bolt fidgeted inside him, each time Feris screamed with tears in his eyes. Two bolts flew past Feris' cascading body, digging into the wet ground. The mist grew thick once again as his descent ended. He spat out some of the mud in his mouth.

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He turned his head towards his right thigh, but the bolt couldn't be seen. It must have been lodged at the back. He desperately wished he was at his wagon right now with his bag of supplies, there might have been a pain-relieving remedy in there. The mere thought of it made Feris gasp for air. He gulped irregularly, his breathing heavy and erratic. The pain, whilst fresh, was starting to become more dull. He put his hand toward the bolt, freezing as he got near. His hand moved closer, and closer, freezing each time. This was going to hurt.

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A minute passed, his hand still hestitant. He swallowed, and closed his eyes, regretting the lack of something to bite on. He moved his hand, unexpectedly hitting the bolt, the pain shot up his leg once again. His face scrawned up tightly, his teeth gritted. He breathed one last time. A single, roaring thought entered his head,"To hell with this!" He forgot everything, his mind emptied, he didn't care about the pain, he wanted it to end this very instant. His hand lunged for the bolt, clasping it tightly, ripping it out in one quick motion. His teeth felt they were about to shatter under their own strength. Immediately, he took one of his mud-soaked scarves and removed it from his attire. His leg started to feel dead, his head became light-headed. The only blessing was the pain was starting to go. With some trouble, he squeezed the scarf around the wound and knotted it heavily. The Orphanage always taught their children with many skills, he trusted in their teachings.

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He shifted his body until he laid on his chest fully, the wound no longer in the mud. He spoke in a hushed tone, a whisper over a whirlwind of noise, a small prayer to the Gods. Steel clashed, men screamed, laughter and anger arose from those more bloodthirsty, silence from those who were not, or from those dead. The wet mist clung to the air, its droplets by now had drenched Feris, his scarves themselves dripping with water. He started to breath slower, and his mind became clearer. The rage within him had subsided, but his will to kill these Freeborn had not. He tried to move his wounded leg, but it wouldn't respond. He feared the bolt's impact had broken it. There was nothing Feris could do, but wait for the battle to be over. A few more minutes passed, the noises around him dying and growing, the mist becoming thicker and thicker. A small, niggling thought dug into his head. 'Sleep.' Maybe sleeping would be a good idea... the suggestion was most welcoming... it would take his mind off... the pain atleast. His eyes drifted, his face lowered into the mud. Yes. Sleep was a good idea...

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----- Uriel of the Hellguard -----

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----- Justiciar -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (military caravan, front) -----


Uriel and the soldiers she rallied were just cleaning up now. The front of the caravan was almost secure, but the fog made it impossible to even estimate how things were further back the road. The fireballs ceased, and only an occasional arrow, a half alive enemy, or a few wandering thugs reminded the Justiciar that the battle was still ongoing.


"We need to quell this attack before nightfall. Take a few moments to recover, then let's move." Uriel said to the men around her. Not long after she sent two soldiers to find the captain and deliver her report, then proceeded down the road towards the back of the caravan in company of a dozen armored knights. The Justiciar's still magically shielded armor and the runes on her sword gleamed through the fog, a sign of hope for all who could see it.


The men she sent to the captain were reluctant to leave her company, but on the other hand were glad to be out of the fray. The captain was bound to be somewhere nearby, unless the fighting drove him away.
 
----- Captain Alister Sanctum -----

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----- Zealot -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (Military Caravan) -----


Alister watched as everyone slowly seperated from him to cover all the angles and aid the soldiers, preventing them from getting slaughtered. He dodged some arrows with his side still getting grazed on the cheek drawing some blood, any closer and he would had died. He moved away from his horse and started positioning him self near some of his soldiers while they started to fend off melee attackers that poured out of the fog. Arrows he can't predict? dangerous. Men he can fight face to face? Victory. WIth his men covering his back he began to start lunging at people and smiling as they raised up their little wooden bucklers and grinned as they shattered from a strike from one of his swords as the second one came down on the man's throat. However the others must have noticed that he was a zealot and were getting cautious as they stepped back and did not make the same mistake their now dead ally did. One of the freeborn raising up his hand signaled the archers in the fog to go for another round of arrows.


"Tsk...we need to finish this now gentlemen before we get killed by arrows, we are due at Xarxet soon and we will NOT disappoint, for Westborn!" he yelled out as he threw him self again at the retreating men before arrows could be fired, swords ready.
 
----- Zahira Lorebayne -----

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----- Exorcist -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (In the Fog) -----

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Wandering in the dark, without any vision was Zahira's way of envisioning a battlefield, but she never expected to have been bolted down so quickly. She felted a sharp pain in her chest. She was bludgeoned by a long heavy object, most likely a club, an armor or a possibly even a person. Gasping for some air, she opened her eyes to see the looming figure of steel that stood above her. From where she laid in the ground he appeared to be more of a iron statue than a man. The large metal frame clinked with every movement as he bent his rotatory-cuff behind to swing his club at Zahira.


She reacted with haste, managing to catch his blow with her own sickle. He was strong but the sickle had its own advantages, mainly using his own force against him with its arc. She struggled on the ground, trying to resist the man's movements as he withdrew and tried to strike again. Zahira was tempted to use her crossbow, but refused, saving it for the magical user.


The third blow came, and this time Zahira did not react as quickly. Fortunately it wasn't as accurate as his previous strikes and it managed to bounce off the edge of her sickle and just narrowly missed her face. The man was now put in an awkward position, where his swinging arm was crossed with Zahira's body. Seeing this as a point of weakness, she hooked the man's hand with her first sickle and retrieved her second with her free hand (the crossbow now residing on the ground). As she pulled him away from her, Zahira used her second blade to gash the man in back of his calf. A portion of his body where the armor did not protect.


Blood spewed from the wound as the man immediately jumped back from off of her. Though this strategy helped Zahira defend herself, it wasn't as efficient with letting her escape.
 
----- Uriel of the Hellguard -----

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----- Justiciar -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (military caravan, middle) -----


The situation in the middle of the caravan was far from perfect, but it seemed that for most part, the defenders emerged victorious. Uriel proceeded along the road, dispatching enemy units on the way. There was little worthy opposition left, and that was good, because it was getting darker by the minute.


Meanwhile, the two men sent by Uriel to deliver her report found the captain just as he and his men finished taking down a squad of enemy archers. "Captain Sanctum, Sir. The Justiciar sent us. We've news for you." They took the chance to catch their breath until the Captain acknowledged them.
 
---- Zahira Lorebayne -----

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----- Exorcist -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (In the Fog) -----

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Blood spewed across the field as Zahira removed her sickle from the man's calf. Its metal blade glisten with the red liquid. The man immediately readjusted himself in the fog, and was now furious. He picked up his club again but this time Zahira could detect some sort of magic being embodied into its frame. Its began to have a tint of glow that spread from its base where the man's hands were to the tip. In an instant he swung the blunt object at Zahira who was still on the ground. She attempted to deflect its blow again, but it failed. Her sickle begin knocked right out of her hands by the tremendous force. The attack by the assailant was another miss however, but his next wouldn't be. Seeing the situation as grim, Zahira tried to retreat from her position in the ground and crawl backwards. The man his eyes now gleaming was anticipating this and charged right for her position, kicking up entire handfuls of soil in his path. His weapon smashed into the ground only inches away from Zahira's withdrawing leg, as Zahira thrusted herself forward and to her feet in hope to retreat, leaving a small crater behind in his wake.


Zahira assumed her best chance was to hide in the fog, better able to defend herself, figuring her opponent would continue to pursue her, but this was not the case. The fog had lightened now, in fact, it was dissipating all together. The spells were being worn off, but they were not being instantaneously ended, no the clouds were gradually lifting away. The Freeborns were retreating, but the armored man was indecisive to back-down, he did make some motion to approach Zahira but he hesitated as he saw his other comrades leave the battlefield.


It was a split second decision that spelled his doom, refusing to surrender, he marked his own fate. Zahira killed the man right there and then. A crossbow bolt, meant for the two magic impersonators was lodged right through his skull. She took her chance to end the battle, and decided it was for the best. Smiling she approached the man. The bolt was stuck deep inside his skull, shooting from such a point blank range. She was almost disappointed with herself, but reached down anyway to see what she could retrieve from the man.


There wasn't much of anything. In fact the man seemed to be very desperate for supplies, as he seemed to have rather weak muscles for a person of such size and stature. She did not fear to invade privacy, and reached into his pockets and other areas to see if she could grasp anything, but it was no good. There wasn't anything more on this man than his worthless armor made of forge scrap metal, and his club which was mostly stone.

Sighing as she got back to her feat, Zahira fetched her other sickle and deposited the clean one in its holster. The battlefield they had fought on was relatively small but as the fog cleared the path became littered with dead bodies of fallen allies. The stench of death was looming. She regrouped with the others by the Captain's horse. Smiling, as she tried to wipe off the soon encrusting blood on her blade.

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OOC - The Battle is really over, the magic users got away...

​
 
----- Uriel of the Hellguard -----

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----- Justiciar -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (forest's edge near the middle of the military caravan) -----


Uriel and her knights had just reached the back of the caravan when the fog began to lift slowly. The road was a mess. There were bodies lying everywhere, mostly those of the Freeborn soldiers though the caravan's defenders weren't exactly spared either. The attack seemed to have had slightly more success back here than where Uriel was marching. Enemy survivors were falling back as their fog dissipated, and the Justiciar's party hunted them down all the way to the forest's edge, where the thick trees and darkness hid their prey. They went no further, and now the soldiers Uriel had gathered were dispersing just as quickly, back towards the caravan.


The Justiciar on the other hand, she sat down leaning against a tree, her gaze shifting between the caravan and the dark woods. She wished there was a river or lake to wash away the blood on her sword. She took a few minutes to breathe and rest. The expedition had just gotten a lot more interesting. Who knows what they might find upon arrival to Xarxet?
 
----- Sontaz Detakye -----

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----- BIRTHRIGHT -----

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----Location: Path to Xarxet inside a wagon


He could smell it, he could hear them. The screams of agony, the smell of burnt flesh and ashes, the boiling hot blood dripping down on his skin.His mother holding his hand as her life like a flame, slowly went out.His father crying, telling him everything would be alright.Everything would be alright, he would keep muttering this until his birthright gave out. Until, he too went out with the flames of his home skin melting from his skull.


The sword landed a decimeter away from his head, blood dripping from the side of cheek.The gleam of the blade was all he had time to react to. Was he still dreaming? Was he not going to wake up? The sting from his cheek told him other wise, as did the man raising his sword to strike again.He seemed scrawny, but wild, and dirtied with blood. Once again, Sontaz barely dodge the sword and ended up getting cut across his left thigh.


Damn it, he's not giving me anytime to reach for my blade and this damn wagon isn't giving me enough room to dodge. Behind the man at the entrance of the wagon Sontaz could see men retreating. Had I been sleeping through a battle this entire time? This time the blade struck home as he jabbed it into Sontaz abdomen.The man struck hard, and cause the air to leave Sontaz's lungs. He was grinning, readying to retreat with the rest, believing himself victorious. But his smile quickly disappeared when Sontaz tackled the man from behind, pushing him outside the wagon.


His birthright was visible now,the puncture just a bruise.Rage and primordial fear filled Sontaz's heart.The nightmare and nearly loosing his life was too much. He raised his scimitar and began to stab downward into the man's back.


Asleep! HE ATTACKED ME WHILE I WAS ASLEEP! COWARD! VILLAIN! His rage getting the better of him as his scimitar continue to pierce the long since dead man. He could not find it in himself to stop, even as his white clothing began to be dyed red with blood, even when chunks of meat began to fly and splatter against the ground and his face.
 
---- Feris Grehyl -----

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----- Paradigm -----

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----- Location: Path to Xarxet (Military Caravan, Middle-Right)-----

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"...Wake up!"

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The dull, aching cloud in Feris' head was finally pierced. At first, it was just a heavy murmur echoing within his mind, pounding with each dulled sound, but those two words opened Feris' eyes, his mind clear and quiet. It was a soothing, relaxing sensation; though the clench of pain coming from his leg certainly removed that welcome experience. He lifted his face - the light burning his eyes - his surroundings becoming less hazy with each second. As his eyes focussed, there was a wet, mushy slosh in his mouth. His tongue prodded it, it was also disgusting. He spat out the vile thing, brown mud shooting from his mouth onto the ground just a few inches away. He tried to raise his head further, but it sank back into the mud. He made sure his face was sideways this time, not directly into the filthy mud.

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He inhaled deeply and irratically; the pain was growing more and more, each jolt felt like a searing sword slicing down his body. He tried to concentrate on something, all he could hear was the quiet clatter of armour and chatter. The clashing of sword, or something loud to focus on, would have been much appreciated.

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His eyes widened more at the realization. The battle was over! There was no clashing of sword, or screaming of men, or bashings of armour! He rejoiced in his mind, though the thought was painful to. Whilst the dull cloud was gone, there was still a headache. Perhaps bashing the back of your head whilst rolling down a hill wasn't such a great idea. He chuckled quietly with a smile, though he quickly focussed on the predicament at hand. Shifting his hands to his face, he pushed upwards. Mud collapsed onto the ground, sliding off his face and armour. He turned his body left, his right leg bending upwards. The back of his left leg roared. His vision was filled with the top of green leaves and the heavenly blue sky. A welcome change from staring into the mud. He pushed down with his hands and right foot, but he couldn't get up. He needed something to grab onto to, and all around him was...

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...he hadn't really taken in the bloody battlefield that lay before him. All around him was just... a massacre. Reddened steel, bloodied soil, broken armour, and that was to put it simply. The nearest man had his arm chopped off, the ground beneath the wound was as if it was made of solid blood. Feris grimaced at the sight, and thanked that he wasn't impaled by the enemy - though perhaps the mist helped in that regard. He looked straight at the wagon - the side was plastered with arrows and scorch marks. There was even a sword wedged between two of the planks, one of its crossbars had been broken off. He looked back right, the wagon he was in was quite a few metres away. He felt nothing in his leg except it's constant screeching. It was probably broken. He at last gazed at the wound, the back of his calf facing his other leg. The scarf was once green, but it looked exactly like his red scarves now.

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A minute passed, as Feris gazed at the trees ahead. His mind was contemplating his actions - occasionally bringing up the bitter memory of Himol - when it was stopped as a man yelled out behind him. Heavy footsteps rushed towards him, the splatter of mud quickly following after each one. Feris called out, his voice raspy, groaning at the end of each word. The man knelt beside him. He was clad in steel armour, bloodied as well as dirtied. His helmet was on, but Feris imagined the man to have a welcome, sincere face. He looked at the wound, and talked of a possible healer to tend to it. He quickly went behind Feris, his gauntlets under Feris' shoulders. The mist drenched leather touched Feris' skin - it was freezing. Reassuring Feris, the man picked him up, and delicately held him over his shoulder; his right hand on the foot of Feris' wounded leg. Feris thanked the man, the man waving the gratitude away. He relaxed his face into his paudron, his eyes closing. The dull cloud reemerged in Feris' head, the promise of comfort and relaxation was too alluring. His eyelids closed, as he exhaled softly.

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