Fantasy The Guardians of Gerhard RP

[TobiornotTobi]

Cnut Svartrson​

Abandoned Village Stronghold AKA 'The Corn Hub'​

"Am I seeing double right now?"​

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When his throwing knife was stopped by a large, metal object, Cnut's first reaction was to turn around to find out what exactly interrupted his bluffing. It was this action alone that averted a broken nose from Wolf's lunging strike. Instead, the arching punch connected with the side of the Bandit's face. He spun backwards and came to a stop on the ground, both hands and a knee cushioning his fall. Damn. He hadn't been hit that hard since, well, the last time he had fought Wolf. Pain not unlike a branding iron became Cnut's reality. A tentative hand reached out to touch his cheek, but it quickly recoiled when the slightest touch hurt like hell. Before he could turn around to face his opponent once more, shouting and cries of pain stole his attention. Tilting his head to look behind at his men, Cnut's blood began to boil at the sight of his bandit comrades not packing up once more. But worse yet, they were now in a state of calamity as they now engaged with who Cnut instantly recognized as those accursed Guardians. He couldn't tell one person from another in the sea of bodies, but there was lightning being cast and arrows being planted, so that was Dillweed and Lizard Lips accounted for. And moments later, Pretty Boy was also brawling his way through the mix towards him, which made for three in total. Escape was looking farther and farther away, but the rhythmic sound of metal clanking together improved Cnut's disposition.

From the rear exit of the warehouse, a towering behemoth of a humanoid stepped into the frame of the warehouse door, his obese '13 body clad head to toe in make-shift armor. It looked like random pieces of metal were melted together and attached to his body, rather than a complete suit. From what little skin was visible on the behemoth, one would be able to see a distinct paleness, along with a variety of black scars. Kragnat, the largest of the Gondar Bandits, had just arrived. Kragnat the ogre was well known in the clan for his size, ferocity, and lack of proper hygiene. He boasted the strength of five bulls and smelled just as good. He played a pivotal role four days prior in the ransacking of the castle, helping Cnut with stealing the royal couch before said castle burned down. Last night, he had retreated into the forest to take a dump, a long and strenuous task for a creature Kragnat's size. And now, he had returned in the nick of time to squash some do-gooders!

"ROOOAAAAAAAA!" Kragnat bellowed, making his presence known with a mighty roar that gave even his dwindling allies pause. The ogre then raised his weapon and trudged with purpose towards the red-headed man with glasses who was unleashing spells upon his fellow bandits.

​

 

[Noivian]

Blasting an approaching bandit with a ball of fire, Caelum shuffled on his stack of barrels, feeling the wagon below the stack wobble with him. This was a very precarious perch, and he'd need to move soon, or risk falling. The covering fire Karkiv had provided proved helpful, but Caelum knew he couldn't always depend on his teammates to make sure he was safe. Then came the clanking of metal, the rumbling of big, heavy footsteps shaking the ground and causing Caelum's barrels to rattle again.

"ROOOAAAAAAAA!"

The sound of a deep, bellowing war cry caught Caelum's attention over the din of battle, causing even the bandits around him to pause briefly. The mage turned to see a massive ogre stomping its way towards him, and a mild panic began to set in. Kragnat was moving faster than Caelum thought he could, but Caelum knew just the spell to put the monster in his place - flipping through the book, he held out a hand, palm towards Kragnat, and uttered an incantation under his breath.

For a moment, it was as if nothing had happened. Then a sizzling sound began, and the stench of burning flesh began to fill the air, mingling with the awful smell of Kragnat's unwashed body odor, as the metal armor donning the ogre's body began to turn bright red, heating up until the armor was starting to cook Kragnat alive.

"GRRRRAAAAAAAH!"

Another baleful cry sounded from Kragnat, the heat and burn seeming to hasten its steps towards the mage. With two hands gripping a massive wooden club, it took a step and swung at Caelum, who had been scrambling to get down from the pile upon seeing the ogre's approach. Catching the mage squarely in the chest, Caelum was sent flying in an instant, smashing through a box and slamming into the warehouse wall, before crumpling to the floor.

For a moment, the world was black, nothing but pain anchoring him to reality. Struggling to catch his breath, Caelum rolled from his side to his back, vision swimming and foggy, ears ringing, as he took inventory. His chest burned from the impact of the club, and as he lay there, managed to cough and take a gasping breath. His back radiated a less painful burn, he could feel a mass of splinters poking through his sleeves. Turning his head, he found his spell book had landed not too far to the side, but as he moved his left arm to pick it up, sharp pain radiated up to his shoulder, his forearm bent at an unnatural angle.

"Fuck," Caelum huffed. Squeezing his eyes shut, he grit his teeth and pushed himself to an upright sitting position, ignoring the shooting pains from all over as he did so. A small pile of crates created something of a barrier between him and the battle, obscuring his condition to both friend and foe, except maybe Karkiv, depending on where the archer might be positioned. Caelum had to get to his feet. At the very least, he needed to get somewhere more safe than this. It would be better if he could return to battle, but with one less arm, it would be harder than before.

Summoning a spectral hand, Caelum sent it to pick up his discarded spell book, and did his best to stand while cradling his broken left arm close, gasping and hissing as he did so. There was little he could do about his arm at the moment - healing magic wasn't his forte, so it'd have to wait until after the battle. With book in one spectral hand, and broken arm in the other physical hand, Caelum hid behind a box, observing the battle for now, relying on his teammates to pull through and defeat the bandits, or at least drive them out.

 

[Hard Boiled]

Perhaps it was the nature of the Assassin's profession that made her instantly averse to the Warlock's taunting of his foes, reveling in the superiority of his honor and executing the wounded. Taking the life of another was never something Red enjoyed. To an Assassin, the slicing of one's jugular or poisoning of one's drink is not a personal act—quite the contrary. An Assassin does not kill because they wish death upon someone, an Assassin solely acts upon the desires of others, or in self-defense. To the client, killing is an end, but to Red, it is only a means. Put simply: the Assassin has no emotional stake in death.
They are a middleman, an asset, a tool.

Though, watching someone so confident in his own wickedness disquieted something deeper within Tiffany that she couldn't pinpoint, something in her core that she'd never felt before. She subtly turned her head as he dealt the killing blow.

And then there was the Lich—the husk, that cursed being. The embodiment of living death, who dealt in a different currency than Red. Their abominations had nearly killed her, but she saved her breath complaining. As the Warlock said, it would fall on deaf ears.

"They're after us." She descended the stairs, feeling her scalp beneath her hood and checking for blood. She wiped it on her side.
"The Guardians, they're raiding Cnut's camp as we speak. I only saw the Elf, but..." She recalled the premonition from her ring. "But where there's one, there's more. Those bandits don't stand a chance."

Red scanned the destroyed hideout for survivors to question, but found none alive. Moreover, any intelligence contained within the house would need to be picked from the carnage, a rather timely process. The Assassin rolled her tongue in her mouth as she thought.
"We need time to stay on the scent. I see two ways of getting it: we either send in reinforcements to stall, or... we let 'em have him."
She let it sit for a moment, crossing her arms.
"He'd do the same to any one of us—and they want him alive to hang in front of a crowd. I say we stay on target, and if he lives until tomorrow, we'll bust him out."

"Or you can, you know, send in a bunch of dead people." She tossed up a hand. "Just hope they don't kill him..."

 

[Elysium]

Wolf’s lips lifted in a feral snarl as his punch failed to turn Cnut’s face into paste. But his warrior heart sang an angelic chorus as Cnut dropped to his knees. If Wolf was as crass as this man, he might’ve made a “while you’re down there, suck me off” joke. But Wolf wasn’t in a joking mood. He had a job to do, and the reward for Cnut was equal, dead or alive. Shame he couldn’t bag Delmar while he was here. Smokeleaf, beer, and gambling weren’t cheap. And Wolf needed a good, relieving leave after all this bullshit. Hopefully they didn’t tax him too much on this shithead.

His hand gripped Cnut’s bicep roughly, a painful clamp of a grip that would pulverize smaller muscles. The deafening roar gave Wolf pause as he saw the massive beast out of the corner of his eye, but he saw his companions spring to action and made an executive decision. They would deal with the ogre. Wolf would deal with the most dangerous thing in the room.

With a roar to rival the ogres, Wolf’s body rotated powerfully as his world once again went red, his senses and mind both blurring and hyper focusing. His entire body, from his ankle, to his knee, hip, lower to upper spine, shoulder, elbow, wrist, and all the muscles in between, provided every ounce of power Wolf had and more. The result was the not small Cnut gracelessly flying into and through a nearby side door. He landed in a heap in a shower of door and wall debris.

A spear skated off Wolf’s armor. The poor bandit was soon disarmed and fed the same spear. Another stepped in front of the door, protecting his “lord” like some “knight”. Wolf grabbed him by the head and repeatedly introduced that face to his knee until the bandit thing went limp. Wolf idly stepped on the corpse as he walked outside and stomped up to Cnut, staring down menacingly as his hand gripped his claymore and slowly began to draw it, fully intent and content with beheading the man now and adding his skull to the Gondar skull collection with the berserker’s tent.

Cnut was left in a heap outside the warehouse, now in even more pain. The impact of bursting through a fortified wooden door laid heavily upon him, but at least the soft grass cushioned his fall. “Mmph mmph mmph!” He uttered, head in the ground. Attempting to move his left arm resulted in him letting out a muffled cry. It really wasn’t paying to be Wolfie’s chew toy. Still lying face down, Cnut heard the familiar sound of metal grinding against metal. He was drawing that sword of his, ready to deal a finishing blow. And the Bandit was in no shape to counter. Fortunately in the span of time since Cnut had last encountered the Guardians, he had managed to find…religion.

His one good arm reached into his pocket and pulled out the object he was so enamored with earlier. It was the only movement that didn’t leave him in agony. Held up in the air was a statue of the moon. Alright, goddess, he began internally. If I’m supposed to be your grand champion, how about some help?! It was at this point that purple sparks of energy crackled around the statue, spreading to Cnut’s body. Suddenly, his left arm wasn’t feeling so broken and disjointed, and to celebrate this fact, the Bandit started rising to his knees once more, ever so slowly. Until suddenly, like a snake snapping upon its prey, Cnut rose from his position, left arm snagging one of his throwing knives, and struck an unarmored joint in Wolf’s armor. He then reached for his dual machetes, prepared to engage with his signature weapons.

The crackling energy surrounding Cnut and the weird totem alarmed even a feral Wolf, and the hulking man backstepped quickly, but not quickly enough. The point of Cnut’s blade had found a seam in his armor, and Wolf instantly felt his pants become damp with warm blood.

Reflexively Wolf’s plated gauntlet came down and grabbed the blade, pulling it out of his leg before it could go deep enough to cause real damage. With a grunt, he backed up, forcing his wounded leg not to buckle as he put his weight on it. That was going to hurt for a while, at least until he got to a proper healer. This wasn’t a good scenario, and it was worse now that Cnut was back on his feet.

With a shift in stance, Wolf once again clashed blades with Cnut, as they had done on many occasions. Wolf opted for a more grounded stance, moving his wounded leg as little as possible while maintaining defensive and counter measures against the skilled brigand.

Flashes of metal wove a web of razored steel and ringing clangs as Cnut danced around the crippled Wolf, but Cnut found a way to lose his upper hand as the tip of Wolf’s blade drew a line from shoulder to elbow, rendering Cnut’s dominant arm mostly useless.

“Nice reflexes. I almost had the whole arm.”

It wouldn’t be fatal, even without a healer, but Cnut would feel that agony until he did. And he wouldn’t be swinging two swords, which made him slightly less dangerous. If only Wolf’s leg wasn’t basically dead at this point, he’d pounce and capture the bastard. It would have to be a kill shot.

Cnut stumbled backwards and fell on his butt, his sore left arm clutching his now damaged right. The skin was split open and he could barely move the damn thing. A volley of nordic curse words rang out as his left hand came up soaked in blood. Frantic eyes darted up towards Wolf, who was still standing. But the calf he had struck gave his stance a slight wobble. Cnut’s twin machetes lay in front of him, awaiting his retrieval. Any other day, Cnut would firmly grasp his signature weapons and return to the fray, the sign of weakness invigorating him. But with one damaged arm barely held together by magic and his dominant arm crippled, it was time to play damage assessment. This entire retreat had been a mess from the start, and if Cnut wanted to escape judgement for his impressive list of crimes, he would have to do what he hated most; leave money on the table. Worse yet, a castle’s worth. His personal picks of the Silvrin raid had been concealed and sent to the primary Gondar stronghold, but a lot of bandits were going to be upset over a loss like this.

The metallic taste of blood filled Cnut’s mouth as he struggled to lift his remaining hand to his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. As he rolled on his side and let out another cry in pain, a brown horse with a black mane answered his master’s call. Once more, it took everything Cnut could muster to mount his horse and grab the reins. With a cry that was a mix of pain and frustration, Cnut turned tail and fled.

Wolf took two steps forward as Cnut struggled onto his horse. But his leg was not playing along with his plans, and Wolf knew the bastard was about to turn tail and get away. From the sounds within the warehouse, the ogre was still alive and kicking, so he was the only one who could stop Cnut. A gnarled growl escaped his lips as he kick-started his adrenaline one last time today, ignoring the pain and weakness in his leg as he ran after the horse.

Fire and lightning ignited all over his right side as Wolf sprinted after the fleeing bandit. He readied a spear and brought it over his shoulder, poised to pierce his foe. Wolf continued to run after Cnut, waiting until his last few drops of adrenaline ran out. With one last defiant roar, Wolf threw his arm forward, the momentum of his meaty limb and returning weakness in his leg sending him tumbling to the ground.

The spear whizzed past Cnut’s head, close enough for the bandit to hear the point splitting the air, before it slammed into the wall near the exit of Cnut’s now fallen stronghold. Wolf sat on the ground where he fell, and watched him leave. Growling in frustration, he rooted around his belt pouches and found a small vial of healing tonic. He poured some of it on the wound and poured the rest into his mouth. Wolf then rooted around his pouches again and found his flask full of dwarven rum and took a hit off that before standing. After a few seconds, the potion and the alcohol started taking effect, instantly making him feel much better. With a pained grunt, Wolf used way too much strength to stand up.

His leg was still weak, but capable of holding him up. While his pants were soaked in blood, he could tell that the wound was no longer draining out, and would be fine with some rest and a healing mage. Not the worst injury the half elf had suffered in his life. With a sigh, he walked over and yanked his spear out of the wall, and stared down the path Cnut had just taken. With another sigh, he began the trek back to the warehouse, limping and slowly dragging along, barely upright after spiking his own level so many times.

Wolf knew the fight was basically over. He hadn’t seen another bandit since he dropped the ones trying to protect Cnut back at the warehouse. They had probably also retreated, and from the sounds he heard, anybody left was still inside the large building at the end of the lane.​