A Farmer and Soldier

[Bryson Desmonia]

The door of the small, local tavern opened for just log enough to allow the armored figure to enter before shuttin again. No one paid the man any attention, as he was a regular in the little place. The man plodded on over towards the bar, where the barkeep had set out a tankard of ale for him. Out from a dark corner near the fireplace, a man with his sword strapped to his back rose and walked over to the bar, where the armored man had began to drink his ale. The man with the sword on his back took a seat next to the armored man, who looked over at the other, finished a gulp of ale, and turned his head to look at the man with the sword.

"How's your luck holding out this evening, Grovich?" the armored man, whose name, as you have figured out at this point, was Bryson Desmonia, asked the one called Grovich. Grovich's young face lit up at the question, and he laughed. Grovich, aside from his sword, didn't look much like a fighter. He was lean, with slightly slumped shoulders, a little curve in his back, and little muscle structure. Grovich wore his semi-long blond hair in a short ponytail, and, for clothes, wore a sleeveless purple shirt, khaki pants, leather boots, and, as previously mentioned, his sword was strapped to his back.

"Oh, not too bad. Started horribly, got worse, and then lost the last few games." Grovich responded. The two were talking about the card game which Grovich and the other militiamen played every night, here in this tavern after and before they took turns patrolling the town. "How were your rounds, Bry?"

"Oh, not too bad, actually. Thought I saw some activity to the south near the Johensen farm, but I was mistaken." Bryson took another drink from the tankard before continuing. "Aso, isn't it supposed to be you and Leroy who are supposed to relieve me, about... 20 minutes ago?" The farmer gave a laugh as Grovich's eyes got wide. Bryson punched the other man in a joking manner, which seemed to maker Grovich a little less worried. "I still suggest getting out there before I teach you some ol'-fashion discipline." This simple phrase resulted in Grovich stumbling out of his seat and a roar of laughter from the other militiamen over in the corner.

As Grovich and Leroy, an older ex-soldier in Bern's army, went to leave, Bryson said, "Take care." without looking back. Grovich nodded, and then he and Leroy had left.


OoC: This is open to anyone, really. I'm fine with this being a solo thread for a while until people want to join this though, so... Don't think I'm begging for people to get in here.

[Bryson Desmonia]

Bryson was just finishing his drink when he heard the door to the tavern open, and then close. Heavy foot steps that rapidly moved closer to the bar... And then Bryson felt a heavy hand on his left shoulder. A very heavy hand indeed, as the farmer felt it from underneath his armor. Bryson turned his head slightly to see the bearded face of another militiaman, the one who had just recently moved to town and was now helping Bryson on his farm. The man's face was grim as he looked at Bryson, and he nodded his head.The barkeep's face went pale, and he hurriedly ran into the backroom, which one could hear from the sharp metallic sound was now locked. Bryson stood up, and looked over at the men in the corner playing cards. They were no longer playing. With their weapons in hand, they followed after Bryson.


Leroy and Grovich were cornered in the center of the town. "---- bandits..." Grovich growled. Leroy had his helmet on, and jabbed at the slowly approaching bandits with his lance. Grovich sliced his sword at a bandit, causing him to jump back... Straight into a lance. The lance had gone straight through the bandit's back, and one could hear the weapon's wielder gag at the sight of the blood.

"Well, Grovich. You seem to have attracted trouble." came the gruff voice of Bryson. One could now see he looked rather uneasy about having just killed a living being, but his voice said something about just how serious he was. Grovich grinned a little, and then walked up to Bryson as the bandit's slowly realized what had just happened. Leroy lifted his helmet's visor up a little bit, saw Bryson, and smiled. He then lifted his lance, and charged at the bandits.

Leroy was the second casuality of the fight.

The other militiamen had just arrived, surrounding the bandits. Grovich prodded a few of the closer ones with his sword, until he eventually drew blood from one of them. This resulted in that bandit yelping, and Bryson smiled. "Well then, riff-raff. You wanna drop them weapons and come quietly, or are we gonna have to poke you through like the fat pigs you are?" Bryson asked. The bandits looked at each other, and then held up their axes. They charged. Grovich blocked an incoming axe with his sword, leaving Bryson to simply stab forward to impale the still-moving bandit. A few of the militiamen had been caught by surprise and sliced at, leaving a break in their circle. The bandits seemed to see this as a good opprotunity to change their luck, and aimed for that spot. A few were caught by the arrows of the Jenkins brothers, but were not killed. Grovich ran forward, attempting to block the bandits who were still in range from going any further, but just received a blow to the head instead.

Bryson couldn't tell whether to make head or tails of this fight. They had driven off the bandits... But Leroy had been killed (although he had been asking for it, it didn't make it any more bearable), and about 10 other men who had families and friends here had been either seriously injured or killed. Bryson slowly walked forward, and he noticed movement. One of the bandits, a smaller one who didn't look older than 18 or 20, had had his left leg stuck by Grovich's sword when he had been punched. Bryson lifted the sword out of the bandit's leg (causing the bandit to gasp in pain), and then lifted him. Bryson studied the tan face for a moment, and then put the bandit over his shoulder, not unlike a bag of potatoes going to market. Bryson picked Grovich up and put the other militiaman over his other shoulder, and then began walking back to the tavern. Some of the other militiamen had grabbed their hurt friends and family and followed Bryson.

((Most suckish battle against bandits EVER.))

[Bryson Desmonia]

Bryson held his lance tight, and leaned up against the door to the tavern. It had been a few hours since the militia had begun their attempts at interrogation... And man, these people were horrible at it. Grovich had almost sliced the small man's throat, and Bryson had been the only one to notice! The barkeep/tavern owner had brought Bryson a drink, which had been refilled about three times now. It was once again empty, but Bryson wasn't worried. Three tankards full was as much as he could take before getting drunk. And getting drunk would not be ideal.

So far, the interrogation had yielded only the information that, yes, there were more bandits, that they were armed, and that they were dangerous. All three of which Bryson himself could have told them. Currently, the Jenkins twins were making their second try at it, but the bandit only smiled at their lame attempts. Bryson could feel his impatience steadily rise... And rise... Three hours had really worn on the farmer. And now he was ready to blow some steam.

He moved quickly, tossing the Jenkins twins back. The bandit's eyes widened as the butt end of Bryson's lance knocked the bandit, who was tied to a chair, into th wall. The bandit could hardly breath underneath the force of the weapon, and it got worse as Bryson moved forward, and, putting his other hand on his weapon, hurled the bandit off to the left. Bryson lumbered forwad to where the bandit had fallen, face first, and stuck one armored foot on his back. "Well!? Are ya goin' to answer our questions or jus' waste all o' our time!?" Bryson roared. The bandit went to say something, but was only squashed harder. "Well!?"

The foot came off, leaving the bandit wheezing and coughing for a minute. After a moment of pure, deadly silence, the bandit dared to look up at Bryson. "I... I'll answer ya questins as... Well as I can..." came the rather small bandit's words. Bryson snorted, and went to resume his position at the door. Everyone else in the room watched as the armored farmer returned to his position.

Grovich elbowed the shorter of the Jenkins twins, and whispered into his ear. "And that's why the guy is our informal leader."

And the interrogation resumed. Only this time, it yielded much better results. The militia found out that the bandits were planning to continue attacking the town until nothing was left (something which honestly didn't surprise Bryson), that their leader called himself the Land Shark, and that they had rather decent weapons that they had stolen. Bryson sighed, and took another big drink from his tankard. Screw his usual 'three tankard' stuff. It was going to be a long night.

[Bryson Desmonia]

Another few hours later, and Bryson found himself walking on a rough path away from the town that he had, for so long, called home. In his right hand was his lance; over his left shoulder was the small bandit that the militia had interrogated a few hours ago. The sun was just beginning to rise, and Bryson wished that he could join the bandit he held prisoner in sleep. But no, he had to keep his guard up. There were bandits nearby. Grovich was beside him, his sword in both hands and his eyelids slowly drooping.

Bryson and the militia had decided that it would be best to evacuate the town, and had eventually convinced the townspeople that that was the best course of action. So the militia had split up the townspeople into five groups, each of which had four militia guards. Bryson and Grovich, however, had decided to take their prisoner and go in the opposite direction. Bryson felt bad about this, but he knew that his massive, bulky armor would only attract the attention of the bandits. So the two had left the town.

Bryson turned his head slightly to see Grovich's eyes fully closed, and his sword held loosely in his hand. Bryson prodded the other ex-militiaman with his lance, jolting him awake once more. "Come on, try ta stay awake now." Bryson grumbled. Grovich mumbled something in response, but Bryson didn't catch it. The two had walked about five miles since they had left the town, and so far hadn't had any bandit problems. But Bryson saw the twinkling of a weapon nearby, glinting off the light of the rising sun. He tapped Grovich on the shoulder, and then kept walking forward. Grovich now held his sword as if ready for combat. Sure, Bryson was worried about leading his sleepy friend to what would probably be their death, but... It couldn't be avoided now.

After another five minutes, Bryson heard a roar, and then the sound of metal striking metal. He dropped the body of the small bandit prisoner, grabbed his lance with both hands, and turned, impaling an oncoming bandit. Bryson swung his weapon over his head, throwing off the dead body and hitting another bandit. Bryson felt Grovich behind him, and took a step forward so as not to intrude upon his fighting style. He thrust his lance forward, killing another bandit, and then felt a weapon hit his armor. The weapon didn't cut through the thick steel, but it did dent it. Bryson knew that the bruise that would form there would be the least of his worries if he didn't keep his head in the fight, though. The bandit who had delivered the blow was now out of site; Bryson presumed that Grovich had taken him out. The armored farmer looked around, saw no more bandits, and then turned around.

A bandit was attempting to dislodge his axe from Grovich's skull.

Bryson roared, and the bandit fell to the mighty strike.

There was no living being other than Bryson now. Even the prisoner had been killed, presumably by Grovich as the prisoner had tried to escape when Bryson was distracted by his own problems. Bryson felt a tear begin to form at the corner of his eye for his lost friend, but he brushed it away. He picked up Grovich's corpse and continued walking.

Far behind him, a great bonfire was roaring where the town Bryon and Grovich had lived up until that day had once stood.


It was almost midnight when Bryson stopped walking. The bandits that had assualted Bryson and killed Grovich had only been a watch party for any townspeople who tried to sneak away, Bryson had realized after a few hours of walking with the corpse of his friend. He had cried when the realization that Grovich was dead really sunk in, and now Bryson cried again. He stood before a small mound of dirt with a sword sticking out of the top. It was the final resting place of the militiaman Grovich, son of Tylar, and friend to Bryson.

A few hours later, Bryson was back on the road. No more tears would be shed for his friend.

((This is the end of this solo thread.))