|
Post by Cefia on Dec 6, 2011 18:13:06 GMT -6
Cefia had followed somewhat close behind as to watch Derick's back. When they finally reached the point where they dropped off their equipment she simply attached a few more pounds of armor back on her. She really didn't need to change into anything other. Seeing Derick change wasn't anything new to what her. When you're stuck in a ship full of sweaty drunk men, she had seen worse.
"No worries," she answered Derick, sounding quite casual. She understood quick enough why Derick might be embarrassed. If a girl was in his position and a guy sees it, now that would be even worse, wouldn't it?
"Just be ready," she stated, hearing voices off in the distance. This was bound to end up getting even worse.
|
|
Derick
Soldier
A deserter from Bern, struggles to reign himself in.
Posts: 170
Profession: Amateurish Mercenary
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Derick
|
Post by Derick on Dec 6, 2011 20:47:13 GMT -6
Tongue-in-cheek, Derick finished strapping on his armor and began playing with the fastener on his cloak. He glanced up at Cefia when she wasn't looking...she was a significant bit older than him...at least 5 years, though it might be more. She should be nothing more than an older sister to him yet..."Just be ready,"
Ready? Oh, right, the Etruria fiasco, funny how one can get distracted when--Stop it! Having mentally reprimanded himself, he grabbed his lance and nodded to Cefia. "Let's head back, quickly, we should back Clair up." With that said, he smiled at her and led the way through the trees back to the city. His confused thoughts were gradually interrupted as his combat reflex finally began to seep into his blood.
They reached the edge of the trees and Derick motioned for Cefia to stop. He crouched behind a worn-looking pine and peered out, there were a few patrols outside of the walls now. Great. He started looking for Clair, they could rush in as reinforcements when needed, goodness knows they might need a distraction to rescue her friend.
|
|
|
Post by Clair Feldsky on Dec 8, 2011 13:47:59 GMT -6
A moment's respite upon reaching the trees.... Except this wasn't a possibility. Not for the Falcoknight. She wouldn't feel safe until they were well away from Etruria, with no sign of pursuit. She quickly passed by the others, searching the area where she'd left her pegasus. She found it by the sound of beating wings, and it stared back at her curiously as she entered its little hideaway, as if to ask her what she'd been up to.
She slowed her steps and took a deep breath to relax as she approached the winged horse. She really wasn't in the mood to slow herself down, but having to chase the startled creature and calm it would only take longer.
"Easy there...." She reached her pegasus and stroked it's neck lightly as she slipped to its side. "We're going to go on a little trip soon." She whispered, pulling her bundled armor off of the saddle, and buckling it over her clothing. The Falcoknight stood by the pegasus' side for a moment, rubbing the mare, before pulling herself up onto the creature.
"Come on. Let's go and find the others." She said softly as she began riding back the way she'd come. She stayed within the woods, keeping an eye out for Garith, Cefia, and Derick, as well as Richter and her Commander's armored companion. They ought to be arriving soon, if they hadn't already.
"Derick? Garith? ... Cefia?"
|
|
|
Post by Cefia on Dec 8, 2011 19:08:10 GMT -6
Cefia had followed close behind Derick, keeping one eye out for the enemy and another for Clair. She didn't want any more trouble than they already had. Her wounds were aggravating at best but she kept her head cool. Her attention soon paid off as she noticed a winged horse... With a quick bark towards Derick she made her way towards the pegasus. The fact that it was a lone horse made her highly doubt it was the enemy troops. It wasn't long until she noticed as the figure of a rider became clear.
"Thin's be goin' t' become a 'ole lot worse anytime now," she stated as she reached made it into range for her to hear.
|
|
|
Post by Richter Abend on Dec 10, 2011 0:14:28 GMT -6
Like a bolt of lighting, a spear tip came flashing towards Richter's face. The metal tooth came within inches of his flesh, but he deflected the incoming strike with the haft of his axe before aiming a steady kick at his attacker's chest. The Ilian's boot made sure contact with the soldier's breastplate, forcing the man to stumble backwards as Richter leaped forward, his axe held high and ready to strike. However, again his advance was intercepted by the other soldier, and as he slammed his axe downwards, his elbow was caught by the length of the second soldier's lance.
These men were trained to work as a team, it seemed, which meant that not only were they better in pairs, but they had lived long enough to adapt to each other's battle styles. Well, it was either them or Richter, so unfortunately for them, their lives would have to end here, for the pink haired commander knew that they would give him no ground. Yanking on his axe, Richter whipped his arm back, catching the spearman's weapon under the axe blade, and pulled the man forward and off balance. Then, from behind the disarmed soldier darted forward the other, still armed Etrurian, who advanced with a thrust to Richter's neck. The Ilian pulled to the side, but the soldier was quick. The spear bit into flesh as its tip, glinting with the reflected light of the burning rubble behind them, cut through the rebel commander's shoulder.
Wincing with pain but refusing to give his opponents the satisfaction of the wound, Richter shifted all of his weight and lunged forward, ramming his shoulder into the Etrurian soldier and knocking him to the ground. Then, while the other spearman was still attempting to regain his balance and double-up on the pink haired man, Richter lifted his axe up before bringing it down hard into the Etrurian's face. With a loud crunch, the man's skull gave way to the iron wedge, splashing blood all over the both of them, as Richter found himself under attack again by the other man. Whirling around, the Ilian managed to catch the arcing strike on his wrist. The strike stung badly, but it was nothing compared to what he would have incurred if he had not blocked the blow.
As Richter and the Etrurian struggled for superiority, each not removing their eyes from the other's gaze, out of the corner of his eye Richter noticed another squad of Eturians heading towards them. Not good. "Hey!" shouted Richter, his eyes still locked in combat with his opponent. "You have any idea how we're going to get out of this?" Normally the Ilian figured he'd be able to fight his way out of it, but seeing as how he had just spent the last few days twice captive, things didn't seem so simple anymore. "I'm still thinking!" shouted the armored man, sliding the corpse of one of his own opponents off of his bloodied greatsword. "Well think faster, because this is only getting worse!"
|
|
|
Post by Clair Feldsky on Dec 10, 2011 16:34:49 GMT -6
Clair frowned as she heard Cefia. Things were bound to heat up quickly. Truthfully, things were already cooking, but the enemy still hadn't focused its heat yet.
"Yep. It's time we made our exit. Head away from the city and watch out for patrols on the road. If you can get ahold of some horses, you'll make better time. Just don't bite off more than you can chew." She was more than ready to make an exit herself, but needed to find the missing escapees first.
"I'm going to look for Richter before I take off. Head east to Bulgar if we get separated. Understood?" Clair loosened her iron lance in its hangings and pulled it free as she spoke. It felt light. Comfortable even, as she couched it in her arm. If she was lucky, she wouldn't even need to use it, but the falcoknight wasn't going to take the chance on not being able to get her lance out in time.
|
|
|
Post by Richter Abend on Dec 13, 2011 4:15:23 GMT -6
Richter and his opponent remained locked in combat while what looked to be six Etrurians circled around them and formed a human wall. The Ilian's muscles groaned as he pushed against the Etrurian soldier's spear with the flat of his axe. The new soldiers remained readied, but still, not quite sure what to do yet but sure that they weren't going to let the two impostors escape.
Pushing off of the spearman, Richter swung an open palm at the shaft of his attacker's polearm in an attempt to blow open the soldier's guard. The man, however, took the blow and remained steady. His strike failed, Richter wrapped his fingers around the weapon, and yanked on it, but again the man remained still. Damn, he was strong.
Just then the rebel commander noticed out of the corner of his eye that one of the men who had previously been circled around him was rushing him from behind, sword drawn. It was a cowardly move. Smart, but cowardly. Seemed like all Etrurians fought like that.
Richter ducked under the oncoming blow, releasing his grip, as the second soldier's blade zipped harmlessly over his head, making contact with the first's spear. Taking his opening, the pink haired Ilian slammed a fist into the side of the second soldier's knee, causing the man to stumble, before standing back up and driving his knee to first soldier's crotch. The spearman grimaced in pain as his legs went bowlegged, his eyes cursing Richter's cheap shot, but before the man could emit much more than a loud growl, the Ilian slammed his axe into the stunned man's collar, driving it through the bone.It was a cowardly move. Smart, but cowardly.
Richter took a deep breath as he turned around. The second soldier had re-stabilized himself and was brandishing his sword with cowardice tempered only by a sense of duty. Meanwhile, the other five soldiers hadn't move in an inch, and while Richter's mysterious companion had just severed the head of his second soldier, the Illian could see that still more Etrurians were running towards them. This time, about fifteen men strong.
At the realization of their inevitable defeat, the rebel commander's muscles grew weak and his bones grew heavy. He was tired, and they were outnumbered twenty to two. That was ten for him, and ten for his companion, and unlike the thieves and bandits he had been slaughtering up until now, these men could hold their own in a fight. Richter didn't want to give up, far from it, but right now it seemed there was little he could do.
"Richter, use the sword!" shouted the only friendly voice within a hundred meters of them. The sword? What good would that do? It was runic, yes, but they'd need to be some serious runes to get him out of this mess. "Just draw it!" came the shout again. "Kill someone with it!" Fine he'd draw it. He had no idea how to use a magic sword, but at this point, what options did he have?
The Ilian reached behind him, grasping the handle of the sword, and again felt the strange tingle of the blade's magic dart up his arm. He then drew the two handed blade out of its decorated sheath, staring down the soldiers around him, but froze as the tip left the scabbard. A sharp pain surged through the side of his neck. Magic? No... Was this sword cursed? Richter reached up with his other hand to feel the source of the pain. A long bolt of wood stuck out from his collarbone. It's end was feathered. No magic. Just an arrow.
His eyes clouded with pain, the pink haired warrior harshly ripped the arrow out of his shoulder. The arrow tore through the skin around it, spurting blood all over Richter's shoulder, but came out cleanly. It wasn't barbed. That was good. But as the bolt came free, Richter heard another shout. "Richter, watch out!"
Then came the fast beat of running footsteps. The Ilian turned his head see another two soldiers darting toward him. He tried to lift up his sword in retaliation, but was too slow. He felt a spear pierce his right thigh while the front of a blade smashed through his sternum, shattering bone and rending flesh. The muscles in Richter's arm flexed as his grip tightened around the black sword as if he was to swing it, but he could not. His arm had locked up. He would have howled in anguish, but his lungs had frozen as well. It felt like he was breathing into his chest, not out of his mouth like he should.
Satisfied with their work, the two soldiers withdrew their weapons, letting Richter's body slump to the ground like so many who had fallen at the Ilian's own hands. This...this was death. Now that he was right there, at its door, it didn't seem so inviting anymore.
"RICHTER!"
|
|
|
Post by Clair Feldsky on Dec 13, 2011 12:27:51 GMT -6
The falcoknight pulled lightly on the neck reins, sharply turning the pegasus around, and back away from the the people by her. Her mount tossed its head a bit as it picked up to a trot, and retucked the end portions of its wings. The blond haired falcoknight watched the edge of the woods, waiting for a sign of the downed tower to become apparent and signal to her that she was in the right area. She was expecting to run into them soon, but the quiet stillness of the woods stood in stark contrast to her expectations.
At last, she spotted something. Something that would both increase the difficulty and decrease the time required or allowed for this escape. True, she'd found the pair, but she'd found them engaged in combat in the open field. Specificly, the problem seemed to be that the twosome were engaged by soldiers. A fair number of them. Engaged with, and unable to break away.
Well, this Illian woman hadn't come all this way to lose her man now. She turned the winged mare towards the treeline and kicked. A moment later, the white steed could be seen breaking out of the treeline, leaping into the air, and climbing rapidly in ascent. She could feel the pegasus' wings pumping, throwing them higher with every thrust. She was also gaining on the enemies surrounding the two allies, coming right above them now. Now was the time.
Without hesitation on her part, Clair switched her iron lance to her left hand, gripped her killer lance in her right hand and leaned forward, twin spikes aimed ahead. The pegasus began its descent, but the Falcoknight continued the dive command. She could practically read its mind as it tried to decide whether it could trust her to lead it through what she was asking it to do. A vertical dive, straight down into the enemy below. It was doubtful that the creature had ever done such a thing with a rider on its back, but she noticed it the moment the young mare decided to trust her.
Down they went. Clair reliving for herself the assault that had earned her mother the name "Doombolt". The wind whipped her hair behind her freely as they plummeted straight down towards a group of hostile soldiers. Her eyes widened in shock when she saw the blade passing through Richter. Her throat siezed up. Her breath froze. Her entire body seemed to quiver with what she saw, but the ground rushing up at her forced her to take action again.
The Illian's ice blue eyes changed, reflecting twin pools of unadulterated storm about to break. Equal parts fear, anguish, and rage forced a call out of her mouth. A cry for love, fear, and battle to be joined.
"RIIICHTERRR!" One Etrurian looked up in time to find himself suddenly driven to the ground and holed through the chest by an iron lance from the sky. A second didn't have time to look up before he felt the bite of a second lance. The Falcoknight tightened her grip on the lances, as her pegasus surged forward, and pulled free her weapons. They ran past an archer, and though Clair missed the man with her lance strike, she did hook the string on the bow as she passed, and jerk the weapon out of the grip of the archer. It fell off at some point string damaged from sliding off the spearpoint. She didn't care anymore. She was making her way towards Richter. The area around him needed to be cleared before she could land.
Unfortunately, riding down the soldiers around him wasn't working out. They were backing off, and clumping together as to protect themselves from being ridden down. Clair waited till the last moment and turned off course, leaving her jagged-tipped killer lance embedded in the chest of one of the swordsmen. He fell by Richter as she turned aside, prompting her steed to leap up and take flight over a cluster of soldiers trying to hem her in between the two groups. They were trained well to deal with cavalry, she would give them that, but as she tightened up her flying turn and came whipping back towards Richter's cluster, some of them realized that they'd never been trained on dealing with a Feldsky intent on ripping your formations to shreds.
|
|
|
Post by Richter Abend on Dec 14, 2011 0:06:25 GMT -6
Richter let out a deathly gasp as his head hit the grassy dirt with a thud. The wet, ashy ground dirtied his hair, though it was hardly important. The Ilian tried to move his body, perhaps struggle to his feat like he had done before, but the more he tried the more he realized that it was impossible. His body was going numb. There was no strength left in him to resist. No, not now! He mentally slammed his fist on the dirt. He couldn't let the Herald win, not like this! He had to live. He had to defeat the Herald, kill the Prophet, and smack that prick of a Low Officer upside the head!
The pink haired Ilian closed his eyes, his mind a whirlwind frustration that was slowly ebbing and dying. He wanted to see Clair again, dammit, and Mary too. There were so many things left for him to do! Gone were his empty days longing for death's release, but despite his mental protests, Richter was at a loss for both words and strength.
"RIIICHTERRR!"
A familiar voice pierced the air, followed by a horse's whinny and the yells of two dying men. Clair? Was it really her? His vision was fading as fast as his strength, and though he tried to get one last look at Clair before he passed on, he could not. His eyes had decided to stop working as well. Everything was going hazy. Everything was going dark.
But before the last of his life could escape him, a force welled began to well up inside the Iliian warrior, a force which he was not familiar with. It slowly began to grow and twist inside him, and despite its welling presence, it didn't feel like life. No, it was too cold, too angry, and too chaotic. In fact, it felt like death. Richter had heard many stories about a man's last seconds, but never anything like this. It was always the light at the end of the tunnel, or the darkness of the abyss, but this? This was different.
Then, Richter's arm began to tingle, and slowly the tingle began to spread throughout his body. It wasn't a physical tingle, but an ethereal one, like that of the air one one's skin, only...less real. His vision shrouded in darkness, the only sight that met the dying man's useless eyes were inky black tentacles writhing in his vision. He wasn't sure how he saw them, for they were as dark as the nothingness that enveloped his mind, but he could see them nonetheless. And as the ghostly shiver that was consuming his soul reached its peak, the tendrils changed to a soft, deep purple. This wasn't heaven, and it wasn't hell. Was this...the sword? It seemed so similar to what Mavick had spoken of that one night, that all consuming, hungry power. But if this was the magic...
"Essen," spoke Richter in a loud clear voice, though he knew the word had probably not made it out of his mind. He was unsure why he had said it, perhaps at the urging of the forces around him, but nevertheless, the deep purple tentacles exploded into activity, snarling and whipping silently before lashing out and, from what he could tell, latching onto something. Then, slowly, the now calm filaments began to pulse, as if feeding off of something.
Energy ran down their purple forms and into Richter's body. This energy. This new energy was warm, like hot soup down a cold throat or the bright sun on ones skin. The feeling it gave him was smooth and refreshing, and as more of it entered the Ilian's cold chassis, he slowly felt feeling spread throughout him, beginning at his heart until it flowed back into his fingertips. Air rushed into his lungs as they expanded, strong and full, and while he could feel every inch of his body, the pain in his chest, leg, and neck had not returned.
Charged with new life, Richter's eyes flickered open, temporarily blinded by the light of the late afternoon. His ears were met by more angry whinny's and the muttering of men. A large, pink haired form was crouched over him. Its face gave Richter a look that shifted from sadness to surprise. "Richter? Richter, can you hear me?" Richter groaned, his vocal cords still not yet ready to operate. That face, it was so foreign, but at the same time so very familiar. No, it couldn't be. Not here. Not now. "Thank the maker you're alive," sighed the man. "The soldiers are hanging back right now, so get up! We've got to get going!"
|
|
|
Post by Clair Feldsky on Dec 14, 2011 21:44:18 GMT -6
The winged horse carried its rider down, landing at a gallop and continuing the swift pace. A furious intent was driving it. Goading the mare on to stronger swifter spurts of energy than it had ever exerted before. And yet it seemed to come to it naturally. The woman riding on its back led them around, over, and through the battlefield. She was careful to always leave just enough distance to be sure of an escape.
The lance spiked out from the rider as they tramped past the cluster. The steed could feel the impact through its rider as the lance pierced the shoulder and tore through its victim as they kept on riding. A shift in the saddle, and tension on the right rein signaled that it was time to turn. And not just any turn, but a quick one. The winged mare dug her hooves in and kicked up clods of dirt as she came to a stop, soldiers coming in from the entire frontward arc. They turned back the way they had come. More predators closing in, but the rider wasn't telling her to fly yet!
- - - - -
Clair grimaced in pain. As she'd taken the enemy soldier in the weapon arm with her lance, she'd taken a swordstroke to her left arm. The blade hadn't cut through the leather guantlet of her gloves, but that hadn't stopped the impact from hitting full force. The feeling had gone out of it. As it was, she was having trouble moving it right as she held it clutched to her chest.
She took an awkward grip of the reins, using one hand for both the lance and steering. (What she wouldn't give to have Corona and his training back now.) She pulled the mare around, steering the creature away from the soldiers closing in to front of them. They turned around, and. Headed back the way they'd come only for Clair to look up and spot a spear being leveled at her.
She kicked the pegasus in the sides and pulled back with the reins, causing the winged steed to leap into the sky once more. The spear aimed at her found itself guided off course by the Falcoknight's own weapon, before the wielder had Clair's weapon smashed into his face as they leaped over.
Clair turned the creature on landing on the far side of the soldiers, and squared off with them. Her heart seemed to be pumping energy through her quick enough to sustain a small army, but the young pegasus was growing tired from the looks of things. Pain was returning to her hand, but it was regaining feeling and functionality as well. It looked like the conflict was about to break out again when something else happened.
Thick, dark tendrils exploded outward, grasping one of the men around the arms and legs. He struggled for a moment, terror breaking into his eyes as he realized just what he was seeing. As he struggled screaming and yelling against the bindings, all the slack in the shadowy black tentacles snapped out of it, and the bindings became tight. Clair also whipped her head in the direction of the source of the tendrils, only to see a pulsing black blade in Richter's grip. Could it be? One of the magic swords of this world?
Clair was by no means an expert on magecraft, but she had been prepped on different forms of magic, and this definitely looked like dark magic at work. Her gaze turned back to the victim, seeing a couple of his allies trying to help him, only for them to be ensnared by offshoots of the first set of tentacles.
It took only moments. The first man attacked by the sword's magic fell forward, and the nightmarish tendrils released him. The two others fell to the ground as well, one looking to be nearly depleted of strength, the other managing to break himself out of the grip somehow.
The enemy backed off, clearly worried about this new weapon that Richter, the Demon wielded against them.
She turned and saw the Etrurian disguised Ally, helmet off. He had pink hair like Richter's? Back to the moment. If it was a dark sword, and Richter had used it somehow, then he may yet be alive!
"Get up and get moving!" Clair yelled over to the pair, mind returning to the battle and the escape. "There's no more rescues coming for us!"
|
|
|
Post by Garith Valkyrie on Dec 17, 2011 18:30:07 GMT -6
Garith had followed Cefia and Derick as they ran through the trees and back to where their armor and other gear was at. He ignored Derick changing and got his own things together. He put on the rest of his gear that he had left and followed behind Derick and Cefia.
When Clair had returned and told them what the plan was he frowned. Going back in there to find Richter didn't sound like all of a bright idea to him seeing as it seemed like a death trap to go back in there now.
"Understood," Garith said as he nodded his head as Commander Feldsky had then taken off. He looked to Derick and Cefia and smiled.
"Alright what are we waiting for let's get moving," He said as he then started to move according to the plan.
|
|
|
Post by Richter Abend on Dec 18, 2011 15:52:24 GMT -6
"Get up and get moving! There's no more rescues coming for us!"
Richter turned his head to see Clair, sitting atop a pegasus much smaller than Corona and shouting at him. She was facing down fourteen soldiers alone, with even more starting to pour out of the front gate of the city. If that cat hadn't been let out of the bag before, it was now. The Etrurians knew who he was, where he was, and were now coming at him full force.
Heeding Clair's words, the Ilian pushed the other man off of him and pulled himself to his knees. Gripping the handle of the black runesword, he stared at his previously helmeted companion with a dead, grim glare. The man, bigger and taller than the already imposing Richter, indeed stared back with a similar, but softer gaze. His visage was one from old memories, memories Richter had pushed aside long ago, and seeing it now was like seeing a ship coming into port through a fog. Instead of being calmed, however, the rebel commander felt his blood rise.
"You have some explaining to do," muttered Richter, standing up and turning away from his companion. The man in turn simply looked at the Ilian, taciturn, and nodded his head. There was much to be accounted for. "Clair!" Richter shouted at the falcoknight over his shoulder. "Forget them. We'll be overrun in seconds!" He then broke into as much of a run as he could in his Etrurian disguise as he made a break for the grove a ways away. Arrows had begun to zip past his head, and if his experience moments before had proven anything it was that the three of them were at a gross disadvantage out in the open. If they could make it to the trees, however, they would be in relative cover in order to make their escape.
|
|
|
Post by Clair Feldsky on Dec 19, 2011 23:52:42 GMT -6
Clair let out a breath she didn't remember holding as Richter shoved himself to his feet. Tangling with this many soldiers would have been a losing proposition, even riding on Corona. With so few people gathered to stand against them though, the Etrurians could afford to play bold. Even with Richter's unknown dread weapon and the Falcoknight's mastery of crossing the battlefield, the Etrurians still dominated the field, and would only get stronger.
"Well, I'm not sticking around for you to die again! That's for sure!"
It was hardly the sort of answer she would have given in the past, but things had changed from then. Inside her, something leapt into action again. Something that she had noticed the absence of, but not realized the far reaching effects it had had on her performance. She'd been preoccupied. Worried about Richter. Now she had seen him again. Alive! He'd not lost his fighting spirit, and now her own was rejuvenated. She felt as though she could take on the whole Prophet-damned army for him! ...But common sense dictated otherwise.
The soldiers, seeing their target fleeing gave chase. Clair charged long enough to get them to slow, before whipping her pegasus around in a quick one-eighty and galloping along the ground behind the two runners. The pegasus was still using its wings to help recover from the quick turn as Clair fastened her iron lance back into its place on the tack, and snatched up her worn killer lance from the corpse that had been laying near to the Pink-haired Commander.
She debated taking flight, but more archers had come out to join the hunt and that was a major concern for the Illian Sky Knight. She would soon outdistance them though. Few Etrurians could shoot from horseback and the woods would help, as well as the distance. They ought to be safe there, as long as they kept moving.
Clair reached the branches only moments before the others did, passing Richter and his companion as she had to duck under a particularly low branch. They weren't out of danger yet, but ohh....
"I wish I could see the Herald's face now." She didn't bother restraining her satisaction. " There are hills near here which we could try to lose pursuit in, but there's no place safe here in Etruria. We need to start crossing the Sacaen Expanse as soon as possible. That's where the army is now." When she spoke, something was different than before. Her voice seemed steadier than it had before she'd accepted responsibility for hundreds of lives. She was prepared. She'd checked land and layouts of the area at an earlier time.
|
|
|
Post by Cefia on Dec 20, 2011 23:07:45 GMT -6
"Easier said 'an dun," Cefia replied towards Garith. She wished she could help Clair out but the woman was better off riding on her own. The idea of flying again hardly bode well in her mind as well. It was best for her to just go by her feet. She belonged on a ship though and after this is over, she was best to head out back to sea.
With her thoughts racing and her feet simply taking the path away from town, she found herself lucking out as an arrow shot from the branches and only got her in the elbow. She staggered forward and almost fell over from the surprise but she pushed on as Clair instructed. She hoped the arrow wasn't really meant for her or any of the others, perhaps it could have been a misfire... Well that was her hopes at least. Gah! Was this her punishment for her unruly behavior in life?
|
|
|
Post by Richter Abend on Dec 21, 2011 4:35:32 GMT -6
Richter was encouraged by Clair's enthusiasm. Indeed, her very presence inspired him to keep pushing on, reminding him that there was a battle to be won for the people of Elibe, but he could not bring himself to be quite as positive minded as the younger Falcoknight. Yes, they had left the Herald in the dust, but that didn't mean they were even close to being out of the frying pan. As Clair herself even said, there's no place safe in Etruria. How right she was.
"I'll wait to see the Herald's face once I get the chance to run a sword through it," said Richter, slowing down as they entered the trees so as not to trip over a root or impale himself on a fallen branch. "Until that man and his Prophet are dead, there's nothing to be getting excited about. He'll just try and find some other way to hunt me down." Typical. Richter had a pretty one track mind on that subject.
The rebel commander pushed a large branch out of his way as he maneuvered around a tree, and was greeted by the sight of a soldier, the Etrurian's eyes wide and arm thrust towards the pink haired militant. Damn it. This man was probably just part of a search part, but when he thought about it, there were probably soldiers scattered outward for miles. Leave it to the Prophet to disseminate his military into the countryside itself.
"The traitor, the traitor is he-"
The man began to shout, but was unable to finish his message as he found his vocal cords cleft in twain, along with a good chunk of his shoulder and the entirety of the right arm he was using to point out the obviously escaping Ilians. Richter's runesword pulsed with a dark purple hue as the blade rent through the soldier's flesh, and as it did, the rebel commander could feel energy surging up into his arms and throughout his body. It was like waking up with the dawn on a brand new day, like feeling warm soup flowing down a horse throat. His fatigue went away; his pain disappeared. It was an incredible feeling, and as more soldiers began to poke their head in his direction, he couldn't help but feel like he wanted more.
|
|