A Game of Vengeance (Open)
Jan 27, 2016 20:04:59 GMT -6
Post by Smoke on Jan 27, 2016 20:04:59 GMT -6
Smoke walked uphill on the dirt path, tracking over the gravelly road with a slow monotonous pace. He knew it well. He'd not been in it often, but he had seen it from overhead on many a cloudy nights in these isles. It was nothing of consequence, and the world passed it by uncaring of what went on within or without its walls. This day though, it was destined for an event that would mark it in the events of these Isles. Oh, it would never be more than a footnote. He doubted that anyone in power would care to mark it for remembering. But it would very much affect the lives of it inhabitants, those around it, and those darkened souls who claimed lordship over these lands.
The traveling Dragon had been watching these lands for several years now, waiting for the times to change. The right conditions to wipe clean the vile warlords who ruled here. Malicious. Malignant. Avaricious. There were monsters here far worse than he, but now the conditions seemed right to turn their kingdoms upon each other and watch them fall. He took a momentary pleasure in that. Watching the wicked fall was one of the few pleasures that he truly valued. He would savor this event before it was through.
The places he was focusing on were far enough out that it would be foolish to attempt true patrols, and so the villages were left to look after themselves. Places like mines and ports would be fine, since they could afford protection from all the people passing through their streets. Little villages like Wildehand were too far out though, and either raised themselves up to strength in arms, or live at the whim of whoever claimed them as their own. Two Warlords lived near enough to clash over Wildehand and the other nearby villages: Goldhearth and Ironhold. Ironhold was held by a brute who ruled through force of terror known as Boss Blake. Through his efforts, he'd gathered enough lesser men under his control to raid other places nearby. He'd constructed forges in the depths of his fortress of Ironhold, and was able to arm men with weapons of their own make. Blake was known as a monster with a taste for violence by his own men; Smoke would have no qualms over watching that one die.
The other warlord nearby tried to play more refined, but the Black Dragon had little regard for her attempts. He'd watched Goldhearth for decades from a distance. Seen how it's now ruler, "Lady Lizbeth Goldhearth" had arrived there from the sea. She'd gotten close with the old warlord, assassinated servants loyal to the old ruler, and then slipped a dagger in his ribs one night. It had transformed over the next few months. She'd made herself known as the "Lady of Goldhearth". She'd made herself a court and a thoneroom to go with it, knighting people, and appointing advisors to herself. The like of her hadn't been seen in some time, and those events had actually amused him. She'd still demanded tribute of the surrounding areas though, and though she rarely led battles on her own, she was more than able to send her "knights" to exact her price by force if a village did not cooperate. She was even known to keep beasts in her dungeon, and feed those who failed to please her to the creatures as she watched.
Wildehand paid tribute to Goldhearth, but there were raiders from Ironhold attacking it now, intent on taking away food, wealth, and slaves if they could. Today though, they would have more than simple villagers to contend with. Today, he would save Wildehand.
Looking up from his trudging pace, he saw the village gates thrown open wide. He could hear people screaming and dieing. Maybe screaming and fighting. It was difficult to tell at times. He pulled back his lips in a snarl as he heard it, and suddenly he broke out into a run. He could feel his knuckles creaking as he balled his fists in anticipation. There was a low hum of power waiting just aside, waiting for him to call on it. He would not call on his full fury today though.
The distance shrank and soon he was bursting through the open gates. A few bodies littered the area, but most had taken shelter in buildings. That would suit the raiders just fine, since that left the town open to them. Smoke ignored the shouts, heading towards the home of one person. One particular person that he'd picked years ago: Rolly of Wildehand. True to his expectations, he saw the youth out in front of his house, backed against the door with his spear out. He had a couple of men dancing with him. An axe fighter and a swordsman. Rolly was starting to look winded, so Smoke didn't waste any time.
Not bothering to slow, Smoke crashed into the axeman from behind, and tackled him to the ground. Ready for the jolt, grabbed the man by the back of his head and smashed it into the ground a few times until he felt something beginning to cave. With a growl, he leaped to his feet, and menaced the swordsman.
"Keep back, Rolly. Let me handle this one." Both Rolly and the raider still looked stunned by the dark haired man's entrance. Neither knew what to make of him. The swordsman realized that his friend was now soaking in a pool of his own blood though, and started to look like he was beginning to consider life choices...
"Go on..." Smoke's voice carried in a low almost melodic sound as he taunted the swordsman. "...Run away...." He laughed at what was to come, and both watchers shivered at the sound. "You'll live at least long enough to tell of your failure if you go now. Or, you can take your chances with me."
The man looked over Smoke as if to assess his chances. A head higher and nearly twice as thick of arm. Even without a weapon, Smoke still presented an intimidating presence. Especially with that patient almost amused expression plastered over his face while he watched the swordsman.
Growing impatient with the waiting, Smoke leapt in and knocked the sword of the man aside with a gauntleted arm before delivering a solid punch to the gut. The man crumpled over and tried to move out of the way, but not before Smoke pounded him into the ground and kicked him a few times for good measure. He could come back to finish these two off later. Wildehand was still under attack.
The traveling Dragon had been watching these lands for several years now, waiting for the times to change. The right conditions to wipe clean the vile warlords who ruled here. Malicious. Malignant. Avaricious. There were monsters here far worse than he, but now the conditions seemed right to turn their kingdoms upon each other and watch them fall. He took a momentary pleasure in that. Watching the wicked fall was one of the few pleasures that he truly valued. He would savor this event before it was through.
The places he was focusing on were far enough out that it would be foolish to attempt true patrols, and so the villages were left to look after themselves. Places like mines and ports would be fine, since they could afford protection from all the people passing through their streets. Little villages like Wildehand were too far out though, and either raised themselves up to strength in arms, or live at the whim of whoever claimed them as their own. Two Warlords lived near enough to clash over Wildehand and the other nearby villages: Goldhearth and Ironhold. Ironhold was held by a brute who ruled through force of terror known as Boss Blake. Through his efforts, he'd gathered enough lesser men under his control to raid other places nearby. He'd constructed forges in the depths of his fortress of Ironhold, and was able to arm men with weapons of their own make. Blake was known as a monster with a taste for violence by his own men; Smoke would have no qualms over watching that one die.
The other warlord nearby tried to play more refined, but the Black Dragon had little regard for her attempts. He'd watched Goldhearth for decades from a distance. Seen how it's now ruler, "Lady Lizbeth Goldhearth" had arrived there from the sea. She'd gotten close with the old warlord, assassinated servants loyal to the old ruler, and then slipped a dagger in his ribs one night. It had transformed over the next few months. She'd made herself known as the "Lady of Goldhearth". She'd made herself a court and a thoneroom to go with it, knighting people, and appointing advisors to herself. The like of her hadn't been seen in some time, and those events had actually amused him. She'd still demanded tribute of the surrounding areas though, and though she rarely led battles on her own, she was more than able to send her "knights" to exact her price by force if a village did not cooperate. She was even known to keep beasts in her dungeon, and feed those who failed to please her to the creatures as she watched.
Wildehand paid tribute to Goldhearth, but there were raiders from Ironhold attacking it now, intent on taking away food, wealth, and slaves if they could. Today though, they would have more than simple villagers to contend with. Today, he would save Wildehand.
Looking up from his trudging pace, he saw the village gates thrown open wide. He could hear people screaming and dieing. Maybe screaming and fighting. It was difficult to tell at times. He pulled back his lips in a snarl as he heard it, and suddenly he broke out into a run. He could feel his knuckles creaking as he balled his fists in anticipation. There was a low hum of power waiting just aside, waiting for him to call on it. He would not call on his full fury today though.
The distance shrank and soon he was bursting through the open gates. A few bodies littered the area, but most had taken shelter in buildings. That would suit the raiders just fine, since that left the town open to them. Smoke ignored the shouts, heading towards the home of one person. One particular person that he'd picked years ago: Rolly of Wildehand. True to his expectations, he saw the youth out in front of his house, backed against the door with his spear out. He had a couple of men dancing with him. An axe fighter and a swordsman. Rolly was starting to look winded, so Smoke didn't waste any time.
Not bothering to slow, Smoke crashed into the axeman from behind, and tackled him to the ground. Ready for the jolt, grabbed the man by the back of his head and smashed it into the ground a few times until he felt something beginning to cave. With a growl, he leaped to his feet, and menaced the swordsman.
"Keep back, Rolly. Let me handle this one." Both Rolly and the raider still looked stunned by the dark haired man's entrance. Neither knew what to make of him. The swordsman realized that his friend was now soaking in a pool of his own blood though, and started to look like he was beginning to consider life choices...
"Go on..." Smoke's voice carried in a low almost melodic sound as he taunted the swordsman. "...Run away...." He laughed at what was to come, and both watchers shivered at the sound. "You'll live at least long enough to tell of your failure if you go now. Or, you can take your chances with me."
The man looked over Smoke as if to assess his chances. A head higher and nearly twice as thick of arm. Even without a weapon, Smoke still presented an intimidating presence. Especially with that patient almost amused expression plastered over his face while he watched the swordsman.
Growing impatient with the waiting, Smoke leapt in and knocked the sword of the man aside with a gauntleted arm before delivering a solid punch to the gut. The man crumpled over and tried to move out of the way, but not before Smoke pounded him into the ground and kicked him a few times for good measure. He could come back to finish these two off later. Wildehand was still under attack.