Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Feb 10, 2016 18:26:54 GMT -6
The motley band of mercenaries marched through the Sacaen plains. At the head of the caravan were a pair of Sacaen tribe-women, Kinh'lua and Kish'lua. These were the women who had hired the Pale Compass adventurer's guild. Despite employing the company, neither Sacaen seemed to be interested in interacting with the Ilians, or Duma for that matter, anymore than necessary. No, they seemed entirely content with each other's unsettling company.
Unsettling. That was the right word. The way the two women were behaving. Neither spoke, but both tread softly in a composed manner. Their feet were in synchronization with each other, moving in constant, measured paces. They were so quiet. The grass didn't even crunch beneath their feet. It was non-human. Not animalistic, or even inhuman mind you, just... non-human. Distinctly inconsistent with the movements of normal human beings. Unsettling. An apt word.
Behind the two women skulked Anton, along with a pair of explorers. Gavrilova had placed him in charge of the operation, granting him an opportunity to prove himself as a leader. The Ilian was suspicious and cautious in nature. Although they were his employers, he did not trust the taciturn and reclusive Sacaens. He could have done a better job of hiding this skepticism, however. Trailing behind them as he did was anything but subtle.
Lagging behind Anton, and the two guards who accompanied him, rode Ivan in the guild's wagon. His constitution was not what it used to be. It had been some time since he'd ventured out into the field. Dutifully, he watched over the excavation equipment, making certain that it did not venture off on its' own.
Between Ivan and the rear of the caravan was a group of four, varied fighters, freelancers from Edessa and beyond, hoping to score an easy payday. And then, at the rear of the caravan walked Ravvus and Duma. The team was ten in total, not counting the Killuans. Frankly, Ravvus did not understand why Anton had hired on so many extra hands, especially considering the complement of Ivan's magic. They did not require such muscle to move a bunch of rocks and, so long as they were careful, they wouldn't be getting into any thick fighting. Maybe it was just the Ilian's cautious nature. Ravvus did not know. He wasn't sure how much he cared, either. He was little more than a grunt doing what he was told in exchange for what it he wanted.
The mage looked out across the rolling plains. A sea of green, some had called it. An apt name, Ravvus thought. It had been some time since he'd visited Sacae. It was nice to be back. As an environment, Sacae was fairly calm. It did not have the deadly cold, or winds, of Ilia, nor was it cluttered with treacherous mountains, like Bern. It was merely a long, rolling field of green. Indeed, it wasn't the weather that would kill you in Sacae. Just the natives.
Ravvus glanced at Duma, wondering how his companion was holding up. ”Everything you expected from a grand adventure, right?” The sorcerer opened with a joke, hoping to lighten the dull atmosphere.
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Post by Duma on Feb 13, 2016 17:46:27 GMT -6
“Let's see.. Two mimes, a varied crew of odd job mercenaries, a pair of spellcasters, a caravan, the driver, and a swordsman… I cannot tell if we are a guild on a job.. or a circus caravan.” Duma responded to Ravvus joke with a partial joke of his own. The green clad swordsman trailed alongside Ravvus. The swordsman was in better spirits now than he was a few days ago. This was partially due to the fact he was back in Sacae. His most favorite of all the Eturian territories.
And while the lot of them were out of the Illian borders the weather across the plains was still cold. Duma had his plain but thick leather cloak on. He had it buttoned closed to help deal with the occasional wind. The swordsman was apprehensive of the two Killuan nomads. Duma was unfamiliar with them. What information he knew of them was limited. He knew that the Killuans were a very secluded people, who rarely spoke to other tribes. Whatever situation these two sisters were in must have been very dire if they were forced seek outside help. This upset Duma. As the swordsman knew any sort of “dire” situation usually involved a death of some kind. And Duma was curious to know exactly what sort of fate befell the other Killuans.
“This adventure is already driving me nuts.” Duma spoke in a semi-sarcastic tone.
“Don’t get me wrong.. I’m grateful the Pale Compass has hired me. I’m glad we are traveling together again. We have a healthy mix of fighters. Good supplies. And this job.. seems easy. But those.. sisters.. worry me. Their silence rubs me the wrong way. I want to know what drove them to seek outside help. Any information from them would have helped the guild with planning…” He had a bit of a soft frown on his face. Part of him wished he could be up front, closer towards the sisters. Perhaps he could read something between their body languages. Something that would help to satisfy his curiosity.
“Sacae is not an easy place to live. Let alone travel through. The plains have been difficult lately. Between the weather changes, tension with Eturia, the attack on the City of Heroes, diseases, bandits, rival tribes, famine..” He sighed softly.
“I’m sorry. I have to stop being so negative. I am trying hard to see the positives of this. But old habits die hard. The last job I took required me to escort a priest and two kids. It seemed like an easy job. But.. due to a lack of information.. we were nearly killed by assassins.”
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Feb 28, 2016 17:15:26 GMT -6
“Heh." Ravvus chuckled lightly in response to Duma's sarcastic quip. There it was again. The stern swordsman's dry sense of humor. The Sacaen-Etrurian, who wasn't entirely sure he was, in fact, Sacaen, could have a real comedic droll when he so wished. So much so that Ravvus had initially interpreted the 'mime' comment as literal.
”I agree...” The mage's voice trailed off. There was wisdom in Duma's words. Anyone could see that something was off about their job. The atmosphere was 'too good to be true.' A simple excavation. Nothing could go wrong. Rather, nothing should go wrong. But the mere fact that a tribe as reclusive as the Killuans were seeking outside help proclaimed volumes of an unspoken predicament. What that predicament was, however, was anyone's guess. It could be have been of a lethal nature or entirely docile. ”I wouldn't worry too much if I were you. I doubt whatever information the Killuans are hiding will put us at risk.” Ravvus inhaled. The air here chilled his lungs. The mage found that his hands were rubbing against each other. If the weather became severe enough, he could always conjure a fireball. ”Even if it does, Anton and the other guildsman know how to handle themselves. As do you and I.” The blond magician glanced at the motley group of freelancers. The novices seemed to have found solidarity amongst each other. "Them, on the other hand... lets hope, for their sake, this is just a milk run."
The mage's eyes lingered on Duma's legs before traveling up and examining the fullness of his green hair. ”Nearly killed and killed are two different things. You seem to have handled the encounter well enough.” Ravvus felt like there might have been more to the assassin story than Duma was letting on. The man was not easily rattled, his stern composure rarely cracked under pressure. The mission must have gone very far South for such negativity to have permeated the swordsman's demeanor so.
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At the head of the caravan, Kish'lua stopped abruptly. Her piercing gaze peered across the plains ahead. The woman scanned far into the green expanse. Something caught her attention. Not wanting to draw attention to herself, the Sacaen heir continued her stride. Her momentary hesitation had not gone unnoticed by her sister. ”'Shi?” Kinh'lua inquired, invoking her sister's nickname. ”'Shi, is something the matter?.” Kish'lua met her sister's gaze. She glanced briefly at the Ilians closest to them, then back to her sister. The two could communicate in an unspoken dialect, one that was articulated through subtle movements and gestures. A thing born of a sibling bond. Kinh'lua quickly understood that her sister did not wish her to communicate verbally, lest the Ilians overhear them.
The elder sister nodded, to which Kish'lua responded with a darting of the eyes and a caress of her Sacaen headband. 'In the distance, sister. One of our own.' Kinh'lua frowned. Her younger sister had seen one of their kin, a fellow Killuan. Least, the heiress thought she had. Kinh'lua looked to the horizon, hoping to spy what her sister had seen, but it was for not. Her eyes were not as good as Kish'lua's, a trait the heiress had inherited from their late father. Kish'lua moved one hand forward, with all five fingers pointing to the sky, before halting it abruptly. She then glanced back at the caravan. 'Shall we halt the march? Perhaps make a detour, make certain that we avoid our tribesman?' The heiress shook her head, then pointed forward. 'No. Not sure if I saw anything. Need to get closer, be certain first.' Kinh'lua was unsettled. Her sister's eyes lacked a penchant for failure. If Kish'lua thought she saw a Killuan, then there was little chance she had not seen a Killuan.
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Post by Duma on Mar 2, 2016 10:59:47 GMT -6
“Physically… I am alright. Although.. I think I could have handled it better. While the former client did not confirm or deny this, I believed that he at the time was in some political trouble.. which.. made him a target for assassins. Had he simply said something… We could have prepared ourselves better... might have been able to prevent the death of one our troop.” He shook his head.
“Not.. that doubt the Compass’ capabilities. But, I do not walk into any more traps. Or.. have any more surprises.. Understand?” He sighed softly and then paused for a moment.
“I suppose them is the breaks of the job you know. Never know who your next employer is going to be… And what sort of situation they've got going for them. Ugh..I’m starting to sound like my grandfather.” Duma turned his head so he could see Ravvus better. The mage looked a bit different to him then their last encounter. He seemed to be a bit calmer then the hot headed mage he first met. It seems you've matured a bit. Heh.. I'm glad. He squinted a bit to see the girls up front. Signing at each other.
“Looks like the mimes are talking to each other.. hopefully it's a good thing.” He grabbed the ends of his plain travelers cloak and buttoned them so it covered the exposed parts of his body. He then pulled the hood up. He lazily had a hand over his sword hilt as he walked.
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Mar 4, 2016 20:56:27 GMT -6
“Ah, your group suffered casualties then. My condolences.” The hot-tempered mage wasn't much one for grieving the dead, but recent events in Ilia had affected his outlook on mortality. That, and Duma was his friend.
The green-haired swordsman's eyes lingered on Ravvus for a time. Why was he looking at him? Was there something in the mage's hair? ”See something you like?” The blond joked. Ravvus had to admit, he didn't mind Duma looking at him this way.
The sorcerer directed his attention to the front of the caravan, to the two sisters. Duma had a better set of eyes. Ravvus could not make out any distinct gestures or movements exchanged between the two Sacaens. ”Maybe we should find out what's got their attention.” Ravvus glanced at his companion. Tapping the swordsman's shoulder, the conjurer started forward. ”Come on, follow my lead.”
Ravvus quickened his pace, quickly coming upon the freelancers between them and Ivan. ”Hey guys, we're switching the order up. You two-” He pointed at a slender lance-bearer and the freckled boy Anton signed up. ”Bring up the rear.” The lance-bearer snorted and shuffled to the back of the caravan. The freckled-lad, however, looked confused and glanced in the direction of Anton. Did this boy and the senior guild-member have some sort of history?”Don't worry about it.” Ravvus said, patting the young man's shoulder. ”This is just how the guild functions. We rotate duties from time to time to keep everyone on their toes.” The inexperienced mercenary frowned, but obeyed Ravvus' ordered without further objection. The remaining mercenaries looked at Ravvus with quizzical looks. It was like they were asking 'well what do we do?' ”Stay here you two, you're doing a great job.” This only seemed to further puzzle the two freelancers.
Ravvus and Duma moved forward, coming ahead of Ivan's wagon. The elderly sage perked up. ”Mr. Wiseau. Where are you going?” The mage stopped for a moment, turned and winked at the old man, and continued forward. ”Mr. Wiseau...” Ivan frowned, and looked at Duma, as the two passed. ”Don't let him do anything reckless, Mr. Duma.”
As they neared the front of the caravan, the two stopped behind Anton and the other members of the Compass. Ravvus lightly patted Anton's shoulder. ”Anton.” The crafty mage started. ”Duma and I thought you could use a bre-”
”Who the hell gave you two permission to leave your position?!” Anton interrupted with a casual swear. The mage winced as Anton figuratively and literally spat in his face. He seemed somewhat startled, and was attempting to mask his alarm through irritation. Although Ravvus had little doubt that the man was plenty irritated. ”And you will address me as sir, just like everyone else, Ravvus.” The mage's eyes wanted to roll out of his skull.
”It's covered, sir.” He very nearly coughed at the title. ”Two of the freelancers took over the rear guard.” Anton peered towards the back of the caravan. Ire crept into his eyes as he spotted the freckled-boy. ”You three have been taking point the entire trip. We thought you could use some variety from the monotony is all” Ravvus shot a glance Duma's way. The swordsman could jump in any time he wished.
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Post by Duma on Mar 5, 2016 20:37:52 GMT -6
"Something I Like? No. I.. was just musing a bit. You've changed a bit you know. Not so quick to jump into a fist fight like you used too." He smirked softly. Ravvus suggested that the two of them head up front. The blonde haired mage seemed to have a plan. Duma shrugged and decided to follow. Ravvus proceeded to guide the two of the members out towards the rear. While two more stayed towards the middle. Heh. Not bad. Ivan had commented towards Duma not to have Ravvus do anything reckless.
"I shall try but I make no guarantees." He gave a small smile towards the older man and walked with Ravvus. Ravvus tried to talk to Anton but the man seemed to be in no mood for conversation. Duma frowned. His experience with Anton had been less than plesant. The man had questioned Duma's skill with a blade during his recruitment and just seemed to be a pain in the a**. Duma had some respect for that as he knew there was always one jerk in every guild. But jerks were needed in guilds in order to well keep order. Ravvus shot him a glance, which he recognized as "give me a hand damn it". Duma sighed and crossed his arms. He took a step forward and started to speak.
"You should really treat your guild members with a bit more respect Anton. Especially, when one of those members is offering you a chance to rest. The plains have a way of dehydrating a man both physically and mentally. Not a single one of us would blame you if you decided to take a minute to sit in the caravan for a bit. Take a drink.. clear your head." He then motioned over towards the two sisters.
"We will keep a watch over Mime One and Mime Two."
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Mar 9, 2016 10:30:34 GMT -6
Anton pinned the presumptuous Ravvus with an ire-brimming gaze. The Ilian turned to Duma, no less irritated with the swordsman. ”Sir. Duma. Not Anton.” The first thing Anton needed to get straight with his soldiers was proper titles. He was in charge. He expected his subordinates to speak to him as such. The second situation to address was Duma's casual referral of the Killuans. ”And if you want to continue your service with us, you would do well to watch how you speak about our employers. As for rest, me and my men have no need such distractions.”
Ravvus grimaced, having seen Duma cut men down for lesser remarks. Such men were thieves and ruffians, true, but the swordsman had slain them nonetheless. The mage did not want a fight to break out simply because Anton knew not to who he spoke. Ravvus thought on his feet, hoping to somehow disarm the situation before the Ilian's sharp tongue got him killed. “About that, sir...” One of Anton's guards, a fellow member of the guild named... Carl, or something, spoke up. The man wore a suit of heavy armor and his heavy breathing echoed from the iron suit. ”An- sir.” Ravvus began. ”While I can respect your dedication to our cause, your men are exhausted. Just look at Carl and...” The mage looked at the other guild-member, a well-built sword-wielding mercenary whose name currently escaped Ravvus. ”Just look at your men. They're tired, some rest would do them well.” The man with the sword gave Ravvus the stink eye.
Anton snarled back at Ravvus. He eyed his two guards, now noticing that they were in worse shape then he'd believed. The ambitious Ilian was not one to give up so easily. Nor was he the type to forgive those who forced him to go back on his words. ”Fine. If a little grass is too callous for your feet, join Ivan in the wagon. The two of you have fifteen minutes to rest, and not a second more.” The aspiring guildsman noted derisively. The Ilian, however, was not about to leave his post. ”Come with me, the two of you. I've no intention of stopping save for camp or our destination. And...” The Ilian paused, turning to Duma but pointing at the Killuans. ”You will watch what you call them.” Anton's accompanying guards left his side. The two shared a look of frustration as they passed Ravvus and Duma.
That could have gone better. Ravvus leaned over, whispering into Duma's ear. ”It's a step.” The Killuan women had noticed the change of guard, but made no fuss of it. The two merely continued with their gestures, which were becoming increasingly frantic.
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Post by Duma on Mar 9, 2016 15:56:58 GMT -6
Duma kept himself quiet as Anton spoke. He could feel traces of anger welling up inside him, his hands twitched a bit. He wasn't in any mood to cause trouble. But if the man continued to speak in such a condescending tone, he might be obliged to punch him in the face. When Anton left, Duma breathed a sigh of relief.
"Pain in the ass." He quietly whispered under his breath.
"Smart call by telling him the other guys were tired. It didn't even cross my mind the man in armor might.. be a bit overheated." He spoke softly to Ravvus before he turned around and kept walking.
"Feh.. I'm here temporarily.. I do not need to be so courteous. The sisters will be Mimes and your Sir Anton will be Anton." He then turned his attention over towards the two women. His eyes narrowed lightly at their increasing signage. Now while Duma couldn't quite understand the sign language they were using he did understand that "frantic hand movements" usually meant that something was wrong. Duma pulled his arm out in order to stop Ravvus in his tracks.
"Speaking.. of mimes. Something isn't right with them." He pulled his arm back to his side, then placed it over the hilt of his sword. It hadn't hit him until now that the path they had been walking was oddly silent. Save for the sounds of the Caravan wheels, the animals pulling the wagon, and the people of the Pale Compass he hadn't heard anything else. His eyes scanned the grasslands. He could see traces of movement in the distance. It wasn't easy to see as who ever or what ever was cloaked in similar colors of the grasses. But there was a most certainly someone there.
"We have guests." He cleared his throat.
"Hey! You ladies care to tell us who's out there?"
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Mar 13, 2016 21:21:17 GMT -6
(OOC. Cue: Hailstorm) No sooner had Duma finished proclaiming his warning, did a sword-wielding horsemen arrive at the top of a grassy knoll. It was difficult to make out any features at this distance, but the man was clearly Sacaen. His jet-black hair lay flat underneath a brown-green, tribal bandana. There was some sort of sash, possibly made from the hide of an animal, draped across his chest. A regalia, perhaps, of his tribe's making. Despite the distance, the ends of a bow could be seen jutting out from behind his back. The fletchings of more than two dozen arrows too poked out from behind the man. At his hip dangled a sword, kept within a brown sheath. He stared at the caravan with a pair of hard eyes. Kinh'lua dashed forward immediately, creating a gap between her and the caravan within seconds. Her hair danced in the wind, as her feet beat against the earth. The interpreter kept her sword hand, arced across her body, ready on her wo dao's handle. Just as her sister started forward, Kish'lua drew her bow and nocked an arrow. She glanced back at Ravvus and Duma, cocking her head for the two of them to move up and provide support. No sooner had she done this, had two new opponents leapt from the tall grass. Two more Sacaens, both wielding blades were within striking distances of the guards closest to the front of the caravan. Once more a pair of Sacaens leapt from the grass, this time archers. The bowmen were on either side of the caravan, and readied their weapons to fire upon the unsuspecting Ilians. The swordsmen charged forth, their weapons at the ready. The archers let loose their arrows, firing a shot each at the caravan. One of the freelancers wailed as an arrow hit them in the arm. The cry of pain elicited Ravvus' attention. He swiveled around to see the other projectile whizz through the wagon's white cover, narrowly missing Ivan's old head. ”By Hanon's bow!” Ravvus swore under his breath. The blond mage glanced at Duma and Kish'lua. He'd seen Duma battle first hand, the mage had no doubt that he could handle one, or even two sword-wielding Sacaens. As for Kish'lua, Ravvus had no knowledge of the woman's skill in combat. Even so, he doubted that the elegantly crafted bow in her hands was just for show. ”Duma, Kish'lua, hold down the front. I'm going to double back and give the rest of our men a hand.”Ravvus turned around and the archers loose another pair of arrows. The projectiles proved much more accurate this time. Another freelancer shouted in pain, as an arrow dug its way into his knee. The other arrow bounced harmlessly off of Carl's armor. ”Ivan, give the freelancers some cover!” Ravvus shouted, as he charged down one of the Sacean archers. No sooner had the mage barked this order had Anton and the other guildsmen leapt out of the wagon. "What in the Saint's name is..." He swore under his breath, before assessing the situation. Anton quickly turned to the unnamed mercenary on his left. ”On me!” The Ilian pointed at his fellow Ilian. ”Carl, give Ravvus some support!” He bellowed, pointing at the other archer. Finally, he turned to Ivan. ”Ivan support the freelancers! Give them some stone barriers.” Ravvus, annoyed, furrowed his brow. Each team broke off to accomplish their separate job. Anton and his bodyguard rushed towards the archer on their side, Ivan called forth a duo of barriers around the freelancers, and Ravvus and Carl rushed towards the remaining archer. Kish'lua raised her bow against the incoming swordsman, while Kinh'lua charged towards the figure at the top of the knoll. The caravan buzzed in a flurry of combat.
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Post by Duma on Mar 16, 2016 14:13:43 GMT -6
“It's an ambush!” Duma yelled hopefully to give some of the others behind him some warning. One of the sisters ran forward, presumably to charge at an opponent out in front of her. While the second sister pulled out an ornate bow and notched an arrow, to provide some sort of back up for her sister. Duma heard a rustle and saw a flash of metal from the grasses in front of the bow wielding sister. Duma ducked his head down and ran forwards he drew his sword in one swift motion. His steel sword met the metal of one of the swordsman’s sword. There was a bit of a stalemate between Duma and this one nameless enemy swordsman. Duma’s current opponent had a slightly higher elevation. From the corner of his eye he could make out the shape of a second swordsman towards his side. Sh*t This second man was either going to try to hit the mime with the bow or take advantage of this stalemate and strike at Duma.
Quickly, Duma pushed himself back a bit to give him a bit of leeway. As his opponent fell forward he'd have to readjust his leg position. Duma took advantage of that movement and pressed forward knocking the Sacean man down onto his rear. He quickly threw a dagger out towards the fallen man hoping to slow him down. He knew he hit the man somewhere due to his groaning. If he was lucky it was somewhere fatal. At the very least the man would be forced to remove the dagger and waste some time.
“Incoming!” Duma shouted so that the bowoman wouldn't shoot him. He quickly jumped towards his side to block the second swordsman’s strike. He hoped that the sister with the bow would take advantage of this and launch one of her arrows at this Sacean before the first swordsman recovered.
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Mar 20, 2016 14:19:11 GMT -6
Kish'lua took a step back as Duma intercepted the attack from her kinsman. The Sacaen-heir coldly drew back her bowstring, before releasing the projectile and piercing the swordsman between his neck and shoulder. Bits of blood spurted from the wound as the Killuan was forced to his knee. He growled in pain, and kept a sharp pair of burning eyes on his tribe's would-be chieftain. The swordsman gripped the shaft of Kish'lua's arrow and snapped it off, before resuming a combative stance. His comrade too brimmed with anger, clutching the dagger embedded in his abdomen. The Sacaen tore the dagger from his wound, leveling it like a main gauche in his left hand. Now armed with a dagger, the swordsman stared down Duma before charging the foreign Sacaen.
Shot after shot whistled past Ravvus and Carl as the duo barreled down upon their assailant archer. The two mercenaries were successfully taking the heat off of Ivan and the freelancers. On the other side of the caravan, Anton's bodyguard took an arrow in the shin and had fallen over his feet. Anton himself was upon the archer now, swinging a reliable, sharp iron sword at the bowman. Kinh'lua and her opponent were now both out of sight. The interpreter had followed the horseman as he retreated behind the grassy knoll. Perhaps the newcomer's intention was to separate her from the rest of the group. Were that, in fact, his plan, he had accomplished it perfectly.
Ravvus stood behind Carl as the juggernaut shrugged off the Sacaen's projectiles. The mage smirked with assurance. For all their artistic swordsman-ship and bowman-ship, the plains-roamers had never learned how to prepare for a heavily armored opponent. No doubt one of the reasons countries like Bern and Etruria had so effortlessly claimed footholds in Sacae in the past.
Leading with his right foot, Carl thrust his lance at the Sacaen archer who, expending little effort, side-stepped to the left. Sweat pooled on his brow, as the Killuan eyed Carl's weapon with disdain. Ravvus, following suit, summoned a flurry of embers above his right hand and cast the storm of pebble-like flames at his tribal opponent. Again, with an uncanny speed, the Killuan ducked beneath the literal hail of fire, escaping unscathed saved for a now singed bandana. Ravvus winced. If he'd only been a little bit faster, he would have scored a direct hit on the Sacaen. Before the mage could formulate a follow-up plan, the bowman leapt back to his feet. Knocking an arrow, the Killuan sent it flying towards Ravvus only for Carl to leap between the two and intercept it. The Sacaen scowled in disdain, as he reached for another arrow. Carl exhaled heavily, still tired from the length of their trek thus far. “What... *wheeze* is that all?!” The armored warrior challenged before charging at the bowman. It was then that Ravvus spied his opportunity. The archer would need to side-step Carl's attack. In doing so, he would leave himself open for a direct hit. Ravvus channeled another flurry of embers, patiently waiting for his opportunity to strike.
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Post by Duma on Mar 30, 2016 9:28:00 GMT -6
Duma breathed a slight of relief as Kish’lua launched an arrow at the man’s neck. This gave him a few moments to readjust his stance and regain his focus. The second Sacean swordsman joined his companion. Duma noticed that he was equipped with the dagger he had thrown earlier and that he had a rather ghastly wound on his abdomen. That man will not live long. Duma thought to himself as he tried to decide which of the two men he was to strike at. The man who ripped the arrow from his neck seemed to have the better stamina between the two. His wound was in a precarious place but it was not as grim as the other man’s. Both of the enemy swordsman seemed to glare at both Duma and Kish’la in anger. Duma narrowed his eyes slightly and kept his stance.
The man with the dagger charged first. In his moment of anger and desperation the man with the dagger charged forward. It was a foolish endeavor as he was sloppy with his execution. He raised the dagger above his head, exposing his chest, which gave Duma the perfect opportunity to strike. Duma took a step forward, gripped his sword with both hands, and in one swift but powerful motion he struck at the man. His sword plunged deep into the injured man’s side then glided upwards towards his shoulder. Effectively, killing him. The opposing swordsman crumpled to the floor dead.
Quickly, the green clad swordsman, drew his blade downwards in order to block the other swordsman’s strike. The two swords clashed together for a moment then they were both raised. The man who formerly had the arrow in his neck was a bit smarter then his dead companion. He had taken advantage of Duma’s killing blow to try and land a free hit of his own. There was another slash and once again both swords met with a clang. Duma did half a spin in order to gain some momentum only to have his opponent turn his blade downwards and deflect the bow. It seemed that the second man was also much more skilled than his dead companion.
This strange dance of blades went on for another few moment until Duma managed how to read his opponent. As the opposing swordsman tried to strike downwards in one vertical slice, Duma managed to sidestep himself. Duma took advantage of the opposing man’s momentum and stabbed his blade deep into the opposing Sacean’s chest. The opposing swordsman tried to raise his blade to his Duma. Nope. But the green clad swordsman twisted the sword which caused the man to twinge in pain. The Sacean slumped forward, Duma was forced to hold him in order to hold his ground. Other wise he would have fallen. The fallen Sacean tried to say something with his last breath. Duma was unsure what it was. He was unfamiliar with the man’s language. Duma could only assume it had to have been a curse of some kind. Duma then carefully pulled his sword out and set the man down gently on the ground. He noticed the designs and patterns of the fallen men’s clothes. Then his eyes trailed up to Kishu’la who appeared to have similar colors and patterns. Are.. These her fellow tribesmen? He thought to himself and then slashed at the air hard in order to shake off most of the blood.
He turned back to see the caravan in trouble, then he turned forward to see that the other sister and the man she was fighting were out of view. The job meant that he was to go out of his way and protect the two sisters. But he didn’t want to abandon the distressed caravan. The caravan’s had more people and a majority of them had experienced people. He’d just have to hope and pray that they survived. Don’t die out there Ravvus!
“You. We are helping your sister.” He spoke to the sister with the bow. Then started to move out towards the direction of where they saw the trooper with the bow.
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Mar 30, 2016 18:48:34 GMT -6
Kish'lua kept her bow trained on the Killuan assailants as Duma butchered them. In the flurry of fighting, the heiress had been unable to fire. Duma's dodging and weaving made it difficult to take a clear shot.
Eventually, the green-haired warrior gained the upper hand and slew both of the sword-wielding assailants. He impaled the second warrior through the chest, decidedly ending the combat. Duma showed great respect to his foe, cradling the swordsman's body to the earth. Kish'lua took three stomps forward, pulling her bow-string taut. The heiress loosed her notched projectile, penetrating the dead man's temple. The Killuan's head merely jerked to the side. Kish'lua glowered at the corpse, ire barely restrained. Unsatisfied, Kish'lua fired another projectile, this time from her mouth. A mixture of mucus and saliva spattered across the deceased Sacaen's tunic, marring the design of the Killuan tribe. Kish'lua snarled at her former tribesman.
The heiress shook her head. Kish'lua gripped a strand of her hair, stroking it until she reached the bottom. The Sacaen pointed at the grassy hill and balled her hand into a single closed fist. Kish'lua brought the fist to her chest and beat her breast a few times. Duma probably had no idea what she was trying to communicate. However, it became evident that she had no intention of helping him or her sister when she turned around. The heiress trained a new arrow on Anton's opponent and fired.
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Anton swung his sword forward in an arc, grazing his opponent's chest. The archer leaned back, barely escaping Anton's attack, only to be struck by another strike. An arrow embedded itself in the Sacaen's abdomen, eliciting a yelp of pain. The stern Ilian capitalized on the opportunity, bringing his sword back around, once more in a horizontal arc. Effortlessly, Anton's sword pierced the Killuan's light armor, scraping a mortal gash across the archer's chest. A wave of blood spurted forth as the man fell backwards. Anton pursued, gripping the handle of his blade with both hands, hoisting it in the air, pointing the blade at the man's chest, and, finally, plunging it downward.
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Carl's lance surged forward, intent on impaling the remaining Killuan. Light on his feet, the nomad side-stepped once more, loosing an arrow back at the armored Ilian. The bolt struck Carl's helm, rocking the man's head back. The Killuan's hasty evasion brought him into Ravvus' trap. The mage flung a flurry of fire into the man's chest, igniting his tunic and knocking him backwards.
”Aaah AAAAAA!!” The Sacaen screamed amidst the crackling flames. He paniced, manically swatting at his chest in a desperate attempt to extinguish the blaze. Ravvus leapt forward, tackling the frenzied Sacaen. The fire licked back at the mage, but had little effect. Ravvus' resistance to anima magic was far too great for him to be harmed by such meager magic. The Sacaen writhed, nigh oblivious to his, now prone, situation. His main, and only concern, was putting out the fire before he burned to death. Not wanting to kill the man, Ravvus obliged him. With a wave of his hand, the mage cancelled the ember spell, relieving the Sacaen of his imminent danger. Not a fool, however, Ravvus conjured a disk of heat above his right hand and held it against the Killuan's face.
”Drop your bow!” He commanded. The Killuan was frozen in place. Ravvus could barely see his eyes behind the quivering flames. They looked confused. Ravvus pointed at the Sacaen's bow. ”Drop your bow!” He repeated, this time eliciting the desired reaction. The Killuan slowly and gradually released his grip on his bow, before placing both of his hands, palms open, just above his head. ”Do you understand me?” The mage prodded. Another confused stare. Ravvus slowly lifted himself off of the prone Killuan, but kept his hand trained on him, ready to blast a hole through his chest ”Get up! Nod if you understand!” Ravvus commanded, shaking his head forward once. The Killuan still seemed confused, but seemed to understand the 'nod' part. Delicately, the Sacaen nodded, before rising from the ground. ”Carl. How's everyone else doing?” Ravvus bellowed, not wanting to take his eyes off of his prisoner.
No response.
Reluctantly, Ravvus swiveled his head around. ”Car-” The mage stopped himself. There, standing completely upright was Carl. He stood frozen in place, lance thrust forward just enough. The sun shown down on his bulky frame, casting a stationary shadow on the earth. The wind blew against his body, bending the short grass around him to its' will but leaving the man himself unmoved. He looked like a statue. No. Not just a statue. He looked like a statue of a great hero, a figure from an epic even. A figure like Barrigan. Yes, like Barrigan wielding the Holy Spear Malte. A trickle of blood, no thicker in width than a braid of hair, poured out of Carl's visor and ran down the length of his helm. The arrow looked to have a cedar shaft, with gray fletchings, perhaps three inches in length, surrounding the nock. The head itself could not be seen, as it was embedded deep inside Carl's helm.
The mage surveyed the rest of the caravan. Anton's body guard was wounded but alive, same for most of the freelancers. None of them were dead. Ivan seemed somewhat winded, but was otherwise unharmed. Anton, blade penetrating the earth, stood over his opponent. Kish'lua looked directly past Ravvus, ire-infused eyes staring down his prisoner. Duma had taken off after Kinh'lua.
Ravvus looked back at his prisoner. His eyes, contemptuous and exhausted, met the Sacaen's, defiant, yet cautious. Tether's crawled forth from the flame Ravvus' hand. The fire heightened in intensity. ”Move.” Ravvus commanded, keeping his hand trained on the Sacaen, whilst cocking his head toward's the caravan.
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Just over the knoll, Kinh'lua stood with her blade sheathed. Her kinsman glowered at her with a pair of defiant eyes, eyes characteristic of all their tribesman. "Leave!" Kinh'lua commanded in a hushed, growl. The nomad eyed her suspiciously, barely restraining a spiteful scoff. With a whistle, he turned his horse about and galloped off into the distance.
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Post by Duma on Apr 3, 2016 10:54:10 GMT -6
Duma looked at the bow mime with disgust and scorn. He did not know these Saceans, he did not know what they did, but it had now become painfully clear that these tribes men were from the same tribe as the two sisters. And now Duma had his hands stained with their blood. He had helped to commit some sort of inter-tribal murder. All because neither sister seemed to want to commit any of this information out towards the rest of the group. He was willing to forgive these Saceans for the attack, after all they were essentially a caravan of strangers, trespassers onto their small patch of land. But no.. it seemed all that had changed in a matter of moments and two lives were lost as a result of it. Duma wiped off the gob of spit with his sleeve then shook it off so it hit the grass. He didn't know what was going on but whatever it was was not worth this sort of desecration. The woman then turned around and went to launching arrows and providing support to the other folks in the wagon. Heartless B*tch. Do you not care for your sister?
"Fine. I'll go help your sister." He spoke with slight anger in his voice. He then headed out towards the knoll where the other sister was. By the time he managed to catch up to the second mind the woman had already defeated her opponent and he was leaving. The nomad's whistle could be heard a fair distance perhaps it was a sign to the others to retreat. Duma would have liked that. He didn't want to kill any more Saceans today. But he did not quite understand why she was being merciful to the trooper while the other sister seemed to be glad that the other two had died. He tried to keep his expression neutral but he could feel a familiar anger welling up inside him. Once, again, innocent people were dying due to a lack of information. And unlike Remus he couldn't just talk to these two women. And he sincerely doubted the blue haired priest's sister would show up all of a sudden like she did and just give them all an exposition.
"To the wagon. You. Move." Duma turned around and started making his way back to the wagon. From what it seemed it looked like most of the fighting had died down so he could at least take some time with his brisk walk back. He needed to take a moment to clear his head other wise he might do something regrettable. He made it back to the wagon to see that they had captured someone. His eye glanced towards the two sisters. Kish'lua who looked furious enough, to fire an arrow into the prisoner's skull. Duma carefully moved himself over and stood along side the prisoner, so that he'd be a body buffer between the two.
He looked over at the prisoner then back at the sister. Then spoke to the prisoner.
"You. I protect." Duma made a motion towards his sword and then up to his chest. He tapped it twice. To signify himself.
"I protect you. From her. And them." Maybe them. He then made pointed his thumb out over towards the nearest sister then out towards the remaining caravan. Duma wasn't sure if he could protect the man from the wrath of the Pale Compass. But he knew he was going to defend the Sacean against the other two Saceans. He then turned around to face the nearest sister. He appeared calm. And his hands were placed gently to on his side. Sure, this looked bad. The was probably a severe violation of his contract but he wasn't about to sit on the sidelines and let either of these two sisters kill any more of their kin. At least not while he could help it.
"Why are we attacking your own tribe?"
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Ravvus Wiseau
Mage
We will not stop until I have bested you at least once. My pride simply won't allow any alternative.
Posts: 207
Affinity: Anima
OoC Alias: Ravvus/Luba/Rowan
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Post by Ravvus Wiseau on Apr 4, 2016 22:21:47 GMT -6
The fighting seemed to end as quickly as it had started. When the last blow had been exchanged, four lay dead, save Carl who was somehow still standing, and four were wounded. Anton and Kish'lua were furious, although for different reasons. Kinh'lua seemed a little ticked off, but otherwise in control of herself. Ivan was concerned with the state of the wounded. Duma was trying to repress a boiling ire. Ravvus seemed to be the only one of calm mind. An irony considering the caravan had just been engaged in battle.
Ravvus dragged the sole surviving Killuan back to the wagon, only for Duma to take the tribesman under his protection. The Sacaen did not appear thrilled to be under the protection of the swordsman, but seemed even less thrilled with the prospect of Kish'lua loosing an arrow into his skull. Speaking of which, the mute heiress was intent on doing just that. Kish'lua, possessed by a spirit of vengeance approached the caravan, an arrow already knocked in her bow. She looked Duma straight in the eye and cocked her head to the side, motioning for him to move.
A new tension was already on the rise. Anton stomped back to the caravan, leaving deep imprints in the grass beneath his feet. ”Status report. Ravvus. Ivan. What happened?” He peered off into the distance, eyes trained on the frozen frame of Carl. ”Ravvus, why the hell is Carl just standing there?! Carl! Get down here! On the double soldier!” Naturally, the steel-encased corpse didn't budge.
”Anton.” Ravvus started calmly. ”That thick helmet of yours making it hard to hear, or something? I gave you an order to get down here and you damn well better follow it!” The mage left his prisoner's side. Duma seemed to have things under control. ”Anton!” Ravvus repeated, a bit louder this time. The Ilian officer turned towards his Etrurian companion. ”Ravvus why the hell is he just standing ther-”
”He's dead Anton.”
”...”
Kinh'lua finally arrived back at the caravan, joining her sister's side.
”Who killed him?” Anton inquired. His ferocious voiced subdued. ”The Sacaen we were fighting. He shot an arrow at Carl's head. I thought it bounced off his helm. But...” Ravvus trailed off, his eyes falling on the lonely, armored figure out on the plains. ”I guess it didn't.”
Anton stroked his chin and put his hands on his hips. ”Understood. The stern Ilian broke off, muttering in the Ivan's general direction. ”Ivan, you've some knowledge of staves, yes? I think we have a spare healing staff in the wagon. If not, treat our men with vulneraries.” The book-keeper nodded and set about his task. Anton hefted a pair of sober eyes onto the Killuan sisters. Much like Duma, Anton had noticed during the fight that their enemies had been wearing the same garb as the two sisters. It was time for answers.
Anton, who had yet to sheath his sword, came to Duma's side, as did Ravvus. The Ilian commander came close to the nameless, Killuan archer, glaring a baleful glare.”Move and I will kill you.” He warned, plainly, before giving his attention to the two sisters.
”It is as Duma says. Why were these men wearing your colors? They are of your tribe are they not? Why did they attack you?” The Ilian's words were carefully measured. ”One of my guildsmen is now dead because we were not prepared for this raid.” Anton's grip tightened on his weapon. ”If, by any means, either of you had prior knowledge of this attack, then I hope you had a very, very good reason for with-holding it.”
Kish'lua was oblivious to the situation. Her eyes stared through Duma and at her captured tribesman. The heiress' fore-arm jerked forward, bow at the ready. Kinh'lua, of a more composed mindset, caught her sibling's arm, preventing a potential, second bloodbath. ”Shi.” Kinh'lua's tone was almost like that of a mother, reprimanding a misbehaving child. Kish'lua's eyes shot to her arm and then to her sister. The translator did not need the heiress to sign anything to know that Kish'lua wanted her to let go. But the older sibling would not obey. Contrarily, Kish'lua tightened her grip, trying to cement the gravity of their situation. The two sisters stared defiantly into each other's eyes. An unspoken war waged between the two, neither one willing to give ground to the other.
Kish'lua wrenched her arm free from Kinh'lua's grasp. The heiress withdrew her arrow and placed it in her quiver, but kept her bow in hand. Kinh'lua gingerly placed herself in front of the heiress, creating yet another buffer between her and the prisoner. ”You are right Duma. These were men of the Killuan tribe. They attacked us because-” Kinh'lua sighed a bitter sigh. She did not want to divulge any more information than was necessary, but continuing to exercise secrecy placed both her and her sisters in serious jeopardy. ”because we are working with outsiders.”
The translator breathed deeply. Out of context, that probably didn't make much sense. ”My people have had a long and bloody history. During the Blackheart, Hargus', Bandit War, the Killuan tribe became a diaspora, nearly annihilated during the first days of conflict. My father, the last chieftan of the Killuan tribe, would not allow our people to go out with a whisper, so he spent many years, the next decade and a half, reuniting our tribe under the name of Killuan! Over the course of that time my people...” Kinh'lua looked ashamed. ”My people became increasingly xenophobic. The Killuan tribe had never been accommodating to foreigners, but something about coming back from the brink of death- It fostered an elitist mindset in them. Enduring against the odds as we have. Many of my kinsmen see it as a sign of superiority. They consider themselves above other clans, domestic and beyond.” The heiress discarded her shame, once more assuming a steely composure. ”Many of my tribesman consider seeking the help of foreigners unbecoming, damnable even. Even among those who are supposed to be their leaders. That is why our tribesman attacked us. It is because we are working with people not of our clan.” She paused for a short time, unwilling to say what was next on her mind. ”I am sorry Anton. You were right. We should have told you this before.” She looked at Duma. ”We should have told all of you.”
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