We the Unwanted We the Unwanted

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Donovan Blackmoore (Whitewood Forest, Geraldis)
Donovan snorted at the comment of deserving the food. "Because it's so much work?" Since no one else seemed to want the extra meat Donovan dumped it into his bowl and continued eating it. "It would have made more sense to say that I deserved the larger portion cause I went through the work to get it to the pot and cook it." Catching a look from the doctor he shrugged. "I know my place. All you needed to do was say what you wanted and it was done." The man shoved another bite into his mouth. "Don't get ideas. We're out here now and you're not going to get anything out of me that easy here. No longer the boss." Half of the fun was seeing that look from Adran.

There was something about tormenting the doctor that brought him a good bit of fun. Shifting to lay down near the fire Donovan continued to eat. The fire warmed his stomach and he was packing himself full of the dog meat. It tasted so good. "Ahhh....This is the life. If I could live like this every day." Momentarily he stared off at the sky until he was interrupted. Sitting up slightly he frowned at the one that intruded into his thoughts.
 
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[Horus Flicke] Ronald Bones (Andaris, Helies)
The brute was ridiculous. Though he was the perfect candidate to aid the Northwind Zealots undercover, but he was as dumb as a brick. The man apparently was a convict before he was released due to his exceptional strength and potential, and currently was enrolled under the keen eye of Horus's subordinate, Richard Kingsman. The issue was that Horus could not send Richard with him, for the mission at the least.

Earlier in the day, the Guardians had departed back towards fortress. Immediately afterwards, Horus had to go on overdrive. The king had proposed attacking the envoy after they crossed the border back into Whitewood, and use the Northwind Zealots as shields. The intention was not to successfully win the battle, but some ulterior motive that Horus still couldn't quite grasp the concept of. The king this time was much too sophisticated for him to understand fully, but he appreciated the intelligence and keen nature that Rufus has exhibited.

The plan forward, as the king proposed, was to round up men that the King's Guard wouldn't recognize to send weapons and fight with the radicals. Preferably, disposable men. Such included the half baked idiot, Ronald Bones.

It was much too late in the morning, and the giant of a man tried to swat at Horus when Horus attempted to wake him up. It was a disgusting performance, a King's Guard who didn't even have the dignity to be punctual and prepared, especially at a time like this. Horus elected to use his favorite alternative to deal with such slackers, a lash to the back, which instantly got the clumsy man to his feet. Shaking his head, Horace beckoned the man to follow him. Hopeless.

Choosing the others went out much smoother. Begrudgingly, Horus had to slip in one or two of his most proficient men, due to the sheer instinct that most of them were lacking the necessary abilities to make it out of a fight against the Guardians in one piece, no matter how outnumbered the enemy was. He also lacked faith in the Northwind Zealots, who were closer to a band of peasants rather than a well organized group of fighters. It was quite disappointing, really, that the only few combative forces in Luina were so lacking when standing next to the Guardians. Too much time has allowed for his people to develop lazy habits, and he wasn't given an opportunity to whip them into shape, until now.

He had gathered about twenty men to go on the ambush. The rest were to stay to prepare for the much larger war that the king has planned. The demands were quite difficult to meet, but Horus was glad that the King set such harsh standards on his men. It showed both that Rufus believed the men have the capability to strive for greater lengths, but also showed them the reality that life was not all about patrolling the streets and or screwing around in their dormitories.

The supplies were the easier part of the task that was assigned to him. There were plenty of swords and sets of armor lying around to supply at least twice the men than they already had, and providing for a small ambush force was accomplished with a mere wave of the hand. Deep inside, Horus was bitter of missing out on the action, but he knew the circumstances prevented him of taking part in the ambush. The king promised war, in due time. How Rufus executed it was irrelevant.

As quickly as it was prepared, he sent the supplies and men off to Whitewood. They needed to reach the Zealots and be prepared much before the Guardian group arrived, but they had much more horses and wagons at their disposal, so long as they don't mess up.

Their real challenge was to fight the Guardians. Horus was confident that the Zealots will have their fair share of men, and perhaps, even some powerful men that he would've liked to have known, but even though it was eight versus, at the least, eighty, Horus was quite unsure if he wanted to know the outcomes of the clash.
 
Ronald Bones (Whitewood Forest, Geraldis)

Ronald Bones sat by the fire, just finishing his third bowl of stew, and beginning his fourth. "Why we have to ambush in the cold place? I don't like it, we should ambush in warm place. It be better then." Ronald slurped down the meal, when he heard a bird chirping nearby. He immediately focused his attention on it, and smiled, before chunking his bowl at it, hitting the tree near the bird, causing it to quickly fly away.

"Damnit! Ya shoulda been killed, stupid bird!" Ronald then threw a a fit, and began wailing on the tree with his mace, cursing all the while, before tiring himself. Panting, he rested on the tree, to catch his breathe. Ronald then turned his attention to the leader of the Zealots, who the other men called Corelius van Heiz. "Eh you! Whens de fightin's gonna start!!!"
 
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[Corelius van Heiz] Ronald Bones (Whitewood Forest, Geraldis)
Corelius was somewhat shocked at the men, or rather, man he was sent from the King's Guard. In the beginning, he was rather excited to hear the royal armed forces were personally being sent to aid their cause, so the overly large crook had him questioning the king. Surely, it was a mistake, that this man was among the ranks of noble knights that pledged their life to the kingdom? He chose to ignore the clearly illiterate man's words.

"We will set off shortly. The longer we wait, the harder it is for us to secure their deaths. We got over ninety men, including twenty honorary--" he flashed a glance at the ill spoken giant "--members of the King's Guard. Let today be the day we show that we fought hard to achieve where we are now!"

A roar erupted from the army. He smiled.

"Then let us depart, men."

The trip was a quiet one. The king explicitly asked for them to set up an ambush, and he gave them a very detailed explanation of the route back home. Corelius had been waiting for this moment for years, ever since his father wished for him to become a warrior at his dying bed.

His zealots gathered themselves around a couple of large trees in the grove. The Guardians were expected to pass through and settle in an hour from now, and they began to gear up and hide among the trees. As the king had warned them, a figure, presumably the scout, had passed by a while back, but they had been at a safe enough of a distance to avoid detection.

"They're going to set camp where the report had indicated," Corelius hissed as soon as the figure got out of earshot. He had returned, most likely back to the Guardian group who would be arriving shortly. "We will wait until nightfall. We will attack as soon as they drop their guard. Stay quiet." He especially aimed it at the large man, who's name, so he learned, was Ronald.

The Guardians came just as planned. They set up camp with a jovial mood, some of them chanting like the barbarians they were. The commotion allowed for some mild movement in his ambush group. At this time, he had been stiffly sitting there for hours and his back ached; a good stretch was welcomed.

The Guardians started cooking their meal, and Corelius could see his men tense up from excitement, and he himself felt a rush of adrenaline when he realized that it was about to happen. His greatest stand against the evil scourges of the Kingdom. However, even though he ate dinner, the food that they were preparing gnawed at his hunger, which had returned already. Ronald had horded most of the food anyways.

"Let's get our share of the dinner, eh boys?" Corelius asked, and with a shout, he jumped out of the brush, charging at the eight enemies before him.
 
[Illya Lott] Adran Triveron (Whitewood Forest, Geraldis)
Illya heard them before she saw them; it was impossible not to. It sounded like a band of screaming baboons that were running towards them. At least twenty men, judging from their volume. She got up, and at the same time, drew her daggers. Her eyes widened when she saw the amount of men approaching them. Their emblem was dimly lit by the fires surrounding them, but nonetheless visible.

The Northwind Zealots.

By this time the entire envoy was up on their feet, and she voiced their thoughts aloud.

"Run!"

She didn't need to reply a second time, but instead turned to run herself. The zealots went for the horses, and cut them off towards the fortress, so they had to run back the way they came, at least for now. Eventually, they needed to loop around and make a break for the fortress, if they could get that far.

"Spread out," she instructed. "I'll distract them". The Gregorsons broke away from the group, and Donovan went, surprisingly, with Adran. Esra, who was the lightest, made the quickest break to the side. She herself also went alone. This already confused the group, but they quickly regrouped and formed a wall to prevent the groups from breaking through. Illya's eyes narrowed as she focused on the man in the front who was commanding everyone around. She slipped behind a tree and started scaling it quickly.

"One of them has disappeared!" She heard one man shout.

"Focus on the others!" the man replied. "She'll have to show herself to make it past us."

Illya sighed. The group's viability depended on her taking out of the man who was giving out the orders. Swiftly, she traveled to the tree right above the center of the enemy forces, and jumped down, slicing his throat in one fluid motion. The blood sprayed on her hands, and she winced as the body fell on the floor. For her, this was the first man she ever killed in her life. Normally, she would grieve, but she had a huge group of startled men surrounding her. Pitifully, many of them stumbled over due to her sudden appearance and the death of their commander, but it provided the perfect opportunity to slip out of the enemy ranks.

Two, three.

Her training started to kick in as she broke out of the bundle of men that she jumped into. The now guideless group of zealots now scattered, chasing them in all directions. She exhaled. Perfect. Turning around, she started to run as the largest cluster broke off to chase her.

Three dead, probably only a hundred more to go.
 
Donovan Blackmoore (WhiteWood Forest, Geraldis)


It was another long day of travel and they were setting up camp once more. Donovan was in a far better mood this time. They were nearing home and he felt far safer. The Gregorson's started one of their chants and Donovan's eyes lit up with mischief. While he knew better than to sing with them there were other things he could do. Last time he'd tried to sing someone threw a rag at him. It was never a special ability of his. To sing that is.

Instead he made a sort of strange lope or skip over to where the brothers were and bumped into them. Laughing he ducked out of the way and then continued with his regular stride over to the fire. Dinner was smelling good. Whoever had the cooking for a task tonight was making a superior smelling dish. "Ah...Smells good." Settling onto the ground near the flames he closed his eyes. The smell of the fire was soothing, it felt far more calming than the castle or even the first night away from them. Nothing so far had been out of place. Somehow he found it amazing that after all this time he didn't really want to go out into the world. Living as they had was much easier. Being in the Fortress had its own kind of protection.

*********************************************************************************

Suddenly a call to run rang out. Donovan shot to his feet. Instinctively he reached for his sword. Then he saw the growing horde charging. He wanted to get a horse but, it was going to be difficult. They were too far away from the immediate camp site. An arrow glanced off a rock nearby. The little man charged ahead and almost bulldozed into Adran. "Hurry up."

Illya he knew could care for herself. The brothers would be fine, and Esra was more than likely capable of getting away. If there was anyone Donovan doubted had the ability to survive it was Adran. Since he had been the diplomat and bore the message and news of the king then Donovan considered it his duty to be sure that the silver tongued doctor would return to the fortress. A small detachment of the men broke off to follow them. While they were small compared to the army they left it was certainly a better number of men than the Guardian could single handedly fend off at this point.
 
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Esra T. Montaque
( WhiteWood Forest, Geraldis )

Dispatching from the group, Esra was evidently full of shock. She never truly had to fight someone, life or death, or whatever else would become of this! Her hands flew to her bow but she could barely work up the nerve to grab an arrow before she saw Illya's actions, 'Wo...wow...' Esra somewhat wanted to flee, to leave them and return towards the fortress, but instead, her eyes narrow and she slides an arrow into her grasp, and aims towards their enemies. Adran was the most important person here, and if she left, she would just be some coward! Besides, this could be a bit of fun if they get the upper hand.
 
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Adran Triveron (Whitewood Forest, Geraldis)

For a brief moment Adran was frozen in shock at the sudden ambush. Of all the things that he had taken into account, the North Wind Zealots were the last people he expected to see. He was broken of his shock as Donovan ran into him, shouting at Adran to move, and in that moment, Adran ran faster than he'd ever run before in his life.

As the group split up, Adran found himself going in the same direction as Donovan. If there was one thing Adran was good at, it was running away from and outmaneuvering an enemy. With his longer stride and lack of heavy armor, he soon found himself outpacing his smaller comrade. Adran slowed his pace slightly, extended his left hand, and pulled Donovan along with every ounce of strength he had. "Keep moving!" He yelled. "We have to lose them in the forest!" He made a direct right turn dragging Donovan along, and made serpentine movements through the trees with the hope of disorienting their pursuers.
 
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Donovan Blackmoore (Whitewood Forest, Geraldis)

If he could give Adran some credit it would be on the man's speed. From Donovan's point of view the tall figure resembled a windmill with his legs stretching and then kicking back dramatically with every stride. Even as he redoubled his efforts the Guardian was quickly outpaced by the man. Adran had to be good at something and this was apparently his talent, running.

Donovan was getting frustrated with the lack of speed on his own part. He couldn't very well keep up and protect the doctor if the man ran ahead into some kind of mischief. After a time Adran must have noticed and Donovan took his hand. It may have proved to be a mistake. Instantly he was being jerked about by a fellow over half a foot taller than himself. Half stumbling he did his best to keep up. There wasn't as much to do for the fact that his legs weren't as long. The man yelled something to him about moving and the Guardian would have grinned if he wasn't already panting. "I am damn it!" The right turn took them to a tree trunk that Adran could probably effortlessly leap over. For Donovan it was going to turn into a series of steps and bounds.

Fortunately he'd had plenty of experience jumping about. His deficit of stature had helped him become accustomed to taking those extra steps and therefore enhance his athletic abilities. Still the extra steps were a hindrance to someone of greater stature when they could just leap. Momentarily he lost grip but he jumped from the log and gained the lost ground again. As much as he hated to have to accept aid he took the doctor's hand again. "We still need to get North." Hopefully Adran had a decent sense of direction since Donovan couldn't currently do much to change it unless he decided to abruptly rip the doctor's arm out of his socket in a harsh turn to either side and take control.
 
[Illya Lott] Ronald Bones (Whitewood Forest, Geraldis)
Illya continued running past the long array of trees and undergrowth, stopping behind trees to get a quick breath, and occasionally turning a sharp corner. She got a good forty men behind her, chasing her aimlessly due to the loss of their only commanding officer. Another ten minutes would probably be sufficient for the others to get away. The sky was darkening to black now, which provided the perfect cover for her to slow the remaining men down.

Nine. Ten.

The bait was going well, and the zealots would constantly lose track of her when she seemingly vanished from their sight, only to appear again to kill another man. At this point they were getting extremely frustrated and started throwing insulting slurs around at her undetectable figure.

Illya slipped out of the shadows of the tree she was hiding behind, getting face to face with another one of her targets. Startled, he swung his sword at her, which she parried away lazily. as he drew his sword back for a second strike, she plunged her dirk deep into his chest, hearing a sickening squelch as she pulled the blade back out.

Eleven.

Curiously, she stole a glance at the other Guardians, whom she hoped were already out of sight. Adran and Donovan had already made a break for the fortress and were a safe distance apart from the forces that were chasing them. She could not even see Esra around, which caused a mixed feeling of both relief and anxiousness. To her dismay, however, the Gregorsons were not far from where the started off, and in fact, had surrounded the large zealot, swords leveled to attack him. They were surrounded by a couple other zealots, who were keen in not getting too close, allowing them to focus more on the giant before them.
 
Adran Triveron (Whitewood Forest, Geraldis)

As they ran, he heard Donovan shout to him about needing to head north. "Alright, on three we turn north so be ready! One! Two! Three!" He'd been weaving the both of them in and out of the trees for a solid 10 minutes, as he turned Donovan around and started moving true north, he noticed that the pack of Zealots following them were going in the opposite direction, he'd managed to outmaneuver them.

He quickly hid himself and Donovan behind a tree out of the visual range of the pack they'd just outmaneuvered. "Two minutes to catch our breath, and then we run as silently as possible true north." he whispered to the short man while pointing north. Luckily he could see where the moon was through the trees and could confirm his directions from there. "If we see the others, we help them, if not then we keep moving. They're excellent fighters so if these warriors are as easy to fight as they are to trick, they should be fine."

Looking out from behind the tree to make sure they haven't been spotted, he turned back to Donovan "Be ready to go, I'm not going to pull your arm off this time so I need you to keep up ok?"
 
Isolde entered the training grounds, where she found her squadron working on their footwork. She kept quiet as she watched two young trainees enter the ring, Justice and Asher. Justice was the child of a farmer, Asher was the child of a general; if the boys had grown up outside of the fortress they would be in a completely different division of ranks based solely on their parent’s status alone.

Justice and Asher began to circle each other, their eyes fixed on one and other, their breathing steady. Asher struck first, lunging at Justice with a training knife in hand. Justice easily dodged Asher’s advance, circling behind him and drawing his training sword to strike. Asher quickly rolled to the ground, turning his body and springing to his feet. As Justice swung his sword toward Asher, Asher ducked out of the way and closed the gap between them. “It would seem the fight is over” Isolde thought to herself. It was then that Justice did something unexpectedly, he stepped into Asher’s advance, crouched his legs, turned his body slightly and threw his shoulder and back into Asher. Asher, caught off guard, fell to the ground with Justice following him and landing on top of him, Justice’s sword in hand pointing at the boys face.

Isolde’s eyes widened at the spectacle her students displayed. She marveled in how Justice overcame what appeared to be an impossible obstacle. Perseverance, one of the most crucial elements to master on the battlefield was the first lesson she taught to her students. Isolde thought back to what her students had said to her earlier, “you are not following your own teachings!” Isolde laughed. “It’s settled then!” Isolde spoke out loud, her squadron turned to look at her, startled by the sound of her voice. “Kids, you’ll have a new training supervisor for the next couple of weeks as I have been called on business. Please report to Claius once you are finished here and give him a status report of your day.” Isolde grinned devilishly, “now remember, don’t go easy on him just because he’s a commander.”

==============================================

Isolde had gathered her supplies in record time and made arrangements to take a horse. She had lied to the outpost, telling them she was going on a hunting trip and would be back by nightfall. The guards at the wall gave her trouble, telling her that Claius had given them direct orders that no one was to leave while the group had embarked on a mission of peace. Isolde’s temper flurried at the challenge; the woman barked at them, asking why they would question the commands of their superior. Knowing Isolde’s reputation, the guards quickly granted her access to leave and the woman rode off into the distance.

“I hope Claius is right; I hope that this journey will be pointless and that the Guardians will be OK.. I’m coming, my friends. I just pray that it is not too late.”
 
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Ronald Bones (Whitewood Forest, Geraldis)

Ronald Wandered lazily through the battlefield, without a care in the world. He lives for a good fight, and seeing others fight in true battle? It puts him in a true state of bliss, if he's not fighting, anyway.

Ronald looked around to see that the zealots are trying, and failing, to catch this little cat, who quickly takes one life after another. Rather poor, he thought. It's better to let the fight come to you, than to try to chase. He then saw two of the Guardians run away, while the zealots fruitlessly gave chase. "This ambush is bad. Learn to ambush better!" He yelled to the surrounding zealots, who paid him no heed.

Ronald decided to bide his time by going to the campsite of the enemy, and rummaging throughout the good. He had found some food, and a journal. "Ooh! Lucky me!" Ronald immediately set upon the food, which he ravenously gobbled up, when he then heard the whoosh of a blade arc towards him, which caused him to reflexively dodge to the side, and see his attacker.

He saw a man with a path of dead zealots behind him, and Ronald was the next one on the path. The attacker attempted to strike again, having his blade now deflected by The bowl Ronald was using. The bowl, obviously, broke from the strike. Ronald then grabbed his mace from the ground, holding his shield while doing so, which save his head from a blade from a blow from a second attacker. Ronald pushed off the sword, and observed the forces opposing him.

Two attackers stand before him, who look similar enough to be siblings, and behind him are two others, who are also making short work of the zealots who surround them. It looks to be a 2v1 match, the brothers, vs Ronald Bones. A chance for a good fight. Ronald steeled himself. It's time to crack the heads.

The brothers both strike at once, one stabbing towards the gut, the other arcing towards the head. Ronald responded by using his shield to block the stab, which bit a good ways into the shield. Ronald then let the arc crash on his shoulder, which obviously hurt. It was no mortal wound, however, and the pain only boosted Ronald's resolve.

The sword became stuck in the shield, so a quick pull was enough to reel the attacker in, and throw him off balance. Ronald followed by a hard upwards arc towards the right side, absolutely shattering the ribs, and rupturing the poor fool's lung. He crumbled onto the ground, and hugging his torso, screaming and racked in pain.

The brother was greatly angered, and angrily charged at Ron, with the intent of running him through. Ronald instinctively turned, and the blade only ran through air. He then wrapped his arm around the charger's sword arm, and broke it like a twig. Before the man could scream, Ronald punched him in the face with his shield, before grabbing him by the throat, and holding him high.

The man was then thrown down on his brother, the man screaming harder as the man's weight suddenly fell upon his broken side. Ronald then stood upon the brothers, and then began to violently beat their faces in, laughing maniacally all the while.

The other two saw the carnage before them, and ran towards the giant, in an attempt to kill him or run him off, but the efforts were futile. Ronald blocked the blows and swung at them, and the surrounding zealots also getting in the way, leaving the others with no choice but to escape while they can.

And so, Ronald continued his assault, even though the brothers were now long dead.

@ArQane
 
Esra T. Montaque
( WhiteWood Forest Geraldis)

Esra stared with large eyes at Illya's quick work, her nimble feet carrying her from behind a tree as Esra finally released a shot... and missed. 'Just nervous... don't worry....' 'Worry' 'Shut it, logical side!' Esra was hurriedly tried to go after the other two, but did not especially make herself known to Adran or Donovan, not wanting them to be in danger of range attacks, they would be practically useless in fighting those... She froze slightly though as she could hear the ruckus of some brute fighting and peered through the trees at someone? He sorta reminded her of a mythical troll, how he walked and behaved! Head shaking quietly, Esra knelt in hiding and slunk further towards the stranger and the brothers. Maybe at least a little shot could be of help? She draws another arrow from her quiver, and aims. 'You can do this!' 'Probably not...' Her head shakes and she draws the bowstring back hesitantly, before allowing the arrow to propel forward and towards the attacker.

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As Ronald continued pounding on the two corpses, an arrow came flying out, and hit his shield. Ronald was practically boiling in rage, before shouting at the bush. "Eh, you lil twerp! Come out hea an foight like a real man, eh!" Ronald then began pounding the corpses in a red rage. At this rate, they'll be nothing but a red paste.

She was honestly shaking nervously before slowly standing and moving away from her hiding, another arrow drawn and ready. ''Hmm? I see no reason to fight like a man, their work is sloppy!" 'No offense to Donovan or Adran though...'
 
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Donovan Blackmoore (Whitewood Forest, Geraldis)

The running hadn't necessarily wore Donovan out, but it had him winded. Running at that pace was not natural for him and the armor he wore even if it was leather to keep it on the lighter side weighed him down. Donovan was better at endurance than sprinting. Nodding at Adran he agreed silently for the 2 minute rest. Enough time to catch his breath and then they could resume a more natural pace.

So far the plan wasn't entirely bad that was until Adran finished it with the part about keeping up. Instantly Donovan's temper flared. Turning swiftly he grabbed the doctor's shirt collar and pulled him down so that their faces were level. "You puffed up pigeon!" Hissing at the man he continued. "We'll run, but not like jack rabbits the whole way. You need to remember that this pace we kept for the last several minutes was to put distance from here on out it needs to be something manageable. I doubt you could run like that all night." Most people couldn't run at that pace all night and Donovan wasn't going to even try. He had a good jog pace that he could keep all day and what they needed was nice and steady right now.

Finally realizing that he had hold of the man he released him. "I'm here to make sure your lousy carcass gets back to the fortress and I'm going to do whatever it takes. Your job is to listen to me from here on out."
 
Adran Triveron (Whitewood Forest, Geraldis)

As the short man let go of him, Adran took a brief moment to smooth out his collar. "Donovan, what you just described is common sense, I meant that until we're sure we've completely eluded our pursuers, we need to keep that pace. Second, while I appreciate your desire to keep me safe, if you keep losing your temper like that, odds are I'll be in more danger with you than I would be on my own." This was no time to be fighting each other, Adran needed to make sure Donovan understood that.

"Neither of us is the superior here, so we work together to get back to the fortress, can we agree to that?"
 
Donovan Blackmoore (Whitewood Forest, Geraldis)

Keeping that pace only for a short period of time was not what he heard. As badly as he wanted to blow up there was not reason enough. Opening his mouth he only ended up growling. The name poppycock kept coming to the forefront but, he couldn't in all good standing say something like that right now. Did the man have to sound so reasonable? "Only thing endangering you is your sick sense of..." Cutting himself off he took a breath. "Alright then. We'll just say you take the lead on negotiations and I'll take the lead on survival."

Donovan wasn't about to completely trust himself to Adran and it was obvious that the man wasn't about to trust himself to Donovan either. "Now." Pointing to his own legs he looked down at them and then back up at Adran. "We've got a head start and I'll make the pace. I can't do anything for you if you think that loping around is the best way to go." He could run faster for another short while but, it was going to be slower than how Adran started out and then they would progressively slow down to a jog if Donovan did set the pace as he figured he should.
 
Rajiana Pendragon/Andrin Detrius (Capital Streets, Helies)

Rajiana walks at a steady pace down the street keeping an observant eye of every sign. "I forgot where the market would be..." He admits quietly.

"Hey, don't ask me. I have never been to the capital before." Andrin says, shrugging his shoulders. "That makes two of us then." Rajiana says with a mumble, spotting stands and booths of food in his sight at the last word he spoke. "There it is." They walk to the market and are surrounded with busy guests buying their staple needs after a bitter winter.

"So what exactly are we looking for here?" Andrin asks, glancing around at the various stalls laden with fruit and other things. Rajiana tosses a couple silver coins into a young ladies palm, taking a couple fresh loaves of bread and a bottle of mead. "Food and beverage. We have heavy training ahead. Keep your belly filled." He says, flicking a silver coin to a beggar. Andrin nodded, and purchased a couple fresh loaves of bread from the same woman. He politely refused the mead she offered. "I must admit, the food here is of better quality than Firth." He followed Rajiana absentmindedly, not caring where they went at the moment

Noticing how Andrin was spacing off Rajiana walked to an inn across the market, and sat down at a wooden table beside the window and sets the bread on the sill. Andrin sat opposite of him, towards the inside of the building. A lady walked to the table, "Gruel." Rajiana requests bluntly, raising an eyebrow at Andrin for his cue to order. "I'll take some fried potatoes and a mug of water." He replied before leaning back in the creaky wooden chair. "So Rajiana. Here we are at lunch. Now are you willing to digress some of your past to me?" He asks in an interrogating voice.

Rajiana sighs, opening the bottle of mead and swigging the honey mixture. "Where do we start then. Pendragon, or the fact I lick boots for any price." He responds, setting the mead in the middle of the table between them. "Let us start with the boot licking," Andrin chuckles as his icy eyes study Rajiana. "Why does someone like you live to serve others?"

Rajiana shakes his head, swishing the leftover fermented concoction in his mouth around. "I lick boots to serve myself. Not a difficult concept really, I do what I need to and survive. Why would you toss your life out for someone who wouldn't bat an eyelash at you?" He questions Andrin as he matches the eye contact with his empty stare.

"Good question. The main choice is my loyalty to the King, but more importantly to the people under his rule. Someone has to look out for those who are left to rot. I think highly of his majesty, but one man cannot protect an entire nation." He paused, lost in thought. "My father is a large reason as well. I grew up learning about the valor and honesty of knights. I suppose he tried to lead by example. I am picking up what he left behind, carrying on his legacy among the King's Guard." He cocks an eye at Rajiana again. "Your turn. What's the deal with 'Pendragon', and why do you make it seem like the name is a curse?"

The waitress comes back with gruel, setting the bowl in front of Rajiana and a plate of potatoes in front of Andrin. The tankard of water is set off to the side. Rajiana stirs the bowl of gruel and looks down at the porridge. "Pendragon isn't my name." He says simply, and lifts the bowl to his mouth as he gulps some of it down uncaring of his etiquette. Andrin thanks the waitress and hands her a silver piece as a tip. He takes a large gulp of water, his throat enjoying the coolness. "What is the word Pendragon to you then?"

Rajiana looks warily around the inn before daring to answer the question, scanning every single face. He turns to Andrin again after his precautions. "My family name is Venatrisse. It means hunters. I am from the woods of Geraldis Insulae, not the Cathedral and City of Lycanthae. My mother didn't want me to be mistreated or laughed at so she told Imperious, my Magister, to call me Pendragon in place of Venatrisse. I was clearly no royal, but Pendragon made people see me as equal around the priests and magisters." He answers, finishing the gruel off and wiping his mouth.

"I'm surprised someone like you went along with that," Andrin remarked, spearing a couple potatoes with his fork and chewing them. "Pendragon sounds fairly official for a sellsword." Rajiana admits, with the intent to disappoint Andrin and hopefully derail the conversation. "I can agree with that, but I see more than a sellsword in you. You posses honor, and a fair bit of it. I'm just surprised you would rather adopt a fake name than wear your real one with pride." He smiles warmly before eating some more of the potatoes and taking a drink of water

It was after that remark that Rajianas gaze seemed to shift from empty to disdain. "Pride comes last when you have your mouth to feed. I worked as a child in the art of bootlicking, it is how I paid my mouths worth of bread at the Cathedral. If someone has a grudge against another, even a priest, it pays for my ale for the week to solve that grudge in any way possible." He says, swigging the mead once more and swishing it in his mouth to savour his luxury.

Andrin placed his hands under his chin, watching Rajiana. "But you do not enjoy it, do you? Just surviving on a day to day basis. It must get boring and lonely after awhile." Rajiana takes a deep breath, and swallows the mead to wash the bleakness from his eyes. "Life is nothing but a challenge to me, in the sense I must endure it to my fullest extent. That is what my mother taught me. Never give up your life for anything less than several others. No amount of honor or rank will do good when your corpse can't use it." He says as he stretches his back a bit.

"Unless your death resulted in something far greater than our own, fragile life." He added, gauging Rajiana's response at this particular statement.(edited)

Rajiana raises his eyebrows, "What is far greater to protect than my fragile life, exactly?" He says with sureness in his ways.

Andrin decides to let the conversation fall, remaining silent. Something you do not understand. Not yet, He thought to himself as he finished his meal. "Going back on the loneliness part, where has the fair lady you were courting with gone? I haven't seen her since we arrived here." Rajiana shrugs, "Haven't seen her since the celebration. One less mouth to feed." He says, gulping the last of the mead.

"There is more to it then that, and you know it. I noticed the way you were looking at her." Rajiana leans back and scratches his stubble, pondering the experience in his mind with great detail. "She reminds me of someone... Someone beautiful." He says in a clear voice after swallowing the beverage completely. "You had quite a nightmare that day, didn't you."

"In a way... yes." He admits, finishing his water. His throat felt dry despite the cool liquid. "Something I would rather not talk about at this moment." Rajiana nods, remembering the searing ink vividly. "I feel the same..." He mumbles and looks out the window.

They sit in silence a moment before Andrin speaks up again. "We have been absent for some time now. You suppose we should head back for training?" He asks, standing up and stretching his limbs out. Rajiana nods, and stands up from the table as well. He leaves a silver piece for the meal, and grabs the bread loaves he bought from the windowsill he left them on. "Big day tomorrow, don't expect too many lazy mornings again." He says, opening the door.

He follows Rajiana outside, basking in the warmth of the rising sun. It was still chilly outside, but the winter was definitely moving on. "We should spar sometime. A sellsword has to be good with a sword." Andrin remarks, laughing. It felt like it was going to be an interesting day. Perhaps not a great one, but interesting nevertheless. Rajiana nods and walks up the street to the armory. They had busy training ahead of them, he could feel it.
 
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[Illya Lott] Ronald Bones (Whitewood Forest, Geraldis)
Illya had watched the horror unfold as Gregorson and his boys were getting bashed about by the brute. Carelessly, she felt a blade graze her arm as the zealots behind her seized the opportunity to close the distance between her. Blood boiled violently in her head and she couldn't think.

All but one word. Kill.

Ignoring the wound she received, she turned around and stabbed her assailant, burying her dagger deep in his chest. The zealots all backed off in alarm as she quickly wiped off the zealots that were in range of her attack, which allowed her to turn her attention to the larger man.

She raised her blood coated daggers angrily, and started sprinting towards the other man.

"Come at me, you little bitch!" He taunted gleefully. He nearly hopped in place, anticipating another gruesome victory.

He swung his mace at her as she approached, but she already anticipated it. He swings his mace too high, and partially relies on its weight to carry out the attack. It's impossible to block, Gregorson. Something the she wish he had known, something that could've enabled his survival. She had taken careful note in how the man attacked, and could now easily identify his hulking swinging motions.

She dived under the blow, rolling closer to the enemy, and he immediately followed up with another swing. He slashed diagonally at her, which allowed her to sidestep it easily. He's slower than Claius.

She triumphantly slashed her dirk at his chest, which was met by a clang. She retreated a few paces, alarmed.

The armor merely got dented by her attack; that's why the Gregorson's couldn't kill him. She had to set aside her fury a bit to allow herself to think clearer. She should've expected a man him to be able to wear an armor thick enough to nullify sharper objects, bu even so the body was not fully covered.

His limbs and neck are exposed. She noticed. Illya could get revenge on the man by killing him with attrition, which was probably the only option she had. It is more painful that way anyways.

Switching the grip on her weapons, she instead focused on the exposed areas on the brute's body. As he drew back his mace to strike, she ducked underneath his arm, dragging her daggers up it to create deep cut just under his shield, and her eyes lit in satisfaction as blood sprayed from his wound. The pain caused him to disengage, clumsily staggering backwards.

"You bitch!" He wailed. "Dat heurts!!! Da hurts me!" Followed by an incoherent slur of rage.

The display was quite pitiful; Illya would've felt bad, but all she could think about was Gregorson's face as he looked at her right before his death. Lee was scared, and in pain. Pain that Illya never could've imagined in his always happy-go-lucky expression. Illya clenched he daggers, seething in rage. This man was going to fall ten folds harder than her comrades did, she would make sure of it.

Not letting the man recover, she charged for a subsequent attack, landing several smaller cuts in his arms and legs. She laughed out loud. A cruel, hateful laugh, as the large man tried to shield himself from her attacks. In the midst of the barrage, man struck her with the back of hands hand suddenly, and she rolled onto the ground. Quickly, she brought herself back on her feet.

Absurdly, the man grinned at this. "Hehehee. Me got you. I got fast woman." He glanced at the zealots around him, who Illya noticed for the first time. The group had mostly stayed back in fear of getting hit by their own ally's clumsy swings, but have now approached her a bit closer, weapons raised. She reassumed her stance, ignoring the throbbing pain from his sudden strike.

I have to be more careful, she realized. This entire time she was driven by rage, and her superiority over the ragtag fighters made her a bit too cocky. The brute nearly swatted his comrade aside to confront her again. He now was pissed, which looked a whole lot better than his retarded bloodthirst anyways.

Illya reengaged with the brute, who had changed in attack patterns himself . He seemed to be more keen in trying to grab her with his bare hands than mauling her with his mace, probably because it was too unwieldy. Illya had been more focused on getting close enough to end the fight with one lethal stab. The pummeling of Gregerson still burned in her mind, keeping her adrenaline up against the much larger opponent. As he swung for her again, she took the opening to get behind his exposed back. Literally jumping on him, she drew her dagger and raised it to plunge it into his neck. She'd won.

A blinding pain erupted in Illya's side as the sharp point of a javelin lodged into it, throwing her off the cowering giant's body. As she tumbled on the ground, the shaft of the projectile snapped but the head lodged further into her side. Lying on the ground, she could see a long trail of blood trace her fall. Never had she seen a zealot throw with such precision without risking injuring the brute under her.

Gasping for breath, she tried to crawl away from the brute, who was now approaching her, the truimphant smirk returning his face.

"Gud man! Hit sneeky woman." He bellowed.

She could see his mace raised up above her, but just barely. Her vision already was wavering from the blood loss of the wound. The mace landed in the center in her chest, and she heard her ribs break as she was lifted off the ground and into a tree behind her.

I'm sorry

Gregorson
 
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Esra T. Montaque
( Whitewood Forest, Geraldis )

Horror.

Sorrow.

And Shame.

Esra stared from back where she was at Illya, hand with the bow in it shaking as she witnessed the female get beaten.

Why couldn't she do anything? Why could she not work up the nerve to try and shoot the monsters that the king calls his allies! A javelin, and, a mace... They both hurt her.

They hurt Illya. How could Esra react other than trying to return the arrow to the bow but her fingers were shaky for once. 'Illya... How could someone do... She...' Illya was wise, and understanding: how could anyone harm her! Sure, she did kill... A lot... Of their men, but they were the ones who ambushed them!

The blonde backed off and into the shadows of a tree, crouched behind a bush. 'The brothers... Are... They? Is Illya? Or... Are they just seriously injured...? What should I do...?' To be honest, she couldn't tell from her position.
 
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