Private Tales A Bit of Coin Between Friends

[Charlemagne]

The gold road had proven to be a bit of a letdown. The gravel path was indeed not laden with gold as Charlemagne had privately hoped, and thus his plans to make off with some of it were dashed: not that he'd truly believed it was such a thing. Still, the thought was amusing enough to stir the otherwise melancholy nature of his thoughts.

This was the first time he'd come this far south. There was word of a great gathering to the east of Alliria, a city that too was said to be laden with gold. With that gathering came the promise of more coin than he'd ever set eyes upon before. The paltry sums offered by feudal lords and private warbands in the Spine paled in comparison to the riches this warlord offered. Charlemagne had never been one for greed - one could not be with the chump change offered to mercenaries in the mountains - but the grand purpose attached to the reward was more than tempting enough.

He'd heard many tales about the grand city. Many stories that at first had impressed, and then disgusted him. That human beings could rise to such levels of greed as to erect towers that scraped the very heavens while their compatriots contended for table scraps was anathema to what little he believed in. He could not shake the thought that if he had access to that kind of wealth, he would've turned it toward the bettering of all those around him. That these merchant lords had not done so was a testament to the worm in the apple that was the soul of humanity. It wriggled hungrily, that putrid thing, the source of evil in men.

But then what place did he have to judge the acts of other men? He, who killed for coin and sacked towns to fill his stomach? Sure, he'd shied away from the raiding and pillaging of his former comrades, there was no sport in killing unarmed men, women, or children, but he still sought the sport nonetheless did he not? The worm wriggled in him as well, though than coin, it sought blood.

These thoughts plagued him as he passed through one of the smaller villages dotting the side of the road just south of the Spine. So enamored was he in his own ruminations, he almost didn't notice the slight bump as a girl passed him by. He walked several steps in fact, until he happened to run a hand across his belt, and the understanding his coin purse was gone slowly dawned on him.

Mika Roost

 

[Mika Roost]

The Spine was a region that Mika didn't visit often, but she had been there on a number of occasions because of an errand she had to do for her grandma. This time was one of those. A special merchant had visited the brothel lately and unfortunately lost a ring. Had it been any old piece of jewelry, it'd have just sat inside that lost and found box for a month or so before it was pawned off or given to one of the workers there.

But grandma found it too precious and tasked Mika with tracking him down. Fortunately the merchant was seen making his way down the gold road to make a stop at one of the villages there. She hitched a ride on one of the caravans and all she had to do was just provide some travelling music as she usually would do. She'd even been given some coins for her time.

She continued on from village to village until she finally caught up with the merchant, a dwarf that seemed a little bit on edge. The ring he'd lost didn't look like anything special. There were strange carvings inlaid with some kind of resin that made it look fancier than most, but Mika didn't see why she had to go through all this trouble just to return it. She found the merchant she was looking for in the middle of a small village, but when she showed the ring she was beset with a collection of insults calling her a thief and other more colorful words that Mika hadn't even heard before.

To cut a long story short, the dwarf tried to wrench the ring away from her hand. He had such a crushing grip that she just flicked the ring away just so he'd let her go. But the moment he released his grip to get the ring, Mika gave him the hardest backhand she could, which unfortunately hit the circlet on his head. Things calmed down, the merchant apologized and Mika handed over a letter penned by her grandma to give to the dwarf. She didn't know what was written but he was even more apologetic after he read the letter, going so far as to treat her sore hand.

That was three days ago and her hand was still sore. Luckily the hand she broke was just the hand that she used to hold the bow, so she could still play for the villagers and earn some extra coin. She just had to hold off on the faster songs.

When she wasn't playing for the villagers, she was out exploring the surroundings, picking up one or two interesting-looking rocks and admiring what flowering flora grew that she hadn't seen around Alliria. On her way back to the village she was staying at until her hand healed enough, she noticed a difficult-to-miss type of person just passing through with a coin pouch just exposed for everyone to see.

And so the game was on.

She made her way back to the village, 'accidentally' brushing up against the tall bald man to avoid a hole on the paved road, but her hand, injured or not, easily swiped the pouch. She counted a few steps before turning around and calling out to him. "Hey! I think you dropped this!" she'd say, holding the pouch with her injured hand.

She'd noticed that the man had a really oversized sword, and she couldn't help but be curious about it. So she hurriedly walked over and offered up the pouch and almost immediately fawned over it. "That's a really big sword!" she'd comment in awe. "Can you really swing that thing around, or are you bringing it with you so the bandits don't bother you? How heavy even is that thing? Where did you even get it?"

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

Momentary confusion flashed across his otherwise unreadable expression. His brows furrowed for a moment; lips parted with an unspoken question. It faded as quickly as it revealed itself, a far harder stare taking its place. "I don't tend to drop things." His tone brooked no desire for conversation, and the slight hint of contained frustration added the spice of veiled threat to his words.

The threat, once again, gave way to bewilderment. He was certain she was a thief; the tactic was old as stone. Why return the coin and offer conversation then? Perhaps to gather information, endear herself to him so that she might whisper to greater masters. Charlemagne had no shortage of enemies back in the north, be they bitter farmers or scorned minor lords. It wasn't improbable that someone was seeking vengeance: indeed, it had happened twice before.

Neither of those scenarios had involved stealth or a girl before. Someone more cunning then. She'd get her information out of him, perhaps learn where he intended to lay his head for the night, and then the ambush would follow.

These thoughts and more clattered through Charlemagne's skull as the girl asked her questions. He did not respond, instead staring at her blankly, several seconds of silence stretching between then.

Then, just as abruptly as he'd turned into a proverbial statue, he took the offered coin purse and spoke. "Yes, and yes. Very heavy. A dwarf who owed my father more coin than he could pay at the time." He answered as quickly as she had asked.

If he left abruptly it would be obvious he was aware of a plot. He would play along for now, and perhaps coax the source of this interruption from the girl. Maybe pay them a visit afterword.

"You could have run off." He added, pointedly.

Mika Roost

 

[Mika Roost]

His cold demeanor did little to cool hers, in fact she seemed a little more enthralled. With her questions being ticked off one by one, which was a bit surprising as some people often told her to slow down or repeat the questions with a slower tempo. A good listener, this one. That probably meant something, like a bounty hunter. They'd need to keep their ears sharp to get what information may drift in the wind. Or they could be the types to offer gossip, though his manner of speaking didn't really make that possibility a tempting answer.

Then he said that she could have just ran off, to which she just shrugged her shoulders and answered with grin, "I suppose I could have. But that'd sully my integrity as the person manning the lost and found box back home. Well, technically former person manning the lost and found box. That job went to my younger sister after I learned some instruments, like the violin on my back. But thanks for not jumping to conclusions like the dwarf merchant I had to deal with three days ago." at this she raised her injured, bandaged-up hand.

"Honestly, I spent so many days trying to track him down from Alliria to this village just to return a ring he left in the brothel, and I get an injured hand to show for it." She wouldn't outright admit however that she was the one who broke her own hand with a backhand that just missed its target. It wasn't entirely a lie anyway.

"Ah! Speaking of which, are you heading off that way? To Alliria I mean. I've been waiting for a caravan to pass through so I could tag along since I didn't want to go back on foot by myself, broken hand and all that. Even if you just stop at the next village, it's still progress. Besides, there's only so much a bard can earn outside the big cities."

She was hoping he was open to the idea. The village and the view were nice but if she had a choice, she'd rather be at that one village with all the sheep.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

The girl was extremely forward with her personal information. Generally speaking, folk were far less forthcoming about their personal lives up in the mountains. Outside of the more secure towns, any bit of information could be used against you if you offered up vulnerabilities. Mention your occupation to a stranger or the fact that you live alone, and someone might come knocking in the middle of the night.

She was either stupid or incredibly naive; perhaps a sheltered thing if she truly was from Alliria. Charlemagne had barely spoken with anyone from that place, and all of them had been mercenaries, brigands, outlaws, or all three. They were more of the mountains than the city. Maybe this was just how folk were from 'civilization'.

"I suppose I could have. But that'd sully my integrity as the person manning the lost and found box back home. Well, technically former person manning the lost and found box. That job went to my younger sister after I learned some instruments, like the violin on my back. But thanks for not jumping to conclusions like the dwarf merchant I had to deal with three days ago."

"Mmh," came Charlemagne's grunting response. His suspicions about the girl were far from assuaged, though she seemed a bit too inexperienced to be an informant. That could be an act of course, but Charlemagne had keen eye for authenticity. "Get your hand stuck in a cart's wheel?" He asked, opting to entertain the girl for the time being.

Ah, there it was. The questioning - his destination would be valuable knowledge to someone trying to see him done in; then the follow-up of asking to accompany him on this last leg of the journey. Almost certainly a trap. Once again, he held his tongue for what a normal person might have considered an uncomfortable amount of time. The girl, fortunately or unfortunately, did not seem particularly normal though.

"I am going to Alliria, yes," not a lie, though certainly not the whole truth. It would be better for the girl to lead him into her master's trap so that he might be able to face the threat now rather than later. He'd not had to contend since leaving the southern peaks and his Orc companion behind, and his blood was growing cold as a result. When his hands were idle, his mind wandered to uncomfortable places. Without the simplicity of battle to suppress those thoughts Charlemagne waned.

Yes, better to spring the trap. "You can walk with me, but if you can't keep up, you're on your own. I'm on a schedule," came his decision. As if to punctuate the statement he began his march through the heart of the village toward the road once again. There wasn't anything here save that interested him other than the food, and he'd already eaten.

"The bards up north are all old men that live in drink and smell like piss," he mused, casting a sidelong gaze down at the girl, "I didn't know women partook, but then you said you're from a brothel. I suppose I could see music being part of a prostitute's services." That she might have simply been a creative soul did not occur to the mercenary in the slightest.

Mika Roost

 

[Mika Roost]

He asked if she got her hand stuck on a cart's wheel, which she shook her head to. That would have been messier and would have taken so much longer to heal. She doubted she could have still played the violin after a tragedy like that. "Well, no. The merchant went ballistic when he saw the ring and nearly twisted my wrist off until I let go. I gave him the hardest backhand I could muster, but I hit his circlet instead. Definitely left a mark on each other I guess."

She was filled with mirth when he said that he was going to Alliria too, and that she could come along if she could keep up. That was no problem for her, she's done a whole presentation across the city for a day without a break, and she was no stranger to the road. "Oh don't worry about me, I've done my fair share of travelling. Keeping up with your strut shouldn't be too hard."

Walking beside him out of the village, he spoke again, this time about his ideas of the bards of the north and how he was mistaking her for a prostitute. She made a show of look at herself, inspecting her body and did a sniff. Then she looked at him with another grin. "Nope, I'm definitely not an old man and I smell fresh as a flower, so I don't know where you got that idea from. And I actually learned all I know about musical instruments from another girl bard."

So that was at least two girl bards, plus about four or five she'd met in some of the cities. Now that she thought about it, there weren't that many compared to all the guys. Then again, those numbers were just from the top of her head, she might have forgotten a few.

"And I guess I'll have to disappoint you on this one, but I'm not a prostitute. Like I said, I was in charge of the lost and found box. You'd be amazed what people just leave behind. Small weapons, rings, letters -- and that's just the stuff I found at the lounge bar. Did you ever find anything interesting while you're travelling? Because it looks like you travel a lot. I mean your stuff looks worn but still sturdy, definitely something built to withstand the weather and the wilderness, kind of like the stuff caravan guards wear. The older, more competent ones that is."

Mika was happily getting on with the conversation, but she was just happy in general that she had someone to talk to on the way home. While there was always a guarantee that she'd meet someone on the road, the question was when that'd happen. Despite the number of people using the golden road, there were always some lulls depending on the seasons or just bad luck. From this village to the next, there could be no one else that crosses her path, and she'd definitely be bored out of her mind by the time she got there.

Of course, that'd be a better outcome that crossing paths with thieves. She'd have risked it if her dominant hand wasn't injured, but alas, that was not the case. But with this bald stranger close by, there would be less worry. And so far he hadn't done anything to set off alarms in her gut, so he was probably an okay guy.

"Oh yeah, my name is Mika, by the way. I figured since we'll be travelling together for a bit, I might as well introduce myself."

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

A moment's amusement shattered his otherwise stone-like expression. "You broke your own hand trying to slap a dwarf?" A brow lofted, corner of the mouth rising in a tiny half-smirk. "Quite the accomplishment." Perhaps she was not the spy he was expecting, although it was quite possible this was all just a part of the act. His paranoia, ever a feature of his ailing mind, could not allow him to take the girl wholly at ease.

"There aren't many that keep my pace. I've rarely the coin to keep a horse. I walk most places." Others relied on the so-called portal stones for transport, but Charlemagne did not trust such wizardry. It was the work of the unnatural and the unclean. Moreover, it was the easy path, and to accept any kind of ease of needless comfort was the way to a quick and often brutal death in his line of work. The tales of some coming out of the stones not entirely themselves only added to his superstition.

He was privately pleased at her admission of not being a woman of the night. they weren't his kind of people and he'd sooner take to his lonesome than keep one in his company. That sort of work caused enough damage to his people. Privately he considered it an evil thing, though as the girl continued explaining herself he opted to keep that opinion to himself.

There was little difficulty in staying mostly silent and letting the girl talk. Seemed she had the voices of a dozen folk in her the way she continued on. "Interesting is a word. I've come across many things in the Spine. I did not believe in the supernatural for most of my life, though recent events have changed that. I met a goat-demon atop the snowy peaks of the north that spoke of prophecy and the damnation of the world under the will of God. I have seen hundreds spill one another's blood in the name of one feudal lord or another. I've walked through the caverns of the dwarven cities and marveled at their artifice. I have watched good young men murder one another for the heart of a woman. Villages turned to ruin and columns of slaves driven toward the hell of Molthal." He paused, momentarily slowing his walk as he gazed out over the golden trees. "Many interesting things."

She offered her name, so did he. "Most call me Charlemagne."

Mika Roost

 

[Mika Roost]

Making him crack a smirk felt like an accomplishment, and an affirmation that he had a sense of humor behind that stone-cold demeanor. It shouldn't be surprising though. Even the most emotionless of people had a soft spot for something. That proved true for everyone she'd met so far.

He talked about how he walked because he couldn't afford to keep a horse, and Mika was sympathetic to that. She was a travelling bard after all, so she saw people from all walks of life. From the rich and affluent to the homeless who could only struggle to survive. It was not a pretty reality, but there was little she could do to fix that. She was just someone dancing around below the middle point. "I try to hitch a ride with the caravans. They're pretty welcoming to having some music playing while they travel. Sometimes they even give me a few coins when we part ways. Even this one grumpy caravan driver from Elbion, who makes a show of acting frustrated when I come over to them, gives me an extra coin or two. He says its because the caravan bicker less when I'm distracting them with music."

The things he saw on his travels were almost the opposite to what Mika usually experienced. He'd seen so much death it seemed, but though she felt pity on him for having lived a life like that, she knew better than to express it. At least for now. Such experiences harden one's heart.

"Those are interesting for sure, if a bit of a downer. You know, aside from the brothel, I also sometimes play in taverns. The right music gets people to drink more, which makes the owners happy. But I see some folks, usually mercenaries or people hit by hard times, tucked in the corner who were just there to take their mind off of the world.

"Doesn't solve anything for them, but I feel it gives them time to think. I also get to hear about a few things now and then that frightens me. The Blightlands and Molthal being some of those things. Though there's a part of me that wants to see it for myself. Like is it that bad or is it worse than what people say? But there's no way I'd admit that anywhere near Alliria. If grandma caught wind of that, she'd lock me up in the cellar herself. I'm telling you this in confidence, alright Charlemagne? Don't go tattle on me. That's a nice name by the way. Charlemagne... It just roles off the tongue... hmm..."

She thought for a moment and cleared her throat before a verse flowed from her lips.

"Charlemagne, Charlemagne,
A warrior on the road.
And though he lacks a lion's mane,
those who oppose him be woed.

For those who face his mighty sword,
Could do naught but just whine.
Their souls, a ferry's taken aboard,
when the warrior makes them meet the divine."

She looked to Charlemagne with a big grin on her face. "It could use some work, I know, but what do you think of that verse? Not bad for just coming up with it on the spot, right?"

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

The mercenary had never been one for much outward expression. He preferred to let his actions speak for his intentions. Still, he was taken aback somewhat by her spur of the moment lyricism. No one had ever sung any songs about him before. Wasn't much glory in following the tales of a mercenary with nothing larger than himself to strive toward.

The momentary smirk broke out again, brows furrowing incredulously as it intermingled with brief confusion. Truth be told he didn't know how to take the little song, or the girl for that matter.

She's putting you at ease. Gonna put a knife in your back.

The little voice nagged at the back of his skull. It was his own, though distorted by the skepticism and paranoia that had kept him alive for two decades now. It kept him grounded, momentarily lessened the smirk, but the expression remained.

The possibility that she was not, in fact, a spy or an assassin was there. She certainly didn't have the look of either, which only served to make her far more capable in either field should they be the truth. He supposed it didn't truly matter one way or the other. If she had hand, it'd be revealed in time.

"You're pretty good," he huffed with quiet amusement. "Better than I anything I could make, on the spot or otherwise."

The evening winds were gentle as they continued down the Gold Road. A few folk passed them on either side, either coming or leaving from the town. As they drew further out, those few alongside them filtered off down sidepaths toward their own homes and nearby villages.

"I had a halfling..." he struggled to find the right word, "- a halfling friend, for a time. He was similar to you. From the city, but his heart wasn't for it. He wanted to be more than just another cog in the machine. I met him in the Spine, and he traveled with me for a time. It wasn't long, but I think he found himself out there."

And then he died.

"I think everyone has that in themselves to some degree. The desire to be free. Most folk smother it for safety, but there are a few that cling to the wilds and call the world their home. They're the bright candles. They live hard, painful, dangerous lives and often die for it, but they experience things most folks could never even comprehend." He halted in the midst of the road, staring down his nose at Mika. "If you have that desire, you can chase it too. Chase your dream - but you can't have it both ways. You can't wander and be secure, can't be promised a comfortable life if you're looking for something more."

He didn't really know what he was saying. Just a few things that had weighed on his mind lately. Living, and chasing dreams.

"And I'll keep your trust."

Mika Roost

 

[Mika Roost]

The affirmation that he enjoyed her little song raised her spirits some more, not that she needed words to see that he liked it, or at the very least found it amusing. Her mentor had always told her to look at people's eyes. Very few people who fake a smile also know that the corner of the eyes are part of it. It takes a bit of practice, but anyone can get a sense of which was a fake smile and which was real, and unless Charlemagne actually knew that himself, Mika doubted that his smirk was something put on just to make her feel better.

Charlemagne then started recounting his time with a halfling friend of his, and Mika lent an ear to hear the story. His monologue revealed that he had a sage-like way of thinking, and that was a bit of a surprise to her. Usually it was the older, robed men with white beards that spoke that way, but he wasn't trying to sound all knowing unlike the so-called sages she compared him to.

This got her thinking too. What did she want to do?

"I guess I'll have to think about it. I've heard a lot from people on both sides and it's always a mixed bag. My grandma had a noblewoman friend that got tired of the things noble people do and decided to run away to become a mercenary in another city, and she loved every moment of it. But there was also this one time where I happened to be on the same caravan as a small group of mercenaries who didn't have much of a choice on who they could be, and one of them said they'd hang up the sword if they could. He got tired of all the fighting but he didn't know how to do anything else."

Mika sighed and continued. "I'm not really sure what I'd do myself. For the most part, I like being a travelling bard. I get to travel around, get free food and drinks if I play for a tavern. But I also want to see the rest of the world where people don't go. But that'd also mean I'll probably not see the family for a long time. Then again..."

Her eyes seemed to light up when she had a realization. "This is the farthest I've been from any of the big cities. I wonder if my grandma knew my little delivery would take me so far away... I wouldn't put it past her, considering she was the one who got someone to train me with swords because I got so giddy when we went to see the exhibition fights... This is getting a lot more complicated..."

And just like that she was in her own world in deep thought. Was this little quest something to give her a taste of adventure? Well she certainly wanted to see more of the world after this experience. If so, did her grandma already know that she was thinking about taking a peak at the Blightlands? And was this just a little nudge to say that it was alright to go adventuring there? Maybe she didn't know, and bringing it up would just get her in trouble.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

The amber light of the evening sun glistened across its skin like a cloak of gold. Its black fur, gnarled and wrapped into dreadlocks, hung from its wiry arms and swayed in the breeze as it leapt effortlessly from one tree canopy to the next. It soared over the air with its jump, clearing half a mile each time with relative ease. Its fel blood thundered through its veins as it gained speed, monstrous muscles straining with each impact. Foam frothed at the corners of its mouth from the exertion; despite its appearance, it was wholeheartedly enjoying this.

For months it had followed the chicks. When they split apart, its kinsmen tracked the greenskin, and it the man. It was only to watch for now. Another confrontation was forthcoming, but to interrupt the journey now would be to strive against the currents of causality, an affront to God it was not keen on making.

Instead, it watched from its perch high among the trees. Eyes like yellow sulphur peered through the golden light, its massive horns hidden by the mass of leaves and branches at the top of the trees. It listened to the conversation between the chick and the little pink thing, curiosity bubbling to the top of its animalistic mind.

Back on the road, Charlemagne listened thoughtfully as Mika Roost spoke of her desires, or rather her confusion revolving around them. That she'd never been farther than this did not surprise him. Her disposition, while charming in a sense, would not survive the far north intact.

"Nothing in life comes free," Charlemagne knew that all too well. "If you want to see the wild places, you'll have to steel yourself for them. There are reasons humanity settled in the warm valleys of the west. Inhospitality is the way of things in the wilds." He paused for a moment, some part of him not wishing to crush the kernel of freedom Mika seemed to be experiencing now.

"That being said, this is as far from the north as I've ever been. I suppose we're both on something of an adventure." His was of far darker purpose than hers, and he was certain if she knew why he was heading south, she wouldn't much care for his company.

He supposed it did him some good to talk though. For the time being, he would keep his intentions close to his heart. Better not to terrorize the girl. He'd certainly dismissed her as a possible threat at this point.

"You should try to enjoy the world as it is while you can." He added as he began to walk down the road once again. "Find your way. Figure out what calls to you and chase it - sounds like the bard thing might be it. Things are starting to change. I'm not sure how long this order of the world is gonna last."

He cast his gaze toward the heavens, watching as the clouds swirled in and out of one another. One among them resembled the head of a goat, its gnarled horns reaching back toward the heavens...

"I couldn't tell you why. Maybe it's just that my world is changing," his brow furrowed , "But I feel it in my bones all the same."

Another pause. His wistful thoughts dissipated, eyes darting toward the blades Mika carried now. "You really know how to use those?"

 

[Mika Roost]

Mika listened intently. She knew the world outside settlements were worse off than anything behind a wall. For the commoner, cities were the safest haven. Though depending on who you were and who you made enemies with, the outskirts would have been much safer, definitely. Still she couldn't deny that you'd have to have a certain strength to survive in the wilderness for extended periods of time. She'll have to see what her limit was.

Charlemagne admitted that this was also as far as he'd been, and that the two of them were on a sort of adventure. And she couldn't agree more. It was always nice to see new places, mix up the sights and see new flowers.

When he spoke about callings and that her being a bard might be hers, she had to put that one on consideration. She liked being a bard, that's true, but before then she also liked swords, which lead to her training with them. She still kept her skills sharp, along with her musical skills, but there might be something out there that had the same kind of pull for her.

"Well, the world's always changing as Maya would say. She's one of the girls who works behind the bar of the brothel, by the way. Though she always said it like, 'The only thing that doesn't change is the fact that everything changes'. It's kind of funny since she's been working behind the bar as far as I can remember. Though she never really told me what she did before she worked there. But boy can she stare down any drunk back to being sober. Its like magic or something." She started chuckling. "I remember this one time when a haughty noble was raving in the lounge. He wasn't even drunk, he just went in and started insulting everyone and just ruined the whole atmosphere. Then when he stopped by the bar and started to demean her, she gave him a clean open-palm smack across the face and before he could say anything else, she grabbed his collar and said something in her scary calm voice and the guy was as white as snow. She was so amazing!"

She pat her swords when Charlemagne asked if she knew how to use them. Mika nodded proudly. "You bet! My mentor taught me how to use different kinds of swords and the different ways people use them, like holding it at the blade and using the hilt and handguard to hit people with plate armor. Just have to make sure you've got a good grip because if the blade slides even for a little bit, you can say goodbye to your fingers. I've also tried with longswords and greatswords, but nothing was anywhere close to your sword, and I was already having trouble swinging the greatsword she gave me for training with. Everything felt so light after we moved on from that one... I swear my arms felt like they were floating by themselves."

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

Mika could talk and talk, though that suited Charlemagne well enough. She had enough words for the two of them and he was more than keen to let her carry control of the conversation. She bounced from subject to subject as he might've soldiers in a battle: to her it was simply natural it seemed.

He listened intently as they continued down the path, the sun falling after reaching its zenith. It bathed the land in a soft golden light that eased his mind and allowed him to further lower his guard around the girl, though his suspicions would ever remain. To kill them entirely would be a betrayal of his experience and his nature.

"She sounds like an interesting woman," he mused. He'd not come across many women like that in the Spine, though the company he kept was rarely kind to the fairer sex. The mercenary bands of the Spine were often immoral careless sorts that thrived off of hedonism and blood lust. The few girls that sought to stand with them rarely lasted long, and the ones that did always turned out worse for it. Now that he really thought about it, he'd not really even spoken with a woman since that debacle in the northern Spine. "Never met a girl like that. Mountain folk are different though. People are a lot harsher, far less accepting of circumstances." That was putting it lightly.

"She is right though," he added, "Times change but folk stay the same. Most are just big children. Never get out of the infantile mindset." A few noble lords he'd served came to mind. "Never met a member of the nobility that was truly noble. They exist to lord over us and to remind us that they are better, or so they think."

He paused to listen further as she recounted her experience with swords. That much surprised the mercenary. She seemed a bit too cheery for battle. "Perhaps we'll stop to spar at some point," he offered, though he assumed the fight would not be particularly fair. "My sword is...well, when I was a boy, I was given weapons suited for grown men. We didn't have the coin for a proper weapon so I started with my father's axe. I used my inheritance to buy this sword," he reached up to tap its pommel. "What little of it there was anyway. I'm just used to using weapons ill suited for my size." He offered a shrug.

From a distance, the watcher did as its name bid it. It lingered upon the canopies; bat-like ears pressed outward to pick up on the subject of conversation.

Mika Roost

 

[Mika Roost]

It was as Charlemagne said. Nobles were always taking every chance they could get to show that they're better than everyone else. Though she will admit that some of them were more bearable than others. Though the more humbler ones are those with low status, often because they too were looked down on by their richer peers.

Hearing that Charlemagne was always using weapons that were bigger than they should be, Mika started to understand how he could manage to swing that sword around. It was the same story with caravaneers. Most of them had that job because they worked on caravans as a child, helping to haul their goods on and off the cart. They could pick up a box thrice her size with just one arm.

"That just makes sense then. With how used you are to bigger weapons, it's not all that surprising that you can carry your sword around without a problem. I'll have to pass on sparring for now though. Tomorrow maybe. I can already squeeze my hand without too much pain though, so hopefully by then I'll be able to hold a sword without worrying about accidentally letting go of it. Though with that being said, I can hold the bow just fine, so would you care for a little music as we walk?"

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

He supposed picking a fight with a wounded hand wasn't the best of ideas. Charlemagne cracked a rare apologetic smile, a plate-bound hand rising to scratch at the back of his naked scalp. "You know, that's probably a good idea. Don't want to irritate it further." He still couldn't wrap his head around a girl that small being much of a threat in honest combat, but then his curiosity could wait. This world was a strange place with even stranger tricks. If the beasts he'd seen in the mountains could truly exist, then he supposed anything was possible.

Normally he would have declined the request for music. It seemed she was rather keen on serenading them however, and some small part of him did not want to disappoint the girl. He'd never yearned for companionship, but when it found its way to him of its own accord neither did he encourage its departure.

"I won't say no," he offered her a light shrug. The path was long and seemingly empty. A bit of a distraction might do them some good.

He gazed out ahead. The dirt road was still cast in that golden afternoon light, the sun half-setting over the dense forests of the west. Night would come soon enough, and even on well-traveled roads like this danger often followed. The carefree nature of their current pace would need to abate in time, better to enjoy it now while they had the chance.

For but a moment, Charlemagne sniffed something familiar in the air. It was an old smell, like that of a forgotten attic intermingling with the sickly-sweet rotten scent of fungi doing their work. His body responded in kind, feet stopping, limbs rigid, pupils dilating.

Then, as swiftly as he'd smelled it, it was gone. The bald man's gaze darted from one direction to the next, his momentary agitation quite obvious.

"You smell anything strange?"

Mika Roost

 

[Mika Roost]

With the positive go-ahead to her offer of music-making, she grabbed her violin and bow and assumed the playing position. She chose a song that complemented their pace. Something slow and controlled that didn't inspire one's heart to race, but had the notes of a kind of hopefulness. It was, in essence, the calm excitement of being on the road.

She stopped walking and paused her playing when her companion suddenly halted and asked if she smelled anything strange.

Mika just shook her head. "Not really. Well, other than the air here has a completely different scent than home. A lot cleaner and a lot less... rotting garbage and perfumes? Why? What did you smell?"

She could see that Charlemagne was a bit on edge of something, his eyes scanning the surroundings, but she didn't know what could have put him on alert so much. She looked around as well, looking for anything that seemed out of the ordinary. A little difficult considering she didn't quite know what was ordinary or what wasn't in this region, but anything moving that wasn't supposed to be moving might be something she'd have to look out for.

A stampede maybe? Well the ground would be shaking. A stink bug maybe? Those things always smelled the worst, and getting the scent off took so much work, and even then there's always a little bit lingering no matter how much you tried scrubbing it off.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

A dozen memories fired through the synapses of Charlemagne's mind as he peered out into the golden din of the sinking day. The first: walking upon the face of the Blightlands, bleeding and covered in sweat as the white sun beat down and the gray-skins descended upon him from the hills. Then atop the throat of the world, struggling against a storm that sought his soul and the sulphury eyes of the goat-man. The rush of wind past his face as he was cast down from the mountain's peak. The taste of blood in hist mouth and the firing pain that shot through his chest as his ribs cracked and shattered beneath the weight of the beast's hooves. The screams of a township as it was burnt to the ground, its men slaughtered, and its women enslaved to the whims of a higher power.

Mika Roost's words pulled him from his moments of unpleasant reverie. His lips were pressed into a thin line now, his momentary enjoyment of the music silenced just as it was. She asked her question, and he struggled to find an answer. Perhaps it was just fluke, a trick of the mind to reintroduce his characteristic paranoia, a subconscious response to this relaxation.

And what if it wasn't?

"That it does," he silently agreed. It would be unwise to alarm the girl with unverifiable worries, and he highly doubted she could comprehend the creatures he'd contended with in the Spine. "I had an... opponent up in the Spine. For a moment, the air smelled like him." A reserved answer to say the least, and it was obvious he was holding back a far more terrifying explanation.

Was this the trap? Was Mika a scion of his pursuers? He glanced down at her then, a calculating coldness in his eyes. It vanished a moment later as he concluded otherwise. She did not carry the vileness of his foes, and if she did, she hid it exceedingly well.

Within the heavy brambles and bushes to the left side of the road, something large shifted. The sound of a few heavy breaths not unlike that of a bull's issued forth from the brambles, and with them returned that fungal scent, strong enough that Mika could likely smell it too.

Charlemagne just stared at the shifting bushes; eyes wide with contained violence as he assessed the situation.

 

[Mika Roost]

An opponent in the Spine? So what got him worked up was the scent of an old adversary then? In that case, she supposd she understood why he was on alert. Then a curious scent reached her nose. Was that what he smelled? She put her violin and bow away and turned towards something moving to the left of the road.

Mika's hands grabbed hold of the swords on opposite sides, arms crossed and ready to draw at a moment's notice.

Was it a bandit? A feral animal? Or perhaps a denizen of the Blightlands that she's heard stories about? Though her muscles tensed and her heart raced, it was not out of fear, but a sense of excitement. She took a few steps back, gaining a little bit of distance that'd allow her some precious moments to examine their assailant should they come charging out.

"I guess this is that friend of yours you met at the Spine?" she asked coyly.

Maybe she shouldn't have been so forthright with her injured hand. Maybe they heard her and thought that she wouldn't be a problem. Though it'd be a mistake to think she couldn't fight with her non-dominant hand. She had two swords for a reason. It didn't matter which side would be at the fore, in fact, fighting left handed was an easier fight against most.

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

Where Mika lingered toward excitement, Charlemagne was the embodiment of restrained violence. He'd not actually managed to win against the creatures that had assailed him on the Spine. The beasts had crippled him and his companion alike, hurling them from the throat of the world, crushing their ribs, slicing their flesh and generally making a wreck of the duo. It was only by luck or by the strange mercy of their opponents that they'd actually managed to survive.

As the brambles began to shift evermore violently, the mercenary's thoughts momentarily drifted toward Singar. Had his Orc companion survived after leaving the peaks? Was he being pursued too?

"Friend's a strong word," he grunted, his greatsword clunking loudly as he undid the chain that wrapped about his shoulder and kept it clinging to his back. The chain rattled just as loudly as he took the blade in both hands, legs spread, weapon balanced toward the commotion.

The horns revealed themselves first. They were long, gnarled things that curled at the end and terminated in razor sharp barbs. The muzzle followed, adorned with spike-like teeth that jutted out from its bovine lips. Eyes like burning coals peered curiously as it revealed itself fully. Its torso was like that of a muscular man, though it was covered by bouts of hair here and there. Its legs were digitigrade, bending back at an angle that was utterly uncomfortable to the human eye and they concluded with large black hooves. The sickly-sweet fungal scent was pervasive now, overwhelming the pleasant floral texture of the forest.

This one was nearly identical to the one he'd encountered upon the throat of the world, though it was only about half as large. It still towered over a common man nonetheless, and the threat in its feral gaze was all too telling.

"Thou are not to meet me at thine time, but thy scent is decadent indeed." The man-goat-thing's voice was a ragged thing, as if it had spent the past few days screaming until its vocal cords had given out entirely. "The progenitor bid me to watch. Does not trust my abilities, but thine own, he trusts not either. The chicks have all left the nest fledgling. Taken to the wing, and yet thee still walks thine earth. A crippled sparrow cannot become a hawk, let alone the Black Hawk."

It gestured with its horns toward Mika Roost, its lips pulling back in a grisly smile. "And this one, no chick at all, not marked, but so young. Tender flesh. Worm wriggling in thy sparrow's beak." The smile grew wider, bits of blood and dried flecks of flesh noticeable between its fangs. "I had thought thee might pluck the worm and spill her blood as thou did the others, and yet thou shows it mercy. A hawk must be a ruthless predator sparrow. Thou lacks the character to carry on marked as thou are."

Charlemagne just stared at the thing as it prattled on about hawks, sparrows, worms and all its other strange semantics. "You want to lose your hand like the big one did?"

The goat-thing chortled a sound that was a mix between a bovine cry and a man's laughter. It affixed on Mika with a predatory fascination. "Thine sparrow has fangs little worm. Good!" It threw its gangly arms out wide. "Thine corpse shall make for a fine trophy. The lord shall be pleased to have the weakest of the chicks culled. He shall see my wisdom. Thou are not worthy of God's notice!" It lowered on all fours then, limbs tensing at it prepared to charge. "Behold and weep children of man. I am Amleth, sixth born of the kiln. No longer shall I restrain my hunger, I beg of thee lord, forgive thine transgressions upon your divine plan, but it is for the best."

Charlemagne put himself firmly between the beast and the girl. It seemed his pursuers had found him once again, and he wasn't keen on dragging little Mika into his unfortunate business. He didn't dare take his eyes off the beast, but he spoke to her all the same. "You should go Mika. He came looking for me." A pause. "He'll try to eat you." His tone was cold and even, not so much a suggestion as a command. It did well to hide the knot of fear forming in his gut. This one was not nearly so menacing as its predecessor, but he still carried the wounds of his last contest and these creatures had proven to possess tricks that belied their size.

Wasn't like he was going to be able to outrun the thing though. Standing his ground was the only likely way he'd be walking out of this alive.

 

[Mika Roost]

The thing in the brush was something she had never seen before. It had the head and lower body of a goat but its torso was that of a person, though the arms were uncomfortably long and out of proportion. Well this was certainly something she could tell the other girls about.

Along with the... colorful(?) way of it describing her. It also spoke as if it knew Charlemagne, which, well, probably was the opponent he said he had. The way it spoke just made her feel all sorts of uncomfortable, which was a feat considering she'd heard plenty of catcalls and objectively bad courting lines. The way it looked may have had an impact as well, and its smell... She was going to have to make as little contact with this thing as she can manage, who knows what it'll take to scrub that scent off.

"I'm sure you're a great guy, but I don't think this will work out," she'd say to the goatman as she drew her blades. While her hand yet ached, this beast was not likely to want to delay this confrontation for the next day.

As the thing charged, Charlemagne got between it and her, and told her to leave. Very much a noble thing to do, a scenario where all the young men would want to perish in, in defense of a lass who would otherwise perish had it not been for their timely rescue.

"It called me a worm! I've been called a lot of things but that was just rude!" Then with a slightly lowered voice, she said, "A bit of a creep too."

Just looking at it made her feel uneasy. And besides, she was going to be paranoid for days if she didn't teach this thing a lesson.

"And besides, it stalked you. I'm not going to risk adding another stalker to my list."

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

It was not so much nobility that drove Charlemagne to place himself between the beast and the girl, but a private guilt. His reasoning for traveling alone did not linger solely on his rather anti-social nature. These creatures had been accosting him for some time now, though their persistence wavered somewhat since leaving the mountain peaks. They'd always made their intentions rather clear, prattling on about tests and gods and chicks and such. Then they sought to kill him, most getting rather close to their goal.

This one would not be so lucky.

"Suit yourself," Charlemagne breathed as he turned his attentions from Mika Roost. He wasn't about to argue with the girl now, although he privately hoped she might change her mind. She very well might have known how to swing those swords, but a girl of her size against something like this...

His mind was silenced as the beast, Amleth it had called itself, charged. It kicked up dust and sediment as it rushed forward, the sounds of its hoops smashing into the earth loud enough to set panic in the hearts of many men. Indeed, they'd done so within Charlemagne in the past. Now, he was rather used to it.

He stepped into the charge, greatsword whistling through the air as his muscles stretched to their limit in hefting it. He swung a hard horizontal arc, the blade's edge crashing into the goat-thing's left horn just as it closed the distance. The impact sent shockwaves up Charlemagne's arm and almost made him lose his grip as the sword simply bounced off the horn. The beast's charge was halted in turn, and its head ricocheted far to the right from the impact. It fell into a scrambling roll, quickly righting itself amidst a cloud of dust.

Normally his swings could cleave straight through a man in plate armor, and yet it left naught but a small scratch upon the creature's horn.

Charlemagne leveled his blade at the beast once again, teeth grit as he fought to retain control of his senses. Were he alone, he would have submitted to his own ferocity, but he had a companion now that might well need his protection, and if he just started swinging wildly now there was a fair chance he'd hit her by accident. Restraint was key.

"Wanna try that again?" He taunted, the fungal smell making him scrunch his nose up in disgust.

"Physical prowess has never been mine forte." Amleth chortled. With a shockingly slight amount of effort, the goat-thing lowered into a crouch once again, and with a violent kick hurled itself into the air, a cloud of dust following in its wake.

Charlemagne threw himself from his feet, crashing hard into the dirt a meter or so away, just as the goat-thing exploded into the earth where he'd been standing, a small impact crater indenting into the ground as it rose to its feet. It promptly snatched Charlemagne up by his foot, the mercenary shouting in shock as the beast flung him high into the air.

The bald man fell like a stone and skipped along the earth upon impact, rolling painfully until he came to a stop, his greatsword momentarily left behind.

The beast turned upon Mika then, arms wide and bits of saliva dripping from its maw. "Submit worm."

((Control the beastie as you like))

 

[Mika Roost]

The massive swing of a massive sword did little against the creature's horn, though that may have been expected, as horns were rather tough on their own, but this beast's own seems as though it were made of stronger stuff. No matter, the eyes were always a weak point. At least to the beasts she's encountered. It was a shame she didn't have spices to dust the air.

Mika bided her time to observe the creature's movements. As with most large beasts, it relied on its strength. Surely she'd need to avoid the kicks and its grip. All the while she couldn't allow her hand to be shown, what she was capable of, not until it mattered.

It took up an open stance to taunt her, a stance she mocked with her own. "Oh I'm sooo afraid right now," she'd say with a grin.

Again the creature would bring itself low to charge at her. She would not be able to bounce the thing off, she didn't have the strength for it, but tumbling around was a skill she could do with ease, even with a violin strapped to her back. And so she tumbled out of the way. She had a sense for its reach and took care that she stopped far enough away, which put a strain on her considering how much force she'd need to put into her kicks. Fortunately the ground was solid, because one slip-up and she could be crushed.

"Uh-oh, looks like this worm gave you the slip! Looks like I'm too sprightly for you." She'd taunt once more. Her plan right now was to be the bait and tire the thing out. It would be hard to get in close with arms as far-reaching as that, and with how unsure she was when it came to its reaction time, going in would equate to offering herself up. It was easier to guess with people, but a thing this size is already surprisingly limber.

For now she was going to simply frustrate it, let it keep its eyes on her and take any openings that might appear, but more importantly, give Charlemagne a distracted goat for the slaughter.

"What's the matter? Is this little worm too much for you?"

Charlemagne

 

[Charlemagne]

His ribs were on fire once again. The pain was an all too familiar one as it had never truly left him. With the passing of months, the pain of breathing had dulled to a manageable ache. Getting hurled into the dirt had more than irritated the old wound, and he found himself hoping that the bone wasn't broken once again. Fortunately for Charlemagne, the goat-man-thing seemed more than keen to center its attentions on Mika, giving him a moment to get his bearings.

He crawled to his feet with a painful grunt. The quiet agony was as debilitating as it was a fuel, and his higher thought bled away as it too ebbed throughout his body. His worry for Mika's safety too melted away as he watched her dance about the beast with a warrior's confidence, perhaps even more than himself. If she could move like that, then she could avoid his swings.

"Thy worm has a bit of sport!" Amleth snarled, splattering spittle across the dirt as it readied another charge, and once again evaded its horns. If the beast could experience frustration, it didn't show in its face. Its snarling was broken by a wide toothy smile, as if the creature was pleased for the contest.

So focused was it upon the girl that it did not hear Charlemagne's footfalls as the mercenary sprinted toward it. The bald man's expression was that of furious stone as hefted the greatsword over his shoulder. It fell upon the goat-thing's back like a guillotine. Amleth whirled about in response, the blade slicing deep into its right shoulder, slicing through flesh, crushing the bones beneath, and severing the muscles. When Charlemagne withdrew his blade, Amleth's arm was hanging by a bloody strip of flesh and broken tissue.

"Little worm with a big mouth," Amleth hissed. There was no pain in its voice, only a foreboding irritation. Charlemagne swung his blade horizontally, the beast parried the blow with a horn, and then he followed up with a rising slice intended to bisect the creature from hip to shoulder. Amleth raised a massive hoof and stomped on the edge of the blade. The weapon only left a small divot in the hoof and was driven down into the dirt. Amleth followed forth, slamming its bovine skull into Charlemagne's own.

The mercenary saw stars as he stumbled back, his fingers barely able to retain hold of the blade. Amleth reached out a hand for his exposed neck. Not able to raise his blade in time, Charlemagne bent into the hand, chomping down hard enough to sever a man's finger on its own digits. He only met hard bone and the taste of dirt; Amleth yanked back, but Charlemagne retained his hold. His sword rose as fast as he could manage with the tiny distance between them, the weapon stabbing through the flesh of Amleth's lower forearm with a spray of blood. The goat-thing withdrew then, lips pulled back in a murderous snarl as it hurled itself into the air, landing a few meters away down the road.

It began to tug at its ruined arm, a low growl of agony issuing from its throat as the tugging grew more violent. There was an unpleasant ripping sound as the flesh and tendons broke free.It sniffed the severed limb inquisitively and offered it up toward the heavens. "Thy sparrow hath teeth, thy worm hath words. Perhaps not so crippled." Amleth hissed, "Mine father I call upon thee. This limb, I offer," bits of the arm began to glow a dull orange, small plumes of smoke extending from the tiny embers. Those embers grew to a crackling flame, the entire arm swiftly disintegrating in its hand.

Charlemagne could only stare in momentary confusion. It took a second or so for that to pass before he raised his sword and charged at the beast. Whatever it was doing, it wouldn't be anything good.

Mika Roost

 

[Mika Roost]

"Great. It's a masochist." Mika would sigh after seeing the goat thing barely wince at the fact that its arm nearly got chopped off. She charged forward as its attention was on Charlemagne but before she got within swinging distance, the creature backed away with another skyward jump.

She glanced towards her companion and seeing that he was still able to pick himself up, returned her attention to the creature which tore its arm off and seemed to be casting some kind of spell. Well, she wasn't going to let that happen.

She rushed forward, favoring the right side of the creature's body. Without an arm there, she had better chances of not getting swiped away.

As she got close, she used her right blade to slice into the ground to kick up stones and dirt at the creature's head, all the while lining that same blade for a horizontal strike at the wounded area. At first she was careful as its skin may have been as tough as stone, but its innards were less likely to be that hardy. As she delivered the strike she hopped and spun so her other blade could also strike.

Landing on her feet, she took a couple more steps away before stopping, just so she wasn't immediately within reach. A bow would have been useful here. Not her violin bow, the one that's used with an arrow.

"Resorting to begging for a god's aid, are you? And you call me a worm? Come on, you started this fight by yourself, see it to the end like a man! Or... er... whatever you are!"

 

[Charlemagne]

(Phone post as I’m on vacation. Enjoy the ugly)

The little worm was growing more annoying by the second. Amleth’s head tilted back in reverence as she made her move: paying the girl little heed as it attempted to commune with its god. So far as it saw things, a creature so small could pose it no true threat. That quiet arrogance was paid in turn with a piece of gravel in its eyes and a spout of dirt in its throat. Frustration overtook worship as she drew nearer, her silhouette a dismal thing as it blinked and shook its head violently to dislodge the stone. The first blade found purchase easily, carving deeper through the arm-stump to the nerves beneath. The stumpy-bit that had remained fell away clean, black ichor flowing free from what little remained. Amleth shifted to try and counter the blow, but his free arm was still preoccupied. Mika’s second blade bit through its back, the canyon it carved not nearly as deep as Charlemagne’s, but enough to cause Amleth some concern.

It would bleed out if it did not act quickly enough. It watched with a baleful gaze as the man with the greatsword charged too, his weapon raised to cleave Amleth in two. The goat-thing’s lips pulled back in cruel satisfaction.

From the stump of its arm erupted a black mass, spitting black blood all over the dusty road. That mass wriggled and pulsed with dozens of purple veins, quickly extending outward until it hung several feet from Amleth, it’s too terminating in a barbed tentacle-like limb. So too did the mass explode from the gashes in its back, wriggling just as it has from its arm. It extended into two distinct pieces, those pieces then growing ever further until they resembled large bat-like wings that eclipsed the goat-thing’s own stature.

Amleth roared a joyful noise as it swung its tentacle arm at Charlemagne. The king crashed into the mercenary’s raised weapon, knocking the blow aside with ease. It’s wings extended outward violently, kicking up a cloud of dust and debris as it took to the air. Amleth stared down at the two humans, the sound of its mighty wings drumming loudly through the air.

“Blessed am I,” the goat-thing rumbled, “God has gifted mine soul. He must approve of mine actions here. Thou must make thine peace with him mortals, for thou shalt meet him soon.”

The air whistled as Amleth dove toward the duo. It swung its massive tentacle-limb, Charlemagne’s own weapon angling to meet it as Amleth soared overhead. The impact sent shockwaves up Charlamagne’s arms, forcing the sword back and making him skid through the dust. Amleth whirled with surprising speed, soaring down for another pass with a bestial roar. It came much lower this time, it’s mortal-ish hand extended as it swung its whip-arm. Charlemagne jumped hard to the right, the whip crashing through the dirt where he’d been standing, it’s barbed end carving little canyons through the dirt. It’s normal hand snatched the mercenary up by the face, flying him several meters down the road before it lost its grip. Charlemagne crashed to the earth hard, his fingers wrapped about the pommel of his sword as if his life depended on it as tumbled to a halt amidst a cloud of dust.

The pain in his chest was a sharp thing now, and his limbs weren’t exactly feeling perfect. Blood dropped freely from several scratches across his chin and forehead, though they were only flesh wounds and easily ignored. He would not be afforded any peace however; Amleth had risen to a great height, and was now diving toward him, whip pulled back to deliver the killing blow.

Charlemagne dragged himself to his feet as best he could, wounded muscles protesting as he hefted his blade up just in time to meet the whip-crash. The blow was far stronger than the last, and catching it pulled Charlemagne from his feet. The mercenary tumbled further, a dozen curses spat from his lips as he rolled into a kneeling position.

“Those wings don’t suit you,” he spat the words alongside a glob of blood into the dirt. Amleth responded with another roar and another dive, though it led with its body rather than the whip. Charlemagne rose once again, his blade singing as his body whipped hard to the right, the weapon too following the arc of his arms. The goat-thing hesitated at the last second, pulling up to avoid an impact with the blade, and in turn receiving a deep gash through its chest as Charlemagne adjusted his swing. Black ichor sprayed from the wound as Amleth whipped around and halted mid-air.

“Went a little too low there,” Charlemagne snapped through a bloodied smile. Amleth only snorted in reply before turning on Mika once again, its wings outstretched far to dive in the girl as it had Charlemagne.