Private Tales Bloody Fork

[Ademar Acero]

The Spine

Endless raids ranged across the Spine under the banner of Ademar and his tribe of Siruk. They were conducted indifferently whether to human or otherwise as glory was sought out by these warriors.

Today their aim was to a group of settlements near a fork by the Wda River, diverse towns that were more progressive in contrast the declining city of Belgrath whose stones crumbled being a hollow shell of its former self. These towns whether small in comparison to the great Dwarven metropolis had better luck and persevered, though they had no great walls to prevent insurgents from entering.

The first of these settlements was a port town established by the river, strategic in providing a flow of expedited trade along the river, and capturing fish and using the bountiful river as a means of irrigation to other means of agriculture.

The violent war cries of the Siruk could be heard with the loud clomping of hooves from afar, allowing a small window of time for the villagers to prepare themselves.

Within mere minutes the warband of Siruk arrived, coming out of the thick woods and into the urban town…

 

[Iffi Vellane]

I stood at the edge of the forest, watching the sun's waning light disappearing inch by inch behind a rippling horizon of mountains and grasslands. In the half darkness, the in-between state between day and night, the shadows of the warriors riding from the forest rippled over the grounds like silk caught in a breeze. Every passing second they stretched. Further and further until the tips of them joined the forest where they were lost to the shadow of the canopy. Until their eerie shapes twisted and mutated, making monsters of the men that cast them. The horse beneath me shuffled, shifting its weight from one hoof to the other. I reached out, patting its mane idly. It nickered, and I blinked the imprint of twilight from my eyes as I fixed them instead on the backs of the charging Siruk.

Though the day had been bright and warm, and the earth beneath me still clung desperately to the heat it had soaked, there was a chill in the air. An icy presence had joined the scene playing out before me, lingering in the wake of the Siruk where the darkness was thickest. It took refuge in the cloak of their shadows, in their ragged breaths and hungry eyes. Though it could not easily disguise itself from me. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, where it twisted and writhed with adrenaline-filled anticipation. I could taste its coppery tang in the air as though swords had already been swung. I could hear it in the steady beat the warband drummed out as it pounded over the dew-soaked grass.

As always, death was eager.

I, like many others, had bowed and been bent to its might and power many times before. No stranger to the sword, I had wielded it too. With the same ruthless fervour that now guided my people towards the sleepy village resting peacefully by the Wda River. But as a healer, I had mastered it. I knew it like the back of my hand. Ever present in the eyes of the sick and the injured, in the rattle of life's last desperate breaths, I had fought with it many times. I had won lots and lost far more. So much had I stared it boldly in the face that it had become familiar. Like the warmth of a friend I had known for years, or the pages of a well-used book. I had once feared it and the consequences that inevitably followed, but now? I loved to watch it work.

My thighs ached as I pressed them tightly into my mare, cooing her forward with a trilling note. The moon's pure light was beginning to bathe the path before me in shades of dusky blue and white. Illuminating my every step towards the village. Towards death. Towards my old friend.

 

[Ademar Acero]

Whatever bystanders remained in the paved streets were trampled by the horde of Siruk, indifferent to what age or sex they were. Only the glory to be attain for themselves and offered for their gods was paramount. They drove deeper and deeper into the heart of the town, slaughtering whatever stood in their path until they finally met resistance within the town square; it was natural for the few brave to organize a militia against the horde.

And it would be entertaining for Ademar and his warriors.

What was a raid without the ringing of iron and the shattering of bones?

An arrow struck the warlord’s horse, the beast collapsing with Ademar rolling out of its saddle facing an incoming wave of milia and what appeared to be hired mercenaries. With his war club he, too, charged and swung with great strength against a young man, cracking skull leaving the militiaman dead upon the stone pavement. His lungs let out a war cry before it was deafened by the crowded bodies raging against one another.

 

[Iffi Vellane]

I was not far behind the warband, yet by the time I reached the village devastation and destruction had already carved its way through the sleeping hovels of peasant men and their families. The walls were painted a sticky red that rolled in thick globules down wattle and daub walls, sinking into cracks and filling gaps with its distinctive sour taste. I rolled my tongue across the roof of my mouth, clicking it as I passed a home with its front door clinging on for dear life to one single hinge. Inside I could hear the chaos of a warrior as he ransacked both the people and their belongings. Though my horse continued on, I craned my neck to watch as a youthful but slightly plump young woman came rushing out of the door.

It splintered, finally, beneath the impact of her weight. Clearly having expected something solid, I watched her trip over the filth-crusted hem of her dress to land painfully on the cobblestoned floor below. I did not stay to watch what would happen when the warrior caught up with her but turned instead once more to my path. Despite my desire to mull through the streets slowly, enjoying the scene as much as death was enjoying the dance, I was looking for someone. I knew where he had been when the advancing warband had first charged, but in the middle of the noise and clamour and felling, I was now wondering through, all the Siruk looked very similar. I made my way to the only place I thought he would be. In the middle of it all. The heart of the chaos. Where everything was thickest.

My mare knackered, sidestepping to avoid a spray of warm blood as we entered what I assumed was meant to be a town square. It wasn't much really. A circle of cobblestone surrounded by a few worthless shops. What was more interesting was the gathering that stood defiantly in the middle of it. The sight of them made my lips crack into a grin that could not be disguised as anything but eager, and was dominated with an obvious excitement. A resistance. It was better when they fought back. Better when they decided they were worth more than lambs being led to a slaughter. I cared little for their perceived notion of a "good death" and far more for the chase that the warriors around me would now get. This was sport, they would say with wide grins when they returned to our camp.

I cast my gaze quickly around the edge of the village square and landed finally on the man I had been searching for. Ademar. The young warlord, for he was very young, had such firey passion in battle that I loved to watch him work almost as much as I loved to watch death. He wielded it with such fury that I lived for the terror and realisation that dawned in the eyes of the people he was going to kill. I leaned back, soothing my mare by twisting my fingers into its dirty white hair, and watched.

The first crack was a glorious sound. The sound of metal and wood crunching through bone as a warclub found its mark. A polka dot pattern of red and burgundy patterned the white coat of my horse and the bare flesh of my thigh as it kept me tightly saddled. I leant forward, baring my teeth, revelling in a deep throaty war cry that filled the village square and vibrated through my ribcage. "Finish him, Ademar..." I urged in whispers so quiet none but the wind heard me.

 

[Ademar Acero]

It was almost like a haze when the two armies clashed in the town square, hardly any room to be given to any individual. When one fell, another took its place despite allegiance.

A mercenary found himself held up from the ground as Ademar had his throat within the grip of his hand. Death would take him, not until serving the purpose as a human shield for the Siruk warlord as he charged deeper and deeper within the ranks of his enemies. His skin was like iron as swords and spears did nothing to harm him. His hand finally pressed into the mercenary’s throat, effectively crushing his trachea and tossing him into militiamen in front of him. He was surrounded and weapons bashing against his body. A sword slashed across his face only leaving a small wound thanks to his magic protecting him.

It would be up to his subordinates to reach him, otherwise he’d face lethal danger.

His mind went to Iffi, hoping she’d be behind him as she always was close to offer aid in situations like these.

 

[Iffi Vellane]

I did not realise it, but my jaw was clenched so tightly that should the scene have been silent, I would have been able to hear the grinding of my teeth. As it was, everything was drowned out by the clash and clatter of armour and weapons. My heartbeat joined the cacophony, thundering against my eardrums as I watched Ademar disappear behind the weight of a hundred rabid peasants. I could barely make him out of the crowd. It was only when the sharp edge of a sword slashed at his cheek, spraying his blood across the battlefield, that I found him. Much like the everyday scent of man, I could smell the difference here. His blood versus theirs was like lamb versus mutton. Coppery and tangy versus iron-rich and deep.

I swung my leg off my horse in one smooth motion, the bare stretch of my thigh flexing as I placed my food firmly onto the uneven cobblestone. I could feel the strain of riding between them as I settled myself on solid land again but gave it no more than a passing thought. My focus was Ademar. It was on the stranger, the mercenary, who had walked into the midst of battle. It was on the flash of the swords, their silver blades catching the last rays of dying light as they tried their best to bite through Ademar's armour, both magical and ordinary.

Not wanting to waste a second longer, my fingers curled around the hilt of my sword as I dove without fear into the fray before me. The cool metal bit at my skin far more than any blade would dare do, but this was a comforting bite. It was a bite that told me I was protected. It was a bite that encouraged me to bite back, far harder and more ruthless than the people I was fighting could dare hope. There were a few eyes who turned to look at me as I approached, followed by a fair few more who had already begun to underestimate my worth. Before they could settle on weather I was a danger or not I had swung my sword. Cut through the air with an audible slice that allowed my sword its first taste of much blood.

I closed my eyes to the warmth as it splattered across my face, but paid it no other mind. My focus had returned to where it belonged. To Ademar. I pressed forward, reaching him just in time to bat away a blade as it came to crash down on him. I felt my arm buckle beneath the weight of it, and hurried to wrap my other hand around the hilt for extra pressure. The force behind this blade was far stronger than I had felt yet. The raw power and strength behind it pulled the corner of my lips up into a lopsided smirk.

Finally, a far more worthy opponent than the farmers and traders that we were used to.

When I finally broke free of the lock that the blade had forced me into, I stepped back. Just enough to gain the measure of the man before me. Just enough to offer my now free hand down to Ademar to help him rise again. He did not need it, but I wanted this foe of ours to see that we were one. We were united, and together we would break him. Bone by bone and muscle by muscle we would carve him away until there was nothing left for his family or friends to mourn over. Until the only memory they had of him was the colour of his blood as it soaked into dusty market square

 

[Ademar Acero]

His arrogance hardly got the best of him throughout his years, though this was just one of these rare occasions his luck caught up to him. His confidence often made him believe he was invincible, and superior to others with his strength and abilities. After all, he did fought and train with some of the most formidable warriors he had seen in Vel Anir. However, that was a different time for him as he abandoned that life to start anew with his people.

The warlord tried to push off with more of the enemy piling up on him. It wasn’t until the woman he was thinking of appeared, fending off the attackers and allowing a small moment of respite for him. Whatever anxiety stoked was washed out, giving a smile to his lover as he accepted her hand.

No foreign woman could parallel with the touch of a Siruk woman.

As he stood he glanced at the mysterious mercenary before them. His trinkets and personal effects looked awesome, the first thing that separated him from the others. Perhaps he was something of a battle mage with magic and swordplay. The next thing that happened was water soaring up from the water fountain in the middle of the square, dancing in the air before forming into sharp, thick icicles.

A water mage.

The icicles rained indifferently upon the square, impairing whomever caught in its crosshairs. His instincts took hold his skin hardened by the steel of his armor as he absorbed it and shielded Iffi from the icicles, taking the abuse of the onslaught.

When the damage was done the town square was littered with the wounded and the dead, and the icicles standing tall from the cobblestone.

“We will split up. Take him from the right, one of us will be lucky to land a blow on him.”