Fate - First Reply Hunted | Eretejva

[Orvik]

Northern border of Nordengaard; Eretejva

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The midday sun had begun to melt the freshly-fallen powder, but the snow was still soft enough that the pair's movements were near silent. Orvik's knees ached slightly as he squatted in the snow, hidden in the forest's undergrowth beside Jesper. They'd moved here early in the morning to lie in wait for their quarry. Their tracks had been hidden by last night's snowfall; up until now they'd been following from far behind, careful to stay a good distance as they caught up to stay out of sight and give their target a false sense of security.

But now it was time to close things out. Why was this person being hunted? Where were they going? Who were they truly? Questions for another time. Orvik stayed still as their quarry came into sight; the bear next to him was equally intent on seeing this creature up close for the first time. Hidden away in the shade of the forest, they were nearly invisible in comparison to the dark silhouette against the white snow near the Eretejvan path.

Orvik had a job to do -- and it would soon be time to do it. But for now the warrior stayed still and silent, his eyes fixed on the target.

 

[Lazlo Harkon]

Heavy plate boots patted the snow, sunken eyes looking out through the snow; a weary frown and a tilting head. He was tired, he was cold, and he couldn't stop now. Not yet. Lazlo slapped his pauldron, trying to dislodge some snow from it. He'd lost all feeling days ago, and still hadn't found the Cairn of Vulfert. He patted his satchel, checking that his Tarot were still inside. The Cards had directed him here, that in that lost grave of the great warrior he would find the weapon he desired. His eyes didn't even bother scanning, he really didn't care what was in this forest. He'd dealt with the last village rather brutally, and his band of survivors that stuck to him were properly looting it now.

And, he didn't care. Blood on his hands that would have made him balk, when he was a better man. The snow froze it, a gauntlet of red ice. A sharp, cutting blade of apathy. He'd kill a hundred more villages like that one, he'd torch all of this frozen hellhole, if it got him closer to his revenge. Closer to setting this wrong right.

The raven-haired man shuffled, no economy to his walk, no effort to cover himself. His skin was tinged blue, his extremities were likely turning black, but those damn spirits pushed him to keep walking.

Warmth, they hissed, dragging his head over, We feel warmth... Something...

"I don't care," he mumbled, before screaming it again, "I don't frakin' care! It's a wolf! Or a badger!"

He gestured to where Orvik was hidden, not even seeing him, "It's nothing for me to-" Man! Man! "Shut up! Be silent spirits, vex me no longer!"

Lazlo sighed, before falling backwards into the snow. His tired, dead eyes of crystal blue gazed upwards with all the energy of a dead elk: The urge to jump with no spirit to follow through.

 

[Orvik]

Northern border of Nordengaard; Eretejva
Lazlo Harkon

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​

There he was. And the situation was even better than anticipated -- Orvik had thought he'd smelled a few others along with his quarry, but it seemed that all of them had stayed behind to loot the village. There was still the stench of the dead... but that tended to stick to murderers. Blood did not tend to wash out easily. Orvik knew that very well.

When their mark stopped and fell back into the snow, rambling to himself, Jesper glanced at Orvik. The man nodded. Obviously this 'Lazlo Harkon' was insane; he was traveling in full steel plate armor, already beginning to freeze over. Perhaps the bounty-giver would be fine with evidence that Lazlo had died of frostbite in the forests of Eretejva, but Orvik knew that many magics could sustain one long after death. Loss of one's head tended to have a much more permanent effect -- that was assuming that the paying party thought this man was worthy of a quick death.

Orvik shrugged, taking a deep breath and slowly pushing the cold out of his body. His muscles warmed as his hands gripped tighter around his long ax. Without a word the pair advanced silently, their movements muffled by the snow and the forest. It seemed that this would be easy, but Orvik knew better than to be careless. This one was a mage...

But not only mages had access to magic. They paused at the edge of the shade cast by the trees, and Orvik placed his hand in the snow, again breathing deeply. For a moment, there was silence, and the air seemed just a little cooler -- then the snow exploded, enveloping his target who'd decided so foolishly to rest in it.

The pair rushed forward instantly, flanking the man, and with the strength of his people Orvik brought down the blunt end of his ax onto where Lazlo's chest was. The force of the blow would be enough to dent his armor and damage the squishy body inside, hopefully cracking a few ribs or vertebra in the process.

 

[Lazlo Harkon]

Foe!

Lazlo peaked up abruptly, looking in Orvik's direction, finally seeing him. He opened his mouth to speak, managing a "Who the hell are-" before snow piled atop him in a surge. With muffled spitting and swearing, Lazlo began to flail around, tossing himself this way and that trying to get out from under twenty five tons of white horse shit.

Crack!

Lazlo heard more than felt the slam of a hammer against his breastplate, though thankfully the blow hit at an angle by sheer dumb luck and his manic flailing. He stopped moving, furrowing his brow from within his icy tomb.

"He hit me?" Lazlo asked, trying to put together what exactly was going on, "That... copper-haired Bastard!"

He roared that insult as he chucked a fist vaguely towards Orvik, his eyes beginning to glow violently from within the snow holding him. A high-pitched shriek ripped through the air, tossing snow off of the falled Necromancer as well as all nearby trees.

"Thank you my love," he said gently, the apparition of his deceased wife fading from mortal sight, "Alright. Someone, help me up please."

A surge of ghastly figures materialized around Lazlo, a phalanx of Anirians and Cortos soldiers, wrenching as hard as they could on his arms and gorget; he was yanked like a puppet into the air, flailing madly, before dropping face-first into the snow.

With a sigh of frustration, Lazlo slammed his fists into the ground and looked up at Orvik, hate oozing from his glassy eyes, "I was having, a Horrible day," he screamed, slamming his fist a second time to accent his frustrations, "and you just had to make it worse! Who are- what the- I am-"

Lazlo stared at Orvik for a long moment, before yelling angrily "I ought to kick your ass! What the Frak was that for?!"

 

[Orvik]

Northern border of Nordengaard; Eretejva
Lazlo Harkon

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​

There would be no rest.

It seemed that the man had gotten lucky; Orvik's attack glanced off the flailing creature buried in the snow. He wasn't about to stop, though -- he began to rear back for another attack when the snow burst, blinding him for a moment. He retreated. The mage had pulled himself out of the snow with summoned spirits. That little bit of luck had cost Orvik a winning blow.

The quarry stood and spoke angrily. What an idiot, failing to pay attention to his surroundings... a man wearing full plate should at least know how to fight. Then again, he was wearing full plate in Eretejva with little additional insulation; Orvik shouldn't have had such high expectations.

With a deafening roar the enormous brown bear behind Lazlo reared back, then brought his front paws down, attempting to pin the little, frozen man. Neither of them had words for such a monstrous foe.