Private Tales Iron & Wine

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer

Lydia

Guardian
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23
Character Biography
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The warm salt water wind ruffled against the hood of Lydia’s cloak as droplets of rain bounced off the rough fabric. This section of the harbor was quiet, as it usually was. Private docks owned by Lady Strand herself had seen less traffic as of late.

But that was about to change as dockworkers unloaded a shipment of Obanese wine. It would fetch a decent price amongst the nobility of Vel Anir and help fund some recent investments House Strand had been eyeing.

Once upon a time they’d have needed to seek permission from the Great Houses to move foreign goods into Anirian territory. Now they simply had to file all the proper requests with the republic.

This new method broadcasted their intentions to everyone however and House Weiroon, a Great House traditionally focused on Obanese commerce, was none too pleased with a minor noble house stepping on their toes.

”Our spy informed us they’d wait until the trade cog was fully unloaded before they’d strike,” she informed the retinue of mercenaries surrounding her.

They’d hidden themselves away in cloaks, waiting in the shadows for whatever force the Weiroon’s sent. In the time between the crates coming off the boat and waiting to be loaded onto carriages they would attempt to steal away the foreign wine for themselves.

As these docks normally only had a few guards posted it should’ve been an easy job for House Weiroon.

But whenever they appeared Lydia and the mercenaries paid by Maritza Strand herself would strike. ”Remember, no survivors.” Anyone who attempted to steal from House Strand would be cut down. Without mercy. Without exception.

It wouldn’t be long now until their adversaries arrived.

Dreymon
 
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Dreymon had already been waiting for several hours cloaked in the shadows, his hand resting atop the pommel of his sword. He was becoming a mercenary many of the houses were finding they could count on. He was efficient, effective, and had zero stake in the politics.

His current job had seen him reuniting once more with House Strand, a minor house hoping to step up a bit. He had already worked a security contract for them before, and found himself once more filling out their ranks.

"Our spy informed us they’d wait until the trade cog was fully unloaded before they’d strike, remember no survivors."

The cog itself was nearly empty and only one such wagon left to load up the rest of the cases onto. The attack was likely imminent.

"Kill the outliers first lads," Dreymon said lowly. "Box them in, then butcher 'em." This was a farcry from the last operation, that one was minimal casualties. This, this was meant to send a message. This would be bloody. One of the mercenaries with him offered him a crossbow, already set to fire.

Accepting it with a nod of thanks, his eyes would scan for those Weiroon dogs. Lambs to the slaughter, they were.

Lydia
 
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Dreymon had already proven himself the last time Strand had employed him. It was encouraging to see him take charge of some of the rookies they'd picked up for this particular job. And having someone unafraid to spill a bit of blood was going to come in handy for this job.

"Eyes peeled." Dockworkers were beginning to pass a flask amongst one another, joking around, likely preparing for the end of their shift.

No doubt Weiroon's hired goons were off waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. As the last of the crates was unloaded the workers began to meander, audibly laughing loud enough to be heard from half way across the bay.

And then, an explosive of soldiers clad in leather and chainmail armor rushing the dock.

A few were armed with spiked clubs and bats, a few brandished blades. The workers stood there for a moment in utter shock before they started fleeing. To Weiroon's credit whatever mercs they had hired didn't slaughter the workers. They were here for the wine and nothing else.

With a motion of her hand Lydia stood and whispered, "now!" In an instant several of their hired hands let crossbow bolts fly as she let her cloak fall away. Within a few seconds she and the others would close the gap to their foes.
 
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Eyes peeled.

A solemn nod would grace her command, before Dreymons gaze shifted to where the workers joked. Soon, what would have been a normal day, gave way to madness. Workers fled for their life, mercs rushed in (at least they weren't bloodthirsty). The latter would be their undoing. Those with Strand, were the opposite. They had been hired to kill.

Now!

The order was crisp, clear ,and followed without any doubt. Bolters let their quarrels fly, hitting the back line of mercs and causing some obstacles for a retreat. As some of the younger Strand mercenaries charged, Dreymon, hefted his blade and rested it atop his shoulder as he stalked towards the enemy. He was calculated with every step. There were no constraints on this mission. He was weapons free.

The first young assailant to charge him, did so with the bravado of a man who believed he would win. He had clearly been at that stage where youth believes it is invincible. He learned that was not the case. As his club came downwards on Dreymon, the former Paladin would lift a bracer to absorb the blow on the hardened steel. Pain would radiate along the limb, but it would be short-lived. Much like the young merc. A quick thrust of Drey's sword pierced the jugular just above the kids coif, killing him instantly.

Arterial spray painted Drey as his sword pulled back and he moved onto the next one. This time, he brought his sword upwards to deflect another sword, stepping into the strike and throwing his weight behind a shoulder to stagger his opponent. As the man stumbled back, Drey brought the flat of his sword against the mans boot, spreading his stance and forcing him to the ground.

A fluid flourish and Dreymon brought the sword downward into the mercenaries gut. A twist of the blade on the withdrawal would illicit a yelp of pain and a surely slow painful death. Rising with his blade, a whistle would catch Dreymon's attention and he side stepped, cursing as the tip of a bolt gashed along his cheek.

Friendly fire. Their bolters were being careless.


Lydia
 
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Pandemonium had broken out.

The mercenaries House Strand had contracted were serving up death to Weiroon's hired goons. The merchants and dockworkers were running from the carnage hoping to escape with their lives. Crossbow bolts were flying freely into the flesh of their enemies.

A little too freely, Lydia had noticed as Dreymon was cut across the cheek and another of Strand's hired hands took a bolt directly into his back.

"Careful there yo-," she began but quickly had to shift her own density downwards so that a bolt would pass through her instead of impaling her own flesh and muscle. As the bolt flew wildly into the group of people the rage on Lydia's face deepened.

They were so eager to earn a coin that they were letting their missiles fly into the mass of humanity before them.

No consideration for the other hired mercenaries. No aim really required. Perhaps it was fear, kill every living thing lest they reach the safety of their barricades. Perhaps it was simply that they were inexperienced. House Strand's pockets certainly weren't as deep as Weiroon's after all. Whatever the reason it needed to be put to an end.

Lydia strode backwards across the battlefield and towards the crossbowmen, raising her voice several octaves, "cease fire!" As she got even closer she issued new orders to the wildly firing mercs. "Do you see that cart?" A finger pointed towards a nearby trolley intended for hauling cargo. "Do not fire unless our foes cross that cart."

At least she could stop the rain of friendly fire with such an order. She hoped.

Dreymon
 
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Seconds after Drey had gotten sliced across the cheek, Cedric, one of the more reliable men was struck from behind by a friendly bolt. From the positioning and the landing, Drey could already tell the poor sod had lost use of his legs, unless they could get him to a healer.

The quicker they finished, the quicker they could see to it. Drey could barely hear Lydia's voice over the carnage, but the bolts certainly stopped firing. Dreymon cut through a pair of nobodies like a heated knife through butter, before he took his sword in a two-handed overhead grip and hurled the weapon into the chest of a rival bolter. The man shrieked in surprise, looking down at the sword protruding from his chest as he dropped to his knees. A glance up, and his head snapped backwards as Dreymon's gauntlet connected with his jaw.

The veteran then scooped up the crossbow and twisted, aiming for a good charging him. Sword raised high, he stopped several paces away surprise dotting his face before he slumped. A fresh bolt squeezed right between his eyebrows. Dreymon then broke the firing arm on the crossbow and discarded it, grabbing ahold of the hilt of his sword and giving it a faint twist before he pulled it free of the victim.

He would then proceed towards the cart. He was hired for a service.

Lydia
 
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One of the miniscule mercenaries lifted his head above the barricade and interjected, “but ma’am, there’s so many of them…”

”Not a single bolt flies unless our foes cross that cart,” she repeated with a scowl upon her face as the various crossbowmen slowly nodded. Good. One problem solved, only a half dozen more to go.

When Lydia turned around she immediately noticed the battlefield had started to turn in their favor.

Weiroon mercs began to break and a few fled. Some of them continued their onslaught and kept hacking away at Strand’s hired hands. One of their paid swords was making a beeline towards the cart though. That was good, clearly someone had paid attention to their real goal.

Stop the Weiroon’s from stealing the cogs of wine. The unspoken there was to secure the wine for Strand. It had been the entire point of this operation.

Lydia moved forwards and let her ball-and-chain fall by her waist. The first Weiroon scum that crossed was pelted with a highly dense spiked ball and incapcitated. The next foe that came for her found his gut impaled by her claymore.

Slowly, but deliberately, she was carving a path towards Dreymon and the bounty they’d come to secure.