Fate - First Reply Middle of the Road

[Lorinna Astarel]

OOC/ Unlike the title, open to up to 2 others.


"Please, don't!" Lorinna called out.

She had her longsword held in two hands, blade pointing in a straight line towards the bandits.

They had pushed a pushed a tree across the road, forcing the carriage to stop. Now they formed a semicircle on the western side of the road, slowly approaching.

The sight of someone in plate armour and some other defenders had given them pause. Lorinna took a step to the side and turned at the waist to level the sword at the man who took the first step forwards.

"Don't!"

"Oh, no more please?" Taunted one of the men. He didn't have armour, but the sword short he carried looked effective. He held it well. "Losing your nerve?"

It wasn't about losing her nerve. Not precisely. Training dummies made of straw were one thing. Cutting down zombies gave her a sense of what a blade felt like striking a real body. It still wasn't the same.

Lorinna had never killed anyone before. She was struggling to see a future where that lasted the encounter.

 

[Syr Dorn]

Bandits. It was always the scum that came running when you had a carriage on the road. Dorn's courser was tied to the carriage as he took a break within the cooled contraption, it was nice, but he would have made one into a war wagon.

They came to a stop and Lorinna could be heard issuing a plea to their assailants. Little did they know she did it for their benefit, for their lives. The Knights of Anathaeum didn't kill for pleasure, at least not all of them.

Dorn was one of the few that did. He sighed as he opened the carriage door and stepped out, clad in his full plate, his hateful gaze washing over each scum that was about to be fuel for the carrion. "You've received the only requests you would get. Beyond this point, there will be no mercy." He growled out as he pulled his hatchet free from its place on his belt.

"Now then, which of you arselings wish to meet your gods first."

Lorinna Astarel

 

[Hector]

Helmet was strapped tight around Hector's head. His vision obscured by the sheets of metal that did protect him. His breastplate, gleaming beneath the sun, was suffocating, straps, which he was always sure to check, felt like serpents that tried to squeeze the life from him. Even his shield felt heavy, and his spear...he could swear he felt it wobble in his blood starved grasp as he kept its pointed head down and aimed at the encroaching foes, his eyes darted left and right, right and left.

There were so many of them. And his eyes took in each face. Grim, determined. Grins wide on a few, a bravado he had read about in books. A face he had seen upon other knights.

Lorinna's pleas had his heart sink. The waver in her voice. How he knew the fear so well.

The hinges of the carriage door creaked open, metal stubborn to give way to the motion. Out came Syr Dorn. He gave warning, and goaded the brigands.

Hector could feel the cold pulse of the old warrior's confidence ripple out from where he stepped onto the earth. The squire gave out his own cool breath, and re-gripped his spear, fingers loosened their hold ever-so.

He could see the fear in some of their eyes more clearly now. The uncertainty that came when facing a more steeled foe.

"What's this then?" One of the grin-bearers called out. A tall man, stout and bearded, his barrel chest puffed out, hatchet in hand, hammer in the other. A loose shirt of mail about his thick frame. "You daft, old man? Its just you and some pissant kids!" he laughed, and turned about to his fellows, eyes gleaming with greedy confidence. "They don't want to lay down their arms, well," he turned back and rushed toward the old knight, arms loaded back as he twist his whole hips for a swing.

A thrust from Hector's spear caught him in the calf, set him to stumble.

Others piled in toward the spear bearer.

Lorinna Astarel Syr Dorn

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

That was that then. She felt her whole body go tense from head to toe. She felt the adrenaline and strength coursing through her, but all her muscles wanted to do was go rigid. There was no fluid motion to be found.

She would need to be quick. They trained to fight one on one extensively. They also trained for the battlefield. An army with a good hill or defensive position could hold off a much larger force. Being outnumbered four to one in these conditions was very different.

One was rushing right for her. Another rushing to circle around Hector's spear. She faced a choice.

"Move, move, move," she hissed, urging her own body to act. She had never caused more than the odd cut and bruise to a living person.

She chose - much to the surprise of both - to strike the bandit trying to get behind Hector. A single swipe of her longsword caught the side of his neck. The spray of arterial blood was quite fantastic.

Lorinna turned her back into the incoming strike. This she was prepared for. The heavy sword struck her back hard. It hurt, but we'll crafted plate and layers of padding turned a fatal blow into a nasty bruise.

 

[Syr Dorn]

All Dorn did was smile as the barrel chested buffoon spoke. Battle was his mistress, they were merely observers. The man charged recklessly, both hands ready to swing, his body open to attack. An attack young Hector would take.

A spear to the calf and the man staggered, long enough for his momentum to be thrown and Dorn to take advantage. He would flick his hatchet into a reverse grip and used it to catch the right arm by the bicep and shift it to throw the swing of the left arm off. With both arms locked, Dorn drove a free elbow into the mans skull, snapping it backwards violently. He would let the force of the blow push the bandit back before a tug on the hatchet drew into a belly bump from the old warriors cuirass and with a shift of the hatchet, the bandit was allowed to fall back onto the ground.

As he hit the earth, Dorn stepped forward and brought all his weight downwards as boot caved in the skull. "Fight as one!" Dorn barked to the squires, he wouldn't look to them after this point. Galvanhad has trained them well.. they would either live or die. The hatchet would flick from his hand and found itself embedded into the leather side of the bandit who struck Lorinna, just below his armpit, rendering a swing from that arm useless.

Dorn then walked aggressively towards the next bandit, who had been panicked for some moments following the crushing skull, yet seemed to find some semblance of courage. He brandished a sword sloppily and charged the elder knight, his overhead swing all power and no skill. Metal gauntlet would raise to catch the steel, leaving behind the faint sting of the strike, before Dorn tugged on the blade. Fear once more returned to his eyes before he felt the full impact of the headbutt, that sent him sprawling backwards.

Sword now in Dorns gauntlet, he continued his advance on the retreating bandit. "With your skill, boy, Pollocks would have bested you. These belong in much more skilled hands."

Lorinna Astarel Hector

 

[Hector]

Lorinna blurred by the corner of Hector's eye and he heard the pitter patter of heavy droplets ping against his armor. Even through the smell of the leather and wool and steel plates and chain, he could smell the hot iron of blood.

Shield braced in one arm, spear shaft couched beneath the other, he turned around Lorinna who had cross behind him toward his assailant, he heard the smack of metal, the roar of challenge. The man was wailing on her plate, too far inside Hector's spear's reach to be dealt with a swift thrust. His mind ignored the man who stood grasping at his gurgling neck.

Metal glint with the sun's light, axe tumbling through the air. It cracked into the man's side as the axe's head bit deep. The man groaned in agony, and Hector bulled toward him with his shield, a short charge, and the board cracked against the already injured man, knocking him onto his ass.

There was a moment where Hector stared at the man. A pause. He still drew breath. Could trip them and cause them to fall.

His arm pulled back, and he jabbed his spearpoint into the man's chest. Teeth grit, arm burning. The leather amor popped. Metal slipped through ribs. Hector felt the man's strength leave him. The squire pulled the spear free, set its length against another two man who hesitated to charge in.

"I have your right flank!" Hector called out to his fellow Squire, voice hot with blood rush.

An arrow shaft twift by from the distance. Wide of its mark.

Hector turtled behind his shield. "Archer!" he cried out, and the two men who'd hesitated before sprang forward. One tossed a heavy spear at the pair of young Knights

Lorinna Astarel
Syr Dorn

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

"My right flank," Lorinna echoed.

The man had looked so pathetic on his back. There had been disbelief in his eyes as Hector's spear came down.

Head in the moment! She silently chastised herself. A heavy spear came flying forwards and she had to roll her shoulder to avoid the impact. The wooden haft caught her hard, but it was easily shrugged off.

"Slow forward," she said firmly. They had armour and a shield between them. If they charged straight into the treeline after the archer or spear thrower they could get surrounded.

Hector had a long spear and shield, perfect for dealing with lightly armoured bandits. The only way they were bringing Lorinna down was if they took her from her feet and went for the gaps in her armour around the face, armpits and groin. She would suffer another arrow against the cold steel plate before risking getting surrounded.

She kept her blade high, in Vessilude's stance number six. Several more of the bandits kept enough nerve to come forwards. One had a shield. They would meet Hector's spear before her sword. With a long polearm he could get above or below a simple wooden shield very quickly.

 

[Syr Dorn]

Two spears would get hurled at Dorn as he advanced on the bandit, and for what he lacked in speed, he made up for in muscle memory. He would rotate his body, free hand catching one spear from the air, while the other hammered his cuirass as it struck home.

The old war axe laughed unsettlingly at the bandits and with another rotation launched the caught spear into the chest of the retreating bandit. The man would let out an ear piercing shriek as he was struck.

Two bandits closed on Dorn, and still holding the sword by the blade, he would raise a bracer to catch the overhead swing, before sidestepping and swinging the crossguard at the man's ankle. There would be a crunch on impact, followed by yelp, as Dorn pulled roughly on it pulling the foot out from under him and forcing him into a split. As the second bandit came in with a lunge, Dorn would unhook his crossguard from the ankle and force his pommel into the mans coif, lifting him up onto his feet and into the way of the lunge.

Both men looked shocked as they stared into each other's eyes. Another unsettling laugh and Dorn would shove the man further onto his companions sword, nearly toppling the sword wielder in the process. Forced to drop his sword, the bandit would reach for his dirk, only to see the flash of crossguard as Dorn drove it into his skull with a two-handed swing.

He would release his hold on the borrowed sword, allowing the blade and the corpse to drop and fall away. Both hands freed now, Dorn would reach to the harness on his back and pull his greataxe free. With his side either dead or pushing to the squires, he felt it was time to aid the young ones.

Lorinna Astarel Hector

 

[Hector]

A twinkle from the brush. The glint of metal touched by stray light. A shift. A streak. The dull thump of air stirred by string let loose. All mixed with the sound of his breath which swirled inside his helmet. Grunts and grits and the shift of foot around him. He shift his head down and raised his shield up, just enough, angled, ever so.

The arrow rattled off the planks of the kite shield. Clattered against the dirt.

Opportunity found, the shield bearer in front of the squires hurried forward, shield raised. The brigand reared his mace up behind him like a chimera's tail.

Spearhead stabbed into shin, chipped off bone as it glanced inward, and sliced through the meat of calf.

The bandit set to stumble, but hector braced his spear hand, and couched the weapon as best he could, whole body twist back as he kept his shield in front. Others swarmed, left and right. His shield was in left as his head tracked right. "Right again!" he called and angled his spear for another thrust.

Arrow thwacked into the shield. Head burried into wood. The feeling of pain thumped across Hector's arm. Yet his teeth he kept grit, and did what he could to stay steady. The man he tracked was fast. Hector sucked in a breath, sent his mana down into the earth. Felt the warmth of the sun baked into the soil.

Where the rightbound brigand took his next step, the earth crumbled beneath his weight, just enough to cause him to slip as dirt swallowed up his ankle in a sudden ditch.

Lorinna Astarel Syr Dorn

 

[Lorinna Astarel]

A young man came for Lorrina. He approached slowly, carefully, mindful of the blood spreading for his former group. It gave Lorinna the chance to study one of them up close.

Despite his young age, the man had lost several of his teeth. His skin was pale, unhealthy. They looked hungry.

Lorinna kept her sword high. She feinted bringing it down, not to throw him off but to put in his mind the blade coming down hard and fast.

"Run away," Lorinna growled. He did.

Another arrow came out of the trees. She'd never heard the hiss of one coming right for her before.

It didn't even dent her plate. Through layers of padding it still hurt. It sent more of a psychological jolt through her than the pain.

 

[Syr Dorn]

Dorn closed on the teens with zero regard for the Archers firing his way. Thud. Thud. His head ducked mid-step as an arrow teased a long the top of his head. The wound would be small, a near miss. The first two had pinged against his armor like a chorus, and though the armor and padding cushioned it, he could feel the welts for his old bones forming.

A bellow roared out from behind the bandit that slipped, and Hector would see a flash of steel as Requiem crashed downward on the brigands head, spewing both squires in a spray of blood and brain matter. The next swing outward would collide against another brigands shield, the force of the blow staggering him backwards.

"Advance!" Dorn roared as he surged forward, his left hand shooting out to grab ahold of the enemies shield and powered the man backwards. Another shove and the brigand staggered backwards. Any further advance on him was halted by the rotation of another. Enemy sword swung outward, beyond the reach of the axe, and Dorn would extend his bracer to catch the strike. The impact jolted up his arm and the veteran would let out another roar as he drove the head of the axe into the mans side, knocking the wind from him, and shifting him into the path of an incoming arrow.

As he cried out, Dorn would sweep the axe behind him, to flick the injured bandit back to Hector to finish. Dorn would keep to the middle, that way he could aid either of the squires, if they pushed forward with him.

The shield came rushing back into view with another flail, the swing would come overhead and the axe raised to allow the chains to wrap around the head of his axe. Dorn pushed the weapon outward, smashing one of the loose flail heads back into the head of its owner to stun him. The shield that had been raising would lower just long enough for Dorn to muscle the axe blade against the bandits throat. His gauntlet would then collide with the haft, giving the weapon just enough force to pierce through the bandits throat.

With his axe tangled, Requiem would be released and Dorn would snatch the shield from the dying bandits hands. "To the pain, ha-haaa!" He shouted as he lifted the shield before him to catch another arrow.

---

Hector | Lorinna Astarel

 

[Hector]

A growl came from his flank. Urged retreat. A small mercy that the young man did indeed flee. Another arrow sailed by, clattered against Lorina's plate and fell useless to the earth.

How many had they downed?

How many had they killed?

Hector's mind counted at least six, but, that did not feel right. Dorn alone must have taken six.

Instinct thrummed through Hector as Dorn ripped forward, his storied weapon, wet with its work, sent a spray of blood that spattered across the plane of Hector's shield and pinged against his armored shell as it crunched through a man. The smell of the violence was thick in the squire's nose, choking, but the old Battlemaster was not done.

Advance! Called out their superior, his armored figure a surge of perpetual pain. Hector heeded the call, legs pumping as he rushed forward, shield raised.

The pursuant caught one man with the crook of his axe and yanked him back toward the pair of squires, and as that poor sod stumbled toward them, Hector gripped his spear and thrust it forward.

Felt the weight of the man punch against the shaft as the tip stabbed through his gut. Armorless, save for old leathers that did little to stop the piercing point. With a heavy grunt, near a shout, Hector pulled the weapon out, and watched the man curl upon himself, forgetting his weapon as it fell from his hand and he fell to his knees, blubbering as he watched his own blood pour out of him.

Dorn grappled with one man, and Hector looked to the others. Their numbers so dwindled, they looked to hardly have any fight left in them. Eyes wide and full with hesitation as they faced down the armored squires and the bellowing Battlemaster.

Arrows rained down more frantic. Wide and wild as the archers lost their nerve.

Hector glowered, and sucked in a breath, let his lips let loose words of old power. Cinders poured above and before him, spiraling toward the pull of some unseen vortex and the air there about shimmered with heat.

"Fucking magic!" One man shout and broke away. Another dropped his axe and followed suit.

How many more could be left. Some part of Hector's mind could not help but wonder.

Lorinna Astarel Syr Dorn