Private Tales On The Road

[Thren]

He was considering killing the boy.

Thren was almost positive that no one really would have missed him. The Merchant likely would have been happy about paying one less share to the Mercenaries, and he was certain that the boy had been tossed out rather than run away.

Who could stand him for more than a few days after all?

Unfortunately, as he was contemplating thoughts of murder, something moved within the wood. So focused on the matter at hand, Thren didn't notice at first. Too distracted with thoughts of vengeance The Barbarian did not see the figures upon the trees, nor those hiding within the thick of the forest.

It was Larik that tipped him off.

The Hounds head perked up slightly, his ears flicking back and his jowls slowly raising.

Thren looked down at his companion, a small frown settling on his lips. He thought that perhaps the dog was upset about the bread incident, but then a realization flashed onto him a second too late. "AMBUSH!"

He called out the word just as a wave of arrows flew down on them.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard ducked. Not because of sharp reflexes sensing the arrows coming at him, or because years of training prepared him for this moment. No. He ducked because Thren's sudden bellowing voice made him brace for a clunk over the head. He darted downward to avoid any heavy hand that could smack across his temple. As luck had it, he avoided arrows instead.

Chaos erupted around them, the bodies springing out of trees with a war cry and the merchants yelling out in shock in return. The arrows took down several, filling the air with a very specific type of scream. Bernard froze, the man who drove the cart he ducked into falling right at his feet, blood squirting from his wound in his chest.

They locked eyes for a moment, the man's lips moving like a fish out of water, unable to find his voice. And then he died, simply letting out a long exhale and going still.





Bernard drew his sword, his hand shaking as he brought it up in time to deflect his first attacker. He kicked the man back, hesitating to do more. Where was this hesitation coming from? He suddenly wasn't so sure he wanted to kill someone, but he abruptly found himself with no choice. They were only four mercenaries, and this was a coordinated group of bandits. He quickly found himself crowded with two more attackers, aiming to take out the hired arms so they could go on with the looting unchallenged.

He shakily held that long sword out, using it's blasted length to keep a threatening distance between him and the attackers. For a moment they were met in a standstill, the attackers sizing Bernard and that sword up, and Bernard just trying to gain a grasp of the situration.

Sensing Bernard's greeness, one attacker launched forward with a roar of bravado, baring a sword of his own. Bernard acted on instinct, using his length to cleanly repost and run him through.

The man died on his sword, shock on his face.

Oh dear. Blood everywhere. And his sword was stuck. Bernard wasn't prepared for swords getting stuck in chest cavities, and he had run the man pretty well through, using the man's own moment to impale him. Calling out in shock, the other two surged forward, not so quick to underestimate the boy again.

 

[Thren]

An arrow stuck within his shoulder, a young woman crying beneath his bulking form. "Get beneath the carts."

His voice was low, but loud enough that the shivering girl would be able to hear him. Tears streamed down her face, but slowly she nodded and began to crawl away as The Barbarian stood to his full height. A dozen bandits had streamed from the forest and into the Caravan, three of them heading towards Bernard while the rest spread themselves all over.

The other two Mercenaries fought one each, intersecting them while the others were left to ravage the merchant train. Thren let out a curse, knowing that there were more still waiting in the trees.

"Larik!" A loud shrill whistle passed his lips. "Kill!"

The Hound immediately set itself low, pouncing forward and jumping on the nearest bandit. In an instant the massive warhound brought one of the men to the ground, ripping at his throat and tearing his flesh.

Thren followed after him, his good hand reaching back to draw one of his daggers as he charged forward and pulled one of the bandits off one of the carts.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard stopped thinking, just reacting as the moment turned into life or death. He yanked his sword free with a scream, but the men had already closed the distanced, swiping at him with shorter swords and knives. In the clash he lost his sword, the fight turning to bare hands and daggers. And he didn't have the daggers. Soon, he was overwhelmed and on the ground, feeling the slash of a dagger slipping between the sides of his breastplate. He cried out, smashing his forehead into the man's temple in front of him. The man dropped, leaving Bernard to face just one.

He turned onto his hands and knees, his vision going wonky as he tried desperately to crawl and reach a gleam of silver. Any gleam of silver.

The man grabbed his ankle and yanked him back to him, leaving Bernard with just a handful of dirt and pine needles. Bernard felt himself turned over, and he fought back then, trying to claw out the attacker's face, or get a hold of his throat. But the attempt was stopped as a fist was smashed into his face again and again. Apparently, the man he had run through had a friend.

Bernard was reduced to trying to protect his face with this arms, crying out as he got his ass handed to him.

 

[Thren]

Thren's dagger cut the throat of another bandit, his body turning to a ragdoll the instant his blade slipped into his flesh splashed blood across the floor. The Barbarian let him drop onto the ground with a loud thud, his corpse adding to the three he and Larik had already brought down.

Another arrow struck near him, it's wooden half burying itself within the side of the cart he'd been standing next to. A curse escaped his lips and he heard a scream, one of the bandits desperately attempting to grab and pull a woman out from a hiding place behind a boulder.

At the same time his gaze drifted towards Bernard, a bandit atop him and pummeling his face.

Shit. The thought ran through Thren's mind as he took a half step forward and then let out that same shrill whistle. In an instant his Hound perked up it's head, Larik glancing at his master.

The Barbarian's finger pointed towards Bernard, sign enough for the Hound to break into a sprint and charge the man beating Bernard.

At the same time Thren dashed forward, sprinting towards the Bandit assaulting the woman.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard groaned as the weight of the attacker fell off him, his arms dropping from their defensive position so he could blink disjointedly at the world. He brought himself up, spitting blood into the dirt, and grabbed at a discarded knife the length of his forearm besides him. It already had blood on it, his blood he realized belatedly, and he dirtied it further by stabbing it through the ribs of the man he had knocked unconscious with his head.

He spat again, bringing himself up further to watch Larik tear at the man who had been beating him. Damn. Good as dead already, though still screaming. Bernard left the hound to it as he slowly turned to survey the rest of the chaos. What felt like countless other bandits were already on the carts. Bernard wavered.

He dropped the knife and scooped forward to grab his ... where was his sword? He spun in place, a hand pressed to his side and his nostrils flairing in panic.

"Threeen," he called out.

 

[Thren]

His dagger pierced through the man's meager armor, the black blade slicing through hardened leather as though it were little more than blood.

For a second the bandit looked almost shocked, his features contorting as he dropped his sword and fell atop the woman he had been trying to claim. She screamed, but Thren pulled the man's corpse off of her. "Under the wagon."

The command was almost instantly followed, something about his voice leading the woman to do exactly as she had been told.

Turning on his heel Thren heard Bernard call out to him, his lips thinning as he saw the boy half wander and half stumble across the field of battle. Behind the boy he saw the two other Mercenaries finish with a pair of bandits, each of them cutting down one with an odd synchronicity.

"Pick up your sword or get out of the way!" He called to Bernard, his hand whipping back as he threw his dagger at one of the Archers in the trees. The blade sunk into the mans chest, sending him toppling from the branches.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard flailed. But where was it?! He turned in a wild circle, his heart slamming in his chest before he saw it-- kicked under the wagon from the scuffle. Oh.

Awkward.

He scrambled for it, his head sitting much more solidly on his shoulders once he stood up with its heavy weight in his hands. He looked around at the bandits still causing trouble around them, then heard a scream two wagons up ahead. He ran towards it, catching sight of a dirty back brandishing a sword inside the hooded caravan. He jumped in and clunked the assailant over the head with his pommel, tossing him out and following with him to deliver his first intentional execution.

Okay that was a little gritty. And satisfying. But still. He was grateful he hadn't had a chance to eat much of breakfast. He moved onwards, having better luck now that the initial onslaught had thinned and he was the one doing the attacking, not the one being attacked.

Except for his last fight. This one seemed to be lasting the longest of them all, both having disarmed each other. The fight was reduced to fists, Bernarld trying to punch the lights out of the guy as the guy squeezed Bernards neck tighter. He had this. Really. Just watch. Five more minutes.

 

[Thren]

The dagger had buried itself in the archers chest, and Thren didn't have time to retrieve it. The last of the bandits who had swept their way into the Caravan charged him, blade sweeping forward.

His other arm useless, and no time to reach around himself, Thren let out a curse.

Heart thundered in his chest, his expression shifted, and then suddenly the skin of his right hand turned black. An odd sort of wave rushed over his fingertips and lead all the way back over his forearm. An instant later his palm sprang up, catching the swiping blade.

Sparks flew, confusion bloomed over the Bandit's face.

The Barbarian leaned forward, smacking his forehead into the man's nose. There was a loud crunch and a spray of blood as the man went whipping back. A second later Thren's metallic fist impacted, the sound of crunching bone ringing out.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard sat up, gasping for air as he finally knocked his assailant out with a rock into his skull. Holy shit. Adrenaline ran cold through his body, the world startlingly clear as he watched what remained of the fighting end. He heard rustling to the side of him as a few bandits fled. He let them, knowing he wouldn't give much a chase. Or stand much a chance against the reinforcements they were running to.

Bernard stood up, not feeling his injuries as he stumbled forward. He helped an injured merchant stand, then kept moving, unable to help looking for Thren. His buddy ol' pal.

Bernard blade would poke out of the front of his opponents chest without warning, the bandit going limp and falling forward onto Thren to reveal the boy boy him. Bernard grinned at him, on a complete high. "And I do believe we are even now."

 

[Thren]

Thren blinked, but didn't say a word.

His fingers wriggled slightly, and the odd black that had covered his skin seemed to retreat back to nothingness. Behind him he could still hear more than a few women crying, some men speaking, curses both muttered and screamed.

"The forest." He jerked his head towards the woods. "Check the corpses while I see if they're all gone."

Bernard might have been ready to relax, but Thren knew better.

There was always a chance for a second attack, a chance that the Bandits would have a mage or something even more dangerous with them. "Look for sigils."

Some would have called him Paranoid, but after two decades of fighting Thren knew what they needed to do.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard nodded, oddly cheerful as he set back off. The reality of what had occurred did not settle in yet, his world feeling disconnected and very much like a dream.

He went through the bodies, ripping off sigil patches if he came across them, and slitting the throats of those that still breathed. That sobered him up a bit, his armor thoroughly stained by blood as he moved through. He caught sight of the girl he fancied, looking pale but steady as she helped dress the wounds of one of her own.

He breathed a sigh of relief, for the first time leaving her alone. By the time he pulled through it all the haze was lifting. He was aching. And he was only dimly aware that this was just the start of today. They'd have to keep moving. They couldn't be caught in this spot again, or even risk getting caught in a similar trap the bandits could manage to scrape up ahead.

He shuffled to Thren and wordlessly held out the patches, his hand purple and swollen from all the un-gloved punches he had delivered.

"I don't recognize them," he stated, eyeing Thren's shoulder with a frown. "You have a little something- just there-" he gestured vaguely to the arrow.

 

[Thren]

"One of the women will remove it." Thren said dismissively, obviously absorbed in a small piece of parchment that he was holding.

The Barbarian had found it on the archer that he'd killed with his own blade. The dagger sat nestled back into it's sheath, and he seemed unconcerned about the arrow. At least for the time being.

"Can you read?" He asked, turning to the boy and offering him the parchment. "I know the sigil."

Of course, the very obvious implication here was that Thren could indeed not read.

If he was at all embarrassed by that fact there was no emotion on his face showing it.

 

[Bernard]

Thankfully, Bernard learned. It had been a necessity in his apprenticeship. He wiped his hands pointlessly at his pants and took the parchment, careful to only touch the edges as he squinted at the scrawl there.

He mouthed the words slowly to himself, his brows furrowing. "Oh, hell," he cursed, shaking his head and rereading it again to be sure he had it all. "It's a bounty." He looked up to Thren, his confusion evident. "On the merchant. Did he tell you he had a bounty on him? Cause that sounds like it should be more pay," he grumbled, looking over his shoulder to try and spot out the head merchant and see if he made it through alright.

"All these people died for one man," he stated, perplexed by it. "Why?"

 

[Thren]

Thren frowned slightly, and then nodded slowly. "No, he didn't tell me."

Though it made sense in a way. Rage began to boil inside of him, and it wasn't because he'd had a piece of bread thrown at his face earlier. Snatching the paper back from Bernard he scowled.

"Come with me." The Barbarian stalked forward, clearing expecting Bernard to follow him. The expression that he wore of his face spoke volumes of his anger, and the way he moved was akin to a bear stalking prey within the middle of it's territory.

He closed the distance between himself and the merchant in just a few strides, and without hesitation he grabbed the man.

His arm still only at half strength, he still managed to grasp the mans lapels and tear him off his feet, pushing him up against the side of one of the covered wagons. "You knew about this didn't you?"

The Merchant began to scream for help.

"One of the Great Houses is after you." He scowled. "They want you dead."

 

[Bernard]

Bernard followed, a little unsettled by his comrades reaction. Thren painted a frightening picture stalking forward like that with an arrow sticking out of him. For a moment, Bernard found himself glad to not be on the receiving end. The man was shoved into the cart. Bernard kept back the merchants that pushed forward to aid him, a very heavy sword levered in their way.

Wait a moment, he gestured, pointing for them to listen.

"A great house?" Bernard echoed, quickly understanding Thren's anger. "And you only hired four of us? Everyone here could have just died."

Whoa. Everyone here could have just died. He saw all the faces around him in a new light.

 

[Thren]

"They will die." Thren said simply as he dropped the blabbering merchant.

"Yo-you don't understand. They won't come after me directly. I have protection from House Virak. They'll just send bandits a-"​

"I know." The Barbarian said with a growl. "I know their little games."

The Seven Great Houses of Vel Anir played a game of politics often known as 'The Great Game'. They used their families, other nobles, and yes Merchants as a way of bandying power between one another. Thren had experienced it more than once, and even worked for some of the Houses.

It was fine as a mercenary you were a soldier, disregarded for the most part. A merchant though? A merchant had influence, a merchant was important.

Get wrapped up in a scheme involving a merchant and you were bound to get wrapped up in more.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard lowered his sword, standing up a little straighter as the seriousness of their discovery was understood. He didn't know that much about Vel Anir and their political games, but gossip of it had reached him enough to know that it was not a *clean* matter to involve oneself in.

"What?" he whispered fiercely, moving towards Thren. The people around them that were not aware of this news had their chance an uproar, the high loss of life today having a cause that they could tangibly get mad at.

"Are you serious? They are all at risk now? But the bounty's just on him," he insisted, eyes tearing right back to the dark-haired beauty he kept fawning over. "We protected them once, we can do it again."

 

[Thren]

"They won't care." He said simply, pinching the bridge of his nose. Thren had never particularly liked politics, in fact it was probably one of his least favorite things in the world. To say that he didn't really understand it was an understatement. "He did something to someone, or he's useful to House Virak."

That was the house he'd mentioned.

"That means the other House wants him dead, and the easiest way to kill him without raising any eyebrows is to kill all of us with him." That way nobody would ask any questions.

It had it's own sort of logic really, as cruel as it actually was to think about. Vel Anir was not a place that anyone should dabble in politics unless they were ready to risk their lives, unfortunately for this caravan, they hadn't really been given a choice.

The Barbrian pinched the bridge of his nose. "They'll be more bandits, maybe something else."

Something worse.

 

[Bernard]

If the battle wasn't enough to shake him, the revelation that he had involved himself in a likely death sentence was. He grew pale. Somehow Thren having little optimism for this situation made this all feel serious. If the man said there was no solution, it had to be so. His thoughts slowed down to a crawl, real panic hitting him for the first time.

He had no words, he had no bravado to spare. He was in over his head and he knew it. Bernard looked at man, this stress written across his face as he asked almost desperately, "So what are we going to do?"

 

[Thren]

"Survive." Thren said gruffly, running a hand through his beard with no small amount of displeasure written across his face.

The fact of the matter was they couldn't really do much at all. The thought was unpleasant, but practically speaking they were mice running around in a barn full of cats, owls, and wolves. It was best that they avoid anyone and everything they possibly could, and what they couldn't avoid they'd have to outrun.

"They'll send more bandits before we're done." He told Bernard quietly. "Maybe some House Guards...a Dreadlord if we're really unlucky."

The idea was enough to turn his stomach slightly. "We keep going until we get to Vel Anir, then hopefully House Virak will protect us."

At least in theory they would.

 

[Bernard]

"Hopefully?" Bernard spat back, appalled by the lack of honor that had been unfolding in this all. First they were hired under false terms, now their benefactor might protect them from their own enemies. "Are you kidding me?"

It was clear Thren was indeed not kidding him. Bernard spat a wad of blood into the soil. "I can't fight a dreadlord," he protested, the first wise thing he had ever said.

"Should we just be sitting here then? I'm going- I'm going to get everyone moving," he concluded in a wave of anxious babble. He turned from Thren, intending to do just that. The raid felt insignificant now, adrenaline masking his aches again.

 

[Thren]

Oddly enough, Thren shared a sentiment with Bernard.

Fighting a Dreadlord was just about the last thing that he wanted to do. The idea was unpleasant on a level that he wouldn't even be able to put into words if he tried. He had magic, yes, but it was nothing compared to what those bastards could do.

Going up against one of the Dreadlord's was about as dangerous as fighting a Dragon. Vel Anir didn't joke around when it came to training it's mages. They couldn't heal, they didn't research, and they couldn't create artifacts, but a Dreadlord could snap his finger and make a person explode.

The idea of going up against one of them made his stomach drop.

"Right." Thren said quietly to himself.

The kid had the right idea. They had to keep moving, they had to keep fighting, and hopefully they'd be able to move fast enough to avoid any more problems.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard didn't need to ask questions to figure out what he needed to do. He helped regather the caravan, making space for injured bodies and dealing with those that did not make it. After a quick talk with the other mercenaries, it was decided that they didn't have time to linger or deal with the dead. There could be a trap up ahead, or there could even be reinforcements. They weren't sure, but they knew they had to keep moving. Thren was right, all they could hope to do is survive what they encountered and outrun the rest.

It was quiet when they set off. Only the wagons creaked as they bounced about. Occasionally someone would groan in pain, or sniffle in grief, but beyond fevered whispers, they caravan pushed on without a sound. Bernard rubbed goosebumps out of his arms, picking up his pace to walk besides Thren. "You still got a-" he gestured vaguely to Thren's shoulder.

 

[Thren]

Thren sighed.

The arrow wasn't buried too deep in his shoulder, though it would have been a lie to state there wasn't any pain from it. In his rage he'd forgotten about it, but now that they were back on the road the ache from the haft was getting to be a bit too much. "Grab one of the women for me."

He told Bernard.

"She'll have a cross on her shoulder." A mark of one of the healing guilds in Alliria had. "If you can't find her, ask for someone who can help with an injury."

The Barbarian was almost sure the Merchant would ensure for a proper nurse, if only because they traveled this path fairly often. "If you can't find either...get me some liquor."