Fable - Ask Riders at Dawn, Swords by Sundown

[Ereven Theruvanen]

Ereven listened intently to the conversation between the two from a good distance away; however, his concentration was broken as the sound of footsteps, small and measured broke not too far away from his own position. He silently drew his bow; it was a quarry he'd taken more times than he could remember in his long years of fighting all the things that lurk and prey on the defenseless little places of the world. His movements were elegant, silent as he heard the footsteps grow nearer, and he drew his bow to full draw moments before the creature revealed itself: a goblin, and doubtless a scout of the warband, come to get a lay of the land before the invasion themselves.

It meant they were more organized than he'd anticipated.

He loosed the arrow in the creature's leg with pinpoint precision, as the arrow connected with a sickening squelch. The goblin howled in pain as it fell to the ground, clutching its leg. Ereven wasted no time--too much was at stake--as he rushed to the goblin, picking him up effortlessly by his armor and beginning to walk towards the knight and the mercenary. In a moment, he would be upon them, goblin in hand, who he would drop on the ground. The goblin wasn't going anywhere with the arrow lodged in his leg, and he doubted that in the sight of three warriors such as themselves, that he would be going anywhere quickly.

"It would seem they sent a scout," he said, not introducing himself to the new one Helena had been speaking with. Ereven's mind was focused elsewhere, and command and tactics weren't his specialty. "Perhaps he might tell us the Warband's plan if we... persuade him."

Torturing a goblin didn't bother him in the slightest. In fact, after the many years of dealing with them, he think he might have even enjoyed it.

Helena Cahir Rangvaldr

 

[Helena]

The preparations were halted as a sound of pain sounded through the air, and from the brush came Ereven, tossing a goblin down to the ground. The small body cracked hard against the earth. Helena's mask hardened, her eyes steely as they watched the wounded scout clutch and groan in muffled pain. Its yellow eyes squinted up at them as Ereven spoke and spoke of persuasion.

"Perhaps," Helena said coolly as the goblin shook his head quickly from side to side. Fingertips scratched at the dirt and fear swelled their eye. "You have failed, scout," Helena said as she took two steps toward the small wounded body.

The goblin curled up, as if waiting to be beaten. "Wait, wait, please, do not hurt Ikit, I, I only followed orders, avoided the lash of the warchief."

She bent down, and kept her eyes on the shaft that stuck out from its leg. She grabbed it quick and firm with her grasp. The goblin yowled, and Helena snapped the long feathered shaft, her free hand pulling knife from her boot, she sliced at the small scout's flesh, and worked the arrow out of him with a harsh yank. Ikit cried at that, but she held him down as she tossed the arrow aside. A quick prayer poured from her mouth and dawn's light poured from her hand and into the goblin's flesh. It stitched together and wound up, slowly. Thread of flesh by thread of flesh. It ended, and the wound was still there, if only smaller, and less severe.

"Run, and it shall open again," she warned the goblin, her lungs drawing in long breaths as some sweat ran down her brow. "Ikit, was it?"

Ikit nodded sharp.

"Are there other scouts?" She said as she regained her wind and balanced her energies.

Ikit sucked in a breath and averted his gaze. "Three more," he confessed. "My kin, they, they do not abandon me, likely lurk in the shadows and watch,"

She cast her gaze up at the tree line. "They will die if you do not call to them, tell them to stand down, to come out, and you will all keep your life by the end of this, less you stand against us again," her eyes shimmered green like emeralds, a gleam of magic, and she could see through the eyes of the creatures, the birds and squirrels she had fed her magic to minutes ago. Three scouts. Goblins, perched in distant trees with arrows knocked against bows. But they did not draw.

Ikit's lips quivered, breath stuck in his throat. He called out in his own language. A string of tones she was not wholly unfamiliar with, though the dialect was different than the one used in the Spine. Surrender, and Live. She understood.

They hesitated, but soon revealed themselves. Goblins three, as Ikit had said, weapons in hand, but lowered, their bodie were tense with fear. Helena sheathed her knife in her boot and rose up to greet them, her cape stirred gently behind her.

"You heal Ikit... why?" they asked.

The captain of dawn stood between her companions and the scouts. "Because he was bleeding," she replied coolly. Her hands empty of weapon as she stood between the two bands of enemies.

---

Ereven Theruvanen Cahir Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar

 

[Rangvaldr Tal'deneshaar]

A voice behind him would catch his attention, so Valdr would turn to take in the knight he had only seen little of. "Well met, Syr." Valdr would say with a respectful bow of his head. "Syr Rangvaldr, Lord of House Tal'deneshaar of Vel Anir." He would smile lightly. "Though I prefer to not use the Lord. If we are to bleed together, you may call me Valdr."

He thought back to the Elder and the dots began to connect. "I thought it was Re-animator." He would joke. "My brother calls it.. late stage healing." His gaze drifted to beyond the village, this would be a rough fight. "Hope is a powerful motivator... as is a flagon of ale."

He would laugh at gesture to the mead hall. "After you, we'll see if they have something glorious enough, if not, i may have something to help with it." He replied with a smirk of his own.

Helena Ereven Theruvanen Cahir