Fable - Ask Rivalries

[Ashyr]

The Reach

Ashyr slowly looked around the small cart that he was sat in.

His eyes flickered over the faces. Most of them were criminals, or at least that was what he would have marked them as if someone asked. None of them seemed particularly violent, in fact if he had to guess they were probably thieves and the likes. Men and women who had been taken in by the Rangers under the mandate of the Call.

It was a law that the Rangers had in the Reach, something they had been granted by Alliria and the various cities long ago. Any criminal could be taken into the service of the Rangers, anyone could be trained. Of course it was only if they wanted to go, but most chose a year or two in the Rangers over serving prison time of any sort.

Ashyr knew the origin of that law of course.

It had been granted during the Templar wars. "Where are we going?"

He asked, his hands scratching on the inside of the shackles around his wrist. He didn't mind being treated as a criminal, after all he had stolen that piece of bread. All of this was a bit overboard, but he thought the Rangers might be able to help him, even if none of them were really open to the idea.

"Shuttup Templar." One of the Rangers called. "You're not here to get answers.'

Ashyr scowled at the man, and then shook his head.

Old grudges were hard to push down.

 

[Monty]

The red-headed lieutenant riding on a sleek black stallion barked out an order to the small company that rode with the wagon. “We stop here for the night. Make camp! Keeley and Jarod set the perimeter. Max and Trix get the prisoner settled.”

She looked down on the bearded man shackled in the cart. “I suggest you piss when we tell you to. It’ll be the only opportunity you get. And everyone pulls their weight in this camp. Even you.”

 

[Ashyr]

The Greywatch was hardly considered to be the toughest Chapter of Templars. There were others who had far more fearsome reputations. Hell, half a dozen of them he could lift off the top of his head, but that didn't mean him and his brothers didn't have their own sort of fight in them.

He'd been a Templar for more than twenty years, undergone the trials at fifteen. He knew how to fight, knew how to take a beating. Fuck, he'd come back from the dead. Even if he hadn't wanted to. Lips thinned for a brief moment.

Ashyr shrugged. "Make me."

If they wanted to be obstinate about answering a single question, then he could be the same.

 

[Monty]

A low, throaty chuckle left her mouth even as something dangerous flashed in her ember-like eyes.

“Later,” with a shake of her head, she urged her horse forward.

“Leave his sorry arse chained in the cart. No food till I say.” Unsaddling, she offered her horse to the recruit in training and went to convene with the other rangers, setting up tents.

“There were reports of a marauding band of orcs in the area. They’d all have to keep a sharp eyes out. After the camp was set up, she’d have a little chat with their prisoner.

 

[Ashyr]

Ashyr flashed the woman a rather rude signal with his hand, but shifted his attention down onto what appeared to be his feet.

Instead his eyes focused upon the shackles that were on his wrist. They were wrought iron, not the best quality, but then again most of the time they probably didn't need to be. He watched as the Rangers unloaded the other prisoners, calling on them to behave as they stepped out into the clearing.

He shot a few of them a look, but then glanced back towards the woman that had addressed them.

She was obviously the leader of this band, though her name had escaped him on this particular trip. He still wasn't on his best, a fact that irked him.

Lips thinned for a brief moment, but he didn't say anything else as he gently pressed against the chains that bound him. They were tight, but it was manageable. Not like he could fight every Ranger around him.

Not like he could come back from the dead twice.

 

[Monty]

They weren’t cruel to their prisoners. Rangers considered themselves a fair people. And they quickly organized the thieves and vagabonds into groups for gathering firewood, cooking detail, and cleaning. Lighting up a cigarette, she took a long drag, heading toward the one still chained to a cart. The Templar.

By now the smells of fresh roasted vegetables and meats wafted through the campsite.

She had a plate with her in one hand. The other a large crate which she plopped on the ground and sat upon. Plate of food was set down on a rock at her side.

“You,” she puffed out a perfect circle of smoke. “Can make this harder or easier on yourself. I’d like to know which way you’re gonna choose.”

 

[Ashyr]

The smell of food made his stomach churn, but not in the way that it should have.

There was something off about it, something that had been there ever since...ever since he'd come back. Food didn't quite taste the same. The yearning wasn't there. He still felt hungry, could still feel the rumble in his stomach, but it was different.

Almost wrong. "I don't want to make it hard.er"

Ashyr said truthfully.

"I just want to know where I'm going." The Templar said simply as he turned a stony face towards the woman sitting on the crate. "Not a difficult request, really."

He told her simply.

 

[Monty]

She took a drag and huffed another cloud of smoke into the night air. “We’re transporting you to Nestar. You’ll stand trial and get sentenced. All are given the option to serve any time sentenced with the rangers. I imagine for stealing bread you won’t get that long. But there is the other matter,” eyes that seemed to glow went to his arms.

Plucking the cigarette from her mouth, she stabbed a piece of venison and brought it to her lips.

 

[Ashyr]

Ashyr looked at her. "Trial?"

He mused.

"Since when do the Rangers have the right to put anyone on trial?" The words were a question, but in truth he was just probing. The Greywatch did not really keep up with local politics, a failing that they had carried for some time.

The Templar shifted slightly in his seat, not because of the conversation, but because the fucking wooden pew was about as uncomfortable as could be. "This matter?"

He said as he flashed his tattoo.

"Suppose it's not something ya'll will get over." Ashyr said with a shake of his head.

 

[Monty]

“You’ve been buried in your dogma for too long old man if you think this is new. And who said we’re conducting the trial? We’re just in charge of delivering you lot.”

“I was barely alive for that war,” she pointed her fork at his markings. “The lady doesn’t matter to me. Your actions now do. You feel like helping me get some water to this camp or would you rather stay sulking in this cart?”

 

[Ashyr]

Ashyr mused for a moment.

He'd never much cared about the Rangers. They were just another thing, something that got in the way sometimes. People who had a little bit too much ego about themselves. "I'll help."

All he had wanted was his questions answered, she had provided that. There wasn't a reason to be obstinate beyond that fact. Besides, the closer he got to them the more information he'd actually be able to find out in the long run.

An important facet of all this.

Eventually he'd have to get back to the Greywatch, even if they thought him dead.

"Will have to take off these chains though." Ashyr said, offering up his hands.

 

[Monty]

She smirked. Fingers brushing along her scarred cheek. “You’ll be unchained from the wagon but the other chains stay on. Dont worry. Shackles on your feet will be long enough to walk in but will discourage…running.”

She took another bite then stood.

“Hope I don’t have to warn you not to try anything.” Taking a step into the wagon, she took a set of keys from her belt and used one to unchain him from the bench. His wrists remained shackled as did his feet but they were long enough to move in.

“Let’s go,” she hopped down, boots crunching in the dirt and grass. Scooping up two empty buckets, she offered one to him.

 

[Ashyr]

He took the bucket silently, following after her in shuffling steps before he tripped slightly and let the bucket launch itself half way across the clearing. The solid wood nearly thunked into one of the Rangers heads, though missed him by a few inches.

Ashyr himself tumbled to the ground, crashing down with a clatter of chains. "Fuck me."

He cursed.

"Damn chains." The Templar said with a shake of his head. A sigh escapes his lips, and he half turned himself around so he could sit. "A little help?"

Ashyr said as he reached a hand up towards where Monty was standing. Waiting for her to offer assistance.

 

[Monty]

She heard a curse from the ranger that ducked out of instinct as the bucket went flying. Impressive strength. A cant of her head to look down at him.

“I’ll help you up but you’ll regret it if you try anything.” It was a fair warning. Flicking the cigarette from her lips to the ground, she snuffed out the flame with her boot. Then she took a step and offered the chained Templar her hand. A few if the rangers across the field had paused to watch the commotion.

 

[Ashyr]

"What would I try?" Ashyr said innocently.

The Templar was more than acutely aware of the Rangers watching him. Each of them was well trained, he knew that. Some more than others, from the looks of them, but that didn't really mater. He glanced towards the closest in particular, but then looked up at Monty.

As she reached out her hand he moved.

For a dead man, a man that should have been in a grave Ashyr was still surprisingly quick. The chains around his hands helped. As soon as his hand wrapped around Monty's he quickly pulled himself up to his feet and twisted in his stance.

He lashed out, grappling Monty's more lithe form and wrapping the chain between his hands around her throat. There was a clink as the metal twisted around itself, moving to tighten and lash her against his chest.

 

[Monty]

She grunted as her back slammed against his chest. She got her hand wedged between her throat and the chain he kept tugging tighter. A throaty, chuckling wheeze left her lips. The closest ranger turned, sword raised. Another that had dodged the bucket had his bow and arrow drawn.

“Something like this,” she choked out in response to his what would he try. Cheeky bastard. “What…do you think…is going to happen?” A rasped question to the chained man at her back. Fingers of her other hand firmly held onto one of his wrists. Red hair pushing against his face.

 

[Ashyr]

Ashyr flexed the moment he saw the Ranger with the sword take half a step forward. His head tilted, eyes glaring at the man as if saying Don't.

There was a moment of hesitation on the others mans part, but after a second he stopped himself and simply stared daggers at the Templar. A small smile touched the undead man's lips, his gaze flickering towards the floor for a moment then to Monty.

"I expect." He said as he gently began to tug her backwards. "To get the fuck out of here."

For a brief moment he glanced towards the woods, a spot of movement seeming to rush there. "We're going to slowly wa-Shit! Look out!"

He yelled towards the Ranger, who in response simply laughed.

"Yeah right, like I'm gonna fall for tha-"​

Before he could finish his sentence an arrow suddenly spouted from his neck, piercing through his flesh and causing blood to spill from his mouth. The fletching upon it was black, barely feathers; Orcish.

 

[Monty]

“Fuk it,” head jerked to the side. “Defensive!” She yelled as much as she could with the chains against her throat. “Get down,” she growled behind her to the Templar.

She’d try twisting against him, using her hips and rear to knock him off balance and try to get him to fall backwards on his ass. Fiery gaze was split between him and the…shit…a dozen or so orcs were running in from the tree line.

 

[Ashyr]

As soon as Monty pushed back against him and began to spin, Ashyr pulled the chains away from around her throat.

His hands dipped low, and for a brief moment she would feel a swipe at her hip as he grasped for the key to his shackles. As soon as he felt his fingers wrap around the small length of iron he raised both of his legs and hopped upward.

Monty would feel the heels of his boots kick into her, hopefully throwing her far enough away that the Orcs became more of a priority than one man.

Ashyr already died once, and he'd be fucked it if he did that again.

 

[Monty]

As he kicked at her, she'd curl inward, taking the blow but also wrapping her muscled-arms around his feet as she fell. Black-shafted arrows whizzed by her head as they tumbled. And she'd yank hard at his boots as she grappled with his legs.

One might slip off, maybe both. Maybe none. She wasn't sure. As she rolled away.

Her priority now were the orcs. And the other rangers. And keeping any of the other prisoners alive, at least those who hadn't tried to flee or already scattered. A large pale orc was charging at them from across the clearing. An albino with a blue-rag across one bloodied eye. He swung his axe at her and the templar with one large, diagonal strike.

 

[Ashyr]

"Fuck!" The Templar cursed as he felt his boots slip from his feet.

Being barefoot in the forest was never a good thing, hardly now at all. His fingers however were still wrapped around that key. Almost as soon as he hit the dirt Ashyr quickly ducked low and freed his ankles of the cuffs that had bound them.

That was when the Orc rushed over.

The fool beast let out a yell as he swung his ax, charging over to the Templar and taking a quick swing. Ashyr let out another curse, and then raised the chain between his hands.

A clash of metal and sparks flew in his face as the iron links caught steal, the weight of the blow near enough to almost throw Ashyr from his kneeds. He reached up, his hand grasping the haft of the ax and pinning it in place above him.

 

[Monty]

The hilt of the knife was in her palm faster than the orc could blink. She lunged from the earth, leaving the prisoner's boots in the grass. That templar was kneeling in front of the orc.

"Hope you don't mind," she'd quip as, with a jumping step from the dirt and grass, she'd use him as leverage and bound off his shoulders like leap-frog, stretching her body so her knife could find its home in the orc's head, right between its one good eye.

With a sickening crunch, the orc would stagger on its back with Monty landing on top.

More arrows whizzed through the air. She heard two shouts from her left and right as rangers behind her went down.

Shit. SHIT. Shit.

They were outnumbered.

"Fall back!"

Another scream as one of the prisoners got an arrow in the back.

 

[Ashyr]

The link in the middle of his shackles was all but broken, the impact of the orcs blow having cut through the wrought iron well enough.

Ashyr glanced around himself, searching briefly for the Key and not finding it. He let out a quiet curse, then quickly scrambled to his bare feet and quickly darted away. An arrow landed where he had just stood, it's black fletching seeming to flicker with bare light.

The Templar quickly sprinted forward.

He didn't give much of a damn about the Rangers, nor the prisoners. In that moment he was just trying not to die a second time.

His feet struck against dirt, roots, and stones as he looked down and watched every step he took. He knew one wrong footfall would see him felled, knew that he simply couldn't afford to fall to the ground. Not with the orcs on their back.

 

[Monty]

She wrenched her knife free and sheathed it with the orc's blood still fresh and oozing on it. She didn't care about the Templar anymore. But as she stood, she saw she was cut-off from the rest of the retreating rangers. And the orcs were running toward her. And where the prisoner was disappearing into the woods.

"Fuck," she swore and stooped to grab his boots, then sprinted away from the snarling orcs. Legs pumped as she ran over roots, rocks, dips, and rises in the woods. Dodging around trees and under branches. Red hair like a flame streaming behind her.

"Temporary truce?" She huffed behind the bearded man with the chains still clinking around his wrists. She'd shove his boots at him.

 

[Ashyr]

The chains suddenly snapped as Ashyr wrenched against them.

He'd always been strong. Always trained himself to be among the best, but he'd never been that strong. For a brief moment shock overtook him, and the Templar nearly went tumbling over a large root before he found his footing once more.

His fingers tightened, and then as he gathered himself Monty suddenly appeared at his back.

Boots were shoved into his hand, and he glanced up at her for a brief moment before looking back towards the clearing. His steps pulled him behind a thick redwood tree, tucking himself into the hollow as he gave her a curt nod. "Give me a blade."

He hissed quietly to her as he pulled her back into the hollow with a sudden wrench.

Footfalls echoed out just behind him, a dozen orcs rushing towards and then suddenly passed the tree.