Completed The War of The Kinniger Duchy

[Crows Call]

The warrior-poet fought his way through vestiges of the vampiric forces that dared close with him, one by one sending them into ash. Having a moment to take in his surroundings he stood on a large incline and realized he had fought his way from one side of the skirmish to the other.

In the distance he saw what looked like one vampire fighting a horde of others. Although he was not fond of oversized mosquitos in any form, an enemy of the enemy is an ally. And he would be damned (well, damned further) if he left an ally so overly outnumbered.

Without pause, he began sprinting his way to the horde. Crows Call's flame now empowered so heavily that it was more like the flame of a pyre than a light flame of an enchanted greatsword, enough power that as he walked his specter walked with him. Together they sang a hymn,

"Oh you, you are screwed, for we come as two!
You die, you die, for you enter our sight!
Run in fear, while you can
Doom stalks the earth as a specter and a lowly man!
Lo, behold, you have been warned
Now you shall be the focus of our scorn!
We go, we go, to break your bones
the warrior-poet hunts your soul!"​

 

[Heike Eisen]

Heike stood behind the enemy line, surrounded by the thralls which had taken notice of her, their weapons striking against her armor and searching to edge their way into weak points around the joints. Powerful, exerted slashes with her claws felled a thrall here and a thrall there, but being so out of position--even as the Kinniger side was gaining its grasp on victory--placed her at a severe numerical disadvantage.

And as she fought and dodged and endured, her mind raced. That couldn't have been him. That couldn't have been him! Had she suffered some delusion of the eyes? A trick of the mind played upon her in the heat of battle and the shock of landing behind the enemy line? If it was not, then where had Jürgen gone? It was possible that she had simply lost track of him in the whirling tide of battle, yes, but what was he doing here? But did it matter. Did it matter. If she had not imagined it, if he was here, the only thing that truly mattered was his death. Swift and pure and merciless. There could be no better fulfillment of her duty, no better atonement for her failure, than slaying the fiend who masterminded the sacking of Reikhurst.

But the current moment seized her attention: the struggle against the surrounding thralls. Through the shifting of their heads and their shoulders she could see small and insufficient glimpses of the battle around her, and it was (a perhaps dangerous) hope that Ferelith and Eberwolf and Kyla were faring well.

Two more thralls felled by her claws.

And as Heike was turning to engage more thralls behind her, that same Vampiric Knight who had launched her with the blast of mist was there and he slammed the pommel of his longsword into her helm. Dented it. Knocked her hard enough to send her feet over her head and then crashing to the ground.

"That was my brother you killed," the Vampiric Knight said, referencing, unbeknownst to Heike in that dazed moment, the first knight whom she'd slain by tearing off his helm and exposing his vile skin to the sun.

And so the Brother Knight sought to do the same to her. He drove his sword into the dirt and dropped down with an intense ferocity and clutched at Heike's helm and fought to rip it from her head as she struggled to keep it on. His strength was staggering. Heike clenched her teeth and her body slid about on the ground as the Brother Knight jerked her helm this way and that, and it was all Heike could do even with her own inhuman strength to keep her helm on. And the metal, gradually, was crumpling under the stress.

But then the Brother Knight looked up. Looked at something or someone that Heike could not see. And she heard...singing? Something about a warrior-poet?

And there in that small moment the Brother Knight was vulnerable.

Ferelith Scathach Sir Eberwolf Kinniger Crows Call

 

[Crows Call]

Not ceasing his hymn of battle, the warrior-poet (seeing the bit of trouble his ally was in) drew back the pillar of reddish ethereal flame that was Crows Call and slashed into the horde of thralls, one slash turning a dozen to reddish ash, and the blades power maintained the killing momentum. His phantom appeared behind the vampire knight wielding the yellow ethereal equivalent of Crows Call and in mordhau stance struck the knight with guard, crushing through armor and scorching the flesh beneath.

This forced him to drop the warrior-poets ally, the specter did not stop the offensive, he kept striking the knight, only occasionally stopping to appear in front of a vampiric thrall that might have an opportunity to attack his ally, slashing it and leaving it only a pile of yellowish ashes. Meanwhile the warrior poet kept slashing, slowly but surely making his way through the thralls and to the vampiric knight. Not once did they cease their hymn of battle, only adding between versus, "WE COME! WE COME! FOR YOUR LIFE! WE COME!"

 

[Kyla Scathach]

“How-Many-more-could-there-...Damnit..” Kyla cursed as she plunged her blade into another thrall only for yet another to slice her across the back with his sword. Her armor had long since been pulled apart by the millions of injuries and attacks she had endured and healed from.

“Heike!” Kyla said as she spotted the vampire. Fighting her way to her she saw her in quite the precarious situation. However in that moment she was tackled in the back. With a growl she rolled over jamming a dagger blade through the eye holes in the helm the attacker wore.

It screeched as she twisted the blade with a jerk forcing its silence. Yanking the blade free she would send it flying into the air striking another thrall punching through the poorly built helmet. She picked her sword back up from where it had fallen already being swamped by another group of enemies.

She couldn’t seem to get to Heike she had to trust the vampire had the situation handled. Her ears thought she heard singing over the din of battle and yet with her foucus on her sisters lover she couldn’t be sure.

“If you die Ferelith will kill me!” She yelled trying and failing to hack her way back to the woman.

 

[Sir Eberwolf Kinniger]

Luckily for Kyla, Heike had a friend, a strong one, who had just so happened to save her life. Standing up amongst the scattered, but still alive, men, Eberwolf growled angrily. His rage was struggling to break free just as he was struggling to contain it, lest his fury consume him. But he had to vent it somehow, so he went back to mercilessly slaughtering vampires, his red armor getting even more red as he went back into the frey.

The men behind him had to regain their footing and reform the line, so they had to be guarded by Eberwolf's dire onslaught as they did so. So he got to vent, while they returned to the ready position. Eberwolf couldn't see the woman who had thrown him so easily, but that wasn't a primary concern, he had vampires and their thralls to slaughter.

Ferelith just happened to be nearby, and seeing her unconsious, he fought his way over to her. And as soon as he was there called a soldier over, and had them drag her away behind the line to safety. Then he went back into the enemy ranks, though they were far less thick, and the dogs were keeping them in place, now all they had to do was find and root out the vampires in the ranks and render the thralls without instruction, then they can be determined to be either savable, or incapable of being saved.

 

[Ferelith Scathach]

Ferelith’s insides felt horrible. Writhing under her skin. She felt wrong. It started with a nose bleed. Small but steadily flowing. Her eyes slowly losing their yellow parlor and growing deeply bloodshot.

Slowly wounds that had since healed during the battle had slowly begun to return along with the pain. She bit her lip as her healing fought to heal them back. Her resistance to magic working in her favor though it seemed “Bryn” had accounted for this.

She clutched her stomach as a deep slash reopened before slowly closing once more leaving her holding her guts in for the time being. Still through all of her pain she still found a moment to feel useless. Her love and her sister were out fighting and her she lay among other wounded.

 

[Heike Eisen]

Not ceasing his hymn of battle, the warrior-poet (seeing the bit of trouble his ally was in) drew back the pillar of reddish ethereal flame that was Crows Call and slashed into the horde of thralls

The fire summoned in Heike an instilled fear. She saw it only for a brief splash of time, and saw it upside-down as she--laying on the ground--tilted her head back to see where the singing was coming from, this sight further diminished by the narrowing slits of her damaged helm. In the haze of the moment she could not tell if the Warrior-Poet was an ally or an enemy, and she nearly panicked.

But then some apparition with the likeness of the Warrior-Poet and the blade he wielded struck the Brother Knight and the Knight's back arched as his armor was penetrated and fire burst from the inside out and he was wholly consumed in flame. Heike feverishly shoved his soundless, flaming body away and scrambled back in a crab-like fashion, staring alternatively at the Brother Knight and the appearances of the Warrior-Poet striking down the thralls around her.

She heard her name. Someone, indistinct but certainly a woman (Ferelith?) calling to her. But she could not see who through the enemy line.

Heike stood, her insignia of the Golden Blade dangling about her belt. She needed to get back to the Kinniger side of the battle, and here a rare fortune: the Warrior-Poet seemed to be on her side, unless he was some warrior of either side or perhaps neither who had gone mad or berserk or both and sought to cleave all that stood before him. She could leap--exert herself and jump to an astounding height and clear the line in that single bound. And she might have to, if the Warrior-Poet proved hostile to all around him.

To the Warrior-Poet, Heike yelled (necessary to be heard over the clamor of battle), "Do you fight for the Kinniger Duchy?"

Crows Call Ferelith Scathach Sir Eberwolf Kinniger

 

[Crows Call]

After the warrior-poet's specter finished off the higher vampire knight, and his vessel cleaved through the rest of the thralls with flame, he couldn't help but feel disappointed at the lack of challenge this higher vampire had had. So easily he had simply scorched him to ashes, perhaps not as easily as his thralls but he expected some combat prowess, tenacity, or at least some dirty tricks from such a distinguished figure. But no, he lay in ashes before him, not more than the upper portion of his ornate helm sticking out of the ash to signify that he was any more than another lowly vampire.

The specter then met the gaze of his vessel before turning to face his "ally". The specter walked up to her with the spectral twin of crows call over his shoulder, he watched as she kicked away from him and threw off her ruined knightly helm in order to better see him. With trepidation, she asked him if he fought for the Kinger Dutchcy, then reiterated her question as, "Do you fight against the vampires?" He let out a hardy if slightly reverberating laugh, he then shouted "Yes!" ,before he released a heavy slash onto what remained of the higher vampire's ashes.

He then looked over his new ally, and reached out his hand to the vampiric dame, his skeletal visage becoming that of ethereal flesh, "I am the Warrior-Poet's specter, Crows Call! At your service, battle sister!" ,he shouted.

 

[Kyla Scathach]

Kyla was in the middle of hacking away the rest of the thralls that surrounded her as the back line fell to flames. She saw an ethereal being of sorts take Heikes hands after a booming laugh.

It appeared he offered assistance. Fantastic. Just what she needed right now. A new variable. She approached the two pulling a dagger from her stomach and tossing it aside as her tattoo flowed and her wound slowly healed. This was starting to be taxing, but she was no where near her limit just yet.

“Have you seen Ferelith? She followed you in...stupid girl...” She askedthe vampire worry clearly entering her cool demeanor for a moment before she reigned it in. “So..What now?” She asked after Hieke had given her answer.

 

[Sir Eberwolf Kinniger]

Eberwolf had called Kerberos over, and the huge three headed beast came over. He approached the group of fighters, plus the new addition. He looked over the spectre of the warrior poet and wasn't sure whether or not to trust him yet, he wasn't quick to trust, despite his own sworn honesty, though he always gave each person a chance, that was why he was giving Kyla some slack while being ready and waiting to enforce discipline.

"Ferelith is fine, unconscious but fine. Who might you be spectre? Are you friend or foe?"

 

[Heike Eisen]

Heike hardly knew what to make of it, this...ghost? Specter. He had called himself a specter. Heike's knowledge on such things was scarce at best. Vampires were a threat infuriatingly real, other monsters of corporeal menace she had seen and fought during her time with her fellow Knights of the Golden Blade, but this? Yes, she had seen some strange and fantastic things since the tragedy of Reikhurst forced her to travel far and wide from her destroyed home, but this made said list even stranger and more fantastic than previously.

So naturally, Heike--despite the pressure of time from the battle being fought around them--was reluctant to take the Warrior-Poet's hand. But take it she did, accepting his help and rising up to her feet and giving her helm a few slight adjustments; so battered was her helm that it had been pressing uncomfortably against her head, and there seemed to only be a choice between moderate discomfort and slightly less discomfort. She gave up. Let the damaged helm rest were it was for now, a touch askew on her head.

"Herr Heike Eisen. We are well met," she said. Then, with a glance to the crumbling forces of the Vampiric Army, she said firmly to the Warrior-Poet, Crows Call, as he called himself, "And we've a battle to win."

Then Kyla and Eberwolf (along with his massive hound) emerged through the line of thralls, having fought their way into Heike and Crows Call's presence. Kyla, worried enough to make Heike gloss over her comment of stupid girl, likewise inspired a chord of worry to be struck in Heike as well. But Eberwolf cleared up the concern almost as soon as it was alighted. Still, despite the trust she held for Eberwolf, Heike wouldn't feel completely secure until she saw Ferelith with her own eyes. And there was no better way of doing that than finishing the battle. Removing the threat. Order prevailing.

Who might you be spectre? Are you friend or foe?

"He is a friend. He came to my aid," Heike said, hurriedly. There was little time to waste. Victory was in their grasp yet it could just as easily slip free.

"The last Vampires. The ones controlling the thralls." Heike pointed to the thick of the Vampiric Army's remaining infantry. "Surely they cower in the middle of that rabble. We need to get to them. Slay them. End this."

Sir Eberwolf Kinniger Kyla Scathach Crows Call

 

[Kyla Scathach]

“Finally. I’m getting tired. Far too old for this beksha ti mak shei.” She cursed obviously as unsatisfied as Heike with Eberwolfs answer. Ferelith shouldn’t be wounded at all unless something was seriously wrong with her.

However like Hieke she understood ending the battle was the surest and fastest way to get back to her sister safely.

“Glad too see you made it through ok.” Kyla said giving Eberwolf a playful punch in the shoulder. “When this is over I’d love to hear you recount your tale over something strong. She said pulling a few fingers out of her hair with a sigh of disgust. Gore covered her as heavily as the now red stained knight.

“It’s been one of those days.” She said with a heavy sigh giving her claymore a few practice swings as she stretched and prepared to follow Heike into the fray.

 

[Ferelith Scathach]

“They won’t close!”

“What do you mean? It’s a simple spell.”

“The ones that open wont close! And new ones keep opening up and closing again it’s..I don’t know what to do!”

A healer and her fellow veteran partner knelt neck to Ferelith as she convulsed. Past wounds inflicted on her seeming to reappear before being beaten back by her newly acquired magic resistance and her natural healing.

The young human female pushed her long brown bangs from her eyes as she glanced at her older partner. The older man was looking at the woman with a type of pity usually reserved for those shortly before they died and yet she seemed to be enduring.

“This is something beyond us...Just try and ease her pain..Help heal what looks like it’s about to open up...Maybe we can find someone but we have many wounded. If she does die move on.” He said sternly as the woman nodded slowly Before allowing her healing magic to wash over Ferelith and helped her at least slightly beat back what ever seemed to be attacking her body so aggressively.

 

[Crows Call]

The specter was overjoyed to meet such a colorful menagerie of battle brothers, a sort of knight's of a round, if he had ever seen it, and listening to their banter reminded him of the days of old. The world around him seemed to shift, in front of him he saw the winged knight, Galemere the White-Hawk riding on his werebear compatriot, Skald the Dread breaker, to his left Dame Veella the Moonlight Knight, the battlefield now filled with a clash between an army of the reminted dead and the winged knights of Aoloth Keep, the sun beating down on the battlefield. He was tempted to embrace his old friend Galemere, but he knew the battle was of a pressing concern.

He then heard Dame Veella yell over the clashing of steel, "We have a battle to win, brothers! The necromancers responsible for this foul horde hide over yonder in terror, let us end this war with one final push!" In response the warrior poet raised his blessed silver blade to the sky, his blood-brother, Rolof, without a word raised his blade to mimic the warrior-poet and together they sang,

"Raaaaa AAAA!
you can't hold us back, even if you wanted to!
Ooo ahhh!
this battle ends here, after we shall drink deeply of beer!
Ooo ahhh!
here ends the age of heresy, here ends the age of the necromancy!
RAAAAA RAAAA!
YOU WILL BE BANISHED TO THE RALM OF DARK SEAS, TO FOREVER SILENCE YOUR HYPOCRACY!
HOOOO HAAAAA!​

​

He and his blood brother then rushed into the horde, hacking and slashing their way to the necromancers, singing as they went.

 

[Sir Eberwolf Kinniger]

“Glad too see you made it through ok.” Kyla said giving Eberwolf a playful punch in the shoulder. “When this is over I’d love to hear you recount your tale over something strong. She said pulling a few fingers out of her hair with a sigh of disgust. Gore covered her as heavily as the now red stained knight.

“Glad to see you’ve survived as well.” Her hand would end up covered in blood from his once-white armor. “We’ll talk about that after we’re done with these scum.”

So he returned to the fray, glad to be cutting more monsters into small cubes of meat. It didn’t take much longer to finish the battle, as the enemy was in disarray and leaderless. This took even less time once the easily identifiable vampires in armor were eliminated, and the thralls became motionless. They were rounded up for later transport, and the soldiers gathered their fallen and injured.

They returned to the fort soon after, bringing the dead, injured and the thralls with them, the latter to be determined either capable of recovery or incapable of recovery. Eberwolf was in the command tent, going over the numbers and reports.

 

[Crows Call]

After the battles conclusion, the specter stood alone on a small hill. The specter saw the world as it was, looking at the ashes and bits of armor of the horde he had cut his way through, he felt a strong melancholy: he was again severed from his time in life and the glory of battle had faded into ashes and bloodstains. He looked at his vessel, the man would be beyond exhausted when he released his possession of him, and he would have to soon enough.

His time here was going to come to an end soon, both he and his blade would fade away to naught but dust and he would be ripped back into the cold expanse of the realm-between before appearing in another place and time. He didn't want to leave, not yet, he didn't want to be banished back to the cold and dark sleep for anywhere from days to centuries. This continued to fill him with dread, but as he ruminated on this fear the sun peeked up over the horizon.

Seeing this made him feel much more at peace, it reminded him of who he was: a warrior-poet, a knight of the sun, a force of divine intervention in the darkest of nights. No matter how long his banishment, eventually he would return as the sun eventually rises at the end of the long night. In death as he was in life: proud, radiant, down but never out. He felt more filled in proverbial spirits, and was content in this moment to watch the sunrise on this truly most glorious of days.

So deep had he fallen into to melancholy that he had forgotten the most wonderful thing, they had fought an army of the dead and they had won! He put his balled hands on his hips in a triumphant fashion at this realization. He wondered how his battle brothers were doing after such a harrowing if glorious battle?

 

[Heike Eisen]

Heike turned in her helm to the fort's armorer. Her chainmail was still serviceable, but the helm had received such a savaging on behalf of the Brother Knight that--if it could not be repaired in time--she would have to acquire a new one. During her time waiting in the queue with other Kinniger soldiers she tried to keep her claws hidden, obscured, as best she could. Turning her body this way and that, keeping her hands in front of herself instead of at her sides. She kept to herself, lifting her eyes to meet to the armorer's own once it was her turn. Here it was that she had to bring her hands and her claws into clear view to remove her helm from her head. The armorer, to his credit, still maintained his disciplined composure even after seeing them. Yet it bothered Heike all the same. The mere fact of her claws singled out her otherness from the men around her.

She fought for them. But she was not one of them.

Afterward, she went to the captured thralls again. Selected one at random and couldn't bring herself to look into his dead, unthinking eyes as she bit into his neck. That same volatile feeling which came with every feeding, intense shame mixed with powerful pleasure. It was disgusting.

She cleaned up her lips and the thrall's neck and left the thrall cages in slightly more of a hurry than when she had come in.

Eberwolf had gone to the command tent. The Warrior-Poet, the strange new addition to the Kinniger forces that they had encountered on the battlefield, was outside of the camp as far as she knew. And Ferelith was in the tent she and Heike had been assigned.

Something had happened. Something was wrong. After the battle had concluded, Ferelith...her wounds were not healing. Perhaps this was a peculiar thing to say for a regular human being, but Ferelith was anything but. Even if Ferelith was only a Slaughtern strain vampire like Heike, feeding and sleep would mend her wounds. But Ferelith was different. She had a gift of healing that, honestly, made mortal wounds laughable. Terribly frightening, if one were facing off against her, as Szesh and Heike had back at Rennegast's tower.

Something--someone--had inflicted upon Ferelith a brand of mortality that she likely had not known for quite some time. A brand of mortality that Heike herself longed for, as it so happened. Heike would give up all of the formidable powers her affliction bestowed upon her in an instant if she could. Give them all up and go back to living as a normal human being in a world filled with magic and monsters. There was a certain virtue in that, she believed. A Reikhurstan virtue: disdain for the corrupting influence of power of any kind, and contempt for those who would seek it out and pay the terrible costs for it.

Heike entered the tent. Sat down beside Ferelith. Tried to offer a comforting smile.

And said, "How are you feeling?"

Ferelith Scathach Sir Eberwolf Kinniger Crows Call

 

[Ferelith Scathach]

“I already told that tall red haired woman! No one comes in here! I need space!” The medic hovering over her turned and snapped as Heike entered a scowl on her face. She was sweating, swearing and straining to figure out what to do..Nothing was working! “Everything I try it just...Lets it happen and then reverts it right back!” She muttered.

“It’s...It’s ok...” Ferelith wheezed out. Once heike was able to approach as the medic relented with a sigh. Her hand reached out to her love. “I’m fine love..” She said once Heike took her hand she would weakly attempt To pull her closer and give her a gentle peck on the cheek.

“I’m so glad you made it back..once I got separated I was so worried that..” tears ran down her face as her nose began to bleed and another pool was slowly forming next to her right ear. “But now look at me eh? In the one all banged up..” She chuckled cupping Heikes cheek in her left hand running her thumb up and down her lovers cool smooth skin while the other continued to grip her hand.

That chuckle quickly turned into a coughing fit. She released her lovers cheek and placed it to her mouth. When she pulled away...Blood shouldn’t be that color.. “I’ll pull through this..I’m sure it’s just some kind of poison right?” She smiled but she was hiding something from Heike as a knight many criminals had lied to her daily and she could spot them a mile away let alone someone she loved and cared for They stuck out like a black sheep in snow.

Something was very wrong with her. And she knew what it was. And yet here she was playing dumb. stopped, her eyes went wide as her body suddenly jerked and spasmed her eyes rolling back in her head. The hand holding Heike’s gripped it weakly.

“Shit she’s started again! “ the medic cursed. Then turning to the vampire. “I need you out of here leech!” She snapped. But before the vampire left the tent she added. “W..When she stable again I’ll find you.... I’ll help her ride this out..I’m the best..” She said somewhat reassuringly. But in her eyes you could tell she was at a loss.

Her only thought was to maybe aid this woman’s natural healing with her own power and help push whatever this was out, but while her healing fixed the problems it was always temporary and they came back worse. This was like hospice care...comforting the dying..

 

[Heike Eisen]

The healer was harried. And with good reason. Even now, even after the intervening time between returning to the Kinniger fort and Heike's return to the tent, the healer still had not been able to discover what was truly wrong with Ferelith's wounds. In Heike's mind, it was nothing short of a miracle that the healer even bothered to work on Ferelith--a vampire and a levied criminal--to begin with.

But the healer relented at Ferelith's prompting, perhaps to be afforded some time to think or to rest or both. Heike approached and took Ferelith's outstretched hand and sat down on the cot beside her and asked her question (which was answered with that thoroughly flexible response of "I'm fine..."). She sat, listened, relished Ferelith's kiss and touch.

Once I got separated I was so worried that...

"I know," Heike said softly. A flash of memory to the first time a compatriot-in-arms fell in battle, a man as young as Heike who had likewise been squired under the tutelage of Herr Dieter Roth and Herr Elias Schulze. That sheer devastation of sorrow that befell her, seeing him and holding his bloodied hand. The solemn and stoic gaze of Herr Elias. A certain hardening of the heart that Herr Elias spoke of, the knife of grief losing its sharpness but never becoming wholly dull.

I'll pull through this..I'm sure it's just some kind of poison right?

Heike got a fleeting glimpse of the blood in Ferelith's palm. Gave a tilt of her head toward the healer. Said, "She's doing everything that she can to help you."

A poor response. Not the one Heike truly wanted to give. That firm reassurance she desired to speak, even if it might in some woeful turn of fate be borne out a falsehood. She did not know that Ferelith would be alright--worried dearly about it--and since there was nothing Heike herself could do, her Oath of Truth forbade her from making a definitive assertion on the matter. A lamenting that this should be so, that her Oath crippled her bedside manner.

And then the spasm hit her. Heike shot up to her feet when the healer moved back in, the palm of her hand raised near her mouth in stark worry as she looked on. It was like (much too like) the first death of the fellow knight. That familiar feeling of helplessness, of being manifestly incapable of saving a friend, a loved one, as they were dying before your eyes. Here, swords and armor and discipline and all the components both material and immaterial of battle amounted to nothing--these were suited only for taking lives, defending others, but not saving them when tragedy had already struck.

"Please," Heike said to the healer. "Help her."

And with that, Heike complied with the healer's demand. She left the tent and the flap came back down with a limp wave and hung still. She stood outside the tent, the rows of so many other tents wherein no such terrible ordeals were occurring to her left and her right down the length of the fort's walled interior.

Heike cradled her forehead in the palms of her hands, her claws flared up like some grim ceremonial headdress perched atop her hair.

What. Happened?

Ferelith Scathach Sir Eberwolf Kinniger Crows Call

 

[Kyla Scathach]

Kyla would be readying to enter the tent as Heike exited.

Kyla stopped.

Her eyes were hard.

Her worry knotted up in her chest like a coiling serpent ready to strike out at any who disturbed it. She hadn’t even cleaned herself off from the battle. Still disgustingly covered in the filth of war.

“Did she tell you?” Kyla asked. It seemed like a very off the wall question, but from her expression her answer held more

weight than the question itself would suggest. She could tell after a glance that she already knew the answer and didn’t like it.

“She..That stupid..Stupid...STUPID....mak la Gek sh Mel shen la Kai ma!” She said slipping into her and Ferelith’s native tongue as her rage did not allow the extra work it took to convert her thoughts to common.

“She would rather die than...grrrr..” Kyla’s ramblings turned to a growl of pure frustration with the situation and her sister. She had known what ailed her sister the moment she had seen her. Brynn has paid her a visit. But why? Why not Kyla? Why just Ferelith.

Kyla could go, but they didn’t want her. And even if she did go slaughter the lot of them and return with the cure it would be far too late. It seemed simple.

Ferelith would rather simply die and spend her last week on this earth in complete and ever mounting agony than tell Heike and Kyla what needed to be done. To protect them. That wasn’t her job! That was Kyla’s.

“Fine.” Kyla muttered before storming past Heike and into the tent.

“Hey! I said I needed space! What are you doing!? Stop! Someone!?” The cries of protest from the medic rose from annoyance to fear in an instant.

“Kyla! No!” Now it was Fereliths turn to join in. Kyla emerged from the tent silently.

Ferelith thrown over her shoulder and vomiting her guts out. A slick black paste that seemed to rot whatever it touched before evaporating into a cloud of black mist.

“Kyla! I won’t go back! I won’t And I won’t drag her into this not with them!” She continued to struggle. While it seemed her condition hadn’t changed she wrestled in her sisters grasp like a writhing demon.

Her skin loosing more color and her brow becoming drenched in sweat as she suddenly was forced to stop by another bout of coughing.

“Then tell her. Or we’re leaving.” Kyla commanded stopping as the medic rushed from the tent and stood in Kyla’s way the woman looked through her but waited for Ferelith. “I won’t! I can’t sister!” She said.
“Fine. Then I will.” Kyla said finally. “Heike. We have a middle sister...and it looks like the people that.”

“Stop!” Ferelith yelled. Her hands pounding on Kyla’s back feebly. “P..please..She’s all I have..” She begged. “Fine.“ Kyla said finally. Setting her down. Her mouth a hard line of restrained emotion. Ferelith reached out for Heike as the medic came back to her side as well looking at Kyla with dislike and suspicion.

“Talk some since into her.” She said finally taking her leave. “That was a lot...” The medic commented. “What’s your name hun.” She said calmly.

“I never caught it.” “Gunh..F-Ferelith..” She said slipping up with a blush reaching out and trying to cling to Heike.

 

[Crows Call]

As the sun rose high in the sky, the warrior-poet's ethereal form dissipated, he was confined once again to his vessel. The power gained from the slain was fading, he supposed he should see how all of his battle brothers were holding up after this stark combat, he then began to move to the most important looking building he could find. He found the mess hall.

As he jogged to the tent, he realized he was (well, his vessel was) soaked in blood and his mail was sliced open at multiple parts. He hoped this didn't give away his unnatural nature. He then walked into the tent with a large sweeping motion of his arm, Crows Call hanging on his back, he was met with many gazes and stares from his fellow warriors. In response, he slumped his posture a bit, and added a sort of imbalance to his walk as to make himself seem low in spirits and battle fatigued.

He then walked over to the group of camp followers that were serving the meal. The senses of a vessel to the possessor are dulled significantly, but he could still smell the cooking food, the roasted pork, the stew of various spices, vegetables, and beef, and the SWEET ROLLS, Sunaris, the sweet rolls, he could of sworn their was a waterfall coming from his mouth.

He looked at the fine maid who was in charge of making these delicious treats and asked in the best fake exasperated voice he could muster, "Could I please have a plate, las?" ,the camp follower responded, "Of course sir knight, of course I must ask: would you rather get yourself and your armor cleaned before you eat?" Bloody hell, he had forgotten that the living clean themselves of blood and viscera before eating... he said with a start, "Oh! Yea, I'm sorry been out in the field so long, I forgot about hygiene." She let out a pity chuckle in response, he then turned to leave the mess hall tent, headed out, and began his search for where the men washed themselves and their armor.

At last he thought he found the steam tent, when he entered however he was met with the dull stench of blood and the pained moans of the wounded. He had ended up in the healer's tent, however, towards the back of the tent he could sense the presence of an undead barely hanging on to its unnatural existents. He would not stand for this vile corruption hiding amongst the living, wait, wasn't he some form of unnatural existents hiding amongst the living? He digressed, then snapped to his senses, he must find this undead and rip its corrupt life from this world, less its very presence endanger the souls of the men in this tent!

He quickly rushed to the back of the tent, only to be standing at the end of a dramatic scene between the vampire dame he had saved in the battle, what looked to be Aquailia the Crimson Huntress, the dying undead on the makeshift bed, and a very uncomfortable looking medic. Obviously they cared for this undead, and if it was of the like that the dame was then it was no foe of his. That being as it is; Aquailia seemed to be right in front of him, how had she survived all these years? Was she a friend or perhaps even the sire of this vampiric dame? What was going on here?! He couldn't hold in his excitement to speak to someone from his time! He Shouted excitedly, "Aqualia?! Caltro biken! Gano sem culy?!"

 

[Kyla Scathach]

A knight that had saved Heike previously approached her.

“Sir knight..” She said absent mindedly until his voice boomed into her ears excitedly. She knew not of what the man spoke of and looked at him bewildered.

“Um nay. I’m Kyla of the highland spine. I know not what language or who’s name you speak of sir.” She had not known if her mother or any of her kin. It had always just been Gunhild, Brynn and Herself.

She was a mess. She needed to get cleaned up. Something about the name bothered Kyla deeply. It struck a chord in her chest she couldn’t put her finger on.

 

[Crows Call]

Was this Aquailia? It was the spitting image of her: save the particular clothing and peculiar red tattoo, those could easily be part of the new age. But she calls herself Kyla? What kind of a name is Kyla? And the highland spine? Did she mean the Annu-Highlands? To top this, she says she doesn't remember the tongue of old, but it is just that the tongue of old, it could have been forgotten with time. Besides, he had no clue how much time had actually past since his first death, only that he had been there at the rise and fall of more than a few empires. He felt his spirits darken a little, this was likely not Aquailia the Huntress, even if it was, if she had existed as long as he had: she no doubt changed into something darker as well.

Examining this woman's composure, he saw a faint flicker of pain in her eyes and in her stance. The name had troubled her. He however could not afford to jump at every shining of hope. He had to excuse himself from this painful visage before it became unbearable. He spoke to Kyla, "Oh, sorry my dear, you just reminded me of someone I used to know." He then looked to the nurse, "My good healer, you should be aware that there is a large wave of wounded in critical condition coming in, they're survivors of the fist field skirmish that were buried beneath the piling bodies." He then turned to leave the tent, beginning to walk hurriedly to the exit, hoping no one would have any other words with him, right now he just wanted to get to a damned wash room to clean up so he could go to the mess hall to stuff his face with sweets.

 

[Heike Eisen]

Kyla's appearance was mildly surprising, so focused and enraptured in worrisome thoughts as Heike had been. She lowered her hands and they fell back down to her sides and she looked to the other woman.

Did she tell you?

There. The heart of the problem, spoken aloud. Heike had not wanted to pry in a way that could even be remotely accusatory of Ferelith, not when she had hardly more than a hunch to go off of. There was the raw fact that none of the wounded or slain Kinniger forces had suffered from poison at the hands of the Vampiric Army, but--for all Heike knew--Ferelith's woes could have resulted from some foul magic of the Vampires' doing that Ferelith herself was unaware of. But Kyla's question gave credence to Heike's fledgling hunch, that Ferelith had some knowledge of what was happening. That it, perhaps, had happened before.

So Heike shook her head no in response to Kyla's question. This possibly going unseen as Kyla lamented her sister's stubbornness and stormed into the tent. It was Heike's immediate thought to protest, to stop Kyla and demand that she let the healer do her work, but...such adherence to order and the proper way of things would do no good in this instance.

Heike needed not to wait long. Kyla soon emerged from the tent, carrying her sister over her shoulder as a mother might carry a wayward child.

Then she saw it. The vile and unnatural vomit that erupted from Ferelith's mouth. And she nearly jumped back, shocked and dismayed to see such a thing.

"Hell's fury! Ferelith!" Heike exclaimed. She reached out but then hesitated, pulling her hand back as soon as she extended it--keenly aware of the claws that were her fingers and their deadliness. Aware, also, of the silver and gold rings given to her by the warden back in Alliria, and not wanting to trigger the effects of those rings inadvertently.

An...unexpected back and forth occurred between Ferelith and Kyla, the mention of a middle sister the root of this surprise. Here an implication, one that had not existed in Heike's mind prior to this: a middle Scathach sister, who presumably was responsible for the new agony Ferelith endured.

Kyla put Ferelith down. Stepped away (and was greeted off to the side by the Warrior-Poet). Heike held the side of her hand before her mouth, eyes lowered in thought, registering what she now knew. Then she stepped toward Ferelith and crouched beside her, well within the reach of her grasp.

Heike's look was intense. Adamant. "Ferelith, you need to tell me what happened. Tell me what happened out on the battlefield today, and tell me about this middle sister of yours."

A softening of her gaze, yet her voice remained firm--solid and dependable bedrock. "We cannot help you if we do not know the truth."

Ferelith Scathach Crows Call Sir Eberwolf Kinniger

 

[Sir Eberwolf Kinniger]

Eberwolf had finished organizing the recovery from the battle, directing various officers to oversee the collection of injured amongst the dead and bringing them in for treatment. Once that was in motion he himself came to the medical field, near the center of the camp, as most things of importance were. And found the now extended group gathered around a very hurt Ferelith. He came up just as Heike made her exclamation about the fury of hell. He had left his helm in his tent and left his coif off his head, letting his concern be seen. Her healing was not mitigated by the manacles about her wrists and ankles, so the fact that she wasn’t healing was definitely worrisome.

He didn’t say anything as Heike confronted Ferelith to speak truth, which he too wanted to hear. A middle sister, quite a surprise to him, but then again, he didn’t know much about these sisters, so perhaps he shouldn’t have been so surprised. He stood by waiting to hear the answer.