Fiery Furnace

[NekoButcher]

The blizzard provided Pounder with everything he needed to escape the first few volleys. It took him only seconds after he’d fired his crossbow to realize that he had put himself in a vulnerable position, and had no problem with turning tail and running until he was safe towards the back of the rampaging hoard. For once, he was glad for Karuka. Because of her, it seemed that the rest of the people seemed to have no problems with throwing their bodies into the middle of a battle.

With the snow flurries, it was easy enough for Pounder to escape. He knew that he could be strategic with his choices now, and that he’d need to be. He might have been a killer, but that didn’t make him a soldier. Once in the clear, he loaded up his crossbow again and began to size up the battle.

In the blizzard, it was hard enough to see anything, and Pounder really wondered what the church’s archers could do. He had heard Markham call out to him earlier to take them down, but he had wanted to get a bit of safety first. When it was all said and done, the cat man figured he’d be able to justify his actions, whatever they were. Now, it was just a priority to survive.

Pounder’s eyes narrowed as he searched the snowy landscape in front of him. He could barely make out people, but the colors of the bloodied, tired passengers were often much darker than the light ones worn by the clerics. It gave Pounder just the edge he needed to make sure that he wasn’t drawing friendly fire.

The only problem was, the feline didn’t know if he was setting himself up to be a target from his enemies by standing so far away from the rest of his group. It would have been difficult for the church archers to really get anyone in the fray without taking on the risk of friendly fire. However, as he stood in the back, he realized he was alone. And by being alone, he was vulnerable.

An arrow careened through the sky, and it whizzed narrowly by Pounder’s ear, confirming his fear. The hitman only waited a second to fire off a bolt before ducking behind some of the firewood that had been collected earlier. From there, he figured he’d be shielded while he attacked. Another two arrows flew into the wood, both of them from different directions.

“They see me better than I see them,” Pounder thought. He fired another bolt in the general direction of one of the archers, hoping that, at the very least it would cause his foe some consternation. He began to search for some way to draw the archers out, make them do something that would cause them to reveal themselves.

Soon, he realized what he needed to do. Wait the arrows out, but keep looking forward. Eventually, if they realized they were hitting firewood, they would use flaming arrows. “If they’re religious types, they have to have holy fires or holy magics or something…” Pounder thought. He kept shooting, but this time, he targeted any member of the Ethereal Sway he could find. He knew he had to at least kill a few of them if he was going to push the archers to use their flaming arrows.

He kept his eyes trained for the first flash of flame. His eyes bore over the battle eagerly, and the moment that he saw it, he fired. Almost immediately after, there was a second flame coming from the other direction. Pounder fired again.

The hitman waited a few seconds to move from his position, but soon it was confirmed. There were no more arrows coming towards him.

[Karuka]

Various projectiles whizzed through the air from different directions. Men dropped on both sides, clerics as well as some of their makeshift defenders. Snow swirled and pelted everyone, as though to encourage the carnage happening on the dead earth by adding its own insatiable violence.

The cold against her exposed skin was all that was keeping Karuka's thoughts even relatively coherent. It was so tempting to just throw herself headfirst into battle and hack away at her enemies until they were all dead or until she was. But each breath, while making steam surround her like an irate dragon's breath, provided a bracing cold that kept her on her toes.

Arrows stopped whizzing past her as she faced off against a wiry man with a slender silvery saber in his hand. His gaze wasn't as warm as the snow that had embedded itself in the red-head's hair and on the tips of her eyelashes, and he seemed visibly repulsed at the fire that flared in her glare.

They circled each other like rival wolves battling for supremacy, one an experienced male with nothing but blind faith spurring him to sweep through the land, ravaging it for all it was worth, the other a vicious female with nothing to gain if she won this battle, but everything to lose if she lost.

Each took a couple of moments to scan the area, looking to see how their respective packs were faring. Karuka saw maybe fifteen members of the Church still fighting on the field, and there were still maybe a dozen refugees fighting. Slowly but surely, her group was coming out ahead. The cold priest knew that as surely as Karuka did, if the sour expression on his face could be translated as anything other than an acute case of indigestion. She matched it with a feral grin, crouching down with her mythril daggers gripped tightly in her hands.

Every muscle in her body was tense, ready to move as soon as he attacked. Every hair stood on end and her heart pounded in her chest. She could almost feel the ground beneath her feet goading her on, and she could smell the blood in the air, even over the snow that her boots disturbed as she moved. Despite her peaceable nature, there was a part of her that lived for moments such as this, where there were no petty arguments, just a winner and a loser. Those that lived and died. It was too deeply ingrained in her blood.

The cleric's blade glinted as he slashed at her face in a tight infinity loop, but she batted the slender sword away as though it were a mere twig. He came at her again and again, each movement precise and graceful, and each time blocked by a crude but effective knife swipe.

It only took Karuka a few seconds to tire of this game, and she rocked backward as his sword slashed in at her face before lunging forward. He had no time to get his blade back into position, and like greedy fangs, her daggers found his neck. His eyes, so frosty and grey, flared with fear for a second before going dark.

"Good luck with your afterlife," she growled, feeling a victorious flare run through her spirit. Numbers were roughly even now, and as Markham slashed into his latest foe, it broke weakly into the refugees' favor. Karuka didn't see Pounder anywhere, but that didn't matter at the moment. Ten to nine were better odds than she'd seen in a long time, but she had to solidify them, and one of the warriors was the old man using her staff. He was tiring, although he had bludgeoned a couple of clerics into unconsciousness and was working on a third.

Seeing Markham go off to the aid of the man nearest him, Karuka charged straight back into battle, moving to help out the old man. The battle wasn't over until it was over, after all...and she wanted it over in her favor.

[NekoButcher]

Pounder was pleased with the way the battle was going, or at least what he could see of it from his vantage point. The smell of spilled blood was getting stronger and stronger, and from what the catman could see, the dark clothes of his allies weren’t falling any faster than the rest. The only thing that could have made him happier was to see Karuka Tida’s head rolling towards him.

From his position, the hitman didn’t know how many kills he had, but he could tell his support had begun to turn into an advantage. When he put his hand over his eyes to look out on the battle, he could see that the priestly soldiers had been more concerned just because they didn’t know where the next bolt would be coming from.

However, Pounder was beginning to worry. He was running out of bolts, and he only had a handful left. He didn’t trust Karuka, and was worried once the fight against the religious group were over, he was going to have to fight her. If she found out that he had told Markham about her ties to the Church of the Etherial Sway, then they were bound to go to war against each other. The catman wanted to wait back and do nothing, but he realized he didn’t have that option. The longer he was to hesitate without involving himself in hand to hand combat, the more cowardly he’d look. Karuka would know he was weak in hand to hand combat, and the rest of the group would desert him.

Thus, Pounder strapped his crossbow across his back and unsheathed his dagger. It wasn’t a particularly elegant melee weapon, but it was the only one that he had. As he moved closer to the battle, he looked on the ground, trying to see if there was a short sword or rapier that would have given him better length, but finding none, he was forced to block the first offending parry with nothing more than his dagger.

It was a last minute reflex that had allowed the catman to get his weapon up in time. He hadn’t expected for the battle to be as fast pace as it was. A second swipe of a shortsword passed narrowly over his head, and the only thing that saved him was probably that in the blizzard, it was too hard to see. Taking advantage of the miss, Pounder tried to drive his dagger forward into the gut of the offender, but all he hit was a steel chest plate. The catman’s fingers began to reverberate with the impact of the blow, and he winced and darted to the side to avoid the next blow.

Now, he didn’t know what to do. He could see fresh corpses of both ally and enemy near him, so much so that he thought there couldn’t have been more than five of each side left. Pounder knew he had to continue, because now he could see, both Markham and Karuka were among the ones alive. His plan was in danger of backfiring, and backfiring badly.

The only thing he could do would try to prove his loyalty to the cause was greater than that of Karuka. She might have seen his true colors, but Pounder knew that Markham trusted them both. There was still a chance at survival, but to get it, the hitman had to do the one thing that came the most naturally to him. He was going to have to get blood on his blade.

Seconds later, he got his chance. Pounder's enemy made the fatal mistake of checking for allies, and that allowed the feline to drive his dagger right in the holy man's throat.

[Karuka]

A few minutes later it was all over. Markham's sword pierced through a chink in the last cleric's mail, and a few moments later he fell, just another corpse on the field. The sounds of battle had quieted, the clash of blades diminished to the groans of the injured and dying, the frightened whimpers of children, and the labored breaths of the wearied victors.

Now that the heat of battle was gone, the cold slashed through Karuka like a bitter blade, and each frozen breath pierced her lungs with a thousand needles. For the first time, the wound on her back started hurting, a hot, throbbing pain that sent trails of blood down her back as they froze.

She grabbed her dirty, battered old cloak from the ground and pulled it around her for a little bit of warmth as she started toward her bag.

"See which of the wounded can be saved," she directed the women, "and start loading them and the children into the wagons."

As she flipped open her bag, rummaging for her medical supplies, she saw the tip of a broadsword enter her field of vision.

"Miss Karuka," started Markham in his incredibly soft and gentle baritone, "I hate to have to ask you this, but with the ring and all...and I was told that someone heard you praying to the Ethereal Sway on the train...I just have to make sure you're not allied with them. I don't believe you are! You helped us and stood by us through all of the bloody mess that just happened...but are you a Priestess of the Ethereal Sway?"

The weary red-head looked from Markham's sword to his ruggedly handsome face and let out a weary laugh. "I grabbed the ring from a corpse that was blown my way by the train explosion. It looked like it could be useful. I don't know anything about Salvar...and I don't even know what an Ethereal Sway is. You might have noticed that I couldn't even name a place that I served. No...I just want to get as many people safely home as possible, and deliver the wee girl to her aunt in Knife's Edge."

Markham looked into her eyes for a few moments, but he saw in them a genuine honesty that had been noted by so many other people before. Making his decision, he put his sword away and started clearing out space for the wounded in the wagons.

[NekoButcher]

With the battle over, Pounder knew he had to get moving. The warriors of the Ethereal Sway hadn’t been able to stop him, either on the train or out by the water. With a slightly arrogant snort, Pounder looked at all the carcasses around him. Karuka and Markham had survived, but both of them were tough, well equipped warriors. He wasn’t. He was a simple butcher who, at times, murdered. Though the distinction may have not been readily apparent by those prone to make comparison, the similarities weren’t really there.

Pounder made no efforts to say farewells to anyone. He didn’t care whether Markham, who had always been good to him, got to say a goodbye. It was fine with the hitman if Karuka let the muscular man know the truth, just so long as he had already got on a horse and left.

With that, the hitman made full use of the blizzard. He heard Karuka and Markham talking about her relationship with the Ethereal Sway. Pounder supposed, if necessary, he could argue that he had seen the ring and that had been the source of his suspicions, but even that wouldn’t have been that easy to explain away, especially given the lie that he’d told.

“If only I’d seen the ring before…” Pounder mused. Then, he could have sliced Karuka’s throat the moment after she had reprimanded him. He doubted that even in her anger, she would have realized the full extent of his depravity. The truth was, Pounder was a genuine monster. It was a feeling that had bothered him a great deal when he had first started killing, but as time went on, he had grown more and more accustomed to it.

There was a relatively large wagon near the carnage. Pounder, caring little for the fate of the wagon after he got what he needed, cut at the yoke that tied the horses to it and climbed onto the steed he had deemed stronger. It was still going to be a blizzard, but Pounder didn’t mind. In fact, he was grateful for the weather. Fresh snow meant any other members of the Ethereal Sway that tried to track him down wouldn’t be able to. The prints of the horse would have been snowed under shortly after they were made.

“So long,” the hitman muttered. It was loud enough to be audible, but he wasn’t calling out to anyone. Instead, Pounder was mocking the dead. The innocent lambs that had been lead to the slaughter. With one last thought of Karuka, the hitman rode away, thinking only the guilty survive.

[Karuka]

Pounder's absence was noticed briefly by Markham, who had to catch one of the loose horses and tie him in place on the wagon, but other than that, everyone was too busy taking care of the wounded and getting ready to go. Karuka's wounds were sewn up as one widow tried to press on despite the fact that her husband's corpse lay mere yards away.

Of the wounded that had been thrown out of the fight, only five could be saved, and these were treated to the best of the small group's abilities before they were loaded into one of the wagons, where some women stayed to keep them as comfortable as possible. The wounded survivors of the Church were left bound in the snow. Mercy for their oppressors was in very short supply after the long and needlessly violent day.

It had been Markham's idea to let them die of exposure. Karuka had been all for giving them quick and irrevocable deaths, but so few people were going to be stopping in the woods on such a snowy evening, especially with the distance the site was from the road. They probably wouldn't be found until spring, when more people were likely to wander and explore. So they were left to die slowly.

It was getting dark by the time the caravan was ready to move, but they had to push forward, anyway. The blizzard was still raging, but there was little they could do about that. Markham knew the way to the nearest safe town, ten miles away, and that would only be a couple of hours.

Securing her oilskin around her neck and her staff on the back of her horse, she set cute little Meg on the saddle before swinging up and following behind the wagons. The weary victor was headed onward to a safe night's sleep, and then on to Knife's Edge.

She had a baby to deliver, after all.

Spoils request: the ring Karuka pulled off a priest's body. It enhances its wearer's magical ability a small amount, and is made of silver and sapphire. It is dangerous to wear in Salvar, as it identifies its wearer as a high-ranking orderly of the Church of the Ethereal Sway.

[Christoph]

I offer my apologies for the delay. I’ve included some extra gold to compensate you for the wait. For the most part, I didn’t make my judgment overly fancy, since both of you have been here a while. Anyway, now for the main event:

Continuity: 7
On the whole, the two of you did a slightly above average job of explaining where you came from and where you were going. The beginning seemed lacking a bit, but the end made up for it.

Setting: 7
Again, a pretty decent job was done. I generally aware of what the surroundings were. Both of you did well in immersing yourselves in the setting as well. It seemed real, which is good.

Pacing: 7
If I were to take the second half of the quest and score it here, I’d give it a 9. The first half, however, really seemed to drag a bit. On the whole, though, it was pretty good.


Action: 7
This was pretty good. It wasn’t great, but it was fairly realistic and entertaining.

Dialogue: 6
Unfortunately, I need to break up the trend of 7s. While the dialogue wasn’t terrible, I felt that it came up short compared to the rest of the aspects of this quest. It seemed a bit awkward at times. Granted, with Pounder as a new character and Karu still getting used to writing without her accent, the two of you are probably still adjusting.

Persona: 6
I liked both of the characters. They seemed real to me, not fake, larger-than-life, or cardboard cutout characters. That said, I was disappointed because I just didn’t get enough of them. Particularly, Pounder really seemed to fall flat at times. That’s not to say that he’s not a great character. Don’t change anything with him, because I like him already; just give me more.


Technique: 7
Back to 7s again, it seems. The writing wasn’t very fancy, but it served its purpose well enough and made the thread, particularly the second half, enjoyable to read. Don’t be afraid to spice your writing up more, though. I know that you’re both capable.

Mechanics: 8
Aside from a number of run-on sentences, particularly from Pounder, your mechanics were fine.

Clarity: 8
Clarity was good. I had a good idea of what was going on most of the time.


Wild Card: 7
I might as well round it off. It wasn’t a masterpiece by any means, but I doubt that either of you were aiming for that. It was a fun little quest, and that’s all that matters sometimes.


Total: 70!

Karuka receives 6020 EXP, 100 GP, and the ring.
NekoButcher receives 2290 EXP and 600 GP

[Karuka]

EXP/GP added! We both level up!