Bandits > Rangers > Imperials [[OPEN]]

[Yari Rafanas]

The Watch was quite organized, it seemed. They were adapting a tried and true method of rank and file, a “do this, do that,” approach to their problems with the Empire. Everywhere one turned there seemed another man in a coat or cloak dawning the symbol of Underwood's protectors, tying some knot to secure loose scaffolding or walking the perimeter of their recently-erected wall. Most of them were armed, and a lot of them were young. It was always the most youthful of the villages who turned up as the most willing, and it would always be the older warriors who would put them in their place.

An officer of the Watch—probably an ex-imperial or mercenary from the looks of the scars—was currently doing just that. His firm hands were on the shoulders of a half-elf boy wearing a similar uniform, obviously of lesser rank, and he was in the process scolding him for thaynes-know-what. It didn't matter, really. The kid was just trying to make an impression and looked honest enough, but whatever the mishap, the older guardsman was a bit irritated. Perhaps it was the hot afternoon sun or the both of them just needed a break, but the berating was getting worse with every word.

“Nice fort, chief.”

The odd comment came from a passerby, halting the brief argument and grabbing the attention of both the hybrid and his superior. It seemed as though they were interrupted by darkly-garbed warrior, wearing expensive leathers and with a small collection of knives tied to his hips. The scruffy man had stopped mid-strut to give his word on the city's well-crafted new defenses, as if the two men of the Watch were responsible for the whole operation.

“No, I mean it!” a grin flashed from beneath the warrior's cloak. “Looks to be doing a pretty good job at keeping all those werewolves out. Workin' pretty well against thieves too, I take it?”

The officer was a bit bewildered but the red in his face was slowly fading. The absurdity of the casual conversation from such a dashing man in prevalida-studded armor was enough to leave his tongue in a knot.

“Nevermind. Keep it up, you two.”

The man turned his shoulder and began on his way, leaving the two guardians to their squabbles. The officer briefly considered questioning the stranger, but soon turned back to his duties at hand.

~ * ~

A few short strides later and the dark warrior from before, Yari Rafanas, was right in the thick of the proving grounds. Words from his Underwood contacts brought the King of Thieves from his sanctuaries in Concordia to get a first hand account of just what was going on in his favorite of lumbertowns, and everything was matching up.

When he was last in Underwood it seemed that the town was a bit undecided in its allegiance, swaying towards the Rangers in most aspects but still established as a neutral territory in this long, stale war. Now, however, it seemed that they were quickly becoming the last true stronghold against the imperial might that threatened all true freedom in Corone. The King of Thieves had always hated the authority that was represented by Radasnthia's government forces, so he did not quite care for either side, but there was a small part of him that could appreciate Underwood's efforts. He was as much a friend to the city as he was a menace. And now, he was here to stir up just a bit more trouble.

It seemed that the Dansdel's normal crowds were between matches, leaving the arena empty. He seized the opportunity granted by its vacancy to call attention to his arrival and throw is name officially into the fray. He barged rather quickly into the main combat pit, taunting any nearby spectators with playful stabs at the air from his halberd.

“Alright, Underwood! Show the King of Thieves what you've got!”

[Ganlon Martel]

The day was warm and comfortable. It was the sort of day good for lying in the sun or a picnic with a friend. Birds swooped and turned on pockets of air that were warmed by the sun. Clouds like puffs of loose cotton rode on the same updrafts of air. The breeze that accompanied this day brought the prospect of a spring ripe with new life.

The workers seemed to notice the same prospect as their work was often accompanied by bawdy songs and the occasional lewd comment to a young woman passing by. The Underwood Watch was truly putting their backs into their work today. Whether it was due to the spring air or the idea of impending Imperial attack was uncertain, but you could see in their sweat that they knew their mission

As always there were those who would let others work while they played. Three Watchmen diced and joyfully expressed their enjoyment of the day with hoots and hollers. The noise was an obvious annoyance to the rest of the Watch until their happiness was interrupted by The Sergeant at Arms who scooped up their dice and simply walked on.

One tall and obviously broad Watchman stood with his spear in his hand watching the road. His Bulbous nose his most notable feature. Ganlon looked up from his pouch where his nose was buried to wave and smile at Douglass Bignose of the Watch.

“Life is just wonderful, huh, Douglass?” Ganlon stopped for a brief moment looking up at the sun.

“Yes, Ganlon, I believe today is going to be wonderful.” Douglass laughed after his statement and smiled down at the smaller man.

“Yes, Douglas, a peaceful and wonderful day, I think I’ll head back to that Bakery I saw.”

Ganlon promptly returned his nose to his pouch and continued to walk. Ganlon’s love of herbs set him on the path that he ended up on. The bakery that he had intended to go to was entirely on the other side of Underwood.

Ganlon counted out loud as he walked, “Thirty berries, four poultices, three teas…”

He rode the tide of the crowd of people like a piece of paper going down a stream. They bumped and pushed him towards an opening in the wall. A man with no shirt but a single strap of leather across his chest laughed and pushed him, “Look at the little solider in daddy's armor, he’ll be good for a laugh.”

Ganlon had heard the same sort of statement every day of his life from the time that he had left the farm. Father had said that a man often made his own worth by making others less in his own mind. Ganlon saw this man as one of those and paid him no notice as he continued walking forward looking down.

He looked up after his teas and found himself standing in an arena. He knew in a moment where he was and closed his pouch; the main Combat Pit. He turned to exit but found the man without the shirt closing the gate to the pit.

He glanced around. There was a podium still in the middle of the arena. It rose with three separate steps,each three feet higher than the next. Ganlon imagined it was for first, second, and third place winners to receive their awards.

The walls were still covered with weapons of every sort, from Sledgehammers to Scimitars, left for combat and training. A horse drawn cart had been left in the corner of one side of the arena with dirty clothes and sweepings from the mornings events. Ganlon could not see the horse. The last thing that Ganlon saw was water barrels left for soldiers to drink from between trainings.

““Alright, Underwood! Show the King of Thieves what you've got,” Shouted a man as he barged into the combat pit. He stabbed the air and poked at the spectators with a Halberd. He looked to Ganlon to be human. The man looked to be Ganlon's age, but much slighter, taller. A look at his armor and Ganlon was fairly sure that the fabrics that lined it would have paid for food for his whole village for a week. The reason that people would need things like this was an annoyance to Ganlon. So much so that it actually caused him to become angry.

He placed his pack on the ground, along with his shield, and took out his helmet. He pulled the cowl of his chain-mail shirt up over his head and sat his helmet onto his head. He put his backpack on his back and secured his shield on his arm. He drew his sword from his scabbard.

“Douglass you jinxed me.” He said quietly to himself and then loudly he stated, “If you are a King, my lord, then I am your servant. I am willing as Underwood’s representative to see if your title of King is earned or divine.” Ganlon finally took a deep bow and rose with his biggest smile on his face.

[Yari Rafanas]

Yari hopped playfully onto the top spot of the podium, mocking the gathered Dansdel warriors with an over-dramatic bow. He heard a mixture of bloodlust and cheers coming from the spectators as they hustled about, commenting on the royal bandit's irreverence and obviously bickering over who to send in to fight the unwanted challenger.

Maybe I should've curtsied. That would have really got 'em goin'

No sooner did Rafanas lift his head from his feigned honor did his sharp eyes meet the unluckiest man in all of Underwood—the first of what Yari hoped would be many warriors he would humble in these halls. The thief gave him a once over, immediately assuming he knew everything about the man. A soldier, it seemed, scooped up in all the civil war propaganda, instructed to train here for when the big day would come where it could be he himself who dug his sword into the twisted heart of the Empire. The average quality of his weapons and protection seemed to support Yari's assumptions, and so the King of Thieves ignored the voice of Experience screaming, “Be careful!” at the back of his mind and continued with his display of arrogance.

“My servant?,” Yari was not sure he had ever muttered that phrase, but did not bother to pause and consider just what his opponent meant. “Maybe you didn't hear me right, but my name is Yari Rafanas.”

There came the pause that brought the room down to a dull roar. Those who were not too sure who the King of Thieves was were now having tall tales and secondhand encounters recited into their ears. Yari took graceful step down from the podium and began a slow walk towards the soldier in front of him, a smirk visible under his hood.

“My Bandit Brotherhood is a group of free men. Free of the Empire's reign, free of the Ranger's justice, and we are by no means servants to any man, elf, or thayne. Our lives are our own, to take and live as we please.”

Rafanas stopped his stroll just a few meters from the man before him, leaning his spear casually against his right shoulder.

“Now, as one of Underwood's guardians, aren't you obliged to put a stop to a wanted man such as myself?”

[Ganlon Martel]

The crowd’s reaction to the name that the, “King”, had yelled was hard to gauge: “Yari Rafanas”. Ganlon knew that he never paid enough attention when people talked about their heroes or for that matter their enemies. Still this one actually struck a cord in Ganlon’s head.

Yari Rafanas, a brigand, a Citadel fighter, a wanted man, all of these things popped into Ganlon’s head. Ganlon was instantly afraid. He felt the fear reaction kick in. His hands began to sweat, his stomach hurt, and his breathing became ragged. He tightened down on his sword. The sound of the crowd disappeared from his hearing and all he could focus on was the tip of the Halberd that lay against the, “King's” shoulder.

“Oh, Zall,” Ganlon unconsciously heard himself say.

Ganlon knew that his ability to run away was gone. He must focus now on staying alive. Father, what do I do now? He let his mind focus on the Halberd tip further and he looked to his past.

“Ganlon, a man is just a man. All of us have talents. Being a hero isn’t about being born with special talents. It is about doing what must be done even when we are afraid. Some times just staying alive makes us a hero.” His father’s distrust of the heroes of the wars he had fought rang a cord of truth in Ganlon’s head. He would stay alive and make his way out of this just like every other time he had put himself in a jam.

Ganlon realized that the, “King” had asked him a question. Yari had called him,” one of Underwood's guardians”. This man thought him a soldier. He thought him to be one of Underwood’s Watch. Ganlon would keep that falsehood to himself.

“King is a title given to those who rule. King is title taken by those who force decisions for others. Freemen are those who chose those their own fate. So I am just a little confused to your title. But I have an idea as to who you are. You are infamous; still my father told me men are just men. So Yari Rafanas since we are here in the combat pit, let’s do this and fight like men. I am Ganlon Martel.” Ganlon raised his sword to the tip of his helmet and lowered it in a salute.

Ganlon stepped back, his left foot forward, and right foot back. He raised his shield with his left arm to allow just his eyes to peer over the tip of the shield. His sword lay against the edge of the shield on the right hand side. Goddess, please don’t let me die, Ganlon prayed.

Fighting a man with any type of Pole-arm Father had told him was a matter waiting, waiting, and not getting cut. An opportunity would present itself when the opponent over extends himself. Still he need to start with a feigned attack to gauge his opponent’s ability to use his Pole-arm. If he were to be truly luck the weapon would be over extended in the first swing and you could catch it with the blade-head away from you and straight strike your opponent.

Ganlon marked the X on Yari Rafanas in his mind and picked the point on the X to strike. A short forward from the wrist attack at the man’s midsection with a twist to dip and hit him in the leg was his first strike. The Goddess Aegle would lead him from here. He took a small breath and drove his sword towards Yari.

[Yari Rafanas]

Such accusations are rarely flung towards the thief. Even in his most reflective moments, Yari would have trouble admitting his words can be a bit hollow or his desires a bit hypocritical. Nonetheless, the soldier in front of him must have hoped his words would fuel the fires of their duel, and he approached. The words barely registered with Rafanas, who was still too absorbed in the excitement of his challenge to Underwood and the anticipation of the fight. At last, they would draw blood. And no, the thief would not play fair.

The bandit threw his shoulder forward, rolling his halberd into his right hand and carrying the weight and momentum of the weapon into a defensive twirl. The hard oak of staff slammed against the flat of his opponent's sword, interrupting its thirsty drive towards his leg and leaving Yari ample time to step back and give his weapon a comfortable range.

Deft hands grasped the halberd, while sharp eyes focused on the soldier's helm. Rafanas threw his arms forward and extended the polearm upwards towards the ears of his enemy, hoping to clash the halberd's head into the iron protecting his target. Though confident his skill and accuracy would be enough, luck could play heavily in sending the helmet clean off the soldier's head and leave him with a delightfully loud ringing in his ears.

[Ganlon Martel]

“Good Goddess, he is fast.” Ganlon wasn’t sure whether he had said it out loud or just in his head; but a fact was a fact. Ganlon watched the Halberd knocked his first strike away. The following strike that came was one that Ganlon just barely saw coming. The only thing that saved Ganlon from losing his helmet entirely was the seven P’s: Prior, Proper, Planning, Prevents, Piss, Poor, Performance.

His father’s repeated drilling had made him place his shield directly in front of him for a Halberd’s straight strike. Ganlon remembered that his father told him a Halberd’s first job was to drive a knight from his horse by punching a hole in his breast plate. When a strike from a Halberd came for your head you had better have something in the way.

All of this didn’t stop the attack from bouncing off of the top of Ganlon’s shield and smacking the top of his helmet. Now, not only did Ganlon’s hand hurt from the defensive strike of the Halberd on his sword; but his ears were ringing. His eyes blurred and his head swam. The ringing of the bells in his head went, WAHA –WAHA and not ding dong, ding dong, but they were still loud none the less.

Ganlon now saw that he was further than his sword’s length would allow him to reach. His head was ringing and his hand hurt. People actually enjoyed this kind of rush. He had just enough time to register the roar of the crowd after getting his bell rung when a clear memory came through. His shield was not only for defense it was also for attacks.

Why not use the problems he was having to his advantage. Ganlon opened his mouth and set his face in a fixed look of pain. It wasn’t really that hard, he was in pain. He allowed him self to stagger forward and then he faked a trip. While in motion he grabbed the top of his shield and with the force of both hands attempted to drive the shield into his opponent’s foot. Throwing all of the prior training his father had given him to the wind Ganlon hoped that this one might give him an edge.

[Yari Rafanas]

Their taunting and conversation had come to an halt, replaced by the hissing sparks and loud reverberation of heavy metal on metal. There was a roar of laughter and cheering that punctuated the attack, causing the bandit to briefly ponder just how much the Watchmen valued their soldier friend. Yari absently withdrew his weapon to a defensive stance and shared a quick glance towards the crowd, scanning their faces and dress to see if anybody more important had shown up. He half wished to see an official from Underwood who knew his name, or maybe even that Red Marshal who was some sort of behemoth man wielding a gunblade, but nobody stood out. Just a bunch of up and coming warriors or mercs looking to learn from the best and have their green skills mocked or exploited in the arena.

Doesn't sound too different from my Pagoda days. Hmm, I wonder if Dirks is up to his old tricks again...

Overconfident as always, Yari forgot that one of these men was right before him, barreling—or was he falling?—at his lower section with the weight of his body behind an attack from his shield. The edge of the shield came down hard before the distracted King of Thieves had a moment to react. The armored foot of the thief absorbed as much of the dehlar edge as it could, but his leather and vlince could only do so much. Yari felt his right big toe snap under the blunt force, and his smirk quickly faded.

Yari hopped back a yard or two (surprisingly quick, despite the injury) and put most his weight on his halberd. Imperfect teeth bit into his lower lip and a bit of scruff as the Bandit tried to contain a frustrated cry of pain. Though he had suffered countless life-ending wounds in the Citadel and many real-world scars remained from his past battles, there was something about having his foot smashed that also shattered his cool and confident image entirely—it was a debilitating wound and a pain like no other.

Now, he was an angry wreck, and he finally let out a loud expletive to let Underwood know.

As Yari continued to limp backwards, snarl ever present, he threw his left hand dramatically to the side. His dirty, tattered cloak showed half its span and flared out as a myriad of bright, swirling lights crawled from the shadows of his armor and into the thief's opened hand. As Yari closed his fist around the dancing colors, they solidified into a sharp, angular knife, cut in a V shape. He wasted no time in tossing the magic edge overhand, straight towards the soldier's chest.

[Ganlon Martel]

Ganlon smiled just a little bit inside as he watched Yari jump back and could see a little of the pain on his face. Ganlon heard something that he had made him start to understand why soldiers did this, the roar of the crowd. He allowed his vision to move from Yari to the crowd who were now hooting and jeering.

He looked up just in time to see the knife coming at his chest. He turned his waist and brought his sword up in attempt to block the weapon out of the air. The steel of the sword met the steel of magic and the V shaped knife bounced just a little off course. The colors of the magic were beautiful in Ganlon’s sight and he could see the tendrils of light that bound them to Yari’s hand.

In the next instant he forgot about the beauty of the light as the magic ripped through his chain main shirt and buried itself into his right shoulder. His sword fell to the ground with a small spiral of dust. He could feel the pain in an instant. It was like the time he had tried to lift up the anvil on the farm with just his arms. Something in his shoulder no longer worked. It was a like a small sun had started new fusion his shoulder and he cried out in pain.

“Mother,” was the word that escaped his lips. Then Ganlon turned and ran. He ran around the podium to the opposite side and sat on the ground. He knew how bad the pain was so he thought he knew how bad the wound must be. Then he looked at it. He knew shock had set in and he felt himself get off center. The world felt like he was an ice cube bobbing in a cold drink. The wound was still bleeding when he looked at it and there as a hole big enough to place his pipe’s head into. He wondered if he would be able to use that hand again.

He reached for the doorway in his mind to heal the wound and found a wall there. It was as if a cloud had passed over the inside of his head. He just couldn't find his way through the cloud of fog. He tried to look harder at it and could see the light of magic winding its way over the podium back to Yari. Yari had closed the door in his mind. Ganlon felt fear on top of his shock. He would have to find something to stay alive.

He stood and ran again to where the wagon was with all of the left overs of the day. He tired to grab a shirt with his right hand and found that his hand no longer worked. He dropped his shield and with his left hand grabbed a piece of cloth and pushed it into the wound.

Ganlon was sure Yari would be upon him soon. He looked around and found the first thing that he could find. A broad sword hung from the wall nearest to Ganlon and he grabbed for it. Father, had taught him to fight with both hands; although, Ganlon had never practiced the way he should. Ganlon knew that he stood on the precipice of defeat and so ran one more time to stand near the water barrels. What ever happened next maybe he could find away to hold on a little longer from here.

[Yari Rafanas]

The brigand's boomerang twitched and twirled up over the edge of the podium, bouncing unnaturally about the steps before taking its return flight back to its creator's left hand. The soldier's blood burned away on the knive's glowing edge, the familiar iron smell of a victim's wound fueling the fire that was Yari's combative spirit. The bandit's head hung low, still cursing the broken foot that was preventing him from giving easy chase. It was very much Yari's style to want to leap into action and shadow his opponent, a mad dash to unleash the full extent of his physical grace and power. But now he was mostly immobilized. Perhaps then, this was just the chance Rafanas was looking for to revisit a familiar place in his soul.

The onlookers roared again, cheering on the impressive magic, a few even bellowing at Ganlon's second retreat towards the cart and barrels. The berating laughter continued for just a few moments before the quieter men and women of the crowd began to look about bewildered. They heard something nearby, very subtle at first, like the sound of sticks rattling against hollow tree trunks and steel drums.

Their attention turned back to the King of Thieves. His energy edge snapped in half and melted away into his palm, the magic rolling and stretching over his hand, glowing more brilliantly than before. Blues and purples exploded into the air around the thief, expanding rapidly to cover both his arms. A gust of wind threw the doors of the Dansdel wide open, extenuating the dramatic flare of his cloak.

With the wind came the sounds of the nearby forest of Concordia. The melodic hammering of steel and wood grew louder, accompanied by rhythmic sounds of a song like no other. The peaceful yet melancholy music filled the arena for just a moment before exploding into a chorus fitting of a war party. The crowd was divided. Some lost their worries in the music, raising their hands in the air and cheering for the end of the match. Others looked about, trying to find its origin. It was nowhere and everywhere at once, but for some, it struck a chord in their chest.

Only the keenest of eyes would notice a few men in the crowd grow sullen with the song. These were some of the few men and women who had served Underwood before, swearing their lives to the forest surrounding it. As Ganlon was busy preparing to fight to the bitter end, these onlooking soldiers were remembering their brothers who had given their lives in the great battle against the Mindless hordes, united by the young Yari Rafanas. This was the song that carried them into the battle to save their homes. It was not just a song for the bandits and thieves of the forest. This was a song for all of Concordia, a true Rogue's Requiem.

“I'm sorry, soldier,” Yari yelled over the drums, light collecting at the tip of his staff as he pointed it towards Ganlon and the water barrels. “But Underwood has to remember somehow. You're my example!”

The cool colors went ablaze, tearing through the dusty air in the form of a destructive beam and aiming to obliterate anything in its path.

[Ganlon Martel]

Ganlon stood in his final warrior's pose. His head held high despite the pain that lit through his body. Running now would just delay the end and he knew it.

The sound of the song was glorious and even as Ganlon saw the light of magic come from the air itself to collect on Yari and build towards his own death, Ganlon reviled in it. It was the sound of his home. It was the sound of the Forest of Concordia.

Ganlon watched the light build, build, and build with the sound of the drums until the end of Yari’s spear tip was filled with the light of the song. He watched that light be unleashed. The magic seemed to exit the spear in slow motion. A ball of multi-colored light erupted that filled the air with a prism of ROY G BIV and moved from the spear head towards Ganlon.

The ball of song and light came towards Ganlon and hit the water barrels first. The impact drove water into the air as if a boulder was thrown into a pond. The water sprayed up in fans of droplets that Ganlon could see reflections of himself as purple, gold, blue. He wanted it to stop there but he didn’t.

The ball of song and light hit him next. At first he was cold as it past through his chain mail and touched his skin. He noticed the ball of song was still attached to the spear point as it hit him. Then he was hot as the energy seared his flesh. The pain made every nerve ending come alive. He felt his body raise and his feet left the ground. Oh, the sky was a shade of Violet as he looked up and felt his heart stop in his chest.

He looked at the ball of light start on his chest from his own life energy and he watched as his own energy started to seep away . He thought of how death seemed wonderful and he noticed how quiet it was. He last thought was of Genove’, his heart's true love, as he hit the ground. The broadsword landed on his chest and his helmet rolled to one side.