A Knight's Tale, part the first (OPEN)

[Vendredi]

A curse?

The band of metal disappeared as easily as that, and that stroked Fii’s curiosity by another degree. He trotted faster to catch up with the giant, and tried to glance up the other figure’s sleeves surreptitiously. Suddenly, being wet and cold were at the back of his mind, and he wanted to know, consequences be damned.

Something about the giant’s tone did not sound very inviting, but Fii was rarely deterred by something as simple as another man’s discomfort. Granted, the giant was probably large enough to snap Fii like a twig, and the boy didn’t quite know what buttons he was pushing.

Fii considered the giant. Fii considered himself. Then he considered the odds of escaping through a forest in the middle of a rainy night. Maybe. The thought wasn’t entirely impossible.

Then he licked his lips, and ventured forth anyways.”But what is it? Living metal? I’ve never seen anything like you.”

[The Mongrel]

The forest closed in more with each step. Old, gnarled roots from ancient, knotted trees had buckled in the long fight for water and nutrients, bursting above the ground in places. Their branches, seeking space, swooped low enough that I had real concern for the giant's head. Of course, since he seemed to be half metal, he could probably take a collision or two. Even I, the shortest of our mis-matched bunch, needed to duck down in places.

On second thought, it would have been easier to go over. It's just impolite to hop up and down when someone is talking to you.

Anything else that grew amidst the ancient arboreal wrestling match fought and scrabbled for a place in the mossy loam. Thorns and vines grabbed at our feet, impeding our progress, but to go around the tangle would have cost us half an hour, and going through would take ten minutes, at the most. How funny that humans think forests are peaceful places, free of strife. In truth, it's all-out warfare. Just like in society, each thing tries to rise to the best position. Its neighbors can remain only if they are strong enough to hold their ground against it or serve its purpose in some way. The only difference between trees and people is that the trees don't lie about their fight or apologize for it.

I cast my eyes back a bit to the trailing two while Casimir was talking. Apparently the little fox had learned nothing from nearly having his thumbs cut off a few days before, because there he was, antagonizing someone who could crush him. Youths, especially human ones, are fools.

My attention drifted back to the half-orc as he finished speaking. I couldn't remember any really big conflict in Corone ten to fifteen years ago; it was more like three or four. Of course, to a young boy, newly orphaned and afraid, even the minor regional violence I could remember from the appropriate time period must have felt like the whole world was burning. <"You are fortunate to have good memories of your parents. Your father must have found the same admirable traits about orcs that I did - the valor, the honesty, the loyalty. And your mother... well. Humans and elves aren't usually physically attractive to orcs. We're small and don't have tusks at all. So she must have seen a good set of tusks inside your father. As for the sword, whether or not you feel worthy, if you're the only heir of your bloodline, it belongs to you.">

I kicked a clump of rotting leaves. <"All parental love I ever knew was observed from the outside. My mother could hardly bear to look at me, much less show me affection. Her rapist was put to death before I was born. Her husband... her husband was a good father to my older half-siblings, and an exemplar of his people in ways good and bad. When I was lucky, I passed beneath his notice. When I was not... I was a stark reminder of a time he'd failed to protect his wife. If he hadn't thought that there was a better chance I was his than the other man's, I would never have been born.">

I rubbed my arm subconsciously; as a small child, that was the site of the worst outburst of my stepfather's wrath. I think that was the point at which my older brother saw that there was a very severe problem and got more protective of me. Over the years, he took some of his father's enraged strikes, just because he was standing between me and Khaliel. <"After I left Raiaera, I made friends and they eventually had children, either through blood or adoption. I even helped raise some of them. That was a warmer sort of parental love.">

I looked ahead; we still had many more yards of dense undergrowth to fight through. I looked behind. The path behind the giant was clear. Obviously, there was a solution there.

"Hey, big guy. How about you come up front and clear the way? The path straight ahead is mostly free of trees; you shouldn't have much trouble walking. Just mind your head."

[SerCasimir]

Casimir was listening to Kon, carefully picking his way through the tangled growth. He felt a calm and peacefulness the further they moved into it, almost as if the forest wanted him there. He rarely had trouble with animals, or finding his way through a thick forest.

Wild places, at least, always welcomed him.

When she finished speaking, he nodded, nimbly hopping a fallen trunk while barely noticing it.
<I was very fortunate in that regard. As for what they saw in each other, I believe you are correct. My father was tall and strong, and met my mother while seeking to be allowed to pass through her clan's lands after being captured. My father struck a deal with my grandfather, Chief Garak, that if he could best a warrior of his choosing he would be freed, given supplies and permission to travel across their lands. My father accepted, and Garak chose my mother as his opponent.>

He paused a moment to have another drink from his skin before continuing. Orcish was hard on the throat.
<Lokra won, but my father had fought well and valiantly, continually forcing himself to stand back up and fight on. He was a Taryndor, and such was the importance of his quest that he could not do otherwise. In doing so he earned the respect of my mother who refused to kill him, and my grandfather who named him orc.>

He repeated that last word, urukhai, mentally. That was the part of the story that he had always kept closest to heart. It made him believe that someday, somewhere, his actions would earn him acceptance and respect despite what he was.
<After that, they quested, fell in love, and that was that.>

To hear her story made him appreciate his own more. Yes, his parents were dead, and he had lost everything that was his birthright, but at least they had loved him and done their best to give him the best life they could. They stopped and Kon called back to the giant man behind them. Sending him first would make it much easier.

[redford]

John’s massive form carved a small path for the rest of them to follow through the darkened forest. With only the half-elf’s initial direction to guide them, hopefully they would arrive at their target location soon. The half-giant snapped branches and leaves alike underfoot as he continued onward, relatively unperturbed by the dense forest overgrowth. He was glad to be rid of the nagging boy, at least for the moment. A breath filled his lungs, carrying with it a strange smell, foreign to the woods they trampled through. John held a hand up quickly, hearing the mumbled orcish paused momentarily as he peered forward, just past the next copse of trees. It smelled of burned wood, but also something other. He resumed, quickening his pace toward the source as he recognized the smell.

It was rotting flesh.

Quickly, they came across a small clearing, lent sight by bolts of moonshine that pierced the sparse canopy above. There was a fire pit, extinguished by the rain, and the mangled remains of a tent nearby. The others came upon the clearing through his path, as the giant knelt to inspect the tent, knowing what he would likely find but hesitating anyways. He lifted the flap slowly, exposing a tangled mess of black hair, matted with dried blood and dirt. She laid, face down in the tent, her traveling gear scattered and looted inside the tent, herself punctured with an arrow in her side.

A vision of a woman, bleeding from the neck and burning, flashed in John’s mind as he turned her over, his mouth settling into a hard, tight line. His brow furrowed as he looked at her face, and saw his wife. It was not his wife, of course, but the image stuck in his mind nonetheless, and John’s eyes began to water with rage and grief. He turned his head to the side, addressing the half-breed elf.

“The raiders did this?” he rasped, reaching down to her again, his armor receding from his hand as he traced her jawline. It was cold.

The Mongrel looked around the ruins of the camp, at the torn ground and blood thereon and the scraps left behind from the fight. She bent down to pick something up - a little doll, likely one that belonged to a small girl. Her eyes focused on something outside the clearing, something she didn’t share with the others. “Early this afternoon. At least four. Maybe five.”

John’s anger flowered into rage as he stood, grinding his words out through clenched teeth.

“Was it, or was it not, the raiders?”

“Lle na er onna! Er alta amad’na onna edan!” The elf straightened up, meeting his fire with her own. “I cannot tell you whether or not it is the group we’re on our way to confront. I’m from Corone; I know its criminal organizations. I only learned about this group this afternoon. After this had happened. It might be them. There’s a good chance, since there’s evidence of a slave raid on these poor people and this is at the outer edges of their known active area. But I don’t know for sure.”

In the background, Fii whistled, prodding at the half-blackened wood that still supported the mangled remains of the tent. Burnt, and now wet. The sight of the corpse sent the sour burn of unease up his chest, and he looked away.

“None of us were here,” Fii muttered. “How would we know?”

Casimir took in the scene, a grim expression on his face. John’s anger was palpable, and Casimir understood that, but they must keep cool heads and think of a plan for dealing with whomever may have done this.

“Ser John, we obviously have no means to know which exact bandits made this attack, though it stands to reason it was those we seek. It is more clear than ever that we must see them put to the sword.”

John grunted at Casimir. “My sword.”

He turned toward the other end of the clearing, pushing on again. Every moment they waited, more of what he saw, both a few moments and years ago, happened with no one to stop it. His mind conjured the image of his daughter, and he doubled his efforts to get through the forest to the bandit camp as quickly as possible.

[The Mongrel]

I watched the bulky human crash blindly into the night. He was angling himself well to the north of where we were going; if I just let him run himself into the ground or crash himself into something bigger and tougher than he was, he’d never catch up. He’d never find his target. He’d be out of my hair.

On the left hand, it would be preferable. If I didn’t have to rein in and corral a big, emotional brute, the only wildcard I’d have to deal with was the little fox. On the right hand, if we ran into more than about twenty-five… no, twenty-seven bandits, even if they were ordinary humans, Casimir and I could be in for a rough fight. Though I had twenty arrows, someone inevitably stepped in the wrong place or dodged at just the right time to avoid a shot. Reliably, I could only count on fifteen of my arrows to kill their intended targets. If they had a magic user, or Stars forbid, some form of big brute, we could be in real trouble.

On the left hand, if I abandoned the big guy now, he’d probably turn on the first people who seemed to be troublemakers that he found. He’d probably rip them limb from limb. On the right hand, those random travelers mean nothing to me.

On the left hand… Casimir is a knight, and he seems to be one of those real do-gooder types that crop up every rare once in a while. Not only would he care about those lives he’d never encounter, he’d care about the Cromwell brute. On the right hand… ah, dammit.

“Stars save me from humans and their relentless stupidity. I’ll be back.” I ran in the cleared path for a few seconds, then took to the broad branches and let my feet fly. What would have been an impenetrable, precarious maze for a human laid itself out for me like a causeway. Not even the light rain could disturb my footing. I could leap over branches and dive through gaps in the limbs without losing sight of my target or missing a step. By his reaction times, I guessed that he had maybe three of his body-lengths worth of vision in the overcast darkness, so when I dropped in front of him, that’s how far I put myself. I could dodge if he kept running.

“STOP.”

“Harchak!” sounded behind me, a vehement and surprised orcish oath. I distantly registered the plodding of heavy feet and the jangle of tens of thousands of chain links. He later told me that he had always been the best woodsman he knew, but that my dexterity and ease in the woods had impressed him. “Come on, fox!”


Lighter, nimbler footsteps joined the chase, far behind.

The brute stopped abruptly, coating his shoulders and head anew with metal.

“Move or be moved,” he growled, glowering at me like I was responsible for the gruesome scene he'd charged away from. His body hunched menacingly, like a bull prepared to charge. How much worse would he have been if he'd seen the other corpses I'd seen? There'd been two men hidden in the brush as well.

I held my ground, wary but not threatened. I’ve faced a dragon, I’ve faced a Forgotten One. I’m still here; they aren’t. Some big brute isn’t about to cow me. “Do you have anything between one ear and the next?! If you rush in blindly, the lives you seek to preserve will be lost. The only way to successfully deal with the bandits and rescue any prisoners they may have is to do this methodically, tactically, and not like a group of raging buffoons. And I’ll move quite readily, but if you come at me, I’ll put an arrow through your eye.”

Cromwell leaned down a little, covering even his eyes with metal.

“Then move.”

Casimir ran up to us, as the huge man finished speaking. He huffed a little with exertion; the burden he bore on his back must have rivaled my entire weight.

“Come friend, stop this,” the half-orc tried to reason with the irrational. “Consider that which you are doing. We must be prudent. If you rush in, you could like as not cost the lives of any prisoners, and all of ours. My armor is not as complete as yours, and the little fox wears none at all. Would you have your actions cost our lives as well? I give you my oath that these bandits will be destroyed in detail, but we must do it sharply, not recklessly. Think on it, man.”

“I’d like to stay alive,” said Fox muttered, landing lightly beside the half-orc.

“You,” the tall one rumbled, turning to Casimir, “can call me ‘friend’ when you know more than my last name, and you,” he continued, looking down at me, “are extending their pain.”

There was a pause for a moment, and the giant grunted, swinging his fist wide at a tree. His hand sailed a little wide and grazed it, cleaving a gash through the wood a few inches deep.

“Go,” he said quietly, “Make your plots and your schemes, but they will all die.”

“You have two options right now, Cromwell.” I folded my arms, not threatened enough to draw a weapon. “You can either crash through the forest like an idiot and never get where you want to go, because you only have a vague direction to guide you, or you can stop throwing your gods-damned temper tantrum and be reasonable. Are the prisoners suffering? Yes. Are they scared? Yes. Have the non-virgins in their clutches been raped? Probably. But I’ve been through all of that, and while it is indeed terrible, it’s also survivable. These people are valuable chattel for their captors, but they’re only valuable alive. If they die, they don’t have a chance to heal. This is not my first raid on a bandit camp; far from it. I know how to do these things. I know how to scout, how to attack, how to plan. But please.”

I stepped back and motioned an arm, giving him an angle just a bit north of where he thought he wanted to go - further out of my way if he didn’t calm down and act like an adult. “If you want to continue rampaging, be my guest.”

The half-metal giant's posture straightened, then his head turned to examine the injured tree. We'd kept him still long enough for his head to catch up to his impulses, and he was realizing he'd been acting more monster than man. His fists unclenched and his face softened. When he spoke, he didn't dare meet our eyes.

“You’d better lead the way then, since you know where it is. You’re quicker through the forest anyways.”

Well, at least I knew what I was dealing with. I watched him a moment longer, just to make sure he had himself under control, then led the way once more into the night.

An hour to dawn and a mile away from the encampment, I stopped the group. “Wait here. I'm going to go look around and report back with pertinent details. I shouldn't be gone more than thirty minutes.”

Almost as an afterthought, I unbuckled one of the straps around my torso. The relief when longsword fell from my back was nearly palpable; though a fine blade, it was heavy to me. I handed it to the half orc. "This is Hecatoncheir. Don't test its edge; it drains the life of whom it cuts. You may have use of it today."

I turned to the west, but paused. There was a matter to deal with. “And little fox… if you poke your snout where it shouldn't go and lose your hide as a result, don't expect help and don't come crying.”

With that, I was gone, a shadow among the trees.

[SerCasimir]

Casimir took the proffered longsword and nodded, belting it beside his inferior iron blade.

“I shall treat it with all respect, my lady.”

As she turned to depart, Casimir once more found himself watching her leave and admiring her woodcraft. He took a drink as she faded from view, steeling himself against his fatigue. He had traveled far, carried much, slept little, and eaten less.

Gods he was tired.

Still, he was a Taryndor and a son of the Dragon’s-Eye clan besides. No man in the world would ever be able to say that he was shy to the fight. He would endure. He placed his pack down at long last, stabbing his lance into the ground. A good a place as any to leave them before the coming battle.

He fished out a bit of jerky and began to eat it, desperate for even a little extra energy. He would need all he could get.

[The Mongrel]

I moved like a breath in the forest, leaping nimbly over boulders and passing soundlessly over ages-old leaf litter. Neither thick branches nor dense brambles posed a challenge; if I could not pass through or below an obstacle, I could always go over it. More jagged rocks and steep tangles dogged the landscape the closer I drew to the mountain, and while I was little slowed by the rough terrain, I'd have to take my companions by a longer, easier route. After all, two of them were strong, but heavy, and not built even to climb hand over hand, much less perform the bounces and ricochets I didn't even think about.

As always, Starlight guided my way.

I was at the bandit camp in only a couple of minutes. I'd gone nearly as the crow flew, and less than a mile takes me little more than an eye blink. They'd chosen a highly defensible area that was tucked into an old mine. If I hadn't been told it was there, I'd never have explored the cranny. As it was, I wished I didn't have to go in there, and I was glad I'd sought reinforcements instead of simply deciding to waltz in, find my prize, and leave.

For one thing, instead of leaving the shaft open, the bandits had built a palisade out from it, complete with watch towers. Rather than simply having lookouts, they had archers placed. Now, the archers looked rather bored and sleepy, but it was still a security measure. Flickering torches lit the ground in front of the wall; if I'd approached head-on, I'd have certainly been spotted, even using all my stealth.

So I went from above, where the sheer mountain wall dropped down into the camp. Hand over hand, second after dry-mouthed second, I crept like a spider into the scorpions' den. Silence reigned other than the sounds of snoring men, most of whom laid under tarps to protect against the relentless, dripping dampness of the cave. The dank scents of mold and mildew permeated everything, even overriding the scent of tired earth. There were two offices, and while I wanted to break in and inspect them, I could see the warmth of bodies through the windows.

One had to be the leader. The other had a staff with glowing symbols on the length. Great. They had a mage. We had a nosy non-combattant, a knight, a brute, and a thief who still had no idea just what the Stars had given her in the Red Forest.

Right. Archers, then mage. The ring will be with either him or the leader.

I hugged the walls as I walked deeper into camp, crouching behind the many boxes of loot and provisions, trying to find the scope of the operation. Twenty yards in, I started hearing the soft sobs of frightened children and the whispered, reassuring lies of an adult female. They still had to be thirty to fifty yards in, at the very back.

I didn't get far enough in to see the nature of their imprisonment. Just around the first tight corner, I caught sight of a hulking figure that was quietly entertaining itself by gnawing on bones. Easily twice the height and thrice the weight even of Cromwell, the giant meant I wasn't going so much as another step into the camp.

Right. Between thirty and forty of these jokers. One giant. One mage. Fuck. Well. Time to go report back and lose my backup. Great. Please just let that thing be gnawing on sheep...

I'd seen enough. I left, even more quietly than I'd come. One Forgotten One and one dragon was one thing; my silent gods had brought my Mutt back to help with them. I wasn't facing that whole encampment on my own; that was something else entirely.

[redford]

The girl left, hopping between trees and above branches quickly. John sighed, removing the hold his armor had on the heavy dehlar shield he bore, and it fell to the ground, leaning against a tree. Casimir leaned against another tree, and slid down to sit, fishing in his pouch for food. John himself did not sit, choosing instead to turn away from the both of his current compatriots. A snap of his fingers activated one of his several rings, and a thick cigar appeared in his hand. Another snap and it was lit, a tiny glowing ember in the darkness of the forest.

Once again, John had made himself the spectacle. Again, he was no longer a person, he was an oddity, something people looked at simply for the entertainment. Armor receded from his hands and head, and he wiped his forehead of the slight moisture that his rage brought on.

“I’m…” He began, falling silent for a moment as he tried to string words together. “I apologize. The girl, she…”

The metal giant puffed on the cigar once more, still refusing to turn. “...She reminded me of someone.”

[SerCasimir]

Casimir had dozed, unwittingly. He heard Cromwell's voice and his eyes shot open in alarm before settling down. He could smell the burning tobacco, and he ate a bit more jerky. Cromwell was apologizing for his earlier outburst and Cas nodded, rising from the ground to look the big man more in the eye.

"You have my forgiveness, but mine is not the one you should seek. Kon will return soon, and it is to her you should offer your apology."

He slapped the big man on the shoulder and smiled in a peculiarly orcish way, trying to force his fatigue back. They would need to do battle soon. He yawned mightily, a low roar accompanying it, and apologized.
"I have not been so weary in a long time. I hope we will attack soon, battle will warm my blood and quicken my mind."

He turned away from Cromwell and looked out into the woods, waiting to see Kon return. He would be concerned until she did.

[The Mongrel]

I made my swift way back to where I'd left my companions. They were all weary, and I hoped that the twenty or so minutes I'd been away from them had given them a chance to rest, breathe, and refresh themselves. Either that, or it had knocked them out and we'd be lucky to not be discovered before sundown, when we could launch another attack. Of course, given Cromwell's tantrum earlier, he'd be running toward trouble the second he heard the word "giant," and I wasn't sure I could stop him this time, short of putting an arrow through something vital.

I didn't really want to do that. If the attack was to be successful enough for me to win my prize, I needed him. After all, even if all of my arrows felled their targets, I'd still have far too many opponents to deal with on my own. Even Casimir, strong and brave as he appeared, still wore fresh green in his attitude and on his soul; he was not up to the task of drawing half of the camp. A human battering ram changed the game more into my favor.

My route almost shot me over and past the others, so when I dropped into the tiny clearing, I did so silently and from the opposite direction from where Cromwell and Casimir watched. It hadn't been my intention, but I have to admit that a small part of me was entertained by my own stealth.

"Right. There's a great big wooden wall at the entrance of the bandit camp. It's otherwise almost completely inside an abandoned mine, and there are archers posted as guards. Within the shaft are between thirty and forty bandits, fairly well armed, definitely well nourished, certainly rested, but not very prepared. My thoughts are that we get up there, I take out the archers, then you boys go up and knock politely so they let us in. There is a leader, whose skills I was unable to assess, some sort of magic user, and a g... wait. Where's the fox?"

So help me Aurient, if he'd gotten himself into trouble again, I was going to let him die.