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

[SerCasimir]

Casimir growled, once more adjusting the lance he carried across his shoulders while he trudged along the roadside. His time here in Scara Brae had been less than good to him from the start, and now thrice damned goblins had waylaid him while he made camp and driven off his mount. He had tried to track them down, but his skills as a woodsman had failed him, and they had gotten away. Likely ate the horse and taken what items he had stashed on the saddle, which included his meager purse, and the bulk of his remaining food.

He had only killed three of them. This was not nearly sufficient succor for his loss.

Since then Casimir had trudged forward along the road to the city, having not slept but a meager nap on the roadside. He was hungry, thirsty, tired, and thoroughly irritated, carrying what remained of his possessions along with the three goblin heads he had taken, in case a bounty was offered for them. He would need the coin to get to Raiera, and to pay for food, wine, lodging, and hopefully companionship if any of the whores would deign to take a half-orc. He felt a drop of water hit his forehead and looked up.

Rain. How delightful.

"I fucking hate this country."

[redford]

John's mass of armor around his body shielded him from the cold of the evening, which had just enough of a bite to be uncomfortable. He had built a fire, even though he didn't really need it, it helped keep the smaller denizens of the night at bay on the edge of the forest, and marked his location clearly. The armored giant had no problem with anyone knowing where he was. People who knew better wouldn't usually approach him in the night anyway, his nigh-eight foot height would scare away most even if the armor that magically clung to his skin didn't.

His ears picked a voice out of the darkness, and it threw him from his musings as specks of rain began to pepper the nearby trees, sizzling a little as they struck the fire. John wasn't afraid of close to anything, but that didn't mean he was content with ignorance. His deep timbred voice echoed toward the plain on the edge of the forest.

"Who goes there!?"

[The Mongrel]

In the three days since I had arrived on Scara Brae, I had attracted the attention of the Scara Scourge, murdered nine of their number... no, I only murdered five. Four were killed in direct combat. All nine were killed within ten very bloody minutes of each other. I had visited some friends of friends, who had stitched up my cheek from where one of the ruffians had gotten in a lucky shot. And I'd been back and forth doing whatever work kept me from being noticed.

I wasn't trying to hide from the notice of the law or even the Scourge, a criminal group that my own organization, Unfounded, had decades-long professional animosity toward. I'd kill them all like dogs if I had to. Of more concern were ordinary citizens. It wasn't so long ago that I'd had a hand in the downfall of the Forgotten One Pode, and if I was recognized, particularly as a member of a criminal group, I could bring a lot of heat down on Unfounded. Hopefully the humans will forget in a couple of years; their attention spans are notoriously short.

Until then, I can't go home.

On this particular overcast day, I was on my way out of town. Deep in the woods there was a bandit camp that had been making trouble for caravans and travelers, but that wasn't my employer's concern. Instead, they were known to have a ring of some magic quality. My employer wanted that. Any other loot I desired was mine, any coin I found was mine, and if I happened to kill the bandits, there were bounties on their heads if I wished to collect.

I saw the half-orc long before he saw me. Between his weary trudge and his irritable scowl, I had no intentions of introducing myself to him. I like orcs in general, but I have my doubts that approaching a grumpy one without any booze would result in a friendly exchange. So I kept my hood up and my head down. Most orcs and most elves don't get along.

We were only about fifteen paces apart when a voice called from the woods and a giant of a man stood to look at what intruded upon his campsite. Though I certainly hadn't been the one he'd heard, and though I didn't know if he could see me, I answered. With two big, strong men, both a little shabby looking, an idea wormed its way into my head.

"Just a mongrel cur." I lowered my hood so the half-orc wouldn't get offended. With my black hair, green eyes, knife-sharp features, and ashy-tan skin, I was immediately recognizable as a mix of Raiaeran and Alerian elf. Mongrel was the only name I really wanted to own; outside of Raiaera, let Illara Alfheim be no one.

"Say... how would you gentlemen like a chance to earn some coin?"

[SerCasimir]

Casimir was snapped from the reverie of trudging along by a deep challenge being called out. A glow of firelight was visible off the road, where Cas heard the voice from. He growled and called back, walking toward the fire.

"Ser Casimir Taryndor, who asks?"

He continued walking forward, pulling his lance off his shoulders, just in case. As he approached he saw a huge man sitting at a fire, heavily armored. As he approached he heard another voice, announcing a 'mongrel cur'. Instantly Cas snarled, his tusks suddenly quite obvious, until he saw the woman pull down her hood to reveal the ashen skin of a dark elf, though not quite a dark elf, perhaps a halfbreed, like himself, and his ire receded. When she mentioned coin, his mood improved for half a moment, hopeful but unwilling to trust his luck changing so soon.

"Depends on the manner of earning, my lady."

Casimir's well learned knightly etiquette had kicked in instantly. Respect towards women was as natural as breathing.

[Vendredi]

“I would,” Fii called out from behind a closeby patch of trees.

He wasn’t quite sure what he was agreeing to, but his ears caught the words chance and coin, and his eyes caught the shadows of a few moving figures right past his tree, and that was all the reason a youth his age needed. That, and a good dash of recklessness for good measure.

Besides. Coins.

Fii did not have much need for coin over the past two days, traveling by foot in the wilderness, but gold was always a good ally to have. Two days ago, he had ditched Scara Brae after witnessing a hooded figure slaughter nine men. The bloodbath was followed by a warning -- leave. And so he did. Fii was young, but he was no fool, and he didn’t like games that involved his life. Since then, he had been skulking around the forests, catching his dinners and sleeping on trees. He planned on staying out of the city until that commotion had died down, and then sneaking back to catch a ship. Perhaps to Corone. Perhaps somewhere else.

He half-tumbled out from behind the trees, and had to stabilize himself against a tree trunk. In one hand, he held a rabbit by its ears, freshly caught and still alive. His next meal. Once he could stand without the help of a tree, Fii patted down stray leaves from his pants with his free hand, and looked up. “I would--”

His words died in his lips. Oh.

“Oh,” his lips echoed, staring at one particular figure who looked terrifying familiar. His heart skipped a beat. Her hood and dress did, anyways, even if her face did not. Although the last time he saw her, she was… bloodier.

“I’ll… go away now,” he said, stumbling back against the tree as the first drop of rain landed on his nose.

[redford]

The sudden onset of the two strangers startled John, who responded quickly by coating his body in titanium armor, the metal flowing quickly up to his head and down to his arms and legs, spikes forming at his knuckles. Almost instantly he appeared as more forge-working golem than giant man.

Surprisingly, their exchange was cordial after an initial snarl from the half-orc. The giant was quite unsure of what to do, and was attempting to process the information and offer of coin when another figure stumbled from the treeline, and began to back towards it again.

Quite startling indeed.

He turned back in the opposite direction, giving the other two a more exasperated look than angry, though it would be hard to tell with his metal-covered eyes.

I just wanted a quiet night before I got into the city.

They stared for a moment, prompting a response from John.

"What?"

[The Mongrel]

For a place ten miles out from any sort of civilization, this patch of woods was absolutely thick with people. Thicker than I would have preferred, honestly. I looked from the half-orc - sedate and polite from the instant he understood I wasn't belittling him, to the armored man - too twitchy for my tastes, to... Ugh.

"Why are you still even on this island, little fox? Was I not clear a few days ago? The Scourge saw you with me, you are a target. Has your boyfriend at least had the sense to leave?"

I had drawn off the heat for them, and they had piled it back on themselves. Then I had helped them get out of trouble. In exchange, I hadn't asked for money, I hadn't hurt them to teach them a lesson, I had just told them to get off the island if they wanted to live. Why do human males, young ones in particular, have exactly no sense? Stars above! If he gets killed because he wouldn't listen, let him get killed!

I took a deep breath to cleanse myself of the gross aggravation. The fox wasn't my responsibility. The task I'd been given was. And I might have help. Or I might not. Either way, I'd be going.

"Fifteen miles to the west is a bandit camp. It's in the deepest part of the woods, located in a defensible area on a mountain. Reports from the area say that corpses of male travelers and merchants are found, but none of the women or young children in any caravan or group have been found since they started their work about three months ago. Take from that as you will. Their numbers are unknown, but believed to range between twenty-five and fifty."

I paused for a breath, but motioned for silence. "I have been contracted to retrieve an item from among their ill-gotten gains. A ring, to be precise. I am free to do with the bandits as I wish, whether it's sneak in and out unseen or slaughter them wholesale. Or contract with others to slaughter them wholesale. Any other loot there I am free to keep if I claim it, and there are Royal Bounties on the heads of known members. Bringing them attached to their bodies is optional. What I'm proposing is an even split of whatever takings there are at the camp, and if any of you also wishes to claim the bounties, I will not stop you. I also won't have the time to claim them with you, so that money would be all yours."

I looked around the campfire at the three men who surrounded it. Then I shrugged, turning around. "However, I can see that at least two of you are disturbed at my presence, so I will take my leave. If you're interested, you're welcome to join me."

[SerCasimir]

Casimir cocked an eyebrow at the squirrelly seeming little human who had appeared as suddenly as the elfmaid, and his grip tightened on his lance and he grimaced as the seeming half-giant turned to metal. Deciding to ameliorate the tension, he joked toward the man.

"Well now a surcoat and mail just seems silly. You make it impossible for poor hedge knights like me to compare favorably."

He relaxed his grip on his lance and listened to the elfmaid speak of her mission and the opportunities within. His stomach rumbled as if on cue, and he was reminded of his powerful thirst and desire to sleep warm and sated before sailing to Raiera. He bowed his head to her and spoke, as she turned away.

"I will accompany you my lady, it is my sworn oath to help the helpless against just such dangers as these bandits, and while I have no doubt as to your competence, I would be remiss not to follow you against such odds."

He grinned a tusky grin.
"Besides, an orcish appetite is an expensive one, and I need a new horse as well. Fifteen miles is a lot of ground to cover, shall we?"

[Vendredi]

He didn’t go away, the way he said he would, because the elf seemed almost civil just now. She hadn’t tried to break his thumb again. In all honesty, the armored man -- if that mountain could be called a man -- seemed much more terrifying.

And the half-orc. Don’t forget the half-orc.

Maybe he could hide behind that armored mountain if she tried to break his thumb in the next minute. Or the half-orc.

“I was trying to disappear,” he mumbled beneath his breath. His eyes were busy staring at a stray leaf flitting between the light raindrops, and his mind was busy squashing the memories of the other boy from two days ago.

Then a jolt of electricity went through his mind, and something did a backflip in Fii’s stomach. He looked up with a half-queasy grin. Curiosity, he decided, was a bitch in a siren’s clothing, and she had her claws clenched firmly around his neck. He could hear her breathing sweet whispers in his ears.

The rabbit in his hand struggled. He gripped its ears tighter.

“I’d come along. But say, aren’t you…” he started, edgily. His volume dropped a notch. She looked like the woman on those pictures flying around lately. “Aren’t you her? Podë-slayer?”

[redford]

John raised an eyebrow at the half-orc, his agitation getting the better of him as he shifted his armor, it moved from his head down to his neck, receding like quicksilver.

"Do not mock me, knight."

Though he had no need of the coin, it would appear that the nuisance of the bandits would need to be dealt with.

Gold he had, a good conscience he didn't.

He spoke, still meeting the gaze of the orc.

"I'll go as well. You may need a shield," he finished, lifting the massive slab of dehlar that served as part of his protection.

His ears did perk up at the term 'Pode-slayer' though. He glanced over to the girl who had slain the dark one for a moment.

"Pode-slayer? hmm," He said. Perhaps the giant's tone was a little dismissive, but most wouldn't consider the short girl as such.

Though, seldom did appearances hold true.

[The Mongrel]

The half-orc agreed to come right away, for reasons both noble and selfish. I had expected as much, and honestly, if there was any single person of the three I'd have picked, it was him. Blame bias, but out of the men whose path I'd crossed, he seemed the most grounded. The big guy was probably stronger and sturdier, but he was twitchy. And between my experiences with Mutt and Erirag, I felt safer with an orc at my back.

I lifted my hand to motion him forward when the little fox spoke words that froze me in mid stride and sent uncomfortable prickles racing up my limbs and spine. They were callbacks to the single action that would forever define me in the eyes of anyone who heard my name throughout history. Whatever else I'd done, whatever else I would do, all of it paled in the light of this one title: Pode-slayer. It was also the last title I wanted to claim at that moment.

Very slowly, almost woodenly, I turned around. My green glare lanced through the redheaded boy. My skin tingled, and I was sure my usually grayish-tan skin had mottled into darker and lighter variants. "Do you ask every blond elf if he is Findelfin ap Fingolfin? No? Do you ask every Alerian male if he is Izvilvin Kazzizrym? Or every brown-bearded human bastard if he is Letho Ravenheart? Do you? No."

The muscles in my chest tightened, making my breath come harder and shallower. "Then why in Haide would you ask the first random elven hybrid you met if she is Illara Alfheim? Let me tell you something, little fox. And make sure you listen well, because if I have to clean your ears, I will do it with an arrow. People like me are very, very rare. That's because if Raiaeran and Alerian elves produce a baby, nine hundred ninety-nine times out of a thousand those children are war crimes, just in their existence. If we make it alive out of the womb, the lucky ones don't see our second breath. No matter which side of the border we were born on."

I stalked forward, crunching dead leaves and green grass beneath my boots. "Only a handful of us survive long enough to get out, and when we do, we find that the world isn't any kinder to us than our homelands. Surviving is hard, forget thriving. If we're lucky, we eek out a meager existence on the margins, slinking in the shadows, keeping our heads down, trying to not draw attention to ourselves so that we can survive one more day. The gods do not guard or guide us, Raiaerans and Alerians despise us, and humans take advantage of us because they know we have so few options."

I stopped a stride away from the fox. "If Illara Alfheim is smart, she is in Raiaera, soaking up every last drop of adulation and goodwill her actions have brought her. But she has ruined the lives of everyone like me, because all of a sudden we're noticed. We're scrutinized. And if it was hard to make a living before that, it's damn near impossible now. So do not insult me by confusing me with her."

I closed my eyes, feeling the contacts - purely there to show the green and hide the tell-tale silver - itch against the lids. I let myself take a couple of breaths, releasing the rage. "The only name I claim is Mongrel. I don't care if you call me Dog or Kon," I nodded to Casimir; if he spoke orcish, that was the word for dog. "If you fall behind, turn around, because I am not waiting for you. If you're coming, then come."

Blood still boiling, I turned sharply back to the west and started walking into the dense woods. With a newly acquired party, fifteen miles would be a long distance to cover, indeed.

[SerCasimir]

Casimir cocked an eyebrow at the surprisingly sensitive giant who took a light jest as mocking, but said no more about it. He had given his word to accompany the elfmaid, who was presently tearing deep into the small human who had called her "Pode-slayer". The name meant something to the men, and clearly to the woman, but she did not seem to find it complimentary. He heard her words and felt so many feelings he knew well mesh with hers. He had been extremely fortunate, as half-orcs go, but even he saw the faces as he passed, heard the whispered words when humans forgot how well half-orcs could hear. His father and mother had been in love, but he knew that love was no small part of why that pogrom took them when he was young, why the other children at Ser Bryndis' estate would not play with him. He shook the memories off when she finished her rant, and he followed behind her. She gave her name as Mongrel, but said she would answer to dog, or Kon, which was Orcish for dog. It was strange to hear her speak that word, he had never met a mixed elf, and certainly no elf that would "dirty their lips with orcish speech", as he had often heard it referred.

Cas followed her, along with the half-giant, and they marched quietly for a while. He decided to chance speaking with her, as he found her fascinating mix of new discoveries. He decided to speak to her in orcish. He had learned it as a child from his mother and rarely used it since, and so his accent was a touch provincial.
<Do you speak orcish truly? Or do you know but a few words? I am not offended if such is the case>

[Vendredi]

“Right,” he strained faintly, forced back by the furor in the words that she flunged at him. His hands shot up as a shield and peace-offering both, and in that moment, the rabbit bounded away.

He wanted to rebut something, but the look on her face stilled his words. The look said speak no more if you treasure your tongue. His mind said you still look like the woman on those pictures. His face said I’ll mind my own goddamned business now. And so he did. Or tried to.

Right. He gulped thickly and stared at her departing back. Mongrel. Synonymous with terrifying.

Suddenly, the giant looked much more interesting. Sometime in the last minute or five, the giant’s armor had rescinded, revealing a -- to Fii’s surprise -- mostly human face.

Grassed crunched beneath his feet as he padded over to the giant’s side, and he purposely chose the side that was further away from the Mongrel. The half-orc had her attention for now, and Fii hoped that’s where her attention would stay. Until she cooled down a little, at least. Instead, Fii eyed the giant's shield, and poked it with a finger.

“Say, we’ve got a halfbreed elf and a half-orc here. Are you a half-giant?”

[redford]

John walked with relative ease through the forest. Though it was dense, the moon and stars offered just enough light to help him see the Pode-slayer climb her way through the forest, nimble as a squirrel hopping between branches.

John's method was a little different. leaves and sticks crunched under his massive boots, and any offending branches in his way were simply pushed off his path, sometimes snapping in the process. He glanced, and the boy was following behind in the path he forged.

Despite his recent hesitation, the human that walked in the sprinkling rain had a disarming quality about him. Perhaps it was his nature to protect the boy, perhaps the giant had just taken a liking to him.

Then again, perhaps the boy was the only one who hadn't directly annoyed him this eve. His scowl lightened a bit and he swung the eight foot by four foot dehlar shield over his head, the armor on his back extending spikes to connect the two metals. He turned his head down as they walked further from the fire, his deeply timbred voice carrying a little in the rain.

"Perhaps. They say that the Cromwell line has giant blood in it; we certainly have the strength."

[The Mongrel]

I was honestly surprised that all three of them followed. At the very least, I'd expected one of them to protest that it was nearly dark, that the way was treacherous, that it was so far away. Then again, it wasn't in the orcish nature to shy away from anything or to complain about the weaknesses of the body. The giant human - Cromwell, he said, in his Salvaran accent - probably just didn't give a fuck. He was big and armored enough that almost anything would have a hard time getting at him. And of course the little fox had proven again and again that he didn't have the sense the Thayne gave a turnip. Maybe I should have expected that they all just fell into line, even though they wouldn't be able to see their hands in front of their faces after less than an hour.

The forest spread out ahead of us, friend and foe, merciless in its whims but mostly benevolent in its nature. Gentle rain pattered down on the leaves and branches around us, and the ground smelled of musky moss as it opened up to accept the life-giving (though slightly chilly) water. So long as nothing suddenly turned red and vicious around me, I wasn't bothered. If it did turn red and vicious, I was going to kill that Pode bitch again, because I don't appreciate her aesthetic.

Little specks of starlight reflected off of leaves and trees, creating a silver pathway. In the Lindequalme, Erirag hadn't noticed it and my brother's troops had sniggered behind my back when I tried to point it out, so my assumption was that no one else could see it. It seemed to point out the least treacherous way, but I was more interested in finding the path most passable and least time consuming. The sooner we got to the bandit camp, the sooner we could leave, after all.

It took a while before anyone dared approach me; after that outburst, I couldn't blame them. I wasn't surprised that it was the half-orc. He had to have experienced the same discrimination as I had. We were two hybrids that the world had never wanted, incredibly similar despite our differences. Mutt had seen that even before I had. I wondered if Casimir saw it, too.

I glanced at him when he spoke to me, but it took me a moment to piece his words together. His manner of using the words was clumsy, as though they were almost forgotten to him, and he went soft on the gutterals that tore my poor throat to shreds when I tried to speak the orcish. Whoever taught him thought of how humans would hear it. Or he's so unused to speaking it that he speaks it like a human.

<"The love of my life was a half-orc,"> I explained. <"He was raised by his human mother. When he decided he wanted to learn more about being an orc, we learned the language together. He used to pick on me because I couldn't get the tusk-sounds or deep-throated growls right.">

I smiled with bittersweet remembrance. <"I got him back by teaching him elven tongue twisters. He always tripped up on the vowels. But he never got mad about that, either.">

[SerCasimir]

A surprised expression crossed his tusked face, though he was unsure whether she would be able to see it in this dark. It was hard to believe that any beautiful elfmaid would fall in love with an half-orc. Every elf he had ever met before look at him like he was repugnant, same for half-elves, and most humans. He had never met a dwarf woman before, but he imagined it would be no different.

She really was a surprising sort.

He smiled knowingly when she mentioned the elven tongue twisters, he had tried his hand at a bit of elvish once upon a time, and had fared no better than her old lover.

<You say was, has he died? If so I am sorry. Love is a hard thing to come by for those like us. I learned from my mother, but she died many years ago, and I haven't had much chance to use it since.>

Having a companion made traveling much more pleasant. He had walked who knows how many miles before, and would walk all these to the camp, then likely all of them back before resting. Alone it would have been harsh, but around Kon he felt a bit invigorated by conversation and a proper goal.

<What was your love's name?>

[Vendredi]

[OOC: Will interrupt Cas/Illara's conversation later. :')]

In minutes, the sparse drops of rain turned into a quick drizzle. Droplets bounced off his skin and sank into his clothing, and soon enough, Fii was more damp than dry. He wiped his face three separate times before giving up, and resigned himself to becoming drenched before the night was out.

The evening was a foolish time for traveling, but none of his companions seemed to care. Soon enough, all signs of the road and the giant’s fire dimmed to a spark, and then were gone. Trees and darkness became their world, along with the harrowing whispers of the evening winds. However, between the mountain-sized man -- half-giant indeed -- trampling half a step in front of him, and the elf -- Mongrel, indeed -- expertly leading the path ahead, Fii felt strangely assured that he could not possibly come to any harm. Youthful recklessness often came with a belief in one’s own invincibility.

Harm from creatures other than them, anyways.

After all, he had seen her skills first-hand. And there was something about the giant man that had been pricking at the edges of his attention for some time now. It would be minutes before Fii fully grasped it. The metal armor -- or he had thought it was armor earlier -- was moving entirely too fluidly.

“What,” he asked, pointing to the giant’s arms where a band of metal was clear, “exactly is that?” The itch to know had overridden his tongue,

[redford]

Wind flowed through the trees gently like a river flowing around rocks, chilling John's exposed skin. Amidst the crunching of his own feet on the leaves below, he heard the mumbling grunts of he orcish language. It was a guttural mix of short syllables, spoken easily by the half-orc, but the girl had trouble with the more guttural and phlegm heavy sounds. But still, she spoke it well for a petite woman. As it was, John could only pick out little words here and there; 'love', 'mother' and a few pronouns were all he could understand with his limited knowledge of orcish.

The boy spoke again, and Cromwell glanced over just in time to see his darkened figure point at his armor.

"What is that?"

John looked down at him again, and furrowed his brow, his mouth returning to the hard line it was before. A voice in the back of his head told him the boy didn't, couldn't know; but another told him he was again just for the looking at, for the ogling. He pulled his armor up behind his sleeve.

"It's a curse."

He picked up his pace a little.

[The Mongrel]

Stars, it was weird to walk through a dusky, drizzly forest with a half-orc who was interested in my past. It felt like coming to a path I thought was destroyed, finding something eerily similar there, and walking it anyway. And damn if it wasn't doing things to my head.

<"To know why he called himself what he did, you should know how he viewed the world. Like me, he rejected the name he was given at birth. He told me what it was once, the day we decided that we were together for better or worse, and there would be nothing hidden between us. But he said...">

I took a deep breath. I'd learned so many things from him, and while I freely handed out his wisdom to Unfoundlings who would never know him or even to strangers I needed to keep alive, speaking his words now opened up the pain I'd felt the day I lost him and threatened to close my throat.

<"He said that it's not what you're made of that matters, it's what you make of yourself. That it's not how you're built, it's how you build. That when you fight, fight twice as hard as you can, and when you love, love twice as hard as you can. And, most important, he said that you must own what makes you weak, or it will own you. So he called himself Mutt.">

Mutt and Mongrel. Outcasts among all but the group who took us in, but we found all we ever needed in each other. <"I lost him before you were born, to battle wounds. But he was beautiful. The face of an orc, yes, but the heart of a warrior, and the soul of a poet.">

If I'm honest, it took me almost a year of being Mutt's lover to find his face attractive. I always felt safe and secure in his arms, but orcish faces don't mesh well with elven aesthetics. I don't think I'd ever describe him with stunning good looks, or even reasonably good looks. But as his face came to represent comfort, safety, and love, it became the face that I called home. It's still a face I miss.

I closed my eyes for a second to compose myself, then ran my right hand over my cheek. The sutured wound that ran across from my nose to my hairline throbbed painfully in response, but it helped bring me back to the present. I didn't want to dig into my past anymore; at that moment, it made my heart ache for things that could never be again. <"What of your life, Casimir? You said your mother taught you orcish, which seems to mean that she was an orc, but you have a human name. That's very unusual.">

"Watch your feet," I called in Tradespeak for the entire party to hear, before he could respond. Hopefully the brief interruption would be forgivable; the night-blind among the group needed the warning. "We're coming into a nasty tangle, and you don't want to trip."

[SerCasimir]

<His words were wise. I am very sorry for your loss, my people tend not to live over long even naturally, so to lose him to battle must have been especially difficult.>

Casimir carefully avoided the the tangle of growth on the ground, continuing to walk beside her. The story of her lover Mutt moved him, made him feel for the first time in his life that maybe someday someone might love him.

Maybe.

When she asked about his life, he was surprised. No one ever cared about his history, and he rarely thought about his parents anymore. At that thought he frowned to himself. They deserved better than that.

<The circumstances of my birth were unusual for those like me. I was fortunate in that sense, I suppose. My father was a landed mage-knight of some small renown, Ser Garrison Taryndor. My mother was Lokra Dragon's-Eye, of similar renown. They fell in love on their quest against the Sanguine King. I was born of that union>

He paused a moment, drinking from his waterskin.
<Naturally such a union was not to the taste of anyone but them. When i was ten and the troubles in Corone were just beginning to brew, they sent me away to an old friend of my father, Ser Bryndis Adelbert. When things begin to sour as they did in Corone in those days, I am sure you know obvious non-conformists tend to be first against the wall, and my parents were slain in a pogrom. I am told at least they died fighting, and breathed their last in each others arms. I squired for Ser Bryndis, until he knighted me when I was twenty, and I have been alone since.>

His expression darkened, though he doubted she'd be able to tell.
<The life of a hedge-knight is not one that encourages close bonds or roots. During the restructuring toward the end of the troubles, my family lands were taken, our keep of Knight's Rest, and my father's runebrand Requiem were lost. A Taryndor knight had carried that blade for a thousand years. I was told it was forged by dwarves in dragon's fire and enchanted by elves with magics of elder days, greater by far than the craft any possess now.>

He chuckled a bit, mostly to himself as he remembered the stories of his youth.
<Likely an embroidered truth, if there is any truth to it at all. Still a mighty blade. I suppose it's only right that I shall never get to wield it. The Taryndor line had a half-elf or two in it, and there are tales of a silver dragon in woman's form, but I am the only half-orc, and I am the first Taryndor heir to have no gift for the arcane. I am not a fit heir to such a legacy.>

He hadn't intended to tell as much as he did, but it was strangely pleasant to have someone actually ask to hear about him.
<Forgive me my lady. I am certain such tales must be dull to anyone but me.>

[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.

[SerCasimir]

Casimir turned away from Cromwell and looked back out into the woods where Kon had disappeared. He had another bite of jerky and opened a small tin he had also pulled from his pack. These were the last of his supply, and he felt a small pang of regret as he popped the coffee beans into his mouth, crunching them between his big orcish molars for the energy contained within. He frowned, there was no time to brew a proper cup, and coffee beans didn't come cheap.

A shame, that.

When he heard the voice behind him he whirled and half-drew Hecatoncheir, before realizing it was Lady Kon and sheathing it again, bowing.

"Apologies Lady Kon, it seems the little fox was unwilling to assault the bandit camp with us, for he has chosen to leave. He did not seem fit for such an assault anyway. Cromwell and I are for the fight, however. Command me as you wish."

He bowed his head again then looked into her eyes. She had said there were nearly forty bandits, a mage, and she had begun to list another when she had become distracted by the departure of the little fox.

"Lady Kon, you said there was a chief, a mage, and a what?"

[redford]

"A giant," John finished. He tapped the excess ash from his cigar away, humming in thought for a moment. He willed his armor to slide away out of sight, it was protective, but not comfortable during long periods. The metal slid away like quicksilver, revealing the burn scars that crisscrossed his arms like dozens of rivers flowing from his chest into his hands. He traced one with a finger as he spoke again. Tracing the scars soothed him somehow, made him believe that he was more than something to be looked at.

And if a dragon couldn’t kill him, then neither would a giant.

His mind steeled against the oncoming battle, the half-giant looked up, bright blue eyes that were somber a moment ago now filled with purpose. He addressed the girl.

“What do you think? You take the mage, I can handle the giant, and Casimir takes the chief?”

Casimir rose, his vigor renewed by the promise of battle. An old teacher’s words came to mind.

‘Pain heals, chicks dig scars, and glory lasts forever.’

Somehow that thought always made him smile a little.

“Now,” he said, cracking his massive knuckles, “Where are they?”

[The Mongrel]

I didn't answer Cromwell in words so much as I started walking a path the two big men could handle easily. The giant with liquid armor seemed all right, but the half-orc looked half dead of exhaustion already, which made things more difficult. At least the human hadn't started another rampage. I'd have just let him rage himself into the rocks.

"I'll do my best to get the mage, but my first priority will be thinning the crowd a bit. However tough you are, a swarm of bandits is going to hurt, and I'm willing to bet some of them will flee if they see their friends getting mowed down. I'm hoping that some will cower at the sight of us. Orcs are scary, you're half a giant yourself, and I'm an elf with a bow. I wouldn't bet on it, though. They're incredibly organized and they definitely expected military intervention at some point." Giants are expensive to feed, but the cost of having a mage (presuming he or she wasn't related to the bandit leader) was exorbitant. How many women and children were they moving?

Considering the price of slaves of a certain purity and caliber? They'd only have to move about six or seven a month to break even. The supplies and merchandise they steal is the profit. How loathsome. I felt dirty for even being able to calculate the value of a life, and I've taken plenty.

If Cromwell and Casimir had been Unfoundlings, I would have spent the twelve minutes we took on the mile walk in giving them instructions, but they were not mine to order, beyond this: "If I can get a boost on to the palisade after I take out the archers, I'll be able to start shooting before any of those bastards knows what's happening."

I didn't look behind me for an affirmation; one or the other of them would be willing to toss me a few feet.

We stopped in some thick brush just before the clear-cut in front of the fortified mine shaft. The men looked at me expectantly, but my focus was on the archers. The one on the right was young and dutifully attending to his watch. He probably had hopes and aspirations of proving himself and rising higher than his current lowly station. The other one, a few years older, had given up. He leaned on the wall, head lolling, more in the realm of dreams than the realm of the waking.

Sorry, kid. You're actually paying attention.

My arrow started glowing the moment notch hit string. The alert archer turned immediately, peering into the murky dawn to see the source of the strange light. I caught him right in the heart; he fell with little more than a gurgle. It was enough to snap the other out of his doze, and he died with a second Starlit arrow through his eye.

"Let's go."

[SerCasimir]

Casimir left his lance and pack under the tree, figuring he would either return for it or die. He crunched the last few coffee beans and marched off behind Lady Kon and Cromwell. She led them along an easy enough trail, and in a bit less than half an hour they stopped a moment. Kon quickly and easily took out two archers with ensorcelled arrows and Cas rushed forward with her, giving her a boost onto the palisade as she had suggested. She was almost laughably light, and he had no trouble tossing her up quickly and returning to Cromwell.

"You think you can burst through the gate? I'll be right behind you, and we'll sort the lower men as swiftly as we can. If we make a big enough commotion, Kon will be able to thin the herd while they are focusing on us."

Casimir adjusted the strap of his helm and drew Hecatoncheir. He began to feel that stirring that always filled his blood when battle loomed. His mother had called it the "blood-song" and he had always felt it appropriate. He knew in his head that war, while sometimes necessary, was never a good thing. He knew also that killing was not to be lauded, and he did not draw pleasure from it.

But when his blood began to fill with song, when he felt his tired body reinvigorate and tingle. When he felt the storm of struggle he realized, somewhat ashamedly, that while he did not like to kill, he loved to fight.


Dance with me, Death.

[redford]

(Note: The song bit was written by Bard/Drum, and has allowed its use here. What a guy amirite?)

The end of John's cigar glowed for a moment, the only indication of his presence in the darkened forest. The elf dispatched the two guards with practiced accuracy, then vaulting herself upon the surrounding wall to lend support.

Slowly, it rose up within him as Casimir spoke. Not quite fear, not quite excitement, not quite anger, and yet it was all three; the feeling built and built within him, like a monsoon, until after Casimir finished, and a great song of his people rang in his head as he smiled, almost humming the tune.

"I hear the cries of women and children underneath some heathen lord.
And once again I grasp my shield and I take up the sword.
For the calling of the raven’s feast,
So the worm has plenty at my board,
Come at me and die, you dogs,
I was a man before I was a lord."

He turned to Casimir.

"Commotion? Now commotion I can do. Take my shield when we get through, it will help."

Liquid metal rose to coat his skin, and he drew on his cigar once more before spitting it from his teeth. He grabbed his shield from his back, melding the metal on his fists to the back of it, and nodded at Casimir.

In a split-second, he was off, rushing toward the gate with shield outstretched. All was quiet except for their feet on the ground until his shield met the wooden gate of the outpost.

A thunderous crash followed, doubtlessly rousing any guard in earshot, and the crossbeam split in two, spilling John and Casimir both into the courtyard. As the guards mounted, John pounded his shield into the earth beside him where Casimir could grab it.

The soldiers rushing to defend the gate recoiled as they were met with the sight of John, appearing as no man, but as a frightful war-golem, an elemental of steel given power by the earth and loosed upon them for their transgressions. They met his armor-coated eyes, his gaze as cold as the Salvar mountains and trained on them for one purpose and one purpose only.

To save the weak by destroying those that would prey on them.

His armor grew tendrils downward, his strength growing with the power of the earth, his rage growing with it as he clenched his fists.

"Come and pay for your evil, cowards!"

[The Mongrel]

That's right, boys. Leave your archer up on the wall while you do some sort of loud dance number really far back. That makes a lot of sense.

If I'd wanted a steel drum set announcing my presence, I would have hired a band. I wouldn't have minded the one I got, except he found the need to run me up and then run back. What the hell?! In decades past, I would have had Mutt and Hammer at my back. Though neither of them were as big as Cromwell, we would have been through this door and halfway to our target, because Unfounded doesn't mess around. Even in the Red Forest, the disparate groups of strangers I'd been stuck with had come together to destroy Pode's minions.

What had happened to the plan here?!

This is what I get for hiring two strangers because one's big and the other's a half-orc. Stars above, this would have been faster on my own.

Bandits were already rousing well before the men crashed through the barrier. One noticed me scramble into the archer's tower. "Intruder!" Of course I shot him through his damn throat, but the damage was done. Everyone woke. Several already had a little armor and some weapons drawn by the time Cromwell shattered the wooden wall and drove his shield into the ground. A few corpses laid waiting for him on the inside of the palisade already - fools who didn't understand that when dealing with an archer who only had a limited angle, the best idea was to stay the fuck back and let the mage deal with it.

A moment of quiet fell after the metal man's challenge. The low ranking rabble stood still, not even really sure how to start fighting him. Deeper in the cave, I could hear water dripping and children crying. I could also hear a giant grumbling at having his breakfast interrupted, the rustle of mage robes, and the deliberate donning of at least some light plate.

I looked at the scene from my perch. A crossbow bolt thudded into the log just in front of me, and I answered with a whistling arrow that brought its mark to an end. I had no idea how the big guy expected the half-orc to pick up a wall of delyn that didn't have anything for him to grasp. I had no idea how anyone expected to use it.

Well... it is a wall. This poor bastard beside me has a longbow and appropriate quiver. I bet that angle and a more powerful bow would be a dangerous combination. Hmm.

[SerCasimir]

Casimir followed Cromwell into the crushed gate. He bore a vergescu, and without obvious purchase on the huge slab of heavy metal that Cromwell had left him he did not think he would be able to even lift it, let alone wield it in combat. Cromwell's challenge sounded out, and Casimir let out a roar of his own. Holding Hecatoncheir on high.

It worked as intended, drawing the bulk of the camp's attention to the two knights standing at their gates, seemingly alone. In a moment it all began in earnest, an axehead flashing forward only to be rebuffed by the pure white shield he bore, the ensorcelled brand in his right hand lashing out like lightning, splitting his attacker's skull at the temple. A sword flashed finding his mail, the padded gambeson beneath absorbing the brunt of the force. He turned and drove the sword deep into the bandit's unarmored chest, slamming his shield forward to drive the corpse from the blade.

He felt revitalized, exultant. He stepped in front of Cromwell's shield to use it to guard his back as his foes pressed towards him. The fury of his mother's kin flooded him, made him perceive detail and intent in sharp relief.

His heart thundered and his blood felt like lightning as he struck down the nearest to him, spilling his belly on the dirt.

[redford]

Blood pounded in John's ears, punctuated by the clash of sword on shield, or Casimir shouting as he struck down another of their enemies.

Another soldier rushed him, sporting a crudely made metal helmet, a sword and wooden shield. He swung his sword down, connecting with John's forearm as he drove his fist into the man's helmet, denting the thing and crushing the skull inside. Another fell beside Casimir, their pile of bodies growing as an arrow bounced off of John's armored shoulder. His head rang mightily, but over it he heard a roar, deep and gravelly, almost like the sound of a rockslide. A lull in the combat followed, and through the hole of the mine stepped a giant, fifteen feet tall at least. He bore a scowl upon brown, almost black skin, and nearly appeared to be carved from the earth itself, as if it were a creation of the mine. It opened its mouth and roared again, raising a maul with a ten foot haft, and a massive head.

John's blood boiled at the thought of battling it, and he answered with a roar of his own, drawing his metal roots back into his armor so he could move again. He stepped forward, and a younger soldier swung an axe at his head, just missing as John grabbed his forearm and punched the man in his ribs below his shoulder, hearing a crunch as the man fell, writhing in pain. He snatched the fallen man's axe from the ground and sprinted forward with as much speed as he could gather, bowling over an archer as he ran.

The giant turned its attention to John now, and John swung the axe over his head, hurling it at the monstrosity. The giant flinched as it bounced off of one of his pauldrons, and swung his massive hammer to the side, and John barely had time to anticipate the attack before the head of the maul struck his body, sending him flying into a nearby shed, blowing through one wall and crushing several barrels inside.

Pain erupted from his shoulder and hip as John pushed himself to a knee, looking up through a haze of dust at the giant, who seemed intent on finishing him off before turning his maul upon anyone else.

[The Mongrel]

The distraction of two big, burly men in armor meant that there was much less attention on me, so I grabbed the longbow and its arrows, then launched myself over the wall to land lightly on its interior. I sent an arrow spinning over Casimir's shoulder and into the skull of a man still five paces away from him, meanwhile dashing for the cover of Cromwell's shield.

Bad decision. Another bandit was coming around at the same time to try to catch the half-orc in a flank. He'd been hidden from my sight, especially since my eyes had been momentarily turned the other way. Instead of startling back, the black-haired human startled forward, stabbing into a weak point in my armor. Cold steel lanced through leather, flesh, muscle and organs like an awful claw of death.

I don't remember drawing and shooting. I just saw the arrow punch through his head, and then he was nothing but a body.

His sword fell with him, pulling out of my body and letting forth a viscous red torrent. I gasped at the sharp, sucking pain and dropped to a knee, curling up behind the shield and pressing my hands to my wound. I'd been stabbed before, but I'd never bled quite so much, quite so fast.

Aaye Earlon... A prayer to the Sea-Star flitted across my mind of its own accord, and I felt the wound tingle throughout. Faint sparks of light peeked out from my fingers, but I didn't know if I had the time for the... whatever this was, to work.

Megillion grant that no one else come around that shield for a minute.

Beyond the big dark gray wall, I heard a door open under the sound of all the pandemonium. Someone scoffed contemptuously, and the atmosphere of the entire mine changed. The bandits seemed to grow louder, bolder, angrier.

Their mage and chief had taken the field.

[SerCasimir]

Out of the corner of his eye he saw a bandit thrown onto his back by the violent force of a long arrow through his head. Casimir heard a gasp of pain from behind the shield Cromwell had thrown down and he stepped back to see Kon laying there, blood seeping through her fingers. Another bandit was rounding the great escutcheon, an axe held on high, and Casimir threw himself forward, leading with the shield to slam into the human and send him sprawling. He stood over the wounded elfmaid and roared protectively, smacking the blade of hecatoncheir against the vergescu he bore.

The bandit had risen and closed again, lashing out with his axe, Casimir dismissively caught the axe on his shield and brought his sword down on the arm that carried it, then over and across his neck. He spared a look down at Kon.

"Will you live my lady?"

It was then he felt the change in the bandits, and looked up to see the man who was clearly their chief and his mage emerge into the melee. The chief was a head taller than Cas and bore a broad bladed axe, sized for two hands, on his shoulder and a sword on his hip. He was armored in mail not unlike that worn by the knight, and carried himself as a man born to battle. Casimir continued to stand in defense of Kon, but his eyes focused on the warrior approaching them.

For the first time in this assault, Cas felt unsure about his ability to defeat such a foe, especially in his state of adrenalized exhaustion. He reached deep within himself, coaxing the fire in his blood and stood yet straighter and taller.

I am a knight, and I will put myself to the hazard. My honor is my life.

[redford]

John's mind raced for some plan of action as the full-blood giant approached, the permanent scowl on his face even more pronounced now. All this time he had been the bigger one by far, and now he had to switch his mindset. He looked around the shed for something.....

...and then saw that the barrels he'd crashed into were full of blasting powder.

John's eyes widened as he snapped his fingers, a cigar appearing between his fingers. A quick second snap, and it was lit, the smoldering end ready to light the mountains of powder in the room and send the giant back to the earth he was born from. Hopefully he wouldn't be among those taken by the blast.

John thought absently that this was either one of his best ideas, or one of his worst, there was no in between.

He tossed the cigar into the air behind him as he watched the full-blood giant raise his maul to crush the shed with him inside. Before the cigar's arc ended, John activated a ring, feeling a tingling all over his body as jade-like stone covered him, deadening his senses and rendering his sight into shades of green. The second layer of armor would only last for a moment.

But a moment was enough.

A flash of white exploded in his vision, but he felt nothing. Hopefully the giant was close enough to be caught in the blast. A moment later and the jade began to crack, and John could move again, his vision and hearing coming back. The small house he stood in was blown apart, the walls and roof simply gone, flaming bits and pieces of wood strewn about the courtyard. The giant clutched his beard and burning tunic, stomping around the battlefield as he tried to put them out as a few soldiers clutched burning pieces of the house embedded in their bodies.

John stepped back out of what was now a smoldering, scorched plot of earth, giant chunks of burning jade armor sloughing off of him, exposing the silvery armor underneath. The soldiers close by that weren't hit by burning shrapnel looked on in terror at the half-giant. He was neither man nor golem to them, but something else. The three of them were aspects of judgment, implacable until they had taken their vengeance.

John readied himself. The giant was still alive, and by now had put himself out, but tilted his head, seeing with only one unburned eye and holding his hammer now with a single hand.

[The Mongrel]

My wound tingled, then burned, as though a cold fire was cauterizing me from the inside out. Had I been gifted healing while in Pode's grove, or after? What reason could the Stars possibly have for maintaining the blessings bestowed upon me, or for adding new ones? My skin closed beneath my fingers, and I wheezed in a couple of agonized breaths before I could answer Casimir.

"I'm fine. Barely a scratch." The strain in my voice belied the pain in my belly, but I'm not sure he could really hear anything I was saying over the clamor raging on the other side of Cromwell's shield. "Couldn't call myself an elf if I wasn't unnecessarily dramatic at inconvenient moments, you know." I punched my green companion on the arm, just enough to rattle his mail, really. It wasn't the most appropriate way to address a knight, but the orc in him would understand the gratitude in the gesture.

"I'm over it, I'm good, let's -" Anything I was about to say got drowned out by an explosion that rumbled through the cavern far more gently than it tore through my eardrums and skull. Instead of "fight," the words that fell from my lips were an amalgam of profanities from the elven and orcish tongues.

Determined to find and execute whichever of the boorish edanen who had assaulted my senses, I snatched up my longbow and quiver. I could see the source immediately, or at least the effect - a burned and blistered giant reeled at the back of the cave, and the tip of a shiny nose peeked out from what had presumably been a black powder room.

If Cromwell and I both survive this battle, I am going to use him as target practice. ... and what, by all the dark gods, do they have black powder for?

Arrows screamed forth from my stolen bow, striking their targets with meaty thunks and satisfying thumps. The mage and leader watched coldly, with the latter shouting orders and abuse at his men and the former keeping his condescending leer on me.

He, like me, was half Raiaeran - his ears rose to gentle points, and his features had a clean sharpness that humans lacked. But his build was too stocky, his eyes too young to be fully elven. No, their mage was half human.

He pointed at me, and a rippling wave of blue energy sped toward my chest. Without thinking, I aimed my last long arrow at it. Rather than glowing silver with Cuarye's blessing, it glowed a bright orange gold on its journey. The spell and arrow collided in mid air, sending out a shockwave that leveled most of the remaining bandit troops.

"Is that how it's to be, you dark-skinned whore?" Oh, that bastard had the Raiaeran hatred for any "lesser" race down. His parent must have been proud of him. "Shall I teach you a lesson, then?"

"Humans can hardly learn, much less teach." The retort fell from my lips before I could restrain it. "How about I send you screaming back to the mother whose tit you just detatched from instead?"

[SerCasimir]

Casimir managed a smile at Lady Kon, her presence and levity helping to buoy his own fighting spirit. He turned once more to face the advancing bandit chief, only for an explosion to rock the camp. Casimir threw his shield over himself and Kon reflexively, then turned, snarling toward the source of the blast. He saw Cromwell rising from the ruin of a shed, and the giant stomping as he tried to put himself out, the screams of men impaled by burning wood and stone rising all around.

Steel your mind. There is only your foe, his blade. All else is meaningless.

He vaguely heard Kon challenging their mage as he walked forward, placing the flat of Hecatoncheir against the brow of his helm. Another brilliant flash of energy and a wave of force washed over him, pushing him against an oak post. He righted himself, and stood a few paces from the chief, who was smiling wickedly as he brought his axe into a ready position.

"I am Ser Casimir Taryndor, son of Garrison and Lokra who slew the Sanguine King."

Casimir gave him a moment to announce himself, but was unsurprised when he charged, swinging his wicked axe in a wide arc. Casimir dodged the blow, but was surprised as his foe deftly redirected, cracking him in the side with the haft of the axe.

He is strong, and fast. I am not sure I can master him.

He swung his axe again, and rather than dodge Cas caught the haft of the axe with Hecatoncheir slamming his shield forward to drive the chief back. He took a slash at his foes head, but he was too swift and recovered, lashing out a strong kick to the shield Cas bore. Cas turned with the force of the blow and brought his sword across in a backhanded slash which his foe easily blocked.

The two warriors separated again, sizing each other up and catching their breath for the next exchange. Cas knew he was reaching the limits of even his formidable endurance.

[redford]

John glanced in the direction of his half-breed companions, briefly entertaining thoughts of aiding them. He could, but it would draw the giant with him, and he doubted the battle would go their way if they joined forces. The giant would distract all three of them, while the captain would dart in and out of the fray, and the mage would cast his spells from a distance. It was a good tactic, but relied on the giant staying in the right location. John aimed to make sure the giant couldn't break their makeshift formation.

The full-blood giant swung his hammer down in a wide arc, and John leapt forward, rolling under, aiming to get inside the range of his bad arm, since he couldn't use it. I've got you n-

During his roll, he failed to see the massive foot careening toward him, and barely even recognized it as such before the impact. His limbs snapped forwards as he was thrown back, and he felt something inside him break as he was thrown toward his compatriots.

He landed, bounced, and skidded to a halt on his back just beyond where they were fighting. He vaguely heard a curse from the elf, and the clang of metal from the orc, amidst the pounding in his head. He briefly considered just laying there for a moment before realizing that the giant would turn his attentions to his friends if he should hesitate. He rolled over, rising to one knee, realizing now that the kick had dislocated his shoulder. It hung limply at his side, a reminder that his armor did not protect against everything. He braced his elbow and pushed mightily, crying out in pain as the ball was forced back into place. He swung the newly-repaired extremity, bracing the thing with thicker armor taken from his feet as the pain faded. He stood, hearing a roar from the giant. The remaining soldiers, perhaps twenty men, rallied behind the beast, banging swords on shields, their morale boosted by the giant's victory, temporary though it was.

John frowned as the giant advanced. I cannot let him enter the fray, he thought, knowing that if he could get between the mage and the elf, that it would likely spell their defeat. He walked forward slowly, still waiting for the pain courising through his body to stop. The giant's kick had certainly injured him more than he could afford to let on this moment. He pulled his shield along with him splitting the item with a thought into two war-hammers as the remaining soldiers charged him, screaming with weapons high. He'd have to deal with them first, and hopefully the giant wouldn't be keen on friendly fire.