Having counted on Kazimirs hardy nature up until now, seeing the dagger dig into his shoulder and the obvious sluggishness of his movement, Luthor, spurred his mount into motion towards the unfolding melee. Coming up behind Surefoot, he reached out a brilliantly glowing hand. "Here!" He called, trusting Kazimir to reach for him.
Noting the big guy dropping down, Daen was glad that one of them was susceptible to the Witch's attack. He would have been a fair amount of trouble otherwise from the size of him. Kaz seemed to be struggling a bit, but Daen couldn't help him the way Luthor could. The best thing he could do in a situation like this was to make himself a more dangerous target and take down whatever bandits he could. His blue sword reflected the sun as it dove toward the closest bandit's exposed flank, hoping to find purchase in something vital.
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Daen's bold attack on Dovan does part of the trick, forcing the bandit onto the defensive. As his eyes take in his sleeping allies and the wounds his other minions have suffered, his nerve deserts him. He whirls and flees toward the tents and the horses beyond them, looking over his shoulder every so often to take stock of potential pursuers. As he flees, two of the remaining bandits collapse on Daen, swords drawing gashes in his stomach and back. Another arrow zips, this one heading toward Cyanne, who manages to duck the blow, pressing tightly against Volte's back.
Lali spurs Wild forward. She gets Dovan back into her sights and fires.
Her finger slips at the last second and the arrow flies wide. She swears loudly; she needs to down him before he gets away. If he makes an escape she'll have to chose between riding after him and staying to help the rest of the team. Sod that.
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Cyanne is torn between attacking the men who are attacking Daen and getting Dovan, the man who callously ordered the death of a pregnant woman. However, Daen is not alone. Kaz and Luthor are there to back him up, and Gratia can still shoot the two on him.
Spurring her mount forward, she calls out, "Surrender, fools! Your leaders are down or fleeing like that coward there!"
Although it would be more expedient to trample the sleeping bandit in her path, she spurs her mount to jump over the sleeping body instead. She'd made a promise to Kaz that she would treat foes honorably, and she intends to keep it.
Volte is a beautiful, graceful horse. He willingly takes the leap, still running as he lands on the other side.
When Volte stops running, Cyanne takes her shot. "Eternal Rose, you do not like to slay, but this coward is the enemy of love and art and beauty. Please lady, guide my shot!"
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This time, when Kazimir digs his knees into Surefoot's sides and leans back, the old horse responds, rearing up enough for his rider to force his elbow against Luthor's outstretched hand. The healing magic washes up to his shoulder, mending the tendons and muscle, and when the horse lands, it's at a run. He wants to chase after the fleeing leader, wants to run him down before he can escape, but his allies here needed his help.
Emboldened by something - maybe the strange magic that was mending his shoulder, maybe by the sight of the fleeing bandit, maybe by Cyanne's rousing song - Kazimir's axe finds purchase this time, biting deep and crushing bones with its weight.
"Cyanne!" he calls over the sound of Surefoot's frabntic whinnying. "How are the defenders holding?"
Laliytsa's arrow, despite the longer bow being better suited to long shots, zips over the fleeing Dovan's head, but Cyanne's finds purchase in the man's back. The dark-haired bandit keeps fleeing, ducking behind a horse as he goes. Meanwhile, Mazimir's onslaught drives home as he drives the business end of his battleaxe into the bandit's back, putting the man on the ground without more than a quick scream. Surefoot panics a bit at the sudden burst of blood, and Kazimir isn't able to inspire the horse to further heroics.
"Fighting's broke out here. No more messages." Cyanne hears Kesten Garess's whispered voice in her ear, and then it falls silent.
Noting a disappointing lack of effect from his healing spell, Luthor followed Kazimir, weaving a spell with archaic infernal syllables on his lips. As he finished, his hand glowed an angry red as he reached for the paladin. "Theres time to be angry later, but right now you need this." He called out as he released the spell into Kazimirs arm.
He then dismounted near the sleeping bandits, drawing his dagger but hesitating. "Anyone got a rope?" He called, realizing immediately how prepostrous a request that was considering the circumstances.
Daen would have liked if Dovan was willing to stay and fight, but he ran off before, he should have known he would do it again. He also would have liked to allow those blades to glance off of his magical conjured shield, but they did not. The cuts themselves burned hot with pain and slicked themselves with blood right quick. He didn't think he could take another hit like that and stay upright, but he had fought past the point of exhaustion many times in training, so he knew about how much he had left.
He faced one assailant with Kaz beyond and looked out of the corner of his eye at the other, reversed his grip on the glowing sword and lashed out behind him, slicing deep into the stomach of the one behind him. He pulled the sword free and stepped to the side, casually swinging the blood free in a bit of a spray at the other bandit. "Kaz, if you can catch him, I'll be all right here."
Daen's blow cuts into his man, leaving him writhing on the ground in pain for a moment before losing consciousness. Meanwhile, the remaining bandits on the eastern side of Oleg's begin retreating, spreading out to be less easy to be ridden down. Dovan finds his way to a horse and mounts up, not bothering to wait for his friends before leaving the fight.
Cyanne knows that she can glitter that scum Dovan, making it impossible for him to hide and possibly blinding both him and his horse. She considers it for a split second, and then rejects the idea as Kesten's whisper hits her. She only has one glitterdust, and it's best used on those scaling the wall. She'd promised Svetlana that they'd save Oleg. Revenge on one scumbag... less important for now.
"Hang on, Kesten. They're scattering on this side. We're coming to help you!"
"Luthor, heal Daen! Kaz and Lali, the defenders are under attack on the West. Let's go!"
She shoots one last arrow at Dovan before spurring Volte into a double move towards the West side. Maybe her arrow will hit. Or maybe it'll miss. No matter. Eventually, they will hunt the bandit down and make him pay for bringing this misery on her friends.
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"You heard the lady, hold up a moment." He called to Daen, once more sheathing his hand in a brilliant halo of mote specked light. Moving to his side, he touched the spell to the most brutal looking of Daens injuries.
"What about those two?" He asked, pointing at the sleeping bandits. He put on a hard face, looking for once determined without doubt. "This is battle, I have no objection to making sure they dont become a problem again." He held up his dagger for emphasis, though there was an obvious shaking in his hand.
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Another wash of magic floods through Kazimir, clouding his mind like fog even as his wounds begin to sizzle and close. They were weak, he thinks, the voice in his head taking on a deep, resonant timbre. Thin the herd. Cull the weak. Let the strong survive. It is your right.
He shakes his head, surprised at himself. "Right. The west,"he mutters, kicking Surefoot into a run. The horse takes off at a gallop, hooves kicking up dirt as he thunders around the side of the outpost.
They are weak!
"If the strong do not protect the weak, the family will not survive..."
Kill the weaklings! It is your RIGHT!
"I am a servant of the Elkfather and I carry out his will..."
Muttering prayers through gritted teeth to drown his own unsettling thoughts, Kazimir readies the charge, axe in hand.
Cyanne's shot zips over Dovan's head as she gallops after Kazimir, Volte's jostling rush throwing off her aim. Luthor's healing perks up Daen, and Kazimir rides off to the west, searching for more enemies. He finds them.
As he rounds the corner, there's a cheer from the walls, followed by a scream as a trio of arrows slam into him, driving him nearly off the saddle. Somehow, he manages to stay astride his mount, but the effort seems exhausting. The defenders on the wall finish off the last remaining bandit, but are unable to turn their attentions to Kazimir's attackers.
Lali fires at the retreating bandit but it's all force and no accuracy. She swears again; that's two chances she had to end him and now he's going to get away. She's not going to follow him and leave the everyone else behind.
Bending down over the bandits, Luthor hesitated, then, with a reluctant grimace, he sank his dagger into the first of them.
Cyanne watches, horrified, as Kaz, at her urging, goes into a full gallop not just to catch up with her, but to pass her by. She doesn't see the archers, but does see all three arrows hit home.
And I urged him to this...
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Luthor's healing helped quite a bit, as the blackness around the edges of his vision went away, as well as the slight fatigue from having lost too much blood. Feeling invigorated, he dashed off toward one of the fleeing bandits. If they were feeling brave enough to flank him after they knew they were outmatched, they were brave enough to regroup and come after them again.
As his blade cut into the bandit, just above the hipbone and punching it's way through, he took inventory of everyone to determine his next move. Luthor was acting brave. If he left them on the field they'd just get up and run off and regroup as well. Laliytsa was firing over his head, hoping to peg that coward Dovan. He couldn't see past the horses very well, so he hoped she got a good shot. She was better with the bow than he was, he'd stick to his sword for now.
His real concern was Kaz and Cyanne. They were moving forward again, and although he didn't blame them, they were awfully exposed over there. Hearing his beloved's concerned cry made him rethink his strategy. It might be much more useful for him to be over there too. "Hells. he cursed, turning his attention away from the fleeing bandits and toward the other side of the wall. "We'd better help them."
Dovan disappears in a cloud of dust as Luthor begins stabbing bandits. His dagger doesn't seem to cut deeply, but the man nevertheless dies, a quick, quiet death. Daen's victim, meanwhile, goes down screaming, falling to the ground to clutch at the bleeding mess that was once his hip. The other bandit continues fleeing, heading toward the same group of horses Dovan already paid a visit to and ducking behind one himself.
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Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
Three arrows punctuate Kazimir's muttered prayers, drawing a sharp cry and a wheeze. The impact nearly throws him from the saddle; between his knees, he feels Surefoot's pulse pounding, the old horse's breaths coming hard and rapid even as his own become laboured. One arrow feels as though it's pierced a lung; blood rises in his throat as he struggles for breath.
He hears Cyanne cry out, and grimly thinks, A second later, and that could have been her.
His mouth fills with the coppery taste of blood, and he feels it running from the corner of his mouth. The bandits were readying another volley; he could dimly see the arrows being drawn through the faint haze that was settling before his eyes. "Oh Erastil, let your servant-" he begins, his voice little more than a thin wheeze.
Prayer? What has prayer done for you? a voice hisses in the back of his mind, a voice unsettlingly like his own. You came here with prayers on your lips, and look at you now. That god you pray to has left you to die.
"Fear not the darkness, for the hunter's eyes will guide you. Fear not death, for it ends a life well-lived."
You're going to die, the voice hisses. And for what?
Images flicker through the haze. Cyanne, bright and full of life. Luthor, still trying to figure out the world. Daen, silent and withdrawn. Laliytsa, grim and determined. Oleg, Kesten, Hanne, Jhod.
"Them," he manages, gripping the reins with his shield arm and digging his heels into Surefoot's sides. The horse rears once in defiance, before obeying in a panicked run.
Bloody pours freely from the four wounds in his chest, slicking his arm and loosening his grip on his axe. The weapon nearly slips from his fingers, only a last reserve of strength keeping it held. He grits his teeth, briefly squeezing his eyes shut in pain as he turns Surefoot around, facing down his silver-haired foe again. His eyes open, his face hard, a grim look of determination set in his features.
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Lali digs her heels into Wild’s side and clucks at him. The horse bounds forward like an arrow leaving a bow.
The duo fly across the ground, rider and horse moving like they were one creature. They barrel around the corner at full speed. Laliytsa shoots an arrow at the first bandit she sees; it’s a shot based on hope instead of skill.
The duo slide to a stop between the bandits and their horses. Laliytsa looks at Kaz and hopes some of the bandits target her instead.
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Cyanne feels like she's in one of those nightmares where all her loved ones are being cut down around her while she is falling behind, in slow motion and unable to help. First Kaz, then Lali bound ahead of her. Then, as she rounds the corner, she sees Kaz bleeding, Lali joining the fray, and... Akiros. Her mouth runs dry. Akiros, who combines brutality and chivalry in one inscrutable package. Akiros, her captor and savior for the three most terrifying days of Cyanne's life.
Spell in hand, she hesitates for just a moment, and then Kaz charges forward, engaging Akiros and scattering the other bandits so that she cannot get more than two in her spell. As much as she wants to catch Akiros in it, she can't do it without risking blinding the wounded Kaz.
So she catches two of the other bandits in her spell, and looks to Akiros, meeting the bandit's piercing blue eyes, beseeching. "Akiros! Auchs is down. Dovan is fleeing. The others are all gone or dead. Akiros, you don't have to do this. Please!"
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Both bandits start screaming, clutching their eyes and dropping their bows to the ground, as Kazimir's charge slams into Akiros. The impact bows the farmboy's lance back into a savage arc as the tip digs into the bandit's left arm, tearing a massive wound into it. Then, there's a savage *"K-WAP* as the lance gives way, snapping into two. A moment later Laliytsa tears around the corner, firing wildly from her horse's back, but the arrow zips over her head.
Then, arrows from the wall begin to fall, one wounding each bandit while another bounces off Akiros's mail.
As Laliytsa skids to a stop, one of the bandits returns fire, missing himself.
Akiros tosses aside his longbow, pulling a sword from his back and gripping it in two hands with a grunt. He whirls it in a terrible arc that cuts cleanly across Kazimir's neck, neatly severing arteries. "Farewell, and may your Deadeye receive you on the far side of the spiral." Kazimir's body falls from Surestep's back and crashes to the ground, driving up a small bit of dust, as Akiros looks around to try to assess the situation.
Another arrow zips out toward Cyanne, but falls mercifully short, digging itself into the dirt near Volte's feet.
Order is: Laliytsa, NPCs, Blue Bandits, Daen, Luthor, Red Bandits, Cyanne.
As Akiros’s longsword cuts into your neck and drives your spirit from your battered body, you feel a strange sense of...frustration and anger. How dare they end you like this? You’re not the weak! You’re not meant to be culled in such a fashion! Then, as quickly as the anger rises, it fades. In its place rises a sort of contentment. You tried, and your death was that which the heroes in your grandmother’s stories always had; dying while protecting the innocent. Your consciousness fades, and your last thought is a simple one. If only I knew how it ended…
When next you see, your first sight isn’t that of Oleg’s, or of Svetlana or Luthor looking over you with a worried expression. Instead, you see only grey. Then, gradually, shapes begin to appear; a hideous, grinning moon in the sky, tombstones and mausoleums all around, and a few others wandering around. Within a few moments, it becomes clear who they are; the Stag Lord’s men, recently killed by you and your friends on the field outside Oleg’s Trading Post. You find, however, that you bear these men’s souls no ill will, and they seem to regard you in the same way.
Time passes, your wanderings drawing you ever-closer to the center of the vast graveyard you’ve found yourselves in, and you learn a bit about the men you’ve helped kill. One was a baker. Another, a ranger in Lebeda lands. To a man, all fell on hard times and chose banditry over beggary, and to a man, none of them paused to think about other options.
Gradually, you see her. Pharasma, the judge who will decide your fate. Ashen-skinned, ashen-haired, the woman possesses a beauty both terrifying and alluring. But as you grow near, a massive, moon-silvered elk appears from nowhere. It looks at Pharasma, its eyes locking with hers, and for what seems like days they remain that way. Then, she looks at you. ”The Elkfather’s herald has business with you. You are permitted to go, for now.” The scene goes grey again, and all fades to nothingness.
When you once again fade back to awareness, it’s a sunny day in a village that looks vaguely like your home. Out the window, children play beneath the feet of a massive elk, while their mothers and fathers watch or carry on with their daily routines. As the elk notices you, it moves, stepping carefully away from the crowd to where you sit, unclothed save a pair of breeches, near a creek. It lowers its head next to you and whispers, its voice near silent yet filling every inch of your mind. ”Erastil watched your fight. He wishes to know more about you. Tell me your story.”
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Blissfully ignorant of what was transpiring, Luthor picked up the downed mans weapon, afraid to wake the burly man with his puny dagger. There was no doubt in his mind that failing to deliver a decisive blow could mean his death at the hands of his would be victim.
"I will never get used to this Rikka." He sighed, lifting the blade and striking, gravity doing most of the work.
Daen rushed over toward where the fighting was heavy. Cutting down fleeing bandits was practical, but only if your own friends weren't getting sliced to ribbons in other places. Chernilla was now a non issue, as she shied away from combat. It would take quite a while to get where he was going without her, but hopefully he'd make it.
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He'd heard that, when about to die, your life flashed before your eyes. He'd always thought it was just a dramatic touch bards added when telling of the deaths of legendary heroes, not a fact.
And yet, his last few moments, as the blade swings at his neck, are a blur of half-remembered sights, sounds, and sensations. The first time he tasted his grandmother's sugar cookies. Carving his own holy symbol out of antler. The sound of birdsong in spring. The old rooster crowing outside his window in the morning. His sisters helping mother in the kitchen. The laughter as he exchanged potato-throws with his brothers in a childish game.
His first kiss from Nataliya, her lips so sweet and yet feeling so wrong. His father's concerned face as he told him about the wandering dreams he'd been having. His grandmother clasping her hands over his, telling him there was nothing wrong with him, he wasn't going crazy, and that Erastil had plans for him. The smell of the fields after a hard rain. The first awkward steps of a newborn foal.
Perlivash's claws shaping his hair into a nest. Kesten's scrutinizing gaze, sizing him up as the farmboy he was. The confronting, confounding olfactory chaos of Bokken's hut.
Cyanne's clear, melodious voice ringing out over the field of battle.
Daen's cold warnings to any who stood against them.
Laliytsa's laughter as she mentioned putting ribbons on him.
Luthor's reassuring hand on his knee.
Blood.
Pain.
Falling.
Nothing.
The last remaining conscious bandit on the eastern side of the trading post mounts up and flees, no longer interested in what's obviously becoming a rout. Meanwhile, Luthor's killing blow on the hulking Auchs is successful quickly and mercifully.
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At first Cyanne can't believe her eyes. Kaz can't be dead. Not sturdy, kind Kaz. She turns her gaze, eyes wide in disbelieving shock and betrayal, to Akiros and his bloody sword. "You killed him."
Her voice sounds flat, but her hands are trembling and tears are streaming down her face. She casts glue seal on the remaining sighted bandit, gluing his bow to his hands. If he's out of the way, we can deal with Akiros.
She's never felt so cold and so hard before. After this battle, maybe she'll have time to grieve and feel the pain that is threatening to tear her apart. But for now, she holds herself together with an iron will. She whispers under her breath into Kesten's ear. "Akiros slew Kaz. Return the favor."
The bandit quickly flings down his bow, rubbing his hands against his crude leather breaches to get rid of the worst of the stickiness.
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Nothing.
No... Not nothing. Grey. Dreary and heavy, but certainly there.
He walks, slowly, each step seeming to take... Minutes? Hours? Time seems to pass too quickly and too slowly all at once, like in a dream - which, he supposes, isn't too far off.
He heaves a sigh out of habit, though there's no air in his lungs to exhale. So this is it. The Boneyard.
As he wanders aimlessly through the graveyard, suffocating in its emptiness, he learns of the other (people? souls?) drifting with him. Men he'd seen die. Men he'd fought. Men he killed. Husbands, brothers, fathers, sons. Every one of them with a story, a tale of woe.
Their fate wasn't mine to decide, he thinks, I only did what I thought was right.
And now that it's over, he feels... He pauses, thinking, and realizes he simply isn't sure.
----------
Pharasma. The Lady of Graves. Keeper of the Boneyard. He only knows Her from his grandmother's tales, but he knows Her role: the final judge of people's fates. And... A stag, new, yet familiar, watching Her. He waits for what seems like eternity, waiting for the goddess to turn Her eyes to him, to pronounce his final fate. Where will I go? he asks himself silently. What do I really deserve?
When She speaks, it isn't what he expects, and he frowns in confusion. "Business?" he asks, before he can remind himself of the foolishness of questioning the gods. "What do you-"
Then, again, grey.
--------------------
The breeze is cool on his skin, and he's surprised when he looks down and sees himself unharmed. He expected to see arrow holes, to feel a ragged slit in his throat, but instead he finds only smooth tanned skin. It makes sense, he supposes - his grandmother had joked that in the afterlife, she'd be a feisty young woman again, all child-bearing hips and fluttering eyelashes. (His father had usually laughed and told her she'd had too much to drink.) It seems she was right after all.
He's content to sit, enjoying the sight of children playing - even though the sight reminds him of his own brothers and sisters, now without the oldest of their number - and isn't sure how to react when the stag approaches him. When its massive head bends down to him, he swallows, averting his eyes. "My story?" he repeats, unsure of where to begin.
The beginning was probably a good start, so that's where he begins. He starts by recounting his childhood - growing up on the farm by the village, listening to his grandmother's tales, learning the hard lessons his father had to teach him. He recounts with a smile the day he helped deliver his first foal, grows sheepish as he recalls a trip that resulted in a dozen smashed eggs and three terrified chickens, and his voice falters as he mentions each of his siblings in turn. He recalls market days and harvests, Sunday roasts, midsummer nights, long winters by the fire. The day he carved his holy symbol, the day he first took to the saddle, the day he first courted Nataliya.
He grows quieter as he continues, recounting how he'd started feeling as though he was different. The fact that Nataliya, while lovely, didn't feel right to him. The fact that their kisses felt false. The dreams that he always woke from, sweat-soaked and ashamed - and the recurring dream of following the elk through the forest.
He speaks of meeting Jhod, and of deciding to follow him, to try to find some answers. Of crudely making his own spear, sewing tough leathers into armour, and promising his grandmother he'd write. Of saying goodbye to his family, saddling one of the horses, and heading into the unknown.
His voice picks up again as he recounts the next few weeks - every ride, every battle, every scar. He quotes Cyanne's songs, trying to sing the choruses and quickly deciding it hadn't been a good idea. He shivers as he speaks of nearly drowning, casts his eyes downward with shame as he tells of both the bandits the group had run down, and of his following heart-to-heart with Luthor. He recounts his final charge, his voice cracking as he does so; he rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, taking an empty, shuddering breath.
"And then... Well, now I'm here," he finishes, keeping his eyes downcast. "Is this where it ends? Because... Well, I didn't think this would be it. I suppose I thought I'd have longer. I'm grateful for what I had, but... It's hard not to wonder what could have been."
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Laliytsa watches in horror as Akiros strikes at Kazimir’s neck. As soon as the blade bites into his flesh things start to change. The sword shifts into a howling Elusa hound, its fangs reaching for a man that that is first Kazimir and then her Uncle; different men united by the same look of surprise as the blood spurts out of their necks.
SShe fires at Akiros but both shots go wide. A heartbeat later she realizes that the ‘howling’ she’s hearing is coming from her own throat.
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As the remaining bandit shakes off glue, he draws his blade and begins heading toward the still-mounted Laliytsa. Meanwhile, the silver-haired Akiros, looking to the defenders now starting to make their way down what had moments before been his siege ladder, seems to realize the situation's out of his control. He looks Surefoot over before swinging carefully into the unfamiliar saddle and riding toward the southwest, sword still in hand.
The Great White Stag nods slowly throughout your retelling of your story. As you crack your way to a finish, he stops, looking back across the village toward the children, who've found games to play without his massive hooves to hide behind. "Erastil himself is not all-seeing, and much of your story was a mystery to him. However, he watched the last moments, starting with the desperate ride of the trader's wife and ending with your charge." He pauses, lowering his massive head into the stream to drink, and continues speaking in his quiet yet echoing voice. As he does, you realize none of the others hear a word he's saying.
"He has a number of questions. He wants your answer; not the 'right' one, but the one you would give in your heart. The first is simple, and it's a bettering of Gorum's question. Up until now, you've been a solid member of your fellowship, but times will soon change, and strong yet gentle leadership will be needed. Erastil does not question your ability, only your will. Will you lead, if the burden is thrust upon you?"
Before you can answer, the Great White Stag blows out of its nose into your face in a *hufffffff*, and your head fills with visions of your town's leaders at a trial, conscript soldiers lined up to receive a cavalry charge, and an old man with a heavy crown.
Order is: Laliytsa, NPCs, Blue Bandits, Daen, Luthor, Cyanne.
Laliytsa ignores the man walking towards her. All her attention is on Akiros.
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Kazimir finds it hard to meet the Great White Stag's gaze. When he does so, he finds himself almost immediately wanting to look away again, overwhelmed by the wisdom and age in those eyes. He doesn't have a chance to reply before images fill his mind, even when he closes his eyes and tries to form a coherent answer.
"If asked of me, I will," he says, his voice quiet but firm with conviction. "I will lead as best I can, taking the burden that no others may suffer under it. I will lead as I would want to be led, remembering that without my word and my honour, I am nothing."
His grim work done, Luthor got up, shivering with disgust. Noticing he was still holding the bloodied sword, he let it drop to the ground, releasing as if it was uncomfortably hot. Looking around, he realized he was alone, the others having already moved on. "They need us Rikka, no time to struggle with...this." He said, gesturing at the fresh corpses, before turning to his horse and mounting up to follow Daen.
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Daen heard Lali's howling first. That was the thing that was out of place, sticking in his mind like a splinter. Everything else seemed fine. The bandit's were retreating, and that looked like Akiros leaving on the other side which meant the bandits didn't hold up after the rest of the crew had made it over there. It seemed that he'd be regulated to clean up and chasing bandits off anyhow. But that scream he heard, that wasn't right.
Then he noticed the horse was familiar. No wonder Lali was upset. Kaz had been unhorsed and the bandit had taken his horse. He'd seen how much his monster hunting friend had loved horses, Akiros had pulled a dirty trick that left her frustrated. Well, he'd see about that.
As he moved, he pulled his bow. Stopping short his run, he dropped his still glowing sword point first it dug into the semi-frozen ground, remaining upright for easy retrieval. He pulled an arrow from his quiver as the eldritch fire engulfed the bow as well and let it fly toward the fleeing bandit leader.
Lali may not care about the bandit walking up to her with the sword, but Cyanne surely does. Lali can protect herself, but she's also the best shot they have. Cyanne doesn't want this stupid swordsman distracting her and interfering with their best chance to hit Akiros.
She shoots at the swordsman to get his attention.
"Not so fast, Stieg. You're outnumbered. Matti and Bugs are blinded. Even Akiros lacks the balls to face these odds. Surrender now, all three of you!"
She doesn't care if Stieg runs or kneels down and drops his sword. All she wants right now is him out of the way so that Lali can keep shooting.
\
Akiros continues riding even as the arrows slam into his shoulders and back, somehow staying astride Kazimir's horse, which he brings up to a full run quickly. The remaining bandits, meanwhile, see the wisdom in Cyanne's words and throw down their weapons as Kesten and his guardsmen make their way down the ladder. A few moments later the other guard opens the trading post's gates, revealing three people inside finishing off a blaze in the storage shed.
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Tears still glittering in her eyes, Cyanne takes one last shot at Akiros's fleeing back.
As much as Cyanne wants to run Akiros down, she knows they can't. There are people to protect back in the fort. And Luthor... oh Gods... What would they tell Luthor? Come to think of it, did Daen know yet?
Suddenly feeling the weight of all the emotion crashing down on her, she puts down her bow to turn to face Daen.
One look at Cyanne's face told him his conclusion was wrong. Something had happened. Something terribly bad. Putting two and two together wasn't hard for him, but he knew instinctively that he hadn't come to the conclusion that he should have before because he didn't want it to be true. He put that in the list of things to work on. That list was getting pretty long.
Glancing at Akiros as he fled, he realized one thing. That tough bastard wouldn't go down from a few arrows in the back. They'd have to do something drastic, and something his friends may not like very much. The thing was, some things were replaceable, and some were not. Opportunities of getting Akiros alone were miniscule, and the man was too tough and confident to be left alive, especially after what he just did. "Lali!" he yelled uncharacteristically, hoping to snap her out of her feral screaming. "Shoot the horse!"
Daen loosed another arrow as well, firing off his arrow even as something tugged at his attention. He picked up his still glowing sword and took a step toward his love with a look of grim determiniation. "We have to stop him."
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‘Shoot the horse’? The words weave through her head. She can’t shoot Surefoot, he’s….Kaz’s horse….
Lali’s mouth snaps shut. A cold feeling starts in her skull and works its way down her spine. Kaz is gone. Kaz is gone, and the man who killed him is riding away on his horse. Her visions narrows in on Akrios and the arrow Daen’s sending straight at Surefoot.
Coldness brings clarity. The rest of the bandits are either dead, disabled or surrendering. Kesten and his men can take care of them. They’re smart, they’ll take at least one prisoner. They don’t need her to stay here. As soon as the thought crosses her mind she pushes Wild into a run.
Little details snap into place. Akiros is dangerous, a predator. He led the attack against the Trading Post. Letting him escape to the Stag Lord is not an option; it would put everyone in danger. He’s trying to escape but she’s right on his heels. If she’s on his heels she’s shooting him with arrows. If he puts distance between them it almost doesn’t matter; he’s moving too fast to cover his tracks. He’s not getting away.
Rider and horse bound after their chosen prey. Daen’s words flick through her mind again; she considers them for a second, then discards them. At least for the moment.
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Seeing Lali charge ahead, Cyanne offers her hand to Daen to help him swing into the saddle in front of her. He's by far the more competent rider, and she finds comfort in gripping his waist. She's still trembling, but she tries to push the emotions away because they have a job jeft to do. "Alright, but no more talk of shooting Surefoot. If we manage to bring Kaz back, I want to look him in the eye and be able to tell him we treated his horse right."
As they ride forward, Cyanne looks back for Luthor. If she can, she'll point her finger and message him.
"Luthor, sweetie. I need you to be strong, okay? Akiros..." She breaks off, another wave of emotion cresting over her. Cyanne hugs Daen tighter and ruthlessly pushes it away. "He killed Kaz. We're going after him. Can you be strong for a few minutes, escort 'Lana into the Post and take care of her?"
"Kesten, we're chasing Akiros. Luthor and Kaz were close. Can you break the news gently to him, then give him a job, like escorting Svetlana inside? Any job will do so long as it makes him feel useful. He'll need that. Tell Luthor that we'll be back soon and we'll all... grieve... together. Okay?"
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Kicking his horse into a run, Luthor made for the corner of the fort, slowing to a halt as he reached it. Edging forward to see what was going on, he sighed with relief as he took stock of the initial scene of surrender and victory. Then he noticed it, something was wrong. At first he didnt know what he had subconsciously registered, his eyes darting around the scene, taking in every detail, frantically searching for the cause of the soul crushing chill which had suddenly settled in his gut. Distracted by the movement of horses and men, several moments passed before his eyes fell on Kazimirs motionless shape. For a fleeting moment his optimism flared up. "He has my spell working on him, in a few days the most he will have is the bruised ego..." He thought, before noting Daen and Cyanne riding off in pursuit of what he recognized as Akiros even at this distance. "Why is noone checking on him, helping him, why...?" In an instant, optimism and naivety were driven from him like morning dew before the rising sun. "No..." He gasped, kicking his horse into motion with far more force than was necessary, pushing it into a gallop despite the short distance.
"What are you standing around for!? Someone help him!" He called, practically falling out of the saddle as he yanked violently on the reins. Not bothering to stand he crawled the last few feet frantically grabbing at Kazimirs shoulders and with great effort pulling the big man into a seated position, propped up against himself. "What do I do!? I dont know what to do!" He called, desperately willing his powers to manifest again, but to no avail. His shaking hand moved from one arrow shaft to the next tugging uselessly at each in turn. He clutched at Kazimirs throat, trying to stem a flow which had all but stopped, smearing his hands in blood. "Kazimir...Kaz...what do I do?" He asked feebly, looking into his friends motionless face. Sleepy, half shut eyes stood in stark contrast to his tear stained cheeks and a mouth frozen in a pained grimace, wordlessly, silently telling the story of his last moments.
It was more than he could take. The execution of the bandits, by Daens hand and his own and now Kazimir, dead. It had only been days since their talk had cemented their friendship, days since Luthor had realized that rare feeling of having someone who knew how he felt and shared his concerns and thoughts. It was such a rare thing, to meet someone truly as good as he wanted everyone to be.
And now he was gone.
All strength left his body as he collapsed under Kazimirs weight, the big man falling into Luthors lap. Sobbing uncontrollably, he cradled Kazimirs head in his arms, resting his own upon it, forehead to forehead. "I understand wanting not to care, but don't go down that path - it's not one men can easily return from. Caring makes you human, and it makes you strong." Kazimirs voice from that night repeated in his head. By Kazimirs side, Rikka wedged herself under his hand, as if the offered petting would somehow spur the man back to life. "Is this strength Kaz? I dont feel strong...I feel weak, weaker than ive ever felt..." He croaked between sobbing gasps.
With no resolve left, not knowing what to do, he simply sat there, rocking back and forth, unwilling to let go.
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Distance Back: 200 Ft.
His rage at the lie welled inside him, and he slew Rosilla and her husband. Since that day, he's hated Erastil and his familial commandments. And yet, we've seen a spark of hope in him in his conversations with you. The second question is this; what would you say to your killer if you had the chance to speak to him?"
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As Luthor grieves over Kazimir's fallen body, Kesten limps up, body stiff beneath his mail and a deep cut on his leg. His guards fan out behind him, making sure the remaining bandits are securely bound. Kesten offers a halfheartedly solemn look at Luthor before breaking out in an unsure grin. "You arrived just in time, you know! What a ride; truly the stuff bards will sing about. We'd been fighting them for a few days, the ones to the east, and the ones to the west had just arrived. It would have been over for certain. And to win such a battle with only one dead! Unheard of!" He looks at the grieving man awkwardly, unsure what else to say.
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The pursuing heroes take off after Akiros across the plain outside Oleg's, thundering through the greening spring grasses after the man who killed their friend. Before long, Surefoot bounds into the air, disappearing as he hands, and a few seconds later it's clear why. A narrow stream has carved a deep defile into the plain, and the other horse and rider have disappeared into it. There seems to be a game-trail leading down to the creek below, but it's faded and hard to follow. Do you A) try riding down the rocky slope (survival) or B) leap down into the creek (ride)?
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"But which one Kesten? Which one?" Luthor said at a near whisper, not looking up at the man. Prompted by Rikkas feelings he tore his eyes from Kazimir, looking at Kesten with a blank stare. Seeing the cause of Rikkas worry, Kestens wound, he lazily reached out a hand, its inner glow weak and bereft of enthusiasm.
"If anyone else is injured, bring them to me Kesten." He said meekly, returning his attention to Kazimir. His thoughts on practicality, he finally pushed his friends eyes shut.
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Cyanne, Daen and Volte found their rhythm once again, horse and riders one unit in their grim pursuit of their prey. Even Tango balances on her shoulder, the little mongoose alert, its claws tensing into her vest.
How ironic. Because of Akiros, once more Daen and I are united on a horse.
As Akiros and Surefoot leap into the creek, Cyanne guides Volte with her knees to leap after the bandit lieutenant. She hugs Daen tighter as they leap into the creek. She's hugging him for dear life, trying to keep the grief at bay.
Cyanne points a finger at Akiros's back and casts message. It's hard to talk on the back of a horse moving at full gallop, so Cyanne has to time both her breaths and the rhythm of her her words to the relentless beat of the hooves.
"Akiros, once upon a time there was knight of Erastil who strayed from his true purpose..."