Breyr Calishul's page

Undead topple over at the rush of the burly northerner, and Breyr seizes the moment, leaping toward his fallen short blade, hand outstretched, sliding through muddy puddle. He rolls and comes to his feet in wash of water and flashing steel. He hews to his left and to his right, chopping into fallen zombies first and then trying to follow the northerner.

Rain and wind buffet the combatants and lend a sickly sheen over the grisly undead. "Get me to that gate, I'll open it myself!" Even as he says it, he imagines a guardsman's arrow putting an end to any such foolishness. 'This day seems my day for foolish decisions.'

-- and a small, agile man foolishly attacks with daggers -- I shout to him that daggers are useless against these zombies, but I'm not sure if he hears me over the tumult.

Breyr manages to shred the limply arm of one of the zombies, before kicking off of it and rolling safely out of reach. 'No jest! He scans quickly around for his short blade - dropped in the bustle of combat.

"I hate the undead," he says aloud. A dropped spear catches his eye, and he smiles. As the wounded zombie lumbers forward anew, Breyr lauches forward spear at the ready...the shaft shudders as it impales the zombie, and then another behind it.

The joined zombies stagger, each moving in a different direction. "Skewers anyone?"

Two figures turn to face the dark woman, and Breyr narrows against a near wall, instinctively. He flips his dagger into a throwing grip and watches through the heavy rain, weighing the situation and straining to hear their voices.

"This is not my doing!" she hissed. "I merely employ the weapons of our enemy against them."

"If I were your enemy you would not have the honor of this discussion. Now move. The time for talk is later."

Breyr's eyes narrow, 'Interesting,' and he slips foward. She's too valuable to let that loud oaf hew down.'

He approaches, stealthily through the rain, waiting for the giant and his companion to act.

Breyr staggers back, his eyes locked upon his undead rescuers. 'What the blazes is going on here?' As they tear at his foe he turns and leaps towards a cart and pushes his back against it, ready to take on any new foes.

But when he turns, the marketplace is for a moment becalmed, with the angry downpour washing blood and gore into the gutters. The strange girl - 'a witch?' vomits and then recovers, looking about.

Breyr's eyes can barely make out her features in the rain, as she wipes her mouth. Suddenly he realizes that the remaining zombies are in her thrall. 'A witch...and almost certainly she's got something to do with this. Else I'll wager she'll have some answers. Answers I might profit from...'

More cries of alarm, and the other defenders move towards the Parliament building. A northerner brandishing a massive sword rallies them to battle once again. Even the witch, and her zombies rush toward the battle.

Breyr hesistates, 'I must be out of my head,' but follows the others, tightening his grip on his sword and dagger, as the rain continues to wash madly over them. Lightining cracks overhead, splitting in the northern sky, Feh...good thing I'm not superstitious - else I'd say we're heading toward our doom.'

'Zombies...' Breyr shudders, as he recovers his blade. The stench of death, the chill of the oppressive, driving rain threaten to smother him. Looking up through the cascade he sees the lumbering shapes of three more zombies approaching him, the growl of excitement trapped by their dead throats, foaming on their grimacing teeth.

Terror gives way to rage, "you've had your chance at living - you'll not deprive me of mine!"

He brandishes sword and dagger, still crouching under that staccato of the rainfall. He sweeps out his leg, in a swift sudden motion - mud and water trailing in the wake of his kick. Two of the three fall to ground, the third is knocked back by the other two.

In a frenzy he's upon them, hacking his aged-dulled blade into one then the other, his dagger carving viciously around the short-sword's cut. He tosses his head up to find the third. Suddenly, inexplicably he wonders, 'could this poor fool have been a friend? One of the comrades he inadvertently betrayed?'

OOC: Brotherhood of the Wolf - excellent movie. thanks for the visual.

Breyr's throat tightens at the stench filling the market place, for the briefest moment the grisly scene flashes white under the stormlit sky. Lumbering figures feasting on the dead, the guard falling back in disarray, and a young girl lashing bolts of white fire from his finger tips...'Straight gates of Ever!'

"Either leave this place or take up arms! This is no time for idle spectating!"

'No, indeed,' thinks Breyr. 'I ought to quit the square, but if this can happen in the blasted square - how long til all of Refuge is overrun?'

"To me, Watchmen! To me! Drive these vermin to dust!

Put away your clubs and staves!
Grab cleaver, axe and sword! They feel no pain!
Sever their heads and tendons!"

Breyr's ears harken to the voice of obvious authority and draws his short sword. 'They feel no pain...that's going to make this difficult. But my purse is lean and I need to start making a name for myself again...with any quarter.'

Breyr darts from shadows towards an abandoned food cart, absently slipping a wedge of goodfruit into his satchel - his eyes never leaving the surrounded girl. 'If a girl she be...a little magic in my debt can't hurt.' Even as he thinks it he realizes the folly of it. His attention is drawn by a scream from above, and his eyes follow the sewer-dweller's furious attack.

'Bold,' he thinks and takes cue...leaping over a fallen vendor he rolls forward and comes up on one knee, his well-worn blade swinging...cleaving through the legs of one of the girl's assailants. The figure drops to the ground beside him, and Breyr's instincts kick-in. He swings the blade expertly about and lands a finishing thrust into the heart of the lumbering creature, but - 'Bloody hell!' The creature continues to move, grasping Breyr's sword arm. 'They feel no pain...' The stranger's voice echoes in Breyr's head. "Blo-dy hell!!!"

Suddenly aware of how many of these creatures are around him, Breyr claws for a dagger with his free hand and attacks the creature's undead arm with a desperate frenzy, 'bloody hell! Bloody hell!'

Breyr Calishul shudders, wiping the mud and reek off his hands with the soaked, crimson sash of his belt. He peers quietly from the safety of the doorway and tries to determine the cause of the clamor ahead.

When the figure jostled him aside his first thought was that he would find a dagger pressed into his side in another moment, but that momentary fear has only been displaced, not eliminated. 'The riot ahead might be just a distraction for some other black deeds,' he steps from the door frame, absently grazing the hilts of his throwing knives with his gloved fingers.

He slips along the side of the building, against the rush of the crowd. The rain sends rivulets down his lean, leather-clad form as he follows his curiosity towards the marketplace.

Here's Breyr Calishul, hopefully I've kept the typos to a minimum. Email to follow.

Breyr Calishul is one of a set of triplets born in one of the roughest districts of the city. Right after their birth, one triplet, the other brother vanished under mysterious circumstances leaving Breyr and his sister to be raised alone. Their parents were less than reputable characters, and as soon as they were walking Breyr and Freyr were put to work lifting purses and breaking into homes.

As they grew older, they began to work independant of their parents but always returning a portion of their spoils to the home purse - which in truth was their father's purse.

Eventually the siblings broke out on their own, starting their own 'gang' in order to survive on the streets. This new 'family' soon grew large enough to draw the attention of both the Watch and the thieves guild. The siblings argued over how to deal with the unwanted attention, with Freyr and a vocal minority advocating fighting tooth and nail.

Breyr, in an attempt to save not only his neck, but his sister's as well, went to the Watch in an attempt to set a trap for the Thieves Guild. The trap worked - only as far as the Watch's corruption would allow. In the end Breyr did more damage to his own former cohorts, than to the much more canny thieves guild. Freyr vanished, escaping capture and Breyr found himself unable to walk down certain streets of his district.

With a lot of his old connections either dead, or in jail or hating him, Breyr begrudgingly finds that the only 'work' he can find is as an agent of the Watch. Though he won't admit it, he finds a strange satisfaction working for 'honest' coin.