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The fey warrior stands and bows to the newcomers, ”Fine and fair evening, wanderers through darkened wood! I am Carageorn, patron and lord of the Knights of the Bloody Briar, and a king uncrowned, but soon to be again, should fate’s tides and twists see me through.”
The fey claps his hands together in delight at Topper Red’s poem before striking an imperious pose and reciting his own verse. ”On victory’s tender flesh feast we
Seeing a pointed look from Eskra he sighs, ”Blast and damn. Noble and full of potential that ye new squires be, our hosts to the north would consider us poor houseguests should we bring what they consider bandits in our wake. Stay here and man the fortress, let not fire or ruin or war or the world’s bones unmaking cause it’s walls to fall.”
Carageorn grins, his smile just a bit too wide to avoid being unsettling, "Eskra, friend of friends, how magnanimous you ever are." He closes the distance between the two of them and the bandits in a few loping steps and looks each in the eyes before striking an imperious stance and saying, "Many have sought to number themselves among my squires, to seek in time the vaunted seal of knighthood alongside their questing lord! Few have the moral fiber, the iron will, and the spark of greatness that doth require." The horned fey points at two of the bandits, Topper Red and Cragger, "You...and you! I have seen the spark within each of you, dimmed by tyranny and service to a cruel master, but burning ever yet. Will you join me as squires? To fight at my side and in time, attain knighthood and the honor and burden of nobility?"
As he slays the final bandit leader, Carageorn lets out an ululating roar of triumph, halfway between the clarion of a hunting horn and a vicious battle cry. ”Yes, yes, YES! Glory and rule awaits, the crown upon my brow once lost but soon to be reclaimed, the new blooming of the rose upon which the bloody briar rests, the flowering vine’s sweet and heady smell of blossom-birth.”
Hoping to keep up his excellent bandit-murdering streak, Carageorn moves in towards Dovan to flank with Nidintu-Bel and takes a vicious slash at him. "Thy tyrant master and thy dull companion now both lie dead by the razor kiss of my blade. Thou shalt be next!"
The fey warrior whoops with glee and triumph. It was his blade, his overwhelming prowess, that had killed the Stag Lord and paved the way for his kingdom's grand rebirth. Riding high on that, he turns to Auchs and bellows, "Mightily have I slain thy lord! Thou have not stood down, so ye shall share his bloody fate!" He makes three quick strikes at the hulking bandit.
With a fey lanky steps, Carageorn moves into battle, his sword striking with vicious grace as he whoops and hollers, "And lo, upon the precipice standeth we, to make a kingdom of the Stag Lord's bones! Know this in thy last moments, oh tyrant stag, it was the bloody briar upon the rose that did you in! The thorn of the flowering vine that hast righteously spilled thy life's blood!"
The fey abruptly stands as his onyx eyes narrow, ”It is they. Eskra is neither sir nor madam, neither questing maiden nor prince in distress. Speak of them as such again, and thou shalt learn why I carry such appellations of murder-make.”
The almost disturbingly tall fey gives a look down to Bithisarea before bowing deeply, "Most cordial greetings. I am Carageorn, the bloody briar upon the rose, the thorn of the flowering vine. Thy name has rung through the mind of my companion here, and I know thee to be Bithisarea. Well met, madame."
Carageorn raises an unsettlingly long finger and says to the two of them, his tone sounding like he's pointing out something insightful, "Ah, yes, of course! It is said that should thy flowery words fail you, stab the hearts and stomachs of thy foes first. Once your foe shuffles back from the dead, they shall be left with a heartache and a stomachache to remind them of thy stunning victory. All know this to be true."
Carageorn bellows with violent glee as he tries to lay into the great tree-bear.
Carageorn takes a look at the two fey before looking askance at Nidintu, "Speak not for myself! I am steadfast and dignified, no matter the times. I would never stoop to speaking in rhymes." He is, seemingly, entirely oblivious to his rhyming.
Carageorn looks around, "Eskra, Eskra, my steadfast friend, think of the lessons I taught you as a child, that we learned together from the wood! Strange things do happen, for reasons hard to understand. Consider well those many oddities, and do thou more than pay them no heed."
The fey warrior steps out from the strange in-between place he waits when not called forth with a triumphant shout, "Hark! The thorn of the flowering vine comes forth from his slumber, to the land of those who live but once! Good day, friends of friends. Thy liquor I shall drink and thy songs I shall sing, and together, shall we be merry!" He reaches down with a long, gangly arm and retrieves the jug from Eskra, taking a mighty pull from it. "And with that, hast I some squires to attend to! Be well and be mirthful!" He strides off looking for Dalan and Ikke, intent on teaching them the meaning of fey chivalry.
Emboldened by the tale, Carageorn moves in to join the dogpile on Tartuk, swinging at the shaman with one of his blades.
Carageorn lets out a booming laugh before taking three great and lanky steps into the thick of battle. He takes a swing the more injured of the two acolytes as he bellows, "Ensconced in the bones of the earth, I fight with glory! I am the bloody briar upon the rose, the thorn of the flowering vine, and thy blood spilled by my blade shall sing of our glories until the world's turning ends!
Carageorn laughs with violent delight as he sees the cluster of mites. "Yes, hahaha, their songs are nothing compared to mine!" He belts out a stanza from some fey opera, a song of bleeding hearts and death, and his heart being like a sparrow's nest. It makes no sense, but then again, neither does Carageorn usually. He moves up to the mitflits and, instead of slashing at them as is his habit, gestures dramatically to the empty space above them. As if on cue, a log appears from empty air and crashes down onto them.
Carageorn, for his part, swings twice at the leader, roaring with fury at the injuries that the mites have dared to inflict upon him.
Carageorn roars with battle-thrill, ”Yes, yes! They shall know the wrath of the thorn of the flowering vine! The briar-wood’s call beckons, and it demands your blood!” He charges in, swinging twice at the mitflit between him and Nidintu.
Carageorn announces, "We must take flight, and take the fight to them! Savage them utterly, until none remains!"
Carageorn calls forth another tree from Eldest knows where to crash down upon the mites.
Carageorn takes a long step forwards and twists his blades in the air as he proclaims, "Even here, in slithering tunnels fraught with pestilent foes, the wrath of the wood knows when to answer the call of it's mighty son!' He raises both blades triumphantly and a tree manifests from nowhere, crashing down on two mites.
The lanky fey warrior grins, "It would be my deepest of pleasures! Impostors, outcasts, wretched things, fear the wroth of the thorn of the flowering vine!" He strides in, blades aglow, slashing twice at the closest mitflit.
Carageorn gives a mighty whoop as the former bandits agree to his terms before hauling them to their feet, ”Then rise, squires Dalan and Ikke, for thou hast honor like never before!” For his part, the fey spends his night alternating between patrolling the area around camp, voraciously eating whatever he can grab, and sitting with Eskra, Nidintu, and the bandits by the fire.
As Eskra talks to Xavin, Carageorn gets to business of his own. He kneels before the two lesser bandits, "So, wayward sons of the forest, brigands without cause, I hath a proposal to grant you. Forsaken, thou hast, to forswear banditry. What I offer to thee is the chance to become something greater. I would grant you the chance to become my squires, my men-at-arms, my protegees. I teach and protect you, and thou shalt serve me. Once a year and a day hath passed, you shall be free, made nobles in the kingdom this group is to forge."
Carageorn begins to laugh uproariously as Nidintu begins to chase the bandit, "Nay, I shan't leave the field while foes yet persist. We give chase, as the jackle-bear to the skittery beasts! Off and away, ruin and glory, fire and song!" With that, he takes off running alongside the elf.
Carageorn strikes twice at the bandit in front of him, intent on finishing the fight and proving his prowess.
As Eskra's tale of his old glories settles in, Carageorn charges forth, roaring, "Yes, yes! I am the curse of the wood, the vengeful hunter, the bloody briar upon the rose!" He moves up to the bandit that Eskra had called out in their story, and slashes at the brigand with his blade.
Carageorn raises his strong and exaggerate eyebrows, "Make a fuss? Friend, for thy kind, death is the end of all things. Death must be given all the import it deserves."
Carageorn grins and nods, "Verily and veritably. My blades thirst, and can only be slaked when washed-red in righteous battle."
The fey warrior draws one of his swords, running a lanky finger along it. He says nothing, but his unnervingly long eye contact with Happs and the other unrepentant bandit provides ample subtext.
Carageorn sheathes his swords and nods, "Very well. Mercy shall be given, on but one condition. A year and a day from now, if ye be free and of thy own command, leave a bottle of whiskey and a fine of loaf of bread on thy threshold. Until that cometh to pass, thy honor is forfeit by the terms of surrender, but thou shalt be my charges and squires. Will'st thou accept?"
Carageorn charges forward, roaring at the bandits with a voice like thunder, "Ruin and misery! Light and song! I am the thorn of the flowering vine, weep at my coming and rejoice at my valor!"
Carageorn's extremely expressive eyebrows perk up as Xavin speaks, "An ambassador to the First World, sayest thou? With whom did ye reside with? I am honor-bound by terms beyond my ken not to speak of my home or throne, but I relish hearing of that last which doth sit so far beyond my grasp."
Carageorn sighs and grumbles at Eskra before looking Nidintu-Bel directly in the eyes. As he speaks more, his strange and archaic manner of speech becomes quite apparent, "Bestow thy forgiveness upon my companion. They rankle at suggestions of their youth, of which their appearance suggests a deceiving possession of. The name I hold which I can tell to thee is Carageorn, exiled of the lands of oak and holly, rightful prince to a throne which lies shattered and sundered at the wicked feet of mine olden foes. They are Eskra, the link that bindeth to the world that was and is and will be. Speak of this Lord Varn, and I shall help ye to find him. Eskra, for their part, might be convinced if treated with a modicum more respect."
...and here's Carageorn! |
