Sand, Rain, Swords.....and Beer -The Red Trench-

[Guest Estel]

“You've got some guts, then, not too much for brains, though.”

 

Carnhain grinned, but not for long. The cavalryman thrusted with the lance with as little warning as he could. However, that ended up with the lance taken from his hands as if the Commander were playing with a child. Suddenly this wasn’t quite as funny anymore and when the playfulness of the situations began to ebb, a certain throbbing in his mind began.

 

It throbbed in sync with his blood and it yearned for more of the liquid that ran through his veins; it craved it and needed it like an alcoholic needed his liqueur. Like a drunk, Carnhain was unpredictable and violent under the influence of the strange state of being that came over him- the state of being he had come to call his Blood Lust. It was both and old friend and bitter enemy. In the midst of battle he was nigh unstoppable when he surrendered to it. Under its spell no wound could slow him, no vile act disgust him, no distraction throw him off of his goal. There was no limit to his energy stores if he simply let himself fall to its power.

 

He both revered and dreaded the Blood Lust. He feared it because, when under its spell, he had no control over his actions and he became a monster. His Blood Lust was unquenchable and he could not escape it except by killing every living thing in sight. He had tried to kill his best friend three times and had done horrendous things in its power and one of those times had been in these very sands.

 

Which was why he struggled to repress its frighteningly seductive power. Under its influence he knew he stood a better chance against the Commander but he could not afford to go too far and if he gave it an inch he would not be able to restrain himself. With the Blood Lust, it was all or nothing, no middle ground.

 

"Hmmm. I think this belongs to you."

 

The shaft of the lance struck him in the belly, forcing the air form his lungs, incapitating him long enough for Mehrin to make a complete fool out of him. The Blood Lust throbbed stronger, threatening to be too much for his limited self control to handle. He fought it down as his hand immediately dropped the lance in his left, rubbing his stinging bottom.

 

"Are you sure that you want to continue? It's only going to get worse for you, you know."

 

This time Carnhain didn’t smile or grin rather the expression on his face was something close to a snarl as he threw, or at least attempted to throw, an all-out offensive against the bigger man. He stabbed, swung, kicked, punched, elbowed and kneed all to no avail.

[Quibby]

It was strange, but the more that he fought Carnhain, the more that Mehrin got the impression that he wasn't the only thing that the cavalier was fighting. He's distracted, then, he thought indifferently as the man charged him with a vicious snarl. Batting aside a heavy lance thrust, Mehrin danced into sword range. The whip had a longer reach, but it wasn't nearly as fun as doing things this way. As Mehrin closed in, Carnhain spun away from him, the unseen lance passing above Mehrin's head as he instinctively dropped to the ground. Again, instinct threw him to the left, barely avoiding a heavy swing that would have taken him across the chest. That was too close; fun's over. As Carnhain was recoiling from the attack, Mehrin lashed out with his right foot, catching the man on the point of his hip, then scrambled away to his discarded claymore. With speed born of too many years on the field, Mehrin twisted his body, catching the downward swing of Carnhain's lance on the long blade. "So I can't keep up, eh?" Mehrin muttered.

 

The other man was beyond all bantering. He disengaged, backing away to bring the point of his lance into play. That was all the opening Mehrin needed. Keeping the blade held against the lance shaft, Mehrin regained his feet. That done, it took only a contemptuous push of the blade to send the lance away from his body and start the fight anew. Anticipating the next attack, Mehrin set his heavier weapon spinning, catching Carnhain's thrust on the blade and sending it downward. Two boots planted on the weapon were enough to pull it out of Carnhain's hands. Without losing a second, Carnhain charged him, his weapon held low. He didn't attack with the sword, though. Mehrin shifted his weapon down to deflect what appeared to be an upward thrust, only to feel Carnhain's hard fist catch him across the right side of his face. The vision in his right eye blacked for a second, and only a quick counterpunch saved Mehrin from being impaled. It hurt.

 

"Nice trick," Mehrin said, his vision clearing. "Next time, try to do more than slap me." The last words hadn't left his lips when Mehrin sprung back into action. Carnhain didn't seem to be expecting the heaviness of the swing directed at his head; the edges of his eyes tightened as he caught the full force of the attack on his upheld sword, the reverberations of the blade painfully carrying to his hand. "Let's call that a preview of coming attractions, shall we?"

[Kael]

Kedyn watche din growing anxiety as the fight between Mehirn and Carnhain continued, stiffing as he watched his friend began to turn from a more friendly sparring partner to the one he remembered from their first trip into the sand pit of the Trench. If it had been anyone else Kedyn might have shouted for someone to intervene, but perhaps being beaten by Mehrin while in this state would do something to prevent this new, distubing trend in his friends personality.

 

His arms tightened around Miria, taking streangth in the closeness. Perhaps waiting like this wasn't such a good idea, it was bringing back memories he wanted to leave behind. The darkness that had enveloped him after he lost consciousness in the first one, the first Red Trench. The ghost feeling of Carnhain's bandages wrapped around his neck, the ones that had left the scars that had faded to only a single line across the front of his throat.

 

Kedyn stiffened and looked away but neither did that help, instead two green eyes that he had thought he had left behind for good rose in the darkness, the sillhoete of who they belonged to just out of his mind's eye. He had thought he was past this, but even now his guilt haunted him. Red is your color. Why would it not go away?

 

 

Kedyn

[Guest Estel]

The sheer weight and power with which the weapon was brought down shook Carnhain to his core and the Blood Lust took advantage of that split second in which his guard was down to escape his control. In an instant he was no longer Carnhain. Now he was... Names were no longer important. All that mattered was that he felt this man’s life blood running through his hands. He needed it. Everything that was him, which wasn’t much at this point, ached for that blood because blood was power. If he cut this man, neither the name Mehrin nor the title of commander meant anything to him anymore, enough, he would have the power. The power to make the man do whatever he wanted. Not that he knew what he wanted the man to do, he only knew that he wanted the power.

 

To get that blood he needed to be fast. Faster than this man. Faster and more ferocious. Carnhain, or rather what was left of him, dropped the lance in his left hand and launched into a flurry of attacks that should have been impossible with the pain lancing down his arm. But the pain was overwhelmed by his lust for blood, it fed on the pain, turning it against the opponent.

 

But the Blood Lust was beaten by the big man at every turn. No matter how fast the Blood Lust was, the other man was faster and stronger. This just fed anger into it, building it to a level previously unreached. Every time he lost control, the Blood Lust grew stronger and he grew more and more violent.

 

He had absolutely lost his mind. He was taking stupid chances and opening himself up, just to draw a little blood from his opponent. While he had landed a bare handful of hits on Mehrin, Carnhain himself was bleeding all over and only the Blood Lust was keeping him from toppling over. His arms and legs were a mass of bruises, blood was pouring from his broken nose and split lower lip, blood slicked down his blonde hair where the hilt of Mehrin’s claymore had nearly knocked him unconscious and if he had had the capacity to think rationally, he would have been worried over his awfully sore ribs. His own blood did not matter. He would pay the other man back tenfold for his own injuries and would bathe in the blood of the fallen.

 

Disengaging, Carnhain stepped back only a moment to try and find an opening to take advantage of. The madman lunged, aiming an overhand thrust at the commander’s knee while pulling his left fist back to strike an undercut at the tender place just below Mehrin’s ribcage. That was his intent anyway.

 

Even afterwards Carnhain wouldn’t be able to figure out what happened. All he remembered was launching himself at Mehrin to have both blocked. Then there was excruciating pain in his abdomen. It felt as if something were trying to tear its way out of his belly. The pain sent him to his knees and even with the Blood Lust pounding through his head, numbing his pain, he cried out. Instinctively, his free hand shot to his abdomen, already half-knowing what happened.

 

Just touching the area sent another wave of pain through him and when he dared to look down at his hand, it was completely bathed in blood. He had minutes of consciousness left and maybe an hour before he simply bled out. But the Blood Lust would not let go and he threw himself back at Mehrin.

[Quibby]

It was a sudden thing when it happened, but Mehrin knew what was going on when Carnhain recovered from the heavy blow. There was a different man staring him in the eyes. A man that would not stop until Mehrin was dead. The game was no longer a game. In an instant, Mehrin's mind underwent a transformation. It was no longer about winning or losing. It was about defeating the man before him, either with him unconscious or dead. If the opportunity came to kill him, Mehrin no longer had any qualms about it. Some men on the sidelines must have realized what had happened, as they were slowly advancing. Quickly, Mehrin waved them off as Carnhain attacked again. Light, he had become fast. But Mehrin knew that he was faster. Even as the first blows began to fall, the oversized claymore came alive in Mehrin's hands, knocking the opening thrust to his right, then coming about to deflect the downward strike while his heavy boot kicked out, striking the other man hard in the belly. Mehrin stepped back, his blade still spinning, the heavy steel humming in the air.

 

The pain and the rage seemed to be feeding the thing that was attacking him. The more the blows were deflected, the angrier the man became, the more he opened himself to injury. And Mehrin took every opportunity. A heavy slash at Mehrin's side was easily dodged, and his left fist thundered into the man's face. Mehrin could feel the bones in his nose crunch. Stepping away, Mehrin took the brief moment that he gained to survey his handiwork. The man's nose had been crushed, and his bottom lip bled. The man roared wordlessly and came at him again. This time, the thrust at Mehrin's belly ran across the steel blade of the larger sword, ringing angrily as it nicked Mehrin's arm. With a careless shove, Mehrin pushed the weapon aside and drove the hilt of the claymore into the man's ribs. There was more of a give than there should have been, but the man didn't stop.

 

Faster he came, his smaller blade dancing in, trying to do anything it could to find a soft spot. Even if they were dulled weapons, the heavy blows that the man was raining down upon him could be deadly. A half-step too slow cost Mehrin a small puncture in his thigh as the man tried to sever the artery in his leg. As he withdrew the weapon, Mehrin's claymore spun a clockwise circle, shoving the man's sword arm to one side, and the hilt of Mehrin's claymore descended heavily on the top of Carnhain's skull. The man staggered, one hand going to his head. Even as he did, Mehrin's weapon struck him once again in the ribs, once on the point of his hip, and once on the knee before he spun about, driving the pommel of the weapon into Carnhain's other thigh.

 

It looked to be over. It should have been over. However, Carnhain still stood. He shouldn't have been standing, yet he stood, nonetheless. It took a moment for him to come again, but when he did, it was blatantly obvious what he intended. In his right hand, the broadsword, it's point aimed at his knee. The left was balled into a fist, and coming for Mehrin's ribs. It was but the work of a moment to take his right hand off the hilt of his weapon. Grounding the sword, Mehrin leaned it away from his knee, catching Carnhain's sword and forcing it away from his body. His right hand seized onto the man's wrist, and a quick tug pulled him close. Even as the other man was staggering in, Mehrin's head struck him in the bloody ruin of his face, his arm pushing him offbalance. It was the work of a moment to lay both hands on the hilt of his claymore again. Kicking Carnhain's blade away from the steel, Mehrin stepped around the grounded weapon, his back to his opponent. The tip of the blade came out of the ground in a shower of sand, up in an arch... and then straight back. Mehrin felt the all-too-familiar impact of steel on flesh, felt the tip of his weapon break through skin and muscle. He gave the weapon one twist, then turned to see his handiwork.

 

Mehrin could see that Carnhain was done, even if he didn't want to admit it. He was staring at his blood-soaked hand, the source being a ragged hole in his belly. Surely, he would- The man threw himself again at Mehrin, as if he would take him down into the grave with him. As if he thought he was going to die. Again, Mehrin's weapon danced in a high arc. A loud crash was heard as his blade collided with Carnhain's. The lighter steel bent around the claymore, and as the blade ascended, the now-useless sword was ripped from Carnhain's hand. At the apex of the arc, Mehrin let his claymore fly. Carnhain seemed momentarily stunned. Putting all the weight he could into it, Mehrin's right hand connected with the side of Carnhain's skull. The force of the blow was enough to bowl him over. He twitched once, but didn't rise.

 

Nobody was moving. Nobody was speaking. Mehrin wasn't even sure that anybody was breathing. Except for him. Mehrin was breathing enough for three people. "Blood and flamin' ashes, people. One of you dumb bastards get a medic down here NOW!" he shouted. In the scramble of people, Mehrin stepped to the edge of the circle, collecting his gear and dressing calmly in the mad dash of humanity. He should have felt something, a little guilt. However, he had only been interested in surviving. Maybe the man would think twice the next time he challenged Mehrin. Fastening his cloak back over everything, Mehrin donned his hat and strode into the crowd.

[Jocelyn]

While Miria could find some small amount of satisfaction in Carnhain being made a fool of by the Commander, watching him turn wild like some animal was a completely different story. She knew the man her lover called brother was a fool, and trouble, but never before had he scared her as he did now. She had been right in warning him off Kedyn. The man she saw before them was a madman, one being shown a harsh lesson by a stronger opponent. And to think she had been growing soft on her conviction! The man clearly was not right in the head; he needed to be locked up.

 

The warm arms tightening around her made Miria remember just why she had been close to forgiving Carnhain. Kedyn was friends with Carnhain, more than that, if it were possible. As much as she may dislike it, he had forgiven Carnhain easily and still held him dear. Seeing him this way must be awfully hard on him. She stroked his strong arms in a way she hoped was soothing, though she could feel the tension humming through his taut frame. Perhaps now he would see for himself why he was better off without Carnhain.

 

Miria flinched as Carnhain was dealt a bone crunching blow to his nose, blood pouring down his normally handsome face. Would nothing slow him? It was supposed to be a friendly spar for heavens sake, not a duel to the death! Why would the blonde man not stop? Miria turned her head, sickened by the violence, to see Kedyn doing the same out of the corner of her eye. Pain was etched into his features, as he stared off into the distance. She did not know what he saw, but whatever it was haunting him was not pleasant. Had he seen Carnhain this way before? Was that it?

 

She lifted her hand to tentatively touch Kedyn's clenched cheek, wanting to wipe away the troubled look, but not sure how. Seeing him this way reminded Miria of the cold man she had met on the road to the Citadel, the man who hid himself away in a world of pain. Gone was the ready smile and teasing glint in his eye. This was not the man she had coaxed out of his shell and fallen desperately in love with. He saw something, something deep within himself that troubled him. Was it Carnhain? Or something else? All Miria knew was that she wanted to help rid him of whatever it was.

 

"Kedyn?" Miria stroked his jawline, urging Keydn to meet her gaze as she turned slightly in his embrace to face him. "What do you see?"

 

Miria