Eb's Return (Open/All)

[Cass]

OOC: Planning Thread Here

 

 

Eb stomped through the underbrush, hacking and shoving and cursing at errant branches and vines with a rage that had proven inexorable - despite the countless number of hours she’d been lost. How had the forest changed so much in the time she'd been away? Her clothes were torn, her dark Altaran skin – already deeply and immeasurably scarred – was scratched anew on every visible surface. She was tired. She was hot. She was hungry. None of this was what had made her angry.

 

“-LIGHT-FORSAKEN, BLASTED-RUDDY, CURSED-AND-FLAMING-BONE-HEADED FOOOOOOOOL!” Her hitherto earthy mutterings became a belligerent bellow - one that ended in an utterly full-throated, unintelligible roar.

 

Apparently, any sense of calm she’d developed over the time spent tracking Mehrin in his banishment had disappeared with his death.

 

She swung a rough one-eighty, turning the full fury of her mace on the stocky tree behind her. Sap-covered woodchips flew, jumping and spinning from the trunk to the ground as if they knew it was the best way to escape yet another flanged and heavy blow. The sight of them just made Eb grit her teeth and hit out even harder. She ignored the jolting from her hands to shoulders and, not for the first time, continued until all that stood of the tree was a mangled, waist-high stump. Then she spat, split the stump lengthways with an angry downward strike, re-hooked her weapon and sat down on her haunches.

 

A decidedly intemperate scowl took up residence on her face. Light burn this world! she thought.

 

And then suddenly she stood, slinging her pack straight off her shoulders and under a low-lying bush. Twin daggers slid to the palms of her hands, her short swords were loosed in their scabbards. Ears alert, eyes wide, she waited. Someone – or something - was coming.

 

Soundlessly, she dropped to a crouch. There was nothing for it. The surrounding brush was too thick to run through, too thin to offer adequate opportunities to hide.

 

She spat, and the deep scars on her face twisted into a frame for her scowl. Let them come! she thought, shifting her stance to the ready.

 

The knives in her fingers began to twirl, slowly, menacingly.

 

“Dovie’andi se tovya sagain,” she muttered.

 

Let them come.

[Sherper]

The rain had ceased falling, and the air smelled of freshly ground pine needles. Jeral whistled softly to himself as he plodded through the tracks of the now familiar forest, Arkin and Arinth conversing quietly with one another a few paces back behind him. Funnily enough, though he would've never admitted it a year before, Jeral was beginning to feel like the Citidal was becoming his home, and the people: his family. It was a very odd feeling to be having a family again. Years on the run and spent in exile to one country after the next, had engrained certain habits into him, and it would take some time to adjust to the changes. Of course, Jeral didn't mind the changes, not at all. He had almost completely forgotten what it felt like to sleep soundfully, with both his eyes closed at night.

 

He took a bite at the apple he carried in his right hand, and smiled as he chomped happily away at the juicy fruit. Food was another great addition to his new life. Before, he had to either steal it or hunt game in the forest in order to survive. He felt for the satchel he wore on the left side of his belt buckle, and was satisified to feel the weight of half a dozen more apples in the small container.

 

Both of Jeral's ears pricked up suddenly as he heard an un-humanlike roar come directly in front of him. Raising his gaze further forward, he nearly jumped out of his skin in fright as he focussed on the form of a figure holding twin daggers, only a few paces away.

 

Instinct took hold in a flash, as he dove and rolled to the left of the footpath. Some habits hadn't died with his new found comforts, and he was glad of that. As he rolled, he reached behind his back and unhooked the recurve bow from around his shoulders. He quickly and smoothly regained his feet, other hand pulling out a goose feathered shaft from the quiver and nocking it to the string. He steadied himself, and finished the roll in a controlled crouch, bow raised and arrow already at full drawn.

 

"Drop your weapons!" he shouted, "State your name and inten-" he found the words die in his mouth as they fell fully open, gawking at the sight in front of him.

 

~Jeral Ahan

Private in the Band of the Red Hand, Scouting Division.

 

​

[Cass]

Kid: scrawny, jumpy - scared. Black hair: hacked – tough. Dive-roll-bow – fast!

 

Eb’s skirmish-trained brain could already see where this was going, and she didn’t like her options. Or rather, she didn’t like the kid’s options. The knife left her hand before he finished rolling. Another took it’s place.

 

Arrow: knocked now – Move!

 

“Drop your weapons! State your name and inten-” THWIK. The first knife buried itself deeply in the wood of the bow at the widest part, just above the arrow. The kid’s grey-blue eyes were bulging. Perhaps he was surprised. Perhaps the blade had nicked his hand along the way. Eb didn't care, she was moving too, as quickly as she could, in case that arrow flew. She didn't think anything would ever fly straight from that bow again – at least that had been her plan - but there was no sense in taking chances. Surviving childhood in the Rahad had taught her to be fast, but not so fast that she could outrun an arrow on the loose, even if its flight was poorly aimed or otherwise interrupted. The Rahad had taught her next to nothing about arrows, actually, but it had taught her that, if left to chance, the best laid plans often went awry. Her time with the Band, on the other hand, had taught her that your luck was usually better if you dictated yourself how the dice would lie. The angle of the dagger stuck in the bow, and the position of the tree the kid had sprung up next to meant that the archer – if he could still fire at all - would have most difficulty firing to his right – her left.

 

She moved left.

 

Knives stuck between her teeth, hands momentarily helping her scuttle across the ground, she jumped swiftly to her feet the instant she felt she was out of the archer’s comfortable arc of range. Before she stood, Eb had both knives back in her hands and spinning at the ready. She was a fearsome sight: all scars and sharp, ready angles, short hair spiked up in every possible direction, dark eyes narrowed, jaw set into what looked like a permanent snarl.

 

When she spoke it was with direct eye contact, a flat expression and a growled, no-nonsense warning. “Drop my weapons?” The knives spun slightly slower, blades slicing rays of sun. “Try that bloody stunt again, boy, and these knives-” she nodded at them without breaking eye contact, “will be landing in a very different sort of wood.”

 

She let the threat sink in for a moment before adding “I suggest you drop the bow.”

 

 

 

- Eb -

Returning Captain of the Infantry

 

 

 

OOC: Go for it Sherp! Attack her again   

[Sherper]

​Jeral Ahan was not a coward. He might have taken beatings, shrunk down and hid when needed, in order to survive, but he would never allow himself to be a yellow bellied run-away. "Fine." He said, growling just as fiercly as his opponent, as he threw aside his ruined bow. Using the same motion, he combined it with reaching down into his satchel for one of the stored apples. He flicked it, letting the fruit fly underhand, towards the women as he ducked behind the closet tree.

 

He caught a split second's glimpse of a second knife protruding through the middle of the apple, as it interjected the fruit mid-flight. Jeral found himself panting hard, as he hid behind the stout trunk of the oak. Not good, he thought. Still panting and too scared to dare peak out from around the protective trunk. Terrible, bloody flaming horrible. Those knives were an occupational safety hazzard. No human should have been allowed to throw them with such force and accuracy. He was safe though, for the moment. The split second reaction to throw the fruit as a distraction had bought him the opportunity to escape to cover. Yet Jeral knew that was only a temporary respite, he needed to find a way to fight back.

 

Loosening his long belt knife - more short sword than knife, really - from its sheath, he drew it then held it in his right hand. "Don't come any closer, you rotten hag!" he yelled to the side, "We've got archers trained on you right this minute." It was a fib of course; scouting parties consists rarely of more than four men at a time. Where are Arkin and Arinth? He didn't know where his two companions had went, and worried they might be in danger of getting their lives shortened.

 

His opponent didn't reply, but Jeral didn't wait for one. Holding the belt knife in a backhand grip, he rammed it firmly into the side of the trunk and used it as a lever to climb up to a higher branch. Living in the forest had taught him many things; one being how to get up to very high places in a hurry. Careful not to make any noise or noticble movement, he pushed past the lower branches and made his way near the top of the tree. He looked down, and saw the woman still standing where she was, hands still twirling those twin matching pairs of death. Her head kept darting about from one treeline to the next, and it appeared she hadn't noticed Jeral up in the trees yet. Where had Arkin and Arinth gone? he wondered again. He considered, then quickly made up his decision. He had to do something to stop this woman.

 

He jumped.

 

~Jeral Ahan

Private in the Band of the Red Hand, Scouting Division.

 

​

[Arinth]

Arinth sat against a tree and reached down to rub his ankle. It was a little tender but nothing he couldn't handle. He had rolled it in the hole of some little rodent. He muttered a curse and looked around. For a moment he wondered why he was out hiking through the forest. It was far from his favorite past time. Images of the stacks of papers on his table in his tent flashed before him and he remembered. It was good to stretch ones legs once in awhile.

 

Arkin stood nearby watching him with a completely blank expression. It was an expression so devoid of emotion that Arinth knew the scout was laughing at him, secretly. It was loud and clear. Arinth scowled and stood up. He started walking and Arkin joined him.

 

He scratched at his beard and looked around. Where was that other little restless scout that was with them? Arinth's pace had been too slow for him to match their pace and their conversation too boring for him to endure. At least that is what Arinth assumed. Jeral hadn't come out and said anything of course but soldier's conversations did tend to get boring. It usually revolved around finding something to complain about. There was always the weather, duties, training, other soldiers, the food, the lack of attractive women, and again the food to complain about..

 

Arinth heard a shout through the trees and frowned. These woods were watched by the scouts. There shouldn't be any surprises. He turned to look at Arkin but the scout was gone. Probably already moving towards the shout he guessed. He moved forward himself towards where he guessed the shout had come from. His hands flexed, balling into fists and relaxing as he went.

 

A movement caught his eye in a tree up ahead and he looked up to see Jeral. Had the man lost his mind? The man was bouncing back and forth between the branches as he looked around. Arinth was about to ask why he was crawling around up in the tree but thought better of it. Scouts were almost as strange about their trees as the cavalry were about their horses. He was pretty sure Infantry were the only sane ones. He decided not to say anything as he watched Jeral. He crossed his arms and waited.

 

It was only then that he noticed other movement. A figure moved around the tree quietly. He raised an eyebrow as he watched the hunched figure move. This was turning out to be much more entertaining than an afternoon of paperwork. The stranger seemed to sense his eyes and turned suddenly and stared directly at him.

 

For a split second he thought he saw the woman's lip curl into a rabid snarl. It was gone so quickly that he wasn't sure if he had imagined it or not. It must have been his imagination he decided. Despite the scar under his eye and the broken nose he wasn't that ugly.

[The Bard Babe]

Arkin fought very hard not to let his laughter out as Arinth nursed his rolled ankle. It wasn't for the infant's benefit of course, but rather because it would reveal their location to any who cared to listen. Well, maybe it was a little for Arinth's benefit. He'd been doing so well, right up until the floor had rushed up to meet him. Arkin had let Jeral go on ahead while he waited for their infant friend to cease muttering curses and regain his feet. There was no need to hurt his feelings, after all, he had enough pain to deal with in his ankle. Arkin had to fight very hard to keep his face clear of laughter.

 

The scowl that Arinth threw at him as he got to his feet was a sign that he had apparently failed in keeping his laughter hidden, but Arkin merely shrugged it off, allowing a grin to steal over his face. The pair had spent enough time together over the past few months that he was hardly surprised Arinth saw straight through his polite silence. Then again, Arkin was very rarely silent, so perhaps that was what had given him away...

 

He pondered this a moment longer, his mind flitting from topic to topic until it reached the subject of the general rise in the quality of ale. He turned to broach the subject with Arinth, walking at an unbearably slow pace through the trees. It was hardly surprising that Jeral had rushed ahead when he did. The boy wasn't interested in their conversations and Arinth hindered their usual scouting speed in a big way, and even then, he was hardly quiet. An infant did not belong in a forest. But Arkin and Arinth were bored, and that was reason enough for just about anything. Taking Arinth on a scouting trip was hardly the most dangerous or creative of solutions to the two men's boredom. Most of them involved alcohol, sharp weapons and waking up in odd places with no clear explanation as to how they got there.

 

A grin still playing on his lips, Arkin opened his mouth to begin speaking with Arinth, but the clear sound of Jeral's voice rushing through the scouts' warning arrested his speech, instead speeding his legs through the trees towards the source of the sound, his feet silent on the forest floor. He barely gave a second's thought to Arinth, assuming the man knew to remove himself from sight and move toward the noise.

 

Arkin slipped through the trees with the speed and stealth that his body had learned through years of street theft, reinforced by training and experience at the red hands of the Band. He skirted the sound of a scuffle and took swift steps which led him behind Jeral and his attacker, hidden by the forest. Through a break in the trees, he saw the scene clearly for the first time. Nodding at Jeral's position high in a tree, Arkin found himself quietly amused. It seemed Jeral had taken a leaf from his book when it came to rapid escapes often going vertically. Every one of Arkin's brave escapes throughout his life had been up a building, or over a roof. On ground level, he was far too easy to catch. Jeral had similar instincts, Arkin knew, and it was now proven by his position up in the branches of a yawning tree. However, judging by the knife buried in Jeral's abandoned bow and the bristling woman circling the bases of the trees, Arkin suspected that the distance may not be enough to keep him out of danger. The effects of the woman's ability with throwing knives were obvious in the bow and the shattered remains of the apple, which threw Arkin's mind at the memory of throwing rotten fruit at various members of the Band. He could cut and throw with perhaps the same degree of accuracy, but the force behind those throws was certainly intimidating. Not something Arkin could replicate. That was almost embarrassing considering she was a woman, but Arkin recovered quickly. He had little pride.

 

Arkin's ears pricked as another sound invaded the scene, a new, foreign sound. Someone else was entering the fray. Did the stranger who had Jeral trapped up a tree have an accomplice? Arkin loosed his knives and was ready to aim a clear throw towards the newcomer, but instead found himself merely gaping as Arinth strolled out, not even making an attempt at stealth, crossing his arms and staring with disapproval at Jeral, in the trees. Arkin's gape had turned into a silent, but achingly large grin as the woman who had caused all the trouble spotted him. Her face contorted with a momentary snarl which spoke of a temper Arkin would be sure to avoid, upon seeing the scarred face of Arinth staring almost placidly at the scene in the trees.

 

If it had been hard not to laugh when Arinth rolled his ankle, it was all but impossible now, but Arkin held it together. The laughter would come later, when lives weren't at stake. The moment of distraction which Arinth caused gave Arkin the second he needed to signal to Jeral that he was there, hidden. Jeral had back up.

[Cass]

 “Don’t come any closer, you rotten hag! We’ve got archers trained on you right this minute.”

 

We? Surely the mercenaries and darkfriends haven’t found me here! Who are these people?

 

Eb didn’t know who the boy was, but she dismissed the lie almost as soon as it was out of his mouth. If there were such archers in the area, they would have intervened by now. Specifically, they would have intervened at least one of the two times her knives had flown towards their friend, from whatever safe and somewhat distant vantage point they supposedly had. And Eb would be dead. Or at least injured. Since she wasn’t dead, there were no archers. The logic was simple. Further to that, the boy had been alone on his approach – she had double-checked.

 

Doesn’t mean there aren’t others now!

 

She scanned the tree line quickly, carefully – and, following instinct, found herself glaring directly at a tall man with long dark hair and a face that was no stranger to a fight.

 

Man! Not boy, obvious strength: Bigger threat-

 

And that was as far as her analysis got before she sensed movement from above. Eb knew there were probably other attackers nearby, but her recon was abandoned in the face of immediate necessity. The boy jumped from the tree, Eb whirled to face him, arms ready overhead, blades up, elbows forward. In the instant before he would have landed, half in front and half on top of her, she anchored both knives simultaneously in his upper chest - one under each collarbone, roughly half-way towards the shoulder. Hands free of weapons, she grabbed the top of his shirt and dropped quickly- with all her weight- to one knee, changing his centre of gravity and pulling his shoulders and upper body forward simply by adding the downward force of her drop to his fall. As she dropped and the kid leaned with her, she braced her outside leg and drew both arms down towards the lower hip, flinging him deftly to the ground at her side in what appeared to be a single fluid motion. His feet had barely had a chance to land.

 

Without pause she pulled her short swords from their place on her back. Ignoring the desperate, breathless gasps of her would-be-attacker on the ground -she didn't have the time to finish him- she spun around, ready and warmed up for whatever onslaught was sure to follow. 

Edited February 13, 2014 by _Eb_

[The Bard Babe]

Arkin's hidden laughter ceased with an abruptness that almost choked him the moment Jeral leapt from that tree. He wished he could reach out and pluck him from the air, pick him up and place him back in the safety of the branches, out of the reach of the dangerous woman at ground level, but it was far too late for that. He saw the knives enter Jeral's chest and watched him tumble across the ground, where he lay still for a moment, but Arkin did not wait that long. Streetrat instinct may have been yelling at him to run as far from that woman as possible, but he ignored it at the sight of Jeral's blood beginning to stick leaves together beneath his body. Jeral was injured and there was no way Arkin was going to leave him.

 

His mind was clear and made up the second those knives buried themselves beneath Jeral's collarbone. He needed to get Jeral to a medic, and he needed to get the woman in custody. Jeral came first. Arkin moved. And when Arkin decided to move, he moved. As the woman changed her grip from the knives in Jeral's chest to his shirt, he darted out from the trees and flew closer, cursing the fact that he had taken up a position so far from the action. It hadn't seemed that far to begin with, but every extra step counted now.

 

By the time Jeral hit the floor with a rattling gasp, Arkin was mere feet away. The woman drew short swords from her back with a dangerous grace, and Arkin swore under his breath. There was no way he could beat her in a fight. His knives were no good against a pair of short swords, and Jeral needed help quickly. Arinth was much more of a threat to her. Quickly, Arkin's scout's eyes searched out his friend and saw him beside the woman. Assuming that the woman was about to go for the closest and largest threat and assuming Arinth would be doing the same, Arkin made a snap decision.

 

Running out into the open, Arkin quickly pulled a knife from his sleeve and threw it with deadly accuracy at the woman, coming from the opposite side as Arinth's attack. He did not expect it to land, and it didn't, but the brief moment of attention she was forced to give his knife to bat it out of the air was enough to give Arinth an extra edge and Arkin enough time to skid to a halt. He knew they needed to get Jeral out, but the woman was standing between them and him. That they would have to fight was obvious. Arkin's only chance of coming out of such an encounter alive and functioning was working together with Arinth. Fortunately, that was something they did well. Unfortunately, that meant Jeral was bleeding out onto the ground every second they spent fighting. Arkin's mind flew to Tanchico and he whipped out his knives, ready to join the fray and get it over with as quickly as humanly possible.

[Sherper]

A world of agony erupted as Jeral found himself thrown, slumped, useless to the ground. He could taste the bitterness of dirt in his mouth as he coughed his life essense away - drop by drop, second by precious second. His chest felt like it was on fire, and though he was still conscious, a part of his mind knew the dark tunnel would be soon coming for him. He wanted to scream, but found even that was beyond him. The woman stepped over Jeral, ignoring him for the moment as she drew a twin pair of short swords from her back. Her eyes burned with an intensity he had never seen before, and they seemed to freeze like glacial ice as they stared across at the two approaching figures.

 

Arinth... Arkin... his mind thought, as he watched the other two band members running towards him, with his one remaining eye. The thought felt sluggish; an effect of how far gone he was. She'll kill them too. They won't - stand... a chance. He forced himself to keep his single eye open, and mentally took control of his last reserves of strength. Words no longer formed properly in his mind. Instead, ideas - projections, and a base sense of need, took hold of him. Arinth had his sword out and was coming straight for the standing opponent. Jeral had to buy them one last desperate hope of a chance.

 

He threw himself at the woman, feeling the last of his air leave his lungs in a scream, as he rammed his body into her back. Darkness consumed his vision before his body hit the forest floor, crumpling in a heap to the ground.

 

~Jeral Ahan

Private in the Band of the Red Hand, Scouting Division.

 

 

 

​

[Arinth]

“Well that escalated quickly.” Arinth muttered to himself as he watched the stranger draw her knives from Jeral's chest. It had appeared to be a well timed attack from Jeral but she had been blindingly quick to react.

 

Arinth felt his blood heat as he drew his sword and started forward. He hadn't had enough to drink to be fighting this early in the day. Arkin appeared from the other direction. One of his throwing knives flew the air towards the woman but she avoided it deftly. It had distracted her though and Jeral seeing the opportunity had risen to one knee and using the last of his strength had launched himself at her legs. It appeared to catch her unprepared and the two fell in a tangle and rolled.

 

Arinth growled and sheathed his sword. It was too dangerous to go in swinging. He picked up speed ignoring the pain in his ankle. He had to get to her first. The last thing he needed was Arkin getting hurt too. Luckily he was closer even though the scout was much faster.

 

She was untangling herself from Jeral and starting to rise when he reached her. She'd lost one of her short swords in the struggle but the other was still in her hand. With a roar Arinth lowered his shoulder and crashed into her. She fell backwards but recovered quickly twisting so that he flew over her. He rose using a quickness he didn't know he had and narrowly avoided a slash. His eyes saw Arkin closing the distance and the woman's eyes moved to find Arkin.

 

Arinth kicked a stone at her and drew his sword. It was a small stone that did little damage as it bounced off her chest but it felt good none the less.

 

“Bloody Aiel and flaming Seanchan. Burn me but I didn't give all these years to the band to die in our own flaming woods to a watery tart with a sword. If this is how you want it to be you'll need more than that sword to keep my hands from your neck though.”

[The Bard Babe]

There was almost a tangible change when you knew someone could see you. Arkin liked to pretend it was his scouting instincts that had earned him such a reflex, but a career stealing the audience's attention on stage and their money off may have first claim on it. Either way, Arkin felt the warm sensation of being seen as he drew his knives, feeling the woman's eyes on him for the first time since the whole debacle began.

 

Her view, however, was fleeting, as Arinth recovered from his tackle and kicked a stone at the woman, drawing her attention back to him, though she seemed more shocked than anything else. Arkin was momentarily tempted to roll his eyes or grin at the infant's antics, but instead took the opportunity granted to him as Arinth drew his sword and cursed at the Band, as he was prone to do when involved in a battle. Arkin couldn't help but to wince and groan as the term, 'watery tart' left his mouth, though. He somehow doubted that the woman would take kindly to such a term being applied to her person.

 

She did seem to bristle, but maintained that shocked look as Arkin sped towards her during Arinth's speech, her attention once again held by his friend. She had successfully disentangled herself from Jeral, but Arkin barely spared him a glance as he drove forward with one of his knives. Even with her attention diverted, she avoided the slash and aimed one at Arkin in return with her short sword. He could hear the air whistle as it flew mere inches above his head. Arkin grimaced as he ducked the blow and rolled forward as Arinth dealt his own heavy swing.

 

The metallic clang of two blades meeting sounded above Arkin's head with the weighty groan of strength balanced behind each weapon. Springing to his feet at the end of his forward roll, Arkin quickly spun on one knee to slash at the woman's thighs, but she pushed against Arinth's weight and spun herself out of harm's way with a disturbing ease. Bringing his second knife up with the weight of his body behind it as he rose from his knees to full height, Arkin aimed to ram the knife into the woman's ribcage, but again she dodged, instead grabbing his arm and using his momentum to swing him around and throw him at a tree somewhere behind her, smashing his back with the pommel of one of her short swords on the way.

 

Glad for his balance and footwork, Arkin merely stumbled a few steps until he could commit to another forward roll, spinning once more onto his knees with the intent of throwing a knife at the woman, but finding that Arinth had engaged her in the second he had stumbled, and a thrown knife could hit friend as easily as foe.

 

Arkin's eyes widened as he saw Arinth struggle with the woman. Arinth was no easy man to best in a fight, but here was this stranger in the woods, easily besting both of them. It took Arkin back to the days of basic training with Mehrin. Even the memory made him shudder and long to reach for the hard liquor in his pockets. Shaking off the feeling of helplessness, Arkin rushed forward to catch a blow of one of the woman's swords as Arinth was occupied with the other. He stood next to his friend with his blades crossed in front of him, holding one of the woman's swords while Arinth held the other, a look of concentration on his face. They shared the briefest of shocked, 'blood and ashes what have we gotten ourselves into' faces before thanking their stars that they were very practiced at covering each other and shoving simultaneously against the woman.

 

(OoC: Anyone can throw in a bit more sparring, or Eb can try and stop the fighting and start talking, whatever. I wanna see Arinth's perspective on this fight though, looool)

[Cass]

“Bloody Aiel and flaming Seanchan. Burn me but I didn't give all these years to the Band to die in our own flaming woo-"

The Band? Eb somehow managed to simultaneously scowl and roll her eyes. Not flamin' darkfriends- Banders! If that was true, Eb reasoned, this little fight just got a whole lot more complicated than a simple 'kill or be killed' situation. Now it seemed there was no choice but to go on the defensive until the truth could be ascertained. She almost stopped short of every other action to add in a groan. That, plus a mixture of surprise and frustration, shocked her so much that she missed almost all of the rest of the man's speech. 

"-to a watery tart with a sword-" Except that part. That part she heard fine.

Watery tart? Eb booted him square in the groin, as hard as she was able, deciding 'defensive' could wait just that little bit longer.

As the counter-scuffle ensued, and the third man rejoined the fray, Eb did her best to cause a minimum of harm to her two opponents whilst analysing the situation. She didn't recognise these woods- but things could have changed in the time she'd been away. It was also entirely possible that she was close enough to the Citadel to be in the Band forest- that's where she'd where she'd been aiming for on her 'short cut' anyway. But most importantly, there was the fact that rather than flee unnoticed from an obviously dangerous opponent when they had the chance, all three of these men had decided to work together, against the odds. Putting the interests of the others above their own. In her experience, such suicidal acts could only ever be attributed to great loyalty or great stupidity, and most often both. Light knew she'd seen plenty examples of every option in the Band over the years - but she'd never once seen it from a darkfriend. Not once. She may not have recognised any of these men's faces, but it didn't take her long to realise that the trio were more likely to be friend than foe, at least on paper.

This time she did groan, cursing under her breath for the fact that she hadn't seen it sooner. This is going to mean so much blasted paperwork! The thought only served to make her even more angry. Each of them fit the part of a Bander too, she realised. It was easy for her to see it, now that she was associating more with being 'home' than the hell she'd traveled through to get there. This one, all sword and muscles, scars and dirty tongue was Infantry, without a doubt; that one - she turned to glare at the other knife-thrower - with silent steps and sneaky moves, was definitely Scout; and the kid, well the kid was either Scouts or Archers or a mix of both. It was hard to tell. At this point it hardly mattered. What was not hard to tell was that he needed a medic, quickly - or he would die. Which, Eb concluded, meant that in turn, this fight needed to end- and now. Peacefully.

 

She almost laughed, finding the whole situation ridiculous, and the fact that she found it ridiculous even moreso. When she was the kid's age, and even during her first year or so with the Band, her outlook on the entire mess would have been much, much simpler: everyone dies. Now she was confusing things by wanting to make sure that everyone lived. It still went against her grain and everything life had ever taught her, this sense of duty and devotion to the Band. Instead of laughing she yelled wordlessly, frustrated beyond relief with the greyness of a situation that had always, always been black and white. Stubbornly she chalked the decision up to paperwork avoidance and decided on a plan.

 

Convenient excuse or no, the internal conflict had fueled her anger to almost breaking point. She cut loose on the soldier and the scout in an instant, feeding as much as she could of the uncertainty and hatred and rage she'd gathered with recent events into each and every move. Too suddenly, it was done. The men were picking themselves hurriedly off the ground, their weapons were a considerable distance out of reach and Eb was in an extended crouch over the kid, who still lay unconscious. The tip of one sword pressed firmly against the delicate skin of his throat, the other she held arched purposely over her head, aimed directly at the men. From that position it was perfectly obvious that she could move either way, in an instant, with minimum effort and maximum effect.

 

"STOP! In the name of Calder Berrick, just bloody well stop, you goat-headed fools! Or he-" she gestured at the kid, "-dies right now!" The men started, agitated, shocked, unsure. Eb continued before they had a chance to react, knowing that the time for truth was now, and still half-hoping she was wrong.

 

"If you are who I suspect you are, belong where I think yous belong" she growled, spitting to the side and wiping sweat from her brow, "then you won't want him dying out here on your watch. Too much blasted paperwork. And for the love of light I don't ruddy want to have to report it either, so just stay the ash and shadows where you are!" she yelled. 

 

"My name is Eb. I'm Infantry - Captain - within Shen an Calhar. I flaming well order the two of you to quit this blasted woolheaded fan-dancing and get your bloody wits about you. The boy needs help. You have two choices. If you are who I expect you are, then really, yous only have one. The first is lay down your weapons and carry him to the Citadel with me in charge. The second is I mark you both for traitors, and all three of you die right now. Dovie’andi se tovya sagain, boys. Your toss. I give you both to the count of ten to introduce yourselves and put forth your decision. One-" 

[Arinth]

“Bloody, flaming, goat kissing, prancing cavalryman's gaptoothed, simple minded sister.” He groaned after taking the boot to the groin. He had more choice words for the woman but he was having a hard time breathing.

 

They had her surrounded and attacked from both sides, but somehow she was everywhere at once. Anticipating one attack and not just defending it she was one step ahead of them as she moved. It was all he could do to keep her blades from slicing him to pieces. She was better than this he realized. She was holding back. It was a strange change in tactics considering she was more than capable of already finishing this little joke of a fight. She had not shown the same restraint with Jeral. Then again the scout did have a way of getting people angry.

 

So this is what I was missing when I skipped all those early morning training sessions he thought as he watched his sword fly out of his hand and land several feet away. A moment later he was laying on his back. Despite his superior size and strength she had thrown him down like a rag doll. He rolled over on to his side to see that Arkin was also struggling to his feet.

 

Their eyes met again. They were grim this time. They were in over their head. If not for Jeral the obvious answer would be to retreat but that was out of the question. They would not leave him, just as he would have not left them.

 

"STOP! In the name of Calder Berrick, just bloody well stop, you goat-headed fools! Or he dies right now!"

 

The words cut through the air and Arinth frowned as he rose to his feet. Had he heard her correctly?

 

"If you are who I suspect you are, belong where I think yous belong then you won't want him dying out here on your watch. Too much blasted paperwork. And for the love of light I don't ruddy want to have to report it either, so just stay the ash and shadows where you are!"

 

She did have a point about paperwork.

 

"My name is Eb. I'm Infantry - Captain - within Shen an Calhar. I flaming well order the two of you to quit this blasted woolheaded fan-dancing and get your bloody wits about you. The boy needs help. You have two choices. If you are who I expect you are, then really, yous only have one. The first is lay down your weapons and carry him to the Citadel with me in charge. The second is I mark you both for traitors, and all three of you die right now. Dovie’andi se tovya sagain, boys. Your toss. I give you both to the count of ten to introduce yourselves and put forth your decision. One-"

 

With a scowl Arinth picked up his sword and sheathed it. Then he stepped around her and lifted Jeral up into his arms.

 

“Get our wits about us?” He snarled. “We've been fighting you to try to save him. He only needs help in the first place because you bloody stabbed with with your flaming knives. ”

 

He started walking. Anger burned deep inside her chest. She was welcome to think she was in charge. It was rarely productive to argue with crazy people. He wanted to get her back to the citadel to answer for what she done and if she was simple or crazy enough to walk there on her own two feet he wasn't about to stop her.

 

Traitor. That was rich coming from someone who had just stabbed one of their soldiers if they were telling the truth. He would have laughed at the madness of it all but his balls still hurt too much.

[Nyanna al'Meara]

Once again, Miriamele Erkynalder rode happily through the forest atop her bay gelding, head thrown back as she breathed in the freshly washed air to the steady rhythm of hoofbeats. Her blissful reverie was short-lived however as a yank on her arm made her eyes snap open. Wyn loyally followed the track guided by a touch of Miri's legs, but the bundle of lead ropes she held was proving a little stubborn. She turned in the saddle, reprimanding the willful brown who was loitering behind the group of horses she led. "No slacking, Chief!" A slight tug on his lead made him trot to catch up, and Miri focused back on the way before them.

Her very first entirely independent task, exciting stuff. As a recruit with the Cavalry, her daily duties had mostly involved Band training, sparring, mucking stables and tack, but lately her commanding Officer had drawn more and more on her skills of actually handling horses. These orders were the highlight of the week.

This morning, Arkin and some of his friends had gone on one of their customary scouting patrols. Nothing out of the ordinary, but a certain Infantry Sergeant was apparently one of said friends, because Arinth was nowhere to be found and some other high ranking commanding chap was looking for him. So Corporal Heyyn simply dispatched Miri with a handful of steeds to bring back the whole group sharpish. She hoped she'd get to stay around to see if they would be given a lecture.

She slowed Wyn at a fork in the track. Miri knew the forest well enough by now, and the Corporal had given her a good idea of the area Arkin's scouts would be in today. She should meet them quite soon. Shame about the peace and quiet. If only.... "Azu!!!!!" The black mare had seized the moment to begin chomping on a sapling, blocking Red from following behind her so that Chief ran into his flank - effectively bringing the whole entourage to a milling, snorting halt. Miri huffed. "Great job, girl" She mumbled, untangling the leads from her lofty perch. The only way really, keeping a bunch of horses tangle-free was to move them fast. Arkin's troupe had to be somewhere nearby anyway. "Alright muleheads, geyyup!" Miri commanded and set them off at a brisk trot.

Moving them down the narrow tracks at this faster pace allowed for much more concentration, and Miri focused all her attention on exactly that. The foilage became a blur as the drumming of hooves filled her ears, so it was no surprise really that Miri didn't see or hear the conflict until she was almost on top of them.

Shouting in surprise, she pranced Wyn sideways causing the rest of the horses to shy to his other side, narrowly missing one of the men hoisting a body. Chief bucked, his lead breaking free from her grasp but he remained wedged in between Azu and Red, as the group of startled horses spilled into the tiny clearing already occupied by the three figures.

Jeral!? Fighting to keep the startled horses under control, in a split second eveything felt like it happened very slowly.  Miri danced Wyn back a pace, suddenly feeling an impact as his hindquarters brushed one of the people - the woman - knocking them towards Arkin. She lost sight of what happened next in the scuffle and got the horses quieted after their initial shock. Phew. There was a momentary silence. She gaped up from the boy's motionless body to the faces starting right back at her.

 

 

(OoC:
WHADTHEDEVILISGOINGONHEEEEEEEERE?)

 

Edited February 16, 2014 by Nyanna al'Meara

[The Bard Babe]

Arkin jumped at just the right moment to dodge a blade which swiped at his calves. Grabbing the branch above him, he hoisted himself over the woman's head as she finished her sweeping blow and landed on her other side, aiming a clear stab of his knife at the woman's exposed side. She twisted out of the way just in time, and Arinth blocked the sword that began swinging for Arkin's head.

 

Following the arc of his left arm with his right, Arkin brought his second knife around to nearly graze her ribs, spinning behind her to catch the sword that had been falling far too close to Arinth. Even as he caught this blow and turned her sword away, Arkin was searching rapidly for an opening in her defence, anything that would let him get a knife in somewhere, to get her out of action for long enough to save Jeral, but it was all but impossible. Her skill far surpassed his own, and even that of him and Arinth combined. He could easily see that she would be able to fight off double their number with ease, so he wondered with growing desperation what was keeping them alive.

 

Ducking into her reach, Arkin's blade came inches from neck, before she jerked her head out of his path and Arkin was forced to skip away to avoid a sharp blow which grazed his retreating forearm. He could see the woman's restraint finally snap as she became a blur of bones and blades that Arkin wanted desperately to avoid. Before his eyes could do much more than widen, a massive blow to the stomach stole all of his breath, the air in his lungs rushing out in a sound like a broken flute, and an extra shove sent him flying backwards to land on the part of his back that had been bruised early on in the fight. Well, if it could even be called a fight.

 

Rolling painfully onto his stomach, Arkin moved momentarily onto all fours, his knives far out of reach. He had a couple secreted about his person, but they were of little use when she could knock them out of the air with barely a second's thought. Besides, it would be incredibly hard to aim with his eyes watering and his lungs empty. Looking warily over to his side, Arkin caught Arinth looking his way and they both seemed to share the same desperate view of the situation. They were in way over their heads. But they couldn't possibly leave Jeral, as annoying as the boy-scout was. 

 

The woman's infuriated words flooded the clearing, and Arkin's mind clicked into gear. He would have made a more vocal reaction, had he had any in his lungs to spare. For the moment, he was focusing on the whole, breathe in, then breathe out thing. She was a Bander. A whole array of thoughts and emotions swirled speedily through his head, ranging from confusion to a little bit of irritation, which was Arkin's version of anger, then to confusion again as he realised a Bander had stabbed one of their own, and then a little bit more laughter at the paperwork comment, of which he would be doing none, if he could help it. Arinth would have to do plenty. Arkin would keep him plied with alcohol to get through it. There was even a little bit of sheepishness when the woman, Eb, pulled rank to get order back into the situation.

 

He eventually settled on laughing at the absurdity of events. The woman stared at him like he was mad for a moment, before Arinth got to his feet with a stormy face and scowled some words at Eb, who was taking absolutely no nonsense. And still counting.

 

Pulling his breath back into him, Arkin fetched his knives and groaned as he slowly got to his feet. "I apologise for the confusion, Captain. I am Arkin, Scouts, this is Sergeant Arinth of the Infantry. The one you stabbed in Jeral, a scout, and as much as I want to get him to a medic, we can't just take you by your word. If I believed everyone who told me they were a Bander on these patrols, I'd be kicked out before I could-"

 

Before Arkin could finish the curse growing out of his mouth, his ears pricked up and he turned just a second before everyone else, to see Malachias rushing into the clearing  atop a mighty steed. With other mighty steeds. Who were crashing into Eb. Who was crashing into Arkin. He caught her by instinct, and immediately took advantage of the opportunity, dazed as she was by the horse in the head, and forced her arms behind her. Perfect! He was having serious trouble believing Eb was the Captain she said she was. He could understand that she would have responded to an attack from Jeral how she did, but to be a Bander and not know they were in Band territory? Even when they came across a scout? Arinth wasn't the only one having trouble taking kindly to someone who had just stabbed Jeral in the chest. 

 

Jeral! The horses! Malachias, or whatever her real name was, was a perfect route to Jeral's safety!  Now he just needed to get Eb and Jeral safely back to the Citadel. And hopefully keep him and Arinth in one piece at the same time.

 

"In come the cavalry?" Arkin almost asked into the almost silence, as he looked to the shocked Malachias and the equally stunned horses.

 

 

(OoC: Leaving it kinda open there if we want some extra Cavvies barging in and Eb to be all, gerroff Arkin and be outnumbered, or she could be dazed enough to be trussed to a horse or...yeah. I will edit accordingly ;p)

 

(PS OoC: Woo AVPM Nya!!!!!!!! XD)

Edited February 15, 2014 by The Bard Babe

[Cass]

"Get our wits about us?" the man snarled, stepping around her and lifting the kid up into his arms. A groan and unconscious spasm were the kid's only response. Eb's eyes flicked to her knives, still embedded in his chest, and the pools of blood, seeping out beneath them. His skin, especially his extremities, were turning deathly pale. She wondered if the Citadel was so close that the wounds would not need bandaging - If indeed it was the Citadel whence these men had come. "We've been fighting you to try and save him. He only needs help in the first place because you bloody stabbed him with your flaming knives."

 

Eb bristled as the man turned and started walking, blood boiling at both the precarious situation his actions had just put her in, and at the tangled truth of his words. Without a thought she grabbed his shoulder and reefed him back around, scowling as she held him at the point of her sword. It was all she could do not to run him through. 

 

"And before I stabbed him with my flaming knives, he tried to spit me with his bloody arrows, unannounced." She spoke through gritted teeth, tone terse and audibly restrained, clearly conveying the opinion that any other in her position would have done the same. The man looked at her with an expression Eb could only describe as stormy. She glared back at him, eyelids narrowing dangerously. His expression grew darker by the second. Judging by his physique, it was obvious that this man - who hadn't even attempted to introduce himself- enjoyed a fight. The tension between them was almost palpable now, almost at breaking point, and yet Eb knew neither of them was about to give an inch. She waited for the lighting to strike.

 

Laughter shattered the air. The intensity of the situation lessoned somewhat and Eb turned to stare at the third man, who was just getting back up onto his feet. Did he hit his head? Is he crazy?

 

"I apologise for the confusion, Captain. I am Arkin, Scouts, this is Sergeant Arinth of the Infantry. The one you stabbed is Jeral, a scout, and as much as I want to get him to a medic, we can't just take you by your word. If I believed everyone who told me they were a Bander on these patrols, I'd be kicked out before I could-"

 

Can't take me by my word? Eb was torn between a strange sense of satisfaction at the discipline shown by the man, if he was in fact a scout, and the frustration of the fact that, for obvious reasons, she simply could not risk taking him at his word that he was. She was about to angrily interject when the sound of thundering hooves and a small herd of horses suddenly crashed into the clearing and the conversation.

 

Eb stared for a moment, so surprised that not even a single curse had time to form among her thoughts. It was madness. She thought she saw a woman atop one of the horses - although she couldn't have said for sure that it hadn't been a boy - and then whoever it was was gone, and charging directly at her was an unmanned horse, eyes rolling, ears back, a Band sigil clearly stamped into it's tack, and somewhere else a banner sporting a familiar red hand on a field of white. Eb jumped back nimbly, avoiding the pounding hooves and then the aggressive bite aimed towards her on the way - but then she was unexpectedly bouncing off the backside of a different beast and crashing to the ground, collecting the man who had just introduced himself as Arkin as she fell. She had barely had time to relax - as much as one could possibly relax whilst being reversed into by a horse - at the sight of that sigil and banner, confirmation that these men were definitely from the Band, when she felt her arms being forced behind her and caught onto what was going on. But blood and bloody ashes that man is quick! Instantly, instinct and habit were driving her to twist out of the way, escape at all costs, but for just a moment, logic interrupted and urged her to be still. A moment was all it took before the choice was out of her hands entirely. Two additional bodies-worth of weight were piled on top of her, all but eliminating the possibility of escape. Had she been standing, and allowed half a second to think, it would have been a different story, but as it was, they were on the ground and although Eb was strong for her size, in situations like this there was simply no arguing that her size would let her down. Almost before she knew it, her wrists, elbows, ankles and knees were firmly bound. Stinking bloody flaming horses! she seethed, wondering if there would ever be an end to her humiliation wherever these beasts were involved.

 

She was about to open her mouth to voice her protest when instead her jaw was squeezed open and she found herself promptly gagged, by who she didn't know. 

 

Fighting down the urge to struggle and create all sorts of merry hell, Eb glared daggers at the three conscious Banders around her - and the one unconscious on the ground too, for that matter - and let the fury in her eyes do all the talking.

 

What now?

[Sherper]

Jeral Ahan was dying. He knew of this, and for some reason, he found he wasn’t afraid of what was to come.  His entire life, he had devoted all his energy to self preservation. Yet now as he lay in a puddle of his own blood, having done the exact opposite to what twelve years of instincts had taught him, the eighteen year old youth suddenly felt very peaceful inside, knowing he had helped protect the things he loved. The pain would soon fade – his mind, was ready to embrace its final closure. Something gently lifted him up from the ground, and Jeral felt the pressure of his chest against a foreign body. It’ll soon be over…

 

“Jeral? Jeral, can you hear me? You’ve got to stay awake.”
That voice… it sounded vaguely familiar. Was it… He sank further into the warm touches of the dark abyss below – descending into the pit of eternal rest. He was very tired. “Jeral, wake up. Wake up. You can’t go to sleep.” He opened his eyes a crack, though the effort rejuvenated the pains in his chest.  The voice was very persistent. It stopped him from having his rest.

 

His eyes focussed on the dim world above, and he found himself looking at a woman with light olive skin and raven black hair.  Tristeen. Jeral’s half sister was one of the few people he could have trusted to be with, during the final few moments of his life. He reached out to her, raising one trembling arm to beckon her close. “Tris…” he croaked, knowing his throat no longer worked properly. “Tell Ma… tell her, I won’t be home for supper.” Those coal black eyes – so full of worry and love, stared back at him, unwavering. Tristeen was a strong woman, someone who Jeral had always looked up to when still a child. The woman just stared down at him, not speak or saying a word. Jeral didn’t need her to say anything. He just… needed, her to be with him. His family was safe, his friend were safe. To him, that was all that mattered.  

 

~Jeral Ahan
Private in the Band of the Red Hand, Scouting Division.

Edited February 15, 2014 by Sherper

[Arinth]

Wild Horses! For a moment Arinth almost dropped Jeral and ran. The things were clearly insane. They were running in packs, or herds or whatever the term was for horses. At the last moment he realized that someone was riding one of the horses. He recognized the girl and frowned. How was one person suppose to control so many horses?

 

Luckily for him she didn't have complete control over them. One crashed into the newly declared “captain stabbypants” and knocked her over. Arkin was quick to grab her hands. Arinth dropped Jeral as gently as he could and rushed to help Arkin secure the woman. The new arrival had rushed to help and had thrown her weight on the legs of the stranger. He pushed his own knee down on the small of her back and leaned his forearm down across the back of her shoulders. Arkin's hands moved quickly as he quickly secured her. Arinth resisted the urge to get a few cheap shots in while he had the opportunity. He still was not happy about getting kicked in the groin. Who does that? I mean really he thought to himself.

 

The woman started to protest. Hot anger pulsed through Arinth. His jaw clenched. He gagged her roughly before she said anything that drove him to violence. It was for her own good really. And then he stood and hefted her like a sack of potatoes and tossed her over the back of one of the horses. The others worked quickly to secure her. He went back to check on Jeral. He was no medic but he had seen wounds and he had seen men die. There was no time to waste. He picked him up wearily. His arms and legs were burning from all the fighting and lifting he had done. He didn't know the first thing about how to get Jeral secured on to the horse so he followed the others instructions.

 

Through all of this he was trying to accept the fact that he was going to have to ride one of the bloody horses to get back to camp with the others. Jeral didn't have time to waste and he wasn't about to let a delusional woman who stabbed people out of his sight. Arkin may have half way bought her story or at least pretended too but Arinth was not going to give the benefit of the doubt.

[Nyanna al'Meara]

Trying to overcome her shock Miri looked down wide-eyed at the scout who held onto the stranger woman.

“In come the Cavalry?”

Arkin’s comment broke the lull in the scuffle. Without thinking, Miri launched herself off Wyn’s back as out of the corner of her eyes she saw Arinth rush in too. She tackled the woman’s legs, deeming them the safest place as they couldn’t wield weapons. Slightly terrified at her own impulsiveness, Miri clung on until the more experienced fighters had trussed the warrioress up tight. Only then she allowed herself to let go. Miri jumped up and dusted herself off.

…The horses! Looking around she saw that Chief had quietened down over his initial fright. Wyn stood blowing gently, the others behind him. She patted his nose, grinning at their loyalty, then brought forward one of the steeds for Arinth to dump their prisoner on and helped to tie her to the saddle. Good Light the woman’s glare was intense. But now that the danger had passed, adrenaline still coursing through her veins, Miri felt rather gratified by all this. She’d helped take a captive! Then – Jeral. Oh, Light. Her good mood vanished abruptly as she scurried after Arinth and stared at his motionless form in dismay. He looked so ..little, so…..dead.

 

The Sergeant hefted the body and stepped towards the horses looking a little lost. They had to get the boy back. Fast. Yes. Miri’s heart started beating anxiously again, and she darted past the officer, grabbing Red’s bridle. “Here, sir!” The gelding had a blanket roll strapped to behind his saddle, ideal for wrapping Jeral in. Arkin’s deft hands joining their hasty work, they did so and then gently heaved the boy across Red’s saddle between the three of them. Miri fussed about strappings as they secured his form with the leads and their own belts. The thick blanket would cushion him from the gelding’s movement. Besides that, she knew that Red had the softest step of all mounts present. It was good to remember things like that.

“All right, this should be safe enough.” Miri babbled into the breathless silence. She tried to repress her rising panic by taking charge of distributing the horses, not caring what the men might say about women and talking. “We should hurry back before it’s too late. Now- oh.”

Looking back over her shoulder, she started back to fetch the remaining horse. The only remaining horse. “Uh…..”  Arinth and Arkin looked back at her, uncomprehending.

Miri cleared her throat. Despite the desperate situation, she could feel hysterical giggles building at an alarming rate. “Umm….well, it’s like this. I’m the more experienced rider so I’ll lead Jeral on Wyn, and the mare will follow along with our captive. Which leaves you two with, ah, this boy here.” Biting back a laugh Miri patted Chief’s neck and peered back at the scout and Infantry officer. “It looks like you’ll have to share,” she explained, trying to sound apologetic but not really succeeding. "Don't worry, he's fine. Just got a bit startled there before, weren't you Chiefy, all good now."

 

Well, there was no time to waste. Miri dumped the reins into Arkin's hands and stepped back. None of the men had said a word yet.
 

"..........You both do know how to ride, don't you?!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(OoC: Muahaha so much eviiiil)

 

Edited February 27, 2014 by Nyanna al'Meara

[The Bard Babe]

Arkin's eyes barely had time to widen before Malachias tackled Eb's legs, the violet armband which they both still wore out of defiance fluttering a little with the force of her leap. A moment later, the much more solid and noticeable weight of Arinth thumped into him and Arkin stumbled, only his good balance keeping him on his feet and his grip on Eb strong. Fortunately, his mouth was much faster than his eyes. "YOU FLAMING GOATKISSERS WATCH YOUR BLOODY AIM!" he belted, his strong tenor supported by singer's lungs and growing concern for Jeral. No-one took any notice of him. Foul tongues were the favoured kind in the Band.

 

Even as he yelled, Arkin grabbed a rope and quickly secured Eb as Arinth's considerably more effective strength held her in place, with Malachias holding her own at the bottom. Arkin still suspected that Eb could have broken free if she'd wanted to, so he felt no guilt at tying the rope quite tightly. It was a brief few squirming moments as Arkin did his work, glad he wasn't the one holding the woman down. Arinth definitely had the hard job there, though it looked as though he were trying to persuade himself not to take revenge for his aching manhood. Arkin couldn't quite bring himself to grin. Not with Jeral's blood staining the ground where he lay. 

 

Arkin could not force his mind away from the scout bleeding out below them as Malachias brought over a horse and they tied Eb to it through her half-hearted struggles. He desperately wished he knew some way to help him medically, wishing he knew how to bandage it, or how to numb the pain a little, to make sure he stayed awake or anything that could possibly help him! Arkin felt responsible for him. Jeral was a scout, he was one of Arkin's own, and he had let him get himself stabbed. He should have been with Jeral, not slacking off with Arinth, letting him go ahead by himself. He knew that he had gone ahead alone as a scout so many times, that it was part of the job description, but he knew just as well that he should have been there with Jeral to protect him.

 

Looking over at him, Arkin saw once more the ruined soldiers littering the city of Tanchico, he saw men he knew struck down with fear in their eyes. He saw men fall with their eyes clear and almost...proud. He had seen them stand with eyes filled with blood, even as their own betrayed them, deserting their bodies to kiss the cobbles buried beneath bodies. Those eyes were so familiar to him. Familiar nightmares which came to him when he was alone, on that cusp of sleep where memory and reality mixed with fantasy to coax dark shadows from every thought. When those three images lit up his tent at night, the chilling foreground to a gory mess of blood running down the streets, he could never quite tell which was worse.

 

Was dying with fear in your eyes better than dying with pride? Or with bloodlust? The bloodlust to match that of the enemy who struck you down, that unifying feature which smeared away all the moral differences a man could claim as his reason to kill. Dying with fear leaking through you, its shaking grip seizing your muscles and draining you of everything you had left?

 

Arkin shook his head to clear it, his jaw tightening. His mind was not a place for such thoughts. This time was not for such thoughts. Those thoughts were for night and that cusp of sleep in the dark.

 

He rushed over to aid Malachias and Arinth in securing Jeral to a horse, jostling him as little as possible, even as his eyes flickered open and closed. A moment later, Malachias was staring at them with barely concealed giggles wriggling beneath her lips. His lips. Their lips. Immediately, Arkin grew very wary. And apparently with good cause.

 

“Umm….well, it’s like this. I’m the more experienced rider so I’ll lead Jeral on Wyn, and the mare will follow along with our captive. Which leaves you two with, ah, this boy here. It looks like you’ll have to share. Don't worry, he's fine. Just got a bit startled there before, weren't you Chiefy, all good now."

 

Arkin was simply shocked. He heard Arinth bark out a "Not bloody likely!" followed by various other curses, none of which were particularly complimentary to the horses around them. Arkin said nothing, not sure what think. He had not expected this outcome. Why? He didn't know. Him and Arinth? Share? Not just anything, but a horse?! What was the girl-the boy-whatever-thinking? A moment later, Arkin came to his senses. There was no other solution. Unless one of them wanted to walk, or sit on Eb, this seemed to be their only option. "Blood and bloody ashes..." he groaned, before slowly turning to stare at Arinth with a very, very wary expression.

 

The two eyes each other almost nervously, as though squaring up for a fight, neither quite sure how to react. Malachias quickly dumped the reins in Arkin's hands and scrambled atop her-his horse, sensibly retreating from the situation with all due haste. Arkin's gaze slowly fell onto the reins in his hand.

 

"You both do know how to ride, don't you?"

 

Malachias' words forced Arkin's mind to work again, and he sprang into action, leaping atop the horse before Arinth could. Leaping may have been a stretch of the imagination. He climbed. Clambered, really. Maybe even scrabbled. The truth was, Arkin only had the most rudimentary of riding abilities, most of which came from forced lessons under Master Gabbon's hand and an acrobat's good balance, and whatever transpired next, he was determined to be the first on the horse, and hopefully the most comfortable. Of course, even thinking about comfort reminded him of the painful bruises throbbing beneath his shirt, both front and back, where Eb had made her marks. One look at her had him feeling comparatively comfortable though. At least he wasn't sideways. Then again, Eb was in absolutely no danger of falling off.

 

Arkin maybe wasn't, given his balance, but with the added difficulty of Arinth...this was certainly going to be the most interesting trip of Arkin's time...

 

He stared down at Arinth, thanking every star that he had the balance to pull off a jaunty grin at his friend without falling onto him. Arinth looked somewhere between enraged, confused and frankly quite nervous. "If you feel like falling, you're welcome to hug me until you can balance, Sarge." Arkin's quip had the desired effect. Arinth's face was priceless. It also broke him out of his motionless stupor. "Now get on the light-burned horse, Arinth!"

Edited February 16, 2014 by The Bard Babe

[Arinth]

Arinth stared at Malachias in confusion. How could there not be enough horses? How had he planned on saving the day but not come prepared to give everyone a horse? Horses were bad enough but having to share one was even worse. He had not had enough to drink to have to go through such an ordeal.

 

He watched Arkin scramble up onto the horse and his gut sank. Riding on a horse was bad enough and having to share was twice as bad, but at least if it had been with someone who was skilled at riding a horse it might make it a tiny bit better. Arkin, though competent, did not appear skilled. As far as he was concerned it would be a miracle if they just made it back to camp alive.

 

Arkin offered an hand and he tried his best to scramble up onto the horse without pulling his friend out of the saddle. It was a close thing. There was a lot of flailing and clawing and grabbing before he was settled into place. He could see the horse eying him and he knew that if the horse had the chance he'd put captain stabbypants earlier kick to shame with one of his own.

 

Arkin had made some smarmy comment about him being welcome to hold on. It was a good thing too because Arinth had been planning on holding on to Arkin for dear life either way. As soon as he was settled into place the horse took a step forward and Arinth grabbed Arkin in a bear hug and closed his eyes.

 

“Never speak of this again. This never happened. If you do some other scout will be in line for a promotion to corporal.” He doubted Arkin had any more desire to speak of it than he did, but it still had to be said.

 

They went as quickly as they could safely go. Every minute was important and they felt the urgency of the situation like a wound up clock that was too quickly ticking down. The woman was already in deep trouble. If Jeral died he'd make sure things were twice as bad for her.

[Cass]

Gagged, bound and tied helplessly cross-ways on the horse, Eb seethed.

 

The smell of sweaty horse hair was overpowering. How could it not be? Mouth-breathing to avoid the smell was impossible with the gag, and her nostrils were all but sucking on horse skin with each and every breath. Worse; every time she tried to lift her head for a slightly cleaner sniff of air the horse - the same horse that had tried chomping at her in the charge - retaliated by turning his head and biting her on the backside. The glare on her face and the choice words running around inside her skull barely did the insufferable situation any justice.

 

At least the smell and her physical discomfort were keeping her thoughts distracted. Physical she could handle, no matter how difficult it got. The flashes of the boy's glazing, hallucinating eyes plaguing her mind, interspersed with visions of other kids hanged dead in an Ebou Dari square, were another story. It was not that she hadn't seen people dying before. This kid's semi-conscious mutterings had just unexpectedly hit her close to home. Tris, the name he'd uttered, had all but catapulted her entire being right back into into the Rahad, to the moment she'd discovered each and every one of her very few friends were dead. It was not a moment she dealt with well. The only thing keeping her in the present moment was that flaming stench of horse hair. She clamped her thoughts shut, breathed in the stench, and let it feed her fury.

 

This was not, by any stretch of the imagination, how she had planned on returning to the Citadel. It was, in fact, a very far cry from the dumping of gear and the drowning in drinks she'd imagined. She concentrated on breathing. She very deliberately did not concentrate on the way the seat, or the saddle or whatever it was she was not sitting on was pressing into her ribs, mercilessly squashing the breath from her lungs. Just like she did not concentrate on the flaming, light-forsaken ropes that were digging into her skin and the way they were making her itch, the way sweat that was not hers was building under the cheek she had pressed low into the horse's side, or the way that blasted metal-jangly-foot-strap thing collided with her face, relentlessly, with every. flaming. bloody. bouncy. step. She scowled despite the gag in her mouth and shifted her weight as best as she was able. The horse rewarded her effort with another moody bite to the backside. If she'd been able to, she would have grit her teeth, or even screamed. Light, if she'd been able too, she would've gutted the thing and dragged it to the Citadel herself for the cooks to roast with supper. 

 

It was ridiculous, but the last straw came when the horse urinated as he walked. Flecks of stinking, steaming, golden spray showered onto her face with the wind and Eb's relative composure cracked immediately like someone had cleaved it clean through with a sword. Light, it cracked like a flaming horse had just begun depositing the contents of its bladder onto her face whilst she was restrained. She yelled with all her fury, a string of foul and soldier-worthy curses muffled and unfortunately wasted through her gag. She thrashed her head and kicked her feet and jerked violently against her ropes. The stirrups jumped, the horse turned and bit her yet again, and Eb just yelled and thrashed all the more. The ropes which bound her slipped and she found herself upside down; still secured, but with her face now directly in the firing line for the remainder of the horse's void. It was like something from a gleeman's tale, only much, much, much more personal and infinitely worse. She twisted and turned her face for all she was worth, eyes and mouth both wide with horror as she realised that her gag was beginning to soften, gladly soaking up the terrifyingly warm and odourous liquid as it streamed on down her face. She froze, silent, knowing movement and using her mouth would just make everything worse.

 

She must have made a most comical sight, but really, Eb was too infuriated to care; even as it hit her that there were plenty of people about to watch. They had, it seemed, finally entered the Citadel grounds. She closed her eyes, thinking frantically of all the training targets she could take her fury out on once she was released; of all the dice games she could play; of all the drinks she could have that didn't taste like piss. She was back. Home. It would all be over soon. She glared up at her captors, daggers in the darkness of eyes. Soon. Soon - once all of this had been resolved.

Edited February 17, 2014 by _Eb_

[Nyanna al'Meara]

Another time, Miri might even have felt sorry for the woman trussed across a horse's back. Another time, Malachias would not have relinquished every chance their current situation presented, to laugh at the officers forced into sharing a horse. Or clinging to, it looked more like.

This time, though, Miri felt scared. She led them back along the forest paths she'd arrived on, trying to move as fast as possible through the thickets. She heard her heart thudding louder than the hoofbeats and tried to keep from wondering how much longer the wounded boy had to live. It was not as if she couldn't see blood - but she hadn't been in such close proximity to someone dying of a wound before, nor responsible for whichever slim chance he still had of being saved.

 

Finally, the trees grew thinner and the tracks wider. Not checking behind her, she urged her bay forwards. She could still hear the string of curses stretched out behind her - as long as those remained, the others were still tailing her. At the very least, the other horses would be following hers by instinct. "Hyah!!" Miri swept her heels along Wyn's side, Jeral's horse following in a canter. How fast could they go without hurting the unconscious scout even more? How long could they have left? Gulping, Miri lost herself in the thrumming of the hurried ride, a mixture of concentration and trusting her horse to carry them home safely. Looking through the gap of Wyn's ears, the track in front of them, was the only thing that stuck out, stayed in focus as the foliage whizzed by in a blur. Eventually the clearings grew wider and more frequent.

 

And just like that, they were past the latrines, someone was hollering to open the gates, and then they were spilling into the daytime hubbub of Citadel activity. Miri yelled for help but didn't stop galloping until more shouts drew near, men running to meet them. She slowed the sweaty horses, leaping off Wyn's back and aware of the others catching up behind.

Briefly Miri turned to check Arkin and Arinth were both actually still on the horse - they looked fine, if severely shaken up. The mare carrying their prisoner had also followed them into camp, so Miri turned back to finish untying Jeral's body as the medics arrived and immediately took over. Dithering for a moment, she glanced back to see the other two busy with trying to return to solid ground as fast as they could. It was even more comical than their getting up on the horse, but the medics were already leaving with the motionless body so Miri didn't linger to watch. Grabbing the two abandoned horse's reins, she trotted them after the medics. She'd just check whether they could do anything for him, then take the geldings to the horselines to try calm down. There was something very unsettling about the boy's limp body. It reminded her of her own fragile little brother, bedridden and feverish most of the time. Leaving home she'd left him behind too. He was safe enough there, but...... this time, this time she wasn't abandoning anyone when he needed help. Miri closed her eyes for a moment, desperately hoping. She wasn't too sure who she was praying to the Light for, Jeral or Terri. Maybe both.

 

Please let him be alright.

[Sherper]

Edward Fawn scratched his beard thoughtfully as he peered across at the two figures standing by the citadel gate. The sentries were leaning against their spears, and by their positioning, they seem to have fallen asleep. Sentry duty was boring work for anyone and by no means the highlight of a soldier’s week. But it was something that needed to be done, and everyone in the Band had to pull their fair share of the work. Edward no longer had to do sentry duty of his own – one of the few perks with being an underofficer – but it was now his duty to make sure others did theirs. 

 

The wiry faced veteran of two campaigns chuckled as he tiptoed around the two soldiers and stationed himself behind the pair. In any other situation, Edward would have been furious at this clear negligence of duty. Out in the field, a sentry was what prevented comrades from getting their throat slitted at night. Everyone trusted those who were on duty to watch whilst they slept, and it was that sense of trust that allowed paranoid, traumatised men to rest for a few brief hours. Keeping awake was hard.

Edward knew, because he had been there himself. Staring at nothing for the duration of four hours was no easy feat to accomplish, and many new recruits fall victim to sleep deprivation in the first few months of their training – usually when they were forced to take the twilight shifts.

 

Edward was not usually an unsympathetic person; he cared about the mental wellbeing of his men almost as much as he did seeing them clothed and fed. But what he would not tolerate in his unit was slackness. Which in turn, helped cancel out any sense of guilt he would have otherwise felt for what he was about to do.

With one effortless swing of his two handed spear, he brushed the sentries’ weapons from underneath them and watched as they flayed about in surprise to the sudden loss of their weight support. He felt a smug sense of satisfaction as he watched the two men stumbling and coughing dust on the ground.

 

“One of you bootleggers had better give me a damn good explanation as to why I’d be finding you staring down your eyelids.” He barked in a clear crisp voice for both to hear. There was no way out for the two; no possible excise that would let them off the hock for such a miss-action.

 

“Sorry. Sarg.” One of them had the decency to gasp as the pair launched into another fit of coughing and wheezing.

Edward did not bother to help either of them up as he put on his best drill sergeant scowl.

  “Sleeping on the job means an instant court martial, and you know I won’t shed a tear seeing criminals like you hanging from a rope.”

A part of him felt a sense of bitterness rise inside, and he used that emotion to emphasis his words as he bombarded the two culprits with a few choice insults. The two soldiers should have known better than to disobey planned protocol. Even though they were technically safe inside the citadel’s walls, and the likelihood of attack was next to zero, it still didn’t give them the excuse to be sleeping on the job.

  “Count yourselves lucky I can’t be bothered filling out the paperwork for your executions today,” he finished after a minute or two. The pair of men looked ashamed enough from Edward’s view to have gotten the message. He nodded in satisfaction as he saw that they had their eyes lowered, and was just about to send them back to the task of gate watching, when his ears picked up something off in the distance.

 

Hoof beats.

 

He felt his body tense instantly, and could feel the anxiety take hold of him like an ocean wave. Every soldier with enough campaign badges under his or her belt had their own distinct memories locked up somewhere in the dark recesses of their mind. For Edward, his memory would be the sound of charging cavalry as he was force to stand out in an open field, and await his death. He took two very slow, very calming breaths, collecting himself and his emotions before opening his eyes and looking towards the direction of the approaching sounds. It was definitely coming his way and was gradually getting louder and louder. The two sentries could hear it too now and they hastily bent down to retrieve their fallen weapons.

 

“Get in a line, left and right of me.” Edward ordered as he lifted his own spear with the point angled vertically forward. “Quickly, you fools!” he barked when he saw the two still standing about being idle. The two hurriedly obeyed after finally registering the meaning to his order and prepared their weapons like Edward’s.

 

They held their collective breaths as they waited; anticipating the sight of the charging cavalry to burst out from the trees at any minute. After a lull, where the only sound came from the ever closing, ever ominous hoof beats, the line of three finally caught sight of the approaching horsemen.

Edward cleared his eyes with a rapid succession of blinks, trying to make sense of the disbelieving sight in front of him.

  “What the flaming crap?” the man on his left cursed, and Edward thought the statement just about encompassed his own assessment of the situation.

 

True to his former acute sense of sound, he had been right to assume the approaching force consisted of horses. But what he had not been expecting was to see a single tiny figure galloping a full sized stallion triple his size, full pelt across the field with a line of remounts trailing close behind. He recognised the distinct breed of the horse, and frowned as he thought they appeared to be some of the band’s own.

 

One of the sentries beside him relaxed, and Edward felt the man’s spear being raised.

  “That’s one of ours.”

  “I didn’t tell you to stand down, private. Prepare yourself.” Edward growled sideways at the man, still with his eyes fixed on the approaching line. Edward was not a man who can relax easily. Only once they were safety inside the walls of the citadel, and he could find out just exactly what the hell was going on, will he ever be able relax. He peered across at the open field, and noticed something strange on one of the other remounts. Edward cursed as his eyes, which weren’t what they used to be, adjusted and identified the bodies laid out across the saddle.

  “Open the gates!” he barked as his brain rapidly worked out this new detail. “Come on, you light blinded fools! We’ve got incoming wounded!” He turned around and began pounding on the doors until one of the other sentries on top of the parapets finally noticed something was off.

 

The line of galloping horses barely slowed as they raced past the pair of startled sentries, and as soon as the crack between the gates became wide enough, the seven animals and their riders squeezed hurriedly through.

Edward followed soon after, and quickly ushered the two sentries in before pushing the gates closed behind.

 

“What under the light is going on here? Are we being attacked?” A second sergeant on duty – Charles, one of the garrison archers, stalked down from the top of one of the wooden ramparts and began firing questions at Edward. The Infantry sergeant shrugged, then pointed towards a small gathering crowd near one of the medic tents, where the new arrivals were being tended.

  “Bloody hell,” the other sergeant swore as he too noticed the body of the wounded.

Whatever had happened, Edward was preparing himself for the worst. Anything that involves one of the Band’s own being wounded was probably bad news for the group as a whole. The two of them hurriedly strode towards the commotion, to find out for themselves the detail of this small excursion.

As he got closer to the line of horses however, he thought he recognised two of the riders.

 

“Arkin? Arin- What the flaming napes are you two doing on that horse?”

The two Banders, one being an infantry sergeant like Edward, and the other a corporal in the scouts, were not the kind of people he would have usually expected to find sitting on a horse together.

The two mumbled something in-cohesive, as they got off from their brown bay. Well… perhaps got off was not doing the action sufficient justice. Fell off was a much more descriptive, and correct term to use.

“Do either of you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?”

 

~ Edward Fawn

Sergeant in the Band of the Red Hand. Infantry.

 

(OOC: Sorry for the delay, and the fact that i kind of ended it on a lousy place, but I got to run. Hopefully this will allow this thing to continue without me dragging everyone's pace down)

Edited March 6, 2014 by Quibby

[The Bard Babe]

(OoC: Posting, posting, I'm posting, go, go go!!! Wait! I need tea! Ok, I have tea! POSTING!!!)

 

Arkin was extremely glad he could no longer feel his buttocks. He imagined that once he regained some feeling, they would hurt a lot more than he cared to imagine. He also knew that his stomach was likely to be bruised from Arinth's iron grip on his middle throughout their deeply uncomfortable journey. However, Arkin felt he didn't have much of a reason to complain, not when Jeral was bleeding to death and their prisoner was upside down on a horse dripping hot, yellow piss.

 

Every glance at Jeral was making it harder for Arkin to keep his light-hearted frame of mind. He could feel the panic and the deep, dark concern for his scout friend building in the back of his mind, just out of sight, just where he couldn't quite find it to banish it. He willed his horse to go faster, charging the gates to the Citadel and barely seeing the confused guards as he watched Malachias bolt off with Jeral in tow, anxiety creasing his brow.

 

Once they had faded from even his scout-sight, Arkin felt his mouth pull up in a grimace. He tried to turn to Arinth to share this painful worry which was creeping towards the front of his skull, but the action only served to remind him that he was currently sitting on a horse with a bulky Infant behind him. 

 

Shaking a little bit in an effort to dislodge Arinth's white knuckled grip, Arkin cast his eyes to the ground and set his mind to tackling the problem of getting to that patch of dirt without breaking either it, himself or the Sergeant currently standing beside it.

 

Edward Fawn was the Sergeant, a decent enough fellow, but even his eyes were blown wide by the sudden and highly unprecedented happenings of the last few seconds. Eventually his bluster made it out of his mouth. "Arkin? Arin-What the flaming napes are you two doing on that horse?" he yelled up at them.

 

Arkin opened his mouth to explain, but simply shut it again and shook his head. Arinth muttered something vaguely intelligent, but no sound made it far enough past his lips that it didn't get blocked by Arkin's torso. Navigating his way off the horse went reasonably well for Arkin. He thanked his acrobatic youth for that.The jump between horse and ground almost passed for intentional, but his numb buttocks failed him the moment his feet the ground. His left leg simply gave up, collapsing beneath him. He stumbled to the left to stay upright, but overcompensated a little. It took an impressive lean to regain his equilibrium. Arkin frowned. He hadn't hit the ground, but he hadn't stumbled that badly for many, many years. Not even while drunk. His reputation for perfect balance ruined by a flaming horse.

 

Evidently he didn't move fast enough, because Arinth bumped into him as he 'dismounted', and they had to grab each other quickly to keep from collapsing on the dirt in a thoroughly undignified heap. Arkin gave the Sergeant a salute that was purely based on its comedic value by that point.

 

“Do either of you mind telling me what the hell is going on here?” Edward demanded.

Arkin was glad to reply. Words usually served him better than horses. "Bloody right I will, sir," Arkin began in a pointedly restrained tone. He threw his arm out to point at the woman's bottom which was all they could see of her bound as she was on the horse. "We found this flaming piss-drinker with two flaming knives bloody well dug into my scout!"

 

It now occurred to Arkin just how angry he was. He didn't feel this way very often. The tight feeling in his chest and the heat racing to his face...it was foreign to him except during a battle. He stabbed the air near her with his finger. "Blood and bloody ashes, Sarge, do something about her!"