Post by Ashalind Silverscale on Jul 2, 2009 11:15:47 GMT -5
Cautiously, the lean figure crept through the undergrowth within sight of the trail. Watching both directions, the grey-skinned creature awaited the arrival of either the supply-rich caravan, or the bandits and thieves known to inhabit this portion of Eitheldor.
Longingly, he remembered the day when he would have just walked out and fought face to face, or better yet; a time before even that, when he could sit comfortably within his han-muthi and worked hides and metals into jewelry. But those days are past. Knowing so many muths and younglings lives were at stake, he had to rely on his "counter-ambush", as Alo called them. Approximately twenty feet behind him, Bojac and two humans awaited any signal. Across the trail, hidden inside the thicker woods, hid another urk and seven more humans from the Caravan.
Having scouted the trail ahead, they knew the bandits awaited in force just around the next bend. Confident in their numbers and fierce reputation, they did not even try to hide or set a trap. They simply set around on the trail and charged a "toll" to all who pass. The "toll" was usually your life and possessions. Sometimes it was worse for the females.
The plan was simple. The main force of guards stayed with the wagons, while a small portion took to the woods alongside the trail. The warriors within the woods were approximately a quarter mile ahead of the wagons. This would give them time to take out any scouts and set up in position above the bandits.
Looking back, he signals the others to wait. He wants to get another look at the foes awaiting them. Stealthily sliding among the trees, he moves forward. It isn't long before the unclean smell of washavoki assailed his nose. But, there was another scent mixed in, a strange smell, something like the air following a lightning strike. This new scent fascinated him, completely different from anything he'd smelled before.
Suddenly, he realized he was so focused on the scent, that he totally missed the fact that he was within fifty feet of the bandits. They stood in a semi-circle along the road with their back to him. They easily numbered over thirty men. Their numbers consisted of humans, elves, dwarves, orcs, and drow. Every one of the highwaymen were focused on a single person standing in the center of the road.
Long blonde hair, piercing silver-blue eyes, a tall lean frame, the woman stood firm, glaring at the mass of bandits. Both hands rested on the hilt of twin length slender shortswords. He could see her talking, but could not make out what was said. Her clothes were tattered, but clean. Her baring was poised and confident. He could tell she had lived the life of a warrior. This meant she must be the leader, which seemed odd from what he knew of washovaki.
He studied her, seeking anything that could be a weakness, since it would be up to him to cut his way through to take her out. But, before he could identify anything useful, everything changed. The truth of the scene changed as one of the bandits nearest her, tried to grab her. He managed to grab one arm and the front of her shirt. Attempting to both hold her, and tear her clothes, he never saw or felt her blade slice upward into his chest.
With one blade still buried within the first bandit, she turned and slashed the throat of the next bandit nearest her right side. Dragging free her first sword, she continued her spin and drove both points into the gut of another brute. As the bandits came to their wits, she slew four more near her. Then a rough looking thug in chainmail carrying a huge sword that had as much handle to it as it did blade, began lumbering towards her. His massive weapon would most likely shear her blades in two and then it would be all over for her. Her face took on a hint of desperation as the creton shoved his way around the back, in an attempt to come at her from behind. She knew that if he got into a flanking position, there was no way she could fend off both his attacks and those of all the other bandits near enough to strike.
Knowing that this woman was out-numbered and out-flanked, Orrin decided to act. A deafening roar erupted from the trees as he lept into the fray. Many bandits fell to his short pike-like weapon before they realized they were no longer alone. With a full sprint going, the grey-skin dropped to his knees and slid under the swing of a massive and muscular bandit. His speed and momentum carried him behind the larger man, and as he passed, he struck out and tore through the man's side, spilling his internals across the trail. He leapt back to his feet and continued to battle his way to the female.
Upon hearing a bestial roar and then a large commotion behind them, several of the bandits nearest the fierce woman let down their guard and glanced behind them to the rear. Taking advantage of this, she dropped three more and turned to face the brute with the large vicious-looking polearm.
Patiently awaiting the return of their wise son, the two small groups of humans and urks were suddenly shaken into action at the sound of a distant and familiar roar. They gave up the cover of the woods for the expedience of the worn trail. As they rounded the corner, they saw a large group of bandits slowly overtaking their companion and a lone washovaki mother. They charge in at the group, assaulting their grey-skinned brother, but before they could engage a single enemy, Orrin bellowed loudly and emphatically "Fasath Muth-La!" as he cleaved his current opposition in half and turned to join the incoming re-enforcements. As one voice, the three urkzimmuthi and nine humans shouted "Fasath Muth-La!" and tore into the remaining cutthroats. The ferocity of the urkzimmuthi and other members of the clan made quick work of the dwindling bandits.
Ducking under a wild swing, she rolled out of his reach. As he prepared for another powerful swing, she darted in and gashed his thigh with one blade and his shoulder with the other. Darting out again, she barely avoids yet another swing. She continues on this way until he begins to slow down from blood loss, then she expertly moves in, stabs one sword into his shoulder and the other into his ribs. He drops the massive blade and collapses to the ground. As she stood there, replacing her blades to their home, the sons of the Clan approached cautiously. She turned to meet them, both cautious of a possible new threat, and thankful for the unexpected assistance. She looked at the creature who first came up to her aid. He was built similar to a normal human, except for a deep ash colored skin tone and multi-pointed ears. He had long wild hair, a well trimmed goatee, and yellow eyes. As she put her hand out to shake his clawed hand, she felt a sharp pain as a knife sank into her lower back. She slid to the ground in a crumpled heap. Before he could pull the dagger back for another strike, the bloody bandit that once wielded the wicked sword was struck in the chest with four javelins, and Orrin's sword protruded from his face.
Leaning down, Orrin lifted the lightning-scented warrior up like a sleeping child and carried her back to the Caravan to try and bind her wounds.
"And that is how Muth-La returned her wisdom to the Sons of the Fallen Clan." The bard finished his tale with a bow and collected the small amount of coin he had earned.
"Is that how it really happened?" said a smaller man seated at the back of the bar. He shared the table with two hooded and cloaked figures and one slender, tall framed woman.
A gruff voice spoke from under one of the hoods "Hai, it happened much like the washovaki told it."
The second hooded figure spoke up. "I seem to remember a lot more washovaki thieves when I arrived with the rest of the Clan."
"And I don't recall needing to be carried anywhere!" said the woman with them, as she lightly punched the first hooded urk.
A strange hiss-like laughter emanated from underneath the hood. "You'll remember it your way, I'll remember it mine."
All at the table began to laugh loudly.
Longingly, he remembered the day when he would have just walked out and fought face to face, or better yet; a time before even that, when he could sit comfortably within his han-muthi and worked hides and metals into jewelry. But those days are past. Knowing so many muths and younglings lives were at stake, he had to rely on his "counter-ambush", as Alo called them. Approximately twenty feet behind him, Bojac and two humans awaited any signal. Across the trail, hidden inside the thicker woods, hid another urk and seven more humans from the Caravan.
Having scouted the trail ahead, they knew the bandits awaited in force just around the next bend. Confident in their numbers and fierce reputation, they did not even try to hide or set a trap. They simply set around on the trail and charged a "toll" to all who pass. The "toll" was usually your life and possessions. Sometimes it was worse for the females.
The plan was simple. The main force of guards stayed with the wagons, while a small portion took to the woods alongside the trail. The warriors within the woods were approximately a quarter mile ahead of the wagons. This would give them time to take out any scouts and set up in position above the bandits.
Looking back, he signals the others to wait. He wants to get another look at the foes awaiting them. Stealthily sliding among the trees, he moves forward. It isn't long before the unclean smell of washavoki assailed his nose. But, there was another scent mixed in, a strange smell, something like the air following a lightning strike. This new scent fascinated him, completely different from anything he'd smelled before.
Suddenly, he realized he was so focused on the scent, that he totally missed the fact that he was within fifty feet of the bandits. They stood in a semi-circle along the road with their back to him. They easily numbered over thirty men. Their numbers consisted of humans, elves, dwarves, orcs, and drow. Every one of the highwaymen were focused on a single person standing in the center of the road.
Long blonde hair, piercing silver-blue eyes, a tall lean frame, the woman stood firm, glaring at the mass of bandits. Both hands rested on the hilt of twin length slender shortswords. He could see her talking, but could not make out what was said. Her clothes were tattered, but clean. Her baring was poised and confident. He could tell she had lived the life of a warrior. This meant she must be the leader, which seemed odd from what he knew of washovaki.
He studied her, seeking anything that could be a weakness, since it would be up to him to cut his way through to take her out. But, before he could identify anything useful, everything changed. The truth of the scene changed as one of the bandits nearest her, tried to grab her. He managed to grab one arm and the front of her shirt. Attempting to both hold her, and tear her clothes, he never saw or felt her blade slice upward into his chest.
With one blade still buried within the first bandit, she turned and slashed the throat of the next bandit nearest her right side. Dragging free her first sword, she continued her spin and drove both points into the gut of another brute. As the bandits came to their wits, she slew four more near her. Then a rough looking thug in chainmail carrying a huge sword that had as much handle to it as it did blade, began lumbering towards her. His massive weapon would most likely shear her blades in two and then it would be all over for her. Her face took on a hint of desperation as the creton shoved his way around the back, in an attempt to come at her from behind. She knew that if he got into a flanking position, there was no way she could fend off both his attacks and those of all the other bandits near enough to strike.
Knowing that this woman was out-numbered and out-flanked, Orrin decided to act. A deafening roar erupted from the trees as he lept into the fray. Many bandits fell to his short pike-like weapon before they realized they were no longer alone. With a full sprint going, the grey-skin dropped to his knees and slid under the swing of a massive and muscular bandit. His speed and momentum carried him behind the larger man, and as he passed, he struck out and tore through the man's side, spilling his internals across the trail. He leapt back to his feet and continued to battle his way to the female.
Upon hearing a bestial roar and then a large commotion behind them, several of the bandits nearest the fierce woman let down their guard and glanced behind them to the rear. Taking advantage of this, she dropped three more and turned to face the brute with the large vicious-looking polearm.
Patiently awaiting the return of their wise son, the two small groups of humans and urks were suddenly shaken into action at the sound of a distant and familiar roar. They gave up the cover of the woods for the expedience of the worn trail. As they rounded the corner, they saw a large group of bandits slowly overtaking their companion and a lone washovaki mother. They charge in at the group, assaulting their grey-skinned brother, but before they could engage a single enemy, Orrin bellowed loudly and emphatically "Fasath Muth-La!" as he cleaved his current opposition in half and turned to join the incoming re-enforcements. As one voice, the three urkzimmuthi and nine humans shouted "Fasath Muth-La!" and tore into the remaining cutthroats. The ferocity of the urkzimmuthi and other members of the clan made quick work of the dwindling bandits.
Ducking under a wild swing, she rolled out of his reach. As he prepared for another powerful swing, she darted in and gashed his thigh with one blade and his shoulder with the other. Darting out again, she barely avoids yet another swing. She continues on this way until he begins to slow down from blood loss, then she expertly moves in, stabs one sword into his shoulder and the other into his ribs. He drops the massive blade and collapses to the ground. As she stood there, replacing her blades to their home, the sons of the Clan approached cautiously. She turned to meet them, both cautious of a possible new threat, and thankful for the unexpected assistance. She looked at the creature who first came up to her aid. He was built similar to a normal human, except for a deep ash colored skin tone and multi-pointed ears. He had long wild hair, a well trimmed goatee, and yellow eyes. As she put her hand out to shake his clawed hand, she felt a sharp pain as a knife sank into her lower back. She slid to the ground in a crumpled heap. Before he could pull the dagger back for another strike, the bloody bandit that once wielded the wicked sword was struck in the chest with four javelins, and Orrin's sword protruded from his face.
Leaning down, Orrin lifted the lightning-scented warrior up like a sleeping child and carried her back to the Caravan to try and bind her wounds.
"And that is how Muth-La returned her wisdom to the Sons of the Fallen Clan." The bard finished his tale with a bow and collected the small amount of coin he had earned.
"Is that how it really happened?" said a smaller man seated at the back of the bar. He shared the table with two hooded and cloaked figures and one slender, tall framed woman.
A gruff voice spoke from under one of the hoods "Hai, it happened much like the washovaki told it."
The second hooded figure spoke up. "I seem to remember a lot more washovaki thieves when I arrived with the rest of the Clan."
"And I don't recall needing to be carried anywhere!" said the woman with them, as she lightly punched the first hooded urk.
A strange hiss-like laughter emanated from underneath the hood. "You'll remember it your way, I'll remember it mine."
All at the table began to laugh loudly.