With Unblinking Eyes
Posted: Mon Oct 10, 2011 4:37 pm
Berendil the Ranger slumped against the hillside in the grass, chewing on a thin piece of meat. This was the best vantage over the Lion's Crossroad to be sure but it lacked in cover, so he stayed flat against the hillside as he waited. Once more he bit into the thin strip of dried beef, not for the nourishment but just so he would have something to do. Waiting was a skill like any other, a hunter's skill, one he learned at a young age. One's mind would wander if not kept alert, taste, smell, even pain would keep one wary in the long hours of watching and waiting.
He was not sitting in a blind waiting for a stag to pass by in his Misty Forest, no, today's hunt was for a warlock and prepared as he was Berendil could not help but fret silently over the unknowns. Would Voric come through or would he be killed out of hand for his treachery? Would this Warlock step into the noose or would Berendil have to attack him on his own and hope for the best. Craning his neck Berendil again surveyed the clearing and the cave mouth, the cave where his comrades now laid in wait for their chance to surprise this warlock at his own game. So many variables, it would not have been a place Berendil would have chosen, but Persephone set this plan in motion and Voric put his life on the line to see it through, there was no altering course now.
Halfway through another stringy bite Berendil let the tough fodder drop from his grip onto the grass and plucked up his bow. A cart was creaking its way south down the Coast Way and he could hear the clattering of armour as two men escorted it. One of those guards was Voric, it had worked, he actually drew the bastard here Berendil thought as he spied the white haired man in a glittering chain shirt driving the cart forward. The caravan hit a bump and Berendil's elf eyes saw blood drip from the back hatch, inside someone was certainly wounded if not dead. The cart drew up beside a rickety old shack near the cave and the warlock and his two guards conversed, he could not hear the words but they stood together discussing something.
Cocking his head Berendil strained to hear their words but there was nothing for it, he had to get closer. Leaving nothing to chance the Ranger slugged back a potion and faded from view and stalked towards the caravan. It was easy to quietly pass the intervening ground, it was soft grass and mud, nothing to betray his passing. When across the open ground Berendil flattened his back against a short escarpment and shifted until his quarry came into view.
Crunch a mailed fist from the Warlock smashed the pretty young face of a squirming human girl. The cyricist sneered before tossing her limp back into the cart. Berendil ground his teeth and clenched his hand around his bow, so that was their insurance, hostages, had they smelled the trap or did the dark sun routinely steal the innocent for sacrifice? The cart was large, almost the size of one of the caravans that trundled up and down the coast way, how many could be inside. Berendil could do nothing but be patient now, settling into a crouch, a cold iron tipped arrow noched on his bowstring.
Things were in motion now, the warlock sent the other minion into the cave to check it out, choosing to remain himself outside with Voric and the cart. Berendil gave a fleeting thought to Persephone in the cave, and hoped she had hid her strength well or this foray would give it away. Voric was talking now, ...leave them alive... have some fun before the end vile words, words from another life, that was his part to play but Berendil was unsettled all the same. What had this man done before his path lead him to the Morninglord? For perhaps the dozenth time that day Berendil silently prayed that Voric's change of heart had been genuine, and that his own instincts to that effect were correct. If the man had deceived them in the end and given the entire plan away, then his friends were in a stone coffin of their own choosing.
Berendil narrowed his eyes and spied the warlock's minion returning, clutching a gigantic axe and loping towards his master. Well!? the master screeched impatiently. Now came the time, was the game up? had he seen them? Berendil tested his grip on the arrow and readied for a surprise attack, counting on his comrades to rush out and finish the job... likely not in time to save his own life, but there it was, the ground between was long and his friends were no archers of Solonor. He would keep them busy for as long as he could.
It were her, shes in there hammering on the helm... just with her, uhm.... wife the footpad spoke thickly but his words gave Berendil strength. He had not seen, the warlock had chosen his scout poorly and the greater part of his comrades remained hidden. Voric go with him and demand they bring the helm to me, I will not meet them on ground of their choosing. Inform them of the hostages and the cost if they refuse. the Warlock had some cruel wisdom it seemed and lingered by the cart. Berendil waited for his chance, if fighting ensued in the cave then there would be no choice but to face this warlock bow to spell. Again Berendil was surprised when the Warlock muttered impatiently and moved towards the cave, he vanished from view, as the Ranger knew he would, and from his pace he entered the cave mere moment later.
It is up to them now, his invisibility will not help him faced with Persephone, good hunting my friends. Giving it a few moments more Berendil rose and dashed across the grassy hill, sliding down a slope on his side and regaining his feet mere steps from the Cart. He could not impact the fight to come, his role was to cut off any escape, but he could not risk leaving these hostages in the line of fire. In mere moments the world would be filled with arrows and spellfire and he had to get them out of here. Berendil wrenched open the door to the cart and immediately set eyes on three young girls, further back an older man and woman, a family perhaps? It did not matter, they were bloody and subdued but Berendil had to get them moving.
Taking a step onto the cart's edge, Berendil began to speak I am a friend, lift your heads, we need to get you out now before he returns. The older woman lifted her bruised face, one eye was swollen shut but the other looked at the elf with utter fear, her mouth moved in a soundless scream as Berendil took a step into the cart. NO! a purple glow circled around Berendil's foot, etching an arcane glyph, a trap!. Time slowed for the elf, he saw all their horror struck faces, they knew of the trap and he had tripped it like a clumsy orc. GET OUT! Berendil was in the midst of screaming when his lungs filled with fire and the world turned to white in a flash.
...out.. get out Berendil mumbled into the dirt, he spat and tasted that same dirt, mingled with the iron tang of blood from the tongue he had bitten nearly in two. He raised his soot stained face and beheld the cart he was standing in moments before. The cart lay split open, the wooden spars snapped wide like the ribcage of an elf after wolves had been at the carcass and just as bloody. Rising to a knee Berendil saw the ruin his misstep had wrought, little was discernable, scorched gore painted what remained of the canvas cover. Here and there was a hand, an arm, even a head, a child's head staring out with unblinking eyes, the look of horror now permanently etched on her little features. The wreck smouldered and Berendil spat blood and coughed, he knew there was something he was supposed to be doing. There was some kind of clamour to his left but it didn't seem important.
Finally the clash of steel woke him from his daze. The battle was spilling out from the cave and he could make no sense of it. What he could make sense of was the wretch with the giant axe running for his life... the others were busy with the warlock, spitting again Berendil ran after him. On the ground near where the Ranger had been tossed clear was his bow, he plucked it up deftly as he ran. The man was fast, making for a hill that would give him the cover he needed to escape, he was almost there. A Cold Iron arrow, the one meant for the Warlock, sped out and caught the man in an armoured shoulder. It bit through but in his flight it barely slowed him, Berendil loosed another arrow and watched it pierce between the man's shoulder blades. He fell to a knee, dropping his great axe he struggled for the strength to rise and continue his flight. Just as he was about to regain his footing another arrow slammed into his back, likely piercing a lung. The heavy man fell like deadwood, flat on the hill. With a withering look Berendil took a few steps forward and loosed another arrow all the same, piercing the man's side and beginning a thin stream of blood leaking down the hillside. Without a moments thought Berendil turned to join what remained of the battle...
Hours later Berendil stood atop a rise, watching for anything, reinforcements or counter attacks, even wildlife come to feast on the dead. The Warlock was dead, his comrades had seen to that, they had done what they set out to do. Everyone had taken the loss of the innocents hard, few harder than Persephone who had spent a long time holding her head in her hands surveying the ruin of canvas, wood and blood that was the Warlock's cart. Berendil was dimly aware of his comrades splitting up the bastards gear, but he stood sentry and wanted no keepsake from this bloodbath. Berendil heard the footsteps behind him but did not turn, his face grim and his eyes set to his task. The fault lays with the Dark Sun, it was not yours Alyra, his old friend trying to comfort him. She sounded as weary as he felt, I know it... we set out to kill the Warlock and that we did Alyra watched the elf and nodded, stepping away. Looking down Berendil could see the lifesblood of the man he shot down, a black shimmering stain on the hillside in the night. Giving his head a shake he spit his own blood next to that black stain and stared again stoically into the wild. We Win... Berendil murmured to the wind.
He was not sitting in a blind waiting for a stag to pass by in his Misty Forest, no, today's hunt was for a warlock and prepared as he was Berendil could not help but fret silently over the unknowns. Would Voric come through or would he be killed out of hand for his treachery? Would this Warlock step into the noose or would Berendil have to attack him on his own and hope for the best. Craning his neck Berendil again surveyed the clearing and the cave mouth, the cave where his comrades now laid in wait for their chance to surprise this warlock at his own game. So many variables, it would not have been a place Berendil would have chosen, but Persephone set this plan in motion and Voric put his life on the line to see it through, there was no altering course now.
Halfway through another stringy bite Berendil let the tough fodder drop from his grip onto the grass and plucked up his bow. A cart was creaking its way south down the Coast Way and he could hear the clattering of armour as two men escorted it. One of those guards was Voric, it had worked, he actually drew the bastard here Berendil thought as he spied the white haired man in a glittering chain shirt driving the cart forward. The caravan hit a bump and Berendil's elf eyes saw blood drip from the back hatch, inside someone was certainly wounded if not dead. The cart drew up beside a rickety old shack near the cave and the warlock and his two guards conversed, he could not hear the words but they stood together discussing something.
Cocking his head Berendil strained to hear their words but there was nothing for it, he had to get closer. Leaving nothing to chance the Ranger slugged back a potion and faded from view and stalked towards the caravan. It was easy to quietly pass the intervening ground, it was soft grass and mud, nothing to betray his passing. When across the open ground Berendil flattened his back against a short escarpment and shifted until his quarry came into view.
Crunch a mailed fist from the Warlock smashed the pretty young face of a squirming human girl. The cyricist sneered before tossing her limp back into the cart. Berendil ground his teeth and clenched his hand around his bow, so that was their insurance, hostages, had they smelled the trap or did the dark sun routinely steal the innocent for sacrifice? The cart was large, almost the size of one of the caravans that trundled up and down the coast way, how many could be inside. Berendil could do nothing but be patient now, settling into a crouch, a cold iron tipped arrow noched on his bowstring.
Things were in motion now, the warlock sent the other minion into the cave to check it out, choosing to remain himself outside with Voric and the cart. Berendil gave a fleeting thought to Persephone in the cave, and hoped she had hid her strength well or this foray would give it away. Voric was talking now, ...leave them alive... have some fun before the end vile words, words from another life, that was his part to play but Berendil was unsettled all the same. What had this man done before his path lead him to the Morninglord? For perhaps the dozenth time that day Berendil silently prayed that Voric's change of heart had been genuine, and that his own instincts to that effect were correct. If the man had deceived them in the end and given the entire plan away, then his friends were in a stone coffin of their own choosing.
Berendil narrowed his eyes and spied the warlock's minion returning, clutching a gigantic axe and loping towards his master. Well!? the master screeched impatiently. Now came the time, was the game up? had he seen them? Berendil tested his grip on the arrow and readied for a surprise attack, counting on his comrades to rush out and finish the job... likely not in time to save his own life, but there it was, the ground between was long and his friends were no archers of Solonor. He would keep them busy for as long as he could.
It were her, shes in there hammering on the helm... just with her, uhm.... wife the footpad spoke thickly but his words gave Berendil strength. He had not seen, the warlock had chosen his scout poorly and the greater part of his comrades remained hidden. Voric go with him and demand they bring the helm to me, I will not meet them on ground of their choosing. Inform them of the hostages and the cost if they refuse. the Warlock had some cruel wisdom it seemed and lingered by the cart. Berendil waited for his chance, if fighting ensued in the cave then there would be no choice but to face this warlock bow to spell. Again Berendil was surprised when the Warlock muttered impatiently and moved towards the cave, he vanished from view, as the Ranger knew he would, and from his pace he entered the cave mere moment later.
It is up to them now, his invisibility will not help him faced with Persephone, good hunting my friends. Giving it a few moments more Berendil rose and dashed across the grassy hill, sliding down a slope on his side and regaining his feet mere steps from the Cart. He could not impact the fight to come, his role was to cut off any escape, but he could not risk leaving these hostages in the line of fire. In mere moments the world would be filled with arrows and spellfire and he had to get them out of here. Berendil wrenched open the door to the cart and immediately set eyes on three young girls, further back an older man and woman, a family perhaps? It did not matter, they were bloody and subdued but Berendil had to get them moving.
Taking a step onto the cart's edge, Berendil began to speak I am a friend, lift your heads, we need to get you out now before he returns. The older woman lifted her bruised face, one eye was swollen shut but the other looked at the elf with utter fear, her mouth moved in a soundless scream as Berendil took a step into the cart. NO! a purple glow circled around Berendil's foot, etching an arcane glyph, a trap!. Time slowed for the elf, he saw all their horror struck faces, they knew of the trap and he had tripped it like a clumsy orc. GET OUT! Berendil was in the midst of screaming when his lungs filled with fire and the world turned to white in a flash.
...out.. get out Berendil mumbled into the dirt, he spat and tasted that same dirt, mingled with the iron tang of blood from the tongue he had bitten nearly in two. He raised his soot stained face and beheld the cart he was standing in moments before. The cart lay split open, the wooden spars snapped wide like the ribcage of an elf after wolves had been at the carcass and just as bloody. Rising to a knee Berendil saw the ruin his misstep had wrought, little was discernable, scorched gore painted what remained of the canvas cover. Here and there was a hand, an arm, even a head, a child's head staring out with unblinking eyes, the look of horror now permanently etched on her little features. The wreck smouldered and Berendil spat blood and coughed, he knew there was something he was supposed to be doing. There was some kind of clamour to his left but it didn't seem important.
Finally the clash of steel woke him from his daze. The battle was spilling out from the cave and he could make no sense of it. What he could make sense of was the wretch with the giant axe running for his life... the others were busy with the warlock, spitting again Berendil ran after him. On the ground near where the Ranger had been tossed clear was his bow, he plucked it up deftly as he ran. The man was fast, making for a hill that would give him the cover he needed to escape, he was almost there. A Cold Iron arrow, the one meant for the Warlock, sped out and caught the man in an armoured shoulder. It bit through but in his flight it barely slowed him, Berendil loosed another arrow and watched it pierce between the man's shoulder blades. He fell to a knee, dropping his great axe he struggled for the strength to rise and continue his flight. Just as he was about to regain his footing another arrow slammed into his back, likely piercing a lung. The heavy man fell like deadwood, flat on the hill. With a withering look Berendil took a few steps forward and loosed another arrow all the same, piercing the man's side and beginning a thin stream of blood leaking down the hillside. Without a moments thought Berendil turned to join what remained of the battle...
Hours later Berendil stood atop a rise, watching for anything, reinforcements or counter attacks, even wildlife come to feast on the dead. The Warlock was dead, his comrades had seen to that, they had done what they set out to do. Everyone had taken the loss of the innocents hard, few harder than Persephone who had spent a long time holding her head in her hands surveying the ruin of canvas, wood and blood that was the Warlock's cart. Berendil was dimly aware of his comrades splitting up the bastards gear, but he stood sentry and wanted no keepsake from this bloodbath. Berendil heard the footsteps behind him but did not turn, his face grim and his eyes set to his task. The fault lays with the Dark Sun, it was not yours Alyra, his old friend trying to comfort him. She sounded as weary as he felt, I know it... we set out to kill the Warlock and that we did Alyra watched the elf and nodded, stepping away. Looking down Berendil could see the lifesblood of the man he shot down, a black shimmering stain on the hillside in the night. Giving his head a shake he spit his own blood next to that black stain and stared again stoically into the wild. We Win... Berendil murmured to the wind.