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Post by orwelles on Jun 25, 2018 19:17:08 GMT -8
The stagecoach lay in ruins on the main road, a wooden cadaver long since eviscerated. Its doors had been ripped off, offering a view of the ragged scraps of where the seats used to be. All the decaying walls served to do was provide an egress for the ever-encroaching fungus, not content with their dominion over the roof. Of horse, driver, and passenger, there was no sign. This was the state in which they found it.
Sergeant Uain had been having a better day than expected. After the company's unexpected windfall, they had broken camp, and had run into no significant trouble since then. Of course, that wasn't to say there hadn't been any trouble. One of the recruits had trodden on some sort of fungus, and got a face full of spores. Aside from some slight difficulty breathing, no harm had come of it. All the same, the first order of business upon their arrival would be to have him looked at by some sort of healer. Though the Sergeant had never met the Heir, he doubted ill guardsman would be acceptable. Out of all of the perils on the Old Road so far, the most insidious one had been reassuring his comrades. As dependable as they could be in a fight, Uain would be the first to admit that the vast majority of the mercenaries with him were... easily swayed. A good half of them placed stock in the tavern tales told around cheap ale, with wide eyed muleskinners whispering of the Hamlet's horrors. Preposterous, one and all! Rotting giants? Damned nobles? Deviant savages? More likely, the grimacing coachman had spun a yarn on the lonely road back. This Hamlet had its problems, he was sure, but the "horrors of the mind" were most likely a product of a damaged one.
Suddenly, the line stopped. A dull murmur emanated through the formation. One of the vanguard had found something.
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Post by relentless on Jun 26, 2018 14:19:32 GMT -8
Dinner time had struck, at least from what Braund could tell as he looked up at the sky in between the frail branches that hung overhead. The birds chirping had grew to the close, and all that was left was the dying whispers of the weald, and the sounds of the wealds inhabitants making strange, primitive noises that carried along the breeze. He huffed, shaking his head as he pulled the door open. Its rotted base gave resilience at first, but with a constant pulling force, it was soon open. Perhaps he should take some time one day to sand down the edges so that it may open and close normally.
And so he entered the standard confines of his hovel, a thin hallway which branched off into three rooms; the kitchen, the living room and the basement. The basement itself was the only notable area of interest, a door made out of iron bars lead into a darkness veiled in pitch. The other two rooms were simply, with a fair size to them. A light breeze blew through the house through exposed windows, the glass itself had been knocked out, as Braund wanted to introduce simple bars to them. Sure it may look unappealing at first, but it would provide security, and he could work on it later.
Sighing with as much happiness he could muster in his dim life, the man took off his hood, hanging it up on a crude hook he had carved out of wood and planted on the decaying wall. He had been doing his best to maintain the quality of this hovel, perhaps he could turn it into a more fair establishment... if he didn't get himself killed, unwillingly.
Pushing aside the thought, and dreaming of a day where this... thing would vacate his soul so he could live his days in peace, the man traversed his large form to the kitchen. Putting on a simple apron he purchased from the hamlet at least a week or two ago, and knotting the strap behind his back, he bent his back and held up a bag of wood logs to his waist with a grunt. He would begin placing the fuel into a woodburner, made out of rusted, dirty iron that had been well used. In all manner, his kitchen was the most spartan of rooms in this abandoned household, compared to his basement and living room. Quietly, he would tear up bits of linen and wheat with his hands, which allowed him to hear the distant sounds or marching before it would stop, which he would assume whatever was moving had moved on, so he continued preparing his cooking equipment.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Jun 26, 2018 18:03:37 GMT -8
Ellie had left the Sanitarium for the confines of the woods, she had been in that cold, cramped space for too long and now that she was fully healed she had way too much energy and such to not let herself spend this time alive and exploring in her abomination form. Not to mention she needed to let herself experiment with this newfound gift of a second chance. See what she could do and what she couldn’t, and so exploring the Weald with its many dangers and inhabitants seemed like a playground to her, one she was going to venture into much further than ever before.
Following the old road, on the outside of it in the woods so no stage coach or the like could see her, she wanted to see just how far she could go without facing some type of horrendous creature or something that would want to pick a fight with her. With how her previous family thought this place would keep her away, she expected some kind of blockade or something to prevent herself from fully leaving. Maybe it was supposed to be a mental one as she had gone pretty far.
About halfway between the Hamlet and where the Old road began for most people, she was staying in the woods yet close to the road itself moving onward, letting herself easily find the breach in the trees which would lead her back to the Hamlet once she was done. While also concealing herself from anyone traversing it, Ellie wondered just why so many people told stories of dangers here when it seemed perfectly fine. Maybe the Weald knew when not to tango with a beast just as fierce as it’s own denizens, maybe scavengers were just waiting for her to make a wrong move, who knew.
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Post by orwelles on Jun 30, 2018 12:27:24 GMT -8
Uain
It was a stagecoach. And, judging by its sorry condition, the original occupants were long gone. As more of the guardsmen made their way over to the timbered Goliath, the dull murmur of speculation worked its way through the crowd. Some thought it was a monster that ripped the door off of its hinges. Others thought it was the driver. Uain made his way towards the front of the crowd, pushing aside a pair of skittish pike-men. "When did you find it?," he asked the scout. "No more than 10 minutes ago. So far as we know, nobody's touched it save for us." She paused, not meeting the sergeant's eye. Finding no reprieve from his gaze, the account continued. "We found this.", she said, pulling a small paper square out of her pocket. "Didn't think it was that important." "And when were you planning on mentioning this?", Uain snorted, his mustache vibrating in contempt. "Burroughs found it first. I thought he'd tell you.", she responded, in a tone that was almost petulant. "And where is Burroughs now?" She shrugged, and pointed left, out to the encroaching wilderness ."Had to take a piss."
Typical. Burroughs was decent at reconnaissance, but a figure of perfect constitution he was not. That was more Maria's forte. One of the younger members of the company, but a veteran nonetheless. She had first come to the group as a client, some soiled dove from nobles up north.Their erstwhile clients were hoping to dispose of her. Instead, she became a member of their vanguard. "Alright. Hand it over." With that, he unfolded the paper. No more then the size of the average journal page, the interior was marred with a crude drawing of a bird. A pungent, tar like substance had been rubbed along its "eyes", creating the impression of a mask. Beneath the avian artistry, written in the same cloying substance, were the words "Woe to the uninvited". Out of the corner of his eye, Uain could see Burroughs emerging from the treeline. From this distance, he seemed far more frenetic than usual. Then he heard the gunshot.
______________________________________________________________________________________
A deafening crack echoes through the Weald. From where Ellie is standing, she can hear a horn go off in the distance.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Jun 30, 2018 19:24:41 GMT -8
Ellie’s head whipped towards the sound of the horn, it was loud, a cry for help maybe? Or perhaps it was bandits needing reinforcements, perhaps a sound to draw monsters even. Whatever it was she was drawn to it, like a moth to a flame, quickly running off towards the sounds origin. Careful not to let anyone or anything surprise her as she left for what she presumed to be disaster in the making.
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Post by relentless on Jul 1, 2018 3:07:48 GMT -8
/Braund/
-The Forest Dwellers Hovel-
Soon a pale white smoke would drift out of the open window, reaching to the bitter leafs and giving them warmth. A bubble, crackle and pop would remain prominent in his kitchen, as he was boiling a variety of vegetables into what seemed like a cauldron he had taken out of a straw basket. He was knelt down, his large, all encompassing form has to be hunched over in order to actually view the contents of the cauldron as he stirred it with a wooden ladel. Braund took a platonic pleasure in simply watching the vegetables and the soup itself swirl, forming a crude whirlpool that had him mesmerized.
On occasion, he broke out of this trance and picked up a mortar and pestle, grinding up small herbs he had picked from the area near his hovel to create some form of additive to the soup, whilst making it look fancy. So he poured it into the soup, and began stirring again, the small bits of herb eventually becoming one with the soup and darkening. The process itself was far from done, as he had to make bread out of a variety of components, most of which required money, which he had now become empty of after buying said ingredients. Then he would have to carve a bit of the deer he shot, cook it then add it to the soup, before reheating it over the fire once he had relit it.
But of course he be interrupted when he's performing a delicate soup procedure, the crack of the shot echoed through his window, making him look up. For now, he simply stared at the window, sighed, and without a word he made to stand and collect his equipment. But after his equipment was on, he made sure to keep the soup warm for as long as possible, by taking the small cooking pot out of the fire from where it hung, putting it on the wooden counter and throwing a thick roll of cloth over it so the heat would keep trapped inside. Then, and only then, would he pull his hood up and keep a hand on his old blade before he exited his hovel, making sure to bind a difficult knot of hardy rope over the doorknob and an encompassing hook on the doorframe to ensure it remained locked.
=======
-Nearing the Guards march-
He kept low to the shadows, despite his large form, sticking to shrubbery and withered trees, he moved with a slow, careful movement until he was at a good vantage point to see whatever was happening. Flicking off his hood as he raised his head a bit, he squinted over to the patrol to see what was happening, whilst his hand fished for a crossbow bolt.
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Post by orwelles on Jul 4, 2018 20:36:06 GMT -8
Uain
“Down!” Uain barked, as Burroughs fell to the ground, screaming and pawing at the bullet in his leg. A thick cloud of smoke emanated from the dusty road ahead. He could see two of the assailants running towards them, olive cloaks wrapped tightly against their bodies. The company took their positions, a trio of halberdiers rushing ahead of the sergeant as the musketeers set up behind him, the two pikemen guarding the rear. As Uain grasped for his flintlock, his mind had begun to assemble the scattered facts of the ambush. The gunman was using a matchlock, inferior to even the most common pistols of today. Were he to attempt another shot, the few minutes of vulnerability would probably kill him. For now, the only potential advantage the enemy had were numbers. Discounting both Burroughs and the recruit, there were only 10 guards on the patrol. He had no way of knowing if there were more marauders in the woods. As the first figure reached Burroughs, a hail of musket balls met its chest. Through the smoke, Uain could see a halberdier turning to the woods. That was when the screaming began.
Frantic, staccato firing ran its way across the left line, adding to the miasma now choking all. With tearing eyes, he dashed towards the musketeers, pistol extended. Before he could restore order, it had knocked him to the ground. The creature was biting at him, trying to reach his throat. Desperately, Uain slammed the butt of the flintlock against its flank, attempting to block his head with the other arm. Heedless, it worried at his arm, teeth scraping against the mail above it. Suddenly, as if sensing some great danger, the beast rose from its intended, and turned to face the onrushing axe head.
With a savage cry, Maria buried the blade in its skull, the force of the blow reverberating through the haft. Dragging the sergeant to his feet, she met his eye, grimly informing him of the losses they had sustained. Two of the halberdiers lay dead, their necks a red ruin. The bodies of their slayers were in a similar state, almost unidentifiable as dogs. Burroughs and one of the pikemen were gone, drag marks as their only remnant. As she grabbed the corpse by its scruff, she felt something firm underneath the fur. There, emblazoned with a small, songbird like etching, was a leather collar.
From his vantage point, Braund can see a shape running deeper into the Weald, to the left of the patrol remnants. A struggling pikeman is on its back, attempting to wrench himself away from whatever is holding him there. They are still in crossbow range, though the foliage would make such an endeavor difficult.
As Ellie makes her way to the source of the blast, she hears a snarl emanate from behind her.
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Post by relentless on Jul 5, 2018 0:22:16 GMT -8
He watched intently, a glare on his face along with a flinch to follow the gunshot. He didn't know these people, neither attacker nor defender, so he had no cause to help them out. However... the lone figure carrying away one of the wounded guards seemed to strike out to him, the lining of trees making it partially more difficult for him to shoot, but not impossible. The proper lining up of the angle and trajectory could make the shot to is target, perhaps fatally.
To better his chances, the large man stuck to his crouched position at the moment, moving to one side of the convoy where the target would be more to his right side, making the area to target him easier, if the bolt flew right.
Finally, would the man stand up from the bush, his position now revealed before he sent a bolt slightly ahead of his moving target, aiming for his hip.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Jul 5, 2018 16:54:21 GMT -8
She could’ve kept running, put on a burst of speed and snake her way through the trees to try and avoid whatever creature was daring to chase her. But that would’ve been stupid, it would just follow and end up in the same area of the fight going on. So she did the next best thing, veering right she rounded herself around a tree, to where she could turn around and see the beast while keeping enough momentum to dodge if it followed her. Whatever it was there was no doubt it thought itself big and strong enough to end her life, a mistake she hoped it would regret.
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Post by orwelles on Jul 5, 2018 18:44:03 GMT -8
Braund:
The bolt flies true, striking the would-be abductor square in the hip. Letting off a piercing shriek, it rears up, dropping the pikeman to the ground, then drops down to all fours. Dragging the bolt across the ground, it begins to run deeper into the forest. At this, the survivors of the ambush turn. Four make their way towards the wounded marauder, while the remaining three cautiously approach Braund's position, with the sergeant at the head.
Elllie:
As Ellie rounds the tree, she is met with the sight of five dogs, roughly the size of a mastiff. Two of them have leather collars around their necks, with iron studs lining the front. Thick white foam is dripping from their mouths. Behind them stands a figure in an olive cloak, hood drawn down to conceal its face. In one hand, it holds a boar spear. The smell of blood and cherries engulfs the area.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Jul 5, 2018 19:36:57 GMT -8
Shit...out of all the things Ellie thought it could be she did not expect a master with its 5 dogs of hell. If it was just the rabids she would have an easy time, she would kill them one by one while only sustaining enough scratches for a bandaid. But now there was the master, a spear user perfect to keep her at bay. Easy thing to do would be kill the dogs but as long as the master was alive they would be trickier to deal with given they had a direction and plan.
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The one’s with the collars would be tough, most boosted by the master, kill off the weaker links and you’ll live much longer Ellie. Do not attack first, let them come to you... no matter how much you want to dive right into battle, to test yourself out. It just isn’t the right time for a fullscale assault.
Her thoughts were plagued by advice, little things to not die and remind herself of. She pictures Francis, even a Duval giving her these tips, to fuel her fire. Growling she slowly backed up, making it clear she did not want a real fight. Hoping that this hooded figure wouldn’t just kill her for the sake of killing her.
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Post by orwelles on Jul 6, 2018 15:09:49 GMT -8
As Ellie sets one leg behind her, a set of metal jaws closes around it. Upon witnessing this, the dogs lose what little composure they have left, and the three uncollared hounds begin to run towards her, loudly baying. Behind them, their owner begins to slowly walk towards Ellie, dragging the spear across the ground. The two collared gnashers silently pad into the darkened areas surrounding the tree, one in each direction.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Jul 6, 2018 15:57:29 GMT -8
Ellie felt the sudden pain, then the rush of adrenaline as an anger speed through her as the animal side came out to play. She roared, now pinned with a loss of mobility, every movement hurt and blood seeped from the wound. Waiting for the dogs to get close enough Ellie reared her front right paw up before slicing it across horizontally, aiming for a 3 dog take down as she made to do a large and powerful swing. The other two though would be a major concern, Ellie was in fight for her life mode at the moment so she didn’t realize these 3 could easily be fodder and the other 3 enemies would tag team her down. It was most surprising how slow the hunter seemed to be, she knew she was waiting but all 6 could’ve easily attacked and killed her quickly.
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Post by orwelles on Jul 6, 2018 17:24:38 GMT -8
Arcing across the darkened copse, the paw raked its way towards the onrushing pack, impacting squarely with the rightmost dog’s jaw, rending it and the rest of the head. Having slowed slightly, the rest of the blow only managed to mar the rest of the pack, coating them in their dead brethren’s blood. The hunter paused, gazing at the faceless vestige of a hunting hound. A low clicking noise emanated from within the cloak. That’s when Ellie felt the pain. One of the collared hounds was tearing at her right leg. From behind her, she heard a familiar snarl. Then the second was on her back.
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Post by The Carrying Blade on Jul 6, 2018 17:49:37 GMT -8
She knew it, well, no she didn’t, she had a feeling the three were only fodder but now it was clear who the real threats were. She roared again, quieter this time, a more pained scream if anything else. She had to move quick, else she would die to being mauled from everywhere. The one on her back would be the biggest problem, it had the best choices of attacking her, and she had an idea. They were still right beside the tree, it was on her right, and the best thing to do here would be the body slam the mutt on her back right into the tree.
While having two legs pinned it still wouldn’t be hard to do, so with a compression of her body downward she launched herself upward and sideways into the tree, aiming to kill the mutt. Then the leg with the other dog on it, after launching herself into the air she used this momentum to kick her leg upward towards her jaws, to where she would try and bite down onto the creature. Hoping to kill the experienced ones first while the other two might get scared, turn tail, and run.
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