“A Hearts Bond” | Braund, Angelica, (unknowncrusader), Alan

[relentless]

Hello everyone.

I will be taking control of this expedition until further notice.

If you have any questions please refer to my Discord, but if not...

Let the heart beat once again.

===

Harrowed whispers of a cold, awful nights breeze tingled through the branches, along with a partial scent of death looming from behind where they had previously butchered a group of brigands, bloodied, and left in the mud to rot... or be gnawed on by rabid hounds that come and go through the brush of the Weald. At the moment, the torches light lit up the wagon from afar, though its flickering and partial fading caused piano black shadows to fornicate around them, excited with the coming of darkness.

The wagon remained as it was, rotting and half broken, with a wagon wheel spun off to the side and the left side of the wooden railing upon the back broken off; where its contents had been spilled upon being stopped. The barrel placed and armed by Braund lay directly infront of the wagon, as the heroes faced the back of it, sitting below the part that horses would be tied to in order to get the wagon to move efficiently. A corpse of an old man, lay slumped upon the seated part of the wagon, a barrage of iron had collided with his back and neck, killing him instantly with blood draining from the many holes that had been put within him.

A sack of spilled grain, with a musket sized hole accompanying the middle of its tough fabric lay inside the wagon, along with a toppled over chest which spilled a variety of scrolls, writing ink and other items used alongside a scholar.

==

The gruff, middle aged man, clad in a set of studded leather armour, with various paddings of gamberson and chainmail slugged forward. The bandaged wound he had suffered from one of the brigands bled quietly, oozing a crimson liquid that soaked up on the bandage, stinging painfully. Thankfully, the bullet went through through, though the bones in that hand were surely broken. That hand lay motionless by his side, whilst the other gripped his axe loosely.

"Come o-ow-n. Can't be arsed staying out 'ere... fresh pickin's.. mgh."
Alan grumbled in a pained manner as he trucked on ahead of the group, peering around at the wagon, his eyes mainly focused on the corpse at hand. A slight bitterness fell over him, the brigands that had previously attacked them were clearly responsible... though Alan still maintained an aura of paranoia around him, feeling his skin prickle as he was watched... yet he didn't know whether it was his friends... or the enemy.

"..Take a look 'round... watch thos-those darn feckin' bushes."
The man advised as he readjusted his grip on his axe as his footing carefully slowed down, bending his back and oging into a semi crouched walk, maintaining some concealment.

===

Slowly. Gently. The cultist breathed, in, and out. Cold, methodical breathing passed through that thin slit through his barbuta, his hands gently tapping against the wooden underside of his rifle. Motionless, and cold eyes steeled themselves as his meal, his offering to the Heart entered his line of sight. A rough mercenary, an attractive highwayman and a noble knight. But that won't matter when he returns them to the mud, like all humans will... eventually.

But he wouldn't go down in the mud. Not like the other cultists. He would claim his reward from the Heart, at any expense.

Naturally, he crouched down, submerging himself behind the tree with his barrel lined over the explosive gunpowder keg, filled with musket balls. Time was of the essence... yet through the subtle night, he could hear the humble murmuring of a duo approaching.

Another one for the taking.

[rumsztyk]

'The darn feckin' bushes' were watched thoroughly by Angelica, who nonetheless approached the wagon from behind - completely oblivious to the laid trap and unaware of the danger, as in her pride she assumed the bandits either fled, or are dead.

"What do we have here... some scholar's livelihood." She winced a little. "Bit too heavy for now, but on our way out... perhaps."

[🐴Can🗡️]

Evelyn, keeping her eyes on the sides of the road where the woods lay, followed Alan from behind with Angelica watching the rear; she had left the tracking work to the others, as usual. Upon seeing the broken and abandoned wagon with the smell of death and sulphur, her attention was turned towards it; and she slowly drew her sword again and mimicked Alan in the way he lowered himself into a crouched stance. She peeked inside as well after Alan did and saw the dead body inside, along with musket ball marks around the place. More innocent killings. She thought, but even then, she couldn't know if the man was actually innocent or not, nor did it matter for her at that moment as something in her sparked and disturbed her.

Not finding anything useful in the wagon for herself, she left the looting to her teammates if they wanted to do it and decided to keep watch and take a look around the wagon until they were done.

[relentless]

A momentary silence seemed to overcome them all, with crows wafting in the air and scent of a bog drifting about... it seemed almost peaceful, despite the grim circumstances. Near the wagon there would be a spilled array of melee weaponry; mainly swords, though there were some maces and axes in there... yet useless due to the metal rusting in the mud.
==
He sat there, crouched, with the barrel of the rifle poking through the bush, the muzzle glinting overhead near the barrel. A long, drawn out breath permitted through the slit in his barbuta, followed by a dreary blink of his eyes. The sabatons of the crusader that walked past were visible to him, walking toward the barrel.

The time was now. To strike. To obliterate.

Crack!

The whistle of musketfire sounded off for about a mile, a harsh blow of smoke blew out, though it could easily be mistaken as mist to someone who hadn't seen a lot of firearms. Braunds aim was steady... but sadly... the musket wasn't. It clearly wasn't of the best make, and muskets in themselves were unreliable. As such, the musket ball would not hit the center of the barrel, itching past the wood and causing a blast of splinters to occur as the musket soared past the party.

A grunt, followed by a muttering of incoherant swearing whispered from Braunds helm as he dropped the musket, picking up the next musket and beginning to cock the hammer back.
==
The sudden blast of gunfire richocheted in Alan's ears, causing him to hide behind the front, right side of the wagon, crouched down to the ground with his axe hoisted up and gaze wide.
"Get down! Bugga's ain't done with us yet!"
Alan growled beneath his tone, though the aggression was merely a mask of fear as he quivered beside the wagon. Thankfully, he was on the other side where Braund couldn't tag him... though in such close proximity of the wagon, death was indeed certain.
==
The two cultist crusaders hurried along as the heard the crack of gunfire blitz out, maintaining a crouched position as they neared the road. They would peek out from a corner where the road split, seeing the party from afar, cowering behind a wagon.

"So?! What's the plan?"
One of the cultist crusaders asked, wielding a flintlock in one hand, and an arming sword in the other.

"Move slow... you go on that side, I'll go on the other."
The other said, slightly larger, wielding a battle axe as he main form of weaponry. Their armour was... well, nonexistent really. All they had were greaves, and a skull shaked helmet made out of pig iron. The weapons themselves were scavenged from dead adventurers and brigands.

[rumsztyk]

Angelica ducked as soon as she heard the crack of gunpowder. Sticking close to the closest cover - the derelict wagon - she positioned herself close to the edge, guns at the ready. She knew roughly the time to reload a musket, so using the opportunity she peeked from the corner, lining up the shot at the center of the mist that was rising from the treeline - far fetched but worth a shot. Literally.

[🐴Can🗡️]

Evelyn was keeping watch and looking around as she was slowly moving toward the front side of the wagon, when suddenly, a crack of a musket, the whizz of a musket shot and a puff of smoke from the woods interrupted her. And from the look of it, she was right in the open for the shooter, too. She was lucky that the shot hit the carriage, or so she assumed, and not her.

She hated guns. She hated all manner of ranged weapons. Never was there a sense of security or a honorable battle, all thanks to them.

As soon as the gun was fired, Evelyn rushed without breaking the crouched stance she was in towards the other side of the wagon, passing by the front side of it, and past Alan to take cover next to him. She feared that in their current position their lower legs could be shot, but they didn't have much choice at that moment. Risking moving to another cover might mean getting shot in a much more vital part of their body than their legs.

There was nothing to do but pray for their safety. And so she prayed, and a faint glow started coming off her armor in the form of inscriptions, apparently blocked a little by the dust and, in some areas, the mud on it.

[relentless]

Angelica's bullet would ring true, spliting through various fauna and decrepit plants, until it would snap at Braund's pauldron. It connected hard, giving him quite a fright, causing a ring of brass to sound out from the woods. A spark or so would erupt, though Braund was relatively unharmed, sadly. He shook his helm and rolled his shoulder, realising he was in bit of a pickle. He took another deep breath, and stood, revealing his position to the heroes. The cultist, armed with a musket, breathed slow until he was all but silent, and took another shot at the barrel.

The shot, a loud bang of the musket, followed by a waft of smoke to fill the air. Tension, and a breathtaking moment of awe overcame Braund as the musketball pierced through the rotting oak barrel.

Only for a hailstorm of hellfire to erupt from the blackpowder keg. A ear shattering blast, enough to make an individuals ear's bleed, would fill the surrounding area. Braund would have a bit of sharpnel slice across his left hip, making him buckle and fall back down, dropping his musket and reaching for his blade. It would be time to reap the rewards, for the heart, and claim his due.

--
Alan recoiled from the explosive, since he was quite close to the barrel itself, and due to the sheer intensity of the blast, Alan was sent sprawling across the path and collided against his tree on his side. Several cracks of bone could be felt in his body, and some sharpnel had sunk into his flesh, tearing him apart. He was blasted into a near unconscious state, his wounds mounting and a ringing sensation in his ears. The toils of an inevitable bell, calling to him from a distance, the sound of a door handle being pulled and turned. Death was near, oh so near... but he was patient. Alan may open the door, but that was for fate to decide.]
--
The two cultist crusaders who previously were encroaching on their position, would be sent sprawling to the ground as the explosion of the wagon erupted. Parts of wood would be sent their way, hitting his friend in the chest with a blunt piece whilst the leader remained unharmed.

"Bloody hell. Right, looks like he doesn't need our help."
The cultist crusader concluded as he jogged toward his friend across the road, and began to help the block of wood off of his chest.
--

[rumsztyk]

Even if Angelica could scream, she wouldn't; so shocked by the sudden blast, she could only think about her stupidity and lack of perception.

As she was flying in the air, knocked back by the blast wave, bits of wood and metal ripping through her cloak and into the flesh, she could only blame herself.

And then she lost consciousness, hitting against the ground - hard.

And her guns, her only love in this world, her magnum opus, were still in her hands. Angelica clutched to them more than she did to her rapidly escaping life.

[🐴Can🗡️]

Evelyn had expected to be shot in the legs by one of the wicked muskeeters in the woods, but an explosion? And right from under the wagon? She wasn't that paranoid.

The blast being too close to her for her own good, and a huge chunk of wood hitting her right in her back with a huge thunk, plus sudden stinging sensations in various parts of her body made her hit the dirt hard, face first.

At first only clawing the ground to pull herself forward in shock, Evelyn slowly started pushing herself up as she regained her senses. Once back on her feet, she looked around erratically, spying the now destroyed wagon, her wounded teammates and a figure bending down at where the smoke had come from. She had to be quick. She had to move her allies to cover, followed by herself, then quickly perform first aid.

And so the now dirty crusader sheathed her sword and rushed as fast as she can toward her companions. Her back hurt but she didn't pay any heed to it. She would carefully drag Alan to the other side of his tree and place him in a slumped position with his back on it. She would do the same thing for Angelica but with more dragging and to another tree due to her not being as close to a tree as Alan and there being not enough space for two people at Alan's tree, respectively.

[relentless]

His fingers gripped round the tough, layered yet crude fabric of the grip, a harsh rough sound similar to scratching your nails across raw leather occurred from how tight he was gripping it. Braund stood slowly, rolling his neck and running his finger across the wound.

Blood. His own, warm and pure unlike those he was about to slay.

He started off with a slow walk, trailing his executioners sword through the dirt and leafs, a subtle grinding sound could be heard by the crusader as the blade snapped against small stones across the surface of the weald.

His quarry would be in sight, and so would he, clad in brass pauldrons and helm, along with his immense height making him easy to see as he approached without care. It was menacing, in a sense, watching her challenger approach, with clear intent for murder following in his wake.

==
The explosion had caused the cart to be completely torn apart, the scrolls were ripped to shreds and the writing ink set aflame on various bits of wood, making the scene almost dramatic. The smoke wafted in the air as the wooden debris caught fire, illuminating the path, the crusader and her friends.

Along with the individual responsible for such decimation.

The bitterness of the surrounding darkness seemed to have abated as the fires of the wagon blew gently in the breeze. That soft scent of sulphur flowing calmly in the breeze and through the crusaders visor.
==
Alan and Angelica would be dragged like a toy behind the tree, safe from view, yet it wouldn't take long for Braund to uncover them if the crusader were unable to fend him off, or if she ran.

[🐴Can🗡️]

Evelyn was searching for her wooden flask and bandages in a crouched posture behind Angelica's tree when she started hearing the trailing of a heavy blade across the flora. Closing her satchel, she quickly took a peek from behind the tree and she saw a towering figure wearing spiked brass armor except for his chest, which screamed 'weak point' to Evelyn's fighter mind.

So, her adversary wasn't a mere bandit, it was something else entirely. He had scars like her own, but this brought forth no empathy in Evelyn's heart, not after this sorry excuse of a warrior had pulled off such a dirty trick on them. When she found out that she felt anger and hatred growing inside her the more she looked at this figure, she knew that she had to keep her emotions in check at least for a few seconds and pray for her victory. And so she did, dropping on her knees and clasping her hands together for a short prayer.

Her hands had started to hurt from pressure as her prayer came to an end, and she stood up slowly, unsheathing her sword and looking directly at where Braund's eyes were supposed to be. The gentle breeze made her torn green cape that was now also laden with holes flow gently in the wind as she slowly approached the clearing and held her bastard sword with both hands in an en garde position, ready to strike her foe down with hatred as soon as he declared that he was ready, in one way or another.

[relentless]

The crunch of leafs, blackened by sulphur and fire, the amber glow of the ignited writing ink that was splattered against fragments of the wagon shivered through the darkness, revealing Braund in all his cultist glory. A towering, fearsome, and imposing individual of blackened soul and branded flesh. Stitches of life ending wounds indicated that this man, this thing, should've died long ago. But something keeps him alive, something pushes this man, a hidden truth that he wants to rip out and gouge with his thumbs.

All of his answers lay within their beating hearts, every sacrifice he gathers, every beat of a stolen heart within his palm brings him one step closer to such indisputable and malevolent knowledge. Perhaps it would save him, make him ascend to something above the human race. Something above 'God'. Or perhaps he would be reborn anew, a different life, to spare him from this travesty. The latter was an desperate itch of his remaining humanity, one that was ripped out unwillingly by madness. His black, black heart... marred with such taint. Could he even be saved?

It mattered not, this lapse of civil thought. He was a warrior, a cultist champion, and he would act as one.

A heavy, single crunch of paper under brass plated heel could be heard as he finally emerged onto the old path. He stood across from Evelyn, four meters away from the obliterated wagon that now allowed them both to meet eye to eye. He breathed slow, a faint rasp of air echoing through the crackling of the fire, taking a moment to analyse his prey. He could smell it, the fear that brewed in her soul underneath all that steel. Despite her plate armour, her mind was weakest, it was fragile. Yet, crusaders are crusaders. They fight, and die for such an untrue cause. The light he saw? It was not from the flame, it was from the truth. The heart he ripped out of anyone he could find, time and time again.

In a way, he could respect the warrior. How she did not flee like most others would. A true fighters spirit, something even he could admire despite his forced hatred upon humanity.

Braund took notice of her fighting stance, a mixture of offence and defence. Admirable, however, it would be quite easy to overpower her with the weapon she was using. A longsword, typically not the best in close quarters, whilst Braund could practically use his brass plated hands to bludgeon her helmet.

He would take up a stance known as Nebenhut, where the blade would be positioned around his lower side with his shoulder slightly turned, his left foot positioned forward along with the right foot being placed back. A rough, loud grunt rasped through the helmet as he brought the blade up, aiming for a diagonal left swing toward her blade in order to bat it away with the sheer force of his strength, and if that were successful, he would snap his brass helmet back, then bring it down onto her helmet. If not, he would allow the blade to fall low with one hand, whilst the other attempted a backhand, where his body would pivot and render his torso largely covered by his large, intruding pauldron as he rotated.

[🐴Can🗡️]

Evelyn studied this corrupt warrior's marred body and fighting stance, one fit for offense more than defense. It would explain that his fighting style was most likely martyr-like, reckless aggression with little to no interest in self-preservation. It was in a way respectable, especially seeing how many severe wounds he had survived through in the end. Yet these respectable qualities wouldn't make a justification for the dirty tricks he employed on her and her comrades.

And there he came with his towering body and blade, but she was ready, in both mind and body. She wouldn't worry about anything but doing her best to remove this husk of a man from this world. In the end, the Light itself would guide her blade to his blackened heart, or not; depending on whether he proves himself redeemable in its eyes.

Evelyn was expecting a powerful slash aimed at her body, so she was ready for a backstep, but not ready to pull her weapon back as she was not expecting the attack to be aimed at her blade. When Braund hurled his massive blade towards her sword, Evelyn quickly took a backstep, lowering her sword and pulling it back reflexively, yet it was not enough to remove the sword completely out of the cultist's blade's trajectory as it scraped across the bastard sword, pushing it slightly to the right of the crusader. It was fairly quickly followed up by a backhand however, not providing any time to rest for the crusader. Not expecting an unarmed strike, again, all that Evelyn could rely on was her reflexes, agility, and faith. Tilting her head to the left to avoid the sudden blow, aided by the short amount of distance that she put in between them with her backstep, the brass plated backhand gives a hard scrape to the upper right side of her helmet, yet for some reason the hand seems to be slightly thrown off course as if it slid on the helmet's surface despite the high amount of friction one would think they would generate. After the blow, Evelyn seems to stumble away for a second before she regains her composure and with her bastard sword that rested close to the ground by her side with the point already looking towards Braund, goes for a quick and short upwards thrusting slash that is aimed at Braund's exposed side abdomen. Whether it succeeded or failed, Evelyn would attempt to backstep away as quickly as possible after the strike to maintain the distance between them.

Among all these vigorous motions of battle, Braund, if he was careful, would be able to see a small trickle of blood coming down from under the crusader's right couter, but she didn't seem to be affected by the pain, or perhaps through some form of sheer willpower she was simply ignoring it.

[relentless]

Steel would sing across Braunds exposed abdomen with light grace, a long, thin cut would form horizontally across his flesh, remaining crooked and slightly off center. For the average man, the cut would've made them hiss and back away. But for Braund, it only added to his skin-formed canvas of sacrificial murder with 'red paint' trickling out of the wound to create a mild shade.

In reply to the cut, he gave out a briefly irritated huff through the vertical visor slit of his barbute, boring into the warrior with eyes shrouded by that of deceitful shadow and unnatural darkness that was held within the interior of the helm.

Although he couldn't get a grip on her retreating form, he threw the hand that retracted from the backhand and gripped onto the middle section of the blade with a vice grip. With discernible effort, he managed to rattle the crusader closer to him, with her blade being drawn to his left side. The tug would close the distance greatly, Braund and the Crusader now squaring up against each other. He glowered down at her with harsh breathing, the darkness mixing with his barbute as he judged her.

Zealous faith. A ward for a religion she had been fooled into. Yet she fought with vigor, courage and silent fury.

"Your flock are like the rest of the mindless herd..."
Braund hissed as he paused, pushing her off with alarming force to sever the distance, though with her armor she surely wouldn't fall. Placed at about two meters apart again, he circled around a burning fragment of the wagon standing straight with his main sacrificial tool glinting in the patchy fire that engulfed pieces of the wagon around them.
"But not... you."
Braund snapped off the finish of the sentence like a twig between his teeth, readjusting his grip upon his own headtaker. He paused briefly, looking down toward her wounded comrades, before glaring back up at the crusader.

"You actually fight back for the malformed filth you truly are."
Braund added with a low rasp of humor to escape the clutches of the helm, taking a step toward her as he put both hands on his blade and assumed the same posture.
"... Mind that won't stop me from breaking your back."

[🐴Can🗡️]

Braund's unflinching poise catches Evelyn's attention as her blade finds its mark in the flesh of the cultist without much effect on him and she steps away.

The crusader was quite strong for her size, but surely Braund with his hulking figure was stronger than her in raw strength. She struggled valiantly to free her blade from the cultist's grasp, and the blade did budge, but the force was not enough to pull it away from him; creating a tug of war in which she was losing.

With this close to the pile of corrupted flesh that may or may not be calling himself a man, she could feel a ringing in her head that resembled the one she had felt when handling that kid, yet this time it was somewhat weaker. Still, it didn't stop her from feeling a hatred coming from deep within, a true resentment that she could not stop from reflecting on her features behind the visor of her helmet. The added insult towards her being didn't help at all, and she could feel a rage growing inside her. One that was getting harder to control with every second that passed with her eyes locked onto Braund's... or where they were supposed to be.

When the crusader's rage reached its limit, she let go of her clenched teeth and started charging towards Braund with sword gripped tight in both hands and held close to her torso with its tip looking towards the sky. Her charge was accompanied by a comparatively quiet battlecry and something unintelligible that was muttered under her breath in a way like a second nature. Right after this utterance, a sudden yet dim flash of light would streak out from the wound inflicted upon Braund by the crusader, causing a surge of pain at the location of the wound that seemed to be originating from the very essence of Eldritch that was inside him. It was different from the mortal pain that he had surely gotten used to, yet the human parts of his soul weren't affected, limiting the severity of this pain to how demonic he had truly become.

After her utterance and just as the surge of pain and light in Braund's wound ends, the crusader swings her sword horizontally from the left at Braund's chest, and if it was successful she would follow up with another slash at his abdomen, this time diagonal with a curve, starting from the bottom right and ending at her left, intended to cut through Braund's flesh and innards as it moved in its trajectory. At the moment in which any of her attacks was blocked or her second attack finished, the crusader would attempt to pull back her sword and then quickly stab Braund's torso in an upwards thrust with it with the intention of impaling him on her blade and pushing him backwards with it in a growing berserker-like rage state. Braund would surely notice that while she was holding back in favor of defense before, she wasn't now.