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

[relentless]

The warrior in steel, shining bright with runes of the false God, charging at him after disengaging from his grasp. What a curious being, so driven by valor, honor and zealous fervor.

But he felt a small, dark tingle as he held onto that blade, as he felt her breath linger through the visor and onto the cold brass of his barbuta. He could smell it, something strange, unusual... but intriguing none-the-less. Yet he assumed it was a fleeting suspicious in the moment.

A sensation of an eldritch inhabitant had washed through his soul, the chittering unknown that had him in its jaws already. Such bliss for something he doubted resided in the crusader even still.

Though the blissful moment wouldn't last long as he felt his wound rupture with magic from a false call, the call from a heavenly whore that threw salt into his wound, so to speak. It shined faintly along the outskirt of the wound, fluctuating and glowing, sizzling and cauterizing the flesh as if he were being branded. His guard fell as he gripped his gut and teeth, breathing harshly through his mouth.
"Insigni-!"
His words were cut off as the first blow cut smoothly across his chest with utter finesse, carving his chest out with a long, ragged wound that would maim the normal man. Steel sung through the flesh like fingers passing down the gut strings of a harp until it finished off under the mans right pectoral muscle. The mans guard raised in response, muscle memory if thats what you call it, backstepping slightly.

But his guard was dropped so suddenly, as if he had no care for being cut down, to be struck down by something he utterly despised. For him, the answer was clear to him and nobody else, not even his own cultist kin.

Death was not the end for him, this he knew. Even in religious or perhaps literal sense, he would be brought back anew. Reborn, reincarnated... made whole with the Heart.

"-W e a k."
Braund spat so venomously before her second attack could wind up, stepping forward without care into the attack. But suddenly, with one hand upon his executioners sword, he was still able to utilize his sword in combat! With an unknown drive of strength, he brought the blade diagonally from the lower right, his unholy fury striking the blade with a solid smack. Together their blades clashed mid strike, the crusaders blade being driven away as Braunds clashed against the mid section of the blade. A display of metal flakes came off both of the blades, along with a splatter of sparks to erupt from the connection point.

The crusaders sword, as if bad luck seemed to have its due, cracked harshly across the middle of the blade, jagged and spreading in multiple directions across the smooth, carved lake of steel. The follow up stab that the crusader performed would be met with even more defence. The blade darted at him like a bullet, but Braund had his wits from his past life and the present. A monster with leather gloves and the tools of the trade to properly enforce his monstrous intent.

With sluggish sidestep to the right, he successfully allowed the woman to overextend herself, allowing the blade to extend out as if positioned upon a chopping block. Readying his 'kitchen knife', he gripped his own unholy blade with both hands, raising the blade up into the air ready to dice the produce.

"Foolish lamb!"
Braund growled as he brought the blade down with such malice, such terrible strength. His own blade would smack soundly into the other blade, bashing it into the ground and out of her grip, yet the damage of the blade hadn't grown in severity, the steel remaining strong. Hunched over, he looked over to the woman and chittered his teeth, the same deathly cold that surrounded him began to fill the air again, the fires around the flickering.

"You're nothing!"
Braund barked loud as he brought the blade around from the ground, and swung it directly toward the crusaders head with the blunt side of his large sword positioned to slam into the side of her steel helm.

[🐴Can🗡️]

The crusader hunched as her vigorous effort at a stab missed its mark and the cultist brought his blade down at her sword, she almost fell to the ground together with her blade, but her strong legs kept her standing. However, right at that moment when Braund brought the broad side of his blade towards her, the only thing she could do to defend herself was to bring her gauntleted arms between the blade and her helmet. The strike was solid, bashing both her clenched hands towards her helmet and connecting with it nonetheless, knocking the crusader off her feet, at which point she clumsily rolled backwards to maintain at least a crouched position.

As the crusader was standing up, the expressionless visored helmet belied the raging, scowling face inside. While the light on the glyphs of her armor faded due to the aggressive thoughts in her mind, something in her seemed to be growing in strength, trying to infuse her with its power. But she was resisting, even though it would have been helpful to her cause, she was resisting.

Shaking her hands and her head, the crusader looked Braund in the eye once more. She seemed to be itching, slightly shaking, she was having a hard time to concentrate. A desire to strike him down, even if she had no weapon, a desire to kill him with the perfect amount of gore, not too much, not too little. Wait, how had she become so bloodthirsty? That just wasn't right.

The crusader was about to take a deep breath and try to stabilize her thoughts, hoping to calm herself down and focus. But there was simply no time to recover her mind after she had already spent the time on recovering her body.

[relentless]

She still stood. Defiant till the end, apparently. Despite her race being composed of moral driven weaklings, she raised herself, where the blow from his sword usually gave most men a concussion, or killed them.

A worthy adversary... but that smell was, familiar. It reeked, stinking much more prominently as if someone were peeling garlic cloves. Yet it was the smelled the same as him, deep down, he knew.

She was touched, cursed even by the false ones. The so called brethren he had been mistaken affiliated toward time and time again, he could practically taste the eldritch essence lingering upon his tongue, sipping through the slit of his barbute. His fist quaked, a crack of bone sounding off as he sniffed again, a low growl slipping through his voice. It would only take a few seconds before the mans veins began to change colour, going from a murky blue to a dark, tar-like black. It seeped all the way down, across his left arm, before disappearing under his palm.

"... LIAR!"
Braund roared with sudden, malicious venom. His voice boomed through the woods, almost having the same intensity of volume as the explosion. Something had changed, the lines of the mans tone were more booming than before, where they had been a low gravel... something tainted slipped down his tongue like a slide. Right after the mans accusation, a thin wisp of crimson red and shadowy black smoked from his palm, flowing into the wind as a bitter bite to the air began to settle in.

The fires around them, they began to weep and flicker, their light becoming a forgotten memory soon enough. Darkness loomed, but the wisps of eldritch fog were still visible.

Braund took no chances, his steps were sudden and fast, almost unnaturally fast for someone his size and for the size of his pauldrons. He met with the Crusader halfway, his left arm arching back with his palm open. An ethereal, sporadic and clearly unnatural orb of eldritch energy began to fornicate in the cusp of his hand, the wisps growing more violent where the orb looked like it was about to implode. A light red glow emaniated from the orb, creating a glow to radiate off the mans grating brass helm.

"Feast."
Braund whispered, his open palm throwing itself at the crusaders helm. The orb upon connection with mild steel helm 'popped', a loud hiss and ethereal howl followed as the wisps of eldritch taint began to course all over her armour, seeping through the cracks. His strength was enough to force her onto one knee from the sudden connection of strength.

For the crusader,  it would feel as if she were being choked, perhaps even drowning. Blurred vision, ringing ears and a dull mind began calling for a state of unconsciousness, whispers of deceit and the sound of sizzling flesh could be heard in the girls mind.

"-Your friends will serve me will."
Braund said with a partial mocking tone, his hold firm and strong as the eldritch forces began overwhelming the girl.
"You will not."
Braund ended off, pushing the girls head down suddenly and backing away as he watched the girl suffer, until she passed out that is.

[🐴Can🗡️]

The crusader wasn't ready for another attack, despite the 'man' announcing his attack with an inhuman shout. Nevertheless, by sheer instinct, the crusader did try to dodge out of the way of his hand, but such an unexpected speed from Braund when her mind was just cluttered by some mysterious bloodthirst made such an attempt virtually futile. The added headache that started with the blow and grew in intensity as Braund let the dark energies surge in him didn't help either.

The dark orb on the cultist's palm connected with a slightly bent down helmet, forcing the crusader down with her head in an uncomfortable position. That wasn't all however, as her headache grew to unbearable severity and made it difficult for her to breathe. It was a nightmare, a nightmare that she felt she was used to. A nightmare that she had to bear through every single day. But this time it was double the strength.

"Rrrggh... No... Noooo... NOOO! I must... I MUST!" The crusader spoke for the first time in front of Braund, albeit difficultly and unintelligibly. Though she was in no state to even hear what Braund was saying, as his words were all but washed out by her inner conflict, limiting her speech to a mere monologue.

A short time after Braund left her lying on the ground, the crusader's semi-silent murmurs and wailing get a sudden increase in volume to the point that they become awful cries of pain coupled with her clawing the ground with metal-clad fingers. About 10 seconds of this, and the cries turn into an almost inhuman shriek that gradually lowers in volume until silence ensues in the area. However, right when one might assume that the crusader had passed out, her body starts moving. Without making a sound, the crusader slowly gets up to an almost crouched position, facing Braund, her body shaking as the eldritch corruption still coursing through her body.

"I suppose you are the one to thank... for... this." She speaks slowly and difficultly, her voice stricken with venom coming from deep within. "Now... Would you mind bearing the honor of being my first kill after all this time, demi-mortal?!" She continues, but the last part doesn't seem to come from her, it seems to resonate inside Braund's mind in a surprisingly smooth yet intimidating demonic voice. And right after that, the crusader takes a step forward as her body tries to simultaneously stand up fully, but instead it stumbles back down and she falls to the ground with a thunk.

"Curse you, mortal..." She says with unimaginable hatred directed not at Braund but at someone else, her voice trailing off as her body refuses to move any further.

[relentless]

Braund heaved, heavy and hard, hand reaching up to his chest as he felt his chest heave and ho from sudden exhaustion. It had been a while since the eldritch forces that had strengthened him properly stirred. It almost frightened him, almost.

Shaking his head, the lone cultist champion picked up his sword, pulling it up so it stood upright before he kicked at the base once again, the sword being sent upward whilst still in his grip before landing squarely on his pauldron, a loud clank of metal occuring upon impact. Next the killer would turn around to face the crusader as she talked in such a peculiar, yet still defiant manner.
"Alas... your faith has grown more ignorant. Weaker.."
Braund rambled on as he took the first and second step toward the crusader, walking back to her slowly, looking down at her with judgement.
"I find you... boring."
Braund taunted as he stood by her side, standing above her, towering and blocking out any light that had come to be shining upon her. A shadowing mass of muscle, scarred to death in a literal manner.

"But... your friends won't be."
Braund hummed, dragging on the words slow, like water dripping out of a tap as he stared down at her with his sword lowering itself to his side in one hand, hand tightening upon the grip.
"-They'll entertain me."

And with that, Braund took his sword and jabbed it with moderate force to her helmet. The blow would connect soundly, obviously given her inability to defend herself, jarring enough to dazzle her mind even more and most likely sending her to the floor.

[🐴Can🗡️]

Being unconscious herself, and her body in too much pain to be even moved slightly by the eldritch being that resided within her, the crusader was lying on the ground, completely defenseless and unaware of her surroundings. She took the blow to the head without any resistance; a pained, almost inaudible grunt coming from her as a response as her body jerks slightly with the force of the blow.

[relentless]

Braund merely stared as she keeled over quietly, the eyes that remained shadowed by the interior of his brass helmet stared down at her limp form for a few seconds. The wallowing wisps of the dark air carried on, and the fire had finally faded except for the torch that had been dropped by the party, the flame burning quietly, even still. A relaxed, almost a peaceful sigh slipped through the mans helm, quiet and cold with the mans death-ridden breath visible in the cold air. The battle had been won, but the monster of a man still had chores to do. Hobbies some of them, though most appeared as strenuous labor.

"Sleep well, sheep."
Braund hushed in a dark, sympathetic tone of voice, turning toward the corpses she had tried to hide from him. Raising his sword, he lopped it down in the dirt, and moved toward where she had hidden their shells. The bodies weren't that much concern for him, but what was held within. A pink liver, long winding ribbons and a still heart. But like he always had, he'll make sure to make every part count.

First there was Angelica, the gunslinger, fallen by the same material she used to strike with using her thunder cannons. A dangerous foe, but thankfully felled with ease. Then there was the other, an elderly individual from which life had quickly seeped from him after being laid down. The shock must've been too much, then again he was the weakest of them all. An old sheep.

He knelt next to the female, left hand tracing down the womans shoulder to her hip, taking it slow.
"..You'll do."
Braund whispered, looking to Alan and his limp corpse.
"Both of you will."
Braund hummed, turning to the dead female and hooking his arm under her waist and lobbing her over his left shoulder, Angelica lolling over his pauldron and dangling loosely, standing up with a grunt and kneeling down next to Alan, the same hand slowly reaching under the mans waist, going slow so the corpse upon his shoulder didn't fall off. Eventually, after a minute or so, Braund managed to hook his hand around the mans lower waist, where he began hoisting him up, and practically tossed him atop of Angelia. The man only quaked slightly as the body dropped onto Angelia, clamping his hand ontop of Alan with his arm bracing them in place, as if he were holding a barrel.

For a brief moment, Braund took a look around the area. The quiet was coming in once again, these mercenaries who disturbed the eldritch silence had been defeated, by him.

Turning to where he came, the man took steps toward his sword, pulling it out of ground with a harsh tug. Dirt stuck to the blade, surprised that was all that was on his blade. Either way, he dragged the blade through the ground as he walked away from the scene, an unexpected cheerful but low whistle originating from Braund, whistling a song he knew long ago.

////////////////////////////
=Two hours later=
////////////////////////////

Braund had now vacated the area, his monsterous presence was now gone, but the whisper of the weald remained. The torch was flickering and dying, but dawn would soon rise to brighten the area. The crusader remained still, but soon, she would wake to find her companions gone, and footprints ending off at the brush of the weald once again.

[🐴Can🗡️]

When the crusader finally came to her senses, the first thing she felt was a terrible headache and a weak, aching body. The second thing she felt was an awful flashback to the point her current memory started from. And the third thing she felt was a weak, aching body as she tried to move herself reflexively at the memory. The fourth, and last thing she felt was grief and anger as she saw that both her adversary and her companions were missing. It was at this point that her mind couldn't hold itself together anymore, and...

The crusader's resolve is tested...

Abusive

...And she started hearing whispers... Whispers of long forgotten hatred... Hatred of both demons and people of the cloth alike, somehow mixed into each other. But most importantly, hatred of herself and the henceforth damned cultist known as Braund.

Despite her head weighing her down and her joints shaking, the crusader rushes herself up and runs for her sword. She lunges at it, knocking herself down in the process, but quickly has her sword clutched in a tight grip. She defiantly, albeit slowly, stands up again, breathing heavily through her nostrils. Like a beast woken from slumber, she lets out a genuine roar, a primitive war cry that sounds a bit awkward and hoarse due to her current physical state and mutism.

Breathing heavily again, this time from her mouth, after disturbing the whisper-filled relative silence of the weald; the crusader spots no trail of Braund or the others to follow, and thus sets out for the hamlet, walking haphazardly with her sword still in hand, fuming every once in a while.