Writings of all sorts, by some people who've known each other for too damned long.

    A Land Rife...


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    Post  Gee-off on Sat Mar 30, 2013 1:36 am

    The Northern Kingdoms are bleeding, reeling from war, the land is filled
    with tension after the liberation of Upper Aedirn and the Pontar Valley
    by the Lady Saskia and her volunteer militia. The Nilfgaardian Empire
    has made it move, shortly after the assassination of Demavend of Aedirn
    and the mighty King Foltest of Temaria, the turmoil only aided in
    throwing the Northern Kingdoms into chaos.

    King Henselt of
    Kaedwen moved to take the rich Pontar Valley from, he was repelled by
    the Lady Saskia but he and King Radovid the Stern negotiated
    successfully, to divide the spoils of Temeria between each other,
    settling for splitting the lands of the late Foltest between each

    That is when the Empire strikes.

    With the
    Northern Kingdoms nibbling at each other Nilfgaard struck, moving to
    finally take the Northern Kingdoms. The Lodge of Sorceresses, blamed
    for the Assassin of Kings, repelled from the remaining kingdoms of the
    north had halted the last advance of the Nilfgaardian Empire, who will
    stop them now?
    Razlor Vitollan
    Razlor Vitollan

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    Name: Razlor Vitollan
    Race: Human
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    Post  Razlor Vitollan on Sat Mar 30, 2013 1:36 am


    Last edited by Razlor Vitollan on Sat Mar 30, 2013 2:26 pm; edited 1 time in total

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    Post  Gee-off on Sat Mar 30, 2013 4:37 am

    Vergen was still a wreck, just as when they arrived at the height of the Kaedweni assault. Cedric had followed Iorweth, along with hundreds of other Scoia'tael and turned the tide of the assault upon the dwarf and human settlement.

    The Kaedweni had been defeated, soundly. Lady Saskia had left moments after for Loc Muinne, along with Iorweth and the Scoia'tael were left to help police Vergen.

    Days after, Cedric had learned Iorweth had been injured, rumors were flooding from Loc Muinne, a dragon attack, witcher's slaying peasants, and Lady Saskia was dead. These were only rumors, Desmonde, the leader of the Scoia'tael declared when they went through the rank and file. Iorweth was injured...but not mortally, he would return in due time.

    That had been two months prior and Cedric was now questioning why they yet remained in Vergen. Not -in- Vergen mind you, outside, the Scoia'tael weren't allowed in the city any longer. After the successful repulsion of the Kaedweni and Lady Saskia still missing the lords of Vergen had taken control once more. Expelling the Scoia'tael to an abandoned village just outside the walls of the city.

    There was no love lost between the Scoia'tael and the humans of Vergen.

    "Day ninety-four and still no sign of Iorweth," Cherlean, an eternal grump personified the vigor and passion in the Aen Seidhe, the elves, to regain their lands and freedom from human encroachment. Like many "Squirrels", he wore a leather jacket and cloak, in earth tones, his equipment the same matte color. Plain and serviceable. The only decorations his armament bore was a band of soiled crests removed from enemies defeated in battle. A chain of house and kingdom arms wound thick across his chest. Cherlean also wore a squirrel tail, braided into his dark hair, where it framed his lean features.

    "Iorweth will come," Cedric replied, stirring the ashes of the fire to life, Haelgen would wake and start breakfast soon. The dwarf woman did wonders with their dwindling supply.

    "Is that all you can manage Cedric? Is there no news?" Verona always wore a sneer, even when she slept. The elf woman had a scalding tongue and a temperament to match. Yet she's a fine scout.

    "Iorweth will come," Cedric repeated, wearing a tiny smile as he gathered more logs to toss onto the guttering fire. The village was too small to accomodate the several hundred elf and dwarf and even human Scoia'tael...so they slept shifts inside the repaired homes. Cedric's company hadn't yet earned the honor to make it under the roofs.

    "We should be in Dol Blathana!" Declared a surly voice, sniffing and spitting into Cedric's fire, Leudwin had a haughty air, even for an elf. Cedric knew the elf oft pinched ears and cheeks so they maintained their healthy reddish glow. Despite his arrogance the elf is a strong sword. "Not freezing our pricks off here with these ungrateful apes." Leudwin had the uncanny air to address everyone at once and when ever he thought he made a point he'd peer around and nod, as if they all agreed. Really, the unit had been together so long, they just knew better to feed Leudwin's tirades.

    It felt to Cedric, like the thousandth time he'd heard this same complaint in the past weeks. All eyes were upon him, silence reigning, except for Harbare's snores breaking the stillness. "If the Valley of Flowers is your destination, I bid you good trip," Cedric declared, staring into the fire. His company had been whittled down, it had started as twenty, now nine remained. Not even a full complement. Iorweth had yet to relieve Cedric of duty and distribute his remaining Squirrels but he expected it upon the infamous leader's return.

    "Truly?" Leudwen asked, the attention of the company was held now, breath baited. Many wanted to move south, with news of the Nilfgaardian invasion of the North spreading, the Squirrels were eager to repay the Empire for past transgressions. Yaevenn remained in Dol Blathana with many Scoia'tael, or so the news from the south said. Prepared to defend the Valley with the elven sorceress Enid an Gleanna from human incursion.

    "Leave your weapons and armor, you may go if you truly wish. Iorweth gave you those arms though and they will not be leaving with any of you who wish to go..." He'd almost said Home. But the Valley of Flowers wasn't home to many of the elves in his company. He and Leudwen shared common roots there, along with Gelhume and Seestrea. To the rest Dol Blathanna was naught but a dream.

    "What will you do Cedric?" The question came from Harbare, peering bleerily from the bedroll he shared with his wife Haelgen, the pair of dwarves had joined the Scoia'tael after the Vyzimian pogrom against nonhumans. The pair lived for each other and the fight now.

    "I believe I'll have a piss and a bite of Haelgen's mash, then I'll get my orders from Desmonde and follow them," the answer seemed to satisfy Harbare for he set to shaking Haelgen awake, muttering curses as only a dwarf could about her deep sleep.

    Cedric strolled off to the privy, a trench dug outside the village, casting over his shoulder, "Those who will stay, will be here at noon, the rest...leave while my back is turned." Cedric had no hard feelings toward any tired of the fight. He was tired. Vergen was the first of many such conflicts the Scoia'tael had joined in only to be cast aside after the smoke cleared. Pawns.

    Perhaps he wouldn't even come at noon, oh that'd be delightful.

    A Land Rife... Cedricsig


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    Post  Gee-off on Sat Mar 30, 2013 3:47 pm

    "Y'all know why we came and whence ya came from, ain't got time for all that," Cedric found the need for haste amusing, after many weeks idle. He didn't voice such a notion though. Desmonde has a fierce temper, even for a dwarf. Red hair and beard to match the temperament fitted him well. He stood before a large map, covered with charcoal marks, notes at the edges of the cork board.

    Ten captains were gathered before the general, though Iorweth disdained titles and military rank, seeing them as guises to hide behind. The Scoia'tael are freedom fighters not a paid army. A Squirrel's name was title enough.

    "We knowin' now the Empire is busy wit' Temaria...not surprisin'. Brugge n' Sodden are all but fell. They also moved men along the coast here," tracing the coastline of Temaria with a charcoal stained finger, adding more smudges to the map, the dwarf had to stretch to reach the mouth of the Pontar River. "Empire's got a hold of La Valette and Haggen already. Got a nice solid footing to stop Redania and Kaedwen. Emperor ain't none too worried about Aedirn and that's how I fuckin' like it." Casting a glare at the gathered captains, daring any to challenge what he likes. Desmonde is quite confrontational.

    "What of Dol Blathanna?" Cedric voiced the question on the tips of everyone's tongues. Feeling nine sets of eyes shift his way.

    "Yaevenn's there. With the remainder of his Squirrels that dint come north. Yaevenn knows his business." Yaevenn is the antithesis of Iorweth, many of the Scoia'tael were split on the notion that all humans needed to die, for nonhumans to live in peace. Iorweth would happily make it so...Yaevenn had less fire. But far more experience.

    "Now then...we're splitting our forces. If the Empire wants the Pontar Valley he needsa take Vergen and we already showed them Kawdweni greencloaks that ain't no easy pickin'!" Stamping a heavy mailed boot to emphasize the point, few of the captains gave a rousing cry. The victory was a joyless one when you're on the outside looking in. "Cedric you take your group here," indicating an area along the Pontar River, at a break in the Mahakam foothills. "Empire's got ferries, if'n they plan to come east they gonna be comin' on 'em. We know Lobinden's in league and that big ballista they got ain't gonna fire notaone shot. To be sure an' keep the Empire honest, Faelwen, here," indicating a point in the Mahakam hills several miles south of Cedric's position, "Roland here, and Crede here..." Indicating two more points in the hills, the idea to cover the area in it's entirety, or as much ground as a Scoia'tael unit -could- cover. "Dig in, standard procedure. Anything that ain't got pointy ears or stands higher than your waist bleed 'em. Rest of you ain't mentioned, spread out into the valley, keep runners at the ready, I want to know anything that moves in this valley."

    With the orders issued, Desmonde dismissed them with a flick of his fingers. The look he gave Cedric when the elf rose to follow with the rest kept him lingering until only he and Desmonde remained in the abandoned inn serving as headquarters outside Vergen.

    "Lots o' refugees gonna be movin' east around the hills. Standard procedure Cedric," Desmonde lent a bit of menace to his words by pitching his tone low and throaty.

    Standard procedure meant robbing anyone they came across, carving ears from dead humans and causing general mayhem. Cedric didn't agree with these tactics very well, though he hadn't lost what many of his fellow Scoia'tael had lost. Even those remaining in his unit were keen to spill human blood.

    "I'll need the proper fortification," Cedric replied, a bit hollowly.

    The dwarf screwed up it's already wrinkled features and indicated a crate stashed within the headquarters. Cedric moved to it and plucked a bottle from it's depths, a local pepper vodka. Not very tasty but it'd do the trick. "Will my unit be replenished?" Cedric asked as he hoisted the crate up onto his shoulder.

    "Ain't got enough new blood for it, those dwarves as did join from Vergen are already turnin' back to their mine here. Likely gonna find volunteers moving east...Empire don't like nonhumans much."

    "We'll need arms and armor then."

    "Send Harbare, I'll need a game of dice with him 'fore he sets off anyhow. See if I can't win that sister o' his offa him." Desmonde was trying, that much Cedric was grateful for. However he just couldn't find it in him to like the dwarf. Hero of the Scoia'tael, confidante of Iorweth...despite Desmonde's feats, Cedric didn't like him.

    "Haelgen is his wife now. They wed after the battle. I'm surprised you weren't invited." Even amongst dwarves incest was taboo. Cedric had paled at the thought of the two wedding, yet, he couldn't fault the logic of the pair. They had only each other in this world and their time fleeing the nonhuman pogroms together had joined them in love as well as blood.

    "Eh?" Cedric left the dwarf gapemouthed in the headquarters. Pleased with himself at that small victory.

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    Post  Gee-off on Thu Apr 04, 2013 6:33 am

    "The problems we face aren't a matter of human, or dwarf, or elf...we let these problems go on, we thought if we waited, that it would simply go away," Cedric was neck deep in a bottle of pepper vodka and the few of his unit gathered around him were listening or pretending to.

    "Indeed," chimed Leudwen. Who had opted not to leave the band for Dol Blathanna. "We watched the humans arrive, we retreated as they brought war to our cities and we thought, 'They are not so long lived, surely they will be their own end'." On the subject of history the elf was quite learned. If he were to be believed, he watched the first landings of the humans more than five hundred years prior with his father. Though the elf's features and hair are still fair, his eyes do appear to be old.

    Then again, any soldier who has seen action often have the same look in their eye.

    "Fuckin' right there...me old da' said we shouldnta ever let you pointy eared limp pricks in either," Harbare spoke up from where he sat.

    The dwarf was correct. The gnomes, halflings, and dwarves had lived in relative peace until the arrival of the first elves. Though the Aen Saidhe consider themselves the Elder Blood, they were as much interlopers as human, though on not quite a grand scale. They integrated peacefully if legends were true.

    "Ah, but then good dwarf, how would you have learned to make wine, if your sires had?" Countered Cedric with a small smile sent the dwarf's way. He liked Harbare. Trusted him and his wife with his life. Good friends, both of them. They'd follow him into the teeth of the emperor himself if Cedric planned to go that way. "But let's not get sidetracked with history lessons, shall we keep the debate on our current standing?"

    The group nodded acceptance. Beron, an academic loved nothing more than to talk history and it's effect on the present, Cedric wanted to head that off before the elf caught wind of the conversation. As he was wandering in to listen.

    Kessell was also in attendance at their small camp situated on a hill with a fine view in every direction from the water to the merchant's trek to deep in the forest and beginning of the boggy swampland. Though Kessell couldn't be counted on to say much even at the best of times, the finest spear Cedric had ever seen though that's for sure.

    Verona and Shayla were off scouting, Haelgen the gem that the little dwarf woman is, was on alert near the river watching for ferries.

    Nine souls to stand watch and detract any advances of humans toward the Pontar. Seemed an insurmountable task but someone had to do it.

    "Now, if you squeeze every drop of blood from a human, any human in the land, regardless of what lineage they claim or what mantel they wore or whose colors they serve. You will find in that blood, a touch of our own." Holding a hand up to halt Harbare before he can protest, "I mean the Aen Siedhe fair dwarf. It's well known that dwarves prefer the much comelier jewels of their mines, the famously coveted dwarf women." For some reason, the dwarves thought the rest of the world were out to steal their woman. Unfathomable really. Haelgen is comely but her chin beard is bound to ruin any form of copulation. "Why is that Leudwen?" Cedric asked, a bit of a drunken lilt to his form as he leaned against a half fallen ash.

    "Because the humans like to fuck." That earned a bit of laughter from the gathering, even an amused sounding snort from Kessell.

    "We all like to fuck...you included, I can't go a week without hearing you throttling mice in your bedroll," Cedric countered, which earned a bit more laughter from the group. "And there's nothing wrong with that," before Leudwen could gain steam and get flustered, "I can't speak for your blankets however...but yes, we all like to fuck. But the humans like to fight as well." Which is true. Elves hadn't needed steel before human expansionism.

    "Ain't just humans that be likin' a fight there Cedric," chimed in Harbare, puggish face pulling into a fierce grimace and gripping his hammer a bit tighter. "But you ain't sayin' nothin' new...how we sposed to end this war with fuckin'?"

    "Cosmetics my friend. Cosmetics." Cedric replied in all seriousness, the silence which followed the statement was only broken when Kessell erupted into a full belly laugh. It was infectious and it filtered through the group, the stone which starts the mudslide, for a few breathless moments the camp was filled with laughter. Cedric enjoyed that. It made the hard times easier. He especially liked to get a response from Kessell. There were times when the elf just...frightened Cedric.

    "Listen! Listen! Women, human women, have a beauty all their own. Hear me! However, they age quickly. With the proper use of cosmetics, taught by fine elven women and how to properly curl their mustachios by fine dwarven maidens...husbands wouldn't leave their beds to fight wars, for fear that other men may occupy them while they played soldier!" The soldiery of the northern kingdoms were a rabble. Militias, volunteers, regulars, levies, whatever they called themselves, they were not full time soldiers. Give a farmer a spear and make him pretend it's not a ho, he is still a farmer.

    That doesn't mean the use of such men isn't effective. Regular soldiers swoop in as the militia dies, cavalry charges are sounded when the enemy is pinned in place and heroic moments are made, at the cost of the lordlings serfs. It's a travesty really.

    "If the husbands stay home, there is no backbone, no shoulder to rest a battle on the blood shed would be the blood of those -wanting- war those who are-" Cedric's speech is ended by the shrill call of a falcon, followed by five more whistles, the first beat of the tune held for two breaths, the rest coming rapidly, it sounded like a bluejay, uncannily so.

    "Verona, four miles out, on the road," Leudwen translated the message that didn't need translating, everyone gathered knew the calls and signs. Leudwen's uncanny ability to state the obvious strikes again.

    "To your places everyone," Cedric muttered, the gathering flooded down from the hillside, moving to the road. The unit leader corked his bottle and stuffed it into a holster on his belt, upside down. The bottle banged against his hip but it was a reassuring beat with every step he took.

    A Land Rife... Cedricsig

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    Post  MightyMaddie on Fri Apr 05, 2013 12:55 pm

    Clouds... Dirt... Trees... Dirt... Trees... The scenery that filled the horizon day in and day out was as continuously dull as the road that the caravan slowly traveled upon for the past month. Every now and then an abandoned and ransacked town or homestead was happened upon, to which a pit-stop to search the area for valuable supplies and the likes was usually had, followed shortly thereafter by the above mentioned ho-hum journey. Needless to say, Sybilla was growing overly bored of this entire assignment, and quite quickly.

    Not too long ago the Half-Elf had been enjoying the finer company of persons of notable rank and stature whilst dealing her devious deeds in the shadows of a mighty Empire. Yet here she was now, perched on the wooden seat of a creaking, lopsided wagon, listening to whatever story just so happened to come to Mordek’s loopy mind while wondering when the last time it was that she had enjoyed a bath. The answer? Too damn long ago. Certainly she had been accustomed to dirty jobs throughout the years, but when mingling within circles of power and luxury... Well, one can become spoiled.

    “They say tha’ air sucked ‘em right on up! But merely mentioned the name o’ the wind an’, POOF, it was at his command!” Mordek blurted out with a raised voice and arms spread as his story seemed to reach its climax. With the gesture the reins that steered the mules pulling the cart--Bartly and Shoks, as she had come to learn--caused the beasts to noisily veer off the grooves of the beaten path. Yelling at the animals for the umpteenth time this day, as if the mules were to blame for nearly getting the wheels stuck in the off-road mud and foliage, the merchant gave a sharp yip and snap of his riding crop all while Sybilla clenched onto her seat to avoid being thrown off with the sudden jolts that came.

    “Ah... Yes... A flying man. Sounds absolutely fascinating, Mordek; and just like that the beasts of shadow were thwarted, yes? Fancy that... Who’d have guessed?” Sybilla answered back, feigning her interest rather poorly at the story she had sworn he had just told the other day; albeit a slightly altered version involving water or some other element. Either way, once the wagon was back on the path without, thankfully, becoming stuck, she’d waste no time in hopping down from the raised driver’s perch in order to stretch her legs.

    “I believe I’ll walk for a bit.” Sybilla called up when the wagon was slowed by the merchant, who likely thought she fell off accidently. Waving him off and moving promptly out of the way so the remainder of the caravan could travel past, the half-elf would do just that... Walk. Rubbing at her sore rump, which had fallen asleep hours ago, she’d stall just enough so that the hired guard of the caravan eventually caught up. Jemvorin was the gent’ she had eyes out for, as he was one of the few fighters on this particular trade route that had an idea as to what he was doing. Though he was lacking a funny bone in his entire body, the conversations they shared far outshined any tale that Mordek told.

    Well, beyond the story as to how the mules had received their names... But few could hold a candle to that.

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    Post  Gee-off on Mon Apr 08, 2013 12:19 pm

    Nothing would stop commerce, not even war. The sound of the merchant caravan was there. They were moving quickly, intent on getting to their destination and the groan of the wagons in the column was of protest. Overloaded with goods. The trek so far was an easy one but the way east grows more perilous with each passing mile and before they get through the mountains, Cedric was sure that they would have abandoned a goodly portion of their load.

    Not the the elf intended to let them get that far. After all, orders are orders. His band are well versed. Bow strings would already be drawn tight and still forms would be hiding alongside the road.

    The Scoia'tael started as a band of guerilla units. Using hit and run tactics just like these, their reputation through the land was fierce. Cedric's band weren't slouches either.

    Around a bend, where the road was especially tight, leaving little room for more than a wagon and a man to squeeze through without one or the other going to the side of the road, his band had hacked down a thick tree, felling it across the trail. It didn't lie flat across the road, it had fallen into a tangle of trees across the way, creating a low bridge to pass over the road.

    Upon it, Cedric stood, the playful tone of a flute filling the stillness of the forest, the elf would draw the eye of the lead wagons, standing astride the tree, working his fingers along the carved wooden notches of the instrument, a jaunty marching tune issuing from the instrument.

    The music would end as the first wagon came into view and the elf would look up, as if he were startled. Stowing the flute unceremoniously through the bandolier twined over his jacket, decorated with the many colors of lordly men at arms and knights who met their end facing him.

    "Greetings! Well-met!" The elf called from his vantage point. An ashen bow leaned against a tangle of the tree's branches, several arrows stuck into the tree's bark close at hand. Within easy reach of the elf. "I'll need all the humans in your column to toss down their weapons and get to their knees, quickly." Speaking to the driver of the lead wagon loftily.

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    Post  MightyMaddie on Thu Apr 11, 2013 2:15 am

    It had been well over three months since the caravan had originally departed from its point of origin far to the southwest. Three weeks into it’s venture is when Sybilla was fortunate enough to hitch a ride with some tiring negotiations. Payment in coin ended up being the key bartering tool to sway Nalard Bumos in the end. The caravan leader--who demanded to be called Boss or Boomey--was one giant of a man who had earned his reputation of being a dirty fighter and a shrill businessman long ago. High prices were paid for the brute and his band to deliver goods to cities all over Nilfgaard, and the caravan itself had quite a high running for traversing the more dangerous lands and war riddled areas successfully.

    Needless to say, Sybilla couldn’t have asked for a better group to venture with, yet in no way was it easy weaseling her way in. Boomey’s price was high, and though the trip to the far stretches of the wildes was necessary, she wasn’t prepared to give all to the wind just yet. Charismatic charm and a silver tongue won her a less expensive fare, and it wouldn’t be until a little bit into the first week that he’d also learn just how savvy she could be with a blade when some of the newer recruits tried their luck. Some of them still limped to this very day. In the end, she proved to be a well enjoyed asset to the caravan that even Jemvorin, Boomey’s right-hand man, approved of.

    The journey thus far hadn’t exactly been fun however. Bandits, wild animals and angsty caravan members were common annoyances on the roads to the East, and the rebel bands of mercenaries--the Scoia'tael--that scouted the stretch of wilderness were a very real threat the further away from civilization they traveled. The ransacked towns and homesteads alone were testament to just how lawless the area had become with the recent war, and few expected things to get any better anytime soon. At least, not for everyone else. This was exactly where Sybilla needed to be, and the more problems the caravan succumbed to, the better for her.

    Once hopping down from Mordek’s wagon of crazy and taking the time to rub her fine booteh back from numbness, Sybilla promptly took off at a fast pace in order to catch up towards the patrol at the front of the caravan. That was likely where she would find Jemvorin and Boss Boomey, who were always a delight to listen in on, especially when they got at each other's throats... Which was quite often as of late.

    Despite the lack of baths and her dwindling resources, Sybilla did remarkably well to keep her elven features disguised throughout the trip. Cosmetics, as everyone knew, could hide just about anything, and having long dark chocolate locks to braid and pull the right way kept the point of her ears hidden helped all the more. Boomey was as racist as one could get when it came to anything non-human, and Jemvorin wasn’t much better when it came down to it. Nearly everyone in the band had been jaded, whatever their reasons may be, and joining would have been near impossible. As an Elf she was hated... But a human? The possibilities were nay endless.

    Taking the time to ensure that her simple yet flattering attire of royal blue wasn’t terribly dirty--which ultimately it was... Like everything else in this damned caravan--the half-Elf slipped into hearing range of Boomey’s personal wagon, which was leading this train-o-goodies, just in time to pick up the tail ends of the Boss and Jemvorin’s banter.

    “Ya’ panty waist have any clue on’ wha’ path ya’ taking us down!? Meh’ orders wer’ ta stick to tha’ road I marked on tha’ map! Ya’ know the rules!” Boomey bellowed, his voice remarkably low pitched despite his growing volume in anger as he easily walked beside the wagon; his eyes, due to his massive height, was level with Jemvorin. Apparently the second in command had taken it upon himself to make a shortcut, which, she could only assume, was bad. Whoo-hoo.

    “It’s the most direct route, and with moral as is, cutting our travel time is our best option!” Despite Jem’s best attempts to rationalize his decision over his shoulder while steering the wagon, the Boss man wasn’t in any mood to hear it. Throwing his large hands up in the air with a slur of curses and grunts, it was about at that time that Boomey finally took note of Sybilla approaching the wagon at a jog from behind. “Ya’ be a bettin’ lass?” The Boss man called to her before jerking a crooked thumb towards Jemvorin. “Wager we’ll be stuck by sundown.”

    “Better than food for the squirrels~” Sybilla teased with an innocent enough smile, which of course had Jem cringing and Boomey cursing at him all the more. The two were an unhealthy couple. Climbing up to hang off of the side of the wagon as if this were hardly a concern with her agenda, she’d shoot the two a wink before making a gesture over her shoulder. “Best we bring Jemvorin out back and flog him for this one.”

    Rolling his eyes, Jem looked as if he were about to retort when the faint sound of a flute carrying on the wind managed to silence whatever it was he was going to say. Slowing the heavy horses as they rounded the sharp bend in the road, all attention was brought forward to the fallen tree roadblock and the single Elf that stood atop it.

    Simultaneously, they all knew what was to come.

    As it was Jemvorin who Cedrick had spoken to, since he was regretfully the one driving the lead wagon at that very moment, the man’s eyes narrowed to a venomous glare as his back stiffened. Pulling the horses to an abrupt stop, Boomey already had both of his warhammers drawn and ready for the inevitable fight that was to come. Needless to say, neither had any intention on following the Elf’s orders.

    “Piss off, knife ear.” Boomey shouted back, which instantly sent the message through the caravan train of the news of an impending attack. “Ya’ be damned if any o’ us kneel to ya’ scum.” Spitting to the dirt at his feet, as if the idea disgusted him so, he’d slam his warhammers together in a taunting manner as if to further illustrate just how unlikely it’d be that he’d surrender without a fight.

    As the two men readied themselves, Sybilla would otherwise slip from her perch on the side of the wagon in order to silently step back and disappear at a sprint down the caravan line. Boomey and Jem would be on their own with this spat, as right now the half-elf needed to get to her things, and fast. For months she had been waiting for this moment, and now that it was here... Everything has to be executed perfectly.

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    Post  Gee-off on Mon Apr 15, 2013 12:33 am

    Why is it, they always chose to fight? Why couldn't they just throw down their weapons and surrender? How foolish they always are. Even the most bedraggled columns always had some fight to them.

    The Scoia'tael are pros at what they do however. What they lack in numbers they make up for with invention.

    The ring of the brute's war hammers were signal enough, Cedric didn't need to signal. His band had been at this for a long time, losing a face here and there. Still each survivor is a grizzled veteran.

    Horses are big beasts, especially the heavy draft horses used to tow the goods laden carts. They're not warhorses either, bred and trained to tolerate the clash of steel, smoke and fire without panicking. Stampede's can cause wanton destruction on an epic scale, especially when towing a wagon their heavy loads.

    Not that Cedric needed destruction to cause them to stampede. Nay. He only raised the flute to his lips, agile fingers twisting along the notches in the flute and blew. The flute issuing a faint, piercing shriek, the note barely perceptible to the human ear, the elves of his unit would likely wince, wishing they had stuffed their eyes with cotton before the attack. The horses however, set to dancing growing skittish in their chases, snorting and stamping the ground as the note continued, held in trance almost not breaking until after a few heartbeats, the note ended.

    It only takes one to cause a rout and one of the lead horses for the wagon directly in front of him was the one. It broke and bolted, eyes wide in terror, Cedric could see it's heart in it's chest pounding with terror. The rest, hitched and haltered along with it's mate, joined in the madness and the thunder rolled. The huge lumbering beasts finding their wind and giving voice to a cacophony, nearly a howl, charging for the fallen tree Cedric is upon.

    The elf was moving our of the way, into the brush alongside the road, stowing his flute as he went, picking his bow and arrows up smoothly, leaping free of the fallen trunk just as the first pair of horse flesh attempted to leap the obstacle. The rigs they wear preventing such a feat, rear legs catching the trunk, breaking on impact, toppling forward. The mass of horse flesh in their leads behind the first pair following over.

    The howl of the dying and terrified beasts ringing out on the path, the groan of tortured wood and metal following as the wagon they pulled met it's eventual end at the roadblock the iron banded wheels rolling over writhing horse flesh, to snap upon impact with the log.

    Then the arrows flew.

    Cedric's band had spread out, not concentrating their fire on any given source, to better sow chaos amongst the grouped wagons. Those on horseback were targeted, if they were too heavily armored for a clean shot, the horses themselves were targeted.

    Chaos would spread through the column from the fore. The cry of dying equine would spread to the rest in the halter and the horses would start to run mad, those not suited to battle that is. Those docile lumbering brutes better at the head of a plow than a cavalry charge couldn't handle such strain. Hearts would burst and they'd try to run...but the way ahead was blocked, the road too narrow to turn about face.

    And all around them, Scoia'tael arrows were pecking off the ranks of armored men and women. True, they are few, but the Scoia'tael is considered the best archer in the known world and they fire with a rapidity that belays the small size of their force.

    Cedric knew the dwarven couple would be wading in soon. He had his own target to find though, amidst the chaos.

    Boomey, the one wielding the war hammers was trying to create order from the chaos and succeeding, gathering his arms men around him as a focal point. Cedric knelt in the dirt, arrow fitted to bow string, and bent the bow near double.

    The shot was a good one, it had to be. He waited, watched, ignoring the bleating of the dying horses so near, the approach of a man moving swiftly with a dirk in hand, bloody from his head, coming from the lead wagon. When Boomey's mouth opened to issue another rousing order, the arrow was loose, flying straight and true.

    Cedric saw the arrowhead just glance off the man's front teeth, which only caused it to angle downward a touch, exploding out the back of the man's neck. Boomey's mouth still worked, or tried to, not realizing it was full of foot and a half of arrow shaft.

    However, Cedric had other concerns, the dirk wielding man was closing, and he lunged. Cedric twisted around, a swift pirouette, the bow string catching the blade of the dirk and sending it off course. The arrow in his grip, driven into the jowl's of the wild eyed man's throat.

    He heard the dwarven tongue behind him and knew then that the pair of Harbare and Haelgen were wading in, with their fierce little axes and hammers. Heavily armored, the pair of them, they were wrecking balls in close quarters.

    Only adding to the chaos ensuing with their guttural war cries.

    The man he stabbed still stood, fingers groping for something...anything. Cedric gave the man a shove and he toppled backward wordlessly, leaving Cedric to wade into the foray, drawing his thin edge Blue Mountain steel sword as he went, the poor man's gurgles following him. Protesting such an action.

    A Land Rife... Cedricsig

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