Stranon
Half-Human, Half-Demon
Professional Badass
Posts: 27
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Post by Stranon on Nov 17, 2006 23:23:24 GMT -5
"Stranon, this doesn't look like a city to me..."
"I know, Kyri, but it's just a gateway we have to get through in order to get to the city," Stranon lied. In reality, the large wooden gates they were approaching were the gates to a large bandit camp. Stranon had heard rumors that the bandits had a large stash of rum within the camp so he decided to raid the camp and take it. He hated bandits anyway. Kyri, however, would be very upset with his decision to raid a camp by himself for some rum, so a bit was lying was necessary. She never stayed angry for long, so he could deal with her rage when she discovered his plan. "Just come on. We'll be there soon enough."
"Alright..." Kyri mumbled, still uncertain whether Stranon were being honest with her.
The two companions were keeping a steady march up the path when two bandit ambushers leapt down from the surrounding ledges. Stranon was fully expecting such a tricky move from bandits, though, and sliced the first in half before his feet touched the ground. The second, shocked at his comrade's sudden death, turned to flee. Straight paths weren't good for avoiding projectiles, though, and he soon had Stranon's throwing knife in his back.
"Damned highway men! Wish they would just leave travelers alone...out to steal from innocent people going to the city!" Stranon blurted out another lie to keep Kyri off his true motives, but this time she wasn't buying into it too much.
"Stranon, where - Hey! Stop! Stranon..."
Stranon, realizing he was in trouble, took off at a sprint towards the gate. He had to get in the camp before Kyri talked him out of it.
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Post by Non-Player Characters on Nov 21, 2006 23:09:56 GMT -5
Refuge. It was an ironic name for a camp of bandits and cut-throats, but in a strange way it fit. It was a refuge for the refugees and outcasts of a society set on promoting nonviolence. At its center was Nomgarath, a huge half-giant from a tribe of Thalanian berserkers. He was piercingly intelligent and cunning, and his strong hand kept the troublemakers in check. It was he who stormed the small village of Tyril at this spot ten years ago. The villagers had scattered, and he claimed their homes as his own. Then he had waited. Careful words passed along certain channels notified him of any potential ally coming down the river. Over the years, the River had been the camp's greatest provider. Thalanian convicts had no where to go besides the mines or the battlefront. They were often sold as slaves or gladiators. The tell-tale tattoos on the backs of their hands gave them away as criminals to any Thalanian, and the marks could not be covered. They were made with enchanted dye. Any attempt to cover them was useless. The tattoo transferred through cloth and metal to make itself seen. Therefore, the only escape for runaway convicts was the river. The river Gilar was an avenue into Varinos, where Thalanian guards could not venture. Nom knew from experience how frustrating Varinos could be to a born-again convict. Threats of violence did not work; Varins would either invoke pacifism charms in fear or simply ignore the threat. It seemed that their devotion to nonviolence was absolute. They did not just condemn it, they completely removed any sign of it. The Varins may not openly jail escaped criminals, but they had their ways of dealing with violent convicts. They excluded them from all but the outer fringes of society. Nom found that he was allowed to go wherever he wished, but no one would hire him for a steady job. Temporary jobs on the docks gave him enough money to buy food and lodging each day, but nothing more. He found the answer in the countryside surrounding Rilan. Shopkeepers may be wise to the presence of violent men and armed with charms of pacifism, but the poorer and less worldly villagers did not. Nom and a few of his companions easily evicted the villagers of Tyril and settled down. After constructing a sturdy wooden palisade about the perimeter of the village, Nom set up his plan. They needed food, but had no way to get it. Manpower was slowly trickling in from Rilan; before long they were a respectable band of powerful men and women. At last count there were nearly 50 bandits in the camp, though less than half of that normally stayed in the fort. At their core they were rather independant people. Their source of wealth ran right past the fort. One of the major trade arteries of Varinos passed what used to be Tyril village. It was a small matter to set upon the traders and merchants that followed the route. When they first started, Nom was careful to only target villagers returning from Rilan. They had less in the way of gold, but more supplies. Most importantly, they ran home and not to the city to alert authorities. Nom wasn't sure what the authorities of Varinos would do, but caution was always good. And then she joined. Navra. Navra was the slickest, sexiest woman Nom ever had the dubious pleasure to work with. And Navra knew it. She submitted to Nom's authority, but he secretly wondered at her ulterior motives. Navra was, among other things, a mage. He didn't know how such abilities were classified, but Navra must have been a mage of some caliber. She could erase entire events from people's memories just by looking them in the eyes. With her help, the bandit organization had gained wealth much faster. Now they could rob whoever they wanted, whenever they wanted. The victim would then just wake up along the road, their possessions gone. When Navra was feeling especially good, they might even forget they had brought anything on the journey! Nom sipped his ale, wishing for the thousandth time that Varins had their own breweries. Grapes grew like wildfire in this region, so they had created their own brewery in one of the buildings. It was alcohol, and it had the desired effect. It's taste, however, was another matter. They seemed to improve on every batch, but 'improvement' was relative. Oh well.
Suddenly the long, low note of a horn caught his attention. The warning alarm! Someone was coming. He caught the sound of wood scraping on dirt; they were closing the outer doors. Frantic scrambling about the fort told him that the others were preparing. With a faint, predatory smile, Nom went to get his sword.
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Stranon
Half-Human, Half-Demon
Professional Badass
Posts: 27
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Post by Stranon on Nov 22, 2006 22:51:18 GMT -5
Stranon cursed as the gates began to swing shut; he was still a good thirty yards away, certainly not close enough to make it before the gates were closed. Fortunately, the sliding wooden beam that was essentially the lock was already in place before the doors were completely closed. Stranon whipped out his throwing knife and with a quick flick of the wrist sent it towards the beam. It stuck in the middle right as the doors slammed together, wedging in between them. The bandits, realizing the trouble they were suddenly in, made a frantic attempt to work the knife out of the beam and seal the gate, but Stranon could cover thirty yards in an impressively short time. A hand that was sticking out of the gates trying to work the knife free was sliced off by the cool, dark obsidian of Stranon blade, sending screams of agony echoing through the camp. The demon-warrior wasted no time in using his sword to flip the beam up from the outside and opening the gate, then charged into the camp. The other bandit at the door drew his sword only to be disarmed with a quick swing from Stranon, then decapitated. At this point, the screams of the now one-handed bandit were becoming more than a little obnoxious, and was quickly disposed of with a quick slash to the throat.
As Stranon looked up to take in his surroundings, he saw what he ultimately expected. A formidable number of bandits were closing in on him, apparently attempting to keep him cornered against the gate. Little did they know that Stranon was never one to let attackers come to him, especially not when they were worthless bandits. With a flashy flip of his sword, Stranon charged at the converging line of fifteen or so enemies, taking them by surprise. The one he had singled out to attack first, through, was admirably quick to react, and effectively parried Stranon’s first blow. He was too slow to regain his balance and deflect a second strike, however, and was cut down from behind as Stranon sprinted past. Stranon grinned as he ran by, headed for a crudely built scout tower on the opposite end. Like a bunch of bandits could hold hem him in!
He had caught sight of what he assumed to be an archer or possibly an arbalester atop the tower. Ranged foes were sneaky and liked to shoot you while you were engaged with other opponents, and thus had to be dealt with. Stranon kept a watchful eye on the tower as he came nearer, waiting for the man atop it to pop out and shoot, which did indeed happen. Stranon leapt to the ground and landed in a roll, keeping his momentum while avoiding the arrow. Once he regained his footing and was within a few feet of the tower, he cut the legs down with three mighty swings of his sword. The tower crashed to the ground, undoubtedly ending the archer’s life, or at any rate, at least incapacitating him. Now, to deal with the rest of the ground forces…
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Stranon
Half-Human, Half-Demon
Professional Badass
Posts: 27
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Post by Stranon on Dec 2, 2006 12:16:37 GMT -5
These particular bandits turned out to be smarter than typical bandits and didn't try the same tactic that had failed a moment earlier. They halted their advance a good distance away from Stranon, but still had him surrounded for the most part. Rather than attempting to engage in melee combat, though, they stayed back and a few came forward with crossbows. Stranon counted six of them as they went to their knees and trained their weapons on him. He quickly grabbed a large chunk of wood from the tower wreckage and held it up as a shield, momentarily ending the crossbow threat. He'd have to act fast before they began to maneuver around him.
Other than the six crossbowmen, Stranon estimated there to be about fifteen other bandits present. If he could get up to the crossbows without getting shot, the odds would be in his favor. Still using the wood as a shield, Stranon charged the bandits. They inevitably fired their crossbows, and all six bolts struck the shield, causing no harm. With no more use for the cumbersome wood, Stranon tossed it to the ground and plowed into the crossbow-wielding bandits. He ran his sword through one's stomach then slashed outwards, quickly killing another. The other four were working furiously to reload their weapons, but with a few devastating swings, they were all dead. The other bandits had tried to come to the crossbow men's aid, but Stranon simply killed them too fast. By the time they arrived, Stranon was prepared and cut down the first two that came within range. The next five attacked at once, creating a bit of concern for the demon-warrior. He ducked under a swing, then parried another from behind before rising up with an upward slash, killing one. He leapt high enough to kick one bandit in the face while cutting into one's head with his sword on the other side, then dismembering a fourth as he fell back to the ground. More enemies filled the fallen bandits' spots, but Stranon was in that special, deadly trance now, and it would take more than a group of common bandits to overcome him. Within a few minutes, only dead bodies and now-ownerless swords, shields and crossbows were around him. His foes' blood all but covered him as he stood over the dead group of bandits, challenging more to come his way. He could see some dashing about the camp, undoubtedly gathering equipment or raising alarm, so the task obviously wasn't complete. Wanting to maintain somewhat of an element of surprise, Stranon sprinted into a nearby building to escape any further being spotted again. Inside was what appeared to be the sleeping quarters for the group he had just massacred. He took a moment to eat some bread from a basket apparently meant for lunch. No alcohol, though... Stranon slipped out of the building, then stealthily snuck along to a nearby hut. Another group of bandits were amassing in the distance, preparing to go on a camp-wide hunt to kill him. Some form of leadership was obviously in place here...
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Post by Non-Player Characters on Dec 3, 2006 1:50:53 GMT -5
The obnoxious screech of badly made metal door hinges broke the temporary silence of the battlefield. Nomgarath stepped out of the bandit stronghold and took in the scene. Living all these years as the only violent people in the land had made them soft; the amount of bandit blood on their own land was not necessarily surprising, but it was disappointing. Nom slowly descended the stairs of the central building. Adrenaline rushed through his system, heightening his awareness tenfold. He had learned to control the rush, control the effect, until it was one of his greatest assets. For some, the surge of energy came at the first sword clash and lasted for only a short time. He had mastered the art of keeping the state active through a battle, and he could keep going for half a day or more at a pace that would kill most men. He would never let his own body kill him. His body would kill others, and someday he would die an honorable death by another's hand. It was the reality of battle, and he lived for it.
Slowly, dramatically, Nom slid his greatsword from its sheath. Metal slid along metal, and the blade left its scabbard with a ring. In such a boring land as Varinos, there was never a chance to properly prepare for a battle. Now, here he stood wearing his breast plate and carrying his greatsword once again. Ah....
"Stranger! Show yourself! You have attacked without warning and demonstrated your strength. Now face ME in battle! You may cut down petty cutthroats and thieves with ease, but you are NOTHING compared to the mighty Nomgarath!" Nom slowly rotated in the center of the courtyard. The man was here...somewhere.
From the roof of the town hall Navra watched. This would prove to be ...interesting. Nom was certainly strong, but she had watched the stranger move. He was strong and he was fast. Strength was not everything; the stranger may even have a slight advantage. But was he smart enough to conquer Nom? Navra knew that the berserker wouldn't give up until one of them lay dead on the ground. If the stranger was looking for honor, this was a strange way to gain it. Navra leaned against a parapet and waited for the events to unfold.
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Stranon
Half-Human, Half-Demon
Professional Badass
Posts: 27
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Post by Stranon on Dec 5, 2006 23:59:53 GMT -5
Stranon peeked out from behind the hut to see the source of the booming voice that had called him out.
"That's a big son of a bitch...." Stranon whispered to himself. The man was simply massive. Stranon guessed himself to be slightly taller than this monster of a man, but didn't compare in bulk. The same could accurately describe their swords, respectively. Stranon was never one to turn down a sword fight, though, especially when a victory would likely mean plenty of rum.
After taking a deep breath, Stranon reached down to grab his throwing knife, but, lamentably, he had left it in the beam at the gate. He cursed himself for being so foolish and allowing the opportunity for a cheap shot slip by. Left with no other options, Stranon emerged from behind the hut out into the courtyard, sword drawn.
The two men's gazes met, neither showing any signs of fear. They advanced towards each other slowly at first, then both broke into a sprint. Stranon trusted the surrounding bandits would let the duel carry on without interference. He hoped so, anyway; he would surely be a dead man if they suddenly decided to aid who he assumed to be their leader.
Just before the two collided, Nom swung his gargantuan sword downward with a fierce shout. Stranon kept at his sprint while raising his own sword to parry the attack. As the blades met just above Stranon's head, he was knocked clean off his feet and nearly turned a full backflip in the air. As his sword flew from his hands and scittered across the soft grass, Stranon landed on his back. He now realized he was up against perhaps the greatest one-on-one challenge he had ever faced. Of mortals, anyway.
With another battlecry, Nom plunged his greatsword downward at Stranon's chest. The demon-warrior quickly rolled to the side, avoiding the strike. He followed by hopping to his feat and rushing to his sword to retrieve it. He certainly wouldn't try to match the man's strength with a full parry again. He would have to rely on his speed.
Taking the initiative this time, Stranon took off at a sprint again. Instead of attempting to block the swing that came from Nom, Stranon juked to his side and swung back at Nom's exposed middle. Despite his incredible size, the man was remarkably quick. He brought his greatsword back around in time to block Stranon's strike. Stranon couldn't let the opening go completely wasted, though, and used his left hand to backhand Nomgarath in the face. The behemoth let out a monstrous laugh, apparently unphased by the blow to his face, though it seemed as though his nose was broken. Blood flowed freely down his face; a fact he seemed to enjoy. Who, or what, the Hell was this guy?
Stranon watched with wide eyes as Nom cut his arm with his sword and spread blood over the cold steel. A bloody grin crossed his face and he attacked again. Stranon expected as such, and quickly ducked under a horizontal swing, then dodged to following vertical slice. Stranon made a slice of his own, this time digging his blade deep into Nomgarath's shoulder. That finally seemed to anger him. A vicious shout of rage ensued, prompting an involuntary gulp from Stranon. Nom then engaged in a terrifying berserk with a seemingly endless barrage of blows. Stranon desperately avoided the relentless attacks, half-parrying those that he had to, while always using openings to either get in a quick slice with his sword or a punch or kick. After what Stranon previously thought to be an impossibly long duration of such immense physical output, Nomgarath haulted his assault. At this point, he had a number of relatively shallow cuts along various areas of his body, and a few cracked ribs from kicks Stranon landed in his middle. Stranon wasn't entirely sure Nomgarath even felt the pain though. He did nothing more than wipe some blood out of his eyes, before continuing the engagement.
Stranon went back to the same strategy, but Nom was smarter that he looked. He had picked up on Stranon's technique, and rather than taking a full-swing as he previously had, leaving his side vulnerable, Nom swung with one hand, and used to other to grab Stranon's wrist as he tried to jab the huge man in the face. Stranon's eyes widened with shock just before Nom broke his wrist with a quick snap. Stranon let out a grunt of pain, but nothing more as he swung with his sword using his good arm. Nom anticipated the likely move, though, and grabbed that wrist as well, then wrenched Stranon's sword loose from his hand. The blade bounced a few times before landing on Nom's boot, propping the hilt nearly a foot in the air. Stranon took note of the convenience as the brute lifted him into the air by his hands. Nom then pulled his greatsword back, and prepared to impale the helpless demon-warrior. With a blood-thirtsy cry, Nom thrusted the blade forward at Stranon's stomach. All Stranon could do was twist to the side, avoiding a mortal wound. The blade cut straight through Stranon's side, but to to his 'dodge' the cut nearly missed and was a clean cut just at the edge of Stranon's mid-section. Nom fully expected a full kill, and thus dropped Stranon, giving him the opportunity to to kick the slightly elevated Oblivion into the air and into his hand. Stranon used his swordless hand to grab the great sword that was currently impaling him, preventing Nom from regaining his possession of it. As Nom struggled to pull the sword free, Stranon stabbed him thrice in the stomach. He would have gone higher, for the head or chest, but his current position prevented the kill. Nom gasped, blood spilling from his mouth, before falling to the ground. As he fell, he pulled his sword free from Stranon's middle. Blood pooled beneath his seemingly lifeless body.
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Stranon
Half-Human, Half-Demon
Professional Badass
Posts: 27
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Post by Stranon on Dec 17, 2006 18:21:22 GMT -5
Stranon fell to one knee and clutched his wound, instantly coating his hand in warm blood. He took a few deep breaths, attempting to regain his composure before the bandits came upon him. They came towards him, shouting with rage, hellbent on avenging their fallen hero. Stranon realized his chances were slim with his current condition, but he certainly would kill as many of the bastads as he could. As he rose to his feet and raised his sword, a strong hand grabbed his ankle and yanked him down to the ground. Nomgarath was soon on top of Stranon, screaming with fury as he swung his mighty fist towards the demon-warrior's face. Stranon quickly rolled to the side to avoid the blow, and then hopped to his feet only to be tackled by the giant and backfisted in the face. A bit of wrestling ensued, but Nom had lost much of his speed and strength and could no longer keep up with Stranon. His quick burst of energy was soon over, and Stranon squirmed free of his grasp, then gave him a solid kick in the face, sending his gargantuan form tumbling down to the ground.
The bandits had halted their collective charge when their hero showed signs of life, but after his defeat was confirmed, they became all the more enraged and resumed their attack. Stranon was more or less numb to the pain, now, and more prepared for the oncomig torrent of bandits. As they remorselessly flung themselves into an obsidian death that was Stranon's blade, they came ever closer to overwhelming him. Stranon continued to cut them down with stunning efficiency, but one that had been impaled could only hold on for so long...
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Post by Non-Player Characters on May 14, 2007 21:24:25 GMT -5
Navra leaned forward from her vantage point as the fight climaxed. She didn't care who won and who died. She could control anyone's mind; some were just easier than others. As she watched Nom fall to the stranger's sword, she felt the slightest pang of regret. Nom was a good dog, leashed to her every command and thinking it his own. He had appreciated her help with the traders and hadn't even thought about his own safety. Then again, by the time she had revealed her powers of mental persuasion he was already firmly under her influence. She wasn't stupid, after all.
The rush of action following Nom's death was almost endearing. Who would have thought the bandits would have been loyal enough to avenge their fallen leader? It wasn't as if he had been a kind and just man. Then again, he had become something of a lord to these lordless men. Perhaps that had been enough. Navra smirked. To think, they left because they couldn't stand authority and found themselves subjected to Nom's version of tyranny. It was all well and good, but this stranger who fought like a man possessed had engaged her full attention. He was interesting, and she wished to know more of his story. That would be rather difficult if he fell under the rush of blades thirsty for revenge. Navra stood, the setting sun casting her shadow across the bloody scene below. She whistled once, a clear-cutting whistle used as an alarm in ambush raids. It was a whistle all the bandits of Refuge had been taught. Instinctively, those who could hear looked up at her. Even though her face was in shadow, her violet eyes sparkled with inner fire. She met the eyes of those below with her own, bringing her power to bear. Look to me...
As their comrades dropped their swords and stood motionless, staring at the woman lit by the sun, more of the bandits looked up and were mesmerized. Some, regrettably, were killed once their attention wavered from the swordsman. Navra stood motionless as well, sweating from the exertion of holding so many minds at once. Finally, it seemed as if she'd caught the majority of those left.
Sleep...
As one, the bandits dropped to the ground. Navra gasped in a lungful of air, wincing as the first echo of the headache she'd have in the morning hit her. She was glad she hadn't tried that on a group she didn't personally know. It was always easy with acquaintances, easier with friends, and easiest with lovers.
Now, however, she was weak. Navra hoped that her wards against attack were strong enough to convince the wounded man to spare her. She knew she couldn't control his mind in this state. In a perfect world, he would fall unconscious and she could insinuate herself in his subconscious mind. She was too smart to ever expect the perfect opportunity. Now, she could only watch, wait, and hope for a chance. Her body was still a weapon, and she still had her whip.
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Stranon
Half-Human, Half-Demon
Professional Badass
Posts: 27
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Post by Stranon on May 15, 2007 19:53:47 GMT -5
Stranon didn't hesitate even as the bandits' limp forms fell to the ground, seemingly unconscious. He cut them down without mercy, paying no heed to the fact that they couldn't defend themselves. After a good number had been slaughtered, Stranon stopped and fell to the ground. He has at a complete loss as to why the bandits had suddenly halted their attack and collapsed, but nonetheless grateful for whatever had stopped them. As Stranon's fury subsided, so did his only source of energy and he fell to the ground, heaving painful gasps. The pain from his wounds was exploding now, but the demon-warrior resisted it as best he could and didn't utter a sound. He was determined to maintain his consciousness and found reciting old songs he learned as a child as the best way to do so. Inevitably, though, he began to lose his grip on his mind...
"Stranon!" Kyri leapt down from the large wooden gates and sprinted towards her dying comrade, barely noticing the carnage that surrounded them. The elf was terrified and entirely unsure what to do, but she did what she thought to be the wisest course of action. Taking the leather canteen from her belt, Kyri poured some of the rejuvenating water on Stranon's face, then let some trickle into his mouth. He drank only a limited amount then signaled for Kyri to stop. "Wrap this..." he mumbled, revealing the gnarled gash in his side where he had been impaled. Kyri gasped in horror at the grotesque wound. After emptying the canteen onto the wound to provide some minimum cleaning, she did as he said and wrapped a portion of his vest around his middle. "Stranon, you're going to be all right, okay?" Tears filled the young elf's eyes. She had never seen her friend in this condition before. "I know. I've been through much worse. This is nothing! Heh...heheh..." The attempt at a laugh only hurt and Stranon cringed at the unwelcome pain. Looking around desperately, Kyri searched for any kind of help. She soon laughed at her foolishness. Who from this fort would help the man that had just slain nearly the entire camp? A lone figure atop a nearby building caught her attention, though. "Hey! You! Come help! He's dying!" Stranon shot Kyri a glare. "Don't say it like that...I'm just...hurt...and bleeding rather profusely" Kyri could only hope the woman would help. Dragging Stranon to the nearest village on her own would be an extraordinary feat. He was at least twice as large as her. If the woman felt no need to assist her, though, Kyri was prepared to drag Stranon whatever distance necessary to save him.
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Post by Non-Player Characters on Jun 6, 2007 2:19:09 GMT -5
Movement at the gate instantly put Navra on alert. If the warrior was part of a group, she would have to hide. There was no chance she could pull another mental stunt like her first. If his backup was anywhere near his equal in fighting skill she would have no chance physically. Her instincts had engaged instantly, and she was slipping behind the parapet before she realized that the 'backup' was a slender woman. Still, she kept her guard up. Navra knew, better than most, that looks could deceive. She watched as the woman ran to the man. Observing their interaction told her much. They both cared for each other, more than any one person had ever cared for her. The woman charged recklessly into a dangerous situation just for the sake of the fighter, and the man tried to hide the extent of his injuries. The pair seemed so mismatched...yet connected. Navra was intrigued. Were they lovers? They couldn't be related by blood. They spoke to one another, but she couldn't hear what was said. Like always, she watched. And learned what she could. They both weren't strangers to battle. After all, the woman had just charged through incredible carnage without blanching. But she was either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid to rush in so heedlessly. Perhaps there was more to their group...or perhaps she trusted entirely in the warrior's skill to protect her. At any rate, they were interesting in a world that had grown boring and monotonous in the past few months.
Suddenly the woman turned and shouted at Navra. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but she was intrigued. Curiosity may kill, but at least the cat won't be bored. And as a woman fighting in a man's world, she respected women with courage. Plus, helping them would buy her time to recover. She walked to the corner of the rooftop, keeping her eyes on the strangers at all times. Navra slid down the support beam with practiced ease. Her mind raced as she approached the couple. It would be best to come directly to the point. No excuses, no explanations of my role in this camp. Let them make of me what they will. "I know little field medicine, but I do know where there is a bed, bandages, water, and alcohol. From what I know, that could be useful. I'm sorry I can't offer a healer, but the only one I know is over there," Navra indicated a headless corpse amidst the carnage. "Follow me." With that she strode into the modified city hall. Let them follow if they would. Nom's bed would be an appropriate place to rest the warrior. There was a certain ironic justice in that. As the thought occurred to her, she felt a sudden chill. With Nom's death, did the stranger have the claim to Camp Refuge? An interesting possibility. Gods know she didn't want it. It's never as fun when everyone knows you're the one in control.
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Stranon
Half-Human, Half-Demon
Professional Badass
Posts: 27
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Post by Stranon on Jun 6, 2007 22:26:07 GMT -5
Kyri was hardly relieved, though the help the woman offered was better than nothing. Kyri displayed her gratitude towards the woman with a quick glance as she gathered Stranon's massive arms together and attempted to drag him behind her. Stranon would have none of that, though, and forced himself to his feet. He limped awkwardly along, following Navra despite Kyri's frantic pleas for him to lie down or at least slow down.
After what seemed like an agonizingly long distance to Kyri, she helped Stranon into the building Navra had entered. The mysterious woman was standing next to an enormous bed.
Stranon struggled onto the inviting mattress then collapsed on it. He noticed that Kyri was already searching through various cupboards and cabinets. She was likely looking for the alcohol the woman had mentioned. Stranon didn't know what to think of the woman. She certainly witnessed the carnage he spread across the camp; she didn't seem the least bit surprised by the massacre when she came to help. A passerby would have been shocked by such a scene. Perhaps she was some kind of prophet and had already foreseen the event. That would also be reasonable cause for her seeming indifference. The latter was very unlikely, however, so Stranon stuck with the assumption she had been there. If that was true, then she was probably a highly valued member of their group. Perhaps their leader. It would make no sense otherwise that she didn't join the battle and was the only only unaffected by the paralyzing wave that seemed to wash over the remaining bandits. Why did she show no concern or anger that he had slaughtered her people then? Mysterious indeed. Only time would tell who she really was and what she was up to. Stranon didn't trust the woman at all and stayed very conscious of her at all times. Her act of generosity had no reason behind it. She had ample reason to kill him, not help him. Regardless, he would take her help until he no longer needed it or until she proved his suspicions.
Kyri returned with some alcohol and unwrapped the bandage around his wound. Stranon knew what was comingand clenched his teeth. A searing pain shot through his entire body as Kyri cleaned his wound the best she could. Stranon couldn't help but to jerk a bit, though he tried not to. This recovery would be a lengthy one, unfortunately. Without a healer, anyway. Hopefully he could convince Kyri that he felt well enough to manage without her help for a while so she could go search for a healer.
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Stranon
Half-Human, Half-Demon
Professional Badass
Posts: 27
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Post by Stranon on Jun 18, 2007 21:25:54 GMT -5
Stranon awoke to a calm morning. The cool, fresh air was very relaxing and the half-demon took a deep breath, instantly rejuvenating his senses after a lengthy rest. He looked around a bit, still not familiar with the location. The room he was in was fairly large and had various stacks of junk and other random assortments scattered about. Seeing nothing of interest, Stranon hopped out of the bed and took a step outside. He had been recovering for a while now; how long exactly he didn't know, but he did know he was itching to get back into some action. Kyri was off to some village and Navra was out somewhere as well. Their absence presented a good opportunity to explore the fort some. He hadn't been up and about since his injury, so he was looking forward to the small adventure.
His exploration of the fort was largely disappointing. It was pretty boring, but what could he expect from and old fort that had nearly every resident slaughtered by his own hand. Other than a few huts and shacks and a tower, the fort was entirely empty. Stranon was thoroughly bored at this point, so he headed back to his bed. Nothing better to do than to get some more rest to help the healing.
The demon warrior took off at a sprint towards the structure that housed his bed, cleared the opening, and took a soaring front flip into the bed. As he should had expected, the bed collapsed, completely crushed under the weight. Stranon got back up to his feet with a shrug. Even if his bed was gone and he'd get an earful from Kyri and Navra, that flip was pretty fun.
Now, having absolutely nothing better to waste his time on, Stranon went to sharpening his throwing knife skills, which had likely deteriorated during his recovery time. He grabbed the knife out of his boot and tossed it a few times, then flung it towards discolored section of the north wall. The knife stuck in just where he had aimed. Still deadly as ever. Stranon grinned to himself and went to fetch his blade. Along the way he stumbled over a large object partially buried in the dirt beneath his feet. Cursing it, he went to pick it up so he could throw it over the walls. As he grabbed the object and unearthed it, though, a magnificent glow burst out of what he soon discovered to be a brilliant jewel. Stranon stared in awe at the treasure for quite some time. Suddenly, an intense burst of light erupted from the jewel, sending Stranon sprawling backwards. He wrapped his arms around his head in agony, barely able to stay conscious from the terrible pain that now enveloped him. Most of the pain was focused in his head though, seeming to blast his mind, blowing it away. He couldn't even begin to think about anything but the pain. He was convinced his head was going to explode when all of the agony abruptly stopped. Stranon sat up, completely confused. What in the Seven Hells had just happened? He felt almost normal now, save for a firm tightness that felt like it encompassed his brain. He shook the odd sensation off as a side effect of the immense torture he had endured.
That damned jewel was going to be powder, that was for sure. Stranon found it and used the hilt of his sword to smash the brilliant treasure into tiny shards. Piece of shit. Whatever the hell it was, it wasn't going to blast his head anymore. Feeling satisfied at having destroyed the jewel, Stranon went to locate another suitable bed. He felt entirely drained after the incident and needed some more rest.
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