The sun burst forward its hardy fury upon the Wester Highlands, its unbearable rays striking all who were brave enough to withstand the blazing sensation. Despite the horrid shine upon the lands, life bloomed. Wildlife strewn about, attending to their daily needs, Deer wandered through thicken brambles, grazing while foxes sniffed the fertile earth, searching for food.
Amidst the rocky valley, rested a lonesome cave, its size, generous. A thick crack was visible through the side of a hill. Inside the cave, rested a well sized room, although quite damp. A small hearth of fire could be seen lighting up the room, unyielding against the cooling atmosphere.
A being entered the room, impeccably tall in size with a even larger sword by his side. His great sword scraped against the unpaved stone of the cave as he strode towards the campfire. His body, plated past reasonable terms, thick with blade stopping steel.
He stopped in front of the fire, his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. The man laid his sword down, soon following with his own body. The man sat besides the fire, staring into the warmth that was his survival until tomorrow. The man reached for his great sword, grabbing it and laying it across his lap.
"A lonesome night this shall be, for my companion shall be the blade." He muttered to himself, rolling his shoulders even so slightly.
The man sighed to himself, ready to rest and prepare for his trek tomorrow. The man slowly lowered his head, asleep to the sounds of the crackling of fire, and the echoes of footsteps and shouting.
The man's head snapped up, there were beings in this cave. Their gruff, harsh tones, a clear sign to their professions. It seems some unsavory individuals had tracked him back to his cave.
The man brushed his hands against the flat of the sword, staring at the entrance to the cave, waiting for the men to appear.
They never came.
Instead, what greeted the large man were noises of conflict.
First came what sounded like rope unraveling itself rapidly, before it sounded like the rope was being pulled rapidly against somthing, and the sound of a man grasping soon followed.
There were some momentary shouting of confusion, before a lone shot from what sounded like a gunpowder erupted through the forest.
More shouting now, the shouters had a sense of alertness and even panic, with hints of fear echoing through their each sentence. Weapons were now being drawn, as what seemed like a battle was about to ensue...
The drums of war arrived at the man's hooded senses, the panicking cries alerting him of the skirmish that was happening. The man stood up, grabbing his sword. The blade scrapped against the hardened floor as the man rose to his full height. The man lifted the massive blade, resting it on his shoulder in a well worn niche upon his pauldron.
The man began walking, his steps filling the damp air. His armor shuffling as he strode. The man sighed, stepping out into the brightened outdoors, awaiting those who fight.
What he would find was dead bandit dangling by his neck, while lying on the floor bleeding to death was a rather large armored fellow.
But the dead bodies weren't enough to distract from what was going on in the enter; seemed a man in a overcoat was taking on a dozen minus two.
*shink*
A dozen minus three, as another bandit fell with a knife impaled in his chest.
Meanwhile, the stranger in the overcoat was evading a strike from one of the bandits, in his right hand was a rather large knife. But as he stepped back he was caught in a hold from behind by a burly bandit, as one of the bandits shouted for the rest to finish the job.
Such viciousness, to see such a brutal sight before him, uncommon. The man glanced around, his surroundings unaware of the lumbering giant. The man stood there, silent letting the blades clash around him.
A man in an overcoat caught his attention, going up against a crowd of armed brigands alone. Foolishness. Such tactics are better left to traps and ambushes.
As the bandits began to overpower the man in the overcoat, the giant sighed, raising the blade. The man was clearly a bounty hunter of sorts, keeping him alive would provide some company along with directions to the town nearby. And alas, these bandits will most likely assault him after they finish off the man. Such behavior cannot be tolerated.
The man swung his blade, a cleaving arc, clean and powerful.
The blade slammed itself into one of the brigands, carving through his neck instantly. The blade's sheer weight keeps the momentum going, it also slicing deep into a bandit, his bones and flesh, annihilated by the force of the sword. Both of them fell to the ground, their wounds bleeding profusely as they died.
A brigand turned himself, shouting in surprise as his blade swung wildly for the man's head. The giant grunted, raising his arm in order to take the strike. The blade is stopped by his armor as the man quickly backhands the brigand across his jaw. The brigand stumbles back, his mouth hammered beyond comprehension, his jawline dislocated and fractured, his mouth bleeding.
The man grunted, gripping his sword with both hands. The man lifted the sword onto his shoulder, resting the blade upon the well worn niche in his pauldron. The man towered over the remaining, his entrance, finished.
"Wanderlust Wanderlust, such horrors, met by a blade it must." spouts the man, his voice, solemn yet powerful.
The blade gleams with a malicious and greedy shine, having tasted the blood of battle once more.
The man with a large blade made for the perfect distraction, as the man in the overcoat pulled his head forward before slamming it into the burly man, catching his captor off guard.
Twisting one of his captor's arm, he twirled under it to face his enemy's chest. Three quick and precise stabs later, the burly man fell backwards, bleeding from three different areas on his chest.
The man in the overcoat didn't have anytime to rest, however. Acting quickly, the man in the overcoat rolling away just as a heavy axe was brought down upon his previous position.
The man in the overcoat rolled into a crouched position and threw his knife at his attacker. It landed it's mark, stumbling the axe bandit, but he was wearing some armor and looked tougher then any normal man. The axe bandit pulled the knife out of him, with a deep dark chuckle, threw it to the side, and then charged the man in the overcoat.
Quickly glancing around, his hand shot out to grab a nearby short sword from one of the fallen bandits. Just as the axe bandit brought down his axe, the man in the overcoat brought up the sword. But instead of blocking the blow, he had his free hand on the sword's flat side, and deflected the blow to the side before bringing the swords grip up to the exposed face of the bandit. The bandit stumbled, but the man in the overcoat did not hesitate and seized the opening, swiping his sword sideways, effectively cutting the bandit's throat.
As the axe bandit fell back, blood gushing from his throat, the man in the overcoat quickly turned his head at the newcomer and what look liked half of the original brigand band.
He didn't have much to think about ponder on who this newcomer was or why he was here, as two more brigands descended upon him, weapons drawn. The only thing he did know was that this newcomer was on his side, at least for now, he thought as the first bandit reached him and swung his mace.
The man in the overcoat sidestepped the clumsy swing, before parrying the second, sword wielding individual.
There was two, three more had the newcomer surrounded, he could of sworn there was suppose to be one more...
*Twaaaan*
Ah, there he is.
The man in the overcoat thought as he caught an arrow meant for his head with his free hand, the shooter cursing loudly for all to hear. Throwing the arrow down into the ground, he moved his scarf slightly, but not so much that his face was wholly revealed. He turned his head, then spat on the ground, before turning his head and raising his sword in a ready stance.
Two against six, now these brigands really don't have a chance.
Out of the corner of his mask, the man watched. As the swift rouge twirled the dancing blades, the remaining brigands unfocused on his flurry focused on the man instead. All three of them, gritted fury, assaulted him.
Their weapons hammered the man, an irregular rhythm. However, in the end, the man was unharmed, not even a scratch would be there. The man flexed his grip upon his sword, sighing.
The man hummed ever so slightly, "Like lambs to the slaughter I suppose."
The man rocketed his fist forward, his gauntlet impacting the same man whose jaw he had previously dislocated. The impact of the fist slams into the man, breaking his nose and knocking him to the floor.
The brigands split, one staying in front of him and the other behind. Using the time needed to do such split, the man tightens his grip and swings his sword once more.
The one in the front raises his shield in order to stop the blow while the one in the back moves in for the kill. The sword collides with the shield, the impact of the sword dislocating the man's shoulder in the process.
The brigand yells as he backs up, pain in his nerves. The brigand in the back swing his mace into the man's head. The mace towers, hammer like.
The mace is stopped, that is all.
The man was clearly invulnerable to such weapons. The man reaches for the shield wielder, grabbing him by the head. With a strong tug on the head, the man slams the brigand's head into his sword's grip, the force enough to cave in his forehead, a remarkable feat.
The man spun his body, slamming his fist into the one behind him. The fist impacted the man's gut, doubling him over. The man kneeled down, coughing blood.
The man grunted, lifting up his sword. The blade rose with impeding strength, caked dirt falling from it. The blade was raised above the man's head, both hands gripping it tightly.
The blade fell, a gleeful arc.
The blade impacted the man's neck, taking off the head instantly.
The man sighed, his shoulders slumping over out of exhaustion. The man turned his head, facing the last brigand who was attacking him. The brigand was unconscious, as blunt trauma would usually entail.
The man glanced at the rouge in the coat, watching his movements.
The blade gleams with a satisfied dull, happy with its nourishment.
The man in the overcoat had to move a little more then the masked new comer, as the two brigands in front of him rushed.
The first one came in swinging his sword in a vertical arc from the left, but it was met by the rogue's own sword, the bandit's sword pinged off of each other.
The secound bandit swung his mace from the right in a horizontal arc. The rogue quickly reacted, ducking under the swing and slashed at the bandit's leg. The mace wielding bandit screamed in pain as he fell on one knee.
Meanwhile, the sword bandit swung at the man in the overcoat again, this time in a similar horizontal arc. The man in the overcoat brought his sword to bear, moving his free hand onto the grip to wield the sword with two hands.
The man in the overcoat blocked the attack and held firm, as the swords made a loud clashing sound, the man in the overcoat shoved forward the grip of the sword with great force, striking the man in the face and dazing him.
As the sword bandit stumbled back, the man with the mace seemed to had grit his teeth and gotten up. He swung the mace at the back of the man in the overcoat's head. The target quickly sidestep, allowing for the mace bandit to fall forward with the swing of the mace, his balance lost. Moving his original free hand off of the sword's grip, the man in the overcoat grabbed the arm of the mace wielding hand that feel forward, and redirected the momentum to the side of him. Bring up his arm wielding sword, he put the bandit into some sort of a hug-hold, and then abruptly stopped him. The bandit and the man in the overcoat met eyes for but a secound, before two rough impacts hit the bandit. Sticking out of his back, were two arrows, meant for the man in the overcoat.
Quickly throwing aside the mace bandit, the man in the overcoat ducked under a flying arrow from what looked to be an archer. Keeping his head low, ran for the archer and rolled. In mid row, he changed to grip of his sword, so when he finished his roll, he threw the short sword into the air like a javelin.
The archer was caught off guard, in the middle of pulling back another arrow, and was impaled in the chest by the short sword, before falling over backwards, blood gushing out of the opening.
The man the overcoat then twirled around, seeing the sword wielding bandit now visibly shaken. Moments later, the bandit had turned his back, fleeing the fight.
The man in the overcoat stood up stright, almost in a relaxed position. Reaching into his inner overcoat pocket, he pulled out a pistol.
Extending his entire arm out, the man in the overcoat took a minute to aim for the fleeing bandit's head, before he pulled the trigger.
*Bam*
The gunshot echoed the forest, before all was silent.
All that remained were the heavily armored stranger and the stranger in the overcoat.
The man in the overcoat brought his arm down, the barrel in the pistol still smoking, and looked over to the newcomer, as if he was expecting him to say somthing.
Glancing around at the bloody aftermath, the man sighed to himself. The floor pooled with whatever small amounts of blood was left. The area became silent once more, the bristling of trees heard once more.
The giant straightened his body, exhaling as his lumbering body moved. He turned to face the rouge before him, his posture tall and imposing to many. The man placed the side of his right hand against his chest, bowing his head ever so slightly towards the rouge.
"A fair day to you, I am deeply sorry for intruding on your.....activity of sorts." spoke the man, his tone of voice taking on a much more lighthearted tone, "I am a wandering man of sorts I believe one could say, I go by the moniker of Brande."
Brande reached for his mask, adjusting it, "I have a sudden request for you, is it possible that you could guide me to the nearest town or village?" asked Brande, "I do not believe these....nice gentlemen would know the way."
Brande gently nudged the last brigand who was still alive after the brutal massacre. The man grunted, his face bloody from the multiple hammer like fists sent into his face. The brigand opened his eyes, glancing around, groggily as the morning fog.
The man overcoat said nothing, as he walked over to the large man, putting his pistol back into his coat, he pulled out of a knife from one of the now dead bandits.
Stalking over, it looked like he was walking over to the big man, his eyes never leaving the mask
As he stopped right in front of the giant, still looking up, he slowly looked down at his knife. He twirled it so that the blade side was up, before moving his eyes onto the newly awaken brigand.
He bent down, staring at the brigand, before sticking his knife to the brigand's throat.
"Where is he?" The man in the overcoat hissed in a low voice, as he pressed the knife closer to the mans throat.
It took the brigand a minute, but then, he started chuckling darkling. "You'll never find them, you hear? He isn't afraid of you, known of them are. You can't stop them, they'll burn th-" The brigand didn't get a chance to finish, as the man in the overcoat slit his throat.
Standing back up, the man in the overcoat looked at the brigand, now choking on his own blood, before wiping his blade.
He looked back at the man in the mask, putting his knife into his overcoat's pocket, before walking away quietly.
Grabbing a torch, still burning and in the hands of an armor bandit, he held it up. As he walked away, he turned his head back to look at the man in the mask. Using his head, he indicated the man in the mask to follow him, before he continued on.
The man observed the rouge approaching him, his posture, rather lax. As the rouge picked up the knife, the man internally chuckled to himself, wondering if the rouge was going to attempt an assault on him.
Instead, he watched as the rouge interrogated the poor brigand laid upon the ground. The rouge was after someone else it seems. The brigand was quickly slain, leaving a small wet work of blood laid amongst the already bloody scene.
The rouge picked up the still burning torch, plucking it from the armored brigand's cold hands, walking off with it.
It seems the rouge wanted him to follow, perhaps he wanted Brande to help him kill someone?
Brande sighed, knowing that without this rouge, he would be completely lost. Brande decided once more to become sidetracked and help out this dastardly rouge in his questionable adventure.
The man began to follow, his footsteps audible.
The man traveled a bit through the forest, he remain quiet with ever step. Even though there were two menacing figures that walked the forest, it was a relatively quiet and pleasant night, all things consider.
After a bit of travel, the two happened upon a village, it was quiet well lit, as if it was alerted to something.
As the two neared, they could see two guards armed with spears standing outside ever vigilante. The audible footsteps of the man behind the man in the overcoat startled the two guards, as the
lowered their spears. Though, their hands began to shake upon seeing the giant man.
"H-halt." stuttered one of the guards, visably afraid of the giant man. "W-who, who is this-s?"
"He's with me" was all that the man in the overcoat grunted.
The two guards looked at each other, before quickly stepping aside to allow the two to enter the village.
The man in the overcoat led, seemingly going for the center of the town.
The forest, was dark, terrifying to those who feared the blackened night. The trees gave the representatives of monstrous beasts, unknown critters scurried along the forest floor while predators lurked. Certainly an area of terror.
Brande however, simply followed the torch light wavering in front of him, the rouge who held it silent as ever. The man of armor simply strode along, his sword rested flat upon his shoulder, gleaming in the torch light. Considering rumors about the forest, it was quite peaceful.
Sometime later, the two approached a village, its interior well lit despite it being the middle of the night.
As they both headed towards the village entrance, Brande looked around, taking in the dull sights he saw. They approached the guards, who were visibly frightened by the him. Brande watched as the rouge before him was let in by the guards, clearly he was known around here.
Brande glanced down at the guards as they passed, their faces, shaken. His mask dimly illuminated in the village light, giving off quite the intimidating look. Brande slowed down, his hand raising to his chest.
Brande gave a small head bow to the two guards as he passed, muttering, "Apologies for the frightful appearance, I assure you, I do not wish harm upon you all."
The blade shined with a bored dull, seemingly annoyed by its surroundings.
It didn't take long for the two to reach the center of the village, in the middle was a official looking building, didn't really look special, but the lights were still on.
Putting the torch out and throwing the stick to the side, Otto opened the door and entered. He had some business to take care of.
Inside were a few men sitting around a table. Many looked old, all looked tired.
All of them jumped when they heard the door open, they're faces were not put at ease by the man in the overcoat.
"D-did you g-get-t him?" stuttered one of the elderly men.
His answer was met by a grunt and a shake of a head. However, he took out a little pouched stained in blood and tossed it on to the desk. As it landed, gold slipped out of it, catching the old men's attention, as they shifted in their seats to get a better look.
Otto said nothing, he had taken the money from the leader of the band when he hung said leader.
As the old men began to whisper amongst themselves, before looking back, only to be terrified by yet another force behind the man in the overcoat.
As they both stopped outside the building, Brande once again paused in his steps in order to admire his surroundings. Such simplicity, yet, such a homely feeling. One must admire simple surroundings, for it leaves much space for imagination, a dearest companion to Brande himself.
Brande sighs, staring into the brilliant sky, certainly becoming rather lost in his thoughts. He looked back down, barely managing to see the rouge enter the building before them. Brande exhaled once more, wondering why the rouge wanted him to follow into this specific building.
The lumbering man walked forward, stopping at the door. He slowly ducked his head under the door, holding his great sword at his side as to not scrap it against any flimsy structures.
As he entered the building, he heard the telltale sounds of coins landing upon a table, even more evidence of the bounty hunter before him. The room was lit, hopefully warm to the senses.
As he stepped in, the elders witnessed him, their fear propelled ever further than before. A shame really, such bounties of knowledge could serve useful as to common chats over stories and books. Hopefully they can still listen despite their fears.
Brande bowed his head, placing the straightened side of his palm against his chest plate, "Apologies for my rather...frightful appearance, I assure you, I am of no harm."
The blade glistens once more in the firelight, bloodthirsty for action once more.
"R-right, of course. He, he." one of the old men started to chuckle nervously. "Of course...any friend of the hangman is..." The old man gulped at the last part. "friends with us."
Said "hangman" put both his hands onto the table, causing the old men to lean back as he looked each and everyone of them in the eye.
"Has your messenger returned?" the man in the overcoat inquired in his ever cold voice.
"Ooh, of course, him." spoke up another man, who sank into his seat as the man in the overcoat looked at him. "W-word is, ahem, word is that there may be someone who knows about his location in the next town over." The man was able to get out, he was doing hard to keep his composure.
The man in the overcoat stared at him for a secound, before leaning back to stand up stright.
"Thank you." Was all the man said, before he turned to leave.
Upon exiting the building, the sun was just over the horizon. THe man in the overcoat shaded his eyes as he looked on, then to the village. It was not appernt, but there were bits and pieces still left over that indicated village had been attacked recently.
The hangman turned around to face the big man who had followed him. "This may be where we part" said the man in the overcoat. "This is the nearest village."
"This is the nearest village." spoke the rouge, his words final and resolute.
Brande paused, remembering what his original goal was. His movements slowed to a halt. His gaze, focused on the bladed man before him.
"Ah! Of course, such goal I almost forgot. Forgive me of course, for sightseeing, this town has a rather beautiful fog to it." spoke Brande, bowing his head ever so slightly.
"I thank you for being a guide to my sense of misdirection. May I fare you well on your travels." said Brande, his voice as monotone as before.
The man in armor turned his body around, set on exploring the village that he was brought to. His steps thundered against the gravel road. As the blade upon his shoulder glistened in the morning light, looking forward to the next battle.
Few Days Later,
A large man sat besides a blazing campfire, a massive sword laid upon his lap. The forest above was clear, an open night sky full in view. The fire trickled along, alive and healthy.
In his hands was a open book, the man's masked eyes fully focused on the story written before him. The book gently waved in what wind came along, blowing through pages for the man in hold.
The man sighed happily, this event being rather relaxing to him.
In the distance, rustling could be heard, although not by the man in armor.
No sooner do the large man turn his back, did the man in the overcoat disappear, seemingly into the shadows of the moring sun.
Few days later
A moment later, a fox like creature came wondering out of the bushes. Upon seeing the big man, quickly scurried away, into another bush.
The forest went back to being quiet, but there was the presence from a stranger.
The man in the overcoat had his back to one of the trees, hidden from view and quiet.
Didn't take long for him to revel himself.
"We meet again stranger" The man in the overcoat said with a deep, almost raspy voice.
The man was absolutely still, his gaze focused down upon the flowing book. The pages turning ever so slowly in the bristling wind. The campfire trickled along, burning slowly, yet so bright. Such elegance in a simple matter of nature.
A shadow lurked from the bushes, its steps tedious and quiet. It appeared from behind a tree, slandering about, its gaze focused on the man of armor. It stepped out from the bushes, its jaws opening.
"We meet again stranger." spoke the being.
Brande slowly lifted up his head, almost groggily. He was asleep, staring at the pages with both his hollow eyes closed. His gaze focused on the man before him, coat flowing in the wind.
"Ah....A small world I suppose, though would I be wrong in guessing that you went ahead of me?" asked Brande, his tone genuinely confused.
The blade glimmered softly in the firelight, relaxed, yet starving once more.
The man in the overcoat said nothing at first, moving to the opposite side of the big man, just right across the camp fire and took a seat.
He stared into the fire for a moment, but began to spoke. "Small world indeed." his voice was every raspy.
The man in the overcoat kept staring at the fire for a few more moments, he was thinking of somthing, before continuing. "I was indeed ahead,but...what brings you to these parts? Surly it's differnt then my reasons..."
The man did not object to the rouge sitting besides the fire, in fact, it almost seemed as if he welcomed him. The fire blazed along, the hearty warmth open to another member of unknown history. All the while, the man listened to the raspy verses of the rouge before him.
The man exhaled, his shoulders slumping over, "The reason why I am here? I simply travel, sightseeing perhaps."
The man hummed ever so slightly, his dull and monotone voice contrasting with the rather positive wanderlust, "Much of the villages that rest are in ruins, its very body, destroyed. It would be a shame to see the once jubilant life rot in poverty. I suppose that is another reason why I travel."
The man turned his head, staring at the rouge, "I suppose you are here to simply massacre any "evildoers" in your vigilante crusade. Am I wrong, or should I have worded it differently?"
"Odd thing to see, ruins." The man in the overcoat said, quite simply. "Not much to see but the leftovers...and the rats who feed off it.
He was referring to bandits mostly. Many times he had ventured amongst ruins he had almost always encountered brigands of sorts.
"Call them what you will, but some people in this world are just irredeemable." the man in the overcoat continued. "And it is not their crime that makes them irredeemable, it is their intent.""
He reached into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a knife. He slide his gloved hand across the broad side of it, it was quite rusted, but the man was staring at it, looking at it like it was a mirror. "Some people just want to see the world burn...and others are too busy burning it to stop them..."
The man hummed curiously as he listened to the rouge's gritting rasp. His torn red cloak flapping ever so in the wind. His bronzed mask shone in the firelight.
The man picked up a stick from the side, jabbing at the hearth with it. His armor rustled ever so slightly as he continued to repeat the same action over and over. The man stared at the rouge.
"You must know, there are more to this ideal that you seek to destroy than simple banditry yes?" Brande questioned, "Clerics, nobles, and all the more. They all have the same ideals. How will you catch them?"
"Same way I do the as the rest of them: the roads." The man in the overcoat said as he played with his knife. "I've taken my fair share of the nobility and so-called pious alike, and they're no differnt then the rest of them...they go the same way as they all do."
He didn't say how, but many times he didn't have to. The noose on his belt explained it all.
The man sat back onto his end, sighing. His gaze turned back into the fire, the pits of his eyes once brimming with curiosity has now dulled. The man shuffled slightly, adjusting his posture.
"You are a man of your trade, I will not indulge your profession with my curiosity no longer." spoke the man, his voice lonesome and monotone. "I will be simply heading to the next village in order to gain my bearings once more. Perhaps some company would do well for me hm?"
The blade shined amongst itself, boredom arises.
"You are impressive in a fight...I would not mind the company of one such as yourself." The man in the overcoat said as he put the knife away into his overcoat.
His gaze returned to the fire, he stared into it, as if there was some sort of secret within the blooming red fire.
"What are your plans when you reach the next village?" asked the man in the overcoat, still focused on the fire.
"My plans, simple as the clearest sky. I shall head to the next village, and gain bearings, help out those who require assistance, and leave. That is all." spoke the man. "Alas, it is not my skill that wins these battles, it is the war I wage on their minds. That and I am invincible to the common blade and blunt."
The man picked up his book once more as he began to read from it. His mask now focused upon the scribbles in the book.
"I suppose we leave when dawn breaks? At least that way any brigands we find along won't evade our already blinded eyes." The man asked.
The blade sat there, resting itself, anticipating the next massacre.
"Admirable" The man in the overcoat said, but he never shifted his gaze. "Dawn would be a good time to depart then..."
The man in the overcoat would seemingly stare into the fire for the rest of night, seated in the same position for the rest of the night.
As both of them settled for the night, the rustle of bushes could be heard. The once cool atmosphere, now the caravan for the lust of blood drenched gold and battle. The rasp of the blade could be heard in the distance.
Brande looked up from his book, gently closing the rather extravagant cover, "It seems they found us first, the firelight welcomes not only those who seek a sanctuary for the night but also those who wish to destroy it."
Several Arrows shot out of the bushes, coming straight for them both.
The sword radiates with a sadistic cruelty, its wish for wanton havoc granted.
The man in the overcoat reacted, rolling out of the way of the arrow fire.
He rolled onto his stomach, searching the foliage for the enemy. Didn't take him long to spot one in a tree, as he quickly got to his feat.
Seemed like said archer saw him, as he tried to get down from the tree, the man threw a knife at where the archer was going to land. It hit him stright in the chest, as the archer feel over bleeding.
"Watch the trees." Otto yelled as he rolled over to a tree, a knife in hand.
The man sighed as he stood up, grunting as he used his massive sword as a crutch. As he stood up, arrows peppered his body, all of them either bouncing off his armor or getting stuck in the riveted mail he wore. The man stood up to his full height, his gaze focused on several brigands stepping out of the bush.
Brande rolled his shoulder, his armor shifting as he did. He raised his sword, leaning it on his cauldron within the well worn niche.
He hummed ever so slightly, "And so they discover our little sanctuary first. A shame, they wish to serve as fodder for the ever growing ragelust of my blade?"
Brande brought his sword down on one of the brigands, the man before him easily dodging to the side. The brigand brought his dagger at Brande's throat. His arm was suddenly latched onto a wrap by Brande. He was lifted up and slammed head first into the ground, breaking his nose and damaging his neck in the process.
The brigand tumbled over as his companions rushed in to assist the fallen comrade. Brande faced his body towards the two as they charged. The man raised his sword, cleaving it horizontally towards the bandit.
The blade swung, a massive arc, destroying everything in its path.
Otto threw the knife in his hand, before pulling out another one and slashed at a bandit's throat, who had hopped out of the nearby bushes.
As the bandit fell over backwards, gurgling in his own blood, Otto began to skirt backwards, back towards the big man, dodging incoming arrows.
Catching a glance at the big man as his blade tore off the bandit's body parts, he remarked. "Your blade seems to be drinking up the blood. Is it a relic of magic?"
Otto normally didn't make small talk in battle, but he figured these bandits were not as challenging as any of the ones he had faced before, a little small talk might make things a bit interesting.
The blade crashed against the right brigand's sword, the weight of the blade breaking past his one handed block and slamming his blade along with the force of the great sword into his side. The sword entered the brigand's side, burrowing into his stomach and sending him flying into the bandit next to him.
As the two clattered over, one bleeding profusely, a saving grace unwelcome to him. Brande yanked back his sword, letting it crash to the ground besides him. The blade glistened, shadowed by blood, yet gleamed so gloriously in the morning light. Brande grunted, slowly lifting the blade onto his shoulder, resting it within the well worn niche.
The man turned his head to the rouge, staring at him. The rest of the assaulting bandits had fled into the forest, most of them having been slain in combat. The man sighed to himself, his hand reaching up to adjust his mask.
"Magical Relic, cursed weapon of destruction, blade of unwieldy power," The man spoke. "It is nothing but a reminder and anchor of my past, that is all."
The man turned his body around, glancing around the once again quiet forest once more. "It seems we should make haste, for the brigands of these luscious greens will surely impede our time of arrival."
The man spun his body, heading off, in the complete opposite direction of his intended destination.
Otto watched as the big man moved into the forest.
Otto said nothing as he quietly followed, quickly catching up to the big man.
"Where are we traveling to, the village is in the other direction." Otto asked.
It was true, Otto wasen't in a hurry to travel to said village, but he knew the big man was. Maybe this was simply to throw off the bandits, move them away from the village and then lose them later?...
The man paused, his head turning. The shadowed mask, its glare reverted. He glanced at the rouge, wondering what gibberish he spoke.
"This is the way is it not?" asked the man of armor, his voice yielding a tone of much needed confusion.
The man thought once more, realizing a single fact.
"Ah blast it, my sense of direction is once more my failure." said the man, annoyed at his rather silly predicament.
The man glanced around, eventually figuring out the right direction to head towards. His steps, audible as he began walking. The man exhaled, raising a hand to adjust his mask.
The blade gleamed, a sated gullet.Yet, a nagging boredom.
"Ah, I see." The man in the overcoat said, a bit miffed. "um, happens to the best of us..."
Otto then put his knife away, before his hands went into his pockets, following after the big man before catching up to the point where he was walking side by side with the big man.
"That mask must be difficult to see through." Otto suddenly said, after a bit of walking. "We all wear a mask for a reason...why do you wear yours?"
The man trudged along, his steps audible amongst the quiet forest. The rouge's curious question perking his interest.
"My mask?" asked the man. "Such question is asked many times of I."
The man glanced backwards at the rouge, "Whether one may think it is a relic of power or a simple fashion statement, it is merely reminiscence of the past where I come from."
The man huffed, "Now, my sense of misdirection is wasting time, it is best that we hurry along."
The blade gleamed, a sense of urgency amidst the bloodlust.