ARGENT - [IC Thread]

[Sir Basil]

☾☾☾ EARLY EVENING ☽☽☽​

The song was loud, echoing in the Binnesman's ears. He lifted his glass upward, and gestured it slightly in the direction of the singing drunks. His fingers were trembling on the glass. His dark, narrow eyes continued to stare blankly at the signing drunks. His pupils traced that long scar that crossed down from the older of the Blennighamms. He traced it from his ear, down to his lips. The scar was positioned such, that when the Blennighamm opened his mouth to sing, some of his teeth showed, from where the scar had torn his lip. His teeth were yellow, sharp, and had bits of charred asparagus and grilled beans stuck in-between the yellow and the gum. The drunken lot did not look at him. Their song was dying down, as they began to forget the words. They mumbled something, in their own language, about how they could not remember what happened next. They slapped at one another, with weak drunken fists, and complained that it was the other's job to remember the words. But they didn't see the Binnseman toasting them. Regardless, Aatu raised the glass towards his lips. The dill smell was almost suffocating, from so close. It dissipated through the tavern, lost in the hazy smells of smoke, greasy meat, and wheat.

Aatu could hear Vaniela snorting next to him, and then the click of her tongue in her throat. When her tankard hit the table-top, it made his spoon make a resounding "ding" against his plate. He set the glass down without drinking from it. The liquid inside of it sloshed. Aatu turned towards her, with his narrow eyes staring at her mouth. He mimicked her mouth's movements alongside her words. His mouth made the "oh" of "oath", and the hard "effs" of half-slurred swear words, with all of their jagged movements, and jutting syllables. But he did not mimic her sigh. He could hear it, though, and when she sighed, he shut his mouth, and stared down at his cup of the strong smelling alcohol. He saw his reflected in the rippling, slippery liquid. The alcohol within had the consistency of quicksilver, thicker than water, but not meaty like broth, or chalky like milk. It was clear, clear enough that Aatu could see the splintering base of the cup through it. His face looked tired, drawn. The bruise on his cheek had swollen into a pink lump, making his cheekbone seem broader and larger than it was. The yellowing had not subsided, but the purple was dying down. It was a sickly sunset on his skin. The distortion in the cup made his skin wrinkle up and down in the reflection. The Binnesman's nose wrinkled, and he reached for the alcohol, and drank it down, quickly.

It was so bitter that tears sprung to his eyes, but the Binnesman blinked them back. His whites went pink though, from those unexpressed tears. He looked towards his side - towards the Drokk. The boy's sickly skin looked clammy in the limited light, with a strange glow to it in the red-torch light and blue smoke of extinguished candles. His eyes were bright though, orange bouncing off of the blue. Aatu leaned back on the bench, body posture twisted towards the Drokk. His eyes narrowed, the pupils in his eyes as small as pinpricks. His fingers curled tightly on the cup, but his fingertips were still trembling. His index finger, on his left hand, jittered and jabbed at the side of the cup - making a quiet drumming sound. It was perfectly in tempo with a heart beat. Ba-dum, ba-dum. The Binnesman's ears were pounding too, but it wasn't the alcohol. His grip on the cup tightened, and the sound of tense leather creaking quietly underscored the tapping of his fingers. Aatu gave the Drokk one long look without blinking, and then, leaned over the table again. He set the cup on the table. It was entirely empty, whatever liquor was left was seeping in-between the splintered wood, onto the table top.

Aatu cleared his throat, and looked back towards the lancer - and then, again to the Drokk. Ash. That was his name. When the Drokk gave it, Aatu had said it alongside him, a quiet echo of the name, where it didn't quite sit right in his mouth. He had added a hard "er" sound to the end of the name, making his name not Ash - but Asher. Aatu's eyebrows lifted somewhat, dark eyes suddenly round and placid in his face. He listened to Ash-er sigh. The sigh that had escaped his lips was different than Vaniela's sigh. It was not a sigh of sorrow - but it seemed to be one of relief. There wasn't a misery in it, a hung head. There was quick looks around the room, a rabbit looking for the trap. The Binnesman smiled thinly. It suited him better, giving his features their best possible order - rather than the scrunched up scowl, that made him look for all the world as if he had just bit into a lemon. But the smile faded, and the lemon crept back in.

The Binnesman answered one of the Lancer's questions tardily, but he did answer it. Her tone had conveyed that it was not a question meant to be answered, but Aatu answered nonetheless. His voice was quiet, but could be clearly heard by both the Ash-er and Vaniela ; but any farther away and the words would become lost, like the Blennighamms' song. There was no slur in his voice from the alcohol, just the tell-tale lilts and falls of his strange accent; "No. Not a soldier." He shook his head slowly - from side to side. "A knight." Although his mouth, as he finished speaking, returned to the firm line, and his eyebrows were heavy over his eyes, those same eyes were still soft and rounded. He cleared his throat, and stared at the Drokk. Vaniela's other question hung in the air, How did things go for you guys? The Binnesman said nothing in response, but stared at Ash-er. The pump of blood in his ears was so loud that it had drowned out all of the chatter of the mess-hall. The Blennghams ' song was nothing, tavern brawls were nothing, the crash of cups and the burps of career soldiers were nothing. Aatu's head was ringing.

Aatu nodded slowly towards the Drokk. His words were clear, and practiced. It was as if he was reading words in front of him, words he had read many times before. It did not sound like speech. "We didn't have the chance to get acquainted either." He reached over heads, around bodies, and offered the Drokk a gloved hand. It was shaking slightly, the fingers reflexively bending and curving. Whether Ash-er took the hand or not, the Binnesman spoke again. "My name is Aatu of Binnes." The words were the same as when they had met with Captain Ardus. It was the same, stiff introduction. But his tone changed abruptly, as the heaviness of his accent crept back into his voice; "I did not see your duel either." There was an unexpressed question in the words; a lilt at the end of the phrase. The fingers on his other hand had closed into a fist.

☾☾☾ IN DREAMS ☽☽☽​

In dreams, Argr - who is also called Ergi - watches his father die. He knows why his father is dying, and he knows that it is because of him. His father has largely dissolved within his bed, leaving behind a thick black residue ; a mold that stains the sheets. But the head is still there, the skin clinging to the skull with a blubbery, unstoppable hand. His father is still alive, still holding onto life. His eyes are burning with the tears that only come from a fever, the sweat that has collected in his tearducts, only to leak out the corners of his eyes. They roll down his cheeks, and where they land on Regin's face, sprouts new pustules. When they burst with thin strings of yellow and white pus, gummy, partially transcluesent beads pour down his cheeks and onto the sweat soaked pillows. The blankets are woven from spider-silk, and the horse hair has been gnawed away by Argr's father's blunted yellow teeth. Regin knows that when he dies, he will not make it towards Valhöll. That is what Argr's mother tells him, as she holds her son in her arms.

Argr pulls himself away from his mother's arms to approach his father's bed. He reached out to touch his father's face, and where his fingers touch, bits of Regin's skin sluice onto his nails. Whenever the Raven-Starver touches, bits of dying flesh crawls up, up onto his own hands. Argr opens his mouth, as if to say something; but no sounds escape his lips. He watches his father change and die. The eyes roll themselves slowly open. The pupils and irises roll away until there is only white, lined with red, overly engorged veins. Whatever muscle or tension had been left in Regin's head goes out - out like a candle encountering breath. Regin's upper lip crawls away, a red worm peeling itself away from those yellow teeth. There is a snap. His lower jaw falls out, and the teeth along with it. Those yellow teeth scatter across the pillow, lines of tissue staining the fabric. It was once white, but it is gone now. The white has been replaced with black and red and yellow. His father's mouth hangs widely open, horribly distended. The tongue in what was left of the mouth was swollen. It is covered in black lumps, from where the flies had laid their eggs. Argr can see their wings beating beneath the fleshy surface.

The Raven Starver takes a few steps towards that bed. The broken, rotted body did not breathe anymore, it simply laid there. The smell of feces and dill rose up from the stained linens. But Argr, who is a coward, walks towards the bed, and reached out a hand to clasp his father's. It is mostly skeleton now, but it is his father's - and the Raven-Starver has to remind himself that he does not love him. The hand is dead and does not move. Behind his shoulder, his mother smiles, and when she smiles, the room seems to fill with the harshest, brightest light. It hurts his eyes. But what hurts more is the way that dead hand is now gripping Argr's, what hurts more are those brittle bones tearing at his palm and wrist. He tries to tug himself away, away from the dead father. But he cannot. That skeleton arm holds him too tightly. Argr lets the scream die in his mouth. His mother laughs at him. She speaks words that can never be taken back; Ek er ragr, ergi, ok Argr." You are coward, you are not-worthy, you are Raven-Starver.

Argr looks back at her. She holds in her hands a child. The child looks like her - white haired, blue-eyed, skin as pale as his father's eyes. The baby does not cry. It is covered in blood, and so is she - dripping with it from head to toe. It makes her look beautiful. His mother smiles, and the room is engulfed in a white so bright it steals the colour from everything else, bleaching the bed, the dying man, Argr's face and hands and clothes, and the mother and child. It touches everything in that small room. His father's hand is not longer hurting him, so the Raven-Starver looks back to the hand. It is tanned and fleshy, not rotted away. His eyes trace his arm. It is not his father's arm. It does not lead to his father's shoulders, his father's eyes, his father's face. It leads to a distortion in a cup, a reflection that wavers and curves, the eyes becoming too big, too small, the mouth fading away, only to return. It looks exactly not like him.

Tears slip down the cheeks of the distorted face, as it comes into focus. it is Argr's seiðr - an act of sorcery, an act of something that has gone wrong, a replacement. The seiðr can taste blood in his mouth, but he does not know why. As he drags his son before him, his own seiðr, he feels happy. He imagines that this is what it must be like to be in love. He is hungry, and lustful, and wrathful. He drags his son into the bed with him, and leans over his throat. he digs his teeth into it. The blood sprays across him and it feels like flower-stalks brushing against his face. He imagines that this is what it must be like to be in love. His wife, his mother, the father of only remaining child speaks of heroes. It does not matter what giant she came from. He carries his son's, his father's blood too. Blood speaks the truth, when dreams do not. This is the final dream. The dream he will have until he dies.

 

[Jakers]

Conversation continued to bloom throughout the walls of Argent. Small talk was shared within the semi-merry atmosphere as the late sun began to tuck away, leaving the sky as a wide banner of faded gold. The atmosphere of everyone was reserved, but merry considering the circumstances. Orchestras of swords being sharpened, steel being hit, and rows of cattle bleating and groaning accompanied the dying-down chatter as it began to get late. Guardsmen switched shifts as darkness began to coat the walls, and bonfires were lit where groups of people gathered and shared stories, grilling their caught animals from outside the walls on the flames to share with allies.

Every face pretended to be happy and joyful now and again. They pretended it felt like home within the walls of Argent. But behind the mask of every dirt-stained face, within the true eyes of mercenaries and rewriters from across the world, everyone shared the same look of sentimental longing. A longing for their previous life. A longing for an age of peace, and a longing for those lost to come back and hold them. The evening was what showed the true despair of the situation, and though it was easy to forget the world was dying day-by-day within a place as nice as Argent, this world remained crumbling.

As the night fell, whether people would stay awake and gaze into flames, lay under the stars, or reside with others in dormitories, dusk began to loom over Argent. The steel orchestra stopped playing. The merry chatter faded away, and silence consumed the walls. Despite the lack of sound, silent cries could be heard in the distance. Silent groans of pain could be heard from the other side of the land.

The half-moon was rising.

---

A NEW DAWN
Gods? Spread me my wings.

---

​

For some, it'd been a long night. For others, they were used to sleeping through discomfort and unfamiliarity. Few could go so far as to say last night had been a luxury for them, if one counted out the echoing snores of some of the larger members, resting like slumbering giants.

Regardless, all fourteen knew they had a briefing to attend to after breakfast. Breakfast, for those who wanted it, consisted of what seemed to be a bowl of seasoned hot water with pieces of mashed up potato inside. A hard piece of brown bread floated in the middle, supposedly to dip into. Leaving out the fact that the bread was hard like concrete, the 'soup' was flavorsome, hot, and filling despite its appearance. An honest meal to accompany the partly fresh and cold morning air.

Sluggish voices and weak hits against steel could be heard as people started to wake up. Just about everyone had an agenda to go to; sleeping in would result in stern looks and harsh punishment. In the mornings, everyone save a few looked tired in more ways than one.

~ ~ ~

The time had soon come for the fourteen to arrive at the briefing room, most smart enough to come at least twenty minutes early. The short wooden door that some would have to duck under was currently locked. The building was wooden, designed in a manner between a log cabin and a country cottage. Pinned to the outside walls of the house were lists of people, organised in an overly-neat manner as to who should be here at what time, and who was with who. One could see their name paired with others upon close inspection.


Eventually, but still right on time, the inside of the door clicked as it was unlocked from the inside. A long pause followed, before a gentle crash of something ceramic dropping to the floor could be heard. Another pause, before a well-spoken, aged, and low voice came from within.

"Come in."

The interior of the room was homely and spacious, though the room housed a strange smell - like bitter almonds, or slightly expired flowers. The crackling of freshly burning wood could be heard from a fireplace in the corner, which gave the room a pleasant stuffiness to it. Smart clothing, paper memos, and some paintings were hung up along the wooden walls along with some paintings, though half of the paintings consisted of just one streak, flick, or swirl of purple paint across a white canvas. Other paintings hadn't been started at all. There was no sign of whatever ceramic object had broke in here. The only ceramic object was a clay teapot on the shelf; it looked dusty and unused.

In the corner of the room, there was a chess board with a match in progress. Black seemed to have a clear advantage. Above the chessboard was piece of slate marked with chalk: 'KONNOR: IIII, KHALEN: I.' Wooden drawers were filled to the brim with files, and daggers of all sorts were laid in a few glass cases like the owner of this place had some sort of obsession with them. The place didn't look very official at all, it almost felt like walking into somebody's personal house.

At the center of the room, sitting on neat desk organised with papers, a map marked with markers of all sorts, currently writing by quill on a long parchment, was who could've only been the man himself. Ser Konnor Sturgens, his rank only matched by Rhyzen.

The man looked middle-aged. A pale complexion, light wrinkles around his low cheekbones, wide lips, and somewhat sunken grey eyes. The man wore a bizarre, tall hat with a short brim, a rich purple ribbon wrapped around the middle. Scraps of messy, medium-length black hair came from under his hat, and a small, thin ponytail could briefly be seen. The man wore an impressively crafted black suit, accompanied by a white shirt and a rich purple tie. Ribbons of all sorts coated the right side of his suit, along with the large, golden five-crest symbol.

Despite the man's extravagant clothing and appearance, he still seemed somewhat rugged. His tie was incorrectly adjusted. His suit had some rips in it. His hair was somewhat combed, but still unkempt. Konnor's expression held the lightest of smiles, and the man looked either extremely calm, or extremely tired. Perhaps a mix of both. Taking off his pair of reading glasses and setting them onto the desk next to him, Konnor Sturgens looked up.

"Ah... all thirteen of you are here. Wonderful." He looked pleased, before carrying on. "Firstly, then... I would like to introduce myself. I am Konnor Sturgens... you've probably heard the name tossed around too many times. A lot of people like to big me up as if I'm some sort of God, because of my five-crest rank, and associations with my good friend, Rhyzen. But, the truth is that I'm merely an old man who just knows how to manage a lot of people at once, so that we progress with maximum efficiency. Nothing more, nothing less. So for those of you thinking: 'do I honestly have to bow to this old coot', fear not, heh. Save your salutes for the captains. All I ask of you is that you listen to my briefings to ensure you succeed, and put up with the fact I enjoy a comfortable and quiet environment for my work."

"Before we begin... some of you might be a tad confused. Here's why: Our originally planned number was fourteen, I believe. Thirteen are standing here at the moment. For those wondering why we've dropped a number, do not fear. I have reassigned one to the working class due to his... invaluable and unique skillset." Konnor looked somewhat dreamy for a moment, looking up to the ceiling. "As soon as I heard an Ishian Nomad had found his way here, I just had to meet him. That tiger of his... simply beautiful, is it not? It's the wonders of nature that can make you forget about the current circumstances, even if it is for the shortest of whiles."

"Now then, you've put up with the chatter, but I'll only be speaking to you about your mission briefings from hereon." The Commander straightened the stack of some papers, getting to his feet. "I now need all of you to focus. One slip-up on the field could interfere with the efficiency of Argent's progress. With this in mind, from this point, pay attention to every word I have to say."

The thirteen's first mission was soon to be revealed.

~ ~ ~

"Your first mission will not be a cake-walk. Let me first make that clear." Konnor stated. "We have war veterans in our midst, and just because you hold a Zero-Crest badge, I know eighty percent of you are a cut above. For this reason, I've given you all a mission I would normally give to Two-Crest Argent members."

"There is a group of roughly twenty survivors who have set up a living place not too far from Argent. Because we like to be as far away from wanderers as possible, this is not a situation I'm comfortable with. If one of these twenty wander off hunting and find our gates, there is the smallest of risks that something could happen to Argent. But is it a risk I want to take? Certainly not."

"These twenty survivors, from the understanding of my scouts, are not good people. They aren't mere settlers trying to make a home from the land. Some of their goods are obviously stolen from villages. They've also taken two women who clearly aren't part of this group for their personal enjoyment. In short, they are bandits of sorts, though... apparently, not all of them seem happy with what they're doing. They have likely been forced to steal under the work of a harsh master. So we are not dealing with absolute scum here, do keep that in mind."

"What I want you to do is simple. Force these twenty people to move away from their current area by initiating an attack on them. If my theory of a harsh master controlling them is true, kill him or capture him. There may be more than one of these 'harsh masters'. Kill sparingly, there may be some good people at heart in there trying to survive. I would prefer it if you took as many of these bandits prisoner as possible, but do not let down your guard. The world is full of sneaky people who prey on mercy. You are not forbidden to kill, but consider killing a tactical decision with mostly negative benefits..."

A map was spread on the desk by Konnor. It showed clear direction where Argent currently was, marking a path to where this camp was with a simple 'X'. What the camp actually looked like was apparently unknown. The scouts must've not stayed around for long.

"So, then... you may be wondering... how do I want you to initiate the attack on this camp?" Konnor began to conclude, clicking back his neck muscles. "That, will be up to you. For those of you more experienced with battles, take charge, but do not bicker. What these twenty survivors could be doing when you arrive is unknown to me. Some could be patrolling. They could all be enjoying dinner around a campfire. They could be hiding somewhere unknown. Depending on what they're doing, you'll need to make a decision. We have military veterans in these thirteen, so they'll know when to attack, initiate a charge, and so on, I trust."

"The group tactic seems to be in favor of some sort of charge. These thirteen mostly consist of melee weapon wielders each with wildly different weaponry and fighting styles, accompanied by some supportive rewriters. We have a ranged weapon user and an assassin, too. It's certainly a mix, and if it were up to me I would rearrange things, but circumstances force me to play this hand."

"In short, you're going to all have to try your hardest to maximize efficiency in your attack with the group you have. For example, the assassin doesn't need to be part of the charge when they could be neutralizing unaware targets in the confusion of battle. This should be obvious, but... sometimes people think some improvisation from a standard attack isn't beneficial. Those people are wrong."

"Finally, I'm providing you all with two medical experts to accompany you; one is proficient with a crossbow, the other is a pacifist at heart and should be left out of the actual fighting. They already know the situation, and they're currently gathering everything they need."

Suddenly, Konnor slammed his hands down on the table, before letting out a deep exhale and falling back onto his chair. This must've been some sort of strange ritual to symbolise he was finished talking, as when he explained things, he talked much faster than usual, and with tons more clarity. It would be hard to forget a word he'd said, even with all the explanation.

"That's all. Questions? Ask them, especially if you missed something. If not, you have some time to go and gather some supplies from the storage room, then you're going to take the map with you and leave at twelve-o-clock on foot. Take no more than five horses to carry gear or for use in battle. I recommend all of you bring rope to tie up potential prisoners, and be sure to bring bandages and other such supplies, as a mere two medical experts might not be enough the event of a crisis."

~ ~ ~

Konnor's Briefing, No Coloured Dialogue Version

"Your first mission will not be a cake-walk. Let me first make that clear." Konnor stated. "We have war veterans in our midst, and just because you hold a Zero-Crest badge, I know eighty percent of you are a cut above. For this reason, I've given you all a mission I would normally give to Two-Crest Argent members."

"There is a group of roughly twenty survivors who have set up a living place not too far from Argent. Because we like to be as far away from wanderers as possible, this is not a situation I'm comfortable with. If one of these twenty wander off hunting and find our gates, there is the smallest of risks that something could happen to Argent. But is it a risk I want to take? Certainly not."

"These twenty survivors, from the understanding of my scouts, are not good people. They aren't mere settlers trying to make a home from the land. Some of their goods are obviously stolen from villages. They've also taken two women who clearly aren't part of this group for their personal enjoyment. In short, they are bandits of sorts, though... apparently, not all of them seem happy with what they're doing. They have likely been forced to steal under the work of a harsh master. So we are not dealing with absolute scum here, do keep that in mind."

"What I want you to do is simple. Force these twenty people to move away from their current area by initiating an attack on them. If my theory of a harsh master controlling them is true, kill him or capture him. There may be more than one of these 'harsh masters'. Kill sparingly, there may be some good people at heart in there trying to survive. I would prefer it if you took as many of these bandits prisoner as possible, but do not let down your guard. The world is full of sneaky people who prey on mercy. You are not forbidden to kill, but consider killing a tactical decision with mostly negative benefits..."

A map was spread on the desk by Konnor. It showed clear direction where Argent currently was, marking a path to where this camp was with a simple 'X'. What the camp actually looked like was apparently unknown. The scouts must've not stayed around for long.

"So. How do I want you to initiate the attack on this camp?" Konnor began to conclude, clicking back his neck muscles. "This will be up to you. For those of you more experienced with battles, take charge, but do not bicker. What these twenty survivors could be doing when you arrive is unknown to me. Some could be patrolling. They could all be enjoying dinner around a campfire. They could be hiding somewhere unknown. Depending on what they're doing, you'll need to make a decision. We have military veterans in these thirteen, so they'll know when to attack, initiate a charge, and so on, I trust."

"However, the group tactic seems to be in favor of some sort of charge. These thirteen mostly consist of melee weapon wielders, accompanied by some supportive rewriters. I've also heard we have a ranged weapon user and an assassin. It's certainly a mix, and if it were up to me I would rearrange things, but circumstances force me to play this hand."

"In short, you're going to all have to try your hardest to maximize efficiency in your attack with the group you have. For example, the assassin doesn't need to be part of the charge when they could be neutralizing unaware targets in the confusion of battle. This should be obvious, but... sometimes people think some improvisation from a standard attack isn't beneficial. Those people are wrong."

"Finally, I'm providing you all with two medical experts to accompany you; one is proficient with a crossbow, the other is a pacifist at heart and should be left out of the actual fighting. They already know the situation, and they're currently gathering everything they need."

Suddenly, Konnor slammed his hands down on the table, before letting out a deep exhale and falling back onto his chair. This must've been some sort of strange ritual to symbolise he was finished talking, as when he explained things, he talked much faster than usual, and with tons more clarity. It would be hard to forget a word he'd said, even with all the explanation.

"That's all. Questions? Ask them, especially if you missed something. If not, you have some time to go and gather some supplies from the storage room, then you're going to take the map with you and leave at twelve-o-clock on foot. Take no more than five horses to carry gear or for use in battle. I recommend all of you bring rope to tie up potential prisoners, and be sure to bring bandages and other such supplies, as a mere two medical experts might not be enough the event of a crisis."

​

 

[chaosheart13]

Sam found himself being woken up by the hustle and bustle of the people around him. Remembering he had a briefing today, he tidied his appearance up and quickly went on his way. It was a good thing that he remembered where exactly that room would be, he didn't want to look like a fool just because he was Meadowborn. With that thought in his mind, he went inside and found others milling around, waiting for the briefing to happen.

Sam would've said to invite the twenty or so people into Argent, until Konnor said they were not good people, that they were most likely bandits. He swallowed thickly as his mind flashed back to the moment he killed a human being for the first time. Thankfully, it looked like the main goal was to drive them away, with capturing prisoners on the side. He sighed in relief and shook his head.

"I have no questions, sir," he said quietly as he excused himself and walked out the room. A thought popped into his head. Didn't he need a new spear? Most likely the smithy wouldn't be too happy about handing him another only to break it, but what did he know? He quickly made his way to the blacksmith, excusing himself in the process. "I need a spear, please," he said, "It's for a mission." After some words, he procured his weapon of choice and went back to secure some supplies. Who knows if they needed it?

 

[RedArmyShogun]

Listening to the speech, much did not make sense to the Keldian. Though information aside, was this some other sort of test? The man had asked them to inflict as little losses as possible, but mount a charge. Then there was the situation on taking prisoners, while driving them off. Her recently gained paranoia was firing on all cylinders. Setting aside the obvious conclusion of killing sparsely, by being the ones to die, the last of the Dragoons speaks up, in typical whimsical manner.

"To be sure, should we take prisoners, are we to bring them here? I assume given your intent to drive them off, should we, they'll be made to join or die. Tralala." Twirling her finger with the sing song tune, her eyes suddenly narrow. "The Women I assume should be brought here..but should we bring them and the men, I can assure you, at some point blood will be drawn. Depending what they did to the women of course. Not by me indeed, but they'll have an axe to grind for sure."




"Other than that, do you have a map of the region, topographical of note. I prefer high places to the low, plus I find the land is of more importance than most other factors." Finishing her questions, it seemed on the last one, this was one of the few times she was more sane. Though her thoughts would now switch to this.

She had expected them to work in smaller teams, no matter her rank the Abbelestian's for the most would sooner die than follow her commands. And she would sooner trust her self to the demons of the seven hells than half of them present. She would when the time came however, offer suggestions. Maybe one of the others with no stake in the war would take command.

Least that was her take on the situation, her talk with Theo the prior day had went over well, though from his remarks, they weren't finished yet. He would be one she could trust out here. Reflecting on what the man said about unconventional tactics, he had a point. Her own people had used them to blistering effect. If the others would take that to heart, wishing to do more than a frontal assault, that she could not guess at. Curiously there was also the issue of just who was in command.


That question she would not bring up. As her lady studies taught her enough to know, it would be taken for her to be asking for it. More so when around ill spirited company.

 

[Wizzy The Wizard]

Viktor listened to the man in charge rather intently, he remained at the back of the group as he listened, but being rather tall himself he was visible still for the most part. He observed the surroundings of the stuffy yet, comfortable office of the Commander. It was rather odd for a leader to have such decorations all over his office as if it were his home, but he would not judge the man's capabilities just off that. Although what he found odd was that he spoke of efficiency but he did not assign a clear leader for the mission "Take charge" in a group like this? It would seem rather odd for anyone to just simply follow whoever speaks up on the field. There are plenty of hard headed people (including himself) in the group and there is certainly some bad blood, having a clear leader would most likely facilitate teamwork and also making sure that people remain in line.

"Maybe we should make it clear who wants to lead or have you yourself assign an on field leader or captain for the mission. I believe this being a new group there are plenty of... conflicting personalities, and with several independent members possibly wanting different approaches. 1 person to keep them reminded of the task wouldn't be a bad idea." he spoke up, surprisingly.

"You said to be efficient but tossing a group of basically complete strangers without a clear captain is a bit inefficient. We can have someone of the group speak up now themselves, if two or more come we could simply choose 1. Or we could be even more efficient and have you pick one now commander. Aside from that I think the plans for the charge are fine, but it may be a better idea to initiate it off a distraction, brute forcing the charge doesn't seem like a spectacular idea. Of course that's just an idea and the others can mess with it if they want."

He finished and went back to leaning on his shoulder against the wall, he didn't really seem to impose it this time. He seemed a bit calm, maybe it's because he finally got good sleep? Who knows. He scratched his head as he realized he talked quite a bit after the Keldian. The only person he wasn't exactly sure of what she did was the smaller girl on the field, wielding what seems to be a large ranged machine. Being from abbelest he had seen machines through the middle of the war, mowing down keldians left and right with their fire power. But he wondered what it was capable of in a smaller size. He looked away from the girl and then just remained silent.

 

[ERode]

Sugar. That's what she had wanted from her breakfast. And if not sugar, Elodie would have at least preferred for more vegetables to be tossed into that pitiful thing they called a 'soup'. Sure, it tasted good, and sure, it still filled her stomach, but it wasn't about whether or not she felt full. It was about getting enough food to get her energy levels up. Yesterday's fight had been draining, and her exercises afterwards had taken a greater toll on her body than projected, leaving the young girl uncharacteristically tired in the morning.

Thankfully, it also left her relatively quiet as she listened to the briefing.

Konnor Sturgens was a fine person, probably. He lived where he worked, had an air of sophistication that was tempered by more violent fascinations, and was relatively thorough with his explanation of everything. 20 bandits, 2 sex slaves, and their sin was being too close to where Argent was set up. The possibility of some people who were forced into banditry by a leader. And the added challenge of finding their own leader to guide this group.

Honestly? This was what Two-Crest members had to do?

"Ok," Elodie said, raising up her hand, "I'll be the leader then. Already have some ideas outside of just rushing everyone in for a slaughter. Honestly, we don't need an excess of 15 people for this sort of situation. We just need…"

She turned her gaze to Lydios, the female with the daggers and the lack of armor. "…someone to free the women…"

Next, her gaze was cast towards Ungard and Briaes. "…someone to inspire fear and chaos…"

Finally, she hoisted her Thundercrack onto her shoulder, the heavy weight settling comfortably. "…and something to cut off their head."

"Ah, right, but like the crazy lady said, a map is nice as well. And are you particularly low on manservants? I see no real reason for you to be bringing in rapists and cowards, when we can just kill a bunch, bloody a few others, and send them on their way, spreading rumors of some nightmarish hulk wandering through these forests, with a gaze capable of making men's heads explode."

"After all," Elodie finished, "In this world that's so lacking in rationality, making a new myth shouldn't be hard at all, right? Give others a reason to stay away from this area? Keep Argent all nice and hidden?"

 

[DocDec]

Sir Ungard had slept well enough. He'd used a trick he'd learned during the War, when he had to sleep in frontline camps and forts under siege: he hadn't removed his armor, and slept sitting up on his crude bed. He'd found that with a bit of passive focus into his Rewrition, he was scarcely uncomfortable in that position, and to any giving him a passing look, he appeared to still be awake. It could prove useful to sleep in such a way, what with all the Keldians undoubtedly residing within the Argent base. He doubted all of them would heed the Binnesman's warning not to take revenge for past acts.

Upon waking, he had risen slowly. Rewrition or not, he was almost constantly in moderate pain, thanks to his old injuries, and he found it was often the worst when he woke up every morning. His legs were killing him, and the relative cold of this place wasn't doing anything to help. It was worse in the cold. A quick application of an herbal poultice he'd been taught to make back in his training helped some; it contained various old folk medicines, honey, activated charcoal, the like. He didn't know whether it really worked or not, but it didn't hurt any more than before.

He remained in a neutral position during Konnor's speech to their little group; not in the back, not in the front, a bit distant from the other members, his hands down at his sides. He didn't know how to feel about the man, and he didn't really care how he felt one way or another. The man was flamboyant, to say the least, but Ungard had known many lords and ladies with a bit of flair who still held their own in battle.

And the mission seemed simple enough. Maybe a bit too simple, at that. Really? A medium group, maybe half, if not more, of them veterans of the War, and many of them Rewriters, and they were relegated to clearing out bandit dens? A bit of an insult, but then again, the last task Ungard had expected to be easy had blown half his calf off. Whatever gets him higher up, he supposed. It probably wouldn't be too much trouble in the long run.

He listened to the questions of the others, not really caring what they said until the tinkerer girl he'd fought yesterday piped up and declared herself leader. Ungard didn't know how to feel about this. She didn't have much in the way of hands-on experience and wisdom when it came to battle, but she was smart. Eh. Whatever. He wasn't going to ask to be leader.

And, when she finished speaking, he finally stepped a bit closer, his own voice adding to the pile of questions and comments being thrown at Sturgens.

"Yes, yes, that's all well and good, battle plans, leader, I'm more than sure all of you have that covered." He grumbled low and dismissively, his hands resting on the hilts protruding from his belt. "I have one concern of my own, however. I understand we are to try and keep most of them alive. Now, I hope you understand that this is a bit...difficult, for me, I suppose is how I'd put it. I'm a large man, and I know that sometimes I may get a bit...ahead of myself, when it comes to battle."

"And so, I will try, believe me, to prevent such things from happening, relegating my strikes to only cause somewhat lasting and grievous injury at the most, but...should I strike one, two, maybe a few more down, theoretically, are there..repercussions within Argent?"

 

[Jakers]

Listening to the speech, much did not make sense to the Keldian. Though information aside, was this some other sort of test? The man had asked them to inflict as little losses as possible, but mount a charge. Then there was the situation on taking prisoners, while driving them off. Her recently gained paranoia was firing on all cylinders. Setting aside the obvious conclusion of killing sparsely, by being the ones to die, the last of the Dragoons speaks up, in typical whimsical manner.

"To be sure, should we take prisoners, are we to bring them here? I assume given your intent to drive them off, should we, they'll be made to join or die. Tralala." Twirling her finger with the sing song tune, her eyes suddenly narrow. "The Women I assume should be brought here..but should we bring them and the men, I can assure you, at some point blood will be drawn. Depending what they did to the women of course. Not by me indeed, but they'll have an axe to grind for sure."

"Other than that, do you have a map of the region, topographical of note. I prefer high places to the low, plus I find the land is of more importance than most other factors."

Konnor raised an eyebrow and smirked a little when the Keldian did a little crazy hum to herself, adjusting his tall hat as he leaned forward on the table.

"Well, haha. Tra diddly la la la aside, yes, be so kind as to bring the women back, we'll see how much of a bad shape they're in, and you can give a jolly good thrashing to their biggest offenders. As for the prisoners, yeah, bring them here. Depending on the situation, we can either let them free, force them to work tough labor for Argent, or even execute them if they're that bad. Rarely, we've even let prisoners join our ranks. The crossbow-wielding medic I'm providing you with was once a prisoner, speaking of which." Konnor mumbled, before he refocused back to the point.

"Sadly, topographically, we don't have a map of such quality at our disposal. Just a plain old one that'll take you to your destination and show the basic biome of the area, I'm afraid. However, I do recall the scout saying the surrounding area was quite flat, so nothing special in terms of hills or cliffs. If you want to get up high and spread your wings, it appears like you'll have to go up a tree." Konnor jested.

"Ah, right, but like the crazy lady said, a map is nice as well. And are you particularly low on manservants? I see no real reason for you to be bringing in rapists and cowards, when we can just kill a bunch, bloody a few others, and send them on their way, spreading rumors of some nightmarish hulk wandering through these forests, with a gaze capable of making men's heads explode."

"After all," Elodie finished, "In this world that's so lacking in rationality, making a new myth shouldn't be hard at all, right? Give others a reason to stay away from this area? Keep Argent all nice and hidden?"

"Weeell, madam... we aren't low as such, but more labor to do boring jobs such as hauling and fertilizing the farm is always welcome. A pair of hands to haul materials can make jobs a lot quicker than you think. Plus, we should remind ourselves that the population has been slimmed down a considerable amount, and no women are in the mood to reproduce at the moment, especially when pregnancy can make them vulnerable." Konnor merely scratched under his nose at the potentially touchy topic. "But forgive me; I didn't answer this question to bore you with statistics. If you can find another way to get them out of here rather than killing or capturing every single one of them, go right ahead. Hell, I'd believe a myth of something being able to explode your head with a gaze, given how crazy the recent events have been..." Konnor chuckled under his breath.

Pausing, Konnor wandered over to his chess board, studying it for a moment as he talked.

"But if you're going to spread some sort of myth, bear this in mind. If you tell everyone to stay away from an area, there's always going to be one or more who will break the rules and stroll right into the area, because they were told not to. The overwhelming sense of human curiosity... to do against what we've been told to break the rules... it's one we all share, and it's more common in certain individuals, especially when they've got nothing to lose. So perhaps you should just tell our uninvited guests to kindly sod off after showing you mean business."

"Also, as a side note, nominating this lady to be the leader could be a sound idea. The reason for this is because she's neither Keldian nor Abbelestian, and this has its obvious advantages within this group. Even if our ration of Abbelestians to Keldian are wildly off, it still helps for everyone to be happy. I know many of you would sooner die than go by the words of an ex-enemy." Konnor paused, smirking. "But all this is providing, madam, that you don't treat your allies like servants."

"I have one concern of my own, however. I understand we are to try and keep most of them alive. Now, I hope you understand that this is a bit...difficult, for me, I suppose is how I'd put it. I'm a large man, and I know that sometimes I may get a bit...ahead of myself, when it comes to battle."

"And so, I will try, believe me, to prevent such things from happening, relegating my strikes to only cause somewhat lasting and grievous injury at the most, but...should I strike one, two, maybe a few more down, theoretically, are there..repercussions within Argent?"

"Haha, we all have our rage-induced moments, good sir. It's a feeling you cannot shake off in the heat of battle. Getting carried away is something any of us can do." Konnor paused thoughtfully. "You will not get punished for killing somebody, or even a handful of people. It is when you lose control and slay somebody surrendering, or somebody that clearly isn't part of the conflict, that we will begin to take action. Hell... we've even had an Argent member kill one of his own in a battle, he was so aggravated." Konnor chewed his lip, seemingly thinking unsavory thoughts.

"As for people actively trying to kill you - what can I say - do what you must. I doubt anyone would show the same mercy to you. Knocking people out or just incapacitating them non-lethally is preferred but definitely not vital. Your main mission is to get these bastards out off our front lawn, prisoners are a bonus. And keep in mind I'm taking along medical experts with you, so they can tend to any prisoners you might've given a whack too severe."

---

"That's all? Marvelous." Konnor looked around, before clapping his hands together. His posture seemed a lot more relaxed, especially for a so-called Commander, when he wasn't giving a mission briefing. "Well then, there's not much more to say, is there? Go and grab what you think you're all going to need. Like previously stated, I'd recommend rope. You all know how to handcuff or hogtie, don't you? For those who don't know your knots, I'm sure you could have someone explain it to you whilst walking. Haha."

"Anyway, good luck to you all. Remember, make sure you get them out of here. It may not seem like a hard mission but that doesn't mean it's not an important one." Konnor waved, before going back to his seat, gesturing to the door. "Let this be the first of many successes for you."

With that, there was a bit of time to get prepared in terms of taking equipment. Just about anything you could ask for on one of these missions was provided. Simple dried rations, waterskins, the rope mentioned, and there was always the smith who could provide basic weaponry or ammunition, even if there wasn't anything specialized to give to Zero-Crest members. The stockpile provided a lot of material for those with more intricate plans, though things such as explosives and extremely deadly poisons weren't for Zero-Crest use.

At the gate, the two people Konnor mentioned were waiting patiently, seemingly having a mild chat whilst they waited, leaning on horses as they talked.

The first was the crossbow-wielding lady. Smears of blue paint were done under her eyes and pale face, and she carried a stone cold but wary expression, even in the middle of chatter. Her hair was done up in a long blonde ponytail, and her clothing was a mixture of fur and leather. She carried a large medical pack over her shoulder, her chest bearing the Two-Crest badge. The crossbow over her shoulder was of standard design, but it was much larger than most. Though it wasn't exactly an arbelest, a well-placed bolt from that thing could do some serious damage. Even if she wasn't a Healing Rewriter, standard bandages, needles, and concoctions could have their advantages over Healing Rewrition when done correctly.

The second was a short man with a mess of black hair. He shared the same pale toned skin as the lady, though his was of a much greyer hue. His expression always seemed to be carrying some sort of anxious worry in his sunken, dark-rimmed eyes. Unlike the lady also, he was wearing a working-class badge instead of Two-Crest one, meaning that he was a healer designed to be out of combat, which explained his nervous expression. His clothes consisted of a white jacket and rugged burlap trousers with metal elbow pads, kneepads, and shoulder pads hastily strapped on in an improfessional manner. He carried little more than a dagger in terms of arms. Judging by his lack of a medical kit, this medic was clearly a Rewriter. In fact, upon closer inspection, he'd been there to heal the fourteen after they'd finished sparring. He looked like he knew what he was doing a lot more than other when it came to healing, so at least there was that reassurance to counter his obvious lack of combat knowledge.

With this in mind, the thirteen now had a chance to get some things together. If this wasn't needed, they could simply wait outside with the others, and perhaps have a chat if they were feeling talkative.

 

[Jhuton]

Aridian had had a less than pleasant night. After doing a few rounds in the Argent camp he'd managed to get his hands on a tent to set up outside the sleeping quarters. It was dusty and covered in cobwebs, but still a better alternative to sleeping in a small cabin with savages, Keldians and low bred servants. He had trouble getting it set up, having never even considered sleeping in a tent before, but eventually it got done. He'd spent the night lying on a pile of blankets he'd salvaged and getting lost in thought. When the sun had finally risen above the horizon he'd barely slept a wink, but weeks of moving from one squalor to the next had made him used to loosing sleep.

He'd risen with the sun and wiped down his skin with a wash rag barely damp with early morning dew. It was a relief to at least get rid of some of the grime on his skin. He wasted no time getting to the briefing room, having already acclimated himself with the place a night before, and had listened intently while Konnor Sturgens said his piece.

Aridian despised the man as soon as he'd met him. It wasn't anything he'd done in particular, so much as who his 'old friend' was. Sturgens was a friend of Rhyzen. The old farce of a king had probably toasted to the destruction of Abbelest and the death of Lady Celesse with Konnor. Aridian made a mental note to kill him if he ever got the opportunity. Wherever Rhyzen was, he was sure to come out into the open if he heard his dear friend had been slain within the walls of Argent.

He took his mind off that for now, choosing instead to focus on the other members all tripping over who would be the captain of the mission. Like it mattered. Not one person here could possibly hope to direct all the recruits in the room. Everyone had a grudge against someone and 20 bandits and two abducted women wouldn't do a damn thing to change that. Elodie didn't seem to take that into consideration though. The girl had readily nominated herself for leader. The time she'd spent in Abbelest during the war had shown Aridian how smart she was, but that intelligence came bundled with a level of arrogance Aridian couldn't help but be irked by. Apart from that, she was just an inventor. There were bound to be military men here who would take offence at being placed under the command of a young girl inventor,

He decided he didn't really care who the leader was and took his leave of them. Konnor had recommended they go and get equipped for the mission, but Aridian already had what he needed. His dead father's sword was sheathed at his side, ready to claim it's first soul.

 

[Sir Basil]

☾☾☾ IN DREAMS ☽☽☽​

The Raven-Starver sees every death play out before him. His father's fingers curl into the bedsheets, and he starts to scream, his final scream. Sometimes, it is horribly silent, when his father dies. There is no croak in his throat, no death-rattle in his teeth; there is just death, plain and simple, a death that leads nowhere. Ergi knows the stories of course. He knows what is supposed to happen when his father dies, and yet it never does. Ergi watches his father die, while his mother weaves on a loom in the corner. The loom is made of blackened wood, charred and burned from some unknown fire. Stretching across it, rather than wool, are intestines, muscles, and viscera. He can see the grey beads of small intestine making a silver eagle on a dark red field of knotted tendons. Her white arms are stained up to the elbows. She does not look at him, her too bright eyes focused on her work, tying off the organelles to make the stars in her bloody sky. Her lips pull back from her teeth in exertion at the work, and her teeth are sharp. Ergi struggles to look at her, but he is unable to stop. Watching her is like watching his father die, too consuming to pull away from, too sticky and sweet. He reminds himself that this is his mother, who he loves. He trusts her. He does not blame her for leaving him behind.

She weaves for hours upon hours. As she weaves, her mouth opens, and she tells Ergi a story, a story like she used to tell him. The Raven-Starver listens, because he has no choice. His father dies next to him, a slow and quiet death that makes him shake uncontrollably. Her eyes are too bright, and grow brighter with every word of her story. It is all in their language, and the walls of the room bounce with different versions of the story, in different languages, about different women. But this is the version that Ádís tells him, the story of her mother's father's niece, the lady Unnr. As she combs her fingers through the sinews of a warrior's bones, her fingers bleed. The blood mingles with the other threads of the loom, and she does not seem to notice. His father's eyes roll up to the ceiling, and his mouth parts. A bit of dust erupts from his mouth, and streams down the sides of his face. Ádís doesn't notice that either. Her heart is in the story of Unnr, the daughter of Ausif. And she tells the story, Ergi watches it play out, on the lines of wool on her loom.

She is beautiful, Unnr - his mother tells him. She is beautiful, but no less clever than she is beautiful. She excels at all she does, whether its to cut the wool from sheep, to til the rocky cliffs of Nidarosheim, or to speak the Laws of the land as no woman had before. She has a bit of the prophecy in her, Ergi's mother says. She can see what others cannot. And she has dreams that will haunt her until the end of time. Until the end of her story. She dreams of many things that winter at Nidraosheim, but four dreams shake her to her very core. They scared her so that she ran to her relative, the Gest, who lived at Heigistrand. Gest took her hands, and kissed them. They were so cold to his touch, so cold and so pale. As his mother says this, Ergi's hands went cold and pale as well. Paler than they had ever been before, as pale as his dying father's throat. The infection started there, and leeched away all of the colour from him. he is now just bleached skin stretched across bones. His organs stretch across a loom, to tell the story of a woman that Reginn has never known.

Ádís continues, and her voice is musical. She almost sings the story of Unnr and the Gest, with each of her dreams having its own verse and lyric. But the rhyme disappears into the walls, as the translated story echoes through the room. In Unnr's first dream she stood by a brook, and ran her fingers through it. As she looked at her reflection in the dream, her hair brushed the surface of the water. Unnr had long hair, so long and heavy that it made her head bend towards the water. She could feel her hair beginning to pull her under the water. The water burned at her lungs, and the weight of her braid started to drown her. Unnr could hear other men and women saying how beautiful she looked, Unnr of the Tapestry - Unrr Fair-Hair. But under the water, she screamed, and reached out with a knife. She cut away her hair. Short-shaven, she emerged from the water - and that was the end of that dream. The Gest marvelled at the dream, and said that it was prophecy. He clutched her fingers, and begged her to tell her the second dream.

In the second dream, Ádís said, Unnr Short-Shaven stood by a brook. Ergi watched the tapestry. Amongst the guts and sinew a bezoar was added, the long strands of fine white hair making a silver brook. Stylized fish were added - they had been carved from his father's teeth. Reginn had spit them out in a coughing fit. But now Reginn was so silent, so still. The only sound in the room was the story of Unnr. Unnr Short-Shaven wore a silver crown upon her head, more beautiful than anything in the world. In the water, her reflection was the most perfect being that had ever existed. Unnr reached out towards it, and brought a kiss to the face of the riverside - she loved herself, she loved the crown, she loved it all so much. But as she leaned in to kiss her own face, the crown slipped beneath the waves. She screamed, and tried to dive in after it, but the current pushed her back. Unnr Short-Shaven dragged her fingers across her face, scars forming where her fingers touched. Her hair grew long and whiter than ever before. She was no longer Unnr Short-Shaven, but Unrr Bloody-Face. The Gest said that this was a remarkable dream, and that the third was surely as remarkable.

The shadows stretch across the sick man's room as Ádís stitched with bone-marrow a crown upon a woven woman. Her voice has a reverb to it, a pulsing that made dust fall from the rafter's of the room. It was not the way that her voice sounded - it was deeper, harder, and colder. A voice full of sorrow and loss, but also confusion and bitterness. It only spoke a language that Ergi knew better than his own heartbeat, a song that only he and his mother could sing. Unnr speaks through her. "This is the third dream, " She saiys, and she set her weaving aside. She folds her white hands. They are whiter and colder than ever before. "I thought I had a gold ring on my hand, which I thought belonged to me. The loss of my crown, of my hair, had been replaced by this pretty little thing." His Not-Mother raises her right hand, and a golden band crawls across her index finger. "The thought entered my mind that I would keep this ring longer than the crown; and even a line of gold is better than a crown of silver." Ádís, who was not Ádís - but Unnr Bloody Face - stands from her weaving seat, and moves to the dying man. She pressed her hand against his head. The man in the bed, Ergi's father, lets out a soft, satisfied sigh. He is at peace, with his wife's hand across his brow. How could he know that it is not really her? As her hand touches his skin, the golden band on her finger splits. She raises her hand, and blood pours from a long laceration where the band had been. It pours down Regin's face, down into his open mouth. Ergi can hear him choke on it. "If only I had taken care of it - it might still be whole. It is not regret. It is simply grief." The woman cries, and blood pours from her eyes. They are not blue, now. The blood has sullied them. They are brown. But the blood heals the wounds on her face, so she can no longer be Unrr Bloody-Face, but Unnr Dark-Eyes.

Unnr Dark Eyes moves away from the dying man. She comes to stand before Ergi, holding her arms far to the side. The Raven-Starver feels the words crawl out from his throat before he can stop them; and they do not sound like his own; "Your dreams are not waning." Unnr shakes her head, with its long hair, with its dark eyes, with the blood drying on her cheeks. "My final dream." She whispers, and a suit of golden mail appears on her frame, a golden sword in her hand. The sword is stained, and pitted - it has seen violence. She struggles to lift her hand, for the weight on the sword in her grasp. She curses herself, but not the sword in her hand. "This precious thing," She gasps, "It belongs to me, but I cannot carry it." She fell to her feet, weighed down by the sword. Her eyes closed, and when they opened again they were clear and bright - the same blue of his mother's. The sword point hit the tiles before the bed. The clatter of it almost drowns out Reginn's choking gasps, as he began to drown on the blood in his mouth. She was not Unnrr Dark Eyes anymore - she was Unnr Golden-Blade, and she had told Ergi and the Gest all of her dreams.

Words once more slipped out from Ergi's lips, but they were not him, they were not his. "Your dreams are all true dreams, but i understand them all the same. You will have four husbands. The first man you will not love - he will try to harm you. You will cut him away as easily as you cut away your hair, Unrr Short-Shorn. Your second dream, when you wore a silver crown, tells me that you will marry a King, whom you will love more than life itself, and you will love yourself because he loves you. But he will drown, and it will eat you up inside, and change you, Unrr Bloody-Face." Ergi watches himself speak the words, floating above his body. He sees the foam and blood coming from his father's mouth, but he could not save him. He must speak the words. So he does. "In the third dream, you believed yourself to have a ring. You believed it to be more precious, and the man who comes with it shall be more previous too. He shall be good and strong and godly. The ring broke in two, because you believed you needed to care for it - you husband will be broken in two, and it will be your fault. But, only when he is broken shall you see the faults in it, Unnr Dark-Eyes." His father was convulsing on the bed, spasming. Now came the death rattle, the death cry. Now it was all coming to an end. "Your final dream, the fourth dream. You believ you carrya sword, too heavy for you to bear. You will have a fourth husband, a warrior man, a warrior king. He will be too powerful for you to control, too strong for you to slay, Unnr Golden-Blade." Eigr, who was not Eigr but the Gest's eyes rolled towards Reginn. "Many will die because of him. Innocents, women, and children. Dying old men. He will kill you too."

Ádís-Unrr does not weep or cry. Her cheeks are deeply flushed, but her hands were still so cold, so pale. The rattle of Ergi's dying father echoes through the room. But Ádís-Unrr pays him no heed. She speaks, and her voice bounces off the walls, asking the question in hundreds of languages, some lost, some forgotten. "Who is he?" She asks. As she asks this question, the man in the bed's mouth erupts with viscera. He vomits and hacks forth all of him - out comes his liver, intestines, his ribcage, his lungs. It all pours out from his distended jaw, and the smell of decaying fish and fermented urine comes with it. His body deflates as he voids everything that makes him up, leaving behind a thin and useless skin, that wrinkles into a leathery reminder of a person. Eigr watches with horror, and the taste of blood and bile rising in his throat. Tears run down his cheeks. He imagines that this is what it must be like to be in love. He is hungry and lustful and wrathful, and his father is dead, and his mother speaks of heroes. It does not matter what giant she came from. He carries his father's blood too. Blood speaks the truth, when dreams do not. Blood speaks, and so does Eigr-Gest; he speaks, his voice drifting in and out in waves of sound, waves of Old Words and New. "He shall be called Argr, accursed, The Raven Starver, who does not die in battle. He shall be called Ergi, the coward." He blinks too slowly. Fish blink like him. "He shall be called Ulfrunga, the Young Wolf." This dream has gone on too long, but it will continue. Until the day he dies, until he finally wakes up.

☾☾☾ MORNING ☽☽☽​

The smell was strong. Almonds, and rotting petals filled the room, and it was only somewhat cut away by the taste of the dill-weed still on the Binnesman's tongue. He looked different this morning. There were dark shadows under his eyes, where the veins showed through. The bruise on his cheek had faded, but the flesh still had a sheen to it, and the yellow-green undertone made his skin look as if it was rotting beneath the surface. His hair was mussed, bits of limp curls standing up in brittle clumps on his head - as if he had rolled in his sleep. His eyes were dull and light-less, seeming to absorb the sun, the flames, any source of warmth. Cold, dead eyes. His mouth was a hard line, brows furrowed, but that was typical. His fingers twitched at his sides, tapping out a pattern that had an unknown meaning. He licked his dry and cracked lips. He tasted the bitter brown skin of almonds, and tasted the wood smoke. The Binnesman's tongue slid back behind his teeth, and did not come out again.

Commander Konnor Sturgens was not a handsome man. His eyes stared up insect-like from crevices in his face, giving the impression of eels hiding in hollows. His cheekbones were slouching, clustered around the edges of his nose, giving him a flat-nosed dog face.His mouth stretched too wide, and if he opened his mouth, it would take up his entire jaw. His rich dress creaked as he moved, the velvet and fine wool brushing against one another with a dusty, prickling sound that made the Binnesman's head pound. The pounding drowned out the murmurings of the thirteen companions, and the Binnesman's hands moved with greater frequency at his sides, his fingers a blur. Aatu's thick gloves made muted sounds, a subtle brushing and scraping from the tanned leather. His dark and shine-less eyes had fixated on the Commander's hat, converging to the point that he was somewhat cross-eyed. The Commander's tall hat was the sort that a Rewriter would wear. The pounding in his head drowned out the first of the Commanders introduction. The Binneseman stilled his hands, and approached the desk, standing a little closer to the man - a foot across from the map on the desk.

Aatu folded his hands behind his back, wringing his wrists. The words rung hard in the room, bouncing off of the wooden walls, off of the half-finished paintings. His eyes strayed down the Commander's hat, instead fixating on the chessboard in the corner of the room. His pupils traced the patterns of pieces on the board, making the arcing movement of the Knight, or the forward thrust of an ambitious Rook. The Binnesman's already pinched features seemed to get tighter as the man continued to speak. A few phrases stood out in his mind, between the pounding in his ears, the ringing in his head, the pain in his sinus. The scent of bitter almond cut through all of that. the Binnesman grit his teeth in his mouth, and felt the bones in his jaw pop. He heard the paper unroll, the crisp sound of paper brushing against the wood. His eyes left the chessboard and went down to the map. His lips moved along with the Commander's mission briefing. It was as if he was tasting the words.

But with the smash of the Commander's fists against the table, the Binnesman recoiled from the desk, shying away to the background. He blended in behind the burly fighters, the musical Keldian. He stared at the back of her head, tracing the lines of her blonde hair. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, or to sing as she did, only to close it again. His eyes moved away from her, and down to his feet. He looked towards girl, who had declared herself leader. He did not know her. She had a large weapon, one that would not seem at home anywhere in the world. But she came from the Binnes. She had the dark eyes, the dark hair. She did not have the lack of light. He watched her, meeting her eyes with his own, and if they were to be judged by that alone - they could have been kinsmen. But she did not look back at him. She looked towards the woman who never spoke, the woman with daggers and cold features. She looked towards the massive man, with the heavy armor. Aatu's fingers curled behind his back, and he mouthed words - but did not speak them.

He heard the man speak - the Commander. The subject was brushed aside, in favour of handling the bloody rage of Ungard, and all of his violent trappings. But Aatu had heard what the Commander had said. Nominating a Binnes made sense. Aatu clears his throat, and mouthed the words, before they escaped his lips. His accent had fallen slightly away, his words crisper and clearer - but they were still foreign sounding, belonging to some place that would be difficult to place. "I am in favour of her leadership." He nodded towards his fellow Binneskin, "I suggest we do as she says on the field. To avoid difficulty." His nose wrinkled, and then he coughed. He looked away from the others. He stared at the chess game for a moment longer. But it wasn't long. Soon, the Commander was shuffling him out the door, along with everyone else. They went to the gates, where the morning sun shone down in bright beams. Behind his eyes, Aatu was moving his white Rook over a black Pawn.

It was quiet, but small chatter drifted through his ears. The Binnesman had collected his horse, who stood tall and refreshed, mane done up with military ribbons to keep from snagging on the trees. There were two birds, two chattering people who hung alongside the gate. A woman with blue paint around her eyes, with a pale face, and slate eyes. Her features were not clearly of any place, and Aatu's eyes drifted down her chest. A badge with the Argent's mark was emblazoned upon it, shining unbearably bright. He raised his hand in greeting towards her, offering her a polite smile and bow of his head. This was the same courtesy he extended to the other man - a short, pale man who had to have been a Drokk. His eyes were too deeply set to be anything other than a trogoldyte, and the worry shone too bright in the wrinkles around his cheekbones. The pounding in Aatu's marked the way his hand tapped against the reins.

The Binnesman edged his horse forward, towards the two of them. Their horses were not as fine as his, not as carefully appointed — but that was the wealth of the Binnes, not a horseman's eye. His horse sniffed at the other two, and Aatu bowed his head towards the pair. He lowered his hand, gripping the pommel of his saddle tightly. He offered them a series of stumbled words in a strange accent, words that seemed to pour from his mouth like marbles; "You are the Rewriter Healers?" There was a strange waver in his voice. Aatu cleared his throat, and spoke again, and the quiver was gone; "I am Aatu of Binnes. Welcome to our unit." He did not lift his head, his dark eyes staring towards the clovers under his horse's hooves. He could see a slug crawling on a four-leafed stalk. Behind his eyes, he was moving the Knight across from the crowned black King. Behind his eyes, he knew how to win.

 

[RJS]

Vaniela listened calmly to the briefing. 20 people, two hostages, some kind of camp, possibility of surrender. The goal: get the captives and remove the group from the area. Lethal force allowed, but to be avoided if possible. Seemed fairly straightforwards. A couple of thoughts as to approaching it ran through her head, but she dismissed them for now. Too many variables as of yet unknown. How many sentries, if any? Did they bother setting a night watch? How trained did they seem, what equipment they had... all of that was currrently unknown. With so much that was still changeable, she frowned when the inventor started talking as if she had it all figured out already. As they left, she turned to her.

"Woah there. I don't mind having you as the leader, and I'm certainly for a plan that's more sophisticated than just charging in, but I've seen too many genius schemes fall flat on their face and get people killed because the person who came up with it never thought about what to do if it started going wrong. So here's the deal. Once we've seen exactly what we're up against, and have some idea of the terrain, then you share your master plan. What you think we should do, how you hope it will play out, and what contingencies are in place for it not playing out as you expect. Convince me you aren't going to get us killed and I'll be fully on board. Until then..."

Breaking off the conversation with a pause laden with meaning, she paced off to go collect her equipment. Her spear, head slightly heavier than normal and a guard to brace her hand against on the charge, was resting by her bunk. Her shortsword was fastened in its sheath across her lower back. Strapping her kite shield onto her pack, she hoisted both pack and shield and headed to gather some more equipment. A coil of rope, useful for tying up prisoners or setting up tripwires, was stuffed into her pack, along with some rations and a waterskin. Finally, she grabbed some canvas sheeting. In the event that they needed to camp out somewhere it would at least provide some shelter from the elements. After a moment of thought, she also picked up a short wide spade. If they were planning to snipe the leader from a distance, a few 'presents' could buy time for them to get away if the men proved more 'motivated' than expected.

With her pack now noticeably heavier, she headed to the gate for the rendez-vous.

 

[chaosheart13]

Sam, with his spear in hand, walked over to the barracks to gather up some things. One was his satchel, which carried everything he needed for the journey to Argent. It was generally full of edible plants, a canteen, and extra pairs of clothes, with the hunting knife cushioned in the middle of the mess. He frowned as he grabbed his satchel and pulled out his clothes, revealing the knife amongst the bits of plants. Should he bring that along? He had the spear, after all. With a sigh, he sheathed the knife and put it back in the bag. He'll carry it along, just in case.

The next order of business was to get together other supplies for the mission. He knew what he was going to do, hide amongst the trees and manipulate them with his Rewrition magic, staying close to the medic that couldn't fight. He reasoned that if he was spotted with the spear and his clothes, the bandits would immediately think he was from the Meadow and then their cover could potentially be blown. Besides, it was better if the actual soldiers were the ones doing the fighting, though he could hold his own in a fight, the spar proved that.

"Excuse me?" he called out once he reached the hospital, "Is it alright if I can borrow a medical kit? It's for a mission." The doctors that were around motioned for him to wait as they scurried off. They eventually came back with what he asked for.

"Here you are, be sure to bring it back when you're done," he said.

"Thank you very much," Sam replied, putting the kit into his satchel and heading out the door. ...Didn't Konnor also say to get rope to tie up the prisoners with? The thought of that made him feel slightly ill. He'll go without the rope then. Satisfied that he was done packing for the trip, he made his way to the gate where everyone was gathering.

 

[Jakers]

​

The Binnesman edged his horse forward, towards the two of them. Their horses were not as fine as his, not as carefully appointed — but that was the wealth of the Binnes, not a horseman's eye. His horse sniffed at the other two, and Aatu bowed his head towards the pair. He lowered his hand, gripping the pommel of his saddle tightly. He offered them a series of stumbled words in a strange accent, words that seemed to pour from his mouth like marbles; "You are the Rewriter Healers?" There was a strange waver in his voice. Aatu cleared his throat, and spoke again, and the quiver was gone; "I am Aatu of Binnes. Welcome to our unit." He did not lift his head, his dark eyes staring towards the clovers under his horse's hooves. He could see a slug crawling on a four-leafed stalk. Behind his eyes, he was moving the Knight across from the crowned black King. Behind his eyes, he knew how to win.

The blonde-haired woman being first to turn around at the Binnesborn's approach, with the short black-haired boy retreating a little at the sign of a stranger, the woman's pale hand slowly touched the poll of the horse that was sniffing her, before bringing her hand slowly down its muzzle, looking at the horse with glazed-over blue eyes as she pet it. Her face was solemn, and the mark of blue paint streaked across her face was usually the sort that bandits and raiders wore. If it weren't for the Argent badge sewn atop her pieced-together leather armour, she could've been mistaken for a raider.

The woman's gaze veered over to the man as he smiled and nodded at her. She barely smiled and nodded back, but did something along the lines of it nonetheless. As Aatu talked, she seemed mildly confused by his strange accent, but she managed to understand him nonetheless, her weathered hand moving off the horse as she jerked a thumb towards the black-haired, grey-faced young man next to her.

"You are the Rewriter Healers?"

"...He is. I ain't." She replied simply. Her voice was low, though it still had a pleasant tone to it. When pointed to, the Rewriter male seemed to back off silently a little, looking up at Aatu with wide brown eyes. "Don't mind im'... he ain't much of a talker; did get a few words out of im' today though."

"I am Aatu of Binnes. Welcome to our unit."

As Aatu introduced himself, the blonde-ponytailed woman nodded slowly.
"Yeah. Well met... Aatu." She mumbled quietly. She had a little trouble pronouncing the name. The tone was inbetween cold and half-hearted, and she avoided direct eye contact with the man, the thick wind blowing her messy blonde ponytail behind her as she talked. "Name's Christa. And he's Vance." Her posture and voice tightened a little as she bought up mild conversation. "...Might be wondering why I'm here as a medic if I can't do fancy miracles. Well ...traditional balm n' needles ain't as effective, sure, but it still gets the job done and I've been a surgeon for years. Main reason though: it's not like we got miracle-makers comin' out of our ears; flesh-repairing Rewriters are a rare sort. We've only got about twelve who are actually pretty good at it, and we're lucky to ave' em. So I'm ere' as a backup. Unlike Vance, I'm expendable, so you make sure he stays safe."

Christa paused, opening a small tin canister containing what looked like little brown flakes. Dotting them in her hand, she sealed the bent can back up, before throwing the brown flakes in her mouth, chewing them loudly. The sudden reek of tobacco filled the air. Behind Christa, Vance's presence was hard to take notice of, as he made a point of stepping back and keeping low.

"Can't say I'm too confident gettin' picked for thirteen zeroes' first mission. Weird choice if you ask me, they usually disperse out zeroes with other packs of ones or twos, not have a whole damn group of em'. But the Commander told me yer' all a cut above. Didn't watch your fights but the majority of my mates seem to agree." Christa paused, spitting out what was now a mushy brown residue of chewing tobacco on the floor, coughing loudly afterwards. Pausing, she looked in her tin. "Fuck," She remarked under her breath. "Almost out. Nobody's there to make stuff like this anymore. I'd bet you Binnes' mixtures would have gold flakes n' sugar mixed in with yours."

Christa looked up as people started coming to the gates, pocketing her tin and picking the remnants of chewing tobacco out of her teeth. Her teeth were yellowed, but it didn't make her look ugly. It wasn't like yellowed teeth were unpopular amidst the masses nowadays.

"Ere' come the rest of your lot. Colourful bunch ain't ye." Christa's eyes scanned through some of the people in the distance. "...At least one of you packed rope, right? Trust me, we'll need it. I'll patch up anyone who's in good enough shape to come back." Christa petted Aatu's horse one more time, before turning the opposite direction, whistling and grabbing the rein of a black-spotted horse of her own. "We'll talk later Aatu. Don't give me and Vance too much work."

Shouts from Christa followed, asking for who had the map, who was leading, and so on.

After the group had got themselves together and in an orderly fashion at last, the crude wooden drawbridge of the Argent fortress was raised behind the group of fifteen. Steeds were mostly used to carry supplies, though some - particularly those who fought from horseback - were saved the drag of hiking on foot.

The air felt thick, and smelt off. The trees didn't look as green as they did yesterday, and the birds' songs were out of tune. The pallid grey sky hidden the rising invisible sun. It wasn't raining yet, but the splotches of slate approaching in the distance signaled a potential downfall.

Crusty leaves sway.

---

M I S S I O N
I - Eviction
​

---

The trek hadn't been long. But the silence of the surrounding nature, and the overbearing grey sky looming above that had since started to lightly drizzle rain had made the short hike overstay its welcome quickly.

Regardless, the group of fifteen were here now. Whoever was holding the map signaled for everyone to stop, lest they cause enough noise to alert the unknown presence ahead. The surrounding area was merely clusters of stout, thick trees surrounding a crude dirt path, but to get to the encampment where it was marked, everyone would need to hop off their horse if they'd been riding one, and trek off the path and through the forest. People began tying up horses that weren't meant for war, whilst battle horses would have some trouble navigating through the thick trees.

The group was silent, and only the quiet band of sticks crunching and leaves rustling accompanied them on their way. The density of the forest slowly began to thin out, before suddenly, loud and gruff voices could faintly be heard in the background, along with the loud sawing of wood. The place was too far off the path to stumble into by accident, but it was quite close considering. The location must've been hastily picked.

It was still a light hour of day; late afternoon. Light enough to see the camp from a great distance, though only the slight faint outline of a wooden spiked wall could be seen right in the distance through the trees, without danger of getting spotted.

Suddenly, the voice of Christa, the crossbow-wielding medic, came in a quiet whisper from behind them.
"Place is pretty well-concealed within all the trees. We'll never get close enough to properly look without gettin' spotted ourselves," She rustled in her bag for something. "I bought some of these cuz' of that. Tele... scopes. If any of you are good tree-climbers then find a tall one; scope their little hedgehog-base out."

The telescopes were of great quality, crafted from brass and fine lenses. They'd likely been looted from somewhere and bought to the Argent storage, rather than made on demand. Christa dispersed them between those who offered to climb up and scout out the base, because walking in there blindly might as well have been potential suicide.

"This is where I leave it up to you all though. Not much of a tactician myself. Us two will wait here for your call. I can help pick some people off if you need me to, but make sure he stays out of the fighting." Christa grumbled, pointing to the other medic that had come with her. "G'luck."

With that, the thirteen new Argent members began to scope out the survivor camp. Konnor wasn't lying when he said it was pretty close to Argent; the walk hadn't been far at all considering how concealed Argent needed to be.

As suspected though, the camp was still in early stages of development. Tents, fire, dried meats, and the wall was crudely made of raised wooden spikes made from thick logs. Still sturdy enough to keep people out, but nothing when it came to going against an army. Three large animalskin tents were raised where they all must've slept or rested in their downtime, though the actual contents were unknown for now. There was also a smaller tent in the corner of the base, what could be in there was even more unknown.

It was hard to get a very good look of the people inside exactly, but the place consisted mostly of men wearing a mixture of biege cotton clothing and whatever scraps of leather they could attach to themselves. They didn't move around a lot, most of them either sitting down one half-log benches and chatting, with others on lookout of guarding certain areas. Most wielded easy weapons, such as spears and clubs, along with crude board shields. Some were totally unarmed. However, the place wasn't totally defenseless. A few crude wooden towers housed archers, currently on-duty. The 'towers' were more like raised platforms with basic railings, but it still put them in an elevated position to spot an oncoming, non-stealthy threat.

Regardless, the place still had weaknesses. Enough shortcomings for the area to not seem completely intimidating to overcome, and most of the men looked quite young and inexperienced. But how were the thirteen going to drive these survivors away? How much blood would be shed, how many would be bought back?

The light rain poured through the trees.



​

 

[Wizzy The Wizard]

Viktor collected his things swiftly after the briefing was finished, he remained silent in his own little world while he picked out rope and some survival essentials to pack into his pouch, he donned his normal armor set and his sword for comforts sake. He had asked for a shield and took his long sword as well. He looked around as he finished and noticed the Lancer, Vaniela, speaking with the smaller lady with the rather... interesting attitude. He overheard them and quickly after the conversation was done he decided to speak his mind.

"Although I do agree with my Abbelestian comrade, Simply stepping up makes you qualified to be our leader in my book." he told Elodie

"Anyone who wants to lead this pack of war veterans and fighters surely is at least confident enough for the role." he added

He then continued to walk past her, kind of wanting to avoid any more conversation. He seemed rather calm, the years of war seemed to have set his nerves at ease, he seemed better than his usual self really.

~~~

The walk was a rather short one but throughout it he appreciated the silence, it was rather soothing to only hear the sounds of nature and the stomping of boots. He walked with his head in the clouds, he was deep in thought about the entire situation still, was it right of him to do basically Rhyzen's bidding? Was he betraying his lady? Frustration was also part of the mix of emotions he was feeling because he still would not be able to go to Abbelest for a long time. Argent seemed like an opportunity to initially gain the means to reach Abbelest once again, but now he has to do things such as learning to be patient, cooperating with some people he does not particularly like, and of course indirectly help Rhyzen. He was so deep in his thoughts that when the group halted he almost walked into the person in front of him.

He listened to the medic speak and explain the situation from her view, she proceeded to show them several telescopes and some would climb to scout the place out.

He decided to add in a bit of his thoughts

"Maybe a distraction for the archers, since they seem to be the only obstacles. Then have us charge through the less fortified flanks." he said

Although he held himself back from speaking anymore, the leader would be the one making the calls and it would be a better way of establishing at least some teamwork. Offering ideas could also lead to arguing about them so he simply waited for the orders.

 

[Jhuton]

(We're in cell A1, so the directions don't get mixed up)

It was a bit mystifying to be travelling through the woods in the rain. If he allowed himself to, Aridian could almost forget that the world was burning and the group was heading into battle instead of just taking a calming morning stroll. He'd decided he didn't want to bring a horse with him. From what he'd heard, the camp they were to take out wasn't too far from Argent, and he needed to stretch his sore muscles.

When they finally arrived at the camp Aridian could see there wasn't really much to it. It was protected by crude wooden walls, spiked at the top to prevent anyone climbing over. When the medic, Christa, offered up the telescopes he decided to take one and see what he could make of the camp. His brother had always been fond of these contraptions, though he failed to see the great appeal. He climbed up one of the taller trees, slowly and carefully so as not to fall and alert anyone to their presence. He had a bit of experience climbing the forest trees behind Castle Kellar, and so it wasn't too difficult. He kept climbing from branch to branch until he was high enough up to see over the wooden walls. He took careful stock of everything and everyone he saw, making sure he stuck to the darkness of the leaves and branches so no one would spot him.

The camp didn't impress him in the least. He had to admit that though Argent had been quickly raised, it had at least been done with security and functionality in mind. These fools, however, had chosen to set themselves up somewhere surrounded on all sides by thick forest their towers couldn't see into. Reconnaissance was almost too simple an affair. He decided he'd seen all he needed to and made his way back down the tree as carefully as he'd gone up. He looked around at the members of his company and delivered his report.

"I found a good vantage point from which to survey the entire camp. As far as I could see, we received the correct information.There are twenty four persons at the camp. The front is guarded by three armed men and two archer towers and the back by two men and one tower. The rest are scattered inside the camp grounds." Aridian hesitated and set his face in disgust before speaking again. "A great lot of them are gathered to the far left of the camp, around a fire, where they are keeping the two women hostage. Neither of them are clothed." These men were truly perverted creatures. None of them were fit to live. "There are five tents in all. The three bigger ones are where the majority sleep I imagine. Then two smaller ones. They also have resources we can....salvage after we're done. Wood, steel-work. In fact, I wouldn't mind having a big tent that doesn't smell like death." Aridian added the last part as an afterthought.

"I made out two men who could prove problematic. The main guard at the front gate and a musician by the campfire that has everyone's attention. I suspect they are men of importance here, based on the superiority of their armor. There is another man in the far right corner. I almost didn't see him, He may be a mercenary or assassin." He paused to catch his breath before continuing. "There's a small gap in the right corner near to our mystery man, but we would have to cut into a tent to get through and we can't know what's inside the tent if anything. That's all there was to make note of."

Aridian handed the telescope back to Christa and took a seat by the trunk of the tree he'd just scaled. He didn't know what plan of action they would think up from what he'd told them, but he was interested to hear what they thought. There was an almost palpable excitement in the air, and even though he didn't have much experience in the way of fighting, he could tell that this was exactly what the soldiers of the final war felt every time before they went into battle. He had to admit, he liked the feeling.

 

[ERode]

The cloudy skies hung heavily as the group of 15 marched through the woods, followed by a small pack of wolves. Though she had been rather active in asking about the capabilities of each individual during the first half of their travels, as time passed on, Elodie became quieter and quieter. Somewhere along the way, the tinkerer snapped her goggles over her eyes once more, quietly loading her rifle and counting her bullets. She had brought twelve. Enough that, with proper alignment and lacking armor on the bandits' part, she could kill them all.

Hopefully, it wouldn't come down to that.

The horse snorted softly, hot air blaring out of its nostrils as she pulled its reins. The map indicated that they were there, and Elodie raised her hand, signalling the rest to stop as well. Hopping off her steed with minimal grace, she pitched forward and stumbled, before managing to recover with some violent arm swings. There was no real need for her to wear her white coat now, and she had ditched it for darker, simpler clothing, over which a complex set of straps and springs could be seen. She almost felt self-conscious about it, but the recoil-dampening chassis she wore took a good hour to put on, and while Elodie didn't mind spending more than three days carefully picking off bandits, she doubted that others had the same patience.

With five days worth of dried meats and fruit, as well as a water canteen and a pot for boiling river water, Elodie was set for a long haul, even when the map made it clear just how dangerously close the encampment was. She watched as other shimmied up trees, reporting their findings, and even made a few soft 'ohos' and 'wow, that's trash' as Aridian's hatred for Rhyzen bled out into his hatred for dumb hoodlums. It was all very basic though.

A main entrance guarded by their strongman.

An unarmed loner, almost definitely a Rewritor.

A musician by the campfire, noteworthy due to what…his ability to make music?

She scratched the back of her head, before saying, "One. I dislike Rewritors. Especially ones that don't have any weapons, because they usually have stupid, illogical powers. The Thundercrack can be used once every thirty seconds. Before anything else, the loner in the corner needs to die. Of course, maybe he's just some assassin-y type, but I don't want to take chances with that. So that's where my bullet will be going."

"Two," Elodie continued, "You should all dislike archers. Especially archers on 'towers'. Thankfully, there are only three towers, and we have methods of suppressing them all. Ash has his Rewrite. Karmia is a Dragoon. The third tower is isolated from the first two. Lydios and, perhaps Christa, can provide the arrows to counter them."

"Three," she finished, "We have a lot of loud things, from Ungard to Cethric to wolves to whatever else. If we attack barbarously, the bandits probably won't think that we're here to rescue the women or anything else. They have a numbers advantage, but we can use their gate against them. Thus…"

"Ungard, Cethric, Viktor, Theo, Aridian, Aatu. Can the six of you maintain the gate and kill those who come out to fight you?"

"Vaniela, Briaes, Sam, wolves. Can the three of you get behind the camp, and go through the rear opening, prioritizing the rescue of the women?"

"Lydlos, Christa, Ash, Karmia. Can the four of you lockdown the three towers once the brawl starts?"

The tinkerer thought for a couple of moments, before saying, "Yeah, this turned out to be totally different from my original plan. I suppose I didn't imagine that some bandit groups would actually have a proper camp with palisades and towers set up. Apologies. Any questions? Suggestions?"

Elodie's Stuff

Thundercrack
12 Bullets
Combat Gear
Handkerchief
Tinderbox
Five Days Worth of Rations
Two Waterskins
Pot
Hand Axe
Bedroll
Tarp
Rope
COLD HARD JUSTICE