At the Beginning(Closed/See Signup)

[NightFeather]

NightFeather knelt down beside the Andakilsa river and splashed some of the cold water on his face. His training had become much more vigorous in the past few days. In the weeks since he had passed the Trials, NightFeather had been training with the tribe's Spirit Warriors. There were only three left, but they were very knowledgeable in the ways of combat and in the art of Song.

NightFeather had been learning the use of the bow and of the spear, and he was using weapons fashioned by his father. He had also learned the use of two songs, one of healing that would allow him to heal small wounds upon himself or upon others. He had become pretty good with it and could usually heal any of the wounds he had taken during the training. The other song he had learned was much more complex, and allowed him to summon a spirit wolf to fight by his side. NightFeather was still having trouble controlling the second song, and it usually had no effect.

Training with his spear had been difficult, as the person training him was very demanding. He remembered at one point he was on the ground in less than two attacks, and had a spear tip pressed against his throat. BlackStar, the one training him, always took it slow when he was actually teaching the moves themselves, but when they sparred, he went all-out, only stopping just short of seriously hurting NightFeather. While being physically demanding, this method seemed very effective, and NightFeather learned quickly, and was usually able to block several attacks before BlackStar was able to put him down. The offensive was an entirely different matter, and NightFeather had yet to inflict more than a scratch on BlackStar, but his skill was steadily increasing.

Training with the bow had been somewhat easier, and HawkEye was much more easy-going that BlackStar. He slowly explained everything to NightFeather, talking at long lengths about the subtle art of archery. He showed NightFeather the correct way to hold the bow, showed him that it didn't require brute strength to use it accurately and effectively, and showed him that the easiest way to hit your target was not to try too hard. NightFeather had become quite proficient at hitting the stationary target, and even scored the occasional bullseye, but when HawkEye introduced a moving target, it became much more difficult. After a week of either missing the target completely, or hitting the outer ring through sheer luck, NightFeather had begun to get the hang of it and could at least hit the target in seven out of ten shots.

StarGazer was the one teaching him to sing, and herself had a very beautiful voice. The training in song usually came during NightFeather's periodic breaks from combat training, and was progressing at a steady rate. One of NightFeather's fondest memories of his training was the first time his song had worked. During a sparring session with BlackStar, NightFeather had taken a deep gash across his forearm. Jumping at the chance, StarGazer had called a break and sat NightFeather down to try his song. Singing the song in a low voice, NightFeather had momentarily felt dismayed when nothing happened at first. Then his eyes widened, but he kept singing, as a bluish-white light had radiated from the gash, and it slowly closed and healed over. NightFeather had been telling the story to anyone who would listen for days afterwards.

Standing and picking up his spear, NightFeather continued on his way towards the small clearing where he did his training. The three warriors were already there, BlackStar standing off to the side and the others sparring with staves. HawkEye was slightly better with a stave than StarGazer, and was slowly gaining the upper hand in a match that appeared to have been going on for several minutes. Suddenly, StarGazer took a quick sidestep and jabbed HawkEye in the foot with the tip of her stave and took the opportunity of his loss of balance to gain back some of the ground she had lost. It was a cheap trick, but sometimes it was necessary to use some cheao tricks.

When NightFeather approached, StarGazer and Hawkeye stopped sparring and moved over to where BlackStar was standing across the clearing from NightFeather. BlackStar stepped forward and motioned for NightFeather to come closer. When NightFeather obeyed, BlackStar launched a few quick attacks at him with his own spear. Not reacting quickly enough, NightFeather was unable to block the first attack, and took a deep cut across his right arm. He was able to block the second and third attacks with his spear, then narrowly dodged the third. When the fourth one went high, NightFeather ducked below it, but was unable to react quickly enough when BlackStar twisted his spear and and knocked NightFeather's feet out from under him.

StarGazer and HawkEye started to chuckle before BlackStar raised a hand to stop them. BlackStar reached down a hand and help NightFeather to his feet.

BlackStar then began to take NightFeather through the motions of the fight one ste at a time, breaking down each move until NightFeather could duplicate it sufficiently. When they sparred again, NightFeather was able to last for six whole minutes before BlackStar finally smacked the knuckles of his right handwith the shaft of his spear, then swiped NightFeathers legs out from under him.

After the match, they took their first break, and StarGazer sat down on the cool grass beside where NightFeather had fallen and helped him get up into a sitting position. They went through each verse of the song of healing word by word until StarGazer told NightFeather to use it on the cut on his right arm. It took two tries, but NightFeather was able to heal the cut.

After the cut was healed, NightFeather trained with HawkEye for an hour against the moving target. It was getting a little easier to hit, but it was still too difficult for NightFeather to hit a decent place on the target. Taking a few minutes to show him how to do it, HawkEye scored three perfect bullseyes in a matter of seconds. It only made NightFeather feel worse.

Once the bow training was done, it was back to spear training with BlackStar.

At the end of the day, NightFeather was so sore that he thought he wouldn't be able to make it back to his hut for some much needed rest. When he finally made it back, Elrie was waiting for him. She had been training with the Enchantresses, and was not nearly as tired as NightFeather. When he collapsed on their bed, Elrie moved forward and began to massage his tight muscles while she hummed a tune of calming and relaxation.

NightFeather fell asleep to the sound of the music and the soothing motion of her hands.

[Nell]

"How was your night?"

Nell looked at Clyde with suspicion and the question made her start slightly before she followed him to the corner of the porch. She wondered what he knew about her adventures in the woods and although she felt a warmth towards him, she felt a need to be guarded, at least for now. There was a small silence as Clyde looked at her, which invited confidence. When she spoke, it was in a low voice and at first she found it hard to maintain the steady eye contact that seem to come to Clyde with ease.

"My night was not the best I have ever passed. But I think you know this. Perhaps you saw what happened. And if you did not, well, let us just say that what happened disturbed me greatly. I did not sleep well. And ..." She paused, not for loss of words but rather because she was used to ridicule when she had ventured sharing such things before. However, when she looked at Clyde, she sensed that this young man would not make her feel foolish, would not make fun of her words and dismiss them as fairy tales. Nell took a deep breath and forced herself to continue.

"This may sound strange, but last night I became connected to a tree in the forests. Quite literally. My arm, my hand, became one with the tree. And I was blessed or cursed with a vision. I can't explain how or why it happened. In the past, I have been drawn to forests and nature. When surrounded by nature, I feel a peace, as though I belong. Yet last night," Nell paused again and looked over her shoulder towards her brother, Alfred, who was munching happily at his breakfast. "Last night I was shown something that could be disastrous, if I take it to be a true prediction of the future. And it grieves me."

Her voice fell to almost a whisper.

"I saw the death of my brother."

She swallowed hard, not allowing the tears which had flowed last night to return, and clasped her hands tightly together. Raising her chin, she looked with clear eyes at Clyde. Would he mock her? Forestalling such an event, she filled the brief silence with her own question.

"And yourself? Your night seems to have been troubled. You are wounded."

[Harthar]

Clyde saw her face turn suspicious at the question, which is the reaction Clyde thought he would get. Their eyes met and then hers moved away as she began to speak. Clyde watched her as he massaged his leg muscles with his good hand. He listened quietly and absorbed what she said. She seemed very emotional about the whole affare and he wondered why. Sure you'd be a little shaken if your hand became a tree and you couldn't move, but that was that. This was something more.

When she took a deep breath he brought his right arm over and placed his right hand upon her shoulder to reasure her. He raised a brow as she said she had experienced a vision. He looked casually toward the forest before his eyes moved back to Nell... He knew there was something strange going on. It had been many years since Clyde had caught a glimpse of a direwolf, and yet last night he killed one.

"Last night I was shown something that could be disastrous, if I take it to be a true prediction of the future. And it grieves me."

"You can tell me, it is better to share things with someone you can trust." He gave her a reasureing smile and patted her back lightly.

"I saw the death of my brother." At this Clyde blinked, drew a deep breath and rubbed Nell's back with the hand he had had upon her shoulder.

"I will do all within my power to not let that happen. Be assured of that fact."

He didn't know how he was going to make sure Alfred didn't die but he would give it a try, and the best way he could think of at the moment was getting the boy trained in both the bow and double short swords. But also with armour on. Heavy armour.

Nell spoke and Clyde turned his gaze back to her. She had asked about his night. He moved his right hand from her back to rest upon his own left shoulder.

"I had a run in with a direwolf on my way back to the house. I saw what happened to you, but not all of it. When you ran I followed. A growl stopped me running and I turned just in time to get taken to the ground by the wolf. I fought it and came out better then it did. Alfred is apparently making me a pair of direwolf pants and shirt as a token to my victory. It had to be killed to make sure none were killed by it."

[Nell]

The assurances Clyde made with regard to preventing the end of Alfred were received with thanks by the young woman. He was not mocking her, but instead taking her words seriously and the natural warmth she felt for this serious but sincere youth deepened. She too, would do all she could to protect her brother, but for someone who only a day ago was a stranger to them both to make this offer was deeply gratifying. Some of the pinched worried look left her face and Nell smiled warmly at Clyde. As he detailed his fight with the direwolf, she was alarmed to hear that such danger was nearby and concerned for Clyde's injuries, but then the thought of him wearing clothes made from the skin of the dead animal caused an involuntay smile. She rested her hand gently on Clyde's injured shoulder as she spoke.

You are a brave man to take on that beast. I would have run and most likely been killed if faced with such an attack. Dorek must be proud of his student.I hope your injuries heal swiftly so that you are not delayed in continuing your progress.

The mention of their trainer's name recalled the pair to the fact that they were not present at their breakfast and together they joined Dorek and Alfred at the table. Alfred looked questioningly at Nell as she sat down and she returned his look by squeezing his hand in affection. Perhaps what she had seen was not the only future, but only a possible future, one of many which spanned in front of them all. Taking control of her fears and pushing them to a corner in her mind, Nell did the sensible thing and ate a hearty breakfast.

[Cymrych Hugh]

Cymrych had travelled for days, not seeing another person. He had been living off of berries, nuts, and the occasional rabbit he happened by. He was beginning to get discouraged and wondered if this blasted forrest went on forever. Though he knew what was taking so long. He had caught himself three different times getting off track and wandering back in a big circle. He cursed his father for not letting him train under Barrett, the ranger who lived near their town. Cymrych had badly wanted to train, but his father was more concerned with Cymrych learning politics and other such nonsense. Alot of good all that did him now. Though his father was probably not planning for Cymrych to run off like this.

The sky began growing dark and Cymrych decided to find himself a place to camp for the night. He found a small clearing and began working on a fire. Though he had not trained with Barrett, he still had picked up on a couple things from the survivalist. Once the fire was started, Cymrych leaned back against a tree and closed his eyes. He wasn't going to sleep yet but was thankful for the rest. His eyes jolted open as a someone or something began crashing through the bushes. Cymrych jumped to his feet and fumbled to get the decorative sword out.

A small boy came jumping out of the bushes. The boy had a crazed look in his eyes and only wore animal skins for clothes. Cymrych just stared as the boy looked around camp really quick, then took off again into the wilderness. Just then, a wild boar emerged from the same bushes the boy had come from. Cymrych jumped back, startled. Upon seeing him, the boar stopped and snorted. Cymrych had heard tales of men being gored by the tusks on these violent animals. He stood there, eyes locked with the beast, unsure of what to do. He kept the sword out in front of him. If the thing charged, he hoped it would just skewer itself upon it.

After a few minutes of the staring contest, Cymrysh grew impatient and tried shooing it away. Something the boar obviously took offense to. It grunted again, gave a shrill scream and charged. Cymrych back peddled as fast he could but the boar was upon him in seconds. The force of the rush knocked Cymrych backwards and to the ground. He was fortunate enough to keep hold of the sword. The thing then went to leap on top of him but Cymrych managed to raise the point of the blade and as he'd hoped, the boar killed itself by impalement. Unfortunately, Cymrych now had the dead weight of a huge wild boar upon his chest, with his arms pinned awckwardly underneath. Trying to rock back and forth, Cymrych cursed his inability to move the beast. He stopped his efforts as he heard the bushes rustle again.

The same boy he had seen earlier reappeared but this time he was not alone. Two men were with him this time, both wearing the same animal skin garb and carrying spears. One man mumbled something Cymrych couldn't understand to the other and the second man came and pulled the boar from Cymrych's chest. Cymrych took in a deep breath as he was able to fully fill his lungs again. He nodded and looked at the man who had just helped him, "Thank you for the assistance. I was a fraid I was going to be stuck there all night." Upon hearing him speak both men readied their spears and advanced on him. Not sure what was going on, Cymrych merely raised his hands and tried to remain as still as possible. He had no idea what these people wanted with him.

[Cymrych Hugh]

~double, sorry~

[Sërk Talstrom]

Sërk awoke with a start. He shook his head as his eyes quickly came into focus. There was a fierce growling in his stomach as he realised how long it had been since he ate. The hard, damp, cobblestoned roads smelt of horse urine, however he didn't seem to notice anymore, years of sleeping in alleyways and streetsides had killed off his sense of smell. He had overslept this morning, which was a bad thing, both for his stomach and his body. The bulging pockets were to be found as the sun first hits the sky, when servants and maids shopped for the food for the day. Sërk shook himself off, flexing his tight muscles. He took careful time in stretching each muscle. It was a vital part of the pickpockets routine. In times such as these, the townsfolk had become quite wary of losing coin in such a manner, and were on the lookout for those such as himself. To be warm ad ready to move quickly after a grab were of vital importance.
Looking around the alley, a drunk, head full of ale from the night before, lay propped up against a wall. Throwing off his light shirt Sërk quickly exchanged it for the drunken man's. It was too big by half, and smelt of ale, but was far better than the excrement covered cloak he had.
Moving off into the crowd, Sërk allowed himself to drift within the growing crowds, searching for a likely target for him to ply his trade with. Looking into the distance, he noted a thin man, far too well dressed for these parts of town. He dismissed him offhandedly, ever from this distance he could see that the two men on either side of him were not early drinking partners. He had no wish to get involved with bodyguards or the like. All he wanted was a few coppers for a meal.
The strange man approached the place where Sërk was standing, his money pouch obvious from yards off. Sërk licked his lips, his fingers twitching. The man drew closer to him, almost level with his place. Sërk couldn't stop himself, he darted out behind the man, and deftly unhooked the pouch from the mans waist. He quickly tugged at the pouch to draw it away and move off. He encountered a tugging resistance to his pulling-the purse was attached to by a second cord to the man's tunic!
YOU THERE! The growl of one the bodyguard barked out in the midst of the confusion. Sërk panicked, dropping the pouch, and letting it dangle from the hidden cord. Turning, he began to run, knowing full well that by doing so he was making himself even more of a target. He heard a shout, and Sërk felt a sharp pain in his left shoulder. He stumbled forward, gritting his teeth against the pain, as the adrenalin began to take effect. A number of folk had joined in the chase as he darted in and out of alleyways, hoping to elude his chasers. But everytime it seemed he was clear, there would be a shout and the chase would begin anew. That fact dawned on him then, there was no escaping this time, too many had seen his face, recognised the figure darting amongst the crowd. It was time to move on. As he approached the city gates, he realised there was nobody watching the exit. There was no concern in the town as to who actually left, only who came in. He came up to the gates at a full sprint, passing by the guards who looked on uninterested, by another street brat leaving. There was little point in troubling themselves with a child such as this. Sërk waited till he was long clear of the town before he stopped running. Slowly he became aware of the stinging in his shoulder blade. A knife, had punctured his shoulder and was caught in his oversized tunic. He turned the knife over to examine it. It was of poor quality, but, even the simplest of knives would be of more use than his bare hands. He fingered the wound on his shoulder, it was little more than a flesh wound, but he knew that even the smallest cut, if infected could spell doom for him. He bandaged the cut as best he could. It would have to do for now until he found a source of water to clean the cut with.
Sërk turned and looked back at the town from which he fled. It would be a long time till he returned.

[Nell]

She jabbed hard and fast. Her eyes were fixed, unflinching, on the padded target, as each blow pounded home. Alternating fists, striking high and low; her breath, steady and aiding the movement; throwing in the occasional hook to break up the pattern of punches. Focused, ignoring the ache developing inside the gloves where the knuckles were rubbing raw against the material. They had to toughen up and there was no easy way around it. Taking a step back she paused, letting any tiredness melt away as her heartbeat fell to a more normal pace, before stepping up and starting again. Repeat and rest, punch and break. No distraction.

She no longer felt like the quiet maiden her parents had raised her to be. This was different. This moment of violence made her someone else that she had never known before. It felt powerful and she liked it.

Nell stepped back and turned to the sack that hung waist height from a cross beam, padded with god-knows-what but good enough to take a satisfying blow. Readying her stance she began the kicks, front, side, roundhouse, back - a pattern shown by Dorek and quickly learnt. Shaking strands of hair that had fallen loose from the ponytail, her brow slightly furrowed, she practised, corrected, balanced ...

Further over from where Nell exercised, Alfred too was engaged in repetitive motions but with the wooden short sword, practising set movements, thrusts, swings, slices as the sunlight beat down on their heads. Beyond them, Dorek and Clyde were sparring, the trainer pushing his student to new lengths, despite the injuries sustained from the Direwolf attack. This was their work.

Above them, high in the sky, a lone bird circled twice, lazily floating the air currents. It watched the four in the fields, small figures in the landscape that filled its view. Something glinted on the ground, near to the boy who stood slightly apart, thrusting at an invisible enemy. With no hesitation, the bird dived, swooping down to snatch the small token before fleeing with its prize. The jackdaws treasure? A locket, usually worn by the youngman, but placed on top of his cloak on the ground for safe keeping during training. Was it missed straightaway? No. Instead the thief took his silver gains and flew for several miles before dropping it carelessly by the roadside, having thought better of keeping the necklace. And so the locket lay, half hidden by grass, the clasp broken to reveal two portraits, lost to its owner.

[Nell]

Lunch was more or less a silent affair. Alfred was fretting over the lost locket whilst Nell was deep in her own thoughts regarding the previous night. Dorek was taking advantage of the break to check on Clyde's wounds and seemed satisfied that his student could continue for the rest of the day, not that he would have been able to have stopped him in any case.

As she held the goblet of water, Nell looked at her raw knuckles. Excusing herself, she went to find some rags to bind her hands, knowing that she needed to protect them in the afternoon if she was going to continue at the established pace. Her mind was distracted though, now her body was not engaged in physical labour. As she wandered from her room, she decided she would confide in Dorek. He may be able to help her focus her thoughts, to remember the vision in detail. The more information she had, the better it would be. For a moment, she considered returning to the tree, to see if it would show her more, but then she shivered at the memory of the transformation of her body. Dismissing it, she headed back to the group and sat by the table, slowly winding the long strip of rags around her left hand. Alfred noticed her action and moved over to assist her. Nell looked at his face as he carefully wrapped her right hand.

"What's wrong, Alfred. You don't seem too happy."

"I can't find my locket."

Nell sighed. It had been a gift to him as a child from their grandmother and was precious more for the sentimental value rather than any monetary worth. Only recently he had place two small protraits of his sister and mother inside, as he lacked a sweetheart to treasure.

"Don't fret over it, Alfred. It will turn up."

She hoped it would and smiled in sympathy, making a note to search for it later in the day. Inspecting her hands, she then held them up to Dorek who nodded in approval. The day continued.

[Ashwyn]

It had been two weeks since his father had thrown him from the only home he had ever known. The bruises and welts from his fathers strap had healed, but the wounds from his words had not.

"Get ye gone, ye worthless child! No son o' mine will ever be a blackheart sellsword. If that is what ye wish to be, then no son of mine ye are!"

Jerin still cringed at the thought. Banished, forever. Never again to see his mother and sister. Never again to race his brothers to the high passes where the sheep grazed. Never. With a sigh, Jerin forced himself to think of something else. Like food. The small pack of waybread and jerked meat his sister had snuck to him was all but gone, and he had but a few coppers to his name.

"Looks like I'm to be hunting this night." he said to the still evening air, as he pulled his sling from a pouch on his belt. Unlike most shepherds, Jerin was not very good with the sling. His brothers could knock birds from the air, and Telim had even killed a wolf with a stone to the head from his. Jerin, who from childhood had known he wished to be a warrior, had looked upon the sling as nothing but a toy. Now he wished had payed more attention to his brothers when they had tried to teach him.

Taking out a rounded stone from another pouch, Jerin set himself to the hunt. Within an hour he had managed to sneak up on a plump hare. The bunny sat contentedly in a small patch of clover, never knowing that it was in danger. Setting his sling to spinning, Jerin lined up the rabbit, and let fly his stone. Again, Jerin was no expert with the sling, so it came as no real suprize to him when the leather strap smacked him in the face, and the hurled stone bounced off the turf something like ten feet from its intended target. For its part, the bunny looked up, seemed to laugh at Jerin's feeble attempt, and hopped away.

Rubbing his sore cheek, the blonde youth grumpily put away the offending weapon. "Stupid sling." he muttered. "Ah well, looks like I do it the hard way." Digging into his pack, he pulled out several lengths of sheepskin cords. Snares! "Snares I can do!" he told himself. Every shepherd should know how to make a snare, and Jerin was a past master of such. With two brothers, both of which where larger than he up until a year ago, Jerin had been forced to use his wits in order to get his revenge. With a grin, he remebered an incident with his brother Melak, a snare, and a pile of sheep droppings. Of course Melak had beaten Jerin black, but it didn't matter. Nothing could compare to the sight of Melak limping home covered in fresh sheep poo.

Setting to work, Jerin built his snare. He would make camp a short ways away, and check it in the morning. The thought of fresh rabbit meat in the morn would simply have to carry him through the night.

[NightFeather]

[OOC]: Can't wait for Harthar, sorry. I'll handle this myself. Ashwyn, it's you my character stumbles across, just an FYI.[/OOC]

IC:

***The Goblins***

The leader of the goblin hunting party licked his lips as he peered through the trees, looking for their prey. The goblins had been trying to find the Icharii village for years, with no luck. Those damned Enchantresses and their songs had kept the village hidden from the goblin horde. The leader's lips twisted into a horrible grin. The Enchantresses' songs may have kept the village hidden, but they didn't hide the Icharii themselves, and earlier in the day the hunting party had stumbled across some of the fools training in a clearing. Instead of attacking then and there, the party had waited, then followed the four warriors back to the village.

The village was small, about thirty people, but only four of them were warriors. There were eight goblins, and they would easily wipe out the whole village. Motioning the party forward, the leader drew his shortsword and watched with glee as four of the others did the same, and the last three nocked arrows in their bows. The three older Icharii warriors were standing guard, but without a thought, the three goblin archers drew back their arrows and took down all three warriors at once. With their warriors gone, the Icharii were defenseless, so the goblins moved slowly and surely, spreading out and slaughtering the Icharii where they lay in their beds.

The leader and one archer moved through the village, searching for the final Icharii warrior. Locating a small, one room hut, the leader peered through the door and grinned, there he was, laying with his head against the chest of a delicious looking Icharii female. Motioning to the archer, the leader pointed at the bed and made a motion across his neck with a long forefinger. The archer nodded an drew back, then let his arrow fly.

***NightFeather***

The arrow glanced off NightFeather's head, knocking him deeper into unconciousness, then slid deep into Elrie's chest. The goblin archer let out a loud whoop because he believed he had killed them both with one shot. It was at that time that the other goblins met up with them at NightFeather's hut, and reported that all other Icharii in the village we dead. When the goblins laid their eyes on Elrie, they were all filled with hunger. Having not eaten for days, the goblins were starving, and Elrie looked delicious to them. Stepping on NightFeather as they crossed the room, two goblins grabbed Elrie and dragged her out of the hut and into the village's centre, where they then proceeded to light a fire.

NightFeather fought to regain his conciousness, not knowing why he had to fight to do so, just that he had to wake up quickly. Forcing his eyes open, it took NightFeather a moment to realize that he was on the ground. Another moment was wasted trying to figure out why he was on the ground. NightFeather pushed himself up, off the ground. It was then that he noticed the noises coming from outside. NightFeather crept silently to the door of his hut and looked out.

The goblins were gathered around a fire, with a makeshift spit slowly roasting an Icharii woman, Elrie. Rage boiled up inside NightFeather and he grabbed his spear from where it leaned beside the door. Without even thinking about how outnumbered he was, NightFeather attacked the goblins head on.

Since he caught them by surprise, NightFeather dispatched one of the goblins with very little trouble, sticking in the chest with his spear. NightFeather then whirled around and smashed in the skull of a second goblin. The other goblins had started to react, and NightFeather only got in one more kill, by stabbing his spear into the neck of a third goblin, before the rest attacked. NightFeather was quicker than they were, and he was able to avoid most of their attacks, sustaining only minor wounds. He managed to kill another one of them by slitting open his belly with the tip of his spear. Then they overwhelmed him. The remaining four began to attack more furiously, and were closing in around NightFeather.

An arrow flew from behind the goblins, lodging itself in one of their backs. Another arrow flew, dropping another goblin. Then another, and another. As the last goblin fell, NightFeather looked past them and saw Hawkeye, swaying a little with an arrow sticking out of his side. Hawkeye began to collapse and NightFeather rushed to his side.

"Night...Feather...You...Must...Go...You...Are...The...Last...Of...Our...Peop...."

Hawkeye died, and tears began to flow from NightFeather's eyes. NightFeather knew there was nothing he could do for any of them, and it hurt that he couldn't. NightFeather gathered up everything he would need. His spear, his bow, thirty arrows, a large hunting knife, a pack of smoked meat, a full waterskin, an extra suede tunic and pair of suede leggings, and a warm fur blanket. After he had bundled this all into a pair of leather saddlebags, he put the saddlebags onto his black mare, Azhure, and saddled her. NightFeather then went back to the fire and took Elrie down from the spit and lay her on the ground next to Hawkeye. From around her neck NightFeather took the small dagger he had made for her out of rock crystal when they were children, and tied it around his own neck.

NightFeather then mounted Azhure and rode out of the village, tears silently streaming down his face. He rode for what seemed like days, but turned out to be less than an hour, before Azhure stumbled across something. Dismounting, NightFeather searched the ground and found what he judged to be a snare, probably meant to catch a rabbit, or other small prey. If there was a snare, there had to be a hunter nearby, and the snare didn't look like goblin-make, so it had to be another human. Eager to have someone to talk to, NightFeather searched the area quickly, and soon found a small camp, with a single figure stretched out and sleeping on the ground. Deciding not to wake the person, NightFeather simply sat cross-legged on the ground and opened his pack of smoked meat.

[Cymrych Hugh]

Cymrych walked along, his hands bound behind him, a spear prodding him on. He heard the two men talking but could not understand a word. The boy walked beside him, staring intently at his clothing. Who were these people? And what did they want with him? Just then, Cymrych's mind flashed back to a time many years ago. He recalled his father talking to several people about someone called Forrest People. From what Cymrych could recall, his father thought them a threat at the time. In fact, shortly after that, his father had left for several weeks. He wondered what had happened.

He snapped back to reality. These people must be the forrest people his father was talking about. Could they have taken him for some sort of vengeance for his father's past actions? No, that couldn't be. His father wasn't a cruel or viscious man by any means. And how could they of known that he was his father's son. He must of just intruded on their land. He hoped he'd be able to make an apology and be on his way.

A half hour of travel and they came upon some very dense bushes in the forrest and came to a stop. Cymrych wondered why they had stopped. As if in answer to his thoughts, one of the men hollared out and a holar returned in response from the other side of the bushes. The bushes suddenly opened inwards like a pair of double doors. The man who had hollared, poked Cymrych in the back and he headed through the cleverly disguised entrance. What he seen upon entering amazed him. Huts were set up all around for what looked like hundreds, no thousands of meters. Cymrych continued forward, his eyes taking in the magnitude of this settlement. How had he not seen it from the road? It was far to big to miss.

Cymrych was pulled to a stop and forced to his knees. A large man, wearing a bearskin as a cape, emerged from one of the huts and came stalking over to him. He spoke with the two who had brought him and appeared to get very angry. He thumped his chest and shouted and his two guards departed. The large man then grabbed Cymrych by his hair and pulled a dagger. Cymrych was about to plead for his life when an older looking fellow in white robes came from the same hut the large man had come from. Cymrych could tell right away that this man was not a member of the tribe. His skin was pale, whereas the others' skin were all dark brown. The older man said a few words to the large one and larger one grunted and shoved Cymrych to the ground. Cymrych was relieved to see the large man walk off. The older man helped Cymrych to his feet and cut free his bonds. "Please excuse them. They are very wary of outsiders."

Cymrych finished removing the ropes from his hands and stared about. "Who are they? For that matter, who are you? And what is this place?" Cymrych continued to look around. "Oh, oh, certainly yes. My apologies. How rude of me. I am Granir. I am healer who works amongst the Beranni" He said waving his hand around the village. "As for where you are....this is Free Land. I'm afraid they don't come up with the most clever of names. Please come in, I'll get you something to eat and drink." Cymrych let Granir lead him into the hut because frankly, he was to stunned right now to resist.

[Harthar]

Dorek, once he had set Clyde, Nell and Alfred to work, went to the boundaries of the Damon Estate and began building a wall. It would be high enough to stop wolves from entering the property as well as many other different creatures, but it would not keep out dire wolves. These, the students and he would have to take care of. He returned at certain periods of the day to check up on his students training and offer hints, which they would, in turn use. Weeks past with this occurring and many Dire wolf sightings were seen by Clyde’s neighbours. It was concerning the four greatly. This only managed to inspire them to better themselves faster. Nell with her staff, unarmed combat and newly began dagger and bow work training. Alfred’s double-short sword training against Clyde and his long swords and war hammer training.


Clyde sat up straight in bed, his breathing coming rapidly and his muscles were tense from the adrenaline which had been heightened during his nightmarish dreams. Both he and the sheets upon the bed were soaked with his sweat. He pushed the sheets aside and walked to the window. There was a cool morning breeze, which swept into the windows of the house. His fever hot body cooling under the caress of the cool breeze. He felt his shoulder burning from where the dire wolf had pierced his skin with its razor sharp teeth and strangely the wound had not completely healed. The ripped flesh and muscle had healed so that he could use his shoulder, but the flesh was still pink and tender to touch.

He felt something within the wound. Not something physical or substantial but something of a presence. Like something was trapped in the wound that was trying to escape. He didn’t know what to do, he couldn’t tell Dorek because the weapons master worries too much about him already and would probably stop his training once more. He couldn’t tell Nell or Alfred because he didn’t want to appear weak to his peers.

He sighed and turned away from the window, putting his back to nature and to the cooling breeze. His dark eyes wandered to the mirror and he saw himself in it. His muscular, toned body still shining with the sweat of his nightmare and his fear. Not overly muscular as to appear hulking, but muscular enough to give him the strength and agility he needed to wield his weapons with deadly efficiency. And then there were the wounds, a rosy pink flesh colour upon his shoulder and upper arm. As he looked at them in the mirror the dream came back to him pushing all other thoughts and concerns from his mind.

He stood in a dark corridor, his hands resting upon the hilts of his two, strangely crafted long swords. They were lighter then long swords of usual high-grade steel and yet were as strong. Strange symbols were carved into the blade and upon the hilt, which seemed to lend energy, strength and speed to the young swordsman. He appeared differently physically, although there were subtle consistencies.

His height and facial appearance were the same except for his much darker skin colour and much larger ears. His eyes were keener then usual as was his hearing and senses of smell and taste. He wore simple leather breeches and a white shirt with a leather vest done up halfway. His boots were black soft leather and appeared more like moccasins rather then boots. Upon his hands were black leather gloves with a silver symbol upon each back. His hair was long and of a silvery colour, tired at the back of his head in a tight ponytail.

Before him stood an elderly man, perhaps twice the young swordsman’s age, he looked similar to that of Clyde. His eyes were the same dark colour and his face was a lighter shade and beginning to wrinkle with his age. He wore much the same clothing as Clyde. The only different there were the weapons the man chose to have at his sides, a long sword and a war hammer. He recognised the war hammer and the long sword as if he had seen them before, when he was younger, or perhaps from another life.
The other man smiled slightly and drew his long sword from its black leather sheath and removed the war hammer from its loop at his belt. He hefted the weapons with the simple ease of one trained in their use. He spoke and the voice sounded familiar is Clyde’s ears.

[color= blue] “I dreamt of this moment, many years ago. So let us end it as it has been foretold.”[/color]

Clyde’s eyes narrowed at that and he looked at the older man closer for the moment that he had before he was set upon by the surprisingly quick old man. Alas, the man was not as quick as Clyde whose blades were out of their sheaths and already in a flurry of movements, which stopped the older man’s blade and bludgeoning weapon cold.

Clyde focused upon the battle, pushing the words from his mind and his blades took over. Before he knew it the older man was kneeling upon the ground, his war hammer’s blunt face resting upon the cold stones, his blood dripping to the ground to warm it ever so slightly. His dark eyes moved up and focused upon Clyde’s own eyes, which had widened. His long sword was halfway into the older man’s chest.

The older man spoke again.[/color] “And so it ends. Do well, Clyde.”

Clyde realised he had in fact killed himself. He stood staring into those dead dark eyes and saw his future.

He was looking into the mirror at his own eyes and saw the older man there. Wondering whom the younger man was in the dream. He knew he had seen his own death; the death of the older man had been him. But he had looked at it through the eyes of a dark skinned creature, a creature he had never seen before, nor heard of anything that matched its description. This was something else he would not tell anyone.

He sighed and turned his dark eyes from the mirror and to his cloths, which he donned with no great hurry. Once he had put on his leather breeches and boots, he took his shirt and moved to the window to once more look out whilst he put on his shirt. His dark eyes looked over the landscape before him and he saw the first rays of sun piercing the horizon. But there was something else he saw, something bright and shining moving toward the Estate. No, many things, only small for the moment but they were closing. He could see the dust, which was churned up behind them and then it hit him. Soldiers, baring weapons and within full armour were heading to his Estate.

He turned on his head and ran to his cupboard, throwing it open and grabbing a large package of oiled leather. He put it on the bed and opened it, looked down at the long sword with a fond memory of his uncle and then he took it up in his skilled hands. He took off, throwing the door to his room open and moving down the stairs, he moved first into Dorek’s room and over to the sleeping weapons master. His hand moved out to shake the mans shoulder, when he did this the older man opened his eyes and looked at Clyde, saw the trouble on his face and got up.

”What is it Clyde?

”Soldiers, riding to the house with weapons drawn and armour donned.”

The weapons master sprang up and clothed himself, taking up the closest weapons to him, which were a short sword and a long sword. He and Clyde then ran out and onto the porch, the riders had gotten closer. Dorek turned to Clyde.

”Get Nell and Alfred up, dressed and armed. Tell Nell to go and ready the horses and bring Alfred with you here. If they are here for a fight then we will hold them off as long as need be before we need to escape. If they are not here for a fight then we have no need to worry. Go now!”

Clyde nodded and took off back into the house, up the stairs and to Alfred’s room first. He burst through the door and shook Alfred awake.

” Hurry, get dressed and take up your swords, we have company. And no time to waste.”

Clyde then turned and ran to Nell’s room, bursting through it, he stopped and saw her already up and just finishing putting her shirt on. She must have heard the racket. His cheeks turned a light pink as he noticed that any earlier and he may have received a slap across his face for what he may have seen.

”Nell, take up your staff and bow and go and ready the horses. We have company and may need to escape or be killed.”

He didn’t wait for her to reply to him, he didn’t have time. He ran back into Alfred’s room and saw the man taking his swords. Once had gotten them he motioned for the man to follow him. They raced down the stairs and onto the porch. The soldiers were at the gate to the estate now and they did not stop in their riding. They jumped the fence and charged straight at the three warriors.

Dorek, Clyde and Alfred moved off the porch and stood spaced out, so that their weapons would not hurt each other in the wild fight that would begin in but a few moments. Dorek noted first that the soldiers were not of the kingdom they were currently in. Their armour was black, but shiny, polished to perfection. Their swords bore a skull as the pommel and their blades shone like fire with the rising sun.

Clyde looked to Dorek and nodded to the weapons master and received a nod in return. He then nodded to Alfred who did the same to them both. They noticed that the soldiers did not only have swords but an assortment of other weapons; maces, war hammers, axes, halberds.

The three warriors waited, weapons drawn for the fight.

OOC: Sorry if this clashs with any of your stuff Nell. I am edit it if needs be. But I gave like four weeks before this happens, so if you want to you can brief post what happens with the locket, if anything happens with the locket, or you can big post it and have it leading up to this day. I left it open so that you could role play Alfred and yourself, because I don't know what you want from Alfred in this fight.

I thought I would speed it up a bit since we have fallen behind because of me.

Sorry about not posting the goblins NightFeather, I had it writen up before this post and so I was just gonna post em both at once, but you beat me to it.

[Ashwyn]

(OCC: Sorry it took so long . I didn't expect to be interacting with others yet. Ya caught me when I wasn't looking.)

IC:
Jerin lay dreaming of glory and adventure like those written in his great-uncle's journal. Magic, maidens, and mountains of gold. Such dreams were nothing new, he had been dreaming them since he was old enought to read and understand. They were part of him, as natural as breathing. Many were the nights he had lay in the fields dreaming the night away (when he was supposed to be watching the sheep. He had gotten more than one beating for his laziness.)

So when the soft sounds of someone entering his camp began to intrude on his sleeping awareness, he did what he had always done; pretended to continue sleeping. Brain still fogged by sleep, Jerin waited for the first fall of the lash, the first blast of his father's anger, or swift kick from one of his brother's. The fact that none of these came helped clear the sleep away, and Jerin remembered that he was alone on the road. Someone was in his camp!

Still pretending to be asleep, he rolled onto his side to get a look at the intruder. The man sat beside Jerin's guttering fire, eating something. He was dresses in leathers, and had a bow and spear at his side. Well, if he meant to rob or kill me, he would have done so already. So what does he want?

The man's shoulders seemed to be slumped, like he was tired or hurt. Or maybe just lonely. A gust of wind forced a brief flare from the fire, and in the sudden light, Jerin could see the blood. The man or is it boy? He looks no older than I. was covered in blood. Jumping to his feet, Jerin hesitated to approach his strange visitor.

"Are you alright? Are you bleeding?" he ask, wincing at the slight break in his voice. "My name is Jerin, Jerin Terradoc. I have some healing herbs, though I admit I have little skill with them. Can I help you?"

[Stromdus]

Stromdus had been traveling for the better part of the month now, getting away from the trolls that had ransacked his town, and killed his master. He was confused.
Why trolls attack? What they want? Why they kill? Why master die? Why not me? Why I run? Why not fight? Was scared. Stromdus coward.

These and many other thoughts kept running through his head, and building a rage inside of him. His own words were angering him. He wasn't a coward. He would fight, but did not know how.

So lost in his own thoughts, he tripped over something. Turning around to look, he saw that it was a man in armor, with a huge sword in his hand. He smelled like liquor. The man stood up angrily, and a little unsteady on his feet.

You fool! You should have been watching where you were going! You made me spill my ale!

If he wasn't so angry, Stromdus would have been afraid of this man, swinging the huge blade at him. Instinctively, Stromdus ducked. A quick thought ran through his head.

He try kill me, I kill him.

Standing, Stromdus grabbed at the soldier's wrists with his left hand, and caught them both. Pulling back his right arm, he thrust it forward as hard as he could into the soldiers face, caving it in. Releasing the now dead man, he fell limply to the ground, dropping the Great blade. Picking it up, he realised it was good craftmenship, heavy, sharp, and about five feet long, with a solid steel hilt, with a cotton grip. He searched the soldier for the scabbard, and found it strapped to his back. He undid the straps, and attached them to the straps of his harness, and let the scabbard hang over his back, as he saw it was on the back of the soldier.

Picking up the deadman, he walked into the deep grasses on the side of the road, and tossed him in, and retrieving his blade, put it into the scabbard. For some reason, he felt a little better. Perhaps because he did not break and run, but fought. Perhaps because he had this well made sword. He did not know, but he was glad he felt better.

Hearing horses, he ran into the grasses, and saw that he was near a large house, and people were training inside. Seeing the horsemen stop outside and draw their weapons, Stromdus drew his. He did not like the odds of the people in the house, and if the horsemen moved to attack, Stromdus would attack them. Crouching low, Stromdus was standing on the balls of his feet, watching and waiting.

[Sariel]

C:if someone wants to stumble into me go a head)

Sariel watched Sheodin movements and not just for the most obvious reasons, she was showing him where and how to take down a grumpy bar customer that may have other wise been too large to deal with. Sariel had been staying in the Inn for the last two weeks and has put back on some of his weight he had lost since leaving home and its fresh cooked meals. Stepping out of the reach of the woman as she took a not all-together playful swing at him Sariel nodded as she asked

"are you listening?, here now show me your not as dumb as you look shorty."

Ignoring her comment as one of the hundred she had made since meeting her he stood opposite her tall well muscled frame and waited until she took an over obvious swing at his head. Quickly ducking to the side of the body the thrown punch was located on Sariel brought his foot up in one motion and then down semi-lightly onto Sheodin's upper calf and back of the knee joint. As the front of her knee landed in the dirt Sariel finished the move by locking his fist into his opposite hand and taping Sheodin's face lightly with his elbow, in a move that could break bones at full speed.

Letting Sheodin regain her feet Sariel smiles at her.

"size doesn't matter, only ability. "

Laughing as she walks by, and away from him she looks over her shoulder and smiles

"Now what fool girl went and told you that."

With cheeks a bit red Sariel walks through all the moves shown to him today before having to start his choirs that would take up the rest of the day.

[Nell]

It was the hour before dawn, when nocturnal animals found their rest and creatures of the day had yet to stir. The air was still, the sky dark. A moment when all was paused in anticipation, as if time was holding its breath. Nell sat cross legged on the floor, facing the open window, her eyes closed. For the past fortnight she had risen at this time and taken this position of relaxed poise with straightened back, head slightly held up and hands resting on her thighs, palm upwards, chest expanded to breath with calm regular intervals. For an hour she would meditate, allowing her thoughts to dissipate and accept the abyss of empty thought.

At first the process had been frustrating, her mind too active, darting in and out of memories, worries, fancies, but now with practice she could quickly reach this state of openness. Towards the end of the hour, as the dawn approached and the sky turned grey, she would wait for whatever her mind would eventually form. An eagle flying, majestic wings, powerful yet graceful. A leaf falling, orange hues, spinning to its final rest. A half moon weakly glowing with coldness, a cloud scudding across its surface. Sometimes, nothing. At the end of the hour, she would open her eyes, the glow of the morning dawn filling the room, turning the white walls pink. Often the images would stay with her, guiding her through the day whilst her body engaged in training. She did not question or seek any meaning in them, but accepted what had been given. There was no key with which to decipher, no guide to consult. But it gave her calm, an openness that rid her mind of any fear instilled by her experience in the woods.

This feeling had enhanced her training. She had progressed quickly, being a willing and determined student and was now competent with the staff and at unarmed combat. With increasing pleasure and a small amount of pride, she was now learning the basics of archery, something that she seemed to have a natural affinity for. Her eyesight was keen and the punishing exercise regime had given her toned, strong upper arms. In time she hoped to attempt the longbow, but for now a shorter bow was her practice weapon. Dorek had also introduced her to fighting with a dagger and this was her one failing so far. But she would persist to reach an adequate level of competency. Her aim when throwing at a target was good, however close combat made her nervous.

Nell exhaled as time stretched before her. Rolling streams of ebony twisting and falling away as her dream like state hung in the air. Perfectly still she waited for whatever may arrive. The black faded to grey, to white, to dust. Rising dust thrown into the air by hooves. A horse galloping but as if in a dream, slowly, deliberately, the sharp edge of each hoof biting the ground, soundless. The girl continued to breathe. The image faded. The horizon turned grey awaiting the sun.

Nell opened her eyes and after a moment slowly stood up. She stretched once, a languid elegant movement, then turned towards the pitcher on the table and poured water into the large bowl. Casting aside her nightgown she took a sponge and began to wash her limbs, tanned by the sun over the weeks. The water was cold and she shivered as the water ran over her body, touching the pale skin that hid beneath clothes. Her body had hardened where muscle had developed, but there still remained plenty to denote her sex. As she swept the sponge over her stomach, she wondered if her future faceless husband would mind his wife not being soft to the touch. Then she blushed for having such a thought. But thoughts like these are not uncommon to a young woman so she allowed herself a smile as she continued to muse on such matters. And so her mind landed on Clyde. And she smiled again. How could she not notice him? A young man, handsome and courteous, whose company she shared everyday. He was reticent, but not shy. He just did not seem inclined to waste words beyond what was needed to be said. Since she had confided in him a few weeks ago, they had not had much conversation alone, but she would seek his company, if only to share a silence and a smile as if they both understood a joke that the world had not heard.

Ach, its just your silly fancies. He thinks of you as a sister, as Alfred does

As if on cue, she heard movement through the house. Quick and urgent. Instinctively she dropped the sponge and reached for clothes. A few moments later her door burst open and there was Clyde, shouting about company and gathering the horses, as she fumbled with buttons on her shirt. Nodding furiously at his turned back as he swiftly left, she knew the company was unwelcome and hurried to make ready. Grabbing her cloak and staff, and throwing her bow onto her back, she rushed out and down the stairs to the stables, hot on the heels of Alfred who was heading out front, armed with his two short swords and a dark face.

In the stables, she was joined by a servant who helped to quickly saddle the horses. They were stomping the ground as if alerted to the activity outside, sensing danger, fear. With a firm hand she led the horses out to the courtyard, not allowing them room to bicker or dissent, then mounting her horse, she made her way around to the front of the house. The sight that greeted her filled her with dread. No more practice. This was real. Bearing down on Clyde, Dorek and Alfred, armed warriors at a gallop.

[Harthar]

Clyde stood there his mind focusing out everything except the roar of the horse's hooves upon both the path and the hard packed soil. He had not yet drawn his uncle's long sword but in a few moments he would have no choice. He crouched upon the ground, his hands moving to the soil and he taking a handful, rubbing it into the palms of his hands to add to the grip that he would need when he started to sweat from the fighting. This was not one of the tricks Dorek had taught him, this was merely an instinctive act that he had adopted from his father who had done this before long rides on his expert horses. Once this was completed, the rich brown soil making a fine coating upon his palms, he drew his uncle's sword. Its blade caught the sun rise and became ablaze with white fire.

He held it as Dorek had taught him and positioned himself within a defensive stance, which he would be able to twirl into an offensive attack at any moment. He spared a glance at Dorek who was in a much different fighting position, he was low to the ground and his long sword was straight behind his back, his short sword up and at the defensive a foot in front of his face. He glanced at Alfred who was holding his short swords in an 'X' position in front of him, his knees bent slightly with one foot in front of the other.

Clyde turned back to the charging horsemen and relaxed himself. He was too tense and this was not what he needed with his injured arm, he needed to be loose, able to move quickly and nimbly, smooth fluid like water. He imaged the sea, its' slow swaying. The image began to mold from a calm sea to one during a storm, but even during a storm the water was controlled and beautiful. His eyes narrowed and now he was ready. He watched the first horseman as it charged straight for him.

He waited.

It was now less then ten meters in front of him.

He waited.

Seven meters.

He waited.

Five meters.

He moved, swiftly and smoothly, to one side. A graceful, but deadly, dance. The horseman's sword swept down as he leaned over in the saddle to get more range. Clyde's sword, now in his left hand, knocked the horseman's sword aside and with his right hand grasped the horseman's belt and pulled him from the saddle and onto the ground. Clyde then leapt over the downed horseman and rolled to his feet, his blade once more in his right hand and slashing out at just above the hoof of another horse. The horse's leg was sliced clean off, but the horse did not crush Clyde as it fell fore Clyde kept moving. His spinning dance of death was getting him out of the way of swords and horses barely.

The rider of the downed horse tumbled over the horses head and into the other downed rider. Clyde swiftly moved over to them and swift blade movements sliced open one of the men's necks and decapitated the other. He turned after this in time to bring his sword up to block a strong over head sword swing by an axe. It forced Clyde to the ground, where the nimble swordsman rolled clear of the axe blade. It imbedded itself in the ground next to him, slicing through the back of his shirt and pinning him to the ground. The axeman didn’t remove the blade, because he saw that Clyde was stuck. Instead he drew a short sword and trusts it at Clyde's stomach.

Clyde's blade snapped down and turned away the thrust and then several more as he tried to get free but couldn't. Clyde knew he would not be able to survive much longer pinned to the ground and so he needed to get the other man away from him long enough to remove the axe. He thought quickly and using his feet as hooks, he hooked the axe man at the ankles and brought his feet up toward his chest. The axe man's feet swept out from underneath him and landed him heavily upon the ground on his back, sending the air from his lungs. Clyde dropped is long sword and grabbed the heft of the axe and pulled it first downward toward the ground and then upwards. The blade slid easily from the ground onto to be thrown aside.

[Nell]

It was a shock. To see blood spilled, to watch men fall, to witness death. At first she was bewildered, seeing her companions engage in battle and as the first man fell, the bewilderment turned to fear. Fear for her brother, for Clyde, for Dorek. Too many horsemen. They wouldn't survive. They couldn't. The tumult of the fight was panicking the horses she held tight and her own mount was stomping the ground, fighting to be free. As she saw Alfred disarm a rider with his two swords, before rolling out of the way of an oncoming horse, she knew she could not remain gawping as though she were the audience at a gladiator contest. Dropping the reins of the other horses, she took her bow.

Alfred rolled quickly to the left, out of range of the pounding hooves that tore the ground, before crouching for the following horseman. As a flashing blade bore down, he blocked it with his left sword, shards of light splintering into the air as the metals clashed. The defensive move was followed with an attacking thrust of the right sword into the side of rider, as Alfred spun around, wrenching the sword free, spraying a mist of blood from the deep wound. Without waiting to see that horseman slump in the saddle, he stepped forward to the next horseman who sat astride a dark stallion that reared and kicked out at the young man. A sharp hoof threatened to impact with this skull before he thrust the two blades into the chest of the horse, killing the animal instantly, crashing it to the ground and trapping its rider under its dead weight. There was no time to finish him however, as the first horseman had circled and was returning his charge. Crossing his swords infront of him, Alfred waited for the impending blow.

Nell had had little luck with the bow from the back of her mount, unused to firing from a moving horse. She jumped down and ran to the porch which gave some elevation, threw down her staff, then let loose two more arrows in rapid succession, finding her targets of neck and eye. The fear was still with her, but so was adrenalin which sharpened her senses. With a cool appraisal, she selected another target, drew back the bow and sent a third dart to wound a particularly grizzly horseman, the arrow deeply embedded into the join of his armour.

Yet, she failed to see the one left trapped by the weight of his dead horse, failed to see him escape his burden and reach for the axe that lay cast aside, failed to see him advance on her brother from behind.

Some people are not destined for long life. Some events, despite forewarning, cannot be prevented. Such is life.

[Stromdus]

Seeing the battle raging, Stromdus charges towards the men on horses. Running as fast as he could, he raises his Sword high above his head. Apon reaching a soldier on horseback, he swings his sword downwards, and connects with the soldiers helm, knocking him off his horse. With the inertia, and the weight of His blade, it flys out of his hand. Looking around, he sees a thick clublike treebranch. Picking it up, he swings it hard at the now standing soldiers face, sends him flying, and turns towards another dismounted soldier.

This one had an arrow wound in him. Raising his club, he began to swing down, and was blocked by a sword. He didn't expect this. Raising his club again, he swung down hard, and the man blocked again. Raising his club again, he was quicky sliced across the chest. Screaming in rage Stromdus grabbed the mans sword arm, and yanked the sword from it. Throwing the sword down, he reached for he mans throat, and gripped hard. Squeezing the life out of the man, he smashes his fist into his face. Picking the body up, he turned and threw the body into another man on a horse, then realizes that he just threw the body into one of the people he was helping. Looking around again, he saw a man with an axe sneaking up behind another of the defenders. Picking up a stick, he threw it hard, and hit the Soldier with the axe in the leg, causing him to grunt.

Feeling a sword enter his side, he throws his arm out, knocking whoever stuck him away. Pulling the sword out, he falls to one knee, and recieves a slash in his shoulder. Screaming he grabs for the closest attacker, and catches his head. Gripping hard with both hands hard now, the attacker is lifted above his head, and thrown hard into a tree, breaking his back. Feeling another sword, he spins, and is caught in the head with the hilt of the enemies blade, as the world around him turns red, he throws his fist out as hard as he could into the mans chest, smashing his sternum, driving the bone into his chest.

Standing, Stromdus staggers away from the battle towards the house.
Stromdus can't... die yet. Must...go on. Will keep..living. Stromdus mutters as he falls to the ground, unconsious from the pain of his wounds, and loss of blood.

[Harthar]

The axe was thrown aside and long sword to be taken up once more in skilled, but only resently experienced hands. Rolling to his feet, his shirt now very much in tatters, he stepped forward in a lung and plunged the once shinning silver blade, now shinning red blade, into the fallen axe man's chest. He drew the blade out and then turned to see two horsemen bareing down on him. They rode side by side, keeping a gap in the middle for where they would aim Clyde to come.

The young warrior swallowed hard and ran toward the gap. The horseman, swords drawn, readied themselves to pull away and slash out at Clyde. At the last moment Clyde saw a flash of silver and then another almost on the one before's feathers, they imbedded themselves clean into the horseman on Clyde's right. One in the neck, the other in the eye. Clyde leapt at the other horseman, his sword clashing with the horseman's and light played within the air after the clash of strength. Clyde rolled away from the horse's feet and into a crouch next to the horse of the first rider, the dead rider. He leapt up and into the saddle, taking the reigns and spinning the horse around quickly and then giving it a nudge with his heel. He rode toward the second rider who was now turning to enguage Clyde once more. Their blades clashed again and then again. Clyde forced the horseman's swords high and then on a back stroke sliced open the horseman's stomach, sending the insides spilling from within. The horseman fell to the ground and added his blood and bile and intestines to the already bloody ground.

Clyde turned to look for another rider, when a large man threw one of the riders at him. Clyde had only enough time to blink before the rider smashed into him, sending him crashing to the ground and his long sword flying away into the middle of the battle. Clyde landed on his back, his wind pushed from his lungs and he lay their under the dying rider. It took him a few moments to catch his breath and push away the pained feeling he now had in his side and along his right arm. He pushed the rider from ontop of him with his left hand and drew the dagger from the horseman's sheath then plunged the blade into the man's head to kill him.

The young warrior, dazed and slightly winded pushed himself up from the ground and looked around as he stumbled back and forth not being able to fine his center. He saw a man in black armour with a sword running toward him but didn't really register it. He turned around to view the rest of the field. Finally it registered that the man was coming to kill him and he then remembered where he was and what had happened. He turned and managed to grab the blade of the sword as it was thrust for his heart. The rider had aimed the blade for his back when Clyde was turned and so when turned around the blade was aimed at the right side of his chest.

The blade sank in about an inch before it stopped by Clyde's now bleeding right hand. His left hand moved to his belt and he drew a dagger from its sheath, bringing it forward lightning fast to smash into the rider's chin. Driving it up into the soft flesh under the chin, straight up and to the hilt, into the rider's brain. The rider fell to the ground, his sword being held in Clyde's chest by Clyde's own hand.

The young warrior pulled the blade from his chest and brought his hand up to hold the wound and to push hard against it to slow the bleeding, he noticed then that his arm and side were still hurting and he looked down to see that he had been cut in the fall from the horse. A long gash down the outside of his arm was the worst of the wounds. The wound in his back he could not tell how much it was bleeding nor if it was mortal or not. He could, however, feel the warmth of the blood as it flowed from the wound. He bent down and took up the rider's sword. Moving back toward the porch and keeping an eye out for any more riders wanting to try and kill him.

Dorek was making his way to the porch also, he had lost his long sword in the fighting and was now useing his short sword. His free hand held upon a wound he had sustained to his stomach. There was a deep gash in his free arm and a shallow gash to his forehead and cheek.

He saw Alfred and saw the axe man that was bareing down on him. Clyde shouted for Alfred to turn around but his cry was not heard because of the roar of the battle and the hooves of the enemy upon the ground. There were still a few more horsemen left and they were wounded.

Clyde looked to Nell and then pointed at the axe man who was raising the axe above his head ready to bring it down at Alfred.

[Nell]

Her eyes followed to where he pointed. Saw the raised axe, saw her brother unaware of the danger.

No time to think, to warn ...

She pulled back, stretching the bow to its limit, feeling the supple wood strain. The arrow sped through the air and dug deep into the back of the axeman, square between his shoulders. He hung in the air for a split second, his arms still raised, holding the axe, his head snapped back, before landing heavily on his knees in the torn ground.

Saved. Safe.

She had stopped it coming true. Alfred was stumbling oblivious, further away, giving chase to one who was scrambling for a horse. He hadn't known what had happened.

Nell felt as though her heart would burst. The moment had been too much and she almost fell back herself. Her head dropped down for a moment as she gathered herself together. This still wasn't over. Her friends were hurt. One who had helped them, a stranger, was lying near by on the ground. The field was clearing of riderless horses, scattering wide, enemies were making their final assault despite wounds.

And then it happened. How it happened, she was not sure. She thought it had been a fatal wound. Thought he had died in the instant he fell. The lesson learnt was one she would carry through her remaining years. Be sure of the kill. The dead man had staggered to his legs, doddering, fighting the call to death. His last strength drawn into the axe that swung and flew, the spinning axe flashing, blade slick, cutting the sky. Her impotent scream splitting the air as her brother died.

Stars fell.

She was there. The path to his side was also lost to her memory. If any were in her way, they were dealt with, somehow. Cradling his head. Fingers raking over his face. Trying to understand that what she held in her lap was gone. Uncomprehending grief wracked her body as she sat in the field of blood.

[Harthar]

Once Clyde saw that Nell had seen his pointing hand he let it fall. He was tired beyond belief but he knew he must stay at he porch to fight on. He held his wounded chest with his free arm and held one of the rider's swords in his other. The sword was the same length as a normal longsword, however the blade was slightly curved to give better slicing attacks whilst also being very good at thrusting.

The riders were massing for one last attack on the defenders of the house. Dorek had managed to get up onto the porch and stand beside Clyde and he was also holding a wound as he held his original gladius (Roman Short sword). The riders charged and out of the corner of his eye, Clyde saw the axeman who had threatened to kill Alfred push himself from the ground with an arrow in his back. The axe raised above his head and he prepared to throw it. Clyde moved his free hand before Dorek to push the man out of the way as with his other hand he threw the sabre.

He had no time to wait to see if the sabre hit before the axe was thrown as the enemy was upon them. He was now weaponless and so he forced his mind to focus on his survival. The first rider he engaged was one wielding a hand axe and a dagger. The rider was unharmed as of yet, he had held back for most of the fight. The rider thrust out with his dagger. Clyde's right hand snapped forward to grab the rider's upper arm, an unexpected place to hold the rider's arm. As the rider had planned to then bring his axe down to sever Clyde's arm. The rider proceeded with this action not having realised his terrible mistake until Clyde's hand released his arm.

There was a terrible yell of pain as the axe clove the rider's hand from its arm. Clyde stepped in, his knee smashing between the rider's legs. The rider dropped the axe, which Clyde caught and brought up to block a longsword that had been aiming to cleave his head in two. The rider was unharmed also and was focused more upon the battle. His armoured fist cracked into Clyde's exposed head. Forcing the young man to stumble backward and into the door.

Clyde blinked the dizzyness from his eyes and then growled as he moved quickly aside when the rider thrust his blade for Clyde's chest. Instead the blade was thrust into the wooden door and there it remained. Clyde brought the hand axe down to stick neatly in the side of the rider's head. The young warrior drew the longsword from the door and turned to view the field of battle.

Dorek was holding the riders from getting onto the porch easily, Alfred was laying on the ground with an axe out of his back, Nell was kneeling beside him. -

Clyde blinked and looked again not quite registering the first time. Alfred was dead with an axe in his back and Nell was craddling the corpse of her brother unawares of the danger all around her. Clyde gritted his teeth against the pain that was now all over his body and forced himself to her defence. He would not let her die, he did not know what he felt for her, but he needed more time to determine what he was feeling everytime he looked at her. He would not let her die.

He ran as best he could to the porch railing and before he leapt over it, he threw the longsword like a spear into the ground a few metres from where he now stood. Then he leapt over the railing and landed halfway through a roll which he neatly finished in a crouched position. He took a step forward and drew his long sword from the ground and moved quickly to Nell's side.

He slid on the ground and landed beside her, his free and now bloodied arm, moving around her shoulders.

"Nell, I am so sorry... I should not have turned away. But I can not let you die as well. I am sorry to have to say this, but you must not think of the dead when there are those who are living and need your help. Quickly."

His arm slid from her shoulders as he twisted to his feet to stop a blow from a broadsword, which was directed at Nell's head. The blow forced Clyde's blade aside and then he saw the dagger in the the rider's hand, which was traveling quickly toward Clyde's chest. The young warrior stepped to one side and the dagger was plunged into his shoulder, he was not quick enough. The side which the dagger had punctured happened to be the side which held the long sword. the blade was brought back and then forward to slide cleanly into the rider's stumach, up through the rider's lung and then into the heart.

Clyde then fall back over Alfred's feet and landed heavily upon the ground. His shirt now soaked with blood, mostly his own. He could not find the strength to rise from the ground and he suddenly felt very cold all over. He needed to sleep.

His eyes slowly began to close, darkness coming for him.

[NightFeather]

[OOC]My bad, been out of town for a few days, haven't had enough access to put together a decent post.[/OOC]

[IC]


NightFeather nearly jumped, startled by the sudden movement of the other boy. Dropping his meat and crawling backwards a little, it took NightFeather a moment to regain his composure.

Are you alright? Are you bleeding? My name is Jerin, Jerin Terradoc. I have some healing herbs, though I admit I have little skill with them. Can I help you?

At the offer of help, any fear that NightFeather may have had drained away. Resettling himself and picking up his meat NightFeather turned his head to the boy and shook it a little.

"No, I don't think much of the blood is mine."

NightFeather raised a hand and touched the spot where the arrow had glanced off his head.

"I have a small cut here, but the rest of the blood belongs to the Goblins who attacked my village."

NightFeather launched into the story of how the Goblins had attacked his village and slaughtered everyone there. About how they had begun to cook Elrie. About his fight with the Goblins. It was quite a relief to get it all out, and when his tale was finished NightFeather was already feeling better.

"My name is NightFeather, Spirit Warrior of the Icharii Tribe. Can I offer you some of my smoked meat? I believe I may have destroyed your snare."

NightFeather picked up his pack of smoked meat and held it out to Jerin.

[Nell]

The world had disappeared. All that remained was her brother, growing cold in her arms. Tears ran silently down her face and fell onto Alfred's blood smeared, muddy face.

"Oh god, Alfred, Alfred, I'm sorry, so sorry."

The words were muttered, repeated, over the corpse held in her shaking embrace. And then an arm around her shoulders, words from another place.

"Nell ... so sorry... I should not have turned ... can not let you die ... but you must not think of the dead when ... those who are living and need your help. Quickly."

She looked up to see Clyde, his eyes blue eyes searching into hers from his battle-worn face. Then he was gone, fighting one who came from behind. Flashing of metal, flesh sliced, more death, more blood spilt. At first she thought that Clyde too had been killed. He fell over Alfred's body, lying unmoving. But she saw his chest painfully move although his eyes were closed.

It was a wake-up call for the girl. With an ease that shocked her later on, Nell shut down her crying heart, stood and turned to the remaining soldiers. Three were left of the original attacking party, two wounded and backing away from the porch where Dorek fiercely defended the house. It seemed as though they were finally going to beat a retreat. Nell reached to the ground for a dagger that had been cast aside and letting the anger born from vengeance surge through her body, she ran and leapt onto the back of the horse carrying the nearest soldier. Grabbing his face with her left hand, she pulled his head sharply back, brought the dagger to his neck and viciously cut the exposed throat. Shoving the dying man off the horse, she saw Dorek finish the other wounded soldier in a blur of deft movements. This left one enemy. The unwounded man, registering the situation, turned his horse and urged it back to the entrance of the estate. Nell shouted to Dorek for her bow, which he threw quickly to her waiting outstretched hand. Turning her mount, she spurred the horse to chase the soldier. He could not be allowed to escape.

The horse she rode tried to resist her at first, then allowing its new rider to take command, began to fly along the ground. As she reached the road, she pulled up short, the horse rearing and stomping. Calming the stallion, she stood in the stirrups, reached for an arrow in the quiver on her pack, and took aim at the retreating back of the soldier. In the half second before releasing the dart, Nell blinked once and changed her target. The arrow that would have hit the man in the back of his neck now buried deep into the back leg of the horse. Bucking and twisting, the animal threw its rider over its head. Kicking hard, Nell rode up to where the man lay. He was not dead but out cold.

Looking down at him, from her mount, Nell knew they would need one alive if they were to find out why they had been attacked and who had sent the soldiers. Jumping down from the horse, she used the soldier's sword to cut the reins from his horse's bridle. Then she rolled the unconscious man onto his front and lashed his arms behind his back. For good measure she repeated the exercise to firmly bind his ankles. Satisfied that this would hold the man if he recovered his senses, she turned and ran back to the house. There she saw Dorek, despite his wounds, carrying Clyde into the house. Ignoring the bodies that lay strewn over the field, she hurried towards the porch. Nell kept her eyes away from the spot where her brother lay. She could not quite face confronting that fact again. Instead she paused at the man who had helped them.

He lay on his back, his clothes bloodied from multiple sword wounds. Kneeling by his side, she checked that he was breathing and satisfied that he was, thought quickly. There was no way she could move him, as he was a large man, tall and muscular. Slapping him hard on the face she tried to rouse him, but there was no response. Taking her cloak, she ripped it with the help of a nearby blade and began to stuff the material against his wounds to stem the blood. Water would be needed to clean the wounds. Cushioning his head with the remains of the cloak, Nell rose and hurried to the house, anxious to know what state Clyde was in and to also see if any servants remained who could help tend the wounded.