KingsInExile/Session2
Cherry's words still hung in the air when the bandits, made it to the foot of the last rolling rise and came fully into view again, well within range of the caravan guard's horse bows. A gust of wind drew sandy dust into the air, choking the bandits furious cries.
"No hope then," Candida shook her head sorrowfully as the bandits charged forward at her upon their mounts. "If you must curse anything, curse your fate into running into me."
She sighed and drew her weapon, the lambent flames that formed its blade flickered and flared outwards, devouring air eagerly as if pulsing in beat to the sound of the thundering hoofs of the bandits' horses.
Cherry smiled faintly, her expression almost beatific as she kept her hands on her daiklaive in an almost relaxed manner, and watched the bandits approach. Her voice hardly rose, but carried marvelously as she stated, "So. It shall be war."
With a nudge of her heels upon her own warhorse, Candida the White Blossom plunged forwards down the hill her weapons spinning in an intricate pattern. The blade of flames burning a fiery flower into the air, one whose blossom scattered out to the fields to her side.
The wind that blew from behind her only fed the plains-fire that blazed down with her... Forcing those who wished to live to stay upon the caravan road. Something that would be tricky for a formation of bandits.
While Candida's spirited charge and blazing weapon are quite impressive, the smoking, foul-smelling charred trail she leaves behind is less so. Seeing this, the bandits hoot derisively.
Burning Cherry declined to follow after her impetuous companion, but instead lifted the daiklaive in one hand with an ease which no mundane weapon of its size could be matched. In the smoke left behind by Candida she was a wraith of crimson bearing a death of gold and one who waited patiently for the enemy to come to -her- instead. A flick of the wrist spun her weapon around, the large blade forming a brief arc of gold like a phantasmal shield as she tested her reach in the situation.
Spotting Candida's trail of fiery ash and (hopefully) gauging her intentions, the smith angled to the guards standing behind him. "Looks like we're on for a fight, then." He tipped the barrel of his firewand into the air angled towards the approaching bandits. "A bit of support for the good women would be in order, wouldn't you think?"
Checking his weapon's angle briefly, he waited for the mortals to notch their arrows and prepare to release in unison. Essence flowed within him, forming a string as taut as their bows between his eyes and his trigger finger. When they did fire their arching projectiles a gout of flame erupted from the muzzle in a flash to just catch them, transforming them into a rain of fire to fall down upon the bandits.
Set alight by Anthael, a simple dozen feathered arrows became burning harbingers of the fire dragon's wrath. Five hit their mark despite the riders crouching in the saddle, interposing their unmarked shields. Three pierced through their plated buff jackets, flames beginning to lap at the heavy fabric even as the unfortunate's arms flailed at the arrow shafts to smother the flames.
Worse, several of the horses panicked, four rearing rather than charge into the fiery rain, their riders - even while not those hit - struggling to remain in the saddle.
Those mercenaries that could ride on, did, their faces visibly pale.
Having finally gotten a good enough look at the bandits, and determined that a need to protect the guards form incoming arrows was unnecessary, Burning Cherry whipped her blade to the side in a sharp and savage motion. The tip of the daiklaive tore at ground scorched by Candida's passage, sending up a low cloud of ash and embers which were then pulled along in her wake as she dash forwards.
Clad in crimson amidst the black and glowing ash, letting out a howl fit to make the dead crawl back into their graves, she looked like nothing less than a charging demon.
Faced with such a crimson-cloaked, ash-aureated vision of death, already pale faces go distraught and disheartened. Even the mounts widen their nostrils and roll their eyes, their pace faltering before being spurred on again by curses and heels.
It was certainly impressive as Candida formed the pointed tip of the firey arrowhead of death that flew straight and true along the caravan road that eventually led to Nexus, but more importantly, at the bandits who had pursued the caravan that Candida had been in.
At least that was what the Dawn had intended, even if the results hadn't been quite as impressive as she had hoped for; it had rained recently. A fact that she had forgotten and not accounted for earlier... but a small fire could still grow with time and thus she continued the weaving of Blazing Glory as the blade burned hotter, brighter and far more whiter as if she held a fragment of the Sun above in her hands.
And now... now, a bonfire should and would start. Shattering the hope that had likely blazed in the bandit's breasts earlier at the sight of her dismal showing.
There was also the manner that her swings were now just the ever bit more cutting as she moved with greater efficiency and strength.
This time, Candida's efforts did exactly as planned and more. Wind rustling, her weapon kindled a wide 'V' in her wake, the fire eagerly devouring the grass as the Dawn hurled straight down hill.
As the first waves if heated air singed their nostrils, the riders' already uneasy horses started again, visibly rolling their eyes in panic.
Having watch the arc of the ignited arrows and the results of they and the renewed effort of Candida with her blade, Anthael nodded to the guards. "On your own, then. I've a bit to go before my trick can be repeated, but might be best to get off another round before there's a risk of hitting the ladies." Even as he tips the powder horn to reload the firewand, the Twilight glances around the edges of the hill to see if the bandits would be trying to move around the wave of flame Candida was leaving behind.
The bandits' formation, so far as disciplined as professional mercenaries could be, began to break up. Almost a dozen rode on despite their losses, and the twin promises of fiery and ash-ridden death currently bearing down on them. A handful abruptly turned tail, their horses bounding back downhill, and they were joined soon by those already wounded and singed. A handful more stalled, still struggling as they tried to make their horses go -around- the budding conflagration ahead, not back.
As the caravan guards again drew back their sturdy bows, more feathered steel rained down on them. One black-bearded mercenary in the lead fumbled, raised a horn to his lips and sounded it, bringing forth a dull, dismal tone. Discipline still holding even while cursing and spitting, all of them continued the curve began to avoid the fire to loop back and retreat.
At the sight of the retreating bandits, Candida's eyes narrow as she took in the manner that they rode away. It was quite possible that they were attempting to move further back and then around the flames.
The sight of their expressions, and body language were clear to her from where she sat upon her warhorse, surrounded by the crackling flames that spread with the urging of the stiff wind blowing at her back, as if the wind elemental that the Dragon-blooded claimed to be one of their distant ancestors loved the flames she had created.
In the wake of the retreating riders, there is one mercenary struggling with his horse even as flames continue to lap at his buff jacket. His first scream only makes his horse throw him off, the animal bolting downhill after the others. The writhing mercenary is left weakly trying to roll back and forth to choke the flames.
Death by fire was an unpleasant thing, there was no two ways about it. And it is a shameful thing, truly a shameful thing, to simply let a warrior die such a death after he has yielded or admitted his defeat... Not when one could take them prisoner.
Thus, Candida rode to where the screaming bandit rolled on the ground, past the flames she had created. And leaned over to pick up the poor man, and letting the flames that ate at his buff-jacket lick at her protected form as the wind from her motion and the horse's charge transfer the fire to her arm.
The man's struggles ease as the flames die away, leaving his reinforced buff jacket a smoking ruin, and some of the skin underneath not much better off. His eyes briefly meet Candida's, his lips work, then the man goes limp and slumps over her arm.
Having refilled his firewand, but as the bandits had fled at this point, Anthael slung the alchemical weapon behind his shoulder. "That would be that, as far as I can tell. Not bad for earning one's wages I'd think, then."
Cherry slowed then stopped, ash shrouded death on two feet with none to slay or save, and watched through the flames as those curiously disciplined bandits rode away. On foot there was no chance to catch them, even disregarding the barrier of flames in her way, and after several moments she turned back towards where the guards and Anthael waited.
While, normally, Candida would simply put her unconscious captive out of his misery... there was the matter of how disciplined the bandits had been, their potential employer as well as informed. And killing someone tended to be... permanent if one didn't care for necromancy.
Ahead of anyone but Candida, the fiery wedge-shaped stretch was still gradually spreading as the wind nurtured and pushed it, leaving blackened, smoking ground in its wake.
Candida shook her head as she carefully laid her captive over her saddle and returned to the top of the hill around the fire she had started.
Cherry's expression softened, turning from that dispassionate smile to a more reassuring grin, as she approached the guards with words of praise and reassurance. They had done well, after all, standing fast and not panicking. They had been soldiers and warriors with discipline and pride.
Cherry nods, "I'm fine for another hour, perhaps two."
The caravan guards eye both Candida and Cherry with awe, especially the still-burning weapon carried by the former. One guard, the thickest of the lot, reluctantly speaks up. "You'se gonna bring him back? He's... uh, we could just... you know? They's planned to do worse to us, a lot worse."
Reluctant faces brightened as Cherry spoke, however, taking the brunt of the attention of Candida and the wounded mercenary.
Candida nodded back at the guard as she sheathed Blazing Glory once more. "But a dead man tells no tales, and I intent to find out why they attacked us first."
The heavy-set guard gave a quick, respectful nod and said no more.
Anthael nods. "It's all well and good if it's just they thought us not as capable as we turned out, but there is the chance that there may have been some particular reason to target the caravan."
He shrugs, as he can hardly know for certain himself as the new prisoner is unconscious and unable to be questioned yet. "Regardless, would someone be willing to share their mount so I don't have to jog all the way back, then?"
"Sure, of course," one of the taller guards hurriedly spoke up after a distinct dozen heartbeats of silence, the man, like the others, pulling his eyes away from the pillar of smoke raising from the burning stretch of grass. "Better let the other folks know we sent all of them running!"
One of his colleagues, less tall and with a hopeful smile, was much less hesitant to offer Cherry a ride as well.
--- Scene Two --------------------------------------------------------
All the way down the other side of the ridge, a broad grey ribbon of water clouded by the lighter grey of mist in wisps along its center stretched from more hills in the south-east all the way north, where it met another ribbon, brownish in color - the yellow river. Where the trade road met the shore sat an unelegant, broad-beamed ferry, long enough to almost be mistaken for a partial bridge at first sight. The ungainly vessel was tethered on both sides by thick cables that stretched ahead and disappeared into the light fog.
The first two great yeddim-drawn wagons were already aboard, the huge animals placid even surrounded by water, and the next already rolling towards it. Pickgrease in the middle of it, his gleaming face grinning broadly as his hired guards all returned without a scratch, and no bandit to be seen.
Given that there was a band slumped over the saddle before Candida, it is surprising that Pickgrease did not notice him. But then some people had eyes that they saw not with.
Cherry looked away from the young guard she had been quietly chatting with as she realised that they had arrived back at the trading caravan. Smiling to herself she murmured her thanks before carefully hopping off of the horse they had shared and walking over towards the caravan master.
Anthael thanked the guard who he had ridden back with and dismounted. Stretching a bit he trailed after Cherry towards Pickgrease to let the man know how things had went (well, aside from it being a success for the defenders, that is).
"You sent -all- of them running? Good, even great! By Urphugal the fart-god, I knew it was a good idea to take you with me, but not just how good," Pickgrease said, rubbing his hands in gleeful relief.
To his back, the teamsters slowed their pace from 'frantic' to the merely methodical, tense faces peering back, loosening and smiling.
Candida smiled and nodded at the caravan master. "Indeed. They proved to lack the liver to continue the fight. Still, it is a wise commander who led them, for there is no shame in retreating from overwhelming odds. Such as what faced them on this day."
"The guards that stayed with us were a good amount of help as well," Anthael said. "All told, the bandits never even came into striking range between the threat of being peppered with arrows and having to face these two." He nodded at Candida and Cherry.
"However I recognised their iconography." Cherry murmured quietly, "They looked to be a down on their luck mercenary company I know of. One which never was that impressive at the best of times, but that does not answer whether they were employed to attack or simply desperate."
Anthael says, "Fortunately, steps have been taken towards discovering just which it would be."
Candida nodded at that and patted the unconscious and 'slightly' burned bandit still on her saddle from where she stood by her mount.
Pickgrease nodded, cast another uncertain glance at the pillar of smoke, larger than before, that loomed over the crest to Candida's back. "Bah, and instead of taking on a normal job, these armed beggars took to robbing poor honest Guild people like me! It is good that I hire only the best to safeguard the goods placed in my keeping, and they did their job as you said. There's no caravan safer than -my- caravan."
One of the guards, just passing him by to his back, gave Pickgrease an incredulous look.
Finally taking notice of the burned body, Pickgrease scowled. "By U.. you took one of them back with you???"
Cherry gave Pickgrease a pitying look of the sort normally directed at the elderly and senile, but managed to refrain from commenting.
Candida nodded once more, "Indeed, that is so. I intent to find out if it was a deliberate attack or one of opportunity."
Anthael shrugged. "Call it a preemptive form of protection. We should be able to get at least some minor information which may be useful in the future, and it's not like we need to keep him afterward, then."
The caravan master looked dubious. "If you want to. He looks like he's too badly burned to be any good to anyone. The yeddim don't eat no meat, you know."
Cherry inclines her head and informs him, "I suspect that we will be able to provide a funeral pyre if need be."
"Not... quite... what I meant..." Anthael managed to get out in response to Pickgrease.
"Just don't think we can put him on the block or anything. Against Guild policy, you know? Even for bandits," Pickgrease said, and gave a nearly apologetic shrug.
Candida shrugged. "I care not for such things. Merely that he provides information."
"A very wise policy." Cherry informed Pickgrease, her tone amiable and her smile softly reassuring. It was as if she wasn't implying that to have said otherwise would be -unhealthy-.
Slowly, the remaining wagons each found a place aboard the huge, flat-decked ferry. Handlers and wagonfolk walked thro and fro, fastening straps and cargo, soothing the animals, and where possible, chatting excitedly as details of their deliverance from the bandits spread.
"As you wish, as you wish, good ladies, sir. Take him along then," sighed the caravan master. "You'll have to take him aboard. The sooner I got a river between us and his friends, the better I say."
Anthael says, "No argument on that detail."
Giving a nod, with a last scowl at the unconscious mercenary, Pickgrease put the matter out of his mind and set to directing the last of the wagons aboard.
