[center][b] THE PLAGUELANDS [/b][/center]


[i]whack[/i]


A lone figure ran through the grim destruction of the plague lands. The desolate wasteland of the infected bore it’s ugly grey form on every side of the woman as she trudged through fields of corpses and rubble. In her hands she gripped a massive longsword, it’s blade slightly chipped and caked in dried blood. Her fair skin was tinted red and black from various sources, only impeded on covering her entire body by torn pants and rugged boots. Her messy black hair only barely touched her dirty shoulders. The only marks that challenged the dirt and grime of her torso was a variety of intricate dark tattoos that swirled around her body, leading to a large tattoo of three wisps of wind on her naked back.

Her fierce green eyes were saturated with intense anger as she charged across the debris. Her slender athletic body flexed and relaxed rapidly as she exerted herself despite impending exhaustion. She lept. Her massive blade sang through the sky as she arched her arms, and it found it’s resting place deep into the cleaved head of a pale and deformed infected man. She shot out a hot breath as the force of the blow vibrate the blade, and she slid it out quickly and skillfully out of the skull of the beast and readied the blade for a fluid swing back towards another Infected creature, effectively chopping into it’s ribs. She danced, and used the momentum of the swing to continue her onslaught. Pommel, crossguard and blade she used all parts of her large weapon to cut chunks out of the growing congregation of the sick and plagued. 

Slice after stab after crunch, she fought. Her exhaustion increased steadily after each swing, with the number of enemies multiplying with it. As she soon began to find herself surrounded by a wall of pale infected creatures, her thrusts and swings grew less angry and more desperate. She slowly grew to accept her fate as she carved away at what she could, and bravely ignored the sharp pains of stray punches and scratches. 

The wall began to bear down on her, and her arms cramped up, without much room to swing her blade. As the infected grabbed her and hit her she let out a shuddering breath of horror.

She knew her time was short and with a growing rumble she shouted out the words of a martyr as she parted her dry lips, “Aristoooooo!”

 With her last source of energy she tried to push back against the enemies when suddenly in a blink of an eye, a group of infected were torn from the ground, and their bodies ripped in twain and punctured by long lances, followed by a crunching trample of two giant horses lead by one that shone bright like the sun, with a matching rider. The Infected screamed as the horsemen continued their onslaught with their blades They were Justinians elites, lead by the shining blessed Paladin, Derrix.

Soon in the distance a small detachment of Paladins appeared, heralding light into the dark wastelands. The woman had to squint her eyes past the blessed Paladin to even make the others out. Her green eyes were too dilated from the long battle in the dark shadows of the condemned cities, but she knew she was safe, and half her heart pounded in relief, and the other half in shame. 

A few of the infected broke off from their now dead horde and decided to retreat. Derrix quickly charged the three runners, his horses hooves pounding the ground, spitting up the blood of the fallen. The Paladins lance sunk into it’s target, and quickly was dropped for his sword, which too found it’s victim with a gruesome swing. The final infected was far off in the opposite direction, and the Charlinite did what any other from the central plains would do: as his horse kept galloping he snagged a bow tied to his saddlebag and procured an arrow. With a heave he shifted himself so he sat backwards on his horse and with a loud twang he sent the arrow flying. The arrow buzzed through the air and found it’s home between the back ribs of the surprised creature, knocking it to the ground, and piercing it’s lung. 

After Derrix reclaimed his dropped weapons he trotted up behind the still stunned woman, who had now been completely surrounded by his own detachment, and Morinth. Derrix leaned forward in his saddle and studied her bare tattooed back.

“Someone see to it that this woman gets a shirt,” Derrix ordered, causing the woman to turn to him.

“I am dishonored sir Paladin, that is why I do not wear much clothes,” She answered, her voice sounded as though it would be soft if it wasn’t so hoarse from thirst and exhaustion. 

“What have you done?” Derrix questioned while searching for his water skin on the side of his horse.

“I caused the death of my own child and seek penance through my own blood,” The woman answered, catching Derrix’s waterskin as soon as he found it. 

The woman gulped down the water with haste and want as Derrix thought for the moment. He knew by the marks on her back that she was a Monodominic, a heretic, and by her crimes that she deserved death by right, but he also knew compassion.

“Come with me, Monodominic, I have use for such zeal and skill. With me you will find your penance, dishonored one.”

“But sir,” One of the Elites from the Patrimony began, “She is a heathen, and an enemy to Justinian.”

“Do you question my choices of honor?” The helmeted commander said, snapping his eyes into a glare. It was slightly concerning to Derrix that her Monodominic markings unsettled the Justinian Elite more than helping one without honor.
 
By now, Morinth had arrived and was watching the scene. It was strange to her as tattoos weren’t common where she was from. As the Paladin and The girl exchanged words, Morinth walked to the woman and pulled a simple shirt from her pack. “This may fit you better.” and tossed it towards her.

The stranger smiled weakly in courtesy and stretched the shirt over her torso. Her taller Charlinite figure caused the shirt to stop at her belly, but in retrospect it was a lot better than being topless. The Elite watched the woman with a sneer as she fixed herself, and turned to Derrix.

“The Patrimony would not agree with your choice of companions,” The Elite grunted.

“I am not the Patrimony,” Derrix replied. The Paladin sat up in his saddle, slightly taken aback by the sudden insubordination from the foreigner.

“You are a good officer, there is no doubt, commander, but you show compassion where it is not due. Sometimes I question your dedication to your own honor,” The Elite glanced at the two newest members of the group.

‘Perhaps I see where you cannot,” The Commander replied cooly.

“Or perhaps you spit on your honor as a Charlinite in favor to be whipped by a couple of heretics.”

Derrix lept from his saddle at the words of the elite, who dropped down from his own. The Elite was much shorter than Derrix as they stood next to each other, one looking down on the other. 

‘You dare question a Charlinite?”

“Yes,” The Elite replied, although his word were slowly becoming more and more uncertain.

The commander’s eyes seemed to glow with fury from behind his helmet. With a quick motion his ripped his helmet asunder, revealing his face. Thick bright scars spider-webbed his pale face, dominated only by two raging golden eyes and two bull horn tattoos, one horn on each cheek. His scars traveled all the way down from his forehead to his chin, then throat and disappeared under his neck guard.  His hair was short and black, and rumors of scars underneath were visible.

“Take off your helmet and we shall draw blood to see whose honor is truly insulted,” The commander growled. The group of Paladins seemed to take up a circular position around the commander and the elite, almost forming some sort of combat ring. Morinth upon seeing this, became unsettled and slowly crept through the surrounding soldiers and gave a very, out of her normal character speech.

“Guys, guys.. Look. We have a tablet of super powers or some such and are obviously surrounded in all directions by the plague.” She walked further in until ending up right between the two. “Derrix, Other guy, I think it’d be wise to stop this fight here and now. maybe fight it out once we escape?” She turned to Derrix and gave a smirk, “Live to fight another day.”

Derrix unsheathed his blade and leveled it towards the Elites throat, his lips were pursed and his eyes glew unresponsive to Morinth’s words.

“Maybe,” The Elite stuttered, clearly taken off guard by the commander, “Maybe we should just stop it all together, forget it happened. I forfeit.”

The commander sheathed his blade at the words of defeat and the Elite sighed in relief. With one quick motion; Derrix backhanded the Elites helmet and sent him reeling with an audible crack, “You are without honor, and not worth sullying my blade.”

	Morinth pinched her nose before backing up and muttering, “That was cute.”
	
With that the commander threw his helmet back on and swung up onto his horse, glancing at Morinth.

She looked at Derrix and threw up her hands and gave a cheesy smile. “See? we can all be friends..with honor and such.” Morinth didn’t give him a lot of time to answer before she slowly started backing from the Paladin, her smile though wasn’t going anywhere fast. 

“Let’s just get to Krax,” Derrix announced to his troops, but clearly directed it at Morinth and the new woman. With that he reared his horse back into formation, and his troop quickly followed suit, putting the new woman shoulder to shoulder with Morinth in marching form. 

Morinth was right in the middle of the marching column and was trying her hardest to keep rhythm with the marching Charlins. Her smaller stature made it harder to follow the strides of the large warriors that surrounded her. It was likely amusing for any soldiers who saw her go from a slow walk and then fast.. then hop forward a bit. For Morinth, marching was rare.

Once she got a marching rhythm, which was still straining her, looked at the new woman. “Hey, that shirt looks really nice on you!” and grinned, Waiting for a response from the tall woman.
“Thank you,” The woman replied, a look of subtle dissatisfaction seemed seared into her dirty face, “My name is Aristal, Aristal the dishonored.”

Morinth looked her over, from head to toe then back at her. “Should call you Aristal the dirty and needs clean.. Well, anyway, I’m Morinth. You should really stop with the whole dis” She paused, remembering how much Honor meant to these people.  

[i]“I’m sorry.”[/i]


[hider= Things to know]

Aristal has joined the fray and has already been insulted by Morinth.

ARISTAAAA

Morinth is still frustrating Derrix. but the two are starting to understand each other.

Derrix is revealed.

Bull horns? ;) 

[/hider]