Honestly, another face might be a breath of fresh air, eh?
Agreed. More faces on the scene would be nice. That map needs filling!
Also, more potential for action. We're still, as a group, standing half in the shady deals beginning of the RP and half in the "fight time" side that's creeping around the corner.
There was an unsettling hush along the forest road. The flowers were in bloom and the leaves on the trees were still green, yet the quiet was one that belonged to winter. It was early morning, yet the songbirds did not sing but for a few moments, and though morning dew dangled from the spider webs, there was a certain bleakness in the air.
It could have just been in her mind, Ayla admitted. It could also be that the rumors of evil lurking in the woods around Temrin were true. It didn't really matter. Her hand stayed near her battleaxe all the same.
Five days had passed since Ayla had left Isolde at Aefric's Place. The old man, a former Mordane rebel like herself, had promised to take good care of the girl. He'd mentioned that some sort of warrior's lodge, the Silver Dagger, was being rebuilt in Temrin; a good place, he'd suggested, for a battle-hardened woman to have a chance to feel the rush of battle once again. Better to join them than face off against whatever evils await her alone, he'd said.
Well, she thought as she stepped up a hill in the road, I hope they know how to hold a shieldwall.
Hours passed as Ayla traveled down the lonely boreen. At one point, she swore she could hear singing in the distance, somewhere along a different path in the woods, but it was difficult to place where it was coming from. It was oddly cheering. The tune sounded bawdy and off-tune, the sort of singing a drunkard in a pub might bellow out, and it broke the silence so well. Without being able to place it, though, Ayla simply enjoyed it while it lasted. When it faded away completely, she filled the silence with an old Mordane battle chant. She was no skald, and she'd never sung that song in a real battle, but it was a bonny tune.
Eventually, she came to the edge of the forest, and as she brushed a branch away from her face she could not restrain a slight feeling of awe at the sight of the city. It sat atop a hill, sprawling out from the castle at the top like a blanket of white, brown and gray. It seemed so proud a place, so grand and large. It made Ayla wonder what sort of forces had gathered to threaten this city in the past. She wondered, too, what breed of heroes had died defending it.
Ayla strode into the city, hands on her belt. She got called a "barbarian" by one of the city guards, but a glare silenced that lackwit right fast. She gave a simple explanation of why she was in town, and while the looks on the guards' faces suggested she was probably one of the evils she claimed to be hunting, they nevertheless let her through. Her next task was pressing some information out of the locals; a few quick talks later and she'd managed to learn where the Silver Dagger was located. There certainly could have been more enthusiasm in the commoner's voice.
And there could have been more enthusiasm in the craftsmen who slapped this pathetic excuse of a barracks together, she thought as she marched up to the building. It was so plain, so ordinary, so uninspired. But that's the problem with city-folk. They don't know how to make something practical and pleasing. She did not have high hopes for this so-called Silver Dagger.
It was then, stepping around the corner of the building and coming to the front, that the Mordane saw the giant. There was really no better word to describe him. He was round as he was rough, tall as he was wide. The word 'big' stood out in her head, and she instinctively thought he might be a fool. Big sorts with big swords often were the fool sort to think they could take on the world. This one, though, looked... learned. He'd seen things, at least. And, just as noteworthy, the big fellow seemed to be rapping his hands against the door at that very moment.
Interesting.
"Oi! Tiny!" she called out, keeping her hand on her belt. "Suppose you're here for work, too? You seem a mite fluthered."
Name: Ayla Nic Lanrogh Age: 33 Gender: Female Description: Imposing is not a word used to describe most women, but Ayla is the exception. Though she isn't terribly tall - five feet and nine inches - her weathered face has a weary look, and she walks like someone who is used to commanding others. Her brown hair is tied back in a single braid that stretches down to the bottom of her back, and her green eyes have a tendency to narrow in a harsh, scrutinizing fashion. She has a squarish sort of build, sporting broad shoulders and thick limbs that are indicative of either a stout bloodline or a lifetime of hard labor (or perhaps both). Still, she is not always austere; she can smile as readily as anyone. Her smile just doesn't seem very mirthful.
Ayla wears simple leather armor with matching boots and carries several axes on her belt. Each of these axes has softly-glowing runes etched on its blade. A blue cloak dangles behind her. She appears to have some sort of wrapping around her left hand, but closer inspection reveals this to be a sling. A wooden shield, runed like the warrior's axes, rests on her back. Beneath this equipment she wears a plain white tunic and brown breeches made for travel. In the pouches of her belt one can find a small hammer, a carving knife, a chisel, chalk, powdered silver, and various warpaints. Occupation: Former Rebel; Mercenary Runemage
A less flashy form of magic, Runic spells are enchantments that are placed on non-living items. A blade might be made sharper and stronger; a gem might be made to glow on command; a door might ring out an alarm when someone passes through its portal. Though very useful, runic magic is utilitarian, and it lacks the destructive potential of other forms of magic. Creating a runic spell takes time, usually a minimum of five minutes, and becomes longer and more difficult the more complex a spell is. A runic spell may also fade away with time, so it's necessary to have a Runemage around to "refresh" the spell. Simple runes may only last a few hours (especially those made from chalk), but others may last years.
Ayla is a Runemage. She enchants her axes to be deadlier and more accurate when thrown, and her shield to be sturdier. She uses her tools to cast her runic spells. Her warpaints have only religious significance.
The clansmen roared.
There were no words. None were needed. Words did not echo with the fury of the soul. Words were for mewling pigs, not Mordane warriors. Let the invaders bang their drums and give their speeches; the Mordanes answered with their sky-ripping battle cry. The time for killing had come. Blood demanded blood.
The first boulder slammed against the palisade walls, splitting the wood like a bundle of twigs. The Mordane vanguard poured in from the treeline, the shieldbearers hurling javelins and the others swinging their massive axes to knock aside Belgardian pikes. The first screams of death rang; wood splintered and cracked; swords were dropped from dead hands and the grass was painted red.
Ayla threw herself into the thick of it, smashing through a shakily-held spear and burying her axe into the poor man's chest. As he lay on the ground, gasping and pleading, she yanked her axe out and finished the felled man with a blow to his skull. The fear in the air was palpable; cries for mercy were answered with death.
There could be no more mercy. Blood demanded blood. The obedient hound had been whipped one too many times.
More fell beneath her axe. A young lady rushed out to embrace some fallen boy, probably a lover of hers, her face wet with tears; Ayla kicked the girl off his chest and methodically silenced her. Some vengeful soul launched an arrow into her waist, but she did not fall; she whipped up a second axe and hurled it across at him. Its aim was true. It caught him in the throat. He gurgled. He fell.
She could not stop herself. All she could see was her brother's corpse being fed to pigs and her daughter being burned at the stake. Blood demanded blood.
The vengeful mage marched to the church where her men stood over the bodies of their kin and the enemy's temple knights. She stared up at it. Its bell rang loudly overhead as the desperate defenders tried to gather the attention of the main army out in the fields where it battled the High Chief's men. It was too late, though. The town would burn.
Alya took a torch from the warrior by the door, breathing deeply. The floors inside were made of wood. She knew that from many a morning spent in prayer. Pulling her arm back, she hurled the torch through the window, shattering the beautiful stained glass. She stood there as fire began to crackle and cries for help rose from the temple of the Gods. A sardonic smile cracked her stony visage.
"Burn them all," she snapped to her men. "Kill anyone that tries to escape."
Blood demanded blood.
Crack.
Ayla awoke from her sleep with a snort, eyes snapping wide. She was sweating.
Around the warrior looked, her hand already gripping the haft of her axe. Embers fell from the crackling campfire, but that was not the source of the sound. The wind whistled softly, brushing leaves against each other - also not the sound she'd heard. No, she knew that sound; someone had broken a branch beneath their boots. She knew that sound very well.
Groggily, the woman reached down and gripped her stone amulet, rubbing her thumb across its edge. She stared from one end of the camp to the other, slowly rising from her seat by the log. All seemed quiet... save for the sound of breathing in the bushes between the trees.
There, she thought, unable to hide a small grin. She smeared the chalk off her amulet and held it out toward the bush, unleashing a bright wave of light that illuminated everything in the area. She saw a scruff of hair and heard someone let out an "oof" as they stumbled back. It was child's play to snatch the intruder by their neck and lift them up to eye level.
Ayla frowned. She held a child's throat in her hand, probably around nine or ten years old, and probably a girl if her dirty face was anything to go by. She seemed thin, and she was definitely terrified.
"Well?" Ayla demanded. "Tell me what you're doing here. Answer me, girl!"
"I jus- I just- Bu-" The girl stammered, trying to find the words and her breath at the same time. Sighing, and knowing full well why she was at her camp, the veteran walked back to the log and set the girl down on the wood.
"I'm not going to kill you," Ayla said firmly, giving the child a stern look. "But you'd best not try that on another stranger. Hell, were you to have woken me up a few seconds earlier you might've gotten an axe in you."
The girl merely nodded, otherwise petrified as she sat on the log, her hands clutching her knees tightly. Ayla sighed, turning over to the rabbit on the spit over the fire. It was a little burnt. She shouldn't have laid her head down while it was roasting.
"Here," she said, setting a bucket of mostly cold water down beside the girl and handing her a bar of soap wrapped up in linen. "Clean those hands. If you're going to split this rodent with me, you'd best have clean hands."
Only crickets spoke back to her as she turned toward the rabbit, turning it over on the spit. The bottom had been cooked rather well and was crisp, but the hare's back was still a bit raw. She set about remedying that, pausing only to glance at the starry sky and then back at the girl slowly calming down on the log behind her.
"What's your name?" she asked the child, noting the ragged state of her dress. It was a good dress, once. She came from a wealthy background.
"Isolda," the girl mumbled. "M-my name's Isolda."
"That's a good enough name. I'm Ayla," the armored woman replied, smiling a very small, thin smile back at the girl. "T'ain't as fancy as yours, I'll admit. Do you like potatoes, Isolda?"
The young girl nodded.
"Good," Ayla said, jerking her head toward the backpack by the log. "See the torn flap on the side? Pull it open. Get me those potatoes inside."
The night went on like that for a time. Ayla did most of the talking, and the child obeyed her commands when she gave them. She cooked potato soup to go with the burnt rabbit. It was a filling, if not very tasty, meal. The child used copious amounts of salt. Ayla didn't blame her.
"So," Ayla began, chewing quietly from her seat on the grass, "what are you running from?"
"Monsters," the girl mumbled, looking away. "Monsters in Temrin. I was running from them."
"In Temrin, eh?" Ayla raised her eyebrows, glancing up at the girl on the log. "Well, hang me by a mule's ear; that's where I'm headed, girl. Is it that bad there?"
"It's that bad," the girl mumbled, gathering up her dress in a bunch. Her voice grew shaky. "My ma, my da, they were taking me from that place. It's cursed, people say. They got killed by this... wolf-thing on the road."
Werewolves, Ayla mused, her face becoming serious. She reached out and grasped the girl's arm gently with her hand, making her jump, and she made a soothing "shh" sound. "Oi. Take a deep breath. That's what I'm here for. I'm here to kill monsters."
"You can't kill them," the girl mumbled, her eyes growing teary. "They'll kill you. They kill... they kill everyone."
"Hah!" The warrior rose up to her feet, shoving her thumbs into her belt. She gave the girl as encouraging a grin as she could. "Bet not. See this, girl?" she began, tapping her axe. "This is a runeblade. It's more'n just a nice axe; it's a magic axe. It can fell wicked things like little plum trees, it can. There won't be any more monsters when I'm done."
But it wasn't what the girl wanted to hear. Ayla knew very well what the girl wanted, but she couldn't promise to bring back her parents. Still, the child nodded, sniffled, and mumbled some sort of thanks.
"Listen." Ayla sat down beside the girl and looked her in the eyes. "Listen. There's a village not far from here called Elburgh. Now, there's a nice man that runs an inn there, Aefric's Place, that needs someone that can clean dishes. The man's got plenty of spare beds, and I can give you some coin so you'll be able to get along just fine. Do you want me to take you there?"
Isolda was quiet for a moment, looking very torn and distraught. Ayla waited. "Are there monsters there?" the child asked.
"Oh, no monsters."
"And does - does Elburgh have walls?"
"Oh, big walls," Ayla assured her. "Big ones. They rise up high. You could stack four of me atop each other and the person on top still couldn't reach the top."
The girl stayed quiet a while longer, shivering. She stared into the fire all the while. When she spoke, her voice was muted. "Okay."
"There's a good girl," Ayla muttered, tugging her cloak off. "Here. You can sleep in this. We'll start walking in the morning."
