gcold said
Anybody here?
Im here. Finals today and I'm off for a while after that!
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Im here. Finals today and I'm off for a while after that!
Honestly, about an 8. Last time the crabs showed up, a lot of Rebels died and it shot Sevari so hard it made him want to go home.
Edit: For size reference the crab is about 12ft in height, a bigger version of this thing:
except with arms with guns on them with claws big enough to snatch a man and crush the life out of him.
Edit: For size reference the crab is about 12ft in height, a bigger version of this thing:
except with arms with guns on them with claws big enough to snatch a man and crush the life out of him.
I'm good for some things, what can I say?
Edit: Oh, look, everyone in the riot now has something to do.
Edit: Oh, look, everyone in the riot now has something to do.
“Do you still want to do this?” Hassan asked, unsheathing his bone-and-brass hilted, thin-bladed scimitar with the same practiced precision and ritualism he always had. The very act commanded Francis’s attention and he heard Vendel mutter an impressed huh at the display from behind him.
“You make it sound as if I’ll die, friend.” Francis laughed.
“Your pride might.” Hassan smirked, twirling his steel in the sun, creating a dazzling array of sparkles as the light glinted off of the blade at many spinning angles.
“What will the fighting be with? Sword and buckler, one-handed without shields? Are you going to let me use my bastard sword?” Francis asked, leaning on his sword in the scabbard.
“Sword and buckler,” Hassan pulled the ornately designed Reguard buckler from his belt, throwing it to Francis, “Hopefully you are skilled enough in this style. I’d hate to be bored.” Hassan smiled. Francis nodded to Vendel’s sword and the Nord unsheathed the blade, handing it over to Francis. Francis took a few practice swings with the long one-hander and got an appreciation of its weight and balance. All of the length of his bastard sword but the blade tapered to a point in such a way that the balance was more akin to an arming sword.
“Do you have an extra buckler, by chance?” Francis asked wondering why Hassan threw him his own. Hassan smiled, ”My friend chose to fight without a shield, I will too.” Hassan saluted and began to circle Francis. Unlike the Breton ways, where Francis stood strong, holding the sword out in front of him in the forward guard while the buckler protected his sword hand, Hassan danced in front of him, spilling his center of gravity from left to right and bringing his sword to different guards, keeping Francis’s mind busy with the possibility of the direction of any attack.
Francis caught on quick enough to bring his buckler up to block a strike coming towards his head, responding with a swing of his own towards Hassan’s shoulder. The Redguard moved with extreme quickness, stepping to the side and bringing his forearm under Francis’s elbow before the full arc of the chop and bringing his blade to rest against the midsection of Francis’s cloth shirt. That was one yield in favor of Hassan. One more and Francis would have to admit defeat.
The two opponents stepped back from each other, resuming their circle. Hassan’s blade danced around him and in a flurry of moves he was close to Francis. Francis was only quick enough to block the strike coming for midsection before sand was thrown into his face. He grunted and moved away quickly for Hassan to continue his offense. A harmless swing at mid-level was avoided by Hassan as he came forward. Francis recovered and thrust the blade forward. Hassan swatted the blade aside and Francis narrowly blocked the point of Hassan’s scimitar rising up to pick at his groin.
The Breton quickly recovered, once again thrusting forward and having his blade batted away, Hassan reinforcing the blade with a forearm to the blunt inside of its curve, he blocked the thrust and moved in close, and the tip of the scimitar almost split Francis’s chin. If it wasn’t for Francis punching out with his buckler, he would have had to yield with the point of Hassan’s scimitar poking the underside of his chin. Francis stepped to the side, keeping the buckler in control of Hassan’s blade, keeping in constant contact with it. As Francis stepped to his right, he half-sworded and brought the tip of the sword to rest right where Hassan’s kidney would be.
“Yield.” Hassan smirked.
“One for me.” Francis acknowledged, stepping back with his opponent to decide who would win this last round. Francis began with a downward cut but almost quicker than he could comprehend, Hassan parried with his forearm on the inside of his blade’s curve again, stepping to the side and almost resting the blade on Francis’s neck. Francis stepped back and pivoted with Hassan and the two had their blades to each other’s necks.
“A tie?” Francis said, unsure. He’d never had this happen in all his years of dueling. A first time for everything, he supposed, and the two duelists lowered their blades. Hassan sheathed his and Francis gave back Vendel’s long blade. Francis shook hands with Hassan, the two walking down to where Vendel made camp.
“Are you willing to accept my gold?” Hassan asked, hefting a bloated coinpurse.
Francis shook his head, “It was a tie, my friend, we should finish our match later.”
“You should accept the coin, Breton.” Hassan’s friend said.
“Should I?” Francis turned to Hassan.
“You should. You came to the Isle of N’Gasta in search for adventure. I still remember what you said to Alaire and I when we asked for volunteers for the away team, ‘It’s something to do.’” Hassan smiled, dropping the coinpurse in Francis’s crossed legs as they sat around in the day’s fading light, “What do you say now?”
Francis looked to Vendel, searching for any sign of disapproval. He knew how much the Nord wanted home but he had said that he knew that his friend wanted adventure, a chance to be among the Heroes and perhaps become one. There was no sign of disapproval. No sign of anything, really, and that’s what bothered him. This was it, though, if Elayna was in Helgathe then so were the others. He would meet Cub the Orc, Hralvar the Nord, Gorzath, Marassa, Sevari- maybe even Zaveed, an adventurer and hired sword just like him, but wandering sea, not road.
“What do you say now, Francis?” Hassan echoed.
“It’s something to do.” Francis smiled.
==========
Current Day…
“Sir, troubling news.” The mer said in a level tone, walking from the door at the far end of the room to the desk at the other end. The Headquarters of the Dwemer High Government’s Ministry of Order sat just adjacent to the Royal Palace. Before the war, this place was another building in the pavilion that made up the Royal family of Helgathe’s home. The Headquarters was where the advisors and subjects congregated to see justice be done in the court. What better place to put the organization that earned the fear of those who resided in every Dwemer state than where the old laws were enforced?
“Sir, troubling news.” The mer said again. The Officer who sat at the desk took another sip of his tea and finally looked up from his book, The Battle of Sancre Tor.
“Troubling, eh?” Major Kerztar asked.
“Yes, sir, there are riots in the streets as we speak.” The mer said, wondering why the Major didn’t seem as concerned as him.
“Are there? See that the riot is quelled and allocate any resources you see fit to handle the situation but I want one man on the inside.” The mer went to say something before Kerztar cut him off, “Do I make myself clear? One man on the inside.”
“Yes, Major.” The mer saluted before leaving.
Major Kerztar stood from his chair and walked to the window. His office was situated on the highest floor of the judicial building, affording him an uninterrupted view throughout all of the sprawling breadth of the city below. He could see straight to the walls but what concerned him was the pillar of smoke rising from one of the streets and the sound of the wind revealed itself to be the distant hum of battle once he listened closely. No doubt this was the doing of one of the Heroes, or a close associate if not. Either way, he would get someone whose trail he could follow back to where they did not want him. Kerztar looked to the skies to find wings on wind. An animal, an omen. The hawk circled something in the streets below and Kerztar turned away from the window as the hawk dove.
==========
“It’s something to do.” Vendel mocked from under the brightly coloured robes and keffiyeh that covered his white skin.
“Well, it certainly is, Vendel. Tell me, when was the last time we’d tasted a fight like this, hm?” Francis asked from beneath his own very similar clothes. They’d been recruited into the riot by Hassan and given Redguard-style clothes to match that of the populace, although it didn’t matter today, as the populace was what the Regime were fighting today. Disguises are best meant for staying out of a fight, Francis always thought. Best to look the part though, for solidarity if nothing else.
“Not since the Mausoleum. That was worse than this, though.” Vendel said, noticing how their crude phalanx grew quiet as the distant warcry resounded throughout the square they’d taken. Murmured whispers to the HoonDing could be heard, if not understood.
“We’ll see.” Francis said, clutching his bastard sword with white knuckles. The sound of marching boots could be heard but as the staccato grew louder, so did something else. Metallic clanking and whirring, menacing hisses reminiscent of Dwemer machinery, for those who have heard it. Francis heard orders shouted in Yoku before the marching feet stopped in an eerily disciplined fashion. The clanking continued until what rounded the corner gave pause and disheartened some ranks of the phalanxes and other formations. Audible gasps resounded throughout the crowds as a large construct resembling a larger Dwemer spider automaton stepped into view. Four thick legs, two grasping claws with tubes resembling those on the strange Dwemer thunder-staves mounted on them. On the main chassis the legs connected to, a longer and larger tube akin to a Dwemer thunder-staff protruded.
The square grew quiet as the machine seemed to stare at all of them, the golden hue of its metal skin giving the rioters their own stares and for those few seconds, Francis could swear it was so quiet they could hear the whispers of the Gods on the wind.
One man stepped forward to break the silence, screaming and brandishing a mace. The machine did not flinch at his mighty blow before he was broken, grabbed in its claws and squeezed to death, the sound of breaking ribs and torn lungs causing onlookers to step back. It was one thing to be confronted by an angry beast bent on your destruction, anger was emotion you could reason with. This cold machine only had cold and unforgiving purpose. Francis heard Vendel audibly gulp at the display. The two might have seen worse things in the Mausoleum, but these shopkeeps, leather tanners and farmers were having their first taste of blood today.
A group from deeper inside the square rallied themselves against the Dwemer Crab, marching towards it but one could tell they were all trying to be the last to get within range with their swords and axes. The machine took initiative and Francis, along with the rest of those all around him, looked in terrified awe as the ground underneath the advancing group exploded. Blood, bone, limb all went their separate ways and those with a mind to screamed while those who didn't stood back in stupefaction, many only having enough time to heed their de facto Captains's orders to ready themselves as the Dwemer and Redguard Authoritarian charge came.
“You make it sound as if I’ll die, friend.” Francis laughed.
“Your pride might.” Hassan smirked, twirling his steel in the sun, creating a dazzling array of sparkles as the light glinted off of the blade at many spinning angles.
“What will the fighting be with? Sword and buckler, one-handed without shields? Are you going to let me use my bastard sword?” Francis asked, leaning on his sword in the scabbard.
“Sword and buckler,” Hassan pulled the ornately designed Reguard buckler from his belt, throwing it to Francis, “Hopefully you are skilled enough in this style. I’d hate to be bored.” Hassan smiled. Francis nodded to Vendel’s sword and the Nord unsheathed the blade, handing it over to Francis. Francis took a few practice swings with the long one-hander and got an appreciation of its weight and balance. All of the length of his bastard sword but the blade tapered to a point in such a way that the balance was more akin to an arming sword.
“Do you have an extra buckler, by chance?” Francis asked wondering why Hassan threw him his own. Hassan smiled, ”My friend chose to fight without a shield, I will too.” Hassan saluted and began to circle Francis. Unlike the Breton ways, where Francis stood strong, holding the sword out in front of him in the forward guard while the buckler protected his sword hand, Hassan danced in front of him, spilling his center of gravity from left to right and bringing his sword to different guards, keeping Francis’s mind busy with the possibility of the direction of any attack.
Francis caught on quick enough to bring his buckler up to block a strike coming towards his head, responding with a swing of his own towards Hassan’s shoulder. The Redguard moved with extreme quickness, stepping to the side and bringing his forearm under Francis’s elbow before the full arc of the chop and bringing his blade to rest against the midsection of Francis’s cloth shirt. That was one yield in favor of Hassan. One more and Francis would have to admit defeat.
The two opponents stepped back from each other, resuming their circle. Hassan’s blade danced around him and in a flurry of moves he was close to Francis. Francis was only quick enough to block the strike coming for midsection before sand was thrown into his face. He grunted and moved away quickly for Hassan to continue his offense. A harmless swing at mid-level was avoided by Hassan as he came forward. Francis recovered and thrust the blade forward. Hassan swatted the blade aside and Francis narrowly blocked the point of Hassan’s scimitar rising up to pick at his groin.
The Breton quickly recovered, once again thrusting forward and having his blade batted away, Hassan reinforcing the blade with a forearm to the blunt inside of its curve, he blocked the thrust and moved in close, and the tip of the scimitar almost split Francis’s chin. If it wasn’t for Francis punching out with his buckler, he would have had to yield with the point of Hassan’s scimitar poking the underside of his chin. Francis stepped to the side, keeping the buckler in control of Hassan’s blade, keeping in constant contact with it. As Francis stepped to his right, he half-sworded and brought the tip of the sword to rest right where Hassan’s kidney would be.
“Yield.” Hassan smirked.
“One for me.” Francis acknowledged, stepping back with his opponent to decide who would win this last round. Francis began with a downward cut but almost quicker than he could comprehend, Hassan parried with his forearm on the inside of his blade’s curve again, stepping to the side and almost resting the blade on Francis’s neck. Francis stepped back and pivoted with Hassan and the two had their blades to each other’s necks.
“A tie?” Francis said, unsure. He’d never had this happen in all his years of dueling. A first time for everything, he supposed, and the two duelists lowered their blades. Hassan sheathed his and Francis gave back Vendel’s long blade. Francis shook hands with Hassan, the two walking down to where Vendel made camp.
“Are you willing to accept my gold?” Hassan asked, hefting a bloated coinpurse.
Francis shook his head, “It was a tie, my friend, we should finish our match later.”
“You should accept the coin, Breton.” Hassan’s friend said.
“Should I?” Francis turned to Hassan.
“You should. You came to the Isle of N’Gasta in search for adventure. I still remember what you said to Alaire and I when we asked for volunteers for the away team, ‘It’s something to do.’” Hassan smiled, dropping the coinpurse in Francis’s crossed legs as they sat around in the day’s fading light, “What do you say now?”
Francis looked to Vendel, searching for any sign of disapproval. He knew how much the Nord wanted home but he had said that he knew that his friend wanted adventure, a chance to be among the Heroes and perhaps become one. There was no sign of disapproval. No sign of anything, really, and that’s what bothered him. This was it, though, if Elayna was in Helgathe then so were the others. He would meet Cub the Orc, Hralvar the Nord, Gorzath, Marassa, Sevari- maybe even Zaveed, an adventurer and hired sword just like him, but wandering sea, not road.
“What do you say now, Francis?” Hassan echoed.
“It’s something to do.” Francis smiled.
==========
Current Day…
“Sir, troubling news.” The mer said in a level tone, walking from the door at the far end of the room to the desk at the other end. The Headquarters of the Dwemer High Government’s Ministry of Order sat just adjacent to the Royal Palace. Before the war, this place was another building in the pavilion that made up the Royal family of Helgathe’s home. The Headquarters was where the advisors and subjects congregated to see justice be done in the court. What better place to put the organization that earned the fear of those who resided in every Dwemer state than where the old laws were enforced?
“Sir, troubling news.” The mer said again. The Officer who sat at the desk took another sip of his tea and finally looked up from his book, The Battle of Sancre Tor.
“Troubling, eh?” Major Kerztar asked.
“Yes, sir, there are riots in the streets as we speak.” The mer said, wondering why the Major didn’t seem as concerned as him.
“Are there? See that the riot is quelled and allocate any resources you see fit to handle the situation but I want one man on the inside.” The mer went to say something before Kerztar cut him off, “Do I make myself clear? One man on the inside.”
“Yes, Major.” The mer saluted before leaving.
Major Kerztar stood from his chair and walked to the window. His office was situated on the highest floor of the judicial building, affording him an uninterrupted view throughout all of the sprawling breadth of the city below. He could see straight to the walls but what concerned him was the pillar of smoke rising from one of the streets and the sound of the wind revealed itself to be the distant hum of battle once he listened closely. No doubt this was the doing of one of the Heroes, or a close associate if not. Either way, he would get someone whose trail he could follow back to where they did not want him. Kerztar looked to the skies to find wings on wind. An animal, an omen. The hawk circled something in the streets below and Kerztar turned away from the window as the hawk dove.
==========
“It’s something to do.” Vendel mocked from under the brightly coloured robes and keffiyeh that covered his white skin.
“Well, it certainly is, Vendel. Tell me, when was the last time we’d tasted a fight like this, hm?” Francis asked from beneath his own very similar clothes. They’d been recruited into the riot by Hassan and given Redguard-style clothes to match that of the populace, although it didn’t matter today, as the populace was what the Regime were fighting today. Disguises are best meant for staying out of a fight, Francis always thought. Best to look the part though, for solidarity if nothing else.
“Not since the Mausoleum. That was worse than this, though.” Vendel said, noticing how their crude phalanx grew quiet as the distant warcry resounded throughout the square they’d taken. Murmured whispers to the HoonDing could be heard, if not understood.
“We’ll see.” Francis said, clutching his bastard sword with white knuckles. The sound of marching boots could be heard but as the staccato grew louder, so did something else. Metallic clanking and whirring, menacing hisses reminiscent of Dwemer machinery, for those who have heard it. Francis heard orders shouted in Yoku before the marching feet stopped in an eerily disciplined fashion. The clanking continued until what rounded the corner gave pause and disheartened some ranks of the phalanxes and other formations. Audible gasps resounded throughout the crowds as a large construct resembling a larger Dwemer spider automaton stepped into view. Four thick legs, two grasping claws with tubes resembling those on the strange Dwemer thunder-staves mounted on them. On the main chassis the legs connected to, a longer and larger tube akin to a Dwemer thunder-staff protruded.
The square grew quiet as the machine seemed to stare at all of them, the golden hue of its metal skin giving the rioters their own stares and for those few seconds, Francis could swear it was so quiet they could hear the whispers of the Gods on the wind.
One man stepped forward to break the silence, screaming and brandishing a mace. The machine did not flinch at his mighty blow before he was broken, grabbed in its claws and squeezed to death, the sound of breaking ribs and torn lungs causing onlookers to step back. It was one thing to be confronted by an angry beast bent on your destruction, anger was emotion you could reason with. This cold machine only had cold and unforgiving purpose. Francis heard Vendel audibly gulp at the display. The two might have seen worse things in the Mausoleum, but these shopkeeps, leather tanners and farmers were having their first taste of blood today.
A group from deeper inside the square rallied themselves against the Dwemer Crab, marching towards it but one could tell they were all trying to be the last to get within range with their swords and axes. The machine took initiative and Francis, along with the rest of those all around him, looked in terrified awe as the ground underneath the advancing group exploded. Blood, bone, limb all went their separate ways and those with a mind to screamed while those who didn't stood back in stupefaction, many only having enough time to heed their de facto Captains's orders to ready themselves as the Dwemer and Redguard Authoritarian charge came.
WittyReference said
WABBAJACK
WABBAJACKWABBAJACKWABBAJACKWABBAJACKWABBAJACK
Cairomaru said
I hope you guys really did enjoy it :D. I sat down for like 6 hours typing that up lol. I thought it would be more difficult to write up several things for so many characters but it was actually easier. just takes longer. Personally my favorite part to type in that was the cheer squads rendition of "Work Bitch" but it helped to have these two hysterical images in my head.1.) They actually were seductiveor2.) They thought they were being seductive, but were too drunk and stoned to realize they looked like a train wreck.I'll let the readers decide on their own which they imagine :3
I'm willing to bet it's number 2.
Mmmmmmm, indubitably.
GravityFlux said
Some characters here may take offense to that
That damned Thieves Guild.
Vakte said
I'll be honest and say I have a good reason to vanish. Some fucker broke into my house and stole alot of stuff. Xbox, PS, desktop, flatscreen, even my microwave. My laptop however must've been dropped and kicked and sent flying from the amount of damage it sustained.Got a new laptop and such tonight, I'll get Thror posted in the morning and work out the rough bits.
What an asshole. I hope you're able to get your stuff returned, or at least get new versions of them. I feel for you, man, I'm glad that you yourself weren't harmed though.
A day ago…
“So, we’re all here. Now, to find out how to spread the word that an honourable duelist is holding a pas d’armes on the main road to Hegathe. Surely, Redguards would line up to test their skill, being a martial society and everything.” Francis said.
They were back at the Leaf on the Wind tavern with their newly acquired damsel. She was a young, lithe thing with a pretty face. She was much more than that, though, as she used a few colorful words to describe what she’d do to Vendel’s nether regions if they didn’t let her have a portion of the money they would be accruing through this particular venture. Francis had no choice but to assure her that there would be no problems in getting the payment to her, and nothing she said she would do would have to be done. Vendel made sure that Francis made that last part doubly clear. Something about that brown-eyed beauty’s face contorting in anger while detailing the full list of harmful techniques she would employ on Vendel gave her words an extra amount of seriousness. A woman with her kind of intimate knowledge on the male form could probably do everything she said she could too.
“They’d better. I’ll be awaiting payment all the while you boys are play-fighting.” Lawrenna, as she had introduced herself, spoke up.
“We know, and we will get it to you. This ‘play-fighting’ that we will be doing, as you call it, will be paying your wages for the day and maybe the next few if I’m as successful as I’m known to be,” Francis ignored the sarcastic glance from Vendel, “so I’d show a little more respect if I were you.”
“Your friend’s favorite toy hopes even more than I do that you’re right, Fendel.” She said as if the act of examining her nails called her attention more than Francis talking.
“My name is Francis, and he’s Vendel.” Francis corrected.
“I don’t care what your names are so long as you’ll be getting me as much coin as you promised.” She shot back.
“I thought women-of-the-night were supposed to at least act more friendly than you are right now.” Vendel said from his seat situated a good deal far away from Lawrenna on the other side of the table.
“Only in my bedroom. This is not my bedroom, little boy.” She mocked the stout Nord and got a dirty look in response.
“I’ll pay a few merchants to spread the word, let’s go before we end up killing you.” Francis shot at Lawrenna, who only looked at him the same way one would look at an annoying child who’d overstayed his welcome.
============================
3 hours, forty septims, a long brisk walk filled with constant arguing later…
One the road to Hegathe, no one tells you how short the ride seems when on a cart and they even less often will tell you that it feels significantly longer on foot. It was less the ache in Francis’s feet but more the arguing behind him that was not letting him get any respite and was sapping his morale. By the time they got to the desired spot- a small stretch of road- he felt he’d not be able to lift himself, much less his sword, after having to sit through so much bickering. Like children, did Vendel and Lawrenna regard each other and never a kind word was uttered between the two.
“Lawrenna, dear,” Francis said, “give me a handkerchief, glove or some other object under your ownership. I must show anybody willing to rescue a damsel from Vendel and I, your captors.”
Lawrenna scoffed at that, making it loud enough for her to be sure he and Vendel could hear it. Francis really hated that about her. Well, that and everything else. Francis got a handkerchief from her and kept it on his person to show to any would-be competitors. He still had a few septims left over if any merchant passed by on their way to any other city. Food would be good to buy off of them and Vendel began making camp near the dunes as Francis watched him on the bridge. Vendel always worked best alone and sure enough, the tent was up in less than twenty minutes, fire-pit made in less than fifteen and they’d bought dried camel dung to use as fuel for a fire. They were told it was lighter and easier to transport and it wasn’t as if the nomad was carrying dried shit on the offchance that an outlander would pay gold for it.
The sound of hooves caught Francis’s attention and moments after Francis’s head snapped towards the sound, so did Vendel’s. Lawrenna was left wondering what the fuss was about, obviously becoming spooked at the fact that they knew something she didn’t. She made to speak and only the first inkling of a sound made it out of her mouth before Francis held a hand up.
“Two, maybe three horses.” Vendel’s voice rose.
“Yes, my friend. They aren’t in a hurry either. We’ll see if they’re willing to show their skills to us for a good practice and maybe even rescue a lady and take her back to Helgathe.” Lawrenna cleared her throat at that, “Of course, under armed escort by Vendel and I, no one can ever be sure with the people they meet on the road.”
“No, you can’t be. For instance, Francis, do you remember that old monk we met? Easy to kill, he was. I bet he was sure that wouldn’t happen!” And a boisterous laugh lifted itself out of Vendel as the Nord bent over from the humor he had granted upon the world at that moment.
“My friend can be like that sometimes. We never killed an old monk.” Lawrenna’s previously concerned look turned just a bit more relieved at that, “But young monks?”
Lawrenna scowled and pushed Francis away before walking down to camp to watch Francis do his work. If it got out of hand, Vendel would step in. Such were the roles of the pair, Francis the duelist and Vendel the peacekeeper, there to keep a professional air about things. If any fighting was to be done, Vendel would do it. Not many in their right and even a few in their wrong mind wanted to go toe-to-toe with Francis and Vendel after seeing the big Nord bring his blade to bear. Hopefully, none of that would have to happen now.
The two riders broke mirage, their Redguard-style helmets- a conical steel helm wrapped tight with a keffiyeh- and brightly coloured robes covering chainmail. They made an impressive show of themselves, but their prowess with the sword was yet to be seen. Perhaps a Knight and Squire was what they saw today, or perhaps a pair of sellswords. For all they knew though, they could be the advance party of bandits that called the surrounding sands home, or who could be watching them from the dunes at this very moment.
Francis hailed the two riders and they stopped a small distance away from him. They said something to each other in Yokudan before one of them stepped forward, “My friend says that you look like warriors. You stole this woman, no?”
“She’s yours to have if you manage to beat me, my friend.” Francis said.
“Beat you? You are Francis Martell of Camlorn, a duelist come to make coin in Hammerfell and to test the reputation of Redguards’ martial prowess then?” The man asked, a smile growing on his lips with each word.
“The very same. What say you? Duel me and either hand over a small portion of your coin in the event that you lose or accept the woman and some of my coin if you beat me. A fair deal, no?” Francis offered.
More Yokudan. Things he didn’t understand. “We agree. My friend wants to fight your friend first before I fight you.”
“That isn’t part of the deal.” Francis’s eyes narrowed.
“I could tell the guards that you stole this woman from her brothel and plan to do grotesque things to her out in the sands or I could tell them that you are part of the insurgency. Whichever one suits you, my friend.”
“You drive a very hard bargain. So be it, have your friend come and challenge mine. Vendel!” the big Nord looked over to Francis and his conversation. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he had since removed the padding from under his maille, brigandine and furs, “This man here wants to duel you. What say you to this?”
“I say I accept!” Vendel yelled back as the rasp of the sword being freed from the sheath underscored his point. The Nord hefted his shield and cracked his neck before spitting into the sand and making his way to the road to meet his opponent. Both duelists took their stances, the Redguard taking a high stance while Vendel bent at the knees and let his shield protect his left flank, his sword-arm being his right. The two circled each other and Francis watched intently.
The Redguard’s curved blade flashed through the air glancing off of the hardened leather and wood of Vendel’s shield. Vendel stepped back to receive another blow to the shield before shifting a foot forward and bring the edge of the shield hard into the man’s chest, stumbling him back. Vendel gave him no chance to recover, raising his shield to protect his left side, stepping forward onto the Redguard’s foot and once again punching hard with the shield, sending the Redguard to the stones of the road. A sword-tip leveled at his throat gained Vendel the first yield of the two he’d need to win. One more and Nords could claim a victory over Redguard.
“You should tell your friend to be careful.” Francis smirked.
“We shall see.” Was the Redguard’s response as Vendel squared up against the Redguard.
The two began to circle each other again. Whatever tactic this was, it didn’t work last time. Vendel took the initiative and decided it was the right time to strike. He raised his shield to protect his left side, his blade trailing the brim in a heavily protected cutting edge, his shield providing protection to the entire left-side of his body, forcing his opponent to put himself at a disadvantage from attacking from his non-dominant side. That did not happen. The Nord pressed his attack knowing it would not, once again stumbling the Redguard as he tried to avoid the six inches of steel protruding beyond the shield’s range, hunting for flesh to part. Francis chuckled. Peculiarly, the Redguard did too.
Vendel yelled out as sand was kicked in his face from the Redguard’s non-dominant side, forcing Vendel to pause in his offense and give the initiative to the Redguard warrior. Crafty man as he was, he was just as fast. A glint of steel in the sunlight, scraped off of the brigandine that Vendel wore, signifying a blow and the equivalent of a yield. Francis growled, and only the Redguard was left to chuckle alone.
“Redguards bend sand to our will, from the sand magic of the Alik’r mages to a simple splash in the eyes of an enemy. Everything must become a weapon for the warrior, so he is never unarmed. The warrior must become skilled enough that torn from his physical form, his very conscious is its own weapon.” The Warrior said.
“What is your name, Redguard?” Francis asked, growing curious at the display his friend had shown and whatever skill may lie beneath his words.
“Hassan. I am a duelist. Arrived from Stros M’kai.” Hassan’s name rung bells. Bells. Klaxons. Captain Alaire St. Tarley, he was hired by a woman named Nadeen and her bodyguard was named…
“I will give Captain Alaire your regards next he and I meet, my friend.” Francis said.
“We do not have to fight. I can simply give you coin in exchange for your loyalty for some time.”
“As gracious as that all sounds, Hassan, I’d like to see what skill you have.” Vendel stood over the Redguard in triumph. He had won after all. Francis had his doubts, but he had more faith and confidence in his friend.
“So be it.”
“So, we’re all here. Now, to find out how to spread the word that an honourable duelist is holding a pas d’armes on the main road to Hegathe. Surely, Redguards would line up to test their skill, being a martial society and everything.” Francis said.
They were back at the Leaf on the Wind tavern with their newly acquired damsel. She was a young, lithe thing with a pretty face. She was much more than that, though, as she used a few colorful words to describe what she’d do to Vendel’s nether regions if they didn’t let her have a portion of the money they would be accruing through this particular venture. Francis had no choice but to assure her that there would be no problems in getting the payment to her, and nothing she said she would do would have to be done. Vendel made sure that Francis made that last part doubly clear. Something about that brown-eyed beauty’s face contorting in anger while detailing the full list of harmful techniques she would employ on Vendel gave her words an extra amount of seriousness. A woman with her kind of intimate knowledge on the male form could probably do everything she said she could too.
“They’d better. I’ll be awaiting payment all the while you boys are play-fighting.” Lawrenna, as she had introduced herself, spoke up.
“We know, and we will get it to you. This ‘play-fighting’ that we will be doing, as you call it, will be paying your wages for the day and maybe the next few if I’m as successful as I’m known to be,” Francis ignored the sarcastic glance from Vendel, “so I’d show a little more respect if I were you.”
“Your friend’s favorite toy hopes even more than I do that you’re right, Fendel.” She said as if the act of examining her nails called her attention more than Francis talking.
“My name is Francis, and he’s Vendel.” Francis corrected.
“I don’t care what your names are so long as you’ll be getting me as much coin as you promised.” She shot back.
“I thought women-of-the-night were supposed to at least act more friendly than you are right now.” Vendel said from his seat situated a good deal far away from Lawrenna on the other side of the table.
“Only in my bedroom. This is not my bedroom, little boy.” She mocked the stout Nord and got a dirty look in response.
“I’ll pay a few merchants to spread the word, let’s go before we end up killing you.” Francis shot at Lawrenna, who only looked at him the same way one would look at an annoying child who’d overstayed his welcome.
============================
3 hours, forty septims, a long brisk walk filled with constant arguing later…
One the road to Hegathe, no one tells you how short the ride seems when on a cart and they even less often will tell you that it feels significantly longer on foot. It was less the ache in Francis’s feet but more the arguing behind him that was not letting him get any respite and was sapping his morale. By the time they got to the desired spot- a small stretch of road- he felt he’d not be able to lift himself, much less his sword, after having to sit through so much bickering. Like children, did Vendel and Lawrenna regard each other and never a kind word was uttered between the two.
“Lawrenna, dear,” Francis said, “give me a handkerchief, glove or some other object under your ownership. I must show anybody willing to rescue a damsel from Vendel and I, your captors.”
Lawrenna scoffed at that, making it loud enough for her to be sure he and Vendel could hear it. Francis really hated that about her. Well, that and everything else. Francis got a handkerchief from her and kept it on his person to show to any would-be competitors. He still had a few septims left over if any merchant passed by on their way to any other city. Food would be good to buy off of them and Vendel began making camp near the dunes as Francis watched him on the bridge. Vendel always worked best alone and sure enough, the tent was up in less than twenty minutes, fire-pit made in less than fifteen and they’d bought dried camel dung to use as fuel for a fire. They were told it was lighter and easier to transport and it wasn’t as if the nomad was carrying dried shit on the offchance that an outlander would pay gold for it.
The sound of hooves caught Francis’s attention and moments after Francis’s head snapped towards the sound, so did Vendel’s. Lawrenna was left wondering what the fuss was about, obviously becoming spooked at the fact that they knew something she didn’t. She made to speak and only the first inkling of a sound made it out of her mouth before Francis held a hand up.
“Two, maybe three horses.” Vendel’s voice rose.
“Yes, my friend. They aren’t in a hurry either. We’ll see if they’re willing to show their skills to us for a good practice and maybe even rescue a lady and take her back to Helgathe.” Lawrenna cleared her throat at that, “Of course, under armed escort by Vendel and I, no one can ever be sure with the people they meet on the road.”
“No, you can’t be. For instance, Francis, do you remember that old monk we met? Easy to kill, he was. I bet he was sure that wouldn’t happen!” And a boisterous laugh lifted itself out of Vendel as the Nord bent over from the humor he had granted upon the world at that moment.
“My friend can be like that sometimes. We never killed an old monk.” Lawrenna’s previously concerned look turned just a bit more relieved at that, “But young monks?”
Lawrenna scowled and pushed Francis away before walking down to camp to watch Francis do his work. If it got out of hand, Vendel would step in. Such were the roles of the pair, Francis the duelist and Vendel the peacekeeper, there to keep a professional air about things. If any fighting was to be done, Vendel would do it. Not many in their right and even a few in their wrong mind wanted to go toe-to-toe with Francis and Vendel after seeing the big Nord bring his blade to bear. Hopefully, none of that would have to happen now.
The two riders broke mirage, their Redguard-style helmets- a conical steel helm wrapped tight with a keffiyeh- and brightly coloured robes covering chainmail. They made an impressive show of themselves, but their prowess with the sword was yet to be seen. Perhaps a Knight and Squire was what they saw today, or perhaps a pair of sellswords. For all they knew though, they could be the advance party of bandits that called the surrounding sands home, or who could be watching them from the dunes at this very moment.
Francis hailed the two riders and they stopped a small distance away from him. They said something to each other in Yokudan before one of them stepped forward, “My friend says that you look like warriors. You stole this woman, no?”
“She’s yours to have if you manage to beat me, my friend.” Francis said.
“Beat you? You are Francis Martell of Camlorn, a duelist come to make coin in Hammerfell and to test the reputation of Redguards’ martial prowess then?” The man asked, a smile growing on his lips with each word.
“The very same. What say you? Duel me and either hand over a small portion of your coin in the event that you lose or accept the woman and some of my coin if you beat me. A fair deal, no?” Francis offered.
More Yokudan. Things he didn’t understand. “We agree. My friend wants to fight your friend first before I fight you.”
“That isn’t part of the deal.” Francis’s eyes narrowed.
“I could tell the guards that you stole this woman from her brothel and plan to do grotesque things to her out in the sands or I could tell them that you are part of the insurgency. Whichever one suits you, my friend.”
“You drive a very hard bargain. So be it, have your friend come and challenge mine. Vendel!” the big Nord looked over to Francis and his conversation. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he had since removed the padding from under his maille, brigandine and furs, “This man here wants to duel you. What say you to this?”
“I say I accept!” Vendel yelled back as the rasp of the sword being freed from the sheath underscored his point. The Nord hefted his shield and cracked his neck before spitting into the sand and making his way to the road to meet his opponent. Both duelists took their stances, the Redguard taking a high stance while Vendel bent at the knees and let his shield protect his left flank, his sword-arm being his right. The two circled each other and Francis watched intently.
The Redguard’s curved blade flashed through the air glancing off of the hardened leather and wood of Vendel’s shield. Vendel stepped back to receive another blow to the shield before shifting a foot forward and bring the edge of the shield hard into the man’s chest, stumbling him back. Vendel gave him no chance to recover, raising his shield to protect his left side, stepping forward onto the Redguard’s foot and once again punching hard with the shield, sending the Redguard to the stones of the road. A sword-tip leveled at his throat gained Vendel the first yield of the two he’d need to win. One more and Nords could claim a victory over Redguard.
“You should tell your friend to be careful.” Francis smirked.
“We shall see.” Was the Redguard’s response as Vendel squared up against the Redguard.
The two began to circle each other again. Whatever tactic this was, it didn’t work last time. Vendel took the initiative and decided it was the right time to strike. He raised his shield to protect his left side, his blade trailing the brim in a heavily protected cutting edge, his shield providing protection to the entire left-side of his body, forcing his opponent to put himself at a disadvantage from attacking from his non-dominant side. That did not happen. The Nord pressed his attack knowing it would not, once again stumbling the Redguard as he tried to avoid the six inches of steel protruding beyond the shield’s range, hunting for flesh to part. Francis chuckled. Peculiarly, the Redguard did too.
Vendel yelled out as sand was kicked in his face from the Redguard’s non-dominant side, forcing Vendel to pause in his offense and give the initiative to the Redguard warrior. Crafty man as he was, he was just as fast. A glint of steel in the sunlight, scraped off of the brigandine that Vendel wore, signifying a blow and the equivalent of a yield. Francis growled, and only the Redguard was left to chuckle alone.
“Redguards bend sand to our will, from the sand magic of the Alik’r mages to a simple splash in the eyes of an enemy. Everything must become a weapon for the warrior, so he is never unarmed. The warrior must become skilled enough that torn from his physical form, his very conscious is its own weapon.” The Warrior said.
“What is your name, Redguard?” Francis asked, growing curious at the display his friend had shown and whatever skill may lie beneath his words.
“Hassan. I am a duelist. Arrived from Stros M’kai.” Hassan’s name rung bells. Bells. Klaxons. Captain Alaire St. Tarley, he was hired by a woman named Nadeen and her bodyguard was named…
“I will give Captain Alaire your regards next he and I meet, my friend.” Francis said.
“We do not have to fight. I can simply give you coin in exchange for your loyalty for some time.”
“As gracious as that all sounds, Hassan, I’d like to see what skill you have.” Vendel stood over the Redguard in triumph. He had won after all. Francis had his doubts, but he had more faith and confidence in his friend.
“So be it.”
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