Breakstone
First Post
Chapter Five- Part 2
A Death in the Village
On the western front, both storm and battle raged. Uel called to Obad-Hai in the ancient tongue of Druids, and was rewarded when the ground erupted, hundreds of mud-drenched vines snaking out and entwining the boots of the bandits.
As the villagers positioned in towers slung rocks at the half-orcs below, a boulder flew through the air, launched by the solo catapult. With a thud and a splat, rock met ground, with two of the bandits caught in between.
Bryant continued to sing and shoot, however his lyrics distracted him, and his aim suffered. One of the half-orcs ripped free of the entangling roots, and fired an arrow back at Bryant. The arrow pierced the wooden beam a foot below the bard’s face- a close call.
As Oizuk and the two bandits charged over the bridge, bent on pillaging, Arudan leapt over the side of the tower, sliding down the slick wooden ladder. He reached the bottom, and leapt off, landed in the mud, and dashing towards town.
The charcoal clouds above rumbled, and a fierce wind blustered through the village, pushing back the bandits while lending a helping hand to Bryan’s arrows. Uel’s crows took advantage of the sudden gust, darting through the pelting rain and swarming an entwined bandit. The birds dove at the half-orc, slicing at his skin, pecking at his eyes, weaving and swooping in precise, practiced maneuvers.
The storm thundered, roared.
Arudan quickly reached a river. He glanced right, and saw the bridge, more than one hundred feet away. There was no time. Without hesitation, the elf plunged into the river, shivering as the freezing water reached his knees, wincing as it rose to his hips, yelping as it enveloped his chest in an arctic grasp. Suddenly, his feet slipped off the slick surface of the river bed, and the current took hold of his flailing form, dragging him down the river. With a desperate hand he reached for the passing bridge, but his numbed fingers passed fruitlessly through the hanging vines. The bridge faded away in the stormy night.
As another boulder sailed over his head, Uel turned to check on the town. His eyes widened as he observed Oizuk and two bandits galloping straight towards the solitary Kenzo Otso. “Keep fighting!” he cried to the two villagers next to him, then clambered down the tower’s ladder.
Bryant launched another arrow, which struck, and pierced, the half-orc archer’s armor. The bandit growled, and readied his bow.
The three half-orcs charged out of the northern forest, one releasing an arrow that flew straight towards one of the villagers, striking him in the chest. With a groan, he toppled over the side of the tower, landing face-first in a puddle of brown rainwater.
“Lyman!” another villager screamed. “Come on, men! Charge!”
And with spears clutched in shaking hands, the three townsfolk scrambled through the mud, towards the oncoming bandits.
The half-orc bellowed, and lunged towards Kenzo. But with a single, swift motion, the aged fighter drew his katana, sliced cleanly through his assailant’s neck, and calmly sheathed the blood-soaked sword.
Oizuk grinned from beneath his mask. He remembered this warrior. And it would be a pleasure killing him a second time.
Arudan coughed, retching water onto the moist sand below. He had been washed up onto a bank in the river. With watery eyes, he reoriented himself. To his right, the river vanished into a forest, which became a field of wheat a few hundred paces in front of him. Arudan immediately knew where he was: the northwest corner of the village. He rose on shaky legs, and started to run, trying not to fall to his nausea. He had to reach the center of town. He had to kill the bandits- before it was too late.
The bandits roared as the wooden spears pierced their flesh, entered their stomachs. The villagers were fighting back.
Kenzo’s eyes gleamed, reflecting his stolen helmet. He readied his katana, and struck- only to be deflected by the long, twisted hilt of Oizuk’s scythe. Kenzo suddenly felt an intense pain along his right shoulder. A large gash had been sliced in his flesh, an agonizing laceration by the scythe of the bandit leader. Blood dribbled down Kenzo’s arm, dripped into the mud by his feet. Black spots unfolded before his eyes. But he still had strength, and the night was not over yet.
With a deep breath, Kenzo rose and sliced again, but felt a sharp pain in his back, then a deep burning sensation. Oizuk pulled his scythe from Otso’s back, laughing.
Kenzo fell to his knees. The rain splashed into the puddles surrounding him, but all was silent to his ears. He felt so… very… tired…
With a startling crash, a wooden door slammed open. A grow echoed from inside and out stepped a knife-wielding- Hobbs!
The remaining half-orc let out a laughing bark. “I’ll take care of this one.” He advanced upon Hobbs, weapon ready, only to feel cold steel sliding into his gut, and Hobbs grinning up at him. “Wha?” grunted the bandit, falling to the ground with a splash.
Hobbs smiled vacantly at Oizuk, who readied his bow…
A Death in the Village
On the western front, both storm and battle raged. Uel called to Obad-Hai in the ancient tongue of Druids, and was rewarded when the ground erupted, hundreds of mud-drenched vines snaking out and entwining the boots of the bandits.
As the villagers positioned in towers slung rocks at the half-orcs below, a boulder flew through the air, launched by the solo catapult. With a thud and a splat, rock met ground, with two of the bandits caught in between.
Bryant continued to sing and shoot, however his lyrics distracted him, and his aim suffered. One of the half-orcs ripped free of the entangling roots, and fired an arrow back at Bryant. The arrow pierced the wooden beam a foot below the bard’s face- a close call.
As Oizuk and the two bandits charged over the bridge, bent on pillaging, Arudan leapt over the side of the tower, sliding down the slick wooden ladder. He reached the bottom, and leapt off, landed in the mud, and dashing towards town.
The charcoal clouds above rumbled, and a fierce wind blustered through the village, pushing back the bandits while lending a helping hand to Bryan’s arrows. Uel’s crows took advantage of the sudden gust, darting through the pelting rain and swarming an entwined bandit. The birds dove at the half-orc, slicing at his skin, pecking at his eyes, weaving and swooping in precise, practiced maneuvers.
The storm thundered, roared.
Arudan quickly reached a river. He glanced right, and saw the bridge, more than one hundred feet away. There was no time. Without hesitation, the elf plunged into the river, shivering as the freezing water reached his knees, wincing as it rose to his hips, yelping as it enveloped his chest in an arctic grasp. Suddenly, his feet slipped off the slick surface of the river bed, and the current took hold of his flailing form, dragging him down the river. With a desperate hand he reached for the passing bridge, but his numbed fingers passed fruitlessly through the hanging vines. The bridge faded away in the stormy night.
As another boulder sailed over his head, Uel turned to check on the town. His eyes widened as he observed Oizuk and two bandits galloping straight towards the solitary Kenzo Otso. “Keep fighting!” he cried to the two villagers next to him, then clambered down the tower’s ladder.
Bryant launched another arrow, which struck, and pierced, the half-orc archer’s armor. The bandit growled, and readied his bow.
The three half-orcs charged out of the northern forest, one releasing an arrow that flew straight towards one of the villagers, striking him in the chest. With a groan, he toppled over the side of the tower, landing face-first in a puddle of brown rainwater.
“Lyman!” another villager screamed. “Come on, men! Charge!”
And with spears clutched in shaking hands, the three townsfolk scrambled through the mud, towards the oncoming bandits.
The half-orc bellowed, and lunged towards Kenzo. But with a single, swift motion, the aged fighter drew his katana, sliced cleanly through his assailant’s neck, and calmly sheathed the blood-soaked sword.
Oizuk grinned from beneath his mask. He remembered this warrior. And it would be a pleasure killing him a second time.
Arudan coughed, retching water onto the moist sand below. He had been washed up onto a bank in the river. With watery eyes, he reoriented himself. To his right, the river vanished into a forest, which became a field of wheat a few hundred paces in front of him. Arudan immediately knew where he was: the northwest corner of the village. He rose on shaky legs, and started to run, trying not to fall to his nausea. He had to reach the center of town. He had to kill the bandits- before it was too late.
The bandits roared as the wooden spears pierced their flesh, entered their stomachs. The villagers were fighting back.
Kenzo’s eyes gleamed, reflecting his stolen helmet. He readied his katana, and struck- only to be deflected by the long, twisted hilt of Oizuk’s scythe. Kenzo suddenly felt an intense pain along his right shoulder. A large gash had been sliced in his flesh, an agonizing laceration by the scythe of the bandit leader. Blood dribbled down Kenzo’s arm, dripped into the mud by his feet. Black spots unfolded before his eyes. But he still had strength, and the night was not over yet.
With a deep breath, Kenzo rose and sliced again, but felt a sharp pain in his back, then a deep burning sensation. Oizuk pulled his scythe from Otso’s back, laughing.
Kenzo fell to his knees. The rain splashed into the puddles surrounding him, but all was silent to his ears. He felt so… very… tired…
With a startling crash, a wooden door slammed open. A grow echoed from inside and out stepped a knife-wielding- Hobbs!
The remaining half-orc let out a laughing bark. “I’ll take care of this one.” He advanced upon Hobbs, weapon ready, only to feel cold steel sliding into his gut, and Hobbs grinning up at him. “Wha?” grunted the bandit, falling to the ground with a splash.
Hobbs smiled vacantly at Oizuk, who readied his bow…
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