...were ragged, forced attempts at maintaining some semblance of life inside an already dead husk. The middle-aged Half-Elf had seen his fair share of wounds over a nearly two decade career of war-mongering across Leonidan's Eastern Region. Blades, arrows, spears, and teeth had all found themselves lodged in his sinewy, fair-skinned frame at one or more times. But you don't stop the fight just because of a little blood loss. Not on the warring lands of Leonidan. Not in the harsh ranks of the Eastern Guard. And especially not when you are leading those Men, Half-Elves, and Halflings into battle against tribes, Chieftains, or even Kings. All pain is relative.
.
And so, having said all that, Mavuto found himself particularly angry that he should be dying at the hands of a single Outsider. Someone not born on Leonidan. Not a King, or a Chieftain... Gods, he's not even leading a war band. Mavuto coughed, a spatter of crimson blood bubbling up from one of the fresh wounds, erupting from his mouth, and landing on the ship's deck and his own face, blurring his vision. The midday Bjornen Star beat down hot upon the ship, though it was currently eclipsed by the wide-brimmed straw hat of his opponent, masking the Man's features. Not that it mattered; this swordsman didn't bother to look upon his foes anyway. He often fought with his eyes closed. Thank the gods he couldn't see Mavuto's pain.
.
The Preceding Hours
...were filled with noise and blood and clashing of steel as the Eastern Guard flooded the streets of Hemmsburg. The small port city on Leonidan's eastern shore would be a perfect place to settle and fortify. Build up his war band and make a proper home for himself. Mavuto's infiltrators had told him over the last two Visions that these people had no fight left in them. Talk among the commoners was fearful; even more so in the ranks of the city's beleaguered militia.
.
The Eastern Guard's wave of skirmishes across the Plains and Jungle forests of this region were meant to serve a twofold purpose. First, to disband any who might be called upon for help by the people of Hemmsburg, and second, to send fear into the hearts of any still standing when the wave of warriors culminated in a crashing heap of might upon Hemmsburgs unwalled city limits. The only force still in fighting condition, said Mavuto's spies, was that of Loheer the Warrior-Chief, a Man serving no flag but his own. With no named generals, and only two renowned fighters among his ranks, Mavuto assumed the paltry force would flee were they to meet in Hemmsburg's streets.
.
But that did not happen. The Eastern Guard found themselves on even footing with Loheer's forces, and the Man wasn't even present in the fight! How many fell at the feet of the Blind Swordsman before Mavuto and his generals cornered him on the ship? How many more would fall if word got out to Loheer and the second half of his force, lying in wait somewhere near the city, no doubt? Feeling the battle, and thus the city, slipping through his fingers, Mavuto charged up the ramp from the dock to the ship's deck, stepping over two bodies, to face the Swordsman and end this charade. How clever that the blind man should keep the Bjornen Star to his back. No matter, this fight would end quickly anyway. Mavuto clutched his sword in his right hand as he hefted a throwing spear in his left, setting his feet firmly on the swaying ship.
.
"A Cruel Joke of Vargen
...this must be", Mavuto thought as his eyes lay glassy and open. Several minutes had passed since his last breath. There was no measure of strength left in his body, nor ounce of will, nor movement of limb, nor beat of heart, nor bit of feeling, and yet, as he lay silent and dead on his back, the sounds and sights still rushed toward him. The blind man cut through another pair of his Guards and yelled something to a Halfling down on the deck before descending the ramp and out of sight. "Look at me," Mavuto's dead eyes screamed at the back of the Swordsman. "Look at me and say I was worthy." The blind man refused, and instead disappeared over the ship's edge.
.
In less than an hour, the Swordsman would reach Loheer. The second wave of defenders would engulf Hemmsburg and destroy what was left of the Eastern Guard. A chapter of violence in the Outsider's life would draw to a close, and a fresh new page would turn, but not for Mavuto. As the tip of the straw hat blinked out of sight, the Wolf Brother's pen slammed home, marking a black period of finality in Mavuto's book of life. It didn't particularly hurt, but all pain is relative.
...were ragged, forced attempts at maintaining some semblance of life inside an already dead husk. The middle-aged Half-Elf had seen his fair share of wounds over a nearly two decade career of war-mongering across Leonidan's Eastern Region. Blades, arrows, spears, and teeth had all found themselves lodged in his sinewy, fair-skinned frame at one or more times. But you don't stop the fight just because of a little blood loss. Not on the warring lands of Leonidan. Not in the harsh ranks of the Eastern Guard. And especially not when you are leading those Men, Half-Elves, and Halflings into battle against tribes, Chieftains, or even Kings. All pain is relative.
.
And so, having said all that, Mavuto found himself particularly angry that he should be dying at the hands of a single Outsider. Someone not born on Leonidan. Not a King, or a Chieftain... Gods, he's not even leading a war band. Mavuto coughed, a spatter of crimson blood bubbling up from one of the fresh wounds, erupting from his mouth, and landing on the ship's deck and his own face, blurring his vision. The midday Bjornen Star beat down hot upon the ship, though it was currently eclipsed by the wide-brimmed straw hat of his opponent, masking the Man's features. Not that it mattered; this swordsman didn't bother to look upon his foes anyway. He often fought with his eyes closed. Thank the gods he couldn't see Mavuto's pain.
.
The Preceding Hours
...were filled with noise and blood and clashing of steel as the Eastern Guard flooded the streets of Hemmsburg. The small port city on Leonidan's eastern shore would be a perfect place to settle and fortify. Build up his war band and make a proper home for himself. Mavuto's infiltrators had told him over the last two Visions that these people had no fight left in them. Talk among the commoners was fearful; even more so in the ranks of the city's beleaguered militia.
.
The Eastern Guard's wave of skirmishes across the Plains and Jungle forests of this region were meant to serve a twofold purpose. First, to disband any who might be called upon for help by the people of Hemmsburg, and second, to send fear into the hearts of any still standing when the wave of warriors culminated in a crashing heap of might upon Hemmsburgs unwalled city limits. The only force still in fighting condition, said Mavuto's spies, was that of Loheer the Warrior-Chief, a Man serving no flag but his own. With no named generals, and only two renowned fighters among his ranks, Mavuto assumed the paltry force would flee were they to meet in Hemmsburg's streets.
.
But that did not happen. The Eastern Guard found themselves on even footing with Loheer's forces, and the Man wasn't even present in the fight! How many fell at the feet of the Blind Swordsman before Mavuto and his generals cornered him on the ship? How many more would fall if word got out to Loheer and the second half of his force, lying in wait somewhere near the city, no doubt? Feeling the battle, and thus the city, slipping through his fingers, Mavuto charged up the ramp from the dock to the ship's deck, stepping over two bodies, to face the Swordsman and end this charade. How clever that the blind man should keep the Bjornen Star to his back. No matter, this fight would end quickly anyway. Mavuto clutched his sword in his right hand as he hefted a throwing spear in his left, setting his feet firmly on the swaying ship.
.
"A Cruel Joke of Vargen
...this must be", Mavuto thought as his eyes lay glassy and open. Several minutes had passed since his last breath. There was no measure of strength left in his body, nor ounce of will, nor movement of limb, nor beat of heart, nor bit of feeling, and yet, as he lay silent and dead on his back, the sounds and sights still rushed toward him. The blind man cut through another pair of his Guards and yelled something to a Halfling down on the deck before descending the ramp and out of sight. "Look at me," Mavuto's dead eyes screamed at the back of the Swordsman. "Look at me and say I was worthy." The blind man refused, and instead disappeared over the ship's edge.
.
In less than an hour, the Swordsman would reach Loheer. The second wave of defenders would engulf Hemmsburg and destroy what was left of the Eastern Guard. A chapter of violence in the Outsider's life would draw to a close, and a fresh new page would turn, but not for Mavuto. As the tip of the straw hat blinked out of sight, the Wolf Brother's pen slammed home, marking a black period of finality in Mavuto's book of life. It didn't particularly hurt, but all pain is relative.