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Snippet #1972063

located in Calisma, a part of Calisma, one of the many universes on RPG.

Calisma

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Character Portrait: Rydas Errion
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Rydas Errion
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It was Attica’s last few words that put Rydas on edge again. His eyes rose to the forest just as the figures broke through the forest line. While they drew his attention he still heard the wildling’s laugh, harsh at his side. He drew his sword in a swift motion, parting legs to take the stance for fighting. The Prince readied himself, taking a moment to marvel at how foolish the bandits were – their numbers were nearly matched. Either they were stupid, or they really wanted the woman. He didn’t have time to ponder it a second longer, however, as chaos broke out.

The Prince moved to take his first step towards the oncoming enemies, but found himself pulled to the ground. Breath, thick with the stench of brewed ale, was at his neck as the Cleric spoke to him. Rydas looked over at the old man, incredulous at the idea of being given orders to run and hide. He? The Prince, Commander of the King’s Guard and future King of Calisma… get to safety? His mouth parted to rage his protest, but the priest was on his feet, burning log in hand and headed towards the pursuers before he could make voice. Rydas couldn’t help but whisper to himself; ”Crazy son of a bi—“

His arm raised to shade his eyes from the blinding light, willed by the drunken god Dued. And then the Prince was on his feet again, in time to watch the staff change to monstrous creature and then the Priest was down and wounded. He grimaced, turning to observe the rest of the group—the ranger was down, too, but it looked as if he had taken a few with him. The two rogues were leaving a trail of blood in their wake, and then they were gone.

An attack on his own person interrupted his observations. The assailant came from the left. He elbowed the man, loosening his grip on him, turning to face him. Rydas swung, but the man parried. The bandit came at the Prince again, seemingly annoyed that his victim was armed. In such close range the Prince’s sword was awkward and difficult to wield. He kicked, landing his heel in the man’s stomach and used the hilt of his sword to bash the enemy in the head.

The lull in battle allowed the bronzed Prince to look for the rest of his crew. There was an unfamiliar old man in the fray now, that didn’t quite fit with the age range of bandit brigade. But then, with so little firelight it was hard to tell. Narenia slid past him, wishing him to be careful. He nodded, returning the warning. And then she called for distraction, to give her time to aid the wounded. He set to task, deflecting any that attempted to infiltrate towards her or the downed. Between defensive blows and parried attacks, he searched for the remaining crew.

The young mage was nowhere to be seen, at least as far as Rydas could tell under the cover of night. The monk was attacking assailants with the same ferocity and skill as she had used to down her horse earlier in the day. The bard was beneath a tree, covered in blood, but he couldn’t tell if it was hers or someone elses. Acacia looked absolutely frightened, and for a moment he felt sorry for her. He stepped in her direction, to aid her, but it was then that Mirabella made her appearance. She had beaten him to the punch.

Someone was talking beside him. It drew his attention away from the two women in time to notice the mage. Suddenly, a pinkish aura radiated around them and arrows seemed to slow. It was easier to cut them from the air. While odd, he wouldn’t question and help that would come their way.

And then it was suddenly silent.

Rydas rose from formidable stance to look around. The camp was in ruins, many of the tents collapsed. Several bodies were scattered, butchered and bleeding. Some of the bandits that were wounded, he assumed, had fled. The attack seemed to be over. Again, he look around, and silently look roll call. “Adventurers, fall in!” He yelled, as if commanding soldiers.

He bent over the fallen ranger, his sword placed beneath his nose. The fog on the steel proved the man was still breathing and just knocked out. Rydas removed a packet of herbs from his saddlebags, silently thanking that their mounts—while spooked—were still present, and opened it beneath Feylon’s nose. The bitter smell was used to awaken those that were sleeping or unconscious. While he had no love for the man, he had proven himself in the fight. They all had. Again, his hope for the campaign swelled.

“Do any injuries need tending?” First things first, then he’d address the group.