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Hidden among the trees, at the edge of Cillinas, a small village, was a band of black hearted rogues. They were dressed in skins from bear, boar and deer or in coarse wool. They clenched weapons in their hands, a few rust pitted swords, axes of iron or stone, a handful of bows and spears, some tipped and some simple sharpened staffs. They were Moon Blades, one of the poor but barbaric clans from up in the Teeth. Normally they would never come down this far, so there were lords with many knights and armsmen, who would ride out to crush the clansmen but they feared them no longer.
Three months ago, Buroaw Blackiron, the complete ruler of the east, contacted the chief of the Moon Blades, a giant man called Raygar and a deal was struck. If the clansmen would allow some of the warlordâs forces to cross their mountains and carry a great raid across the rich lowlands, he would pay them with fine steel, slaves, exotic foods and declare them the rules of all the Teeth. It was an offer too good to pass up.
Still, Raygar was eager to get started. He had order his men to enlisted a few other clans, by kidnapping their woman and children, then holding them in return for the cooperation of their menfolk. It wasnât like this was an uncommon practice among the clansmen. It was really the only way the constantly quarreling outlaws to work together. He had set a number of them in the mountain passes, to act as guides and to give him early warning of the approach of Blackironâs men. Word had reached him a few days ago, that a number of warbands were passing over the mountains and that they should reach the first villages of the lowlanders by the coming morning. Well, he wasnât going to let them get the loot from the first villages.
âWe readyâ grunted the fat chief, as he stroked the side of his massive warboar.
âYeah Bossâ hissed a nearby man-shaped shadow.
Yellow teeth gleamed in the darkness, as Raygar smiled and pulled himself into the rope and leather contraption that served as the boarâs saddle. His left hand grasped a tuff of stiff bristles, so that he could remain upright on top of the boar, as the sausage fingers on his right hand wrapped around the haft of his black steel axe. The boar stamped itâs hooves and let out a squeal.
As the villageâs night watchmen woke, nearly three hundred Moon Blades raced out of the trees, screaming warcries and brandishing weapons. The village was awake in a moment, as they had been concerned of late, the men stumbling out of their homes clutching wood axes, pitchforks, rakes and the odd bow. A band of the farmers, led by an old gray beard, whom might have served in a militia, tried to gather in the middle of the village, to repel the invaders.
They might have been able to make a decent defense, if it were not for the archers among the Moon Blades, who put a dozen or more men to the ground or for the boar-riding chieftain. Raygar smashed into the ranks of villagers, swinging his new axe with one hand, taking the head off of at least three men and hacking limps. The boat slashed about with itâs tusks, ripping open stomachs and crushing men beneath itâs hooves. About the pair, the clansmen felled other villagers, somewhere slain, others taken captive. After the short fight, scrams of terror echoed into the night, as the raiders stormed into houses, taking pleasure from the women and older girls, slaying the elderly and stealing everything they could. Flames rose in the night, as houses were put to the torch.
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Ark'al looked away from the group that was considered a war-band and gradually picked up the pace. If he were going to be charged with keeping these poor excuses for Gnolls alive long enough to allow Blackiron to accomplish his campaign, Ark'al would have to use a different battle strategy then he was used to. Running into a village in broad daylight would not be wise, but quietly sneaking in during the cover of nightfall was. This would both allow Ark'al's band to prove worthy without losing half of their numbers to villagers with pitchforks and they would gain the upper hand on the other war-bands since they were probably already camped somewhere in the mountains.
"Ark'al." one of the Gnolls said from the following pack. Ark'al stopped and turned around quite ferociously. Most of the small Gnolls flinched, but the one who spoke, one who had seen war before, didn't move. Instead, he simply pointed towards the night sky, over a small mountain. Behind the mountain there was a soft flickering golden glow. Ark'al growled and gripped the hilt of his battle-axe tightly. Angrily, he barked at the group, turned, and began sprinting with all of his might towards the glow. It seemed as if another war-band had the same idea to get an early start on the raids. Ark'al knew that they were not going to make it to the village before daybreak, but he was going to try.
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Bodies littered the ground outside, left out for the scavengers, whom merely waited for the raiders to depart. Most were men, laying where they fell during the night but scattered among them were the elders of the village. A number of the clansmen wandered about or found comfortable spots in trees or the rooftops of the remaining buildings, having drawn the unlucky lot to stand guard over their celebrating companions.
âWhy we got ta do thisâ whined Elkin, a scrawny bowman, to his brother, as they walked the edge of the wood, âNo one got away, ta warn the other villages and any comin here wont be warriors. We should have gotten some ah da beer and ah few women for da night.â
âShuddupâ growled Lug, the older and larger of the brothers, carrying a wood axe he had claimed from the village and a large stone hammer, âWeâre not watchin for more villagers, weâre watchin for them fellows come ta join us.â
âAnd why we doin thatâ asked the younger brother.
âSo they donât take our loot and women.â
âOnly you got loot and neither ah us got women.â
âShaddup, da boss makes sure all ah us gets loot and women. Just wait until he wakes up and has a few drinks.â
So the banter went back and forth, as the bothers walked around the former village. It was always like this. Elkin always complained, now matter how much loot he got from a raid or when they did robbery. Lug would finally get tired of it and slap him around a little. It had been like this since they were young. Of course they were watching the woods around the village.
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The various marking where a good symbol, even the demon was a being of great joy in Edrin's homeland, but he was pretty far from home now. As each of these troopers clambered onwards before a loud and dusty tone bellowed from the window of the wooden box, sounding strongly deep due to the accent of the Memic and the sheer sense of aggressive nobility he held in his voice "Stop!" each of the men quickly ceased the choir of stomps they emitted, some carrying on for a moment before noticing the others and following suite as they all peered at the wooden box. The mist and air each smashed against the narrow path ways walls and jagged ribs, generating a loud, natural whistle from the elements while causing also the sound of patting from the various troopers cloaks and jump suits flapping by the push of the wind, creating a personal but subtle entrance song for the leader of the Cavcareto, Sir Edrin Bullmic who's hand had just begun to push the oak door forth, generating a bit of a squeak from the un-oiled hitches. The darkness from within shadowed over the robed figure, the only thing visible a wrinkled and vainy old hand that shivered just slightly as it was forced to push a bit of weight, his palm had a smooth but worn out affect to it, his hand looked as if they spent years in strain by the sheer tension his fingers had, perhaps too many hours lifting and counting coins over and over, or writing documents for hours on end but it matter really not such a reason as a man like Bullmic needed not any hands to get things done, Slowly a small shoe appeared, laced in various designs from well-known taylors at the bottom, each having a rune of some sort masterfully stitched while the shoe was no simple, like a soft slipper that covered just past his heel while being a chestnut brown, the same shoe however was soon expelled from as the old man from within the box got onto the ground, covering his entire body with his robe now when not stretching out his legs. So stood Sir Bullmic, as soon as he go out his pale skin seemed to fit well with the colour scheme of the cruel and grey rocky sides in the mountains, his veins burning brightly here when spotten due to the lack of shades to distract one from them, that short but well endowed beard slowly fluttered weakly before being left alone by the wind. Edrin brushy eyebrows lifted, reaching up in a somewhat surprised expression while his lips and cheeks remained long, as if he was to be curious of something but none the less keeping his frigid composure while slowly turning his ribs from side to side to peek at the area. Edrin after taking a swift breath of air to catch the scent of these new lands simply noded with a meager bow to his men carrying the box, each of them putting it down with a loud wooden "clank" before slowly walking into the formation with the rest of his servants. Bullmic let his tongue smack against his bottom lip for a moment before simply saying in a simple and casual old tone "We leave transport here. It would send a bad image...bad image, is never good for business..I walk from here. Give those men water and food..nobody make them carry supplies..they earn break.." Despite the somewhat crabbiness of his voice it did get a tad more soft as he let the men who onced carry him rest, each of them immediately being given a drink as they waited around for a couple of minutes, allowing his troops to catch a breath and bite some bread before starting to shuffle forth down the mountains at a slow pace, they where over the worst and was soon to be at the desired destination, so naturally an aging and un-fit man like Edrin would need only a small hand at best to get to the location as it was mostly down hill from there.
Half an hour past and the sounds of solders feet smashing against the grass would enter peoples ears, or at least the people that still lived as the Merchant and his men started to to come into view of the minions standing guard for the moonblade clans. Sir Edrin was quick and a good number of troops for some reason only stood at the twilight of the entrance to the village grounds, all of them staring at the thugs and killers while four fully armored solders walked with Edrin to the two. These troops all had perfect posture, even after walking so long they seemed un-hindered, two where at least six foot five and the two others where five foot ten and six foot, although they where made even taller by the fat, chunky and weighted full body knights equipment they where wearing. One wielded a spear, another a two handed axe while two had swords at their sides, each of these men made thunderous steps and armies of tats and tings when walking with Edrin, stopping as the leader halted before what would seem to be the guards of the area "Good morning, Gentlemen" He bellowed out in a very refined but happy tone, his normally long face smirking up in a snobby but friendly grin as he twirled his head to gaze at the destruction once wreaked onto the village before turning his orbs back to the two "I need to talk to you're leader, now. Tell him that time is limited" He retained his good tune but he was quick and swift in a slightly less gracious matter, as if he just snapped onto the possibility of having to talk to the two thugs in any way and stopped it before it could happen.
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âYou go get himâ said the older brother.
âWhy I got ta goâ whined the younger.
âCause I said soâ growled Lug, giving his smaller brother a shove.
Elkin knew for a fact that he wasnât able to force his older brother into do anything and they heâd only end up with a few extra bruises if he didnât go. With a resigned sigh, the bowman ran back into the village of Cillinas and didnât stop until he reached the house of the former village headman. Slipping inside, he wove his way through a maze of sleeping men, in various stages of undress and beaten women, mostly curled up in a fetal position. It was in the last room of the house, where he found the chief.
Raygar was sprawled out in the middle of a bed designed to hold a whole family. Laying near his massive body were three of the village women, ranging in age from seventeen to twenty-three. They looked less abused then the others the bowman had seen, with only one of them looking like she had been hit and that looked like it had only been done once. Of course he couldnât seen the mass of bruises on her back or the dark spot of blood under her hair, from when she had hit the wall, after the chieftain had struck her once, as a warning to the others.
âChiefâ Elkin half whispered from the doorway, hoping that was all he needed to do. The fat man didnât even stir from his slumber. The small man tried again and again, taking a step into the bedroom each time. Finally he was standing at the edge of the bed, near a just about empty cast of dark ale. Screwing up his courage, the archer walked around the bed, so that he was on level with the bossâs shoulder. Reaching out, he shook the big man and called out his title.
Before Elkin could take a step back, Raygarâs ham-like hand shot up and wrapped around the bowmanâs neck. As bloodshot, piggish brown eyes opened, the clansman was lifted up into the air, as he clawed at the hand, which had cut off his air. Slowly, the big man rose from the bed, listening to the choking of his follower, as the three women fled to the corners of the room. With a careless flick of his wrist, the Moon Blade chieftain flung the wretch across the room and strolled over to the cask, lifting the small barrel to his large mouth to finish off the ale.
âWhatâ the fat man finally growled, as he threw the empty ale barrel out into the hallway.
âChiefâ wheezed Elkin, struggling to his feet, âThereâs someone here ta see you. Heâs got some fighters and said that time wasâŠ.time wasâŠ.short or somethin.â
"Did he" said Raygar, picking up his vest and throwing the boar-hide and iron ring garment about his chest, before pointing at the youngest woman in the room, âGet me pants wench! And me belt! And me boots!â
A few minutes later, a fully dressed Moon Blade chieftain emerged from the house, blinking in pain from the light. Before the big man had taken more then half a dozen steps, his boar appeared from a half collapsed barn, hay clinging to itâs bristles and trotted to itâs masterâs side. Together, they walked to where Lug stood watching the strangers. All around the village, clansmen stood in knots, weapons out and ready.
âSo whos you then?â half-bellowed Raygar, planting his hands on his massive hips.
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Edrin lips did not move at first as they only pursed slightly as the boar got closer and closer before slowly twisting into a big grin, a friendly and perfected smile that lifted up upon his long and daunting aged cheeks that he had and as this smile was plastered onto his face a voice soon rattled out of his throat to accommodate the pleasant grin, sounding heavy in accent due to his origins but soft in a sense and slightly caring although not overly" Good day, Chieftain. I am Sir Edrin Bulmic.You're employer sent me to take care of business and help direct things here. " a moment pasted of silence before Edrin very patiently twisted his neck, revealing a good number of his seasoned veins as he inspected all the troops the Chieftain had under his command before turning that black ball of shades back to the boar tamer "I can tell that by simply looking at you, Chieftain that you are a man who desires things to be straight forward and no pestered by petty ideals, so I will spare you the patronizing niceties I would give anyone else, I need to talk to you in private about a transaction taking place here..."Despite the abruptness of it all ,the tone he used was slightly harder but one of moderate respect, it would be the way the man talks to another when rushed for time and his tone delivered both, he no longer had that fake merchant "thank you, come again" sort of tune and feeling delivered in his voice was more of importance which in and of it self was sign that the Merchant and had some faith of the chieftains emotional capabilities.
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