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Randle Ludak

*Low growl*

0 · 353 views · located in Vasquera

a character in “Deadman's March”, as played by Wake

Groups

A company of soldiers that fight from beyond the grave.

Description

Randle Ludak
Image




Theme: Mordred's Lullaby by Heather dale
Gender: Male
Nickname(s): The Mad Cur, The Big Guy.
Age: Unknown
Race: Witchcraft infused ogre/human hybrid


Appearance: The armor he wears is black and jagged, with a helm shaped like the warped head of a jackal. A long ragged brown cape extends from it's shoulder plates. Under his armor, his flesh is covered with rune shaped scars that have been carved onto him and spiderweb like burn marks that branch out all over his skin.


Preferred Clothing: His armor


Height: 7'3"
Weight: 276 lbs
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Red


Personality: Randle has earned his reputation as The Mad Cur for a reason. His...rather abusive upbringing has left his mind slightly warped and makes it hard for him to keep control of his internal savagery. In battle, when his blood is pumping, he is overcome with a feral rage that sends him into a wild frenzy. At best it could be said that he has been reduced to an animalistic mentality by his mother's raising of him. Many of his actions are powered more by instinct rather than thought. He is capable of thinking and speech though, even if his vocabulary is a bit rudimentary. However he generally tends to distrust other people because of his past experiences and is usually very cold and blunt towards others.

Deep down inside though, he is very submissive and lonely. Feeling isolated in his own little world, he desperately longs to reach out to others, but is incapable of doing so because of his outward nature. Randle's frequent bouts of rage are often from the pained alienation he feels and a sense of loss. And because of his seemingly animal-like mentality he tends to have difficulty making decisions on his own, often looking to others for guidance on the simplest things, provided they've earned his trust. Just past Randle's monster-like exterior is really someone like a frightened little child.


Weapon: A Massive sword, almost as large as he is. The sword is so heavy that it takes three grown men to lift it. Randle, however, can hold it with one hand. It was crafted using the the soul of his sister in a blood sacrifice to make it impervious to non-magical harm.

Fighting Style: Randle swings his blade around in a wide arc, practically sweeping a path of destruction around him. He's learned to move with the momentum of his swings, shifting his body and footing when needed to either evade or close the gap between him and the enemy. Despite his size and the weight of his weapon, he is very agile for the berserker beast that he is.

Abilities: Randle possesses inhuman physical strength. Able to crush a man's skull with his bare hands, he would be considered a dangerous foe even when unarmed.

Personal History: Randle has had an unfortunate history of being used by others. A fact made only worse since he died.

Born from the exiled witch queen Undina, and rumored to have been sired by an ogre, Randle was raised by his mother to do one thing and one thing only. And that was take revenge on those that cast his mother out. It was a harsh upbringing. In the morning he was instructed on the way of battle and trained to kill; in the evening, he had runes inscribed into his flesh by dark rituals, and the rest of the time he would be beaten if he misbehaved. He was little more then a tool to his mother. The harbinger of her scorned wrath to act as the vanguard for the small horde of brigands she amassed to her side over the years.

Sometime during his growth, though, his mother had sought fit to give birth to a second child. Randle's baby sister, a young thing, who soon turned into a stabilizing entity in Randle's life. She was the only one that gave the then young beast of a man any sort of sympathy or genuine affection.

However, like Randle himself, his mother only gave birth to the child so that she would be of use to their mother. The reason why Randle's sister was born was so that she could be sacrificed to forge a weapon for her conquest. When Randle found what his mother had done, he flew into a rage and struck her down. When the frenzy wore off and he realized what he had done, and what had happened, Randle became grief stricken. In his screams of sorrow, pain, and rage he drew the attention of his mother's lieutenants. Consumed by his pain, he lashed out against them as well, soon having the entire camp against him as he struck madly, slaughtering his way through their ranks as he tried to vent his frustration and pain.

When it was all over, his mother and sister remained dead, the horde was scattered before it could even begin its campaign, and Randle was left to wander the wilds alone and without a purpose or reason to exist. Eventually rumors of his existence began to circulate. The "Mad Cur" of the forest, a monstrous beast that walked like a man and murdered unwary travelers. This drew hunters looking to make a trophy of him. And when Randle slew them he drew the attention of soldiers.

A bloody battle took place. And despite all his strength, Randle was eventually subdued and imprisoned. Originally it was called for the "beast man" to be put down. However some saw the value in Randle's strength and decreed he would suffer a fate worse than mere execution. Thus Randle found himself forcibly conscripted into the Deadman Division.


Other:

So begins...

Randle Ludak's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Trista Anerwyn Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: Kryssis Wyvernjack

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Trista Anerwyn


It wasn't uncommon to see new faces, but some were stranger than others, and inside, she was hoping this wouldn't become a trend. Trista observed their faces as they climbed aboard, one by one. One Deadman in particular showed a sharp glint in her eyes as she passed by her and into the caravan, an expression she had become all too familiar with. That one was dangerous. But in a place like this, dangerous is good. As long as it stays on your side, anyway. She rolled the die in her head, wondering if she should give her a talk some time later. Deciding against it, she pushed the idea to the back of her mind. She did, however, throw out a piece of advice that she was almost certain to take as an insult.

"Don't get too excited," Trista shrugged without turning her head back. "You'll lose your head, and then you'll be gone for good." It didn't matter if she took it the wrong way, because it was still an important thing to remember. Number one rule of the desert: If you don't piss it off, it probably won't try to kill you. Not expecting an answer, she extended a hand and gestured for the next one to come aboard. Now this was something she might have to worry about just a little bit. "Get in the wagon," she ordered, unblinkingly staring up at the massive, armor-plated giant looming over her. She did not hear good things about this man, and she hoped to the gods that their decision was worth it. "Big guy, that means you. Inside. Now."

Despite her negativity, Trista was expecting much from some of these wilder elements, as the tasks set before them are almost never as simple as they first appear. If they refused to cooperate, either she or the enforcers would have to make sure they got back in line. Extra muscle was something they sorely needed, especially when times were so desperate. But she couldn't help but think: Is it possible? Was there still life behind those eyes? What was she missing?

Her gaze remained fixed to the armored warrior. That was a question she would have to answer later.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Trista Anerwyn Character Portrait: Randle Ludak

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#, as written by Wake
The giant man remained still. His only response to the woman's command was to fix a long hard stare down at here and emit a low rumbling noise from his throat.

This man was different from the other Deadmen. Unlike the others, who walked freely, this one arrived with his hands cuffed together and two other Deadmen "escorting." Both men on either side of him held a long chain 'leash' that attached to one of his wrists. The enforcers felt it was necessary for him to be transported this way. After all, this one had proven to have a rather short temper.

One of the Deadman guards for the brute, the one on his right, looked up at the beast briefly before returning his gaze to the expedition leader. "I don't think he's gonna fit in there ma'am. It might be best to just have 'em walk beside us." He wasn't just saying that because he didn't want to be sitting next to the large man. His weight, plus the weight of that gigantic sword on his back, might end up weighing the wagon down for the horses.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Trista Anerwyn Character Portrait: Randle Ludak

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Trista Anerwyn


"Nothing survives out here by being weak," Trista said, dismissing the guard's concern. "All of us here are a testament to that, though for some of us that time's long since passed. Toss him in." She turned her attention to the remaining Deadmen, addressing them with a loud, clear voice. "The rest of you," she pointed, "next wagon." From an outsider's point of view, the Deadman Division might've been seen as paranoid for boarding so many troops for a mission as simple as this, but half-hearted initiative has never saved anyone in battle. All missions were taken seriously and all missions were to maximize the possibility of success in whatever way they could manage. She climbed inside.

The wheels under the caravan bucked upwards, startling some of the Deadmen that had been pleasantly resting with their heads against the wagon cover. Trista shifted slightly in her seat, eyes scanning the soldiers in front of her.
“Looks like we’ve got some new faces,” the Deadman beside her whispered. His eyes moved over to the large, plated soldier taking up roughly the space of two men inside of the wagon. “…with some of them being stranger than others.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” she said, setting her arms over her knees. “He won’t try anything here.” Bending forward a bit, she casually peered out the back of the caravan, a soft frown forming on her face. “Looks like we’ve just passed the second Belturian outpost tower.”
“Since when did that thing get smashed to pieces?” he murmured, observing the fragmented stone as he looked out with her.
“Two days ago,” Trista answered. “You were out on another mission at the time, so I suppose you wouldn’t know.” She turned to him. “Why don’t you make friends with our rookies?”
“I’ll pass,” he waved her off, leaning back.
“Suit yourself,” she shrugged, turning forward again.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Trista Anerwyn Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: Kryssis Wyvernjack

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All this worthless idle chatter bored into Kryssis' ears like drills, spearing deep through her skull and roughly penetrating her brain. She tried closing her eyes against the noise, for some reason hoping that might help to blot it out. Obviously, it didn't do anything to benefit her situation, it only deprived her of sight. Her eyes flashed open in an instant and darted about the wagon, analyzing the others being forced into this service alongside her. Perhaps she should have felt some form of sympathy or another. The thought passed through her mind as merely a brief consideration before being dashed brutally to pieces. They were not in the same lot as she! Similar, yes. Their bonds were the same, but only as deep as the flesh. There was a deeper poison in the Wyvernjack's wounds. Her usefulness was only outdone by her infamy- or more accurately, the Sidheghuls'.

Her eye turned to the giant in their midst- the figure with the great sword on his back. She watched him with more interest than she had the others. There was an aura about him.. something that caught her attention. Not enough to keep it, however. Very quickly she was looking elsewhere, finally focusing on the one who had been speaking earlier. Her words after Kryssis had clambered into the wagon had touched a bit of a nerve, but not so much that she had taken them personally. That did not keep her from feeling the girl was arrogant, but at the same time she had to admit: the girl had been brave enough to caution her, nonetheless. If anything, was more cause for inspection than anything. Physicality was good in places, but the mind and the heart mattered so much more. A full triage made one a weapon, not just muscle, brain or courage. Without even one, the other two could not stand for long.

Kryssis sucked in a breath sharply. Those had been words handed down by the Ancestor. As true as they rang.. they were weighted with the creature's hideous deceit.

"He reeks of cowardice," Kryssis hissed, every word laced with a cruel hatred. Each solitary syllable fought to burn a hole into the air they touched upon. Her lips scarcely moved as she spoke, and her eyes stayed stuck to the wagon's covering. She refused to look at the fool she meant even as she disparaged him. Among her people, this was a sign of extreme contempt. The green rings slid over slowly to settle on Trista, "You do not," she stated simply, and then looked away again.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: Alexa Morrow

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#, as written by Zentose

Alexa Morrow


Chevalier and Alexa trotted past the Caravan. Alexa caught a glimpse of a mountainous beast coated in black armor being loaded into the Deadmen's caravan. He was a curious sight to be sure. The hot sun would have boiled a man alive in his armor, but it's a good thing he was already dead. Something made her feel uneasy about the man, it was not just in the way he looked, or the fact that he was chained, but his callous and intention-less movement. But she hadn't the time to waste watching the group of Deadmen gear up, she needed to move.

The relentless sun beat down upon the sands, making Alexa's blue eyes burn. She squinted a bit before kicking Chevalier in the side, causing him to ride a bit faster along the walls of Gaudi's. She reached the aqueduct after a short time and began a slight gallop, enough not to tire Chevalier quickly, but still enough to keep well ahead of the caravan. Alexa wasn't used to the desert, the hot sun, the endless sands, she had an amazing sense of direction in forests, which she was used to, but the sands were constantly changing, a mercurial expanse of sand and death awaited any who ventured from the walls of Gaudis. She didn't care however, most things in her life were ephemeral after all, why not the landscape as well?

After a time, she found the problem, and it was quite a problem.

She rode up a dune and gazed upon a rare sight. A Dune Serpent, dead. One of the braces of an aqueduct had been smashed to pieces by a great Dune Serpent, the water fell down upon the sands, smashing into the rocks, as well as the dead, bony, corpse of the serpents. Around it were dozens of mangled corpses, torn to pieces, crushed, and bloodied. Sand Reapers. How they had managed to kill a Dune Serpent, Alexa didn't know. All she knew was that there were still too many Sand Reapers around their kill, too many for her to take alone. It meant she wouldn't get paid for the job.

She sighed, "Well Chevalier, I guess we should still help take care of them, even if we won't be able to complete the contract..."

Chevalier neighed back.

Alexa rode back down the dune, out of sight, then hopped off of Chevalier and petted her, "Stay here."

She pulled out her bow and loaded an arrow up, she sprinted to behind one of the aqueduct supports that was a good ways away(but not too far to shoot) and waited.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Trista Anerwyn Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: Alexa Morrow Character Portrait: Kryssis Wyvernjack

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Trista Anerwyn


The wagon stopped. Peering forward, Trista squinted to observe the scene for herself. Lying over piles of shattered stone rubble was a slain Dune Serpent, shredded and split open in a myriad of gaping wounds. Water from the disconnected bridge spilled down into the sands and she could only think: What a terrible, terrible waste. Standing around the wreckage was a number of armored men, tribal, perhaps. Trista directed her arm out toward the back.
"Everyone out!"

The caravans unloaded and the Deadmen disembarked, nearing the aqueduct. Upon closer inspection, Trista realized that the figures surrounding the carcass were not humans. She held her shield at her left side and halted the troops with the sword in in her right.

"Reapers," she simply said, eyeing them as they worked at the corpse with their weapons and tools.
"You don't reckon they'll leave if we ask them nicely?" a Deadman toned in sarcastically as he approached from behind her. Despite the light quip of his, his tone suggested that he knew exactly what they were going to be dealing with, and that it was certainly no joking matter.

"We'll make the first move," she gestured with her weapon. "They're not leaving until they've taken everything they want, and that means the bones, the meat, not to mention the water and the colossal trophy they'd love to bring back to their dens. We go in, stomp them out, and we get to work on that broken bridge." Trista turned around, watching as some of the heads bobbed and weaved around for a better look at the creatures. "One thing I'd like to make clear before we jump in," she shouted for the Deadmen to hear, hitting the blade against her shield as a call for attention. "Once we engage, do not attempt to flee no matter what the circumstance. Not only will they outrun you, they will chase you to the ends of the world until your are dead, and that means back into the ground dead."

The sand reapers did not take long to notice the presence, first sniffing the dry desert air around them before finally watching them walk down along the support pillars, raising their weapons up in their hands. There were sharp growls and roars as they approached, others making indiscernible threats and gestures. One of them was clearly the chieftain of the lot, donned in the skulls and weathered skins of dead monsters, presumably ones it had personally killed. It propped its spear vertically into the dirt and the bone charms strung from the neck jingled like rattling stones as it did so. Baring its teeth, it snarled and waved off the Deadmen with a fierce sweep of its arm.
"Pghah! Pathetic, miserable humans," it snapped. "Always looking so foolishly for death out in these deserts. This is no place for you." It shook its spear at them and a low guttural sound rang from the back of its throat. "Do not waste our time here! Your bones are worth almost nothing!"

"Ignore them," Trista said calmly, noticing that some had slowed in bouts of caution. They were right to underestimate humans. Reapers were far stronger, faster, and more experienced in combat than most venerable soldiers could ever hope to be. She remembered her first encounter with these beasts. She didn't take the expedition leader's advice, and she ran as far as her legs could take her, which wasn't very far because she had been split clean in half in a matter of seconds. That, understandably, took ages to recover from even with the help of magic. But as it stands now, she'd fought these things a countless number of times along fellow soldiers over her years, and while they were certainly as skilled and powerful as they appeared, perhaps even more so, one gets used to slaying such creatures. Deadmen and living humans could not be compared.
"Kill them," she ordered.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Trista Anerwyn Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: Alexa Morrow Character Portrait: Kryssis Wyvernjack Character Portrait: David Hayes

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#, as written by Aporia
It took about a couple of hours before the wet brown robe turned just damp and the time spent until then was rather uneventful. Condors attempted to attack the flock before one of them was blinded in both eyes by the reflection of a certain pocket mirror and briefly entered a frenzy, wildly clawing at the air, and the other condors around it. While it may have been just a scratch, the predators started to fiercly fight amongst themselves as the prey simply moved on.

"Ar tai, ką tu nori?"
Duok mums kraują, kraujas yra jėga, karas ir taika.

They wanted blood and at any moment, David could give the sand spirits blood by slitting the throats of one of the sheep, preferably a ram but then he risked putting stress on the flock and under the intense heat of the desert, they're already tired. Seeing the slaughter of a sheep by no less their shepherd would probably cause them to either scatter and waste more time or to drop over dead themselves. As ridiculous as it sounds its happened before and will most likely happen again in this god forsaken excuse for a land.

The cheese had unsurprisingly gone bad in the heat and was forced to be thrown out and what was left to eat was the salted meats and bread. It filled enough of the stomach with a swig of water from his canteen. David knew the importance of eating and drinking in moderation, especially when traveling, as fighting with a full stomach results in nothing but death and vomit, neither going well together or separate.

For what seemed to be another hour after eating, he could see, right on the direction towards town, the giant skeleton of what he can only comprehend to be the remains of a snake-like monster. Two groups stood off from one another, one of whom were considerably taller then the rest and were adorned in something of charms, while the other had different varying sizes of persons and individuals.

Fights have a remarkable quality to be quick to finish. It was a testament to how frail the body was. There was no way he could get around the fight before it was ended and he'd be the next target and it's more safe to assume that both were hostile forces until he could closer identify them.

"Abe, wait and hold." The collie obeyed the order, and turned around to keep himself and the sheep in place while David grew closer and closer to the conflict. He could enter the ranks of the battle unannounced and give the surprise attack needed to provide safe passage.

The sand spirits were begging, almost screaming for blood, their voices ringing inside his head. Nobody seemed to have noticed the veiled man in the brown robe with the crook except for one stray sand reaper. The bones which hung off him clanked as he rushed into a full sprint with his bone axe raised, his speed surprisingly fast for the giant of a monster he was, the tribal warrior.

David pulled the trigger of his crossbow and let the bolt fly from the inside of his robe straight into the gut of the creature, the pain causing the thing to lose it's balance and to fall and tumble on the sides, stopping mere inches from the shepherd's feet. Had the warrior been given the two seconds to swing his blade from the ground, he might've scored his kill for the day, but as soon as he hit the ground, the small shepherd was already on his chest with two daggers in hand, stabbing wildly through the exposed areas of throat, two, three, six, eight times. The Sand Reaper was still breathing, his throat exposed, gurgling and he squirmed, screaming in a mix of anger, pain and incredulity as the sand started to swallow him up, his words contorted and undecipherable, but loud none the less.

The shepherd got up from the body, his back hunched, entire front of his brown robe was stained with the red splatter, as well as some parts of his makeshift veil straw hat. He took some of the sand in his mouth, took his knife in one hand, the crook in another, and ran towards the strange column before another two more of the tribal warriors, one carrying a shield and bone-sword while the other carried a a spear, most likely the group of the aggressors of the conflict, came towards him.

He lured the first one to the pillar, spun around it, spat out the billow of sand in his mouth from the other side, into eyes of the one with the sword, causing him to be blinded, trying to force his eyes open by hand. David quickly took advantage of the opening to get to the warrior's side to use him as a temporary shield against his fellow spear ally.
"Move!" The creature shouted but it was too late, as the unprotected hamstring of the warrior with the sword and shield was slit and he was forced to a kneeling position, unable to stand, shouting something about his leg.
"Dalis būdas! The shepherd shouted towards the one with the spear when suddenly the sand that was under his right foot sunk down four feet, catching him by surprise but leaving David the chance to charge, flipping the end of his crook around to the sharpened end to use as a spear before lunging at the warrior and taking him to the ground.

The tribal warrior's spear slashed through the side of the shepherd, cutting through fabric and skin, the blood ran, and the pain was all to familiar but David had gone through the bone armour into the reaper's chest. He backed up from the downed warriors, hands and feet still burrowed in the ground like a rabid dog, the straw hat veil fallen off and his human face clearly visible, growling almost before the incantations came loose from his lips.

The sand spirits were ecstatic.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Trista Anerwyn Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: Alexa Morrow Character Portrait: Kryssis Wyvernjack Character Portrait: David Hayes Character Portrait: Eolan Kalris

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#, as written by Mosinau
Nobody had expected Eolan to leave the wagons, and he had not expected it himself. After all, the mission itself was no concern of his; he had insisted that the only service required of him for the job was maintenance on the deadmen. An opportunity had arisen, however, and if there was anything worth the disturbance it was a fresh dune serpent corpse.

Unnoticed by those who had exited the second wagon before him, Eolan approached the back of the group and pulled back his hood, looking past them at the scene below. There was indeed a young serpent lying across the ruins of the aqueduct, a pack of reapers surrounding it. Even from a distance, he could see they had already picked the monster clean. All six eyes had been removed, its horns smashed to powder or claimed as trophies; the tentacles were nowhere to be seen. Most of the valuable parts were taken; it was now his priority that these creatures not be allowed to escape. He examined the group of reapers one by one, his gaze settling on a particularly decorated specimen as the most likely culprit. A shaman, perhaps? He stood out in front of his pack, trading shouted obscenities with the deadmen from the first wagon, taking no notice of the fall of water beside him gradually slowing to a drip.

Before long, there was a disturbance, a lone warrior sowing chaos in their ranks. Scarcely had the chieftain turned away from their group to look when an enormous torrent of water was abruptly let loose from the mouth of the canal and plummeted to the ground with a deafening crash. The force of the blow extinguished the reaper in the blink of an eye, and both parties froze, shocked into dumfounded silence.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: David Hayes

0.00 INK

#, as written by Wake
While the fight was breaking full force, three individuals stood back. The armored giant and his two keepers. They were mostly observing the battle, for the orders given were to keep the large one back on reserve until called for. However as the fight quickly devolved into a chaotic brawl one of the keepers started to get antsy. He squinted, made a grunt noise, then finally turned with a sigh toward the other keeper.

"Let 'em off tha leash."

"What!?" Said the second with surprise.

"Look, this fight is gettin' too wild too fast. If we don't put it ta a stop now, we're gonna start seeing big losses." He stared down at the melee below as it continued to grow in frenzy. The outcome was becoming more uncertain by the moment. "Let the big guy loose."

"But the enforcer said-"

"Don't argue! Just do it!" he barked. The second keeper flinched back. Cowed into compliance, he reluctantly pulled the keys from his pocket and reached for the cuffs that held the armored giant's arms fast. Above him he heard the behemoth emit a low guttural hiss, electing a shudder from the keeper, making the deadman feel significantly smaller compared to his 'charge'.

"You do know this could cost us a few of our guys as well, right?"

"Yeah," the first keeper muttered. They both had been part of the team sent to 'recruit' this giant. It was an experience they both were loathe to relive, in a manner of speaking. "We'll just worry about dat afterward. When we 'ave to figure out how to string 'em back up again."

With a final 'clink' of the cuffs, the chains that bound the beast man fell away, leaving him free. Both of the keepers took several steps back as the giant flexed it's arms. Rumbling slightly to itself, it glared down at the fighting below. It reached up and pulled the massive sword from its back, letting the tip hit the ground with a dull 'thump'.

Then it bellowed out a thundering roar and charged down the dune.

Sword raised, the behemoth swung as it smashed into the mob. Two Reapers were cleaved in half by the first strike. Another swing and three more combatants were swept aside. The juggernaut continued forward, carving a path of destruction through the battle ranks with little regard for either friend or foe. Gradually, whether intentional or not, the giant drifted toward the stranger that had gotten himself involved in the fray.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: Alexa Morrow Character Portrait: Kryssis Wyvernjack

0.00 INK

Image

Screaming in anger, Kryssis clove off a reaper's arm. The appendage fell to the sand, still writhing almost as if it wanted to try and avenge its severance by running her through with the weapon held fast in its hand. The infuriated reaper swung at her madly with its other hand, the wild blow just barely missing her. The creature's claws grazed her midriff, drawing a trickle of blood and nearly knocking her off-balance. She plunged a saber through the reaper's throat, the blade cutting straight through its spine and killing it almost instantly. Without even pausing to catch her breath, the Wyvernjack ducked down under the wide arc of a swinging blade. The massive sword whistled just over her head, and she felt it sucking the air along with it. The damned thing meant to cut a hole in the world itself! She righted herself, staring for only an instant as the behemoth chugged onward through the melee, obliterating everything his weapon touched. She spat out a swear and a blessing on the giant's path, diverting her attention back to the struggle at hand.

An axe sunk down into the sand just inches in front of her, and instead of simply raising the weapon again, the reaper charged forward with the head still buried in the ground in an attempt to crush her underfoot. Rolling aside, she narrowly managed to avoid the assault, and crippled the reaper by slitting its hamstrings. It came crashing down to its knees with a shriek of pain. Kryssis turned a sabre upside down and sank it deep into the thing's back, sawing it up through the beast's spine. It convulsed and choked, blood leaking from its mouth, until it slumped forward. Its slid off her sword, its own weight sufficient to unsheath her weapon from its corpse.

Her eyes turned up and caught on a sight aside from the main fray. A lone figure facing off against several reapers at once. Most were dead, but one was just injured and seemed rather vengeful. It was hell-bent on claiming a kill, and the fighter's attention seemed to have been pulled from this approaching threat. Ordinarily Kryssis would have seen this as merely an unworthy warrior being killed by their own carelessness. The desert claims weakness with death, as was the order of life among the wastes. But something stirred down in her gut that pushed her feet against every command her mind yelled out in indignation. She closed in on the reaper just as it was about to strike and with a swing of her sabres the head went falling to the sand with a heavy thump! and rolled off down the slope a ways. She spared the girl a glance, her face expressionless, and then raced back into the battle.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: Kryssis Wyvernjack Character Portrait: David Hayes

0.00 INK

#, as written by Aporia
The roar of the woman came from the other side of the fray and as savage as it was, David couldn't help but find something strangely hollow in it, but that was the least of his concerns. The two he had downed were definitely not out, though there wasn't much to fear out of the crawling one, the sand reaper with the spear was definitely more apt despite the hole in his chest, his spirit not even dampered by the wound. Had this not been a fight to the death, he'd have complimented the warrior, but is it ever not to the death?
"Kriauklė ir mirti!" Not only had the reaper no footing in his step but the hole that suddenly opened by his feet enveloped his whole body, the sand closing the gap between the reaper and the air. The shepherd ran through the sand atop the reaper, only to be confronted by three more and the idea of running away was starting to lead way. Already, he was covered in sweat, his blood running hot through his head aiding the heat.

At the very moment he had turned to run the other way from the three giants, the roar of a true monster echoed through the air, and the sight of the creature was horrifying as he ripped through enemies like a hot knife through butter.

Fear was never a common response to David. Caution, yes, wariness, yes but fear? For the first time in a long while he felt fear, in just a second, before turning a 180 back to the reapers. Strange though, if it wasn't for that fear, the shepherd surely would have been killed as easily.
"Augimas ir uždanga!" He shouted, the sand rising up in a circle around him, blocking the sight from himself and the enemies. The shepherd crouched low and dodged to the right of his veil of sand, flanking the reapers who had slashed through it, just then the low whistling came to earshot.

David felt a rush of adrenaline as he ran to the flank of the last reaper to the back of the three that was charging him, taking his crook in both hands and using the loop to catch the tall one's throat from behind. The reaper, though as strong as he was, was forced to arch his back at the sudden weight on his back and as the other two reapers turned to the sudden choking of his ally, the arrow volley had hit them all at once, their anguished scrams of pain mixed and mangled as they were pierced.

David's shoulder torn by one of the stray arrows, losing his focus for a moment and nearly let the dead weight of the reaper behind him crush him and just barely managed to keep from getting crushed by it, his leg pinned for a moment before pulling it out then crawling on the sand floor before getting back on his feet, David could feel the heavy tremors of a giant approaching through his feet and hands. That slash in his side was starting to burn but he clenched his teeth to ignore the pain as he turned to watch the giant, fully armored none the less, closing in on a speed too fast to dodge to the side.

The beast had swung it's sword wildly and as high as it towered, would only make the fall that much harder, the only chance was to meet the thing head on or risk getting slashed if he tried to run.
"Smėlis šydas!" David had shouted just as the half-ogre was going to run him over, bringing a thin, easily breakable wall of sand in between them to block the thing's line of sight, lowering his body to just inches above the sand floor, and running through it easily, aiming for the gap in between the legs but his shoulder would be slightly off, looking like it was going to going to crash into the monster's knee instead.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: David Hayes

0.00 INK

#, as written by Wake
It was far too big to be called a sword.

Too heavy, too thick, and far too rough, it was more like a heap of raw iron...

It had its own beauty, in a way. Looking at it while it was still, or being carried on its owner's back, you couldn't really appreciate it. It was just a piece of metal, far too massive for any practical use.

But when it was in motion...

Well. That was a different matter.

GLETCH!

The first reaper lost his head, from the jaw up.

KRAK...

As the second caught the blade in his ribs, and they splintered as it ground through, spraying a tidal wave of red on the third reaper...

SSSSSSKKKKTTT...

As the last one tried to dodge right, and ended up catching the line of the swing on his side, and losing a chunk which included his arm, and the left side of his face.

And the sword stopped. The immense blade, with all of its momentum focused on cutting LEFT, stopped.

Paused.

And then arced RIGHT.

And a fourth reaper, with two knives... the one who had hung back, leaped at the behemoth in midswing, planning to get inside it's reach and take it apart...

SQUITCH.

He didn't have a second to scream, before the sword caught him at the hip, and tore through his body like a bolt from a ballista, scattering his entrails across the sand. The behemoth continued its warpath. It would bark, snarl, and howl as it went cleaving and crushing it's way through all that were unfortunate to stand too close.

He was use to this. The arrows whizzing by his head. The weight of his sword in his hands. The blood, the battle, the slaughter. It was used to such things. For the Mad Cur, the violence was like an old acquaintance that never truly left, and for once the bestial man was glad for its company. Ever since those blasted mages sent their half dead puppets after him to rob him of what little semblance of humanity he had left he had needed this. Something to distract him, even if only momentarily, from the emptiness that had only increased since he had been made a half dead puppet himself.

A puppet. Ha. The world surely loved cruel irony. He was no stranger to that either.

However the giant would find a brief interruption to his rhythmic slaughter. A wall of sand burst up in front of him mid swing, and he found himself blinded for a moment. Then something collided with his leg.

Already committed to the swing of it's sword, the behemoth stumbled as it was shaken. The swing of the titanic blade ended prematurely, landing into the ground to act as a support for the giant. It's vision still blocked by the dust cloud left by the remains of the sand wall, the beast could only snarl and lash out a hard kick towards whatever had tripped it.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: Alexa Morrow Character Portrait: Kryssis Wyvernjack

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#, as written by Zentose

Alexa Morrow


Alexa had her hand on her dagger and her other hand on her blade, knowing she hadn't the speed to take out the Reaper, or even avoid the blow. There was some irony to it, really. Being killed in the Desert, in the middle of nowhere, when helping Deadmen. The Reaper was bringing its weapon down upon Alexa, when its head was detached from its body. There was a slight thump when the head fell against the sands, and a louder one when its body fell to the ground, lifeless. A woman, a Deadman, was there, her blades soaked in Reaper blood. Her face showed no emotion, yet her body showed ferocity. She threw a glance Alexa's way, which Alexa met with her own. Her eyes were beautiful in their own way, different, some might say inhuman.

"Thank-" Alexa began before the woman charged off into the fray once more, "-you..." Her movement was gorgeous, feral, bestial, but logical, it was mesmerizing, Alexa felt like she was in a trance for a moment as she watched the woman run and fight. She snapped out of it after a moment and grabbed her bow again. The pain in her right arm was manageable, and she would get to it once the Reapers were all dead. The Deadmen were sending a volley of arrows down upon the Reapers, their numbers grew thin while the Deadmen pressed on. Alexa saw the monstrous creature clad in armor that she saw back at Gaudis, it was slicing through the crowd a reapers like a warm knife through soft butter. He was a beast, plain and simple. The bad feeling she had when she first laid eyes on him was amplified as he fought.

Moving her gaze away from the beast, she returned her gaze to the ever decreasing horde of Reapers, if they had been human, they would have fled. She raised her bow once more and began to fire into the horde, this time it was very unlikely that they would have the strength to send another detachment her way.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: Alexa Morrow Character Portrait: Kryssis Wyvernjack Character Portrait: David Hayes

0.00 INK

#, as written by Aporia
For just a moment, David had just stopped from the mere shock and surprise of the effect of his action, seemingly halting the beast in its place as his shoulder collided into the thing's leg. Just as quickly, he tried pushing into the thing's leg but with no effect, both the shepherd was not strong enough and that beast too heavy.

With one hand on the sand near the beast's foot, the sand spirits spoke in schizophrenic voices, demanding blood, peace, rot, and change, and now even the water spirits spoke, arguing with the latter. The incantations felt heavier as they left the shepherd's lips,strained and reduced to a whisper.

"Kelionės ir sustabdyti mano-"

The kick took the tiny man completely off guard, taking all the air out of his lungs sending him flying a few meters ahead through the dust cloud, and landing hard on his bloody side, his crook fallen somewhere in the sand. The pain swam in his head like acid to his brain, blurred for a moment, his ears ringing, seemingly dead until the blurred shape of something came into his view. A rush of instinct took over as he finally inhaled a breath of fresh air and plunged the knife in his left hand into the feet of the reaper that was too busy.

David got back to his feet quickly, his gut aching as he did so, and slashed the reaper's bare hamstrings. When the creature fell to it's knees, the shepherd realized how he did it so easily, coming up from behind the warrior, and it having his hands full with the wild woman carrying the two scimitars. The marked face of the shepherd gazed upon her for just a moment before he jumped to the back of the kneeling reaper and kicked off it to the opposite direction, using the downed creature as an obstacle and to run from the woman who so easily tore into these creatures.

His footing was just off, nearly falling before recovering and discovered the original beast that had so easily reduced him to such pain, in the direction he was running towards. In a mix of desperation and survival instinct, turned on the balls of his feet to the side, where a sand reaper wielding a battle-axe that was taller then David himself stood, and he stopped in place, falling backwards on the side as the creature was ready to strike.

The desert was too hot to fight in, the heat taking it's toll on the man's endurance and his spirit, frantically letting loose words from his lips, panicking too much for them to take effect.

The arrows pierced the reaper's side in an instant, these not from an ordinary volley, but just a single lone archer that he couldn't see. In that instant the beast paused, as if stunned for the moment, garnering the opportunity for the shepherd to get back on his feet, spotting his crook lying a few feet away, near the beast.

David didn't see the same hulking monster everyone else saw, he barely saw any creature as one of a whole but just limbs and parts, simple, easy targets. There was no such thing as thinking. Just do.

The shepherd panted, desperate for air as he looked at the giant, swaying left to right, spotting and swiftly picking up the head of a beheaded warrior by his feet, lips moving ever so softly.
Didysis smėlis, gali jums padėti mano žingsnis-" He charged straight towards the giant, shouting the last words to the top of his voice like a battle cry,

"ir aklųjų mano priešai!" The wind blew for a moment, before the sand around the warrior suddenly kicked up, creating a large sand-cloud to lower the visibility.

Just as the shepherd stopped on the balls of his feet to jump and roll to the other side, he threw the disembodied head of the reaper at the Thing to give it a false lead in it's blindness. From now, he'd rely on his memory and what shapes he could make out neaar him, going towards and feeling the crook that lay near the ground of the creature as he quickly circled around it, ready to use it's extra length to hook the thing's neck from behind. Even with the full weight of his body, he'd have to push with his legs against the creature's back to make him yield.

Ha. Yield. In the very least take him to the ground and try to use the knife to stab through the armor.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: David Hayes

0.00 INK

#, as written by Wake
Once again the sand was upon him. The dust blotting out his sight. The giant was growing annoyed by this. A small perk of becoming a 'deadman' was loss of the requirement to breathe, leaving the constant distortion of his sight only to infuriate him. How was he supposed to crush the little bone men like this.

Then a severed head bounce off the side of his helmet and the giants already short patience snapped.

Underneath his armor, runes carved into his flesh began to glow and burn. He clasped tight onto his sword, dug his feet into the sand, and swung. The beast continued the swing, over reach itself until its whole body began to turn in a spin. And as it spun in a wide arc, waves of an invisible force billowed out from the behemoth.

HATE.

Pure and and undiluted hate. It poured out, flowing over the battle and those near by. A hate so strong it felt crushing to those that experienced it. So fierce it caused the near by reapers to back away in fear. A hate so heavy that even the spirits that had been called to surround the beast felt it, and paused.

And then the beast finished it's spin and then sensation vanished. The runes upon his flesh put themselves out as he dug the the sword into the ground once more. The feeling had only lasted a handful of seconds, but even behemoth had felt it and was left in a small daze.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: Kryssis Wyvernjack

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Image

Bones broke and muscle ripped, flesh tore and blood dripped. The eyes grew wide and then went dark with death, the song of killing would never end. Kryssis fought like a demonic dog, savagely tearing into any reapers who came too near. Whether she had first engaged, or simply finished them off, it didn't matter. Nothing but the warm spray and splatter. She was focused, so intent, on the way they dropped and stopped their breathing, screams of pain and cries of anger- a symphony of cracking limbs and slopping innards. She stabbed and slashed and split and skewered. The more they bled the faster she fought, ignoring the beast among their number- just enough to be aware of where he stood.. or swung, for that matter. Each gash and every cut only had her attacking faster. Her hunger burned with an endless ire. This was her revenge for being dead! The living would join her in this misery!

She stumbled to a stop, her eyes going wide. Something surged within her, almost.. making her feel alive? It was nothing of love or joy, no sensation of physical connection to the world around her. It was.. hate. Her rage turned cold, and with more energy than she'd mustered ever since her death she tore into the shaken reapers, cutting down several in quick succession. Animal senses awoke within her, giving rise to another level of vicious slaughter. It went as swift as it had come, and Kryssis was slowing soon as the spell faded. Her head felt thick and her arms seemed heavy. She labored for a moment like an addict falling from their high. It almost ended in her death- well, her second death. An axe came rushing down aimed toward her head. Had it hit it would have split her down the center, but she managed to avoid the wicked edge. Rolling to her feet, she pounced on the reaper, cutting at its arms and forcing it to drop its weapon. In shock it tried to slam her with its fists, but she was already moving behind the beast, sinking a sword into a space between its armor. The steel slid deep, pushing between its ribs and eviscerating its vital organs. The reaper let out a gargled yelp and slumped over. Kryssis breathed deep, relishing what she could the feel of the kill, and took this instant to get her bearings. The reapers were nearly all spent, their warriors cut down and laying in heaps across the sand. Visions of battlefields from her past flooded her mind, and she grinned- assessing the death toll of either side scattered around.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Trista Anerwyn Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: Alexa Morrow Character Portrait: Kryssis Wyvernjack Character Portrait: David Hayes

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Trista Anerwyn


The forces of both ends had considerably thinned. Trista raised her head and looked off to the side, feeling a wave of uneasiness wash over her for a second or two. It definitely wasn't in her imagination, as those further off seemed to charge more aggressively than they had before, which wasn't surprising for the reapers, but for the Deadmen that was certainly something new. She might have to investigate the cause some time later. She wiped the blood from her sword, noticing that all of the remaining reapers were engaged in combat unlike the Deadmen, some of whom were already sitting down to rest in the middle of an ongoing battle. Stepping indifferently over the corpse of a Deadman that had been split vertically in half, she made a brief headcount of who had made it out so far and the totals were as expected, aside from a few anomalies.

The barbarian girl and the armored warrior were still standing, which Trista had largely anticipated, and while that in and of itself was a merit, they had also managed to rack up a formidable death count under their names. Skill was a valuable asset in a world where so many fell to death of inadequacy and she was glad to have them on her side, despite the implications likely to have arrived with the package.

And then there were the outsiders: The man with the shepherd's cane and the rogue archer. The former was currently having some trouble dealing with the released half-ogre, so she might have to lend a hand over there. As for the girl with the bow, she seemed to be in need of some triage, although that wasn't to say that the man was not. She couldn't let debts go unpaid, but there was only so much that was in her power to give, so aside from that, the most she could offer was a ride back to Gaudis in the wagons. It was a simple matter, considering that the caravans will be considerably lighter on their return trip. The vultures and scavengers can have what remained of the dead and dying.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: David Hayes

0.00 INK

#, as written by Aporia
With the shepherd's crook in hand, David was ready to get behind the half-ogre, until the thing started to swing its blade round and round, clearing the sandstorm

Then he had felt it.

Not the blade, he was close enough but just a bit...though that would have been a mercy.

It felt like the waves of the water crashing against him as he drowned but the heat made it seem like it was lava, pushing through the skin, straight into the organs, and out the other side, a heat that not even the desert can contain. Every piece of skin burned before he just shut off, for what seemed to be dead but still standing.

There was peace. Not a single sound existed in that one moment. Peace and quiet. Not a singl-

"KILLDESTROYTHEMWEARTHEIRBONESANDEATTHEIRMARROWKILLDESTROYTHEMWEARTHEIRBONESANDEATTHEIRMARROWERASETHEMFROMEXISTENCEDESTROYTHEMALL-" The spirits that'd helped came all at once, their voices screaming and growling, shouting insults, the rage in each and every one filled him with new life.

He wanted every forest to be razed through the ground, every city demolished beyond recongnition, every smile torn off from the lips, everyone hung, slaughtered, quartered, and crushed beneath his heel.

Rage was such a new emotion. There was anguish, instinct, sadness but rage? There was only one thing he could think to do with this rage, although think is hardly a word to call it because he'd forget his own name at this time.

Although it has seemed the beast hasn't seen him yet, what did that matter? The shepherd sprinted from the side of the creature's side, the grip on his crook and knife enough to burst his hands and turn his knuckles white. His body moved without thought, planning to jump and use the crook to hook the neck, his legs to kick the thing in the head, and repeatedly shout the words "Die!" at him with the rage of the spirits flowing through him, the voices of six going through the neck of one. Should he have downed the thing, he'd have called on the rage-fuellled spirits to choke the thing, and stand, victorious.

Why he needed to kill, he didn't know, and of then, didn't care.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: David Hayes Character Portrait: Eolan Kalris

0.00 INK

#, as written by Mosinau
It wasn't long before the fighting had died down to the point where Eolan considered it safe to enter the battlefield. There had only been a few dozen reapers in the first place, and at least half of them had been defeated by those two alone. A few remained, most surrounded by small groups of deadmen trying to kill them from a safe distance; they had suffered enough casualties as it was. He walked down the hill and looked over at the broken canal with resignation. It was hard to be disappointed when he hadn't expected anything but a mundane cause for the problem in the first place, but he was getting nowhere at this rate.
The reaper he had killed did nothing to mitigate that, as it was carrying nothing but trophies and his weapons. Eolan supposed it had not been a shaman after all, but the tribe's champion, considering its size was comparable to that of their half-ogre. He glanced around him for clues, and his eyes quickly fell upon the outsider he had seen enter the fray earlier. The man's aim had been unclear at the time, but it seemed he was aligned with the reapers, as he was currently engaged in combat with one of Trista's company. Was he the one? He did seem to be using a form of shamanistic magic.
Eolan stood and took several steps toward the fight, putting himself between the duo and the water, then curved its trajectory, sending the spray toward the two at a speed sufficient to throw any man to the ground.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: David Hayes Character Portrait: Eolan Kalris

0.00 INK

#, as written by Wake
The annoyance was back. But this time it had promoted itself to 'pest'.

The behemoth snarled as the stranger clambered onto it's back and started kicking it in the back of the head. It's balance wobbled slightly under the sudden assault. However it was used to others trying such attacks and soon regained it's footing and started thrashing and bucking in an attempt to dislodge the fool from it's back. It brought it's free hand up to try and grab at the man, to pull him off so it would be easier to smash him into paste.

Then they both were struck by a large stream of water, and the giant found itself toppling onto it's back.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: David Hayes Character Portrait: Eolan Kalris

0.00 INK

#, as written by Aporia
David could feel the beast buckle in place and had grinned a wide smile as he thought the thing was gonna collapse but that hope soon disappeared when the half-ogre didn't and straightened itself. The rage from the spirits still fueled the shepherd's persistence as he took out a knife and tried to stab through the armor but to avail, the blade snapping in half, the strikes meaningless against the armor. The hopelessness of the situation hadn't dawned on the enraged man and the beast's hand coming towards him remained unknown to him, blinded by anger and frustration as he smacked the broken knife atop the beast's helmet.

It happened so quickly, he could barely comprehend what had happened until he was on the ground, his back aching as it hit the sand, his body wet, and coughing out water as he tried to get up. All the fiery rage that burned in his soul was put out and his consciousness came back as he examined the water around him staining the sand. Water? Like the sudden attack on the leader on the reaper side of combat. The water spirits of the desert spoke of the man that had manipulated them and the shepherd turned his attention to the robed man that was a bit far away, looking at the flock of sheep guarded by Abe in the far distance for a brief moment before glancing back at the wizard.

Something didn't make sense here. At first, the shepherd had thought both sides were hostiles, one side confirmed when they eagerly attacked him. The other side operated in almost a military fashion, the combination of arrow volleys and foot soldiers, and now magic, yet the inclusion of the beast he'd been fighting...something didn't make sense. Too plentiful to be bandits,
"Iki?"
The water spirits had no problem with the suggestion, rising up from the sand, and floating behind the shaman as he walked a couple of steps toward the wizard, the battlefield seemingly picked of most enemies.
"Draugų ir skandinti didelis vienas."
Some of the liquid floated off to the beast on the ground and started to form a sphere of water around his helmet.

"Who are you people?" The shepherd shouted at the wizard, at the ready to fight if need be, despite the pain that seemed to be everywhere.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: David Hayes Character Portrait: Eolan Kalris

0.00 INK

#, as written by Mosinau
Eolan started walking toward them immediately following the attack, and lifted the water off the half-ogre's head. Deadmen had no need to breath, as he recalled, but it could anger him regardless. "The Deadman division," Eolan replied without slowing down as a twist of his hand sent the sphere flying in a tight arc, and straight into the shaman's chest with the force of a strong punch.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Trista Anerwyn Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: Alexa Morrow Character Portrait: David Hayes Character Portrait: Eolan Kalris

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Trista Anerwyn


Trista was just about getting ready to intervene when a call from behind turned her attention away from the scene. A Deadman stood at her side, gesturing and pointing to the bow-wielding woman she had spotted earlier, who was now heading toward the wagons. Figuring that the problem would work itself out eventually, she left the three men to their own devices and began walking back, sheathing her blade and dusting off her gloved hands. As the scent of blood quickly began to fade away from her senses, she felt the wind begin to pick up, and with it the dry, bitter taste of the desert.

"Good work out there," Trista commended, looking up at the woman as she approached her. "You look like you could use a hand. We've got men on standby that can patch you up and I'm willing to offer you a ride to Gaudis if you're interested." This kind of thing didn't happen too often and she decided it was as good a time as any to display a little hospitality every now and then. "Wouldn't mind getting you a drink when we get back either. Unless you're not the drinking type, of course."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Trista Anerwyn Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: Alexa Morrow Character Portrait: Kryssis Wyvernjack Character Portrait: David Hayes Character Portrait: Eolan Kalris

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Her hands shifted around the hilts of her sabres, eyes steady locked onto the battle between the giant and the two men of magic. Something inside her wanted to get in on the skirmish, but as it seemed it was already dying down that urge dwindled and disappeared. She cast her gaze about - side to side - and slid one of her swords into its scabbard, turning and heading back toward the wagons. The slaughter was done with, nothing more demanded her attention. Nothing more interested her, to be blunt. Absorbing the sight of the dead and dying littering the sand - soaked with water and blood - was the next best thing to a fight. The heavy scent of iron in the air had her lips curling softly into a smile for a few moments, her eyes sparkling at the butchered humans and reapers, both. She envied the Deadmen who'd been killed, truthfully. She hated this stiffening prison more than she could ever express in word - and not for any lack of intelligence. This abhorrence went beyond description, it could only be known by its bearer alone.

As she neared the train of covered transports, she noticed the girl from earlier.. the one she'd saved. Trista was speaking to her. Kryssis paused, her expression muddled between interest and confusion. Why had she saved this person? It wasn't as if she cared. So many had been killed by her side in the battle, and she hadn't so much as tried to help them. But she had gone out of her way to rush to this girl's aid, and she could not figure out the reason behind this act if her life depended on her. It had been a split decision, something vague- undefined. Spiritual was not the right word, because Kryssis lacked any religious side these days. Of course, beforehand the nearest interpretation of "spiritual" as far as she was personally concerned was much different than it was for most others.

Gathering herself together, the Wyvernjack's eyes darkened to indifference. This was not something she could let take root. She may be dead, but she was still herself inside. She was a warrior, forged through pain, anger, death and hardship! She cared only for herself, and involved herself with others only so far as how to hurt them the most. She sheathed her second sword and walked around one of the wagons, climbing in and laying down atop one of the benches, crossing her arms over her chest. Her eyes stayed open, glued to the canvas overhead.

Goddammit, it still bothered her.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Randle Ludak Character Portrait: David Hayes Character Portrait: Eolan Kalris

0.00 INK

#, as written by Aporia
The mere shock the name he had heard stopped him in place as he repeated the name to himself. "The Deadman Division? Bull-"

The water that hit David in the chest pushed the man back a bit, pressure forcing his chest back before suddenly letting go, a light bruise bound to let it's mark. The memory of the man who refused to give him a ride on his wagon suddenly came ringing through his ears again. "Yeah, but I heard they're sending in the Deadmen."

The so-called "attack" was more like something of a warning. "How do I even know you're deadman at all? Where's that-"

And just then, David spotted it, hanging on the cloth of the mage, that little, tiny lapel. He had to squint. It has been a long time since the shepherd had saw one.

"Oh. My apologies?" He started to walk back towards the direction of his sheep, his eyes still on the two of them "So...I'll just go...back to my flock." David said, motioning to the direction, before holding the bloody wound on his side.