Raymond "Ray"'s Story

Despite being among twenty-nine other armed men, Raymond couldn't help but feel on edge. The bandit group that they were tracking down was a ruthless bunch, with a notoriety for the merciless. Most of the people in this group were townspeople who had tired of how the bandits seemed to think that they ruled the region. Raymond was here because he had been paid to retrieve an heirloom that belonged to the local priest's daughter, a necklace that once belonged to her late mother.

Raymond unconsciously stroked the band hanging on a chain around his neck. He'd accepted the pay, but he knew the kind of pain that the family was going through. It was like losing their loved one a second time. He had every intention of returning the money with the necklace.

The abandoned fortress that the bandits were using as their base of operations came into view, but there were no bandits. The hair on the back of Raymond's neck stood up right on end, and he drew his weapon: a steel longsword, its grip a hand-and-a-half long.

The first thrown axe embedded itself into the chest of the man standing right next to Raymond. The man was knocked onto his back by the lethal projectile, which had gone blade-first right into his ribs. The second axe, Raymond knocked out of the air with his longsword as it whizzed towards him. The resounding thunk as his metal blade slapped at the wooden shaft of the weapon was met with the resounding thunder of bandits screaming bloody war-cries at the tops of their lungs as they descended, twenty-strong, upon the villagers: axes against hatchets, swords against sickles, pitchforks against lances, and real armor against tanned leather. Even with the advantage of numbers, Raymond knew immediately that they were screwed.

Still, he refused to go down without a fight. Turning towards the nearest bandit, he charged forwards, longsword held low. The bandit hefted his own sword, a monster of a broadsword, and met Raymond's charge with his own. Raymond dodged the man's first swing easily, avoiding a swipe that would've snapped him like a twig had the massive cleaving blade connected. Continuing his charge as his foe struggled with his unwieldy weapon, Raymond drove his sword up to its hilt in the brigand's stomach, and then tore the weapon free, the sharpened blade parting flesh and gore and gut before it. The brigand collapsed into the building pool of his own blood, and Raymond turned back to the group he'd come with.

It was a massacre. The villagers fought bravely, but their numbers had been halved, while only managing to bring down a few of the bandits. Counting the one Raymond had just ended, the odds were fifteen bandits to himself and fourt -- thirteen villagers. He watched as one of the bandits drove his axe onto the head of the unsuspecting villager locked in combat with another bandit. The man's head split open with a splash of blood, bone, and brain.

No, if they wanted to live, they needed help.

A young man in a long, black cloak plodded down the mountain trail, hunched over, folding his arms over his chest and shivering under his cloak. He was not quite prepared for the drop in temperature after leaving Plegia, and things would only worsen once he got to Ferox. He tried to cast his mind from the cold and continued walking. The temperature wasn't the only thing that had changed, the scenery had been gradually getting lusher on his travels, but the mountains were hardly flowing with vegetation. Still, there were enough fruit-bearing trees around for him to scavenge a decent amount of free food.

It hadn't been long since he'd left Plegia; only a few days. He missed the warmth and safety of his manor back in Plegia, but he wouldn't get to enjoy its comfort if he was drafted into the military. As a dark mage, he would be at the top of Plegia's list for potential soldiers, but he would be one of the worst possible candidates. The rigorous physical training would break him, he wouldn't be able to keep up with the tight schedule and wasn't the sort of man to take orders. However, what he was good at was casting magic, particularly of the elder variety. Dark magic had unrivalled stopping power, and hexes could prove useful for all sorts of situations. This man was Cedric Blackmore, Grimleal acolyte and apprentice dark mage.

Further down the path Cedric began to hear shouting in the distance. Fearing conflict, he pulled up his hood, but hurried over to investigate.

A scene of bloodshed awaited him. Two groups were locked in combat; perhaps rival bandit clans? It was hard to distinguish who was on which side; some combatants were clad in sets of armour that were at least functional, whereas the others had nothing better than leather breastplates, through which their enemies' blades could easily tear, and farm implements. However, there were two who stood out from the others: a young man with a proper sword and brigandine, and a monster of a man who looked like a bandit himself, but was clearly on the other side. Perhaps they were merely villagers, and only the other side were bandits. Cedric felt sorry for them, but he had fled Plegia to avoid conflict, not to get mixed up in it.

However, he wasn't left much of a choice. A war cry from the foliage to his left quickly grasped his attention; an armed man was charging towards him, his lance poised to skewer Cedric. It would have, too, had Cedric not managed to pull off a timely sidestep, which he followed up with a discharge of dark magic directed at the brigand's left leg. The spell blew off his entire leg, causing him to fall over. The man began to cry out in agony, but Cedric couldn't have him drawing any attention. Cedric lacked the guts to kill him, so he wiped some of the brigand's spattered blood from his cloak with his fingers, released a small amount of dark magic into the blood and then blew on it. The bandit's cries abruptly stopped, not because he was dead, but because he was suddenly incapable of making any sound at all. He stared in terror, awe and confusion at Cedric, a stare that gained the response: "Silence hex."

Cedric couldn't simply leave now that he had been dragged into the conflict, so he pulled his hood down further and slunk into the fray. He didn't intend to kill anyone, but that wouldn't stop him from causing some damage. He sneaked up behind a bandit, kneed him in the back and followed through with a lick of fire to the man's thighs, which would prevent him from standing. He also kicked his sword away, just to be safe. If anyone was the leader of this ragtag bunch, it would be the swordsman in the brigandine, so he offered him a nod to inform him that he was here to help. The nod delivered, he slipped back into the shadows to find his next target.

Raymond struck out against another bandit, his steel weapon hacking easily through the man's unprotected neck, only to stop as the steel blade embedded itself into the man's vertebrae. Raymond's sword came free as the dead man's unsupported weight toppled, and Raymond quickly used it to parry the strike of another bandit.

The bandit dropped, and Raymond watched as flames consumed his legs and a foot kicked the man's sword away. Raymond caught the Mage's nod before he disappeared back into the shadow of the trees, and smiled. Help had indeed arrived.

The bandits, it seemed, were becoming demoralized as one of their own number turned on them, swinging an incredible battle axe with all of his might, the brute force and rage of his strikes pulverizing bone without regard to the armor placed between the weapon and its target.

As Raymond surveyed the field again, he smiled. The tide, it seemed, had shifted. The villagers had taken heart, and were fighting with a renewed zeal and vengeance. Though reduced to less than a third of their original number, nine zealous villagers seemed to be just enough of a match for the eight bandits arrayed against them.

Raymond moved towards the man who seemed to be the bandit leader, and recognized the necklace he was wearing. "You have something that doesn't belong to you, you bastard." Raymond said, just loud enough for the bandit leader to hear.

The man snarled, and charged in, his axe raised high. Raymond tried to duck away from the strike, but felt white hot pain shoot through his side as the bandit leader's axe took a bite out of Raymond's side and sent him crashing to the ground. He scrambled up in time to be kicked a full two feet by the bandit leader. Raymond's stomach and lungs burned in pain, and his sword left his hand.

Was this how he was to die? Laying on the ground, helpless and weak?

Cedric slipped from the shadows shortly after leaving the swordsman to take out his next target. He sprung up behind him and set off a Flux spell, directed at the brigand's back. It hit him, but he quickly jumped away before it could do any crippling damage. All Cedric had done was anger him. Axe raised, he charged at Cedric and swung it down at Cedric. Cedric only just managed to dodge in time; it grazed his shoulder and knocked down his hood. The bandit seemed surprised that such youthful and innocent features lay beneath the hood, giving Cedric the opportunity to catch him off guard. Another Flux spell had him lying on the ground and spluttering out blood. By the time he knew what had happened, Cedric had slid back into the treeline; the only sign of him was a short glimpse of his black hood.

The tide of battle seemed to be turning, the villagers now outnumbered the bandits and their morale was rapidly increasing, a stark contrast to that of the bandits, who seemed horrified that they could be losing to angry peasants with farm tools. Things were looking up, until the villagers' leader was rammed down by the bandit chieftain. He clearly wasn't going to survive if left to fend for himself, and Cedric was the only one close enough to help. He had to act quickly, so he instinctively launched a fireball at the chieftain's wrist. It made contact, causing the man to flinch, drop his axe and grasp his wrist. However, he wasn't phased for long and wasted no time in hurling his fist at Cedric. This time Cedric didn't manage to dodge, and was sent staggering backwards. While he was stunned, the chieftain drew a dagger from his belt with his functional hand and thrust it at Cedric. Cedric grabbed the man's wrist with both hands and tried to push it back, but he was no way near as strong as his opponent. The bandit knew this, and pushed even harder, sending Cedric staggering backwards, and delighted in the look of shock and terror plastered over Cedric's now-revealed face.

Cedric had no time to think; it was do or die. A flick of his wrist unleashed a Flux spell that tore apart the brigand's torso, killing him with ease. A locket on a chain dropped from his corpse and clattered down at Cedric's feet. He picked it up and to his surprise, it opened with a click. Inside was a portrait of a young girl and her parents, who looked like members of the clergy. Cedric had never been a supporter of the church of Naga, but raiding a monastery was beyond low. He pocketed the locket, perhaps there was a relative in the area who would like to have something to remember their family by.

Cedric turned his attention back to the young man on the ground. He walked over and extended a trembling hand to help the man up, but he was still struggling to come to terms with the fact that he had just killed a man and maimed several others. He had pulled his hood up again, since his expression was even more of a giveaway than his trembling body.

The battle slowly died down as more and more bodies hit the floor; most of them being bandit bodies. Drago was still in a furious rage, swinging his axe all around. He cleaved through the air until the sharpened metal made contact with flesh. His eyes were bloodshot, but he did have aim and understanding of his surroundings. He took precautions to not attack the villagers, although some would charge at him mistaking him for a bandit. Drago would just injure the few confused villagers, either knocking them down or unconscious.

As much sparks and blood there was in the air, Drago also saw signs of magic. A hooded man moved like the shadows and only incapacitated enemy bandits with their sorcery. The village leader fought bravely and valiantly. That is, until the pretty-boy bandit leader had him down on the grown. The mage once again came out of nowhere and saved the village leader's life. The amount of power mage's possess is shocking. With just a wave of his hand the bandit leader's chest was torn open, leaving a bleeding carcass to lay in the field.

The last bandit left standing held up his axe as multiple villagers closed in on him, he wasn't going to go down without a fight. He felt a large tap on his shoulder and turned around, ready to strike. Just as the shadow of a man came into view he got a face full of fist. Drago rubbed his knuckles as he looked down at the bandit's body. A one hit knock out.

Drago walked over to the bandit leader's body laying next to the hooded man and the village leader. It's eyes were closed and mouth was frozen into a smirk that mocked Drago. He kicked the body, sending it tumbling over, leaving a large blood trail from the mage's attack. Drago knelt down and pulled a pouch of coins from the bodies belt. He bounced the bag in his hand, weighing it. "You're short", Drago spit onto the carcass.

He turned around to see some villagers holding pitchforks and various sharp farm tools to him. Drago put his hands up, "Woah now. Put the tools down and there doesn't have to be any more bloodshed".

Raymond took the hooded man's hand dumbly, and dragged himself to his feet. His mind was still reeling, replaying what had just happened. He scooped up his sword, and sheathed it. His wits about him once again, he decided to survey the carnage.

Bodies were splayed everywhere, both bandit and villager. He counted all bandits good and dead, minus one, who was standing in the middle of a pack of the eight villagers who hadn't died today. Raymond recognized the bandit as the man who had turned against the rest of the bandit group.

"Easy, you guys." Raymond said calmly, stepping towards the bandit. Raymond found himself looking up into the man's eyes. "Thanks you for your help." He turned to the dark mage. "And you, as well. Without you two joining this fight, we wouldn't have stood a snowball's chance in Plegia of surviving these bandits."

He sighed, and went over to the upper half of the bandit leader's body, following where the larger man had kicked it. Raymond noticed that the necklace that he'd been wearing when Raymond had fought him was gone now. He rolled over the upper half of the man, hoping that it had simply fallen off of him. When he didn't find it then, he followed the trail of blood back to where the man had originally fallen. He still hadn't found it.

He shook his head. That wasn't important. Raymond turned back to the turncoat bandit. "You. Do you know if these late-bastards have anything in the way of transportation that they won't be needing anymore?"

Drago kept counting the coins in his hand over and over again,

"39, 40, 41, 42, 43. Forty three gold pieces! I was promised 80! Damn greedy dog".

"You. Do you know if these late-bastards have anything in the way of transportation that they won't be needing anymore?"

Drago looked out onto the field and the carcasses that now litter it. Many of the bandit weapons had been dulled in the fight, or smashed into pieces by none other than yours truly.

"These filthy rats? They have some pity fortress up ahead. If you can even call it a fortress. I was there, they cleared out like a pack of hungry wolves. I can't promise you it's vacant though." Drago scratched his scruff around his neck. "In fact, it better be cleared out. I'm about to head into there and take back what's mine. Follow if you want".

Drago lifted his large ax over his shoulder and began walking over bodies, towards the fortress.

"Thanks you for your help. Without you two joining this fight, we wouldn't have stood a snowball's chance in Plegia of surviving these bandits."
"Think nothing of it." Cedric replied, "Had I not fought them, I would have been killed, too."

"I'm about to head into there and take back what's mine. Follow if you want".
Cedric was at once suspicious; what if he was leading them into another ambush? The fortress would be an even better place to attack since all the bandits knew its layout and the villagers didn't. However, this man had just killed several of his comrades, but bandits didn't tend to have scruples about killing their brethren to further their own goals. However, Cedric didn't think it would be a good idea to tell the six foot two muscle-head with an axe that he didn't trust him. So, he simply stayed quiet and followed him.

The doors of the fortress had been left open, granting easy entrance. Nobody had tried to murder Cedric yet, so that was a good sign. The inside of the fortress was even more derelict than its exterior; cobwebs and moss adorned every nook and cranny, not to mention the stench of ale, blood and excrement. Cedric decided that it would be best to go and look for the means of transport that the swordsman had mentioned.

It didn't take long for him to find the stables, if they could still be called that. In reality, it was only two horses tied to posts and a wagon. Upon inspection, Cedric deducted that it would be possible to fit all the remaining villagers into it, so he untied the horses, harnessed them to the wagon and led them out of the stables and back to the waiting villagers.

"I believe I may have exactly what you're looking for." Cedric announced as he drew closer to the villagers, taking care not to trip on the corpses that littered the ground.

"I'm about to head into there and take back what's mine." The former bandit said. "Follow if you want."

A couple of the villagers followed him into the fortress, looking for stolen possessions or just trying to find something worth taking back. The others remained back with Raymond, gathering the dead villagers closer together.

As he was finishing up, the dark mage came out of the fortress trailing two scrawny-looking horses and a beaten-up wagon. He wasn't exactly expecting a royal carriage, but Raymond was surprised that the thing was actually rolling.

Raymond nodded. "Thanks." He turned to the handful of villagers who had remained behind. "Let's load them up." He said, picking up the first body and laying it gently into the wagon. The villagers followed suit, loading their fallen neighbors into the wagon. It was silent, numbing work.

---

They arrived back in the town early the next day. The solemn air that surrounded their pitiful convoy as they rode through the gates was palpable. Raymond directed the convoy straight to the local monastery, where the now-deceased were given back to their families for the proper burial that they deserved. It was a depressing task, one that Raymond had done before. The repetition did nothing to help make it easier, though. The anguished looks on the faces of their husband or wife at seeing their loved one in varying states of injury; the tears of older children at seeing their parent dead so early; the confused expressions on younger children as they were told that "Daddy didn't make it."

Raymond gave comforting words to whomever asked for them. When he felt another tap on his shoulder, he thought it was another widow looking for a shoulder to cry on. Instead, he saw a member of the clergy, wearing brown leather pants and white wool shirt. Alexandria looked at Ray expectantly.
"I'm sorry, Lexi." He said. "I couldn't find your necklace."
Her blue eyes teared up, and her face buried itself in his shoulder. His arms wrapped around her as she cried.
"I'm sorry, Lexi." He said again, as though it would ease the pain of losing her mother again.