Warhammer

Heny found his horse again. After Henry had fallen off, he had continued to run in fear, and eventually returned, a sign of loyalty if you asked Henry. He padded the horse and got back up on it and started to ride back to the battlefield and surveyed the damage. I still can't believe they killed so many. We outnumbered them two to one and yet still they bested us, how could it be?
His attention was then diverted as he saw a man wave for him, Wait, does he expect me to do a squire's job? Henry thought as he looked closer. Yet, I suppose that I could kill some time helping the less fortunate.

He then rode over to the man who had waved, mentally preparing himself for the dirty work he had to get done. "Right, what do you - " Henry said, trailing off as he saw who it was that laid on the ground. "My duke!" Henry called as he realized who it was that was saddled in front of him. "Hell's bells, he needs a healer," Henry said, stating the obvious. "Let me, my horse isn't wounded nor winded. I'll see to it that he's treated." He grabbed hold of the reins and began to lead the horse back towards the tournament, finding a quick, yet safe, pace was hard as he could tell the Duke was in discomfort whenever a bump appeared or his body was forced to move too much.

Cralix would see the man off, nodding in appreciation. "Take well of him." he would mutter as the man took the reigns and led the Duke away. He hoped they would find a healer soon and that he would be safe for the time being. The sky was growing darker with the sun sinking. It would be best to start a fire, who knows what beasts would come to this field for a chance at the free weapons and easy kills.

Cralix would sit down, pulling his plate from his body. He'd lay eyes on the wound at his left thigh, it would become infected if he didn't give it true care, quickly. He would pull his equipment up fighting off the pain that stated it's objection, and pull himself to his dead horse. He let his equipment fall pulling his pack from the corpse. It was sad to have seen such a faithful companion, die.

He trifled around inside the pack until he found bandages and his water flask, he'd pull the dirty bandages from the wound, dripping water into the wound. He'd wince at the pain of it, and his leg would quiver slightly in a feeble attempt to dodge the dripping water. He'd then wrap it with delicate care, making sure to pull it tight and taut. He'd then hang his head back taking one large gulp of the warm water inside. Letting out a deep breath.

He piled the dirty cloth that had once kept his wound and some dry grass, he searched for thirty or so minutes before finding a large broken branch in the darkness of the ridge, he pulled it, with much effort to the site of his horse and hacked it into pieces. He pulled the flint from his pack and had a fire by the time it was dark. He hoped it'd be a beacon to survivors. He proceeded to fashion a torch, then fed the fire, making ten minute rounds about the battle site, only stopping to come back and feed his fire.

Soon enough he'd found three wounded men and had them at the fire. He continued, begrudgingly.

The beastmen came in the night, wicked creatures. You could hear them on the ridge, but in the dark you couldn't see them, Cralix had pulled seven wounded men to the fire. They moaned for water and he struggled to silence them.

"Quiet, quiet, all of you." He would speak low and calm, his ears perked. He had pulled a great deal of weapons to the fire side and distributed them before sleeking into the darkness. The wounded men would raise their heads, those that could and look about, those that could. They would murmur painful words doing their best to keep attentive.

Cralix felt a pang in his heart at the sound of a shrill scream of pain in the darkness. He saw the silhouette of something in the darkness, he slowly edged closer, sticking low to the ground in a crouch. As he neared he saw that there were atleast three, searching about the ground, he dashed forward suddenly with practiced grace. He buried one of his blades to the hilt in the back of the closest. Stepping forward farther, planting his thigh at the hip of the Beastman, and pulling the sword as he span. It came free and the other two were suddenly aware of what was happening. The dark didn't allow Cralix to see shock on their faces but he presumed it was there. One raised it's large axe above it's head, they were large, oppresive beasts. Cralix jumped up into the attack driving one of the blades between it's ribs. The other had raised it's flail and swung. Cralix looked back, struggling to keep calm, struggling to keep willful.

Hanging on for dear life, Cralix riggled trying to throw the beastman off balance and pull it down. It lowered it's head taking a hand off it's axe to batter the body of it's attacker. But as it did so the flail hit it squarely in the side of the head. It reeled back half dead with the force. He pulled his sword free dropping to ground and releasing a kick at the beast's knee. It buckled making a feeble attempt before falling. Cralix was thrown off guard, though. Suddenly he was battered by the large wooden shield of the beastman behind him, he was thrown forward into a roll. The beastman charged forth and he planted his elbows, crawling back and dragging his swords with him. The ground seemed to shake and as the beastman raised it's flail he struck, stabbing the beastman in the knee. It let out a roar of deep pain.

He would pull the sword away as the flail came down, squirming to the left the ball of the flail would smack into the ground beside his head. Dirt would shower his face and he would reach up gritting his teeth and burying both swords in the armpit of the beast, it would reel back, and he would use the blades as leverage to rise completely to his feet, pulling one sword free and slashing up at it's face, a long slash would open, blood dribbling out and he would pull away hopping up and kicking it in the gut. His boot would create a loud thud. The beast would reel away and fall dead. He would fall to one knee, exhausted, blood fresh on his blades and freshly splattered across his body. His face dirty and a deep pain in his back where he had been shield bashed.