[IC] [Briza] m a g 𝒾 c k _ e a r t h [SmileyJaws]

[SmileyJaws]

____ m a g 𝒾 c k _ e a r t h ____

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^{a m e d i e v a l f a n t a s y g a m e}

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^{The Journey So Far}

Prologue

[SmileyJaws]

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^{P r o l o g u e
T h e 𝒮 h e r w o o d T r 𝒾 a l 𝓈}

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[SmileyJaws]

_{𝒮 e n a n W 𝒾 l d e}

^{⤜ 𝒮 h e r w o o d - F o r e 𝓈 t ↠}

Forest litter crunched under Senan's boot, dawn had broken only a short while ago. He swallowed, his mouth dry. Pausing, he took a moment and looked back. In this dense part of woodland he could barely see the small, stone ruins. He had passed them less than a minute before. Slithering down a steep bank, Senan slipped amongst more trees. Branches overhead caught and snatched at his cloak's hood. Wind hissed in the canopy high above as he sweated his way through slope and dell.

Senan had to admit, he was scared, but who would not be? These trials as they were called offered great opportunity to any who succeed. However the fate of the also-ran, maiming, death. And worse.

It would not be so easy to turn back, to go home and choose another path in life. He knew this, although deep down a tiny part of him probably wished it not to be true. For a moment he felt weak, and the world seemed to slow, as if waiting for his decision. Gaze drifting to the treetops, sunlight filtered through the foliage in narrow beams; he pulled his cloak tighter and walked further amongst the trees. I have come this far, I must see it through. He thought, with grim determination; the renewed realization of his own mortality coming to the forefront. A pair of scampering hares conjured memories of home.

"Keep up, lad," Senan's father whispered, leaning close to his son's ear, "We're on the right track, let's go." A leather-clad hand grasped at his shoulder, squeezing reassuringly.

There was no doubt in the child's mind. What they were doing here wasn't strictly safe. Not just for fear of being gored by a scared or vengeful animal; retribution was harsh and swift for those found guilty of poaching on the King's land. They seemed to have been walking for an age, at least to Senan's mind. And yet, it did not bother him. There was a sense of tranquility found in the woods his home was nestled near, unlike any other he had experienced this far in his young life. The boy looked forward to these excursions with his father with a childish anticipation and glee. Ten summers old, yet he knew this part of the forest as well as any woodsman twice his age, and today was a special day for Senan.

"There she is, look," the whisper was now almost too quiet to hear. "Do you see it?" he asked, slightly louder. As they both stood crouched, the father's hand pointed in the direction of a lone Whitetail Deer. Senan however had not needed the indication. He spotted his mark just before his father had uttered a word.

Their eyes met as they cocked their heads to look at each other. Senan visibly gulped before nodding, affirming the question. A proud smirk tugged at the corners of his father's mouth, before the same reassuring hand fell upon the boy's back. "Whenever you're ready, Senan."

It was nearing noon, to the best of the prospective Ranger's knowledge. He had expected to have come across someone else by now and was surprised, although a little relieved, he had not.

There was a beauty to these forests, Senan thought. Were it not for their purpose, he imagined quite liking to spend time here. Aged trees with creaking branches stretched away from the crispy grass, ferns and underbrush. He found himself stopped by a moss-veiled fallen tree huddled next to a dense thicket.

He perched himself on the fallen tree, taking a momentary respite. Letting out a deep sigh, his breath misted as he uttered a curse. Only now that he had stopped moving did Senan realize it had turned cold from a mere mildness earlier that same day. Feeling peckish he rummaged through his satchel for some bread, one of the few commodities afforded to those on trial. Raising the stale loaf to his lips he prepared to take a bite and satiate his rumbling stomach. However, before he got the chance there was a swoosh, followed by a loud thud. It was the unmistakable sound of an arrow in flight and missing the intended target by mere inches. The shock of the unexpected attack caused Senan to fall backwards off his makeshift seat. His back hit the underbrush behind him hard and his face lay close to the thickets. Legs sprawled upwards like a cat experiencing a sudden paralysis.

Only a few moments later there was a second thud. This time the arrow had lodged itself between Senan's legs, stuck into the fallen tree. He was grateful for whatever was throwing his assailant's aim off, perhaps nerves like his own. Scurrying to his feet, he rushed towards the direction of the archer, drawing his sword, shakily, from its scabbard. "Fight!" He roared, surprising himself and appealing to the hidden prospect. To Senan's astonishment, his attacker emerged from a line of trees, a wall of impenetrable shadow. He was now staring down his first opponent of the trial. While he could not comprehend what possessed this man to step forward and shirk the safety of his position, Senan could only imagine he was capable with a sword and wanted blood.

With a deep breath, Senan stood slowly and squared his stance under the watchful eye of his father. His eyes trained on the doe, he watched as it bowed its head browsing for something to eat.

Reaching for his quiver, he took an arrow and nocked it carefully trying not to grip the bow too tightly just as father said. His eyes darting to examine every part of his form. In practice with a target at home, Senan had shown potential, he did not want to disappoint his father. Lifting his arm to shoulder height, with three fingers he began to draw back the string anchoring it to the corner of his mouth. Taking a final, steady breath he aimed the arrow tip for the heart of his mark and released, following through.

There was a snap as a branch deflected the arrow, sending it into the backside of the creature. The doe moaned and kicked its legs before running out of sight. Senan sighed and slumped his head and shoulders feeling utterly defeated and embarrassed.

"Come on, son," Senan's father started, jumping up from his position and taking the boy by the arm. "We've got to follow the blood."

Senan clenched his teeth tightly together, gripping the sword with one hand, palms clammy with sweat. His other hand opened and closed with nervous energy, preparing to grasp the lower end of the hilt. The two combatants circled each other, preparing their mental fortitude for the imminent fight.

"What's your name?" Senan asked.

"Peter."

Examining his opponent, Senan felt a trickle of sweat slide down his forehead. The various aromas of the forest and earth beneath his feet more apparent now, the spider spinning its web in the grass between his feet. His mind was racing with a thousand thoughts and emotions, but most of all he couldn't look away from Peter's cold, distant eyes. They were the deep green of fresh basil and reminded him of his sister. There wasn't much more to be made out about him, except for his tall, lanky build. He wore much the same garb, as to be expected, except his face was covered up to the cheekbones by some dark fabric.

Within moments there was the echoing clang of steel-on-steel as Senan found himself parrying a flurry of blows. Both were moving, neither wanting to be rooted to the ground in this struggle for life itself. Senan lunged for his now enemy's chest, missing as he stood aside. The force of transferring his body weight causing him to almost lose his balance and stumble forward a few steps. He managed to compose himself to block a return strike from Peter's blade, but only just in the nick of time. They found themselves clinching, swords locked together but Peter followed through pushing Senan back and landing a heavy kick to the chest. Senan was taken aback, breathless and knocked to the floor he clambered to get to his feet.

It was evident this fight was to be furious. Senan had always felt more confident with a bow in his hand than a sword. He had imagined, before the trials began, that he'd be the one picking unsuspecting targets from a safe distance; not that he'd be thrown into close combat so early. It was foolish of him, even if he knew full well that this was a likely scenario from the offset. By now he was sweating profusely and still struggling to gain back his breath after the kick that had thrown him on his arse.

Deep breath. Senan told himself, feeling the familiar churning in his gut subside. His grip once again tightening as he took the hilt of his sword with both hands and took stance.

"Come, then," Peter snarled. "It's a long walk to Galloway." he added, mockingly.

With a heavy grunt, Peter swung once more this time from overhead. Sidestepping, Senan narrowly bypassed the strike, catching the blade with the middle of his own sword, causing Peter's blade to slide to the ground. Senan took the opportunity to counter with a downward strike cutting deeply into the shoulder of his adversary.

Peter yelped and winced, taking a few paces backwards to compose himself. It was evident now that his injured arm would be no good for the duration of the clash. Senan had won himself an advantage and knew now that he had to use it, quickly. Wiping sweat from his eyes, it was now his turn to go on the offensive, slashing and stabbing at his opponent who was barely managing to block them. A rising slice, followed by a crooked strike across Peter's sword hand finally disarmed him. Kicking the blade away left him now at Senan's mercy.

The air was cold and crisp, a gust rustled above in the canopy of the forest. Aside from this, there was a silence that seemed almost deafening. Both combatant's breathing was heavy and laboured. His hands and wrists throbbed from the violent vibrations of their swords hitting off each other. All previous concerns seemed to just slip away even while the adrenaline still coursed through him.

"Well... what will you do with me then?" Peter asked, panting, clutching his injured shoulder with the opposite hand. Senan stared back blankly, the point of his sword keeping a wary guard over the downed man.

There hadn't been much of a blood trail to follow and it ran cold relatively quickly. The pair continued searching the woods for a few hours and by chance eventually came across the injured doe. As they crept up on it, Senan noticed its tail was wagging a lot. Amazingly, it hadn't yet noticed the father and son and was slowly limping around a small clearing. He couldn't help but pity it in some small way, he was still a child after all. He had never seen his father mess up on a kill, and so didn't have much to go on before now of anything other than a clean one.

"You'll have to finish this one, boy."

He nodded again in response to his father's words. Drawing back the bowstring he loosed another arrow which this time hit the doe in the chest. The creature kicked out its hind legs before dropping like a tonne of weights.

"Not too bad at all, well done." Senan's father seemed more elated than anybody by his son's eventual success. A large hand clapped him on the back. With some hesitation he cracked a large smile and ran over to check on his first kill under the glistening summer sun.

"Get out of here, leave your weapons and just go." Senan spoke to a surprised face. He lowered his blade, the aching arm now beginning to relax.

"T-thank-you." Came a hurried response as Peter got up, leaving any and all weapons as instructed, and hobbled away. Disappearing into the trees, not wanting to test his superior's patience or word.

Senan in trying to sit on the forest floor, collapsed onto the ground. He cupped his hands, twiddling his thumbs. In truth, he knew that Peter was most likely going to be killed by some other prospect in these woods or succumb to his wounds. He hadn't the heart to finish someone who only wanted the same thing as him. It just seemed so pointless, perhaps Peter would have even made a better Ranger than him under different circumstances. Although, there wasn't much chance of that now.

A beam of sunlight warmed his dirtied face, he looked up with squinted eyes and smiled. A hushed laugh escaped his lips. The worst of this ordeal was over, he was sure of it.

[Briza]

_{J e 𝓈 p e r A l 𝓈 t r o h m}

^{⤜ 𝒮 h e r w o o d - F o r e 𝓈 t ↠}

A static silence whispered through the air. It swept the unearthly stenches from their rest. The feeling of the uneven mud pressed beneath her boots. It did smell as wretched and terrible to walk upon. And, lo, with every step the foulness was stirred into the bitter air. No less, her many blessings were being counted. Such a position was decent and for her ranking, only half-earned. Granted with Terra's mercy, her own humanly stench was buried beneath the rituals of such a graven hiding spot, dusted in casts of the noonday shadows. And, ah, the shrubs were acting as husky, decent disguises. Such was the fairness of her decisions.

^{M e m o r i e s :}

“Jessie!” Victor called from behind the shed, “Ready or not, here I come!” His footsteps sounded like they were coming close, but they did not stop long enough to make any suggestion that he knew where she was hiding. For several seconds, she thought he may have been faking and was waiting to surprise her. He had an earnest desire to scare her, but he was never successful. His yearning was tremendous and puffed in his juvenile breathes, despite all his failures.

For this reason, being off guard was never an option. She loathed the thought of being caught by her brother, especially with all the times of successfully having defused him. There was an abundance of honor in her ability to combat his boyish notions, and even now, as she heard his gentle, suspicious footsteps wander further and further away from her hiding spot, she slowly flexed her thighs and raised her lithe body from behind the bushel. There was duty in her pursuit against him, and when he was behind the fence, she would move locations — just in case.

It was either kill or be killed. Whoever found himself as the last one standing was the man to be chosen. In Jesper's mind, there was far more to gain from this victory than to lose from a missing limb or even her own life. This much was obvious for anyone who entered the forest. The reward was far too lucrative. It tickled some greed, but the Ranger by the only thing she truly understood...

As so was proven, this was not some childhood game of Hide and Seek. Fences and thickets were not to be used as youthful endeavors. Here, wandering the sauntering bowls of the forest were men with far more cunning and braver wiles than anyone with whom her siblings and her used to play. There could be no questioning of her rationale on this one. (Laughable with pointed fingers and outset tongues to anyone who dared.) It was the deepest of truths, the Ranger had little instinct on who was stronger or faster or more cunning when she arrived on camp. For now, though, she had two kills, and the biggest dilemma was keeping herself hidden. In the least, she was not the weakest.

Even With no scratches on her garments, she considered herself only blessed for her victories. There was no saying she was the strongest or fittest for the prize. The first kill had been all too easy and almost a joke in and of itself. However, the second was by but a fluke that continued a small melody of pondering in destitute parts of her memory. Unfortunately, there was no time to calculate every measure of the past kill, as she could sense someone was nearer, and she bore no clarity as to where. A silent prayer was chanted in her mind to ease her racing thoughts; and she cooed her sword-arm, all ready and anxious with girth.

^{S o m e t h i n g R e m e m b e r e d F r o m t h e P a s t ;}

“I give up,” Victor said with a small gruff of annoyance. Losing to his sister was one of those things that made him hate himself. There was a pent up anger that he could not conceal in his voice. Although, he did try to muzzle it the best he could.

Jesper did not move. She enjoyed waiting until he had cooled down before revealing her location. She learned her lesson more than once to reveal herself too early. Her hands stayed still, touching the soft grass as she watched her brother begin to explode with anger. At the moment, she had no way to gauge how long his tantrums would be. Sometimes they did not happen; and sometimes they lasted far too long for her own endearing patience. There had to be a method to his madness. Although, if it was something as simple as being annoyed with the seventh morning of potato soup, she would have to pay closer attention to him.

A twist in the grass.

Jesper tensed.

A sudden whistle of a hiss.

It cut through thick and silent air.

Moan. Thump.

Someone was hit.

Mother earth rumbled at the onslaught, and Jesper shrugged further into the defending shadows of her hunched position. She felt that although correct in assuming her position was not the strongest, the low angle had not been a give away. It was right in the tree tops where she captured a perfect opening. The branches unfolded their leaves, and a man, crouched atop the muscular, twisting bark. Someone forgot to close his line. As the words scurried through her mind, her clothed palm carefully shifted around the hilt of her sword, and scabby fingers caressed the pummel. The leather grooves and metal works were soft against her cold fingers, sweaty with fear and excitement.

This was exhilarating. She could feel her heart beating heavily in her chest. It sounded louder to her than her own breaths. Yet, the midday wind, in all its vainglory, was still and as silent as the archer waiting anxiously in the tree above her. She held her breath, eyeing him carefully. No, not the sword, her hand slid into her leather pouch, pulling two darts. Their sharp tips pressed close to her veins. A dart had the ability to knock him from the branch and cause fatal casualty upon his landing. Such was decided.

^{A R e c o l l e c t i o n}

“She always wins. Always. Can't I just fuckin' win? Just bloody fuckin' once?” he howled. His boots stomped upon the grass, soiling and twisting the earth beaneath him in an angry manner; his body slumped and shot upwards, again; with a pulse of energy, his body slumped, again, and his arms pounding and pulled the grass; and with dirty fingers he was pulling his hair.

Jesper watched silently from behind the stump. Her head was steady as she watched intently, telling herself that he ought to treat not just the earth with more respect, but also himself. With a lack of care for being discovered and a seeming belief, she would never be at this rate, her eyes cast downwards at the grass. Her fingers played gently against the blades. It was her friendship with Terra that kept her so well hidden. This much she knew to be true, and yet she dared not speak of such kinship to anyone. Theirs was a private relationship, silent and secretive.

Now was not the time to get lost in memories. With the sun hovering over the hanging branches of the trees, the shadows were slowly moving their bodies to different positions. Jesper's very own would be revealed soon if action was not taken. A plethora of reasons as to how she could be sniped were at her fingertips; and the least likely if anything, was that the scent of her own would be made clear now that the midday's breeze was beginning to reawaken. But alas, the archer in the tree; his body was tense and ready to strike at the next creature who dared make any shimmer in the forest — the animals had been scared away by the shouting of men earlier. Death was haunting the forest floor, and all but the humans seemed to be honoring this fact.

A glint shot through the air. It was nearly invisible to the naked eye. The aftermath was nothing of the sort, as the handsome face came collapsing to the ground, flopping in a overtly ugly manner onto the muddied ground. His neck limbs twisted under his sturdy frame, holding a head slowly leaking blood from his temple. The complacent look of a dead man's shock was sewn over his face. If he felt any pain, it had been slight. He had died before falling from the large, winding tree. He was her third kill of the day, but merely just another mark upon on the memory:

_{𝓘 𝑨𝒎 𝓑𝒖𝒕 𝑨 𝓣𝒉𝓲𝒆𝒇}

𝑯𝒆 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒏𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕,
𝑵𝒐 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒏 𝑰 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒍𝒆 —
𝑻𝒐 𝒓𝒐𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚, 𝒍𝒆𝒇𝒕 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒍.
𝑭𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒆, 𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝑮𝒐𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑻𝒆𝒓𝒓𝒂 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕.