Oglaff the Mighty
White Woods
Oglaff roared profanities at his s**t stained boot, and launched a giant meaty hand into the center most part of a nearby oak; the ancient tree shook slightly with the impact, and the barbarian removed his fist, leaving an entrenched knuckle print in the bark. "F**k this f**king piece of s**t country," he roared, "is this how I am to die? Covered in s**t, lost in some c**ting forest!?"
Something blurred at the edge of his vision; he spun, his mood suddenly calm and focused. At first he thought it was just his age playing tricks on him, again, but then he saw movement in the shrubbery. His eyes narrowed as a man darted from behind some low lying plants and disappeared behind a rock slab at the mouth of a concealed cave.
"Oi, you there!" Oglaff spat, in heavily accented Celakorian, "is this your filth!?"
The blind lass' oldman?Oglaff started storming forwards, "Oi, I said, get back here!" He reached the cave entrance in short order, and stared into the blackness it presented him with. "Don't f**king make me come in there, or I swear to the Gods of Blood and Glory that I'll skin your hide!"
The barbarian waited for a few minutes, and no reply came; in fact, he noticed that the entire forest had come to an audible standstill. No doubt this was courtesy of his tirade, and right now a whole battalion of small wildlife was looking at him with confusion.
"Listen," Oglaff yelled down the cave entrance, "If you got yourself a blind bitch of a daughter, then you got to get home to her so I can be done with this horse s**t."
Still nothing.
"Alright then," Oglaff said, smirking. "So it's got to be the hard way."
He drew his bastard sword, the sound of metal sliding on metal echoing down the cave's entrance way, and with a deep suck of air, he moved forwards. Little known to his comrades back home, Oglaff despised the darkness; he preferred the idea of killing and dying beneath the light of day, not fumbling about in the shadows. Still, it appeared that he may have stumbled into something worthy of his time. Then again, maybe not.
That man would not have been the first to run from the mere sight of Oglaff, though he may be the last.
The cave entrance led directly into a tunnel, and Oglaff's eyes started to fail him after only a few meters in. He kept his sword high and pointed forwards, so that any foe would run the risk of skewering themselves if they were equally impared. He walked slowly, one foot at a time, trying to keep his noise minimal.
A pungent stench of damp threatend to over power everything else, and Oglaff hoped that it would mask his own stench, if nothing else. After three dozen paces, the air started to cool, and the old warrior felt that he had started to travel down hill. By now, he couldn't see anything, and had started poking the floor ahead of him with the tip of his sword to ensure he didn't fall into a pit - though the situation was becoming less and less ideal by the second.
Then his sword bounced off something hard - a wall. He felt around in the darkness, and realized he had arrived at a junction. He looked left, and saw only darkness, and then looked right, and saw the feint yellow glow of a distant torch.
Smirking, he moved towards it, turning suddenly to his rear every so often in a vain bid to frighten anyone who might be moments from lunging a blade into his back. Not that he would see them coming. In such a situation, he would just have to hope they didn't fell him in a single blow, and that he had enough time to flail around like a crazed horse until everything was dead.
Gormagh, Ranger NPC
Okly
Gormagh stumbled backwards, exhaustion racking his limbs, making them heavier and stiffer than iron. He wheezed, his lungs burning from sustaining a hundred sword swings. A bandit lay at his feet, choking on frothing blood that had errupted from his lips. Gormagh looked down, and grimaced slightly when he realized his foe was a mere boy, no more than fourteen winters.
"Have," he puffed, "the Gods... no mercy?"
Liara's voice boomed loud and clear over the battle, shaking Gormagh from his weariness.
"Be ready for anything, lads. We can still win this! The four of you, on me."Four of his brothers gave each other a questioning glance, and then they dashed off after the red headed beauty. Were he not so tired, he may have fondly remembered all the times he had stared at her out of boyish lust. Now was not the time though, for there were more pressing matters.
The bandits were breaking, their losses as dreadful as those suffered by the Rangers, but their yellow bellied wills had taken them to flight. Gormagh was tempted to chase them into the ground, to kill them all no matter what the cost-- but he owed Kalar a debt.
He was no Captain, no Lieutenant, he could profess no claims to any line of authority; however, Liara had taken off to avenge Kalar, and as much as he willed to follow her, he could not ignore his duty.
Turning to the other two surviving rangers, who were as bloodied and as exhausted as he was, he had a crack at giving some direction, "come lads, let's be gettin' ourselves to Kalar. We can't leave without his body, not after everything he's done. No crows will feast on him this day."
The two survivors nodded their approval, and together, the three rangers sprinted forwards; they jumped bodies and staggered on the slippery blood soaked ground as if drunk. Gormagh lost his footing a couple of times, planting his face into the mud on both occurrences.
But then they were there, and whilst his comrades gasped in despair, Gormagh just grimaced. He'd seen worse.
Kalar had been reduced to a blackened husk; skin had peeled from bone, his right eye had melted into its socket. His two swords had been firmly welded into his palms. Gormagh removed his cloak, and cast it over his former leader.
"Get him out of here, he has no right being left in a Hell like this," Gormagh said, looking around for any signs of the enemy.
That's when he noticed Adria, the bard that Kalar had recruited on the road. He felt anger, looking at the delicate creature through the smoke and haze of battle; she'd done this, Kalar was dead because of her.
"No," he muttered to himself. "He blundered, he sent a civilian into battle and it cost us dearly. She is not to blame." He pretended to believe his own words.
Nevertheless, he was duty bound to spirit her away from the battle, it was what Kalar would have wanted; enough people had died today.
With the two rangers at his back, one gripping Kalar's scorched boots, the other his blackened shoulders, Gormagh moved quickly and arrived behind Adria.
"My lady, we must depar-" and then he saw a line of shambling features approaching them over the Wolf Girl's shoulder. "Good Gods, what are those?"
"Dead men, if I ever saw 'em," one of his comrades replied instantly. "Best we get ourselves away."
Gormagh spun to find Liara, she'd know what to do! And that's when he realised her four impromptu bodyguards were not with her, and she was lunging for her pray- the red haired man that had undone the Chief Ranger of Galuntrung.
"Ballocks," Gormagh hissed. "You two, leave our master where he is, and get the Wolf Girl out of here. Send word to the Keep, tell them of what has happened here!"
"Naw, I aint leavin' Kalar," one of the Rangers said, spitting at the ground. "You get the girl out of here, we're runnin' whilst we still can."
And with that, the two rangers started moving off towards the west, hoping to cut around the line of deadmen.
Gormagh looked at Adria, "best you go with them my lady." And then he turned, and started stalking towards Liara's impending duel. "Ensure you sing the song of Kalar Splint," he finished, without looking back.
