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The Broken Warrior, He who is Silent, Gentle Giant

&

Pious Sellsword, He who seek Vengeance, Callous Combatant 

The Dreaded Desert, a place devoid of all but the hardiest of life. The cruel sun beat steadily upon the golden sands, distorting the air slightly in a sweltering haze. It’s malevolent eye unblinking and the sky it’s co-cospiritor, providing not a single cloud to soften the harsh rays. The lizards took shelter in the shadows of rock where the sand was not hot enough to roast them, but there was no shade for them, The Serim Knights. Each step sunk into the searing sand, the air was thick and hazy, each breath like drowning in lava. It was another clearing party, consisting of 3 Serim and 1 locally employed mercenary.

 A giant, clad in steel towering above the men he accompanied. What brought him to this situation? Only this man who wore his silence like the axe on his back knew, if anything one could privy a suggestion it would be for the money, but if you would give Hafrbjǫrn the quality of choice, he would much more prefer the soil and ash that came as a boon with smithing. Though a contract of escort was not out this giant’s periphery, particularly when the Sovern seemed much more bountiful than a week’s pay at the forge. Trailing through the desert’s sand, winds as dry as opposed to what this giant is regularly accustomed to. His pace was but few behind the men that were now his employers. To what destination? He did not ask, to what task? He did not care. All that mattered was the Sovern which was paid half upfront already. The rest was but a gamble with chance, but Hafrbjǫrn could guess that it would involve blood. His size would translate the assurance of safety to travels, it would not come to him any surprise that he would be chosen for anything but the spill of blood. 

And assurance was exactly why Hafrbjorn was hired, though not to the approval of the Serim body.  Many felt the need for localised assistance was Soverns wasted, ‘surely we can handle a desert’ many proclaimed. Alas, the order was direct from the Grandmaster himself and any disobedience would lead to dishonorable discharge. However, this didn’t stop the occasional gaze of malice or odd statement. Garrett, the Knight to immediate right took a moment to speak, his visage sequestered behind the steel of his helm; providing a slight reverberation to his voice. ”  Do you know what this Dreaded Desert does to a man, Epiher?”

He was addressing the Knight to his left and Hafrbjorn’s middle, noticeably stouter than either of his brethren but still a twig compared to their giant friend. “No?”. He replied with a scratchy gruffness, yet shifted slightly in timbre at its end. ” I’ll tell you, your tongue feels as if it’s coated with fur and you long ever more for crystal cold water”. His companion was beginning to chuckle yet interrupted by the subtle twang of a bow-swing and a swift-flying arrow piercing his shoulder.

Hafrbjǫrn was taken by surprise, as these lands herald nothing but sand, he didn’t distinguish the subtlety of camouflage that the enemy had gowned upon themselves. Another arrow was loosened into their direction, the knight whom was dealt the piercing blow, had been trembling at his boots, Hafrbjǫrn took it as a initiative to grippen his shield for himself and shield his employers from the coming fire. The arrow bounced from its steel, noting its direction, Hafrbjǫrn began to beckon the soldier to pull back to a safer location where they could tend to their comrade. Another was let loose, this time from another angle. Threatening to sheer through his flesh if not for this shield say so. Immediately, he threw the shield towards the direction that the arrow was delivered, followed by a massive charge. Axe in hand, he leapt towards the skies and brought down his strength on the target prying on the defensive after being compromised. A large yell on the part of the giant. The might of such had been delivered and had brought its target to their maker, with such Hafrbjǫrn did not waste a step to scavenge the bow and arrows from the carcass before. Retreating to his companions, he offered such as a means to counter-attack.  

Whilst his companion sought the attacker from whence the arrow came, Garrett and Lae(The other Serim) tended to Epiher. Cover was scare but a reasonable collection of craggy rocks just a few meters of their location served well enough. Lae began to inspect Epiher’s wound, who had went into a state of mild shock from such. “You’re ok! It’s just a-”. She was abruptly cut-off by the sudden convulsions of his body, which ceased after a minute or two, the body lifeless thereafter. They hadn’t the time to grieve, for the twangs of other bow-strings became increasingly incessant and louder. Hafrbjorn however has successfully eviscerated one of their attackers, returning with his armament. Lae immediately seized it and carelessly nocked an arrow, resulting in a gash upon her hand. Unbeknownst to her, these arrows were tipped in poison, which almost immediately began it’s blight on her system, yet just before she collapsed she let loose the arrow; which resulted in something of a yelp from one of the oncoming attackers. She too convulsed and then fell lifeless. Garrett, began to draw his blade yet was halted by the sudden Thump! Of an arrow beside him. The enemy had them encircled and outnumbered them heavily…

Their movements were halted, Hafrbjǫrn could sense danger from every immediate corner. A cold sweat fell from his temple, noting that two of his employers now layed dead upon the sands, he had naught another choice but to lower his axe. He gave Garrett a final stare, the arrow have ceased their firing, the giant stood at his feet and rose his hands above his head. Slowly, but surely dropping his weapons upon the sand earth beneath his heel. At any other interval, he would chose death, but less employer or not, he had a duty to deliver this man to whatever the place he wanted to go. The bandits now surfaced from their holes, like rats out for scavenging. Hafrbjǫrn silence stood firm as his stance, he seem less worried of the outcome, silently mourning the death of two unfortunate souls. The concluded that whatever the arrowhead held could cause a swift death to any who was pierced by it. Enough was such that it could kill a soldier with a mere scratch. He ushered Garrett to do the same, better to be taken, than to be dead.  

Garrett took a moment to gander upon his final companion, his facial expressions replaced by a masque of hard steel; revealing nought of his intentions. His heart beat like a vile drum, feeling as if it would pierce his own breastplate. His comrades should be avenged, no matter if it cost him his life. His knuckles went white as his grip increased on his sword’s, still contemplating his final decision. The moment lasted but a moment but felt an eternity, resulting in Garrett rising himself and surrendering. Their camouflage brigands immediately seized their possessions and bounded them by the wrist. Some members scoured the pile of weapons with glee, plucking an armament that they’d use for themselves. What appeared to be a leader of sorts approached Garrett and plucked the Serim Coat of Arms decorative plate from his armour, seemingly recognizing  the emblazoned intercrossed blades. The rag-tag group began to move, and so did their captors.

-------------

Had they finally reached their camp? These thoughts roamed on the giant’s mind as his feet dragged him to what seemingly felt like an endless trek. Enduring the shoving and weapon pointing at their behest, it seems they have finally stepped foot on shelter after around an hour’s time.. However, their feet shoved onto the bend of his leg, causing the giant to loosen his stand and fall to his knees. Soon after others from within the tents came and secured them in place. Of course, shade would be a commodity that only these bandits would leisure in. The giant turned to his employer, Garrett. A lot had happened in the course of a short time.., A man just lost two soldiers and what’s worse, two close friends. That he held grip to his senses as efficiently as he has was but a testament to this man’s force of will. Most men would be drunk with the need for blood, most men of power grit still are, but that Garrett know his odd is but a breath of fresh air. Hafrbjǫrn understood that pain, it’s not something to take lightly. 

The grunting sounds of men in battle soon reached their ears, their eyes shifted their glance to the distance to notice the bandits squirming like mice to their predator. Something was occuring in the midst of the distance. Perhaps now that they are in disarray that it would enable the two a chance to strike. He delivered a glance to his partner, telling him to shift his sights and be wary of the signal.   

What’d had the desert brigands in such excitement was the spotting of a nearby expedition group. Though exact details were unclear at best, camp rumors were that a Noble was spotted amongst the sub-par number of mercenaries. To these undesirables, a Noble’s head for ransom and the collection of Serim plates were fortuitous, but also fortunate. They could certainly risk more loss of life,, thus nearly every member amassed(some 25 bandits), save for the two guards stationed to the prisoners. With whooping yells and raised weapons, they descended upon the unwary men bellow. 

Garrett, as astute as ever picked up immediately on the subtle motions of Hafrbjorn, and with the majority of their attackers gone, the time to act was now. The chains that bound their feet were mottled with rust from malcare, which to a man of Harfbjorn’s strength was like snapping a twig. With newfounded freedom the pair subdued their unwary captors, Garrett perhaps overly brutish with repeated blows long past death and Harfbjorn simplistic, one strike to bring Life to cessation. The pair found their belonging within a furled canvas, which soon found their respective places on their owner’s bodies. Garrett, secured his Serim plate to his pauldron once more, adding his companion’s to his traveling pack; They’d find residence in the Hall of Honor soon enough. They hadn’t time to revel in victory, for subtle, yet increasing footfalls were heard. Fearing that it may be the bandits once more, Garrett and Harfbjorn sequestered themselves behind a tent, vigilant, and patiently waiting.

….And what emerged from the crest of the immense dune were the bandits, yes, but fewer in number and fleeing hurriedly. They didn’t care for the absence of prisoners, just for their lives as they ran past the abandoned camp. Following suit were snake-men, the likes of which were varied in coloration and weaponry. Whatever they were was a force not be toyed with. The pair waited for a while until reemerging. ”Cowards, the lot of them. They deserved whatever fate befell them past that dune. Speaking of, we should investigate that. They appeared to have driven them off, maybe they know where the hell we are?. The giant had no rebuttal, only the slightest nod of his head indicated his agreement. The pair descended the dune to see a ruin, derelict, but still standing.

Cobblestone and dry weet adorned the walls which hid the effervicent markings which dusts off the walls with the mere semblance touch. The odour of decay and mites plagues the seams, and the thought arose on Hafrbjǫrn that this place seemed much more bountiful than the area’s prior to their initial camp, yet the thought was encroached by the visage of corpses embellishing the seams with their blood. Garrett, who initially seemed reluctant heaved a sigh which Hafrbjǫrn could not discern. Unbeknownst to the giant if it were one garnered in impatience or relief, Garrett spoke with certainty: “Amidst it all, it seems those creatures are the bearers of misfortune for these rats.”  Indeed, the corpses were once the mercenaries who took refuge here, along with the brigands who took the pair captive. The dryness in the air had subtle down to a humid musk. There seemed to be at least a source of water among these ruins to have cause such to engrave itself upon the atmosphere. 

There were many details hidden amidst the stones, many secrets which were craving limelight, but Hafrbjǫrn felt tense. This isn't a place to lower their guard. He paced closer to the bodies, their flesh was colorless, pale as if their life had been drained straight from their lungs. Their eyes rolled to the back of their heads, veins still protruding from their neck and arms, a great deal of struggle had befallen these people… Hafrbjǫrn stroke his beard, examining bodies as thoroughly as he could, Garrett began doing the same, but Hafrbjǫrn halted him. Tapping his temple, as if to remind him to think, there was something odd, never overstep the bounds, he demonstrated how to move the bodies, how to maneuver them as to not make contact to any off hand mucus or musk. Garrett quickly picked up. “I see, you are suggesting that these too, were inflicted with some type of poison.” 

With that beacon of understanding, Hafrbjǫrn continued to pace towards the seeming distance, there were footsteps on the ground, his survivability and instinct began to kick in. There were more here, more people around that still drew breath. Garnishing his battle axe in hand, the brute would befall on any the might of a giant’s wrath. He was not to play hide-and-seek for much longer, this irking sensation boiled upon his blood like the fires with lit the oven at his forge. If they were to search for safety and perhaps more, the way was further in. 

Garrett caught the tension within the air, the drawing of Harfbjorn’s axe on cue with numerous footfalls behind. He attempt to count, 5?, 7?, 15? To indistinct to count properly but surely a force that outnumbered them. The knight drew his sword, the blade meeting the opposite of Harfbjorn’s axe, though wordless, the action spoke; Halt. Garrett spoke, in a hushed tone that could be carried of in the wind. ”We must choose our battles, friend. If those...things were capable of striking down some 30 men, then what is 2 to them? Your ire is not without understanding, but to attack would be unwise as best. Come, through this corridor, we will wait for the things to pass. Then, we leave”. Harfbjorn regarded his words carefully and realized that they spoke truth. The giant sheathed the great armament, for now, and followed his newfound companion through the slim, dank, corridor; hunching slightly due to his stature. 

The corridor was short and eventually reached an expensure, which ended in a room. Akin to the previous, this one was lined with the dead. The aforementioned bandits, and mercenaries, whom crest Garrett recognized. “Lion’s Teeth”.  He spoke, pointing to a corpse doned in modest armour, emblazoned with a roaring lion upon the cuirass. “And Dragon’s Breath”.  These were dressed not in armour but instead black robes tied with crimson cloths. Tombs lined the opposite wall with their lids torn asunder, he hypothesized that the snake creatures had come from there and upon noticing the somewhat circular fashion the mercenaries were sprawled in, he deduced that they made a final stand on two fronts. “Outnumbered heavily and surrounded on both ends, yet none faltered, standing like undying sentinels to the oncoming storm. They fought to the final breath, not as individuals, but as one united force. You all would’ve made fine Serim...rest in peace”. Garrett acquired two blades, one from each band, which confused Harfbjorn initially. The knight noticed the bewilderment and offered an explanation. “These swords will find homes in the Hall of Honor, where the Serim honor fallen heroes, Order or Not. Epiher’s and Lae’s crest will also go there….providing we live past this encounter”.  Speaking of his comrades pained Garrett heavily, the emotional wounds were still fresh but he would keep moving, pushing, until they could be lain to rest. 

Crackow!!!

A thundering blast echoing throughout the structure, abnormal, and nothing Garrett had heard the likes of. There was shouting now, and the telltale sounds of weapons being drawn. Whomever was through the corridor’s was beginning to battle, probably the snake-men from earlier. Garrett regarded his companion with eyeslits and steel. “..What say you in avenging the fallen?”. The giant gave a look that formally spoke; Let’s do it. But informally; Hell yeah. The pair, sword and axe in hand rushed through the halls and were soon met with the Bloodrose Irregulars, of whom were ensuing in battle. “We mean no harm but it appears as if you could use assistance. And what’re two able bodies to a company? I’ll tell you. It’s an advantage”

Harf and Garrett, along with two other Serim(Lae and Epiher) trek the desert.
Ambushed by bandits.
Lae and Epiher are killed
Harf and Garrett taken captive
The group treks through the desert, eventually coming to their camp.
Bandits spot the Noble's group
Bandits descend
After some time, Bandits are seen retreating, snake-men giving chase.
Harf and Garrett examine the ruins, finding bodies and such.
Hearing the Bloodrose Irregulars enter, they mistake them for the snake-men and retreat further into the ruin.
After some time, they Hear a shot from Yui's rifle and decide to investigate.
When the pair find the Bloodrose Irregulars, they Offer help.
End.
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