XenoCyanide — Roleplayer Guild

After the skirmish, Artemis leaned over one of the corpses of the beastman, his eyes running across the brute's massive body. He was looking at the overall structure of the frame, finding it rather comparable to the humanoid one. This was a relief, as there are many things that live in the world that have a different anatomy altogether, making what would normally be a kill shot piercing the heart to be nothing more than an annoyance. It was beneficial to know your enemy and one of the things he took with him when he defected was a text of known creatures in the land. Though beastkin were included, it was always preferable to have a hands-on examination.

He took the loose cloth from the creature's loincloth and wiped the length of his blade against it. Blood was bad for blades and interfered with the metal composite. He would need to be sure to to sharpen and oil his blades this evening before departing. Of course, now that he had the proof lying at his feet that the kin made their way this far north, he may have to extend his stay temporarily. He counted the amount of dead that lay in the small courtyard. Twenty of the raiders and he was sure there were others waiting in the forest to report of their failure. The beasts rarely traveled far from their main brigade and this attack was probably a simple probing.

During the fight, he saw a few others that were not common guards. A large, hulking man brutishly carving his way through lesh and bone. A lithe leather-clad swordsman who used both blade and bow effectively. What struck him interesting was that there were two individuals that showed competency in the ways of magic. A swordsman who emblazoned his blades with hellfire and another who acted more on instinct than experience, shattering those around her with a wind that sheered skin and flung mass. Thankfully, he was able to use one of the beastkin to shield himself from the initial gust and was able to slide behind a building to evade the majority of the inertial push. His stride didn't abate and he used this to his advantage, landing several coup de graces upon felled enemies.

As the guards rushed around disorganized, attempting to figure out protocol and upon finding their sergeant dead, scrambling to find the next platoon commander, he slid back into the shadows of the alleys and shacks. Taking inventory of his gear, he strode back towards the tavern. His travel equipment and alchemy set was still stowed away back in his room and he would rather not have to explain the contents to any would-be thieves who would take advantage of the sudden chaos. As he was passing, he overheard one of the guards shoving and shouting at the elven girl who had used her magic against the beastkin. His eyes shifted slightly before turning his back and heading toward the tavern.

Taking stock of his equipment, he was bereft to find that he had only five bolts left. He was hoping there was a skilled arbelistmeister in town, or a fletcher who knew the mechanics of a quarrel. He was also running low on hemp rope to string the crossbow with and would need to purchase more. His journey had been a long one but he got by, as the dead need no coin where they were going. He did not remove his armor but instead placed large poncho over himself. He lowered his hood and mask and settled them underneath the collar of the liner and slung his main pack over his shoulders.

He was exiting the room when he heard the yelling of the tavern owner and maiden. Something about an elf and deceiving them. He crept down the steps and slid over to the side, witnessing everything unfold before him. Racism was not knew the the kingdoms, especially to the Elves. This hatred he knew well but never understood it. Hated simply for being. Not a choice any of us could make. Artemis did not interfere with the patrons as they berated the woman. It was not his place. His eyes simply stared at the elven girl, his head cocking slightly to the side as he memorized her face. There was something familiar about her yet distant. Something pure. No matter the tragedy and hatred she endured throughout her life, she did not let it affect her soul.

When the man booted the woman in the spine, Artemis furrowed his brows. As she was flung from the building, those inside laughed with joy. That sadistic pleasure in their tones crawled into the very recesses of his mind and his muscles twitched. Artemis strode toward the opening, the man who kicked her still laughing as she clamored to her knees thick with mud. Now, Artemis is not a large man. His frame was not imposing or frightening like the barbarian that was there at the battle. He was, however, incredibly strong for his build, his entire life having been training for the sole purpose of ending the life of another.

His hand outstretched and his palm slammed into the man's face as he turned around, laughing as he did. It was cut short as Artemis pushed his head backwards, the back of his skull slamming into the wooden post of the doorway. Almost as quickly, his index and middle finger slid down either side of the bridge of his nose, coming into contact with his tearducts. A slight push was all it took as his digits threatened to slide in between the man's eyeballs and eye sockets. A blood-curdling scream escaped as he clutched at Artemis's hand, his hands wrapping around his wrist. With the grip strength of a bear, Artemis squeezed the man's head, his thumb pushing underneath the cheek bone. The man fell to his knees, his voice shrieking in an uncommonly high pitch for a man. The men at the bar rushed toward Artemis but stopped cold in their tracks as they saw the flash of steel.

Artemis turned to face the others now exposing the dirk against the man's throat that he had in a vice grip. They also began to regard the man more closely. They noticed his leather boots were caked in blood and mud. His face had some remnants of gore upon it, hastily cleaned with a dirty rag. His eyes were a piercing husky pale blue that glared at each of the patrons. This was not a man who was in the throes of a passionate rage. He was calm. "Fucking elf lover!" a man screamed as the bitch of a barmaiden began to cry in shock. The tavern owner himself stood puzzled, taken aback by the sudden change. The man under Artemis's grasp struggled a bit but as he did he squeezed tighter, threatening to dislocate his jaw and slide his fingers into his eyes. "You're nothing but a bunch of fucking cowards." Artemis hissed at the group and slammed the head back into the post, the man's arms going instantly limp. He flung the head to the side and the body slid down the wooden wall, unconscious.

Artemis walked out of the tavern, the others inside rushing to the aid of the unconscious man. He looked down at the elven woman and he felt it again. That slight twinge of comfort like you would feel when you've known someone for a very long time. It was distracting, to say the least, and he had things to do. He was sure he would have to answer for assaulting the man inside. Stupid move, Artemis... he thought to himself. Although the town guard would be preoccupied with discarding of the bodies and maintaining order in the streets, he didn't wish to dawdle in case the patrons decided to muster whatever courage they had and exact their own vengeance. Looking down at the woman one last time, he nodded only slightly before heading down the street in search of much-needed provisions.

Xen pursed his lips as he rode along the path, his staff situated into a leather strap that ran across the body of the horse. His pace was a slow trot, his eyes scanning around him as they moved further away from the main city. It had been only a couple of hours since they had departed and he had taken the time before their arrival to retrieve provisions for the road. The distance was a short one, relatively speaking, but he knew that the morale of this band would be greatly improved if some respite can be found in between engagements. Especially when the blood began to flow.

He was thankful, of course, to have a healer on hand to mend wounds and gashes, but he wasn't so sure how experienced this woman was. Was she able to mend severed muscle and tendon as much as skin? Could she graft a new cellular structure if one were to be severely burned? Or reattach a lost limb? Of course such magics are incredibly powerful and only a handful of surgeons were capable of such a thing in the world. He only hoped that none of them would break before they were truly needed. Everyone had a breaking point. This was a fact of life. He had seen enough warfare and spoke to enough veterans to know that even the strongest of men had a thread that if pulled too tightly snapped like a loose hair.

As Tiberius spoke, his brow rose a moment, considering the words. None of these people knew who Xen truly was and that was to his benefit. He didn't fully trust any of them, Vert least of all. Too convenient it was to have captured a creature from the Warlock's grasp, and to turn her so quickly. Something was off about the entire situation, but he couldn't pinpoint exactly what. He was beginning to suspect Vert was a distraction, meant to throw them off from the scent of the real wolf in sheep's clothing. He would have to be vigilant.

"We are a few hours off. We will make camp a half day's ride from the mines to determine our plan of attack." He rummaged in his satchel and pulled out a map. "I assume some of you have military experience. Review this topography and come up with a strategy. We will discuss it soon." Xen handed the map off to Kaitra and rode in silence, waiting to hear what they would talk about or their idle banter. His hand gripped his staff absentmindedly, knowing full well they were being watched by the denizens of the forest.

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Umbra Sicarius

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