Post by Percival Vizharen on Feb 12, 2010 2:36:48 GMT -6
PercivalVizharen
His first stop was a place not visible on any map. It had been a small town, humbled in appearance and nearly buried in snow. The name was sanctioned by the Church before the Clergy had apparently withdrawn; but the real story was the ghost that haunted the surrounding woodland. No trade route came to the village that did not first come through the woodland. It was a place of ghost stories, where the rumored Scottish Banshee lived. Percival knew that every trade caravan that had come through had been assaulted and slain. Very few lived to tell the tale of this Scottish Ghost, but Percival intended to be one of them. A small group of wagons, loaded with mercenaries bought change, rode upon the deeply rutted path toward the village. It was early morning, and snow lightly fell to caress the ground in a blanket of white. Horses made racket, but everyone was silent. They listened, waited. Percival was among them, disguised as a mercenary getting paid to do this task, he looked no different. He was certain this trap would work.
The Bean Shidh:
There were rumors that abounded about this area, indeed. The village that had resided there was a ghost in its own right, the people having followed suit when the Clergy pulled out of the area. All that remained were the shells of buildings, a haunting reminder that lives had once had a dwelling here. There were many stories that surrounded the place; curses, ghosts, a horrible travesty -- they all had a home amidst the stories that were told, but there was nary a soul who actually knew the truth first hand. The woods themselves were quiet enough except for the sound of the trade caravan that was making its way toward the village. It was still early in the morning, though, and perhaps the animals were slumbering still to ward off the chill of the coming day. Regardless, there was little to hinder the distant groaning of an aged tree that sounded as if it could topple at a moment's notice. It was a mask, however, a sound to draw the attention of whoever might hear it, even though it was an ambient noise that wasn't uncommon to a wooded area in the winter. That moment of distraction would be all that was needed from the Ghost who was said to haunt this area. The only sound to follow was a deep whoosh as something very large was set into motion, first from the right of the path, then a little further forward on the left. Twin logs had been set to swing from the masking boughs of the nearby trees, suspended from each end to hold them perpendicular to the ground when they fell. The ends of that rope had been set in such a way that each log was meant to knock riders from horseback to the ground and carried enough pull that injury could easily be sustained. Without another moment of hesitation, there was arrowfire from the canopy somewhere.
PercivalVizharen
Screams came from every direction as horses were frightened and men clambered from the wagons, pulling their swords. Most of them were formidable sort, but they were all frightened; all of them save her. Percival pulled the helmet off his head, letting the black curly hair fall about his face. He vaulted off the back end of the wagon, looking into the woods as two logs took out the scout riders. Sergeants were calling orders just before arrows stuck from them. The bait had been taken. He used these men as forfeit, looking to track the source of the arrows. A man fell to his back, a wooden shaft stuck between his eyes. It gave Percival a direction and he moved along the line of men, using them for cover as they organized.
Mercenaries
"GET IN FORMATION! SHIELDS UP! MOVE IT MEN!" A sergeant called just before he fell off the top of a wagon, an arrow stuck from his eye. "GOD SAVE US!" Another man screamed, running away before something high pitched struck him in the back of the head. He fell to the ground.
The Bean Shidh
There was no movement for the span of several seconds, at least none that would be seen. Behind the train of wagons, horses and men there would be a hissing sound as rope was dragged through the fallen leaves beneath an open area between trees. Said braided line would be swift in its movement, catching the ankles of those still on that side of the group in order to knock them to the ground. The rope itself was concealed with carefully-placed leaves and twigs that had been braided into its making following the rope being caked with mud made from the exact area they were in. When the rope hit the wheels of the wagons, it did so with a pop before straining and finally snapping. Now there was movement in the tree boughs. Garbed in a well-camoflauged cloak, the form moved from its perch with a quick and quiet grace that might have been astounding. It vanished behind an evergreen and movement ceased for the time. As did the rain of arrows from above.
PercivalVizharen
The tail-tale sign of the snap behind him made Percival turn to look. His eyes went wide as he inwardly wondered what mess he'd just volunteered himself for. Watching as the rope was fast approaching, he was the only one who had warning of its advance. He tumbled over it, rolling with his shoulder and back to his feet. It was in that moment he saw the lone figure, camouflaged, sprinting to another point of cover. He used this moment to seek his own and wait. He was fast, silent, and disappeared without a single trace of existence, save his tracks. Within a cedar, he took to the branches and watched the Scottish Banshee do her work. This was truly the masterpiece of a Ghost, but Percival had no evidence of the arcane, paranormal, or otherwise power of a questionable sort. This was the work of a woman scorned, and she intended to kill them all.
Mercenaries: The rope was not a pleseant feeling to any man it came across. Legs broke with subtle snaps and pops. Countless men lay immobilized on the ground, crying out to comrades, to God. They did not want to die! "HELP US! SOMEONE HELP!"
The Bean Shidh
Percival would see no other movement at first, not from the area where he'd seen the form vanish above in the trees. Where the Ghost had gone had been a more heavily wooded area with numerous cedar trees. For only a few seconds, there was nothing save the wailing of the wounded who were likely to be screaming very soon. There was a crackling sound ahead of the caravan followed by a very sudden and very swift approach of flame right down the center of the path. The Banshee had hidden her oil well and it would have taken a very keen eye to see it. There, between the ruts of wagons, the trench of flame progressed and licked upward to tickle the bellies of the caravan's backbone. The intension had been to set the wagons and/or carriages that came along aflame to kill any left inside. Very nearby to his location, Vizharen would hear the raspy whisper of someone from above. "I will send you to your God." She had yet to move into his sights, but the female who spoke was close. A man of battle would know the sound of a firing crossbow as well as the reload that followed. That was precisely what she had done after sending the bolt into the forehead of one wounded man.
PercivalVizharen
Percival was a soldier, but he was not stupid. To her credit, he had not seen the oil, and the fact she hid it so well irked him. Percival was an arrogant man, and he prided himself on being perceptive. This mastery, this.. sorcery was a skill far beyond his own. Never had he seen one person best fifty men in a matter of seconds. Never. Not even Tommasina was capable of such destruction.-- He watched in awe as men strewn about were cast into bright flames where they lay. The wagons could not move, but the horses did. They sauntered off to the side, stuttering irritation at the chaos around them. It was when things began to die down, that he heard the voice. Everything in his body wanted him to turn, to face the source of the noise, but he knew without moving..he wouldn't be able to see her. Moving only gave away his position. There was a whistling sound over head as a bolt cut through the air to strike a man on the ground. His body slumped, dead. There were others.
Mercenaries
Thud.
The Bean Shidh
Another bolt was sent soon after the sound of the reload, aimed at the forehead of another dying man. They were all dying today and just did not know it yet. It had been dealt in their cards before the dawn had even begun to lighten the sky. The silence in which the Ghost moved would soon come into notice when the sound of another bolt being position was heard on his opposite side, the position sounding a little lower upon the branches. This woman worked with a skill that proved that her mind was not all shattered. Again, she moved, the rasp of a voice given from directly before the cedar he was hiding behind. "That is enough. The rest of you will suffer.." That final word was growled between clenched teeth. Something drew her attention, though, at the edges of snow that was melting from the warmth of the flames -- tracks in the snow. A brow perked within the hood of that cloak and Percival would hear the quickly drawn rasp of a blade very soon after.
PercivalVizharen
Now! He thought as he sprung from ten feet up and emerged from the snow covered limps of the tree. He tumbled when he struck the ground, rolling over the flames before coming to his feet with a loud grunt. Percival was not an intimidating man, but the way he moved had a skillful undertone. He appeared to be an officer of some sort, but the sword he called upon was not of the others' make. He had turned to face her, and his sword drawn as soon as he had straightened. He held it out to her, offering the tip of the weapon, while the base was held within a gloved grasp. His off hand was wide, as if to keep balance. Percival held conviction in the air he held himself, and struck without hesitation. His sword prowess was quick, and he aimed with uncanny precision in an effort to disarm her. He did NOT under-estimate this opponent. She'd just slain fifty men in a matter of moments; what good was he against a woman who survived THOSE odds?
The Bean Shidh
There were no jerky or uncertain movements after she watched him reveal his location with the dive, roll and drawing of his blade. The hood of her cloak still rested over top of her head, but he could make out her face. Young, beautiful and with death in her gaze. Perhaps it was the same look some had seen in his eyes before he struck them down with his blade. Left hand slid to her hip to remove the long knife from its place. Advance was not made by the Banshee; he was coming to her, and that was perfectly alright. The disarm was parried without any view of effort on her behalf, a flick of her wrist given to send the blade back into position with a downward slash of the tip. Steel whistled through the air with the motion.
PercivalVizharen
Had any soldier been left to live and looked to witness the fight between the two; they might have watched in awe. Two human beings reacted to each others' attacks at a speed which left the glint of steel look like blurs. Both had amazing skill. Percival led the advance, pressing her hard. Almost as suddenly as he attacked one way and she blocked, he was attacking another. His footwork was that of an experienced swordsmen. He was struck across the cheek while stepping past a falling piece of wood that was bright with hot embers. It narrowly missed him! He hissed from the sting of her blade and a thin line formed along his cheek; a thin line of red. His off-hand came up to wipe the substance from his face, and the sight of his own blood made him scowl. He deflected the next blow, and pulled his pistol with his free hand. He stepped back, aiming it directly at her, but he didn't fire.
The Bean Shidh
Amazing, yes. The Banshee was impressed with his skill. It had been a very long time since she'd had someone that tested her skill. She loved it. Blocking, advancing, attacking, repeating. Dirt and snow were kicked up from their feet in the flurry of their feet in that area. The long knife was brought into play just as much as the rapier was, assisting in blocking and slashing at him when she could. One such had been the cause of the blood to be drawn on his cheek. Insight was her friend in the moments that followed. His movement was given away as he reached for the weapon. He deflected the swipe she had taken with the thin blade, but that hadn't been her main focus in the moment. The pistol would level on her just in time to have the tip of her knife plunged directly into its barrel. Left hand then jerked to the side and downward in an effort to disarm him. If not, hopefully she would at least throw off his coordination with the weapon.
PercivalVizharen
The pistol was angled down, forcing his finger back pre-maturely and discharging the weapon. It nearly broke his wrist and made him fling the weapon off to the side, yelping as he took a step back. The round had ejected still, and ruined the blade which had been plunged within it, flinging it off in the distance to disappear beneath the snow. Percival raised his defense, snarling. His hand was curled to his side, trying to cradle it. She had harmed him again, but he would not go for a third time. Something in the back of his mind snapped, and he angled her weapon before parrying wildly in a massive circle. He took this moment to step close to her, his leading foot inching behind her weight baring leg; just a post where his heel rested at her heel. He angled her sword down that exact moment and headbutted her, crying out as he did so.
The Bean Shidh
In the process, she had also been harmed. When the pistol discharged, her hand had been at such an angle that the force of the firing had jolted her wrist. It caused her own yelp to be given and that left hand to be cradled against her stomach immediately. The wild blows were to be expected, in truth, and she met them as they fell. That young face, beautiful as it was, had been set in a grim determination with the advance that followed. The woman met his skill but it had come at a price -- her concentration. The heel at her own was felt too late and a sudden flash of light blinded her vision. The pain that shot through her was incredible, but the woman actually stayed on her feet! Despite the anguish she felt in her wrist, that left hand gripped the front of his clothing and pulled him toward her suddenly as her form shifted. Load bearing leg was sent forward, knee crushing toward his groin with ferocity. If the blow landed, she would shove him away with a pressing of her chest against his own and would soon be bolting toward one of the horses which was not tethered to a burning wagon.
PercivalVizharen
"SON OF A bytch!" It felt as if his groin had been driven into his throat and he teetered within her grasp before being shoved back. He fell on his ass, rolling a moment to cup his groin with both hands. His eyes closed and he looked skyward, groaning in pain. I'm gonna kill her, he thought. He opened his eyes to watch her sprint off, and he forced himself to stand. Everything made his stomach churn, but he scowled and scooped his sword up. He moved after her, but no where near as fast as she'd taken off. He watched the horse gallop away, and he turned to the other still attached to the harness. Lifting his sword, he cut the tongue of the wagon off the horse and slowly pulled himself up to sit carefully. "Oooh.. son of a bytch." He gripped the reigns with his offhand and held the sword behind him. One hard smack with the flat end of his sword, drove the horse to stretch high in the air with a yelp! He smacked her again. "YAH! YAH!" Front legs set down before moving. Percival instinctively tilted his body, his sword dangling behind him like an erect tail, plopping only to smack the horse. "YAH! YAH!" It was painful, but he road hard.. and fast.
His first stop was a place not visible on any map. It had been a small town, humbled in appearance and nearly buried in snow. The name was sanctioned by the Church before the Clergy had apparently withdrawn; but the real story was the ghost that haunted the surrounding woodland. No trade route came to the village that did not first come through the woodland. It was a place of ghost stories, where the rumored Scottish Banshee lived. Percival knew that every trade caravan that had come through had been assaulted and slain. Very few lived to tell the tale of this Scottish Ghost, but Percival intended to be one of them. A small group of wagons, loaded with mercenaries bought change, rode upon the deeply rutted path toward the village. It was early morning, and snow lightly fell to caress the ground in a blanket of white. Horses made racket, but everyone was silent. They listened, waited. Percival was among them, disguised as a mercenary getting paid to do this task, he looked no different. He was certain this trap would work.
The Bean Shidh:
There were rumors that abounded about this area, indeed. The village that had resided there was a ghost in its own right, the people having followed suit when the Clergy pulled out of the area. All that remained were the shells of buildings, a haunting reminder that lives had once had a dwelling here. There were many stories that surrounded the place; curses, ghosts, a horrible travesty -- they all had a home amidst the stories that were told, but there was nary a soul who actually knew the truth first hand. The woods themselves were quiet enough except for the sound of the trade caravan that was making its way toward the village. It was still early in the morning, though, and perhaps the animals were slumbering still to ward off the chill of the coming day. Regardless, there was little to hinder the distant groaning of an aged tree that sounded as if it could topple at a moment's notice. It was a mask, however, a sound to draw the attention of whoever might hear it, even though it was an ambient noise that wasn't uncommon to a wooded area in the winter. That moment of distraction would be all that was needed from the Ghost who was said to haunt this area. The only sound to follow was a deep whoosh as something very large was set into motion, first from the right of the path, then a little further forward on the left. Twin logs had been set to swing from the masking boughs of the nearby trees, suspended from each end to hold them perpendicular to the ground when they fell. The ends of that rope had been set in such a way that each log was meant to knock riders from horseback to the ground and carried enough pull that injury could easily be sustained. Without another moment of hesitation, there was arrowfire from the canopy somewhere.
PercivalVizharen
Screams came from every direction as horses were frightened and men clambered from the wagons, pulling their swords. Most of them were formidable sort, but they were all frightened; all of them save her. Percival pulled the helmet off his head, letting the black curly hair fall about his face. He vaulted off the back end of the wagon, looking into the woods as two logs took out the scout riders. Sergeants were calling orders just before arrows stuck from them. The bait had been taken. He used these men as forfeit, looking to track the source of the arrows. A man fell to his back, a wooden shaft stuck between his eyes. It gave Percival a direction and he moved along the line of men, using them for cover as they organized.
Mercenaries
"GET IN FORMATION! SHIELDS UP! MOVE IT MEN!" A sergeant called just before he fell off the top of a wagon, an arrow stuck from his eye. "GOD SAVE US!" Another man screamed, running away before something high pitched struck him in the back of the head. He fell to the ground.
The Bean Shidh
There was no movement for the span of several seconds, at least none that would be seen. Behind the train of wagons, horses and men there would be a hissing sound as rope was dragged through the fallen leaves beneath an open area between trees. Said braided line would be swift in its movement, catching the ankles of those still on that side of the group in order to knock them to the ground. The rope itself was concealed with carefully-placed leaves and twigs that had been braided into its making following the rope being caked with mud made from the exact area they were in. When the rope hit the wheels of the wagons, it did so with a pop before straining and finally snapping. Now there was movement in the tree boughs. Garbed in a well-camoflauged cloak, the form moved from its perch with a quick and quiet grace that might have been astounding. It vanished behind an evergreen and movement ceased for the time. As did the rain of arrows from above.
PercivalVizharen
The tail-tale sign of the snap behind him made Percival turn to look. His eyes went wide as he inwardly wondered what mess he'd just volunteered himself for. Watching as the rope was fast approaching, he was the only one who had warning of its advance. He tumbled over it, rolling with his shoulder and back to his feet. It was in that moment he saw the lone figure, camouflaged, sprinting to another point of cover. He used this moment to seek his own and wait. He was fast, silent, and disappeared without a single trace of existence, save his tracks. Within a cedar, he took to the branches and watched the Scottish Banshee do her work. This was truly the masterpiece of a Ghost, but Percival had no evidence of the arcane, paranormal, or otherwise power of a questionable sort. This was the work of a woman scorned, and she intended to kill them all.
Mercenaries: The rope was not a pleseant feeling to any man it came across. Legs broke with subtle snaps and pops. Countless men lay immobilized on the ground, crying out to comrades, to God. They did not want to die! "HELP US! SOMEONE HELP!"
The Bean Shidh
Percival would see no other movement at first, not from the area where he'd seen the form vanish above in the trees. Where the Ghost had gone had been a more heavily wooded area with numerous cedar trees. For only a few seconds, there was nothing save the wailing of the wounded who were likely to be screaming very soon. There was a crackling sound ahead of the caravan followed by a very sudden and very swift approach of flame right down the center of the path. The Banshee had hidden her oil well and it would have taken a very keen eye to see it. There, between the ruts of wagons, the trench of flame progressed and licked upward to tickle the bellies of the caravan's backbone. The intension had been to set the wagons and/or carriages that came along aflame to kill any left inside. Very nearby to his location, Vizharen would hear the raspy whisper of someone from above. "I will send you to your God." She had yet to move into his sights, but the female who spoke was close. A man of battle would know the sound of a firing crossbow as well as the reload that followed. That was precisely what she had done after sending the bolt into the forehead of one wounded man.
PercivalVizharen
Percival was a soldier, but he was not stupid. To her credit, he had not seen the oil, and the fact she hid it so well irked him. Percival was an arrogant man, and he prided himself on being perceptive. This mastery, this.. sorcery was a skill far beyond his own. Never had he seen one person best fifty men in a matter of seconds. Never. Not even Tommasina was capable of such destruction.-- He watched in awe as men strewn about were cast into bright flames where they lay. The wagons could not move, but the horses did. They sauntered off to the side, stuttering irritation at the chaos around them. It was when things began to die down, that he heard the voice. Everything in his body wanted him to turn, to face the source of the noise, but he knew without moving..he wouldn't be able to see her. Moving only gave away his position. There was a whistling sound over head as a bolt cut through the air to strike a man on the ground. His body slumped, dead. There were others.
Mercenaries
Thud.
The Bean Shidh
Another bolt was sent soon after the sound of the reload, aimed at the forehead of another dying man. They were all dying today and just did not know it yet. It had been dealt in their cards before the dawn had even begun to lighten the sky. The silence in which the Ghost moved would soon come into notice when the sound of another bolt being position was heard on his opposite side, the position sounding a little lower upon the branches. This woman worked with a skill that proved that her mind was not all shattered. Again, she moved, the rasp of a voice given from directly before the cedar he was hiding behind. "That is enough. The rest of you will suffer.." That final word was growled between clenched teeth. Something drew her attention, though, at the edges of snow that was melting from the warmth of the flames -- tracks in the snow. A brow perked within the hood of that cloak and Percival would hear the quickly drawn rasp of a blade very soon after.
PercivalVizharen
Now! He thought as he sprung from ten feet up and emerged from the snow covered limps of the tree. He tumbled when he struck the ground, rolling over the flames before coming to his feet with a loud grunt. Percival was not an intimidating man, but the way he moved had a skillful undertone. He appeared to be an officer of some sort, but the sword he called upon was not of the others' make. He had turned to face her, and his sword drawn as soon as he had straightened. He held it out to her, offering the tip of the weapon, while the base was held within a gloved grasp. His off hand was wide, as if to keep balance. Percival held conviction in the air he held himself, and struck without hesitation. His sword prowess was quick, and he aimed with uncanny precision in an effort to disarm her. He did NOT under-estimate this opponent. She'd just slain fifty men in a matter of moments; what good was he against a woman who survived THOSE odds?
The Bean Shidh
There were no jerky or uncertain movements after she watched him reveal his location with the dive, roll and drawing of his blade. The hood of her cloak still rested over top of her head, but he could make out her face. Young, beautiful and with death in her gaze. Perhaps it was the same look some had seen in his eyes before he struck them down with his blade. Left hand slid to her hip to remove the long knife from its place. Advance was not made by the Banshee; he was coming to her, and that was perfectly alright. The disarm was parried without any view of effort on her behalf, a flick of her wrist given to send the blade back into position with a downward slash of the tip. Steel whistled through the air with the motion.
PercivalVizharen
Had any soldier been left to live and looked to witness the fight between the two; they might have watched in awe. Two human beings reacted to each others' attacks at a speed which left the glint of steel look like blurs. Both had amazing skill. Percival led the advance, pressing her hard. Almost as suddenly as he attacked one way and she blocked, he was attacking another. His footwork was that of an experienced swordsmen. He was struck across the cheek while stepping past a falling piece of wood that was bright with hot embers. It narrowly missed him! He hissed from the sting of her blade and a thin line formed along his cheek; a thin line of red. His off-hand came up to wipe the substance from his face, and the sight of his own blood made him scowl. He deflected the next blow, and pulled his pistol with his free hand. He stepped back, aiming it directly at her, but he didn't fire.
The Bean Shidh
Amazing, yes. The Banshee was impressed with his skill. It had been a very long time since she'd had someone that tested her skill. She loved it. Blocking, advancing, attacking, repeating. Dirt and snow were kicked up from their feet in the flurry of their feet in that area. The long knife was brought into play just as much as the rapier was, assisting in blocking and slashing at him when she could. One such had been the cause of the blood to be drawn on his cheek. Insight was her friend in the moments that followed. His movement was given away as he reached for the weapon. He deflected the swipe she had taken with the thin blade, but that hadn't been her main focus in the moment. The pistol would level on her just in time to have the tip of her knife plunged directly into its barrel. Left hand then jerked to the side and downward in an effort to disarm him. If not, hopefully she would at least throw off his coordination with the weapon.
PercivalVizharen
The pistol was angled down, forcing his finger back pre-maturely and discharging the weapon. It nearly broke his wrist and made him fling the weapon off to the side, yelping as he took a step back. The round had ejected still, and ruined the blade which had been plunged within it, flinging it off in the distance to disappear beneath the snow. Percival raised his defense, snarling. His hand was curled to his side, trying to cradle it. She had harmed him again, but he would not go for a third time. Something in the back of his mind snapped, and he angled her weapon before parrying wildly in a massive circle. He took this moment to step close to her, his leading foot inching behind her weight baring leg; just a post where his heel rested at her heel. He angled her sword down that exact moment and headbutted her, crying out as he did so.
The Bean Shidh
In the process, she had also been harmed. When the pistol discharged, her hand had been at such an angle that the force of the firing had jolted her wrist. It caused her own yelp to be given and that left hand to be cradled against her stomach immediately. The wild blows were to be expected, in truth, and she met them as they fell. That young face, beautiful as it was, had been set in a grim determination with the advance that followed. The woman met his skill but it had come at a price -- her concentration. The heel at her own was felt too late and a sudden flash of light blinded her vision. The pain that shot through her was incredible, but the woman actually stayed on her feet! Despite the anguish she felt in her wrist, that left hand gripped the front of his clothing and pulled him toward her suddenly as her form shifted. Load bearing leg was sent forward, knee crushing toward his groin with ferocity. If the blow landed, she would shove him away with a pressing of her chest against his own and would soon be bolting toward one of the horses which was not tethered to a burning wagon.
PercivalVizharen
"SON OF A bytch!" It felt as if his groin had been driven into his throat and he teetered within her grasp before being shoved back. He fell on his ass, rolling a moment to cup his groin with both hands. His eyes closed and he looked skyward, groaning in pain. I'm gonna kill her, he thought. He opened his eyes to watch her sprint off, and he forced himself to stand. Everything made his stomach churn, but he scowled and scooped his sword up. He moved after her, but no where near as fast as she'd taken off. He watched the horse gallop away, and he turned to the other still attached to the harness. Lifting his sword, he cut the tongue of the wagon off the horse and slowly pulled himself up to sit carefully. "Oooh.. son of a bytch." He gripped the reigns with his offhand and held the sword behind him. One hard smack with the flat end of his sword, drove the horse to stretch high in the air with a yelp! He smacked her again. "YAH! YAH!" Front legs set down before moving. Percival instinctively tilted his body, his sword dangling behind him like an erect tail, plopping only to smack the horse. "YAH! YAH!" It was painful, but he road hard.. and fast.