Village in Germany

[Percival Vizharen]

Percival split from the two, leaving Spectre to find high ground and the Banshee to take up a nearby flank. Snow crunched beneath his boots, and the cold seemed to seep through to chase any sign of warmth off. Percival found the toughest way to fight was in the cold. Adrenaline sped the breathing up, and cold air invading the lungs over a stretch of time was something that left him in pain. Up ahead, the village sprawled wide, creating a maze of one story houses battered by the bombardment. Cannons echoed in the depression and small trails of gray smoke climbed skyward as black iron balls struck earth to create small explosions of mud, snow, and occasionally a human body!

Percival was crossing a wide field that ended with the tree line at both his nine and three o'clock flanks, and the village dead ahead. The farm house was the furthest back structure from the village, and one Percival sought some semblance of cover during this advance. He was winded, and air came and went in short, haggard bursts that left an ache in his lungs. He vaulted over a small wooden fence, and stepped along the tilled rows of dirt until he came to a large door. Inside, he heard the German tongue of some soldiers from one of the families. Percival knelt, using the tips of his gloved fingers to gently open the back door to get a look.
[Translated]

``Do you see anything?``
``No.``
``They have to be close. ``
``I know.``
``Let me look.``
``You will only see what I am seeing.``
There was a brief pause, and the two men switched spots to peer out their door. Amidst the shuffle, Percival managed to slip inside and stow himself in one of the empty stalls. He waited.

``Something is not right. There is supposed to be more soldiers. Where are they?``
``The cannons from our side.. killed our own men.``
``Then our encampment has been overrun. We have lost.``
``No. We have not.``
``Then what are we supposed to do.``
``We will wai--``

The sound of wood splintering mixed with the discharge of a pistol had Percival's brow lift up. He dare not look from his position, but he heard one man cry out in pain and fall back. The other withdrew his sword, and a fight ensued. In German, Percival heard another man speak.

``And damned you will be, my son. For he who denies the flurry of justice, the righting of wrong.. shall burn for eternity in Hell.`` The sound of a scuffle slowed following the connection of swords, then a deep, deep gasp. ``Ask for forgiveness, my son. Be welcomed into heaven following your last breath.`` There was a mumbled sound, the voice of one of the two men prior. Percival did not look around, and he forced himself to remain calm. THAT WAS LAZARUS! Adrenaline flushed the Talon's senses, making him uneasy.

The sound of the man hitting the ground never happened. This led Percival to believe Lazarus had lowered him to the ground for his last rights. When fortitude found the Talon, he peered around the wooden wall of his stall to catch a glimpse of the legendary St. Lazarus. He was a tall man whose face remained heavily obscured by the shadow his wide hat created. Both broad in muscle and shoulder, his appearance was bulky and widened by a cape that draped over his back and hid portions of his torso. His clothing was heavily tattered, likely from battle, but the man also wore a litany of belts and pouches. Percival could not discern how many weapons Lazarus had, only that the minor jutting portions of his cape were likely spots where weapons were confined. The glimpse was of Lazarus's back side, which left Percival longing to give chase, but that was suicide. He came to stand slowly, glancing down to watch his hand free the pistol from beneath his long coat.

Percival rounded the wall, trotting up to the door where two bodies now lay with their hands clasped over their chests. He shook his head but kept focused on advancing. The sound of battle was still everywhere, and Percival watched as a cannon ball struck earth right in front of the barn door. The blast sent both doors off track and threw Percival onto his back. The doors fell on top of him and the blackness conquered his vision.

He awoke moments later, and pushed up on the door that was on him. The door was extremely heavy, but he managed to slide it aside so he could roll out. Settling in a kneeling position, Percival tried to get his bearings. Looking up, he saw the small house ahead of him was on fire. Two men with swords drawn were crossing the small yard that put space between the front of the farmhouse and the back of the smaller house. They did see Percival kneeling there. One motioned toward him.

``That man. Of what origin is he?``
``He is not one of ours.``
``Them?``
``No.``
``Should we get him..?``
``Yes.``
They began jogging toward him, one taking a leading position and hoisting his sword to one side so he could swing when he came within range. Percival narrowed the fight by lifting his pistol up and firing into the lead man just as he came within fifteen feet. The second man pressed past his fallen comrade to avenge his pain. Percival was disoriented, and tried to stand tall but ended up being rushed as the man swung his sword horizontally. It caught Percival across the stomach and the fabric ripped with a loud sound. Amidst the swing, Percival was already tumbling back on his ass, and landed with a sting. He rolled one way as the man stabbed his sword into the ground. Twisting his body, Percival kicked the back of his knees, bringing the soldier to the ground. Percival scrambled forward, still on all fours, and landed on top of the man forcing him to his back. They traded blows, but Percival stayed dominant, and expressed the issue by yanking out a shiny dagger from his belt. Both men spit as they struggled against one another, but Percival groaned.. trying the soldier's strength against his own as he tried to poke the man's heart with this dagger. The tip descended slowly, the man trying his hardest to keep Percival from killing him.

Percival's face was red, his arms shaking and veins showing themselves as he pushed and shook this weapon in their shared grasp. He was close, and the tip of the knife was cutting through the other man's shirt. He begged, shaking his head and spitting as he talked, but Percival was ever diligent in his tasks. Eventually it pierced the other man's skin, robbing him of his strength as he gasped in pain. Percival pressed it down, and left it piercing his heart. Life faded from the soldier, and Percival went limp, laying over top of him, trying to get his breath.

He had to move forward. Slowly, he forced himself to his feet. He felt the strain in his arms from his fight, but he peered out into the yard and moved to cover behind the burning house ahead of him. Only then did he kneel and glance around..

[blythe]

The Bean Shidh

Having split from her male comrades, the Scottish Banshee cleaved her own swath through bodies. There was no thought as to which banner the men fought beneath nor were there any thoughts as to whether the men deserved to die in the end. Spectre had taken control of the batteries. Percival had veered off to the woman's right while she'd continued forward through an ever-thinning sea of armed men fighting for their cause. Blythe had her purpose here just as they did, and she cared not over how many would grace her blades with their blood. Sudden movement on her right turned her the woman's direction in the way of a barn. Blues narrowed on the form of the Talon vaulting the fence and finding his roost. Only seconds later, a scuffling of boots on snow and twig had the woman spinning to the left. Rapier and long knife shot up and crossed, the clear sound of steel soon following as her attacker's blade was halted by her own. The man's eyes grew a little wider as vision found the face of a woman. Surely he had not been expecting such when he opted to attack the hooded figure. Giving no time for him to regain his senses, the Banshee's knee shot up into his crotch as arms twisted to send his blade to the side. The combination of the two motions found him disarmed and soon crumpling to the ground. Blythe's rapier was shoved through the side of his neck in the blink of an eye. This one wouldn't suffer for long. Reclaiming control of her weapons, Banshee's attention was ripped back toward the barn in time to hear a pistol's call, though she saw nothing at all until the wide-brimmed hat had exited from the barn. Immediately she was in motion, her winter woodland cloak making her a less-visible target in comparison to others who were dying around her. She knew not who the dark figure was, but she did know that Percival was therein.

PercivalVizharen

Percival came out about the time she rounded the barn. He was hurting, but he knelt behind a burning house for cover. When he glanced about, he saw her and waved her close. "I saw him!" He said, reloading his pistol. "He's gone this way. We'll need to fight our way to him." There was a small fence that created the shape of the yard behind the burning house. Percival failed to wait for the Banshee as he vaulted over it to look about the narrow street he was in. Several people were fighting, and Percival just took a stab, killing the first man whose back was to him.

The Bean Shidh

Blythe ducked her form to the side when the earth suddenly exploded nearby, but it had not been close enough to rob her of her footing. His movement gained the attention of her eyes again just about the time he waved for her to come nearer. There was no denying that the woman felt a bit relieved to see that he was still drawing breath. He need not wait for her arrival to know that she would follow. She moved quick and with nimble grace now even as she had in Rome upon the rooftops. Her worn down boot soles made nary a sound upon the ground. There was no hesitance in putting two and two together in the woman's mind. The dark figure in the wide-brimmed hat had to have been who Percival had been speaking of when he claimed to have seen Lazarus. That figure was precisely what her keen eyes were searching for in the moments that brought her up to her comrade's side. The death of the man at the blade of the Talon seemed to not even be noticed. With her heart slamming into her ribs and her quick breaths freezing in the chill of the air, Blythe pressed forward. Opting not to step around the fighting, two men in her path were soon felled, one with his right hamstring severed and the other with a soon-to-be-spewing jugular.

PercivalVizharen

Percival caught one man's swinging arm and twisted, using the soldier's weight to flip him to his back. Percival drug his boot across, swiftly kicking the male across the teeth and breaking his neck. There were a series of screams further ahead in the city square. "We need to get there!"


The Bean Shidh

No words were given from the cloaked and hooded female, but she did not stop her advance forward. One man was stepped over whild the chest of the other was stepped on. There was no bother from her to simply go around. Knowing that the Talon would follow, she trudged forward. With the fighting all around, her attention was not as keen as it typically would have been. The sting of the blade as it slashed against her shoulder did not draw a cry from the woman's throat as it might have in another. What it did bring forth from her was a sudden feral, vicious snarl and a quick landing of those maddened blues on the features of the man who charged from the side. Left arm rose in a sweeping motion to bat aside the blade of the man in the moments that she turned her form his direction. The man was dead before he fell from the rapier and landed on the ground, a clean hole made through his stomach and out of his back. Her own wound was painful but it caused her no concern. Delayed by the encounter, Blythe's feet soon set her forward again, though this time she was moving more quickly and choosing to shove people out of her way -- sometimes impaling them on the blades of their opponants -- rather than fighting. She would head directly toward the screaming up ahead.

PercivalVizharen

The village square was nearby, and came into view. Atop the center 'stage' was the same brim hat individual, only he was completely surrounded by people. When they came into the clearing, they'd notice there were bodies.. everywhere. The ten left, were fighting Lazarus. There was a loud explosion from the center platform, and smoke spread across the entire central square. --Percival skid to a halt, raising his sword but looking confused. "Where did they go?"

The Bean Shidh

Clouds of foggy breath issued from the lips of the woman, and the cold air stung her lungs and made them ache. The sight she saw of Lazarus and the ten had been immediately locked into her memory. The explosion that soon sounded did not cause her to jolt nor did the smoke disorient her to her present location. Immediately, her ears tuned in on the sounds around them, seeking out the movement of the others. Sheathing her knife, Blythe closed her eyes. Typical fighters would sound much the same in their movement, trained or not. At this point, their actions would be rushed, feverish. Those of Lazarus would not. He was far more experienced, and with experience came a confident set of motions. Reaching toward Percival, Blythe took a good hold on his shirt then stepped foward, listening to her surroundings and giving herself over to her practiced art of tracking.

PercivalVizharen

When she set forth, guiding them, they were both stopped by a pair of hands that clamped over their throats. Gloved hands squeezed, cutting their oxygen off and lifting them up.

A Merc of God

"You.. are not of their family. Why do you pursue me?" He asked, tossing both of them to their backs. Almost as sudden as they hit, they were covered by a pair of pistols, each barrel pointing directly at them.

The Bean Shidh

Well, yes. That had stopped Banshee short. Her hand ripped away from Percival's shirt and soon grasped the wrist of the hand that clutched at her throat. Blues glared into the darkness that shrouded the man's features, but it was very brief. Blythe's wind was knocked from her lungs just as the hood was thrown off of her head. Hellfire consumed her; she would see his blood and flesh beneath her fingernails after she'd ripped his face off. Defiance was postered over her woman's features as she raised her rapier toward him but didn't speak. She was quite literally staring down the barrel of his weapon and was showing no fear. When she spoke, her words were fluid and strong and in perfectly-spoken Latin. "These things said he: and after that he saith unto them, 'Our friend Lazarus sleepeth, but we go, that we may waken him out of sleep.'" While the verse was mostly verbatum, Blythe had changed it so that she spoke of herself and her comrades rather than the words of Christ.

( To Be Continued. . . )