Ashes to Ashes - A Mount&Blade: Warband RP

[josh900]

"Nice bit of help he was." Cair said under his breath as he finished counting his coins. Thankfully the amount came up right, so he and his men wouldn't have to do anything drastic.

 

"Well now that that bit o' fun is over with, how's about we all just acknowledge that we didn't exactly met under the best of circumstances and start from scratch eh?" He asked, extending out his hand to shake Bellatrix's seeing as how she appeared to be the leader of their group.

 

"I'll forgive your man over there for starten' tha fight the other day." He nodded in Komolov's direction. "And I'll also forgive the outlaw and bandit comments from yerself if you can forgive my lack of giving out the proper information at our first meeting."

[AurianaValoria1]

Bellatrix sighed heavily and shook Cair's hand, "Water under the bridge, shall we say?" With that, she turned to Komolov and Emina and added, "If we're done here, let's move out."

 

=================================

 

After returning to Dhirim to upgrade their equipment, the small band of travelers began making their way towards Derchios Castle, having nothing else in mind to do. Bellatrix exchanged her Vaegir helm for a sturdier Swadian nut helm with a noseguard, and she traded her hunting bow for a Swadian shortbow - better for use on horseback due to its superior speed. The rest of the gold she either gave to Komolov or Emina or spent on foodstuffs for the journey.

 

When at last they arrived at Derchios Castle, which overlooked the valley north of Dhirim's plateau, they found Mirchaud's men camped at the base of the fortress. Count Grainwad's colors graced the turrets of the castle; one of five brothers who had almost total dynastic control of Swadia's nobility, Grainwad possessed a home that was an impressive sight, and it harbored at least a hundred men within its walls...

 

"Well," Bellatrix said as she pulled her steppe horse to a halt, "Here we are. Suppose the baron's waiting on us."

[FreemasonGamer]

Komolov rolled his eyes at Cair's snide mentioning of their first encounter following the conflict at the bandit camp, but the archer simply shook his head and remained quiet afterward as the man shook hands with Bellatrix. Once the l'Aeryngton had settled their previous hostility with the group of Cair's once and for all, the two parties became one as they rode away from the remains of Amere, swiftly riding back to Dhirim and arriving back in the city by dusk. Along the way, Komolov had also grown steadily more confident whilst riding upon his gelding Bourbon, although his skill at horseback riding was still quite to be desired. Luckily, they were able to browse the merchants' and craftsmen's wares within the city's walls before they had closed for the evening. While the others of the company were occupied with the task of purchasing superior equipment, Komolov bid a brief farewell to his sister Emina before strolling off on his own accord into the winding streets of Dhirim in search of a proper surgeon or healer; if he was going into battle anytime soon, Komolov needed the old gashes on his arms—the two that he had sustained from the bandits they slew—treated properly so that they might heal before the next great skirmish. Eventually, the Vaegir did encounter an elderly sawbone who was willing to patch him up as best as possible for a reasonable fee of denar. Thus, the night settled over Dhirim as Komolov silently endured the mending process during which the crude stitches of his two wounds were removed before the cuts themselves were properly cleaned, sutured, and bandaged.

 

Once he was patched up, the Vaegir felt oddly refreshed, relieved even that his injuries were taken care of by one who studied and was experienced in the art of healing. With his improved mood came a certain excitement resulted from the laden coin pouch strapped to the Vaegir's belt. He had earned the denar that now gave him a source of pride, and Komolov felt an obligation to spend it. Seeing that most shops and stores were closed by the time the Vaegir had left the sawbone's, he instead fancied a strong brew of red ale from the tavern he and the others of his group frequented. Hence, he quickly made his way to the tavern in question, where his friends also resided after their successful quest of trading for improved armor and weapons. Happily buying rounds for any and all who were inclined to drink red ale, Komolov even boldly strummed up something of a merry celebration; after all, who could have neglected themselves of a gleeful mood when a Vaegir offered to buy everyone a few rounds of fine-tasting ale whilst rallying the folk with a few traditional Vaegir drinking songs?

 

For the first time in what felt like years, Komolov genuinely enjoyed himself as he sowed such merriment among the tavern's patrons. Some had begun to dance to his cheerful northern tunes and melodies while others joined in his unorthodox performance whenever they recognized a song or lyric. Laughter and cheers filled the air whenever a good drinking song wasn't sung, and the scents of good food and better brews drifted through the air and only added to the liveliness of it all. Once he had consumed more food and ale than he could while still being able to competently dance and sing, Komolov contently settled down in the exact same chair that he always occupied with his back to the wall. He was sipping the last bottle of red ale he had allowed himself for one night when one fair Swadian maiden made her way to Komolov's side, fearlessly sitting in a chair next to him. Her voluptuous attire, lavender-scented strawberry blonde hair, well-toned southern skin tone, and rich brown eyes captivated the Vaegir's attention, and the pair happily conversed for a while; to all the others of the company except Komolov, it was obvious what the young woman was and what her intentions were. Finally, the coinwench showed her true nature when she convinced Komolov to follow her out of the tavern at nearly midnight, and he did not return until late the following dawn.

 

~

As the others prepared the next day for their ride to Dirchios Castle, they saw Komolov wandering through the streets back towards the tavern alone and with the silliest, most naive of grins on his refreshed, cleanly-shaven face. Boldly ignoring the looks and snickers he might have gotten, the Vaegir proudly packed his things and mounted his steed, humming happily until the they themselves rode from Dhirim to their destination. Upon their arrival at Dirchios Castle, Komolov cast his gaze over the fields of military encampments and towards the grand fortress itself. Seeing the countless officials gathered in one place reminded the Vaegir that there was in fact denar to be earned here. He finally spoke up once Bellatrix mentioned the baron while he trotted along atop Bourbon, "Indeed. He aught to tell us where we'll be situated among all this."

[josh900]

"Sure... all the way under it." Cair replied to Bella as she called for her group to move out. Him and his group had other business here to take care of.

 

Despite their appearance, they were not common mercenaries that worked only for coin, their task was to aid the helpless wherever they may be, and so they stayed in the village for some time, helping them top rebuild and teaching them how to better protect themselves against future raids.

[AurianaValoria1]

They did not have to wait long for Mirchaud himself to make an appearance. The baron finally spotted the comrades from a distance atop his night-black destrier while speaking to a nearby man-at-arms; he immediately broke the conversation and spurred his steed into a canter as he noticed who had arrived on the scene, and as he approached, Bellatrix noticed that he was armed more heavily than he had been when they first met. Mirchaud's chain hauberk now sported plate armor on his forearms, shins, knees, shoulders, and elbows. He had also traded his flat-topped, open-faced helm for a closed great helm, which he had lashed to his saddle. Thus, for the first time, his short, chocolate brown hair was visible, fashionably messy and fluttering in the breeze. His greatsword was still strapped to his back, but he now had a heater shield that sported his arms slung atop it, and he held a spear-headed lance in one hand as he managed the reins with the other.

 

Once in speaking distance, he pulled his snorting stallion to a halt and smiled with a mischievous glitter in his dark eyes, "Well, Lady Bellatrix. I was beginning to think you would not take me up on my offer after all. It is good to see that you have." Looking over the party members, he added, "And it seems that Cair decided to stay behind. I figured as much. No matter...the people whom I wanted to see here are here." He grinned, inclining his head to her, "Are you ready for battle? For make no mistake...there will be blood shed this day."

 

"Ready as we can be, I think, my lord," Bellatrix sighed, adjusting her helm, "What is the plan?"

 

"Klargus and the other lords have gathered to the north of here to face the Nords head-on. This places them squarely between Grainwad's fortress," he jerked his thumb back at the castle, "and Knudarr Castle. Which, conveniently for me, belongs to Jarl Haeda. The Jarl has made the mistake of pitting most of his garrisoned men against Klargus in the field, thinking to repel the Swadian forces from the area permanently and to thus keep us away from his home," he paused, his grin widening, "But that will not be the case, and I will assure you that I will have my revenge very soon."

 

Bellatrix raised an eyebrow, "After this fight, you plan on besieging the Jarl's castle whilst his forces are separated and, quite possibly, decimated from the clash with the Swadian army."

 

He winked, "Good girl. Now...we haven't much time to waste. If my scouts report accurately, the armies should be facing each other just about now." He glanced up at the sky to see the sun not yet at its peak, "We need to move out if we are to reach them in time. If you will, fall in behind my men and take my commands. From this point until I decide to relinquish you, you are part of my army. Together, we will flank the Nords and rout them."

 

Bellatrix sighed again, "Very well, my lord. It will be as you say."

 

She briefly glanced to Komolov and then urged her horse into a trot, falling into place behind the men who had, in the time Mirchaud had taken to speak with her, already broken down their camp and assembled into ranks.

[FreemasonGamer]

Komolov kept quiet when Mirchaud approached their group, and he listened intently when the baron informed them of his strategies; to the Vaegir's understanding, they were to intercept Jarl Haeda's main forces of Nords to the north as they locked antlers with Klargus's Swadian armies. Hopefully, a successful flanking maneuver made by Mirchaud's forces—which included Komolov, Bellatrix, and their mercenary group—would render the Nords trapped between two formidable groups of enemies. While that first phase of the plan appealed to Komolov, as he had used similar tactics for years spent hunting with his old companions of Ayyike, he was uncertain of the phase that Mirchaud had planned once the Nords were defeated. Following a presumed victory against the bulk of the Nord opposition, the baron then intended on besieging Haeda's remaining forces at Knudarr Castle, but the idea of besieging was unfamiliar to Komolov, hence why he was cautious of it. Regardless, the Vaegir nodded to Bellatrix when the pair exchanged glances, falling into line among Birchaud's troops before spurring Bourbon into a steadily-paced trot.

 

It wasn't ten minutes of riding to the hypnotic rhythm of marching until Komolov already felt it. It was a similar feeling to what he had felt when scouting out the bandit camp days beforehand. It was anticipation. A scent of sweat, blood, and death began to ride the breeze, and his steed fidgeted worriedly at the growing stench. A distant roar also taunted the Vaegir's hearing, but it was a roar unlike any he had heard before. A roar nothing like that of a river, waterfall, thunderstorm, or even that of an avalanche; it was the roar of men, steel, and war.

[AurianaValoria1]

The army found themselves approaching the exit of a small copse of trees they had entered earlier as they heard the distant clashes of men and warhorses. Mirchaud carefully rode ahead of them and then gestured for his men to halt as he peered through the treeline and beheld the battlefield beyond; under the boughs of the trees, his army was effectively hidden, and thus safe, from the foes outside. After a few moments, he pointed to Bellatrix and motioned for her to come forward to see the unfolding situation for herself.

 

Klargus had managed to rally the support of nearly every lord in Swadia, but even that great of a host was struggling against the forces of the Nords. Both sides most assuredly numbered in the hundreds. To their left, the marshal's archers rained bolts in whistling arcs over the heads of his infantry and knights, who battled fiercely with Konungr Ragnar's huscarls squarely in the middle of the field. To their right, the Nord's longbow archers answered the crossbowmen with missiles of their own, and together, the marksmen created a hailstorm of death that caught lord, knight, and axeman alike by surprise. Several of Klargus's crossbowmen were downed simultaneously by a rather clever and well-timed volley from the Nords...and those men in particular were commanded by Jarl Haeda himself.

 

The sound was unlike anything Bellatrix had heard before in her life. She had never gotten this close to a battle of such proportion. The screams and warcries of the living only barely drowned out the howls and moans of the dying, and these were punctuated by the wails and whinnies of wounded and frightened horses. And beneath it all was the constant thunder of heavy hooves and weapons beating endlessly against shields.

 

And then there was the smell that sent them all on edge...the smell of sweat and blood and death - that odor that caused the knights' chargers to stamp and chomp at their bits and the men-at-arms' hunters to dance beneath their riders with nervous energy.

 

Bellatrix and Mirchaud were witness to a rather gruesome death - a Swadian sergeant taking a throwing axe straight to his head - before the baron took her by the arm to get her attention, "My lady...I want you with my men-at-arms. You seem well-suited to mounted combat, so stay with them and include yourself in any orders regarding them." He then turned to Komolov, and in a louder voice, added, "You should keep yourself well behind enemy fire and with my marksmen," he gestured to his dozen crossbowmen, "Cover us from the rear."

 

With that, the baron took his helm from his saddle and settled it on his head, adjusting the chin strap and then pulling his shield on top of his left arm, "Knights!"

 

His seven Swadian knights edged their chargers forward, forming a formidable wall of snorting horses and shimmering steel.

 

Mirchaud watched the field for a moment, making sure that Ragnar's men were so fully engaged with the lords of Swadia that they could not easily turn from a flanking charge...

 

"Run them down!" was his cry at last.

 

The knights hesitated not. At once, the put their spurs to their warhorses' flanks, and they erupted forward as one, lances couched firmly under their arms as they burst from the treeline and thundered towards the field. Mirchaud didn't wait to see the result, instead calling "Men-at-arms!"

 

The soldiers in question pushed forward like the knights, forming a line with their bay and black horses. Bellatrix pulled her bow from her quiver at her side, thinking to use the tactics an old Khergit mercenary had taught her whilst on a caravan route one time. She was surprised to find that her heart pounded in her throat from nervousness, and Mirchaud seemed to sense this as he offered a quiet, "Good luck be with you, my lady." She did not have time to respond, however, as he immediately followed with the command, "Charge!"

 

Bellatrix found herself spurring her steppe horse into a gallop alongside the rest of Mirchaud's men-at-arms, caught up by a force she didn't quite understand. Part of her knew that anyone with any good sense would be running in the other direction. Another part of her knew that many of these men were compelled to fight for their home, some to fight for honor, and others only for money. And yet another part of her knew that this was the first step on a long road towards something far greater than she could ever imagine...and it was this that compelled her more than any other reason...

 

Time seemed to slow as she was caught up in the moment, the pounding of the horses' hooves matching the beat of her heart and fueling an odd sense of power within her. The men raised warcries with lances leveled, and she found herself offering her voice along with theirs as her steppe stallion easily kept up with the taller, stronger hunters and saddle horses. At the last minute, however, she peeled off from the group and swung her stallion around to aim at the foe nearest her - a young Nordic infantryman of barely more than eighteen years. She hesitated for but a moment as she knocked an arrow, aiming for his heart...

 

...and she missed, the arrow whistling harmlessly over the man's shoulder as he turned and ran for her dancing steed as fast as his legs could take him, battleaxe raised high.

 

It mattered little, though, as a knight wearing the baron's colors flew past, skewering the man through on the tip of his lance with eagle-like precision and saving Bellatrix from retaliation. She immediately urged her horse into a canter around the perimeter of the battle, keeping just out of reach of melee fighters. Knocking another arrow and taking aim once more, she vowed not to miss again.

 

Meanwhile, back at the treeline, Mirchaud motioned his archers forward, "Fire at will!"

Edited August 17, 2015 by AurianaValoria1

[FreemasonGamer]

In the time it took for the majority of Mirchaud's mounted forces to rally and charge towards the Nords' flank, emerging forth from the forest's cover as a tide of malevolent steeds and bloodthirsty riders, Komolov reined Bourbon further back into the treeline, quickly hopping off his saddle and tying the steed's reins around the narrow trunk of a pale birch tree. The last thing Komolov needed was to lose his horse in the chaos of what was soon to come. Equipping his composite bow and notching a barbed steel arrow, the Vaegir gave Bourbon one last glance before accompanying Mirchaud's crossbowmen, standing out like a sore thumb amongst the Swadian troops but standing with them nonetheless. Watching the battle unfold alongside Mirchaud's crossbowmen, Komolov drew his first arrow back and raised his bow as his comrades brought their crossbows up to their shoulders; the Vaegir was an experienced enough archer to know how to shoot one's arrow in such an arc to reach the Nords without threatening to rain a friendly arrow down upon an unfortunate Swadian. When the call reached Komolov's ears, he loosed his arrow skyward as the crossbowmen on either side of him pulled the triggers of their ranged weapons.

 

As one perfect storm of crossbow bolts accented with a single arrow, their projectiles soon showered down upon the unsuspecting Nords as Mirchaud's knights crashed into them with the force of a surging ocean. Then emerging from the treeline behind the rest of Mirchaud's men alongside the other archers—if crossbowmen could even be labelled as such—Komolov watched his arrow soar gracefully before descending tip-first into the horde of Nords below, and the Vaegir archer was barely able to notice his arrow plunging into the shoulder of one unlucky Nord before the victim fell to the ground, disappearing beneath the carpet of warring warriors.

 

"One..." Komolov muttered under his breath, quickly drawing back a second arrow as an all too familiar pain began to burn in his arms; despite the exertion of drawing the tightened bowstring and the resulting pain, Komolov's stitches held his wounds closed firmly and allowed him to continue.

 

Although, the Vaegir quickly realized that he drew his bow much faster than the crossbowmen were able to load their weapons, so he was forced to time his shot arrows more precisely with their fired bolts. With his arrow leading the second volley, Komolov spared the slightest of smirks as his heart began to race; his second arrow dug into the leather cap poorly protecting the skull of one Nord who almost immediately collapsed dead in the fray. Under his breath, Komolov hissed, "Two..."

 

Unfortunately, the following volleys of theirs were met with raised shields, and Komolov cursed when his third arrow was blocked by one such Nordic shield. Similarly, Komolov's fourth arrow disappeared into the horde of Nords without him being able to pinpoint if whether or not it had claimed a victim. Also, more pain began to swell in his arms as he drew back a fifth arrow, loosing it alongside the cloud of bolts fired by the rest of Mirchaud's crossbowmen. Thankfully, that fifth arrow promised a third kill when Komolov saw it pierce the back of one Nord who had his back turned whilst squaring off with a few Swadian footmen. By that point, the Nords were fully aware of Mirchaud's presence in the battle, and Komolov steeled himself for whatever might possibly come next before reaching for a sixth arrow from his quiver. "Three..."

Edited August 17, 2015 by FreemasonGamer

[AurianaValoria1]

Bellatrix's next arrow found its target in an already-wounded huscarl who was struggling to regain his feet after slaying a Swadian knight of Klargus's colors. It buried itself deep in the warrior's shoulder, but it did nothing to stop the towering man; she quickly loosed another, only to find her projectile blocked by one of the Nords' heavy shields. She cursed in frustration, wheeling her horse around again as she thought of how to gain a better vantage point, but a sharp whistle past her head startled her to the grave reality of the situation, and she realized she was as much a prime target out in the open as the wounded Nords were. She would have to abandon marksmanship and dive straight into melee if she wanted to do any significant damage and avoid being a sitting duck for Jarl Haeda's archers.

 

With that, she re-slung her bow over her shoulder and drew her sword, spurring her steppe horse into a gallop again and driving him straight towards the Nordic archers - if no one took them down, the Swadians would keep getting picked off around the edges of the battle, including their own crossbowmen. The volleys from the Swadians screamed overhead as she charged towards the group of marksmen who were watched over by the Nordic lord. She didn't care about drawing attention to herself, so long as she closed the gap between them before they were able to launch any more arrows.

 

Haeda was so occupied with watching the larger battle that he did not see Bellatrix galloping towards his archers at a diagonal until it was too late. His restrictive helm also did nothing to help matters, and she came into view when he was powerless to stop her destructive charge. The speckled steppe steed slammed into one man, trampling the archer into the dirt and breaking his spine as she slashed sideways with her sword and quickly beheaded another, the horse-propelled steel slicing through the collar of the marksman's leather jerkin with ease. She then drove the weapon through another as he fumbled for his axe, burying her blade to the hilt in his chest. Bellatrix's mount only then slid to a halt, and she jerked the reins sideways to wheel him around again, only to face the full wrath of Haeda's rearing warhorse...

 

Before the jarl's battleaxe could come down upon her head, however, a crimson and black blur raced out of nowhere, colliding with Haeda and sending him flying from his mount's back and into a tree. As Bellatrix's horse danced away, barely under her control, she realized the blur was none other than Baron Mirchaud, and his lance had almost punched straight through the jarl's hauberk. So thickly was the Nord's armor padded, however, that the wound was not a mortal one. Still, it was deep, and crimson began to spread outward across the jarl's tabard as he struggled to stand.

 

Thinking it wise to leave the duel to the two of them, Bellatrix resumed her assault against the archers before the stunned Nords could recover. Using her steed's powerful momentum, she fatally wounded three more lightly-armored archers; just one of them managed to draw a weapon against her in time, and the blade only succeeded in tearing a hole in her thick boot. Thus, with Haeda's archers gone, a significant portion of the Nordic marksmen were taken out of the equation, and perhaps this would help the Swadian forces gain an edge over their opponents.

 

Meanwhile, Baron Mirchaud squared off against Jarl Haeda, sliding off of his horse's back and drawing his greatsword. The baron wasted no time in rushing his already wounded opponent, immediately pushing the jarl to the defensive. Haeda could not keep up for long against the baron's relentless assault, and at last Mirchaud ripped the battleaxe from Haeda's hands and forced the jarl to his knees.

 

Bellatrix could not hear or see the jarl yield, however, as pain exploded in her shoulder; she had foolishly watched the exchange between the lords for too long, and she had not noticed the throwing axe of one of Ragnar's huscarls come sailing straight for her. She was almost knocked unconscious as the flesh of her right shoulder was torn open by the biting blade, the chain of her hauberk the only thing stopping the bone from being completely shattered or the joint itself from being sliced in two. Unbeknownst to her, the axe had still dug a trench an inch deep into her flesh and muscle, the force tearing open chain links and shoving both twisted metal and shredded fabric into the wound. Her mouth opened in a silent scream, and she reeled as she lost her balance, falling from her horse's back and landing on the already wounded arm with an inhuman howl of pain. She did not see who then snatched up her dropped blade and slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes; had she remained conscious a few moments longer, common sense would have told her it was the baron, who had seen her fall and who had rushed to rescue her before the huscarl could finish the job.

 

Baron Mirchaud jumped atop his destrier and spurred into a full gallop, heading straight back to the treeline with blinding speed as he carried the wounded and unconscious Bellatrix to safety. Once there, he carefully handed her over to Komolov and the crossbowmen, "She needs a surgeon! Quickly!" One of the older, bearded crossbowmen must have had some medical skill, as he stepped forward without hesitation and took her from the baron's arms, laying her flat on the ground and trusting his comrades to cover for him as he began to tend to her wound. The baron himself did not stay to supervise, instead turning his steed on its heels and plunging straight back into the action as quickly as he had come out of it.

 

"Need some alcohol," the surgeon remarked to no one in particular.

[FreemasonGamer]

An accumulation of ten arrows had been fired by the Vaegir and his composite bow—which had claimed a total of six Nord lives in the battle up ahead—before the baron himself momentarily returned to the treeline whilst carrying an unconscious l'Aeryngton, and the sight of the gaping wound in her shoulder mortified Komolov more than he could have imagined. Of everyone who was a part of their mercenary group, never did he suspect that Bellatrix would be the first to fall during such a conflict. However, Komolov had little time to doltishly loiter and gawk at his fallen companion before Mirchaud deposited her and returned to the fray. When the surgeon among the Swadian crossbowmen requested alcohol to likely clean Bellatrix's horrific injury, the Vaegir recalled that he had precisely that in his satchel among Bourbon's saddlebags in the form of Vaegir vodka.

 

"I'll return with some." Komolov quickly said in response to the surgeon, ignoring the aching residual pain in his arms as he shouldered his bow and dashed away from the group of marksmen, heading into the forest in search of Bourbon.

 

His heart pounding loudly in his ears, the Vaegir spun on his heel slightly in disorientation before soon spotting the gelding's black hide among the greenery. Quickly heading over to his steed's side, Komolov wasted no time as he searched the saddlebags for his satchel, which held his personal effects and his bottle of vodka that was instilled with strong alcohol of the same stark harshness of any true Vaegir. However, his rapid search was interrupted by a baleful howl that panicked both Bourbon and himself. Quickly turning to face the source of the unnerving sound, the Vaegir saw that it was a weaponless Nord charging towards him. The bear of a Nord was mostly likely a deserter who had lost his weapon in battle and remained in the concealment of the forest, skirting the fringes of the confrontation. Barely having enough time to react, Komolov fumbled for any weapon of his before the hulking Nord figure crashed into him. With powerful vice-like arms, the Nord tackled Komolov to the ground as Bourbon whinnied fearfully a few feet away, fighting with his reins that were still tied to a narrow birch.

 

The wind was knocked out of Komolov's lungs when he landed on the ground with the Nord on top of him, and a meaty Nordic fist soon made abrupt contact with the Vaegir's cheekbone and nose with a gout of red and a spiking pain. A curse barely left Komolov's lips before another fist met his jaw, and he soon tasted coppery blood after the dreadfully successful punch. Reeling from the dazing pain of the blows, Komolov immediately struggled to breathe as the Nord then closed his hands around the Vaegir's throat. Kicking weakly and futilely clawing at the Nord's arms, Komolov heard his adversary growl in a husky voice, "Witless Swadian worm..."

 

Feeling the strength of his already pained limbs swiftly beginning to abandon him, Komolov did the last-ditch effort thing he could have done; he reached for the dagger strapped to his belt. Once his violently-shaking fingers grasped the pommel of the dagger, Komolov desperately spent his dwindling vigor yanking the blade out of its sheath and plunging it into the Nord's gut. A howl escaped the Nord when the dagger stabbed into his abdomen once, twice, and even thrice as his hold on Komolov's neck loosened. Gasping for breath, the Vaegir then tore the blade of his dagger into the Nord a fourth time before weakly heaving the hulking figure off of himself. Catching his breath, he stabbed a fifth and final time into the Nord's chest and spat with a spray of blood, "I'm Vaegir, you insolent..."

 

Although, Komolov's voice trailed off as the life left his fallen opponent's dreary blue eyes. Slowly staggering to his feet, the Vaegir wiped the blood from his face—which was futile as blood consistently dribbled from his crooked nose—and stumbled back towards Bourbon, frequently spitting onto the forest floor to relieve himself of the metallic taste of blood. Finally discovering his satchel among the saddlebags, Komolov tore it away, checked to make sure there was indeed an untapped bottle of vodka inside, and staggered back towards the treeline. Appearing substantially worse than when he had left a few minutes ago, the Vaegir tossed his satchel to the surgeon's feet with the faintest clink of the glass bottle within.

 

"There's some vodka; I hope that'll suffice..." He grunted, finally noticing that his nose was in fact crooked; grabbing it between his fingers, Komolov cringed noticeably at the painful crunch when he straightened his nose into its natural position.

Edited August 18, 2015 by FreemasonGamer