Learning from the Past
Shrouded by darkness, a group of five silently traversed the countryside, the rain that cascaded from the skies above leaving the ground soft, and slippery. They were lead by one slightly taller individual, who, like their comrades, sported a thick gambeson and was clad in leather armor. They appeared to take charge, though only communicated with her comrades through subtle hand gestures and the occasional whisper. However, none of the forms slipped, their shadowy visages giving off an eerie sense about the night. The group were one with the night as the night was one with them.
The dark smoke that rose from the nearby camp melded with the pitch black atmosphere, being in sight of only the most perceptive of man or beast. When the group proceeded forth, they were greeted by the flickering light of the campfire, and even from afar, the embers warmed their cold, soaked bodies; the leather armor they were clad in could only shield them from the storm so much.
The idle chatter of three men, all with countryside Anglian accents could barely be heard over the obnoxiously loud pitter-pattering of water droplets unto the shrivelled autumn leaves and the ones still adorning the surrounding trees in a fading green mask. Barely audible, only a few words could be picked out by the trained ear. "Money, kill, butcher." These words proved to be the most recognisable amongst the band of soon-to-be attackers. Surrounding the large bonfire, a duo of makeshift tents stood humbly alongside a cart, packed with all manner of chests, some of which overflowed with pristine pieces of gold.
One by one, the assailants drew the Anglian men out into the depths of the forest, where their necks would be met with the sharpness of steel blades. The crimson that would usually stain the surrounding region would be washed away in an instant, turning the muddy water a brown-red hue. One man, two men were all they could draw out. The associates of the fallen bandits grew wary when their friends failed to return. Luckily, the sound of the roaring thunder, the storm as a whole, had muffled the parting gurgles of the deceased.
Another plan had to be formed- it was certain. Spare nobody, the orders were as clear as day. The leader of the group, recognisable only by her difference in height and piercing aquamarine drew a circle in the air. A signal quite obviously. With little more than a nod in response, the woman's lackeys began to surround the camp from a distance. No signs of movement could be seen, it was all going perfectly, too perfectly. An agonising scream, along with a vicious snarl resounded, and soon, the smell of blood permeated the air around them. With the falling of one of the cloaked figures, the woman in charge cursed under her breath; there was no room for stealth now. Striking from the shadows, man after man was felled, each with an ear piercing cry as they fell limp to the ground, the light promptly leaving their eyes.
It was, by no means, an easy fight, but the now four mercenaries persevered, though not without injury. One was left gruesomely maimed after the experience, with the eye socket of one individual left no more than a bloody mess. However, there was no time for assessing wounds, it seemed, as a battle cry was let out from where? To the right! An arrow was shot, piercing the throat of the injured sellsword. An ambush! Knowing the only option was to run, the femme did just that with her two remaining band members.
"No time to play the hero. Our work is done, now we run!"
Came the yell of the leader, reaching over the rain. Her hood came down, in the rush, revealing her deep brown locks, which flowed behind her in a messy ponytail. Jumping over any stray twigs and roots that were strewn about the forest, she continued to run for her life.
A loud thud resounded. Another man down, chest pierced by an arrow. Now it was just the duo. The young woman and the now revealed gruff Avanthar. The two dashed away as fast as their legs could carry them. Another two shots were fired from the pursuing bowman, albeit haphazard shots. A shriek of pain escaped the woman as the arrow met with the back of her thigh, whilst the other arrow barely skimmed the side of the Avanthar's head.
The woman, having crumpled to the floor, had given up all hope. Though, in a strange turn of events, the male accompanying her moved down to sling her hand over his shoulder.
"Not dying on me today, are you, kitten?"
The low voice of the avanthar muttered in her direction, a small but tired grin tugging at the corners of his lips. The two continued to move swiftly away until the frustrated yells of their attacker were but a recent memory. The pair were safe, but not for long; another mission was bound to find it's way to the two worn-swords once their wounds had healed and they had been put in with a group of fresh-swords.
"Huh, good times."
The brunette Isldar now sat at her estate within Regalia, humming as she reminisced about times not so long passed in Angelia to her sister.
"Sounds awfully dangerous, Kat, but also sounds like you and Cel had a good time, no?"
"Hah, fun? Possibly. Would've been more so if I hadn't lost three good men that day."
Katrina spoke in a rather solemn tone, though her expression remained as flat as ever. Truth be told, that that day had indeed been a sad one, but she had learned a great deal, though at the expense of the lives of her band members.
"The coin was certainly appealing, but in the end, it was all a trap. I let my guard down once those in sight were dead, and it costed me the lives of my friends. I don't think I'll ever be letting my guard down again. I'll speak more of it tomorrow. This has tired me out."
Without another word, the elf retreated upstairs, her eyes glistening with the ghosts of her pasts. Whilst she didn't let on as such, the deaths of her friends had left her weighed down with emotion. She never let on as such, she could never let another being know of her inner demons. The cold, deadpan Katrina was a form of escapism of guilt, sadness and anger for the Isldar.
