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About Blood 54: Storm of Battle


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#1 Guest_Rand Al'Tor_*

Posted 03 January 2009 - 03:04 AM

54: Storm of Battle

Talek was looking with a disgruntled expression at his hand. Despite his fierce scrubbing, there were still traces of blood between his fingers and under his nails. “Damn it, stupid blood… why won’t you...?”

“Hey, Bloodhound, get yer plate on already.” Montaron called Talek by his newfound nickname. “We’re about to leave.”

Talek grumbled some more, then shrugged and quickly donned his armour before joining the group of thirty-something that was forming on the edge of the camp, among them the rest of the party and three Black Talons. The sky was grey, the promise of a spring storm hanging in the air.

As Talek arrived, the leading Black Talon nodded and spoke to the gathered bandits. “Okay folks, here’s the deal. There’s this caravan coming from Waterdeep. We don’t know what they’re taking. Could be iron, so we’re gonna greet them. We know they’ve got some guards, so there’s more of us than usual. We should be some kilometres north of the Gate before dusk, so let’s get moving.”

The group started to move, heading north as they left the camp. Nobody noticed the large figure among the brush, watching their faces with a deep frown.

“Yes Boo, Minsc needs to be calm. Minsc’s witch and his friends have a smart plan to get all the evil men! For now, we will watch the hidden camp with the Sharp Eyes of Justice.”

The group of bandits travelled north as fast as they could, avoiding the road. It started to rain, softly, as if giving a warning. The mercenaries were calm, only getting agitated when they felt they weren’t going fast enough. The other bandits on the other were either making too many jokes or were too quiet. Montaron was surly as usual, Xzar muttered to himself and Edwin looked more bored and annoyed with the mud and rain than anything else. Viconia talked to several of the bandits, her laughter sounding over the rain now and then. From the expressions of the bandits, she wasn’t exactly cheering them up.

Talek walked in front, his sword out and on his shoulder, raindrops freezing on the blade. He grinned constantly and now and then had to stop when he got too far ahead of the others.

It was some time before sunset when they arrived at the ambush site. The rain had increased, and the first lighting flashes and rolls of thunder sounded in the distance, coming closer. Some bandits whispered some prayers to Talos as the leader, a one eyed grey-haired man called Otis, gave instructions.

“Okay, listen up. Plan’s simple enough you all should be able to pull it off. We split up in two groups, each hiding on one side of the road. When I give the word, everyone fires arrows at the closest caravan guard. We kill off a good bunch of them in the first blow, the rest’ll be panicked and we can mop it up. Anyone fires an arrow, or as much farts before I give the word and I’ll have your balls, got it?” He gave Talek a particular look.

There were sounds of agreement from the assembled people. Otis nodded. “Right… Frel, Verag, you take half the guys, one of the wizards and the halfling. The rest stay with me on this side of the road. Everyone makes sure everyone ‘s well hidden. And be quiet. We can thank Talos he got us a storm so we can’t be seen as well. So nobody mess it up.”

With that, the group divided Xzar and Montaron crossing the road. Talek frowned as he was given a bow and some arrows. He hid behind a thick tree his sword at his feet. There was the noise of people moving around and whispering for some time, and loud complaining from Edwin about his clothes, and then just the falling rain and the approaching thunder.

They didn’t have to wait long. A caravan consisting of four wagons came trudging down the road, the drivers yelling at the horses, looking at the horizon, hoping to see the walls and relative safety of Baldur’s Gate. A man in mage robes sat on the second. Next to the wagons walked two lines of men in various armours carrying just as various weaponry, about twenty all together, talking among one another and cursing the weather. Two others rode horses in front of the convoy, both of them elves.

One of them was covered in a blue tunic, some chainmail visible underneath and cloak. Her hair, what could be seen of it, was short. Her face was plain and angular, the most notable future the hookish nose that had been broken and badly set at some stage. Her lips were thin and any feminine curves she might have had were well covered. The elf next to her was dressed in green, his face equally plain, some marks painted over his chin. He looked at the woman next to him, his hand tenderly touching her wrist for a moment and asked something. The woman nodded and the male elf rode further in front of the group, his eyes looking at the sides of the road.

He rode past the bandits, and on both sides, people stopped breathing and weapons were clenched. Otis kept his eyes on the elf, licking his lips.

The elf rode a little further and waved with his hand to ride on, saying something in elvish and rode on.

The caravan advanced, the first wagon coming within sight of the bandits. And the guards all had their bows and crossbows ready.

In a flash the male elf had his longbow out. As Otis, recovering from the surprise, opened his mouth to order an attack an arrow pierced his neck and he went down.

The guards loosed their missiles as well, firing blindly where the female elf pointed, and were rewarded with the screams from bandits at both sides.

The mage pointed at the side of the road where the other two captains were, and the soaked trees and mud were coated with a thick, sticky web, trapping bowstrings and throwing off aims.

The bandits started to fire back, one by one, some letting arrows loose in a panic, others waiting for the order of their fallen leader or someone else. Some guards were hit, but not nearly enough to break their morale.

And the drivers whipped their horses, which smelled blood on the air and hurried as fast as they could, carrying the wagons past the bandits.

The bandits were confused, demoralised and, on Otis’ side, unsure who was in command. Some of them kept firing, others just hid and waited, and a few were ready to run. All were looking for someone to tell them what to do.

Talek had fired one arrow, which missed and hit a wagon, and then looked indignantly at the wagons. “They’re getting away!”

Scowling he grabbed his sword and got up. Standing in full sight he got everyone’s attention, and arrows flew past him and into his armour. One crossbow bolt pierced it, getting a grunt in response.

“To the Abyss with the plan! Everybody, for blood and ale, CHARGE!”

And he ran. The bandits on his side roared and followed. The elven woman raised her sword and commanded the guards to fire on her mark. From in the shadows came two voices. Viconia sung, holding her goddess symbol in both hands, while Edwin barked the words to a spell.

And all of a sudden, for a brief moment, the shadows around the bandits seemed to pulse, and more importantly, their speed suddenly doubled. This time it was the elf’s turn to be surprised, as before she could give the order, her opponents were upon them.

Lightning flashed.

For Talek, rational thinking had stopped the moment he had stormed forward. He was eager to kill again. He saw the surprise in a guard’s face as his target was right in front of him all of a sudden. His sword came down in a two-handed blow on his collarbone.

First he felt the breaking of armour and bone.

Then he heard the scream.

Then he smelled the blood.

And then came the rush.

Talek inhaled and looked to the right. The guard had dropped his bow and was drawing his sword. He moved at normal speed, but Talek’s limbs felt as if they moved as quickly as he could give them commands. Releasing one hand he cut into the man’s neck. No scream, the smell of blood became thicker, and another rush, combing with the first to take him higher. He exhaled and he heard himself laugh in glee.

He turned left and saw two guards striking at him. His bloodstained sword blocked one sword and his body moved quickly enough to make the other blow scrape uselessly over his breastplate. Another bandit, moving quickly stabbed the guard whose sword was against Talek’s blade in the face. The guard screamed and lowered his sword, allowing Talek to finish him off.

Bliss.

Later on Talek would remember little of the fight. He cut and parried, hacked and dodged; each kill he got raising the energy rush that drove him to kill more. He broke through the lines and attacked the guards shooting at the other side, giving the bandits there a chance to charge as well. He heard Montaron screaming. “And the rivers run red!”

From the corner of his eyes he saw one of the horses of the first wagon scream and fall over, gibberlings that had appeared out of nowhere having torn open its belly. He saw some guards’ corpses rise and grab their former comrades in arms.

He remembered very little, all he remembered was the screams, the smell of blood, the pain of the hits he took, the ecstasy of the kills getting higher and higher… and the feeling that he never ever wanted this to stop.

The female elf cried out commands, striking down with her sword at bandits. Finally, her companion, who had been firing arrows, but couldn’t shoot into the melee, called out something in elven. The wizard yelled over the sound of battle, and pointed towards the direction of Baldur’s Gate. The elven woman cursed and started to fight her way out of the battle.

Montaron ran over to Talek and pointed at the two retreating elves. “You take the woman!” He just said. And ran, Talek taking off as well.

The elven woman had just made it out of the melee and started to speed up when Talek caught up with her. His sword sliced through a hind leg. With a scream the horse fell to the ground, the female warrior only narrowly avoiding being crushed underneath it. She looked up into Talek grinning down at her and bringing his sword down. Quickly rolling aside she got her longsword and got into a combat stance.

The other elf stopped and turned, calling out pleadingly in elvish. She shook her head and gave a short reply.

“Ye better worry about yerself, elf.” Came from the archer’s side as Montaron nimbly climbed up his leg. His short sword, bloodstained already was visible in a lightning flash. Then the elf screamed and the horse sped off.

The swordswoman screamed something in elvish, then looked at Talek with an angry glare. Again, a flash of lightning, as if on cue.

Talek, a wide grin on his bloodstained face smiled. “An elf… I’ve never killed an elf before.”

“And you never will.” She charged.

As the storm roared above them in full force the two clashed. Talek tried to push the elf back so he could take advantage of his greater reach, while the elf tried to get close to him. The human still moved with magical speed however, and delivered a harsh blow in her side. The elven woman moaned in pain but to Talek’s surprise she didn’t go down. In fact, he hadn’t even drawn blood. Cursing in elvish the hurt woman rained blow after blow on him, pushing him back.

And then the haste spell wore off. Talek gasped for breath as for the second time in two days, his limbs suddenly felt heavy. He dodged a blow too late and the longsword tore into his upper leg.

He cried out in pain. Adrenaline gave him the speed to force the elf back. His free hand reached for a potion. The many wounds he had suffered hurt a lot more now that his body was exhausted. He grabbed a potion, broke the wax seal with his thumb and raised it to his lips.

“No, you don’t!” The elf said, and stepped forward, wincing, as it seemed his strike had bruised or broken a rib, and made a vicious thrust. Only half the liquid had been drunk when the vial burst into little shards, showering on Talek’s face. His hand too received a shallow cut.

“My face, you BITCH!” Talek screamed. Rage overcoming exhaustion, he attacked with renewed vigour, using both hands to strike, ignoring the wound on one palm. He drove the elf back, step by step. Until, with one fluid motion, the elf struck his gauntletted but injured hand, then raised her sword against the crossguard, removing the sword from the man’s hands.

Talek cried out, but acted fast. His opponent made the mistake of raising her sword high in the air, too sure in her victory. His right hand grabbed her swordsarm, while his left hand was painfully made into a fist and punched her in the ribs right where he had hit her before. The elf shrieked as her injured ribs were punched once, twice, and lost her grip on her sword. Talek had to avoid it falling down at him, giving her an opening to hit him hard on the chin. The human staggered back, releasing her, getting several more hits before he regained his senses and leapt forward, using his height and weight to bowl her over onto the muddy ground.

His breathing heavy as every muscle started to ache, Talek began slamming his fist into the elf’s face, feeling his body steadily weakening from blood-loss and exhaustion. Then the lithe elven body seemed to curl up, her knees brought up to her chin, and her feet slammed in his chest, throwing him back on his rear and knocking the breath out of him. After he recovered Talek saw her crawling towards her longsword. He wasted a precious moment looking for his own bastard sword, laying by the side of the road, too far away, and then crawled after her, the two beaten, bleeding warriors on hands and feet racing through the mud for a sword.

The elf’s hand grabbed the sword, but Talek’s hand grabbed her wrist and pinned her hand against her chest. His other arm wrapped around her head.

“Your neck’s… really thin…” He said breathlessly.

The elf struggled, saying one word. “Kivan.”

Talek twisted. There was a horrible, cracking sound and the woman went limp in his arms. Releasing her, Talek leaned back, looking up at the rain and letting the warm, wonderful feeling wash over him. He vaguely noticed the sounds of fighting were coming to a stop.

“Ah… lass gave ye trouble… did she?” Came Montaron’s voice. He appeared from the shadows, limping heavily.

Talek smiled lazily. “Yeah… where’s your mark?”

Montaron grimaced. “Threw me off the blasted horse… but with my blade to keep his kidneys company, he won’t be getting far.”

Talek grinned, then looked at the caravan, where a last agonised and abruptly cut off scream signalled the battle’s end.

Thrusting his bloodstained left hand in the air, the swordsman cried out. “WE DID IT! WE WON! WHOOOOHOOO!”

His joyful cry was taken over by the other surviving bandits, echoing through the forest and over the road. It reached an elf that was trailing blood as he was slumped on his speeding horse’s neck. When he heard it, he shuddered and weakly whispered. “De… Deheriana.”




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