Map of Cormar (click for bigger)
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For nearly a year, Mehmet and Percinious had been part of the company led by Rurik Bloodwind. Serving the commands of his liege lord, Talatar Shieldchanger, Bloodwind had trained and led his company in a variety of endeavors in the northern part of Cormar.
Generally, each citizen's traditional year in the army is an uneventful stint marching around, drilling, catching lost cows, settling land disputes, and helping out with the clearing up when towns succumb to the ever-rising waters. So far, this had pretty much been what had happened, and Percinious Nutbolter and Mehmet Ali Acga had become fairly fit, as well as learning some useful weapons skills. Their term was nearly up, but for the last month or so Rurik planned to travel into the south of the island, to check out rumours of an unusually large group of Meryan bandits operating out of the Isgrim Forest.
The company was not without its' tensions. The primary causes of these were the two half-Khyle soldiers Percinious and Mehmet. While many of the company were quite comfortable with them, content to judge them by their abilities and actions, some were prey to old superstitions and petty jealousies, and did their best to make life uncomfortable for the pair whenever possible. The most noticably hostile were Cormac, Nikolos, Ralf, Goodwine, Tirfora Bearbane, Athala and Ippacir. Rurik and his second-in-command Ingolf, however, were firm but fair, and several even-handed punishments had discouraged open hostility within the company.
And so, on a nice bright morning in early June, Rurik Bloodwind and his company broke camp and set off for the Isgrim forest, a hundred-mile march he expected to complete in ten days or so. For two uneventful days, the unit marched along, camping in pleasant woods and meadows amongst the heaviliy-farmed northern villages.
Earlier in the day, the company had emerged from the more settled lands to the north and entered the more sparsely populated territory west of the Tircel Pass. Rurik took a little more care selecting his campsite this evening, and bivouacked on a lumpy knoll with a good view all around.
As midnight approached, the guard changed, and Mehmet and Percinous found themselves on the same watch. Seated together, watching the moonlit meadow below the knoll, they talked quietly, discussing the possibility that this expedition might bring some serious fighting compared to their military service to date.
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As they watched, a flicker of movement caught Percinious' eye, and he discerned low, powerful shapes sliding out of the trees at the edge of the plain. The pair watched for a moment, spotting other wolves approaching from other directions, and then raised the alarm as they readied missile weapons.
As the wolves came into range, Percinious and Mehmet opened fire on them. The archer drove arrows into the skulls of two wolves with pin-point accuracy, dropping them instantly. Nutbolter was slightly less fortunate; his crossbow bolt only hit the back leg of a wolf, but such was the force of his Cormaran crossbow that it smashed the limb clean off and the wolf pinwheeled across the grass. A moment later the night was lit up as Mehmet sent a Firearrow slashing into another wolf, transforming it to a sizzling lump of furry steak. Percinious spanned his weapon as the beasts closed.
Both elected to take another flight of missiles. Percinious shot a charging wolf at almost pointblank range, straight between the eyes, but Mehmet tangled his bowstring hopelessly and only just managed to draw his rapier. A wolf leaped at him, but missed its' strike, and he pierced its' flank as it flew past.
Blades, spells and shafts were flying now as the rest of the company reacted to the pair's timely warning, and wolves were dying in increasing numbers. Percinious split one almost in two with his hand-and-a-half sword, while Mehmet, disdaining defence for all-out attack, skewered another. Then there were no more, and the survivors were slinking back into the trees.
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As the pair collected their arrows and bolts, Rurik came around the knoll, checking his soldiers. He paused by the two sentries; "Good work, men," he commended, "Finish out your watch, then turn in." Mehmet, forest-wise, suggested that the wolves had been far more persistent in the face of fire and superior numbers than was normal. Rurik appeared to agree, but offered no comment. They located Shadorn - not normally difficult - and asked him if he could sense any magical influences. He replied that the wolves were normal enough - except for the one Mehmet had fried - but that a powerful aura had been here very recently.
Nutbolter put the billy on for some tea.
Five days later, the company was trudging through the rock area to the south of Tircel Pass. The terrain was rough, and crags rose either side of the path. Rurik had called Nikolos to him, and was plainly about to send the scout up the crags to check them out, when a vicious buzz was followed by the meaty smack of a crossbow quarrel striking flesh. Goodwine, directly ahead of Mehmet, dropped his halberd with a clatter as the half-Khyle stared in shock at the bloody point protruding from Goodwine's back. The halbardier toppled, dead in his tracks, as Rurik roared the word "Scatter!"
The company went to cover with alacrity, scanning the outcrop above frantically for the sniper. Percinious' sharp eyes caught a glint of steel, and he cast a Farsee to bring into sharp focus a crossbow bolt sticking out over the edge. It wasn't moving. He also could hear frantic noises from beyond it, not too far removed from those made by a person scrambling frantically down a steep slope.
Rurik pointed to Mehmet, Percinious and Bradua, and waved an arm up-slope. "Get up there and check it out!" he muttered. Kelda, Garoth and Aldor were despatched up the other side.
radua and Nutbolter struggled as they clambered up the rocky slope, with Percinious slipping down a dozen yards, but Mehmet sprang from handhold to handhold like a born climber, reaching the top in a matter of moments.
The ground sloped away again on the other side, and near the bottom he descried a figure, frantically scrambling towards a tethered horse. Despite being covered in dust and minor abrasions, he was close to reaching it, and once he reached it he would be gone. Hurriedly nocking an arrow, he drew down on his target and loosed, grinning nastily as the fleeing sniper rolled over and over down the slope, shot through the leg and incapacitated.
Mehmet picked up the cheap crossbow and disabled it. Bradua, reaching the top, called "We got him!'' back down to Rurik. Mehmet, Percinious and Bradua descended the slope to where the man lay, and looked him over. He was clearly a Meryan, and shabbily dressed.
Some rough field first aid was applied, followed by some interrogation based around the word ''Why?". He resisted at first, but finally burst out, ''We will resist you, you city scum. You come to destroy the Free Folk of the Forest for our land and hunting - but we will whittle you down until you are gone!"
Sighing, Mehmet slung the bound Meryan over his horse, and made his way back to the rest of the company. The normally calm Bloodwind was cleary infuriated at this murder of one of his men, and siezed the prisoner as soon as he arrived. Dragging the Meryan from his horse, Rurik pinned him against a rock at knife-point and demanded to know where he'd come from and how many other 'bandits' there were there. The sniper stuck to his defiant line, despite the pain, and Rurik clearly lost patience; with a curse he stabbed the prisoner mortally and let him fall.
Bloodwind's
Company was unusually subdued as they marched away from Goodwine's neat cairn.
They'd suffered casualties before, but not for a while - and not with such savage
arbitrariness. Mehmet and Percinious were deeply thoughtful.
What made a bandit? Were the Meryans they were being sent to fight really callous, lawless robbers and murderers; or were they an outcast minority pressured into a position where their only means of survival was the illegal? As members of a disparaged minority themselves, they could understand the Free Forest Folk. Before today, they'd have trusted Rurik Bloodwind absolutely in his judgement of such an issue; but this merciless killing had shaken that confidence somewhat.
Aware that morale was low, Rurik and Ingolf attempted to distract the men with the news that the unit would be stopping the night at Arlan, a small town not far away. This did seem to raise spirits, and Kelda explained to the two half-Khyle that Arlan was a popular stopping place; the town's inn, the Broken Harp, was legend for its' comfortable barn, excellent ale and good food.
By the time Bloodwind's Company reached the village of Arlan, heavy rain had been lashing down on them for several hours. A damp and half-hearted cheer accompanied the arrival under the sign board bearing a cloven musical instrument, and a few moments later twenty-two soaked and steaming Cormaran soldiers were stumbling into the warmth of the common-room.
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It was, however, instantly apparent that All Was Not Well. The expected jolly ambience was distinctly muted, small huddles of customers drinking in near-silence. The only exception to this was the town mayor, Gazar, who greeted Rurik warmly, almost in relief. This welcome obviously extended to his company, who were treated to free drinks by the expansive mayor.
Rurik and Gazar lingered at the bar as the soldiers sought tables to relax at, and Mehmet and Percinious dawdled nearby to catch the conversation. Gazar appeared not to mind sharing what he had to say, and explained the situation.
"Three murders, Rurik! Three good men slaughtered by the Twisted Ones," he exclaimed. Nutbolter and Mehmet glanced at each other in mingled skepticism and concern. In some of the darkest tales of Mereval's history, the Twisted Ones were the creatures that arose as a result of the worst misuses of black Khylar sorcery. Deformed and mutated from the natural creatures of the world, they were universally recalled as terrible foes, most hard to kill. Folk tales were crowded with them, but reliable accounts - historical rather than legendary - had never recorded them anywhere but on the unhappy island of Vermar. Certainly none of Bloodwind's Company had ever seen one.
Rurik thus was rather unconvinced. Hesitantly he tried to suggest that wild beasts might be a more likely explanation. Gazar was unconvinced however, and challenged Rurik to remain skeptical after examining the wounds - the last victim, one Brion Oakapple, killed just today, was as yet unburied. Rurik called Cormac to accompany him, hesitated, and then added the two half-Khyle. He didn't say anything, but it was clear what he was thinking; if it is the Twisted Ones, then maybe - just maybe - a couple of half-Khyle might know a bit more about what we find.
Ducking out of the tavern into the driving rain, the five men hurried through the village to a small house, where a sad-eyed woman was sitting aimlessly next to a man's body, laid out on the table and covered to the throat with a sheet. Compassionately, Gazar took her by the arm and led her into the next room, gently explaining the reason for the visit.
Rurik lifted the sheet, and all four winced. Underneath, the corpse of Oakapple was a mass of terrible wounds. Looking like bite-marks, they seemed done by teeth far beyond the size of any beast's any of them could think of. Nutbolter and Cormac examined the wounds, emnity put aside in the interest of the moment, and after a moment or two Cormac held up the small probe he'd been using. Clinging to the blood on it were several tiny slivers of metal. Covering the body again, they informed Gazar that the killer was a weapon-wielder, and probably not what it was meant to appear.
Back at the Harp, the five discussed this, trying to identify possible links between the dead men. All three were respected farmers and land-holders; all had died in the same area of woods; none had debts or common enemies.
Much to Gazar's satisfaction, Rurik announced that he would take some men there to investigate. Much to his company's relief, he declared that he would do that the following day and not in the middle of the night.
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Charging Wolf (never mind the snow!)
