Genthus had started soaking the saltbeef in a cup of water the minute the caravan had settled on their spot for camp. Letting it leak out the mineral as he'd help unload tents and circle wagons, he'd made the time to quarter a trio of spuds and a dried carrot, throwing the latter into the cup with the beef. As fires were made, he'd retrieved his second favorite steel instrument; a wide steel pan, maybe two inches deep, well-seasoned and a bit scarred in its own right. Over the fire and with a dash of lard, it quickly became a sizzling stage for the soaked saltbeef, the smell wafting into the dusky sky. A pinch of flour, a punch of spices, and a few small, crushed chilis would see the meat browned before it was turned back into a bowl, the vegetables flung to their mercy amongst its fats and juices.
Only when they became translucent in the dark, lit through only by the fires alongside, did Genthus toss it all together with a cupfull of water, a bit of onion, and a spring of herb. As it stewed, he'd sit back and gaze at the settled caravan, scanning fire to fire, cart to cart. Idle chatter. Simple meals of jerky and coal pies and fried breads. Little spread amongst groups, the camp a scattering of nuclei. And no conversation loud enough to carry, each little dinner party content not to share.
Sucking his lip, he'd spit before pulling his own dinner from the fire, pulling a broad knife and giving it a final stir. It wasn't the waiting that had ensured he hadn't taken up caravan life. It was the gentle coldness, and how a single misfortune could dash the sum of hard-built camraderie with the only people one would speak to for weeks. Life on the road, he'd found, was skeptical.
... humming, he'd stab a piece of beef and a chunk of potato, drag it hard through the pan sauce, and then bite it off his knife quickly enough not to get burned, blowing through an open mouth to cool it as he chewed. Ah well, at least there was a new nucleus of his own to consult.
Looking for them, he'd spot Esme and Ceren behind him on the back of their wagon. Standing before taking another bite of his meal, he'd trod over, licking the knife as he arrived. Noting their empty hands, he'd look down to his food, then back, before holding the pan out toward them both, the steam and waft of spiced beef and rich, thick, stewed sauce hit both of them in a burst. "Keep fed, especially if watches are in your futures." Getting a final knife-scoop of the meal into his mouth, Genthus would reach out with his free hand, ready to grab a bag he knew he had at least a spoon in.
That is, were it not for the growing sound of hooves accented by a surprised "Riders to the south!". Genthus squinted in the darkness as, indeed, a trio of horsemen seemed to make for the camp at speed, one bearing a torch, the other two riding ahead. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, he would put down the pan roast to one side of Esme, pick his teeth, and then roll his shoulders. "Be right back." He'd make for the bounds of the camp at a steady trod just as the riders approached, the woman from the Dogs, Lelindin, coming up just behind him. As the horses bore down, Genthus would raise an arm. "HALT."
A sudden pull of reigns, a few whinneys from confused horses, and a bit of skidding in mud would see the command obeyed, the three riders facing the camp sideways. Disheveled and dirty, each sported worn leather armor and besmirched heraldries of... well, frankly, it was a bit hard to make out in the dark, or so Genthus settled on thinking. Nevertheless, they were organized men, at least at a glance, easily part of some outfit themselves. One of them, the man with the torch, an elf of some height, a furred collar around his neck, a mace at his side and a shield hanging from his saddle, would stand in his stirrups and shout back. "Which of you lot is in charge? We'd have words."
Who was in charge was a more difficult question to answer than it seemed. Three people could lay reasonable claim to that title and none would be entirely wrong. Still to Caro, the caravan master seemed more in charge than everyone else. He watched has the mustached man stand up slowly and wipe his hands on his smock before approaching the riders. “Alright, what do ya'll want.” Caro edged closer, hoping his empty hands and unassuming clothes made him nothing more than a caravan hand to the soldiers. In the flickering fire, it was hard to make much more than shapes out of them, but shortly after a latern was brought to the fore and Kirkwall heraldry was shown under mud and grime. Caro frowned and remained silent. “Your shipment has been commandered for Kirkwall use.” Called out to the gathered crowd. “Present this writ to the head of the guard in Kirkwall and you shall receive fair pay for your contract.”
Caro breathed in, he's not sure how much renown he could get for such little work, but a quick payday and time to go again was always an opportunity to be snatched at. So it confused him when the caravan master began arguing, claiming clients would be mad, trust would be broken in a panicked tone. It rang hollow to Caro, they weren't so far from a hub that a new shipment couldn't be worked out and merchants running late in a warzone was the norm, not really to be questioned. A quick two part renegotiation and a couple weeks in town and they'd be on their way to make money again. After a short argument the Caravan Master bowed and made his leave. Caro did the same, making a circular motion with his hand.
He waited till the Salamanders gathered around his wagon and spoke, “This feels strange, Get ready for something to happen.” he glared through the camp saw the caravan master again, digging through his packs before grabbing something and heading back to his men. Caro watched their silhouettes surround the bonfire at the center of the camp before the fire flared brightly, and violet in hue for a few moments, leaving the woods glowing a few moments. “That's a signal” the said quietly, “Make sure the other group knows, we'll need them before this is over.” Couldn't be more than a few moments before something drastic would happen.
“Just sore.” Esme replied without elaboration, glancing down at the dead bird. Right. Honest about her limits or no, she didn’t want a front row seat for what came after plucking. She climbed the rest of the way into the wagon with a long hiss of breath. The alchemical supplies packed inside represented the other half of every coin she’d been able to save. Powdered rare metals and dual chamber flasks had been hard to come by.
Maybe with so much moonlight, she could get some work done.
“Thought I saw Genthus by the fire– Oh, there he is.” The giant came bearing gifts, apparently. The smell of stewed vegetables and beef reminded her belly of just how long it had been since breakfast. She was quick to set her supplies aside and wolf down a few bites.
It was impossible to miss how the attitude in camp changed. Strange riders on the road, the caravan master’s men contracting around their wagons. Caro and Genthus going to greet the strangers. Esme gave Ceren a worried glance and turned hastily back to her makeshift lab. There wasn’t time for much at all — she filled a tin with flashpowder and shoved the lid on with a peper fuse caught in the lip. Handful of matches in her pockets. Then Esme scrambled out of the wagon and after her friends.
They weren’t far, eerily cast in blues and violets from the central campfire’s flames. Copper chloride, if not magic. Surprising. Why would multiple chemists be out on the road in a party this small?
There weren’t very many reasons to set up a signal like that. Less when the mercenaries you’d hired were all within easy shouting distance.
“I’ll go.” It made sense. If they were about to be under attack, they shouldn’t waste a fighter on simple message delivery. Esme scooped Ceren’s shortsword back up and jogged toward the Dogs’ camp. Above the pounding of blood in her ears was the sound of hooves on gravel. Coming up the road behind them.
She nearly collided with Luca’s back, slipping as her bad leg threatened to give out beneath her. He grabbed her by the wrist, wrenching her up bodily and around in front of him. A flicker of surprise crossed his face as he saw her, perhaps he hadn’t meant it to hurt.
“Dog man? Hey, hey. Let me go?”He did, abruptly. Esme caught herself with a hand on his arm. “My boss, Byrne, he thinks whoever that is will be comin’ to kill us.”She pointed Luca in the right direction. A projectile whizzed through the air above their heads.
“Throw this at them, as hard as you can.”Esme thrust the makeshift pyrotechnic bomb into the mercenary’s hands, fuse lit. There wouldn’t be any better time to use it, once everybody was mixed up with everybody else. “Now.”
For a brief moment there was daylight on the road and a deafening pop. A few seconds only, illuminating a double wide column of riders four or five deep. Their horses, and that of the Kirkwallers, promptly lost their shit. Shrill animal screams and running in every direction, one unfortunate man falling beneath their hooves.
Ceren nodded at Esme's response, not pressing when she didn't elaborate further, and continued to pluck away at the bird. She chuckled lightly when Esme retreated into the wagon, away from the work Ceren was doing. [color=#008e02]"City girl."[/color] she teased softly as she set aside the longer and more colorful tail feathers. No good for fletching, but maybe Esme would like them once they were properly separated from the memory of the carcass they came from. Genthus arriving with his stew pulled Ceren's attention away long enough to take her own turn at scooping a few bites from the pan after Esme had. The last of those bites remained on the spoon, however, as the Kossith giant made his way toward some new arrivals at the edge of the camps. Ceren lowered the spoon back into the pan, wiping her mouth on her arm as her eyes followed him.
Caro too neared where these riders had arrived, standing in the orbit of the caravan leader who approached the riders. Ceren glanced up at Esme in time to catch the concern on her friend's face before she turned and busied herself with items in the wagon. A click of her tongue sent Andor up into a tall nearby tree. The pheasant forgotten, Ceren moved toward where her bow and quiver had been left leaning against one of the wagon wheels. She used the shadow of the wagon to conceal her movements as she slung her quiver over her shoulder and took hold of the bow. From the riders, she could hear a raised voice say something about Kirkwall followed by the caravan leader's voice. She could not make out his words, but the tone was obviously upset. Were they being ordered back? They'd only just left that morning, why let them go at all?
She moved quick to join Caro when he signaled, but further explanation was not forthcoming. Only the confirmation that things were off. What was that signal in the fire for? Ceren took a step at the order to update their counterparts, but Esme spoke first and set off. She might have protested, but she saw Esme grab the short sword and had to remind herself that Esme would have to be permitted to help where she could. Pivoting, Ceren moved to where her horse was tethered to a tree. She had hardly untied Rabbit and hopped up into the saddle when more pounding hooves caught her ear.
"TO ARMS!" she shouted, heels digging into Rabbit's sides and using her knees to steer as she pulled and knocked an arrow. She moved around the edge of the camp until she saw the column from the side. She drew and loosed the arrow in one smooth motion, watching as it struck a the second from last rider in the nearest column. An explosion on the road illuminated him in a brief flash as he was knocked sideways with the blow, but kept his seat. A moment later, however, Andor swooped down, clawing at the rider's exposed neck. In confusion, the rider tried to swat the eagle away and lost his balance. He fell from his horse and rolled, but Ceren turned her attention, toward where the columns were now splitting to surround the caravan. Giving Rabbit another squeeze, she moved to intercept the leftmost column. Knocking three arrows at once, she stood in her stirrups and loosed them all at the lead rider. They sank through the leather armor over his chest, but their momentum toward each other did not give her time to steer away and she had to abandon drawing another arrow in favor of leaning wildly to the side to avoid the slash of his sword as they passed one another. Rabbit, grunting in agitation, pulled away just before the second rider could reach them with their own blade. It would take a moment for Ceren to regain her seat and circle back around.
The tension in the air hung like fog even as the riders departed, no one relaxing. Following Caro back, Genthus would just grunt at what he said; even if they couldn't already see it, trouble was bearing down. The signal fire flaring was all the confirmation he needed. With a leap, he was in their wagon, and after a moment's rustling and clanking, he was dropping back to the ground axe-in-hand, armor being tied back on with the assistance of his teeth. Rolling his shoulders, he'd scan the darkness as the group broke ranks, Esme running for the dogs, Ceren preparing to mount up, Caro assuredly doing something of his own. Unable to see a thing, Genthus would settle for pausing, adjusting his grip on his axe's handle. He could only comment with a growing smile, almost amused by their luck. "We didn't even make it a day..."
His wait was rewarded by the flash of powder up the road; a full crew of cavalry, armed and charging, their formation suddenly dismayed as their horses bucked under the unnatural light. Target in sight, Genthus would take off running for the edge of camp nearest the road, heart pounding in his ears as arrows began to whiz, voices screamed, and whinneys haunted the night like angry spirits. As he came upon the edge of the tents, he'd find Karvil, the axe-at-his-belts, huffing-in-struggle dwarf from the Dogs, straining against the side of a small two-wheel cart, face red as he tried to tip it. Spotting Genthus as the sounds of hooves grew louder and louder, he'd shout a single command. "Help!"
Genthus would slam into the cart like a horse unto himself, the impact jostling it enough for the near wheel to jump from the ground, spears and arrows and all manner of stock scattering. Seizing the moment, Genthus would jam his axe into the dirt and leverage it against the mid-turned cart, hollering with effort as he overcame its inertia and sent it the rest of the way onto its side, the thing crunching into the dirt. As Karvil finally drew his axes, the dwarf's idea bore fruit, the entire upturned cart lurching back a foot against them both as a horse slammed into the other side, a rider being thrown over the barricade in front of them both.
Down came Genthus's axe with enough heft to smash through a few ribs and his spine, leaving his chest a gored mess. Yanking it free with an unholy sound, Genthus would side-step their barricade as he scooped a spear, tossing it to Karvil. "Heave, man!" The dwarf, catching it with a moment's fumbling, would quickly understand, sidestepping to the other end, hefting it up, lining up a shot, and throwing it, landing it into the side of an oncoming horse. Down it came, rider spilling into the dirt as well.
And down came Genthus's axe again, a cry of death literally cut short. Readying his axe again, he'd holler over the din again, satisfied with their forming method as more and more horsemen bore down, slowly starting to recover control of their mounts. "Heave!"
The problem was that no one could see. Not really. Hazy figures killing, hazy figures dying. Fighting in these quarters was near impossible. Everyone was running somewhere with a weapon, so you had to just guess if the armed silhouette bearing down on you wanted to kill or save you. He could perhaps recognize the other mercenaries but no one else. Who all was involved in the raid wasn't clear, neither was who was targeted, although it could safely be assumed he and his were part of that group. Confusion requires illumination, and he could do that. He hardly even felt the mantle of warrior encase him in steel and finery but he certainly felt the blade in his hand resting on his shoulder. He hefted it to his other palm and concentrated. He let out a long sigh and drove the blade into the hard turf up to the lugs.
Sand, sand and heat is what he needed. The world swirled around him as a storm of loose dirt struck the wagon train. The earth quaked and raged as a finger of stone pushed it's way through turf and sod and lifted a crossection of earth into the sky, carrying the bonfire with it. Sand swirled up the pillar and poured into the intensifying flame swirling outward and spinning down into heavy discs of rough glass that wedged into the pillar around the base. Light filled the campsite followed soon by heat. Caro stared up at his impromptu lighthouse and wondered if it was worth the effort. Clear delineation was evident now. The archers in the tree line were targeting anything that moved, not sparing caravan staff or solders. Small fights between raiders on horseback and the three disparate groups with no clear leadership on the defenders side. A small lull in the fighting broke out as people stared up at the earth's angry middle finger. Something else had to be done.
The pillar starting angirly grinding and humming a high pitch tune before the glass discs embedded within spun free from their mooring and dove to the ground in singing arcs, cleaving horse and rider alike. “To the Pillar” he called out to anyone who could recognize his voice as globules of fresh forged molten glass started pouring forth in an arched eruption from the peak landing in a flaming circle just beyond the arc of the camp, Sweat dripped down Caro's brow. He could hardly keep this up as it was right now, let alone for a protracted fight, but sometimes the spectacle of fire and fury was enough to dissuade even the most seasoned predators.
The light changed from gold to silver to gold again. Esme had never been in a fight like this. Back to back with Luca of the Red Dogs, she fought toward the pillar, though fight was generous. With help she could just about keep up, kicking anyone that came close with her heavy steel leg. Stabbing down at anyone on the ground. She tried not to think of it too much.
The sensory overload of it all helped. Hot abattoir stink, incomprehensible screaming, visions that made no sense at all. Erupting phallic pillar, molten glass, a tall clownish warrior she’d never seen before. Somewhere else, Genthus chopping into a horse like so much firewood. Arrows and stones from the woods, Luca shoving her down, grunt of pain as one made it around his shield. Esme rolled in the dirt, back to the pillar.
“No no leave it.” She scrambled up, reaching for the arrow. Two feet of treated birch sprouted from Luca’s shoulder and Esme snapped it near the skin. Too easily. ”I’m doctor – get the rest later.”
”Where’s Lelindin? Alred?” Esme shook her head, unsure if Luca was addressing her or the scary clown man. She didn’t know where her friends were anymore, either. The bright light above turned everything beyond it into impenetrable dark, briefly lit by splatters of red hot glass.
Growling through gritted teeth, Ceren managed to hold tight to the saddle and pull herself properly back into the seat. The familiar hiss of flying arrows filled the air and she realized she was desperately exposed. Steering Rabbit toward a copse of trees, they arrived just as the light of... what the hell was that? Rabbit, agitated by all the noise and light, huffed and grunted his frustration at being stilled. Ceren had to walk him in tight circles in the copse while she stared at the magic being performed where the camp had stood. It illuminated everything nearby. And what it did not bathe in light, Ceren's sharp eyes picked out.
A line of three archers on a rise in the terrain. That was where those arrows were coming from. She could handle that. Knocking another arrow, Ceren steered Rabbit in a wide arc toward the archers. They'd not be expecting to have to defend themselves at close quarters. She loosed her arrow at a rider, taking time now to find that weak point in his armor. He fell from his horse, confusing the creature and it took off away from the terrifying column.Lucky thing, it had been on a path toward where Genthus and Karvil were painting the earth red.
As she neared the archers, Ceren slipped from her saddle, giving Rabbit a slap on his rump to send him off and away. Overhead, she could just hear the beat of Andor's wings as he circled in anticipation of her attack. Reaching down, she pulled her knife from its sheath on her leg and held it in a reverse grip as she slunk low through the grass. To her right, the pillar and molten glass was hard to look away from, and Ceren hoped that would be so for the archers too. They stood perhaps two arms length from each other in a line, knocking and loosing arrows at will as they picked their targets in the chaos. They were focused. Ceren laid her own bow on the ground and waited for just the right moment.
Just as the nearest archer was about to let his arrow fly, a sudden movement in the shadows to his right caught his eye. His attention diverted, his arrow flew wild into the night. He'd barely turned his gaze when Ceren's knife bit into the base of his neck, just above the light leather armor. Too quickly, blood filled his throat and he could do nothing more than gurgle as his life quickly seeped out of him. It was enough, however, for his comrades to be alerted. They turned and Ceren had to take the weight of the dead man onto herself as she used his body as a shield. Two arrows dug deep into him, almost pushing through completely. Ceren grunted at the impact, then pushed the body away, throwing her knife at the next nearest archer.
The woman gave a cry as she managed to block the blade with a bracer on her arm. But Ceren was close behind, slamming bodily into the woman, grabbing her head and knocking it hard into the ground. The woman went limp under her and Ceren rolled through her momentum back to standing just as a sharp pain sliced through her left arm. Ceren grunted, but she was lucky. the arrow dug through, but had not lodged into her. The last archer had another arrow ready, but before he could fire Andor came down at him from above. His claws cut into the man's forearm, causing him to lose his grip on the bow. Ceren was on him as well, grabbing the bow and using it to smash the man's nose in. Once, twice. He stumbled back, hands going to his face and coming away covered in blood. Andor came down again, this time his claws scratching at the man's eyes as he flailed wildly and cried out in pain. Ceren swept the bow low, catching his leg. She pulled hard and the man tumbled backward. Andor's claws found his throat then, and his cries stopped abruptly.
Breathing heavily, Ceren looked around. She caught a glint of light off the blade of her knife and recovered it. She then checked all three archers. The first and the last were certainly dead, but the one that had stood in the middle still breathed. Ceren found the woman's bow and removed the string. Flipping the woman over, she used the string to tie her hands behind her back. Perhaps they could get some information out of her after this was all finished. Looking back at the chaos below, Ceren only hoped that her people were still standing when that time came. Heaving a sigh, she recovered her own bow and set to picking off targets as best she could.
It was all a flurry of impacts and retaliations, arrows thunking against boards and armor, spears slamming into torsos and haunches, Genthus's axe moderating it all in a most uncivil debate. As the riders bore down, he would sidestep horses, swing upwards at riders, grunt as he deflected blows, holler as he missed some and they tried to tear at his own skin. All of it by flickering camplight, blood across his eyes, dirt across his face, all of it too hard to track-
And then, bright, blinding light, the sun summoned at once to illuminate a grisly theatre. Genthus hissed, covering his eyes with an arm as they adjusted. A horse behind him bucked at the sudden sight, throwing its rider to the ground. He shouted as another duo ran over him, hooves barely missing his body.
He was not so lucky as a spear jammed downward, released in a huff as Genthus blocked another swing from the would-be stomper. As he trotted past, the return swing fell short, making Genthus huff in growing frustration. "Flitty fuckers. Karvil!" When no answer came, the juggernaut would turn on a heel, eyes scanning. "Karvil, why have you stopped-"
The dwarf was unable to answer, squirming on his back, an arrow in his center, a mortal shout restrained at his lips as he clutched the wooden shaft and resisted all urge to yank it out. Shouting for him, Genthus would juke another oncoming horse to shuffle over, grabbing the dwarf by his chainmail and dragging him. Even despite the man's pained shouts, Genthus wouldn't stop until he was squarely behind the upturned wagon, at least protected from risk of trampling.
When Karvil just spat at him, saliva a little red, and pointed at the spears, the dwarf only mustered a raspy, "Stop your bitchin' and leave." He might as well have spoken Orlesian for how it processed, Genthus grabbing the arrow shaft and snapping it at the wound, hefting the dwarf with an arm over his shoulder. "Hey, I said leave!"
"Fine!" Genthus's reply was curt, furious, and loud, nostrils flaring as he took off, axe out in his free hand. Sprinting for the camp's new central pillar, he would swing at every unknown man he came across, smashing his body up against the sides of horses, taking cuts to his arms to trade for battering retorts of brute force. Charging and bleeding, he would come bursting through a trio of dismounted riders as he approached the camp's center, a line forming around the pillar as their makeshift defense, the riders unable to charge through for fear of crashing. Even as Karvil yelled in surprise and sputtered, Genthus wouldn't release him, running across the line, looking for a face in particular.
"Esme!" Nearly to her, movement just past her spot would draw his eye. A rider more heavily armed than the rest, tattered metal armor jingling as he swooped low off the side of his horse, slashing across the back of some caravan elf trying to heft a shield. As the elf fell, the figure's harsh voice could be heard above the din, exhaustion apparent by the tone. "C'mon lads, we're half done!"
Literally dropping Karvil as he ran past, Genthus would restore both hands to his axe and lower his posture, head low, horns presented, axe extended to the side and angled upward. As the armored figure reeled to see him coming, a woman at his flank would run to get between them, a blocking shield failing to hold up to the force, the blade burying so far into her shoulder that Genthus's blood-slick hands would let the heft slip free, stumbling in his charge as he was disarmed.
In a heavy-footed recovery, he would keep going, roaring as he leapt off his feet headfirst, arms forward. He would slam into the figure with the impact of an enraged, 300 pound qunari, tackling him off of his steed into the mud below, just before the pillar's defense line.
With the arrows angry whistle silenced and the horses heading toward the mountain the remaining fight went the way of all lives; Ugly, brutish, and short. Caravan guards and bandits lay silent in the now dry caked mud The caravan master sat against the wheel of a wagon, his eyes open and mouth agape at the longspear neatly fastening his chest to axle behind. The kirkwall contingent either lay still or moaning in the mud. Caro''s armor dissolved into cyan blue ash and his heavy hands lay limp at his hips. He stared across the field, The pillar looked dull and loose, dust and gravel running down it's sides. He had to give an order, any order at this point but it seemed beyond him at this point. He looked at the other mage from the Red Dogs and she gazed up at him wearily, “Get your people and everyone who is alive enough to move to the fire. We gotta sort this mess out.”
After a short time taking tally, they gathered around the fire, a small ways away from where Esme did her nervous work. The dogs tried not to look directly in that way, but their eyes darted constantly. A pair of wounded kirkwall guards were stable enough to perhaps transport back home, a handful of caravan hands were in the same boat, with a few managing to avoid serious injury, The salamanders were nicked up and tired, but fared better than most and the bandits either all fled or died in mass. Wagon train had lost one wagon in full, and several more were in deep disrepair.
“Alright Genthus, strip the broken wagon for parts for these two, redistribute weight as needed, we aren't going far. “ He pointed at one of the intact wagons, “Ceren, grab some rope and get us our horses back, as many as you can.” He didn't bother getting Esme a task, she'd be lucky if she was finished dealing with this aftermath by the time the wagon train hit kirkwall. “The rest of you, gather what you can and get a watch going.” He considered sinking to the ground and not helping, but there were things he had to check, he began walking toward where the fighting had started. If that writ could still be presented in kirkwall, then they could still hope to not have wasted their time.
“Maker’s balls, Genthus.” Esme stood over the injured dwarf mercenary, half stunned. A fall from Qunari breast height wouldn’t do Karvil any favors – but Genthus was far too busy with the fighting to hear or respond. She dropped to her knees, hands searching the dwarf’s hair for head wounds. Luca shielded them both, his left arm hanging nerveless.
Karvil’s armor was bulky and gory everywhere, though bloody spit gave her a good clue. Her fingers skimmed his front, finding the second, a broken thorn. Not good. Lungs or stomach and neither a favorable place to push an arrow through. She tipped forward onto her hands and knees, hair falling in a crimson veil over Karvil’s body as she listened to his breathing.
The dwarf rumbled something rude to Luca about the view, voice catching and whistling and very wet. Lung for sure. Esme sat up and helped Karvil drink a potion, a pearly white concoction in a fat round bottle. It eased his shallow breathing almost immediately. The fight seemed all but over, quiet except for the cries of dying men and horses,
“I can’t do anything else for him lying in the dirt. Help me move him, then get that armor off.” Between herself and Luca and the other warrior, Alred, they brought Karvil to the wagon. Esme set about lighting as many candles as she could find, tools soaking in a leather jack of alcohol. Alred left to assist with the other work – Luca stayed, glassy with pain but attentive enough. An extra hand as she set to work.
“Have you seen Ceren at all?” She asked, after some time.
As she ran out of arrows, it was clear the fighting was nigh over. From what she could see, perched on this hillside, they'd managed to hold. She only wondered how the cost would tally. Ceren rolled her head around in a slow circle, then rolled her shoulders as well. She'd be a bit sore in the morning. The grand magical display was... extinguished, or whatever their word for it was. Ceren tried to examine her arm in what light the moon provided, but could tell little. It had mostly stopped bleeding, she thought, and it was starting to throb something fierce. The high of combat was fading.
With a sigh, Ceren turned to her prisoner. "Come on, then." she grunted as she lifted the woman's weight. But she hung so limp and heavy that Ceren paused, putting her hand beneath the woman's nose. Nothing. She touched along the woman's neck, trying to find the spot where a pulse could be felt. Nothing. Shifting the woman around, Ceren then noticed where the grass beneath the woman was dark. When she touched the grass, her finger tips came away wet, inky black in the moonlight. She turned the woman over and there... the wound at the back of her head was easy enough to see. Frustrated, Ceren dropped the woman's weight, leaving her slumped in the grass and whistled for Rabbit.
She arrived back at the camp and the others in time to nod at Caro's order. She reined Rabbit in a circle, eyes searching until they spotted Esme and some of the Dogs tending to... Karvil. Damn. Ceren knew better to interrupt Esme's important work, so she whispered a quick prayer to the wind that she could help the man and went about her own work.
It was some hours later when Ceren slid out of Rabbit's saddle. One of the caravan survivors took him and the four horses she'd managed to recover to brush down, water, and feed. She was grateful. She hurt to her bones and she couldn't decide if she was too hungry to sleep, or too tired to eat. By the faint shift in light to the east... it seemed it wouldn't really matter. She'd likely not get either.
