Mark Stoneholme, Militiaman - Lead
Dawn Sutherland, Footman
Johan Wolfe, Recruit
Jacob Garrell, Recruit
Douglas Blake, Recruit
- - -
The militiamen kept themselves on their feet only clinging onto the side of the raft as the ferryman sailed them across the calm sea, separating them from the town of Skara Brae, and the mainland - to the outpost; to home.
Having just marched back from the Cove orc fort, where they very nearly lost their lives defending what remains of Cove, the militiamen's energy was spent. They stood, looking battle worn and exhausted, in tattered rags of what once was ring and chainmail armour; now severed in multiple places, the links hung bare - in most cases tunics now drooped around Recruit's knees.
At the fore of the raft, stood Mark Stoneholme, nursing an arrow wound through his platemail arm, and a wytches hex affecting his breathing, his chest left bare and exposed as a result of the onslaught of orcish clubs, shattering his platemail breastplate into naught but scrap. Theograd wouldn't be happy, he thought to himself.
As the militiamen neared the mainland, they thanked the ferryman and marched in the direction of the Garrison, where they lined up - Perhaps not as at attention as they first had, earlier that night, but although their armour had been beaten, their spirits had not, the militiamen were proud of their performance, and Mark Stoneholme was proud of them. They had fought well tonight.
Just as Mark was rallying the men with an inspiring speech, a naked man hoisting a heavy crossbow in his hands rode by, and dismounted before the militiamen. Stoneholme turned to address the naked citizen, but quickly found himself raising his shield to protect his face as the citizen levelled the heavy crossbow to his shoulder and calmly said "Hail", before opening fire.
Benedict!
"MEN, CHARGE!!" Stoneholme roared as he charged forth, shield raised and mace raised even higher! The assembled militiamen, nervous and exhausted as they were, gave chase.
A minute or so of combat elapsed, and Benedict lead the militiamen in circles around the outpost as the men attempted to further practice their new combat techniques, attempting to box the criminal in place.
Whether through fear or stupidity, the knave charged into the militia barracks, and stumbled backwards over one of the beds. Mark Stoneholme and the others charged in. As Mark pinned Benedict to the bed with his shield, mace raised high; surrounded by archers with their bows levelled at Benedict's head, the murderer begged for his life, just as his victims would have begged for theirs...
For a moment, Mark made eye-contact with the criminal, and could see the fear, and desperation in Benedict's eyes. Without a moment's hesitation, Mark raised the mace in his gauntleted fist high, and as Benedict turned his face away and shut his eyes tight, the mace came crashing down on the murderers skull, ending his life within Britannia.
Sutherland looked away, "Ehrm, Sir... I'll rent a room at the inn, tonight..."
The Footman and Recruits left the barracks whilst Stoneholme set about separating the remains of Benedict's head from his body...
After a solemn dismissal of the militiamen, Stoneholme carried the remains of the criminal to the wheat fields to the North, and laid out the body for the sport of ravenous crows...
A sign, nailed to a nearby post now reads:
"A warning to ye who live by crime,
The militia will find thee all in time,
And those who fall down at our toes,
Become the sport of hungry crows!"
