Timing--Outsider
Posted: Tue Jan 22, 2013 2:20 am
The ettin roared again, its guttural language sounding like boulders rumbling down the side of a mountain. It swung three times with the massive stone war hammer it held in both hands. The sound of the thigh-thick shaft whistling through the air made the hair on Ascher's neck stand on end.
The creature was reaching the end of his endurance, finally. It was panting hard now, both sets of nostrils flaring as wide as they could go. Its movements were jerky now, wild and uncontrolled. They were the last, desperate convulsions of rage the beast had left.
Each time the huge stone warhammer swung towards him, Ascher would roll to the side, using his shield to deflect the blow if the ettin somehow managed to adjust its trajectory in time. As he came up, Ascher would step in quickly, slice at the creature's legs and forearms, and dart back out as it wound up for another swing.
There was a red, steaming lacework of gashes across the creature's chest now, as well. With that many wounds, if the beast were going to see reason and flee, it would have done so already. This one was lost in the throws of a mad, primal rage. It wouldn't stop until it tasted blood.
Ascher sighed, it would have to be put down. The mountain air suddenly seemed cold in Ascher's throat. The smell of thick, coppery blood was thick in the air. He took a slow, deliberate breath through his nose, calming himself.
Ascher stumbled on a rock, and his footing slid out from under him. The mountain had betrayed him.
The Ettin roared again, a triumphant sound, this time. It grabbed the end of the stone warhammer, and raised it high over its head. Its eyes were wide and wild, full of the kill to come.
Suddenly, Asher rolled backwards, crouched, and pulled a short spear from the strap on his back. He aimed, balanced himself carefully, and launched his whole body, feeling the shaft of the spear leave his hand almost as an after thought.
The spear sailed through the air, spinning just slightly. The warhammer was still rising when the foot long spearhead drove into the Ettin's outstretched throat.
Its triumphant roar cut off suddenly with a sickening gurgle. The warhammer slipped from its fingers, thudding heavily to the rocky mountainside. The ettin sank slowly to its knees, clutching at the spear in its massive throat. Ascher drew his serpentine blade, stepped swiftly and smoothly up to the monster, and drove his blade deep into its chest.
The ettin's twisted face looked shocked for a brief moment, and then it slumped to the side. Ascher pulled his blade free, wiped it clean on the creature's tattered garments, and saluted it. As he broght the closed fist of his right hand up in front of his face, the brand of the Keepers was before his eyes.
The scar had faded some, but it was still clear on the inside of his wrist. It was the second branding, the one that had signified his acceptance into the order. The first brand was voluntary, and meant to symbolize what the cadet was giving up. It was a sign of a cadet's commitment to the order of the Keepers of Shadowcove and it was on the left wrist.
The Keepers decided when you earned your second branding, initiating you into the order. Ascher had earned his when he'd pulled his Commander out of the hands of brigand slave traders that had been trying to sell him to Orcs. It had taken three weeks for his wounds to heal enough to allow him to stand for the branding. He'd refused to take the brand in his sick bed.
Ascher shook off the memories, and dropped his salute. The Keepers had been another life, another time. He slammed his blade into its sheath, and retrieved his short spear. He cleaned the steel head and re-tied the shaft to his back. Ascher retrieved his horse from up a side trail, patted Fletch's neck, and turned to ride back down the mountain. He rounded a bend in the trail, and froze.
For a flash, the briefest of moments, he thought he saw a figured beside a tree off to his left. When he turned his head, the figure was gone. Ascher frowned, but kept riding. He'd been catching glimpses every now and then of a figure, he thought was a man, dressed in finely-tooled leather armor lined with gleaming metal studs.
Whoever the shadow was, he was good at not being seen. And for now, he was content to let the watcher watch. He had nothing to hide. Still, it made him more than a little uncomfortable to be shadowed, especially someone good enough to stay hidden.
Ascher shrugged uneasily as he continued his patrol. The Village was spread out, and its borders loosely defined. There was still a lot of ground to cover before he rested tonight. As he left the low shoulders of the mountain range and returned to the thick forest, Ascher felt like he had eyes drilling into him from the shadows.
He loosened the blade at his side, and tested its draw, just to be safe. The watcher was only watching at the moment....but that could change....
The creature was reaching the end of his endurance, finally. It was panting hard now, both sets of nostrils flaring as wide as they could go. Its movements were jerky now, wild and uncontrolled. They were the last, desperate convulsions of rage the beast had left.
Each time the huge stone warhammer swung towards him, Ascher would roll to the side, using his shield to deflect the blow if the ettin somehow managed to adjust its trajectory in time. As he came up, Ascher would step in quickly, slice at the creature's legs and forearms, and dart back out as it wound up for another swing.
There was a red, steaming lacework of gashes across the creature's chest now, as well. With that many wounds, if the beast were going to see reason and flee, it would have done so already. This one was lost in the throws of a mad, primal rage. It wouldn't stop until it tasted blood.
Ascher sighed, it would have to be put down. The mountain air suddenly seemed cold in Ascher's throat. The smell of thick, coppery blood was thick in the air. He took a slow, deliberate breath through his nose, calming himself.
Ascher stumbled on a rock, and his footing slid out from under him. The mountain had betrayed him.
The Ettin roared again, a triumphant sound, this time. It grabbed the end of the stone warhammer, and raised it high over its head. Its eyes were wide and wild, full of the kill to come.
Suddenly, Asher rolled backwards, crouched, and pulled a short spear from the strap on his back. He aimed, balanced himself carefully, and launched his whole body, feeling the shaft of the spear leave his hand almost as an after thought.
The spear sailed through the air, spinning just slightly. The warhammer was still rising when the foot long spearhead drove into the Ettin's outstretched throat.
Its triumphant roar cut off suddenly with a sickening gurgle. The warhammer slipped from its fingers, thudding heavily to the rocky mountainside. The ettin sank slowly to its knees, clutching at the spear in its massive throat. Ascher drew his serpentine blade, stepped swiftly and smoothly up to the monster, and drove his blade deep into its chest.
The ettin's twisted face looked shocked for a brief moment, and then it slumped to the side. Ascher pulled his blade free, wiped it clean on the creature's tattered garments, and saluted it. As he broght the closed fist of his right hand up in front of his face, the brand of the Keepers was before his eyes.
The scar had faded some, but it was still clear on the inside of his wrist. It was the second branding, the one that had signified his acceptance into the order. The first brand was voluntary, and meant to symbolize what the cadet was giving up. It was a sign of a cadet's commitment to the order of the Keepers of Shadowcove and it was on the left wrist.
The Keepers decided when you earned your second branding, initiating you into the order. Ascher had earned his when he'd pulled his Commander out of the hands of brigand slave traders that had been trying to sell him to Orcs. It had taken three weeks for his wounds to heal enough to allow him to stand for the branding. He'd refused to take the brand in his sick bed.
Ascher shook off the memories, and dropped his salute. The Keepers had been another life, another time. He slammed his blade into its sheath, and retrieved his short spear. He cleaned the steel head and re-tied the shaft to his back. Ascher retrieved his horse from up a side trail, patted Fletch's neck, and turned to ride back down the mountain. He rounded a bend in the trail, and froze.
For a flash, the briefest of moments, he thought he saw a figured beside a tree off to his left. When he turned his head, the figure was gone. Ascher frowned, but kept riding. He'd been catching glimpses every now and then of a figure, he thought was a man, dressed in finely-tooled leather armor lined with gleaming metal studs.
Whoever the shadow was, he was good at not being seen. And for now, he was content to let the watcher watch. He had nothing to hide. Still, it made him more than a little uncomfortable to be shadowed, especially someone good enough to stay hidden.
Ascher shrugged uneasily as he continued his patrol. The Village was spread out, and its borders loosely defined. There was still a lot of ground to cover before he rested tonight. As he left the low shoulders of the mountain range and returned to the thick forest, Ascher felt like he had eyes drilling into him from the shadows.
He loosened the blade at his side, and tested its draw, just to be safe. The watcher was only watching at the moment....but that could change....