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Just before dawn, a cloaked figure was returning home from a night out and about in the land of Sundren. It was a surprise to him first, there, just before the bridge, stood well arguably the "best swordsman of all of Sundren", the filth-blood named Helga, and a mysterious creature, who's outline crackled with energy. The filthblood and the swordsman, both he knew on sight. It took him a little while to see it, of course, to see the danger they may be in. The swordsman lie dead asleep on the ground, the filthblood, seemingly under siege by the creature. Some manner of strange energy seeping into her head, something about dreams.
None of this interested him all that much of course, except the fact that this was taking place on his path home. Most definitely, the cloaked figure wasn't about to spring an ambitious rescue of the two, he didn't care enough to think of it twice, actually. Still, there was a modicum of respect he could feel for the swordsman, perhaps... I can just nudge him awake, he thought. Creeping closer, it was apparent the crackling form did not detect him, or... did not care to break off its attack of the filthblood to confront him. Sound asleep, the swordsman lay resound in his steadfast slumber. "The idiot Kyle", he thought to himself, "wake the hell up and get this mess off my turf", he wanted to scream.
As the cloaked figure began digging his heel into the swordsman's eye, to wake him... just then however, the creature released the filthblood, and began to saunter away. Finally.... but then, the guards posted on the bridge opened fire on the filthblood. "Just leave, don't fight back", almost escaped his lips, but the filthblood had blood lust in her eyes. Helga sprung forth, charging down the defenders.
One by one, her massive blade split them into pieces. She must have thought to herself, that these humans were weak, easy to chop down. Not even worthy of a test of her skill, perhaps. Whatever raced through her mind, it did not race long. Soon, and quite unexpectedly, the very shadows themselves began to fight back. First, came the blitz attack on her, hitting her in several vulnerable areas from behind. Then, the swordsman rushed in, trying to be a hero perhaps, he moved quite strategically to flank the shadowy figure now ambushing the filthblood.
The swordsman did not initiate the hostility, and that fact was not lost on the defenders, but rushing in, made him a target none the less. His skills, proved not enough to save his companion. Outnumbered, outmatched, the filthblood fell, and the swordsman ran, barely making it out with his own life.
"Perhaps now.... they'll remember why this is called Dead Man's Trail."
Early the next day, the stench of rotting orcblood hits the Caravan outpost just north of Aquor, and Helga's body is recovered, and tended to.
None of this interested him all that much of course, except the fact that this was taking place on his path home. Most definitely, the cloaked figure wasn't about to spring an ambitious rescue of the two, he didn't care enough to think of it twice, actually. Still, there was a modicum of respect he could feel for the swordsman, perhaps... I can just nudge him awake, he thought. Creeping closer, it was apparent the crackling form did not detect him, or... did not care to break off its attack of the filthblood to confront him. Sound asleep, the swordsman lay resound in his steadfast slumber. "The idiot Kyle", he thought to himself, "wake the hell up and get this mess off my turf", he wanted to scream.
As the cloaked figure began digging his heel into the swordsman's eye, to wake him... just then however, the creature released the filthblood, and began to saunter away. Finally.... but then, the guards posted on the bridge opened fire on the filthblood. "Just leave, don't fight back", almost escaped his lips, but the filthblood had blood lust in her eyes. Helga sprung forth, charging down the defenders.
One by one, her massive blade split them into pieces. She must have thought to herself, that these humans were weak, easy to chop down. Not even worthy of a test of her skill, perhaps. Whatever raced through her mind, it did not race long. Soon, and quite unexpectedly, the very shadows themselves began to fight back. First, came the blitz attack on her, hitting her in several vulnerable areas from behind. Then, the swordsman rushed in, trying to be a hero perhaps, he moved quite strategically to flank the shadowy figure now ambushing the filthblood.
The swordsman did not initiate the hostility, and that fact was not lost on the defenders, but rushing in, made him a target none the less. His skills, proved not enough to save his companion. Outnumbered, outmatched, the filthblood fell, and the swordsman ran, barely making it out with his own life.
"Perhaps now.... they'll remember why this is called Dead Man's Trail."
Early the next day, the stench of rotting orcblood hits the Caravan outpost just north of Aquor, and Helga's body is recovered, and tended to.