The #Broken_Dagger Forum

He hated it sometimes. Oh granted, the thrill of the random chase.. or the attacks by creatures once and again proved to be a rush of blood hard to pass by... it was the very reason he'd joined the Order of Straka. But.. just.. the patrols nearly drove him into the wall, staring aimlessly at the back of Renson's head for hours of on end.

Yes, there may be 4 others with him in the little march they had (One that tended to fall apart as soon as the higher ups were out of sight), but he couldn't take it, nothing ever happened on the marches.

And Sems' chewing on that tobacco left him ready to try and hack a tree to pieces with his sword. Idly his gaze drifted down to the bell at Renson's belt, and for an instant he wondered the sound it would make should he try and take it up to the mule's head. Ah, a pleasant thought that left him smirking slightly.

"'ey, what's so funny?" His head turned towards Sems for a moment, but he couldn't think of an excuse and just waved the question off with a hand. Things could be worse he supposed. They weren't a bad lot really, and it was better than when the patrols used to be smaller. Now at least he had someone to talk to.

Speaking of which, he won the pot for who would kill that monster that attacked the Council all that time ago... and a two of the men here still owed him money. His face swung around to address one of them in time to see fletching blossom out of his throat.

Frozen, his eyes had become veritable saucers at the sight, and the quickly bleeding out man fell down to the ground without his gaze turning. Eyes flew back to call out to Renson, but the words had died in his throat, there were two arrows protruding from the man's back.. and the bell was in the grass beside him.

A moment later a fire burst in his shoulder as a force shoved him forward, toppling half on Renson's muddy boots. It felt like a tooth had broken in the fall, but he couldn't feel the pain, just the ache in his shoulder. It sounded like water was rushing everywhere as he reached out for the bell.

He didn't think he ever reached it, let alone managed to make a sound. He couldn't feel his fingers anyways, and out of nowhere his head was suddenly being dragged back, giving him a momentary look at a thick, grinning mustache and a heavily tanned face. Light from the torch his fellow had been carrying glinted off several earrings. It was the last thing he saw before a line of metal cut him a second smile.

The group, perhaps a half-dozen, whom had performed the deed quickly scavanged the useful armor and swords from the bodies of the five dead Straka men. They even took the time to remove their arrows from the bodies, though one of them was left cursing has the shaft snapped on one with the head still wedged between two ribs.

No time to dally though, they were scuttling quickly back into the relative safety of the trees and the night.

Dawn was coming about when the scene was first discovered. Horses snorted their discomfort at the smell of viscera and human waste. One man retched, despite his familiarity with the stink of death and combat. The man at the head of the small column twisted his lips into a nasty frown, a motion of his hand sending the other four men with him (the vomiting man included) into a state of readiness. Swords were drawn and a bow unlimbered, eyes narrowed and steel-plated visors settled down. Four took a posture of vigilance, the commander slipping from the back of his horse to walk towards the remains.

The man jammed his sword, point first, into the dirt. The weapon shivered as he knelt, pressing fingers into one of the open wounds. Neck wound that, and nasty. It looked like a second smile, a grim rictus of gore and bone. Stone-faced, he simply sniffed. The scout made a quick inspection of the dead, then cleaned his hands off with the grass at hand. He rose and flicked his gaze over the others, his hand then sweeping over to grasp his sword and sheathe it.

"Fast, whatever happened. Arrows first, then... six er seven rushed in. Looks like from the marks... Adon's Merry Bollocks, the poor boys didn' even have time t'soil their britches till after they was dead." Steps taken to his horse, and then he'd pull himself up into the saddle. Another frown. "Nasty piece of work. Straka boys didn' know what hit 'em, but I knew Renson. Good man, that. Sad to see him go. A'ight boys. Let's get back to the camp an' tell Jons what 'appened. The Cap'n will want t'know... and then we'll 'ave to tell Straka to come out and bury their dead." The man tugged on his reigns and turned.

The patrol would then melt into the coming dawn. And it looked like it was going to be a red one.

Sergeant Hickensen stooped over one of the bodies, inspecting it as well as he could without actually touching it. They'd responded as soon as notified by the other party, but decay was quick. As it always was. He turned away from the corpse to the other two guardsmen present with him.

"It was just as they said, captain."

Thomas frowned. There was a lot of that to be done on this job. The human part to him felt for the loss of these individuals who're doing what he and the rest of Straka were - putting their lives at risk so there was less of it for others. The administrator side felt the loss from a bigger picture: Straka was dwindling. And events like these did not help matters much.

Captain Daniels turned to the third guard present: "Janis, go get some dogs out here. These arrows have been handled, and if we're lucky, by some wretched-smelling individuals. Get some more men out here to help us bury them, as well."

Private Williams nodded and departed. The captain turned his gaze up from the bodies to the seemingly rather malevolent forest. It was time to think smarter, not harder.

Any searching into this would leave the conclusion it was absolutely nothing. Just a random bunch of men looking for some cash or a name probably. Didn't matter, it seemed they were gone.