The plains of Ruthen are vast, inconceivably so, an ocean of earth that swallows everything. Even the largest towns, the mightiest thoroughfares are but feeble specks when viewed by the birds. They are flat, without so much as a tree for miles, nothing grows higher than the wheat that much of the Grand Duchy subsists on.

See the road.

It has no name, no pavement, no signs. It is merely a dirt track, beaten down by years of long treks, crawling in the general direction of Bolshoi Gorskiy.

See Peschek the Slaver.

He is a small man underneath his heavy sheepskin coat, thin but knotted with muscle, like beads on a wire. He considers himself wise in his choice of weapon. The crossbow he carries on his back is perfect for the plains. Any man or woman who might choose to flee from him will discover that here on the plains, there is no cover, no hiding place. Running in this vast open space results in nothing but one of Peschek's bolts between the shoulder blades. Four serfs have already discovered this on the long drive. For those who do not flee, but still require gentle encouragement, there is the long bullwhip neatly coiled on Peschek's side. And, naturally, his ten men, armed with staves and clubs that see liberal usage.

See Peschek's wares.

There were perhaps a hundred of them, when they first left the border outpost at Orbazl, some thirty days ago. The beatings, the auctions, and of course the biting, knifelike cold has reduced their numbers to fewer than a dozen. The last handful needs only one length of cold, rattling chain to link together their manacles. Those who can still walk strain to drag along those who have difficulty, their blue wrists bleeding. No one has given them coats, no one has given them blankets. Nothing protects them from the cold but luck or willpower.

At the front of the shambling procession is a girl, perhaps nineteen, her green eyes studying the ground, her hair the color of copper. She is wrapped in a piece of loose, filthy linen. No one pays her any mind. But she walks before all the others. They cannot help but see her.

And so they march on, as they have for a month, all thoughts lost in the howling of the wind and the emptiness in their bellies.

Suddenly, there comes a change in the routine.

Peschek, walking ahead, suddenly holds up a gloved fist. "Company halt," he hollers back. His men and the serfs stop, puzzled. There is nothing here, no comfortable inn for Peschek and his men to lay their heads. Just the meeting of two anonymous dirt roads. An unscheduled stop. Peschek looks around the crossroads, nods. "This is the place," he says to no one. Seeing the questioning look of his men, he shrugs. "We're meeting someone here. Might as well get a rest from it. Gregor, feed the lazy bastards." Peschek laughs, high-pitched and rapid. "I want everyone to look their best.

The slaves, still chained together, are roughly pushed to a seated position in the dirt. One of the slave drivers walks down the line, handing a beet to each slave from a burlap sack. Another comes behind him with a goatskin of water, holding a rough wooden spoon full of the freezing liquid to each chapped mouth.

Peschek studies the horizon, impatience in his face. "Where could he be?" the slaver mutters to himself.

Plains… They stretched on as far as her eyes could see. Flat horizons with pathetic hills. Similar to the Steppes in some minor ways, the expansiveness yes, but the cold was not as biting as the Northern Steppes that become rocky with strong mountain kings cloaked in pine and snow. There are no trees, no forests with falling gold like in the Western Steppes here. The ground is too hard for the soft and sweet scented grasses of the Eastern Steppes to grow. The Eastern Steppes carved with craggy stones and serpentine rivers that eventually drained into the deserts of the Sand people, near the arid Southern Steppes. The Eastern Steppes had been her favorite. Where the Noble Caravan of Khan generally travelled about hunting wolf and deer until the wet season.

In these Plains there was no sign of game to hunt besides pathetic field animals, and everything was so brown that it seemed like they were never making it anywhere. Just droning on and on… She hadn’t seen a change in color or scenery for miles; like this place was a mirror for her hollow heart. Numb, cold, and dying. She kept thinking back to her last conversation with her brother. Her hands stained with their father’s blood and he standing there, looking clean of spirit but being the one truly stained. He had betrayed her and poisoned the people’s minds. Even their own Father had fallen to the seduction of his tongue in the end!

The looks her people had given her as she was dragged out to be stoned then left tied to a post for the Slavers had hurt more than their physical stone throws. Her pride slowly crumbling the half-year she was transported to different hubs of servitude. Her first owner was a merchant sand man, from Bakh’s land, whom bought her as an exotic toy. She was heavily whipped and sold back into slavery after she turned her Master into an unwilling eunuch within the first night. ((Medieval Chinese style!)) Rumors said she had used her teeth making it hard for Baichu to be sold back into the sex slave market. Some say she had planned it that way. Her second service was to serve some sort of Khoszul man’s wife as maidservant. She convinced the woman within a month that the Khoszul husband was after her body and spent most nights out sleeping around instead of sword training. The wife killed her husband violently in a storm of jealous rage and in the end killed herself without freeing Baichu first, unfortunately.

The third time had been to a handsome Miao man. Someone who Baichu could relate to. He had her break and train his horses which he sold to all types of people. She had sensed no perverted desires in the man and enjoyed working with him. He was generous and kind. She began to forget her plans, her hate, and began to know love. That was when she knew he had to die. There could be nothing in her heart than revenge. She needed to be powerful and unfeeling. Like a grand serpent. She summoned the man to the pasture and had the horse’s trample him. She watched him die, shedding one tear and feeling her heart harden like jade. She stayed on the run for a time but was eventually sold out and arrested as lost property. That was when Baichu Khan started to lose hope and began to despair she’d never accomplish painting herself in her brother’s blood.

Now she trudges along behind the fiery haired one she is beginning to despise. Her hair reminds her of her hatred. The fire that once engulfed her entire being to succeed and be free of man’s impression of women. Now she just wants to forget. To become a husk like a horse that’s been beaten too much and goes to die alone. Her own pretty face hidden behind dirty ebony locks that cascade down in knotty brambles to her too thin waist and protruding bony hips. They stop and she stalls. Whoever behind her bumps into her and she gives a feral noise but doesn’t turn to look. She was never one to look back, always ahead. They sit in the dirt and she kneads at her calloused feet with weapon worn hands. Absently studying each guard and what he says like a he’s one of her old research specimens. When the waterskin arrives to her she grasps at the ladle and says softly in a raspy voice before drinking. “Sage oil. I can make some.”

“What scum?”

The guard says raising an eyebrow taking the ladle back and the Miao woman speaks. “For your bad knee which is sore after riding, yes? Rub sage oil I make into the knee. It will rid you of the pain. Good for horse hoof too.” She breaks up her speak and keeps her accent thick. Making her seem wiser in her foreign ways. He blinks and goes into thought, unconsciously giving the woman another ladle of water to which she grins and takes to drink. "Yeah. Yeah you do that next time we get a chance." She nods calculating what kinds of herbs she'll be able to get access to and what information she could gather to gain an advantage when they felt at ease around her. For each guard who comes during breaks to her, Baichu gives some sort of advice and always gains an extra bit of luxury for it. Unaware that she’s trying desperately to live despite wanting to die. She lets the guard leave and looks to the mousey slave driver. The fallen Miao noble's wiry muscles twitch over her hungry frame in a jerk action as she imagines separating his head from his body and being free. She quashes that spirited speculation immediately and focuses it instead on wondering who he could be waiting for. If they would have many horses and if she'd get to touch them. ' It wouldn't take much for all these slaves to rebel and beat these few guards while sitting here... But most lack the spines for it. Men are so weak-willed, these guards would break like tea-stalks if hit just right, and they fall prey to trickery so easily! But I doubt these slaves would follow me. ' She sighed, her hope crumbling even further away. Maybe she'd try to escape again at the next Masters place.... After she killed them.

Aelus marched through the cold, his flesh torn by frequent visitations of Peschek's whip, his skin bruised and his left eye swollen shut by the bludgeons of the slaver's men. When Aelus was first imprisoned, he swore that whatever poor soul claimed the title of master would meet the Skinwalker. A promise he had fulfilled in all but one case, and the time would come soon enough for that exception to fade. Peschek laughed at Aelus' previous owner. The man swore that the slave was cursed, a demon or dark god of the ancient times that brought misfortune and pain to all those brave or stupid enough to accept ownership of him. The man spun a story of missing daughters, mysterious illnesses and sudden deaths. In each case there was no reason to suspect Aelus, after each event he was found just where the master left him, sitting in his cell or room, chained and smiling, staring up at the person sent to greet him. All of his six masters had sold him off within weeks of acquiring him, finding their luck turning immediately after passing him to the next.

Peschek dismissed the claims as superstitious nonsense. At the next town the procession was held up for two days to allow the guards' recovery from an unexplained rash of food poisoning. Over the next two weeks of travel, two tents caught fire and another three guards experienced extreme headaches and stomach cramps. Peschek himself found a pit viper in his tent, barely avoiding its venomous bite. It was after this final attack that Peschek ordered severe measures to be taken against Aelus, finally believing him to be the cause. Aelus was thoroughly beaten by the guards, each taking a turn to release their anger at the misfortunes that had befallen them. They kicked and bludgeoned him until he coughed blood on the cold ground, then tied his hands into a sack. All the while he grinned at his attackers, otherworldly and unsettling. They agreed that one guard should be dedicated to watching him at any given time to prevent him from his midnight wanderings. The guards drew lots every night to decide the two watchmen that would alternate posts, each of them dreading the shift. Aelus never slept, he just sat up, watching his captors.

The Skinwalker's captivity was a game to him, an endless match of wits and will. He did not have the resources to secure a permanent escape, and a temporary sojourn from captivity would only serve to weaken the reputation he worked so hard to create. Paschek's enhanced security protocols took away Aelus' capability to actively sabotage the slaver's efforts, in that the man was wise, but Aelus wasn't a man given to surrender. During the long marches across the plains he worked to expand a narrow tear on the underside of the pouch that covered his hands. Through that rift he poked his fingers, collecting various scraggly herbs and plants that grew between the stalks of tall grass in the endless plains. With those plants he concocted a drug, one of many that he employed to propagate his supernatural persona. This drug induced a shallow sleep in the afflicted, leaving them conscious enough to sit upright and keep their eyes open, but leaving them rested enough to work the next day. Through frequent application of this drug he slowly gnawed at the guard's morale, peeling away at their courage and stripping their will to fight.

Illusion, lies and artifice. These were Aelus' greatest weapons and he wielded them with frightening efficiency. His enemies were in no real danger, not with Peschek's careful guard, but they believed they were. If Aelus had learned anything in his few years, it was that the threat of danger can cause more harm than the sharpest blade. By the time Peschek's convoy stopped at the crossroads none of the guards would look Aelus in the eye. Rumors and stories of his exploits before his capture circulated in every town they passed through, and each one expanded the tendrils of fear gripping the hearts of the Skinwalker's wardens. Aelus sat in the dirt, refusing water yet again from the guards. Living off of what he could squeeze from the grass and weeds of the plains was slowly killing him, but he had to maintain the act if he wanted to be free. He only had to last until the next town, were he could pay off another civilian to get him food and water. Aelus watched each of the slaves take their turn at the waterskin. His tongue dry and his lips cracked, he cursed his arrogance, trying his best to remind himself it was all that kept him alive over the years. Every breath burned, the bruises covering his chest were like a malevolent hand gripping his lungs. He didn't take long to lament his situation, the curtains were still drawn, the audience still in place. His part needed to be played. Aelus looked up to Paschek, standing far ahead of the chain of slaves. The man seemed lost, like he was looking for someone. Aelus shouted to him.

"What's wrong Checkers? Stood up by your boyfriend?"

A nearby guard delivered a swift kick to Aelus' ribs, causing him to inhale sharply. Pulses of pain ran through his already battered torso. He glanced up at the guard, smiling and whispering a phrase in a foreign language.

"Por'dec nu castra."

It was nothing more than a greeting taught to him by an enslaved tribesman from the lands north of the Patriarchy, but he spit it like a curse, and the guard bought it. He stepped back quickly, mumbling a prayer and continuing down the line of slaves.

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I've posted a new Brothers, a Tale of Two Sons video for anyone interested.

'Some fool once said, pain is weakness leaving the body. That's a bunch of bunk. Pain is just pain. I've been traipsing all over these lands for over thirteen years. Weakness left my body long before that. And pain? It comes and goes, like an old relative who's worn out his welcome. This walk through the plains, is just another walk.' Kolya's feet had been calloused over decades ago. This walk was no different than any of the others. His mind wanders as it so often does.

"What's yer name, boy?" The strange accent, foreign to the young man's years was forceful and insistent. The old warrior responsible for training the new recruits had absolutely no empathy in his steel gray eyes. He cared very little for the boys he was about to change.

"Nikolai Stepanovitch Vedeneyev!" The boy exclaimed to the head man.

The older man in charge who may have been 35 years of age allowed a slight smile to crease his lips, "Well, Nikolai step on a ****ing. Get in line." Serzhánt Orlov addressed the young recruit. He then paced the line looking at the boys he would need to turn into men. "You boys are the scum of the earth! You are not even worthy to be called dogs. A dog has a higher calling in this world than you do! You will learn to do everything I tell you. You will not question, you will not hesitate, you will simply do. Any of you scum who questions me or any other officer of this command, will receive lashes. You will learn respect. For without it, you deserve no respect in return! Any of you scum fails to do what you're told will be punished! I will turn you filth into men. You will learn how to fight and especially how to use the broadsword. Your sword will be your best friend. You will name your sword. You will respect your sword and the swords of your brothers. Look to the scum on your left," Serzhánt Orlov yelled at the assembled boys and they complied. "Look to the scum on your right. At least one of them will not be here when we're done. And no, they are not going home to their mommy," the old warrior leaned in and allowed a few second pause. "at least not alive."

Serzhánt Orlov resumed his walk, pacing back and forth in front of the group of boys. "You'll refer to me as Serzhánt and nothing else. Do you got me, scum?"

The boys all yelled, "Yes Serzhánt!"

Nikolai has always found it comforting to get lost in his head while on the march. Even if the thought was a memory of a less than pleasant event. But even during those initial months with Serzhánt Orlov he managed to find some happy or pleasant experiences. At least his brother Griegor was by his side then. The thought of Griegor made him unhappy.

He viewed this current march across the plains no different than any other. The biggest difference was he was less encumbered. That was probably the only pleasing aspect of this march. As a soldier, he carried a pack, a sword, armor and occasionally a shield. The weight of that equipment was at least a third of his own weight. This walk was easy.

Once, three weeks ago he considered trying to escape. He assessed his captors and the small pug of a creature who led them. They were weak. He knew, if the situation was different; he and ten of his brothers armed with swords against them equally armed; there was no doubt in his mind he and his Khoszul brethren would survive. They were weak, but very well adept at using those damn crossbows. Any slave who attempted to escape across the plains during this march learned how to catch one of those crossbow bolts in the spine. He and his comrades may have been able to overwhelm their captors twenty-five days ago, but not today. Today, they lost their strength and apparently their will to resist.

He did not know any of his comrades, save one. He had the luxury of being the last man in the file. He could watch all of them. More than likely they came from some respectable venue in life. But whatever they had done, they were here now, sharing in the same misery. The man immediately in front of him, he recognized as a Khoszul man. They fought together in the last battle. He is the only other survivor from that encounter between General Zolnerowicz and the Grand Duchy's Count Sachkov. He didn't really know Pietr, who staggered in front of him, never having conversed, but considered him reliable simply because he was a Khoszul man like him.

The walk suddenly came to a halt. The escort brought drink and a small scrap of food. Kolya did not question the meal or the break. He appreciated it, nonetheless. He and his comrades were permitted to sit in the dirt. A luxury also appreciated. Kolya did not care why they stopped. He scanned the horizon more out of curiosity than anything else. He decided that he hates this land. There are no trees, no mountains and very little water. The boreal forest of the Khoszul lands are the most beautiful locations on the planet. 'It seems the dark cloud hovers quietly overhead,' Kolya thinks to himself. "This place sucks, " He quietly mutters to himself." Pietr hears him and allows a grin.

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'She doesn't look anything like her parents!'
'Hush! That is the high priest's daughter you're talking about! She will be skilled at archery like her mother one day and she will be the highest person in our land. She looks like her grand parents. No such rumours will be heard!' As the mother scowled at the child I listened in, listened and tried to see if it were true that I had been adopted. The rumour had been spread for about a year now. I followed them for a bit but the conversation died down. I cursed not talking to the girl before. Her and her gossipy ways. I hated her but I had to know. I was old enough now. My long white hair flowed down and contrasted with my tanned mountain skin. As I walked the streets of the mountains I saw prosperity in ever corner. Markets, beautiful buildings and caring families. It was an honour to be part of such a society.
I feel the group stop and accidentally bump into the girl in front of me and receive a heavy growl. I sigh, she didn't even look back so I didn't say sorry. I sat down but my back ached from all the whippings I'd received. I was essentially a fallen royal. Fallen from grace. That's what the mountain people believed.
I run out the back of the palace. "Mother! Father! Please; servant. Let me return!" He clasped his free hand over my mouth and I bit it. "Don't do that again." I huffed but continued on in slight tears. What was I doing at this ungodly dark hour?
'Water?'
"Huh?"
I snap out of my daze.
'Drink up.'
I nodded and thankfully and drunk greedily from the spoon. The overpowering guard moved on. I noticed how the sitting was helping the aching in my legs and feet. They ached like crazy. Finally my shackles were doing horrors to my wrists and they painfully ached.
I walked out of my overnight hideout. As I covered myself and walked discreetly down the streets I knew people were looking for me. I didn't see pristine chapels or prosperity. I saw families being torn apart and reunited after men serving many months to years in the mines. They wouldn't get a long break until they went back in there. It's just the way it worked. I hadn't seen that devastation and corruption before then but it was clear. Sad that the last memories I had of a place I had called home for many years was such a horrific feeling. It didn't matter, I was going, secretly, to the desert and going to get out of this place forever.
Now that would be true , but not the way I wanted it as my life would be at the service of a madman who is cruel to his spaces. I scowled and listened to a man saying hello in a language that was commonly used on the streets of the Patriarchy. I smile at him.
"Aloina' hen shau tou in?" (Do you speak the language?) I was interested to know if he knew it. I earned a nudge on the back from the hard in the form of a hard kick.
'What did you say? You scum shouldn't speak.'
"All he said was hello in a language you don't understand. I could curse you in the same language if you like."
'Scum like you shouldn't talk to me like that.'
"Boishou goin!" (**** off)
I received another couple kicks in the back and tried to cough but couldn't.
"Shinoui" (Bastard) I whispered.

Peschek the Slaver looked over his wares with a sneer. Louts and rebels, all of them. Three women and three men. He'd be happy to be rid of the pests, all but one of them had been trouble.

His patient vigil was rewarded, a smile coming to his face as he spotted the black dots on the horizon. "Finally." The black dots grew, becoming obvious as six riders and a wagon. As they approached, more details became obvious. Several of the men were armored in leather jerkins and chain, wielding lances and gathered protectively around one man, a larger and better-fed one. The evident leader wore heavier armor, a pointed, almost onion-shaped helmet. A thick mustache was evident on his face.

They flew a banner, a bear rampant on a field of azure. The heraldry of the House of Valishin.

As the riders and wagon slowed in approach to the tiny cluster on the side of the road, Peschek smiled, gave a bow that was somewhat lacking in formality. "Greetings, Your Excellency. I am delighted to see you in such fine health today."

Count Valishin grinned beneath his bushy mustache. "Peschek, you old rogue. How are the roads from Orbazl these days?"

"Poor, Your Excellency. I am afraid that conditions have somewhat depleted my stock," Peschek said with a wave to his seated slaves. "Still, I wanted to be sure to honor our agreement."

Valishin nodded as he dismounted his horse, his armor creaking slightly as he looked over the slaves. "You did well, slaver. That idiot Gorskiy does not recognize quality stock if it came and bit him. Why, I suppose he'd put these women to work in the kitchens!" he said with a barked laugh. He leered down at the three women, a bit taken aback by the two icy stares that met him, before settling on the one that could not meet his eyes, the girl with the copper hair. "And how about it, milashka?" he said, leaning in closely to the girl. She shrank away, her eyes still studying the ground. "You'll come to like me, milashka," he said quietly. "You'll live in my castle, you'll eat better than this ****," he said. His gauntlet swung, tapped against her hand. The girl gasped, and the half-gnawed beet went flying into the mud. Count Valishin laughed to see her trying to crawl away from him backwards, hampered by the chains. Turning back to Peschek, his good humor was obvious. "I'll take the three women. The other two will be a challenge, I'll like that. I'll give you twice Gorskiy's rate for them, and you'll still be able to give him these dogs," he said with a dismissive wave to Kolya, Pietr, and Aelus.

"Thank you, Your Excellency," Peschek said, deftly catching the bag of silver ingots. "Everyone wins once again."

Count Valishin grinned at the slaver, about to reply with a joke of his own, when he heard something behind him, frowned as he span around. The girl with the copper hair, eyes still firmly to the ground, was saying something. What, he could not tell. Her lips were moving rapidly, but virtually silently. One of the slave drivers growled, made to give her a cuff, but stopped at a look from Count Valishin. Smiling broadly under his mustache, he crouched down to her. "What was that, milashka? You have something to say? Come on, we'd all like to hear it. What're you saying, girl?" Once again, his cold steel gauntlet reached out to her, taking her by the chin, forced her head upwards to make eye contact. Her lips continued to move in soundless speech, but her eyes, green like two chips of emerald, seemed to blaze.

Count Valishin suddenly remembered old stories he heard as a child, nights beside the hearth listening to his grandmother. The old noblewoman had so many stories, folk tales. Histories of the days of Ilya. And suddenly, those details were rushing back to mind.

"Oh ****. . ."

The final syllable of the girl's quiet words was suddenly screamed, as two things happened simultaneously. Count Valishin stood, screaming himself for the good reason that he was now on fire, wreathed in flames that danced over his armor, his clothing, underneath his skin. Staggering, screaming, his guards and the slavers could do little more than gape in horror.

And the chains, the bits of iron that had held the six of them together, crumbled into dust that blew away on the wind. There was no trace of the shackles, it was as though they had never been.

Baichu sat stoic like the stone. Her black hair swishing behind her in the cool breeze that was sweeping the plains. The beet in her calloused hands was half-eaten. Her teeth stopped tearing into it when she couldn’t take the flavor anymore. She thought about chucking it at Peschek. ‘It’s hard enough to do some damage.’ She thought with a stern expression. Deep brown eyes turned to glance at the fiery one and brows burrowed together. She wasn’t finishing her beet either and seemed different than usual. Her shoulders were strong today, filled with some unknown resolve. “Tsk.” The Khan clucked her tongue turning her head away. She didn’t like the strange sensation she got from the young woman. It filled her with heat.

So she looked at the young woman to her right instead. The fool who bumped into her earlier. Chapped lips deepened into a bigger frown as she watched the girl talk to a guard. Soon she was kicked by the guard for speaking with such insolence. It was her own fault and she’d get no sympathy from Baichu. ‘Stupid girl. One should preserve their strength for a real battle. Not get beaten like dog in chains. Wait till opportune moment and strike!’ Just as she was about to say something to the pretty, white haired fool a familiar sound graced her ears. Horses and their strong feet pounding across soil.

She whipped her head around, dark orbs searching the horizon that Peschek was grinning towards. “Ah, our latest buyer.” She whispered, watching the well trained steeds huff indignantly under people who couldn’t use them to their full potential. The lances the soldiers had were similar enough to her old Halberds and spears. Her fingers itched to grab a rein and a weapon to plunge into these twisted men. Their lifeblood would soak into her flesh and she would be rejuvenated as a warrior.

Peschek and the fat man, Count Valishin, exchanged pleasantries and spoke of things that made her blood boil. The fat one looked at them, the three women, with hungry eyes. Like a wolf eying rabbits, and spoke as if they were things to play with. ‘ The last man who thought me to be a toy was castrated by my own fangs, fat dog. ’ She thought with venom. He approached and if glares could kill he’d have died by her gaze by now. He looked nervous under the weight of her sight so he turned to the fiery one whom was staring at the earth. ‘ NO, fool! You look a predator in the eyes!’ Bai mentally was screaming looking to the red head, feeling almost protective of her.

The fat man spoke in a language she did not know. His greasy hands sheathed in armor kept trying to touch the young woman who shimmied out of the way in her chains. Baichu shook her head and began to study her enemies instead of fretting. The copper one was going to have to be protected by her when they arrived at the fat man’s home. As he turned away chuckling and Baichu felt sickened by his jiggling fat was when she heard something. Something awe-inspiring and terrible! Something similar to the Old Khan’s grand tales of the past; which she and Baraar listened to sitting round their warm hearth fire. Baichu felt adrenaline rise like a tidal ave over her as the familiar battle sweat littered her brow. Her pulse skyrocketed while the fat man approached the fiery one with that same distasteful grin again. Something was about to happen. Baichu could feel it in her.

And it did happen. Rather suddenly Count Valishin was on fire and they were free. The Noble was in shock for a few seconds before fight or flight instinct kicked in. She stood and raced forward on powerful legs while everyone was still preoccupied with the burning idiot. She threw her beet into the rear end of one of the new horses. The animal reared in surprise making his rider fall off and Baichu tackled the stunned man while he lay prone. Strong fingers gouging out his eyes then taking his head and snapping it with a quick right motion. The Miao’s brain counting downward for when the soldier’s would collect themselves enough to counter attack. She needed to get everyone up and revolting before that. She took the lance and swung herself up on the horse releasing a throaty yell at the prisoners. Not surprised to see some already up and fighting.

“ATTACK IF YOU HAVE ANY HONOR!”

Peschek blinked turning his head up in surprise, her yell bringing both the soldiers and guards out of their daze. They were leaving the Count Valishin alone now. It was too late to save him as the putrid smell of burning flesh filled the air. The little man’s eyes widened as the stolen horse came barreling towards him and he barely jumped aside with a yelp. Baichu’s lance penetrating a guard’s throat and with a powerful flick of her wrist she separated body and head. Bringing her beast’s body next to the copper one in a defensive position the Miao glanced her almond eyes downward. “Can you use more spells on the riders, magic-flinger?” She asked the young woman a bit respectively. Even if she fell to these men today… at least she died honorably in battle next to a thing of legends. And when she came back in the next life maybe it would be as a dragon to seek revenge on all her foes.

Aelus allowed his smile to fade, glaring at the Patriarchy ****ing who translated his 'threat' for the guards. This woman, no, this girl, she was either actively attempting to undermine him, or was simply too naive to understand that divulging secrets to her captors was incomparably stupid. His facade only dropped for a moment before he regained his composure and returned to his state of eerie solemnity. Either way, she would be an individual to avoid in the future. Her mere presence restricted his capability to use the tongue of the Ayecht tribes to further his guise. Even the Khanate woman was guilty of attempting to curry the favor of the guards. He honestly doubted that either of them would hesitate to spend the night with one of their honored captors for a night out of the cold and an extra ration.

Another guard passed by, curving his path around the cheerfully grim slave. Aelus watched him pass, allowing the guard to stride by without conflict before untying the rough stitch in the bottom of his burlap restraint. He discretely tore at a patch of qanta grass previously concealed by his crossed legs, squirreling away a good quantity before resealing the bag. His bindings now concealed several herbs he had collected over the last few days, an ensemble of unsavory characters only awaiting the arrival of their qanta brother.

He ripped and shredded the components, tearing them into almost particular pieces before rolling the plant matter between his hands to dry it. By the time Count Valishin arrived Aelus had finished his next batch of sleeping powder. Valishin, Aelus remembered him. They never formally met, but he was present at one of Aelus' more public performances. As he remembered it, the count was very displeased with the Skinwalker's appearance at the party, even offering a bonus reward for the trespasser's head. It was the only job he and... well, that he had ever abandoned. Turns out kidnappings in broad daylight were a bit too ambitious, even for the Skinwalker.

Aelus waited patiently for Valishin and Peschek to finish their arbitrary greetings, hoping to find some place to interject. No such opportunity arose. He did however, derive some amusement from the count's objectification of the girl from the Patriarchy. The pleasant spectacle was soon shattered by the booming delivery of a word more ancient than any Ayecht prayer he knew. Sadness, rage, joy, greed, lust. All of these were familiar to him, each one played a part in his daily routine, but with the utterance of that word came the resurrection of an old sensation. It clawed up from the depths of his stomach, clambering through his throat and slithering into skull, finally nesting behind his eyes like some ethereal parasite. For the first time in years, Aelus was afraid.

It was fleeting, a passing visitation by a long forgotten friend. It was strange, fear had been his companion for so many years, yet they had gone so long without speaking. The gilded smile returned and Aelus' response to his new found freedom was not long delayed. He regained control of his mind, steeling it against the mystical horror that plagued Valishin and the panic that quickly spread through the camp. Aelus rose slowly, calm and composed in the midst of the storm. The guard nearest to him rose his sword, but hesitated as Aelus approached. The Skinwalker advanced on the guard, who's scowl quickly faded to the soft features of a man gripped by terror. Aelus' eyes burned with elation, his spirit uplifted by the end of his brief contention with dread, and the return of his honored ally.

He closed on the still frozen guard, raising his hand and placing it lightly over the the man's mouth and nose. Aelus watched the man stiffen, then relax, dropping his sword and letting his arms fall slack. The guard remained standing, swaying lazily from side to side, eyes still open. Aelus lifted the crossbow from the guard's back and the quiver from his belt, readying a bolt before grabbing the guard around the chest. A quick survey of the camp showed the other guards conveniently occupied elsewhere, though the count's knights had fewer qualms about facing Aelus. Two reared their horses for a charge, quickly gaining ground on the open plains. Aelus took a snap shot at the leading knight's horse, placing a bolt deep in its chest. The beast collapsed, sending the knight rolling out into the tall grass. The second continued the charge, couching his lance as he neared Aelus' position. The Skinwalker held his ground, staring up at the charging knight. The horseman shouted and thrusted his lance forward. Aelus stepped to the side and shoved the drugged guard onto the lance, rolling off to the side and hacking the metal limb of the crossbow into the horse's rear knee as it passed. It crumpled into a heap of hair and flesh. The rider struggled to gain his footing before being kicked onto his back by Aelus. Aelus stepped on the rider's chest, pinning him to the ground. The soldier blustered, mustering every ounce of his courage.

"Let me up and fight me like a man. Where is your honor?"

Aelus chuckled, shaking his head.

"Well, you've gone and blown it."

Aelus drew a dagger from the rider's belt, resting the point on the eye slit in the man's helmet.

"I would have let you live if you just asked nicely."

The scream was expected, but the tone was much higher than Aelus believed the man could muster.

_________________
http://www.youtube.com/user/RacoonJones

I've posted a new Brothers, a Tale of Two Sons video for anyone interested.

I had ousted the imposter but didn't get his answer, did he speak the language of my people? I needn't cars anymore when the fiery red head was being pestered by the vile man who was not supposed to be our true owner. I sneered and gave him a venomous look when he looked at us like we were his property.
His mere manner made me want to phone and way that he thought we were for his taken made me want to get a bow n arrow and drive it right through his heart. I could use a cross bow, that was all that was available to me, but it would be different. There would be no qualms about killing the rotten beast!
I couldn't stand it the closer the man got to me and if he even touched me I would hurt him because I could think of nothing more repulsive. The way him and the guard was talking they were going to illegally sell us to him, only the females. Typical. I refused to become a sex slave or anything for the man. If you could call him that. I refused to let my dignity go like that, where would my integrity go if I so much as let him get to close to me. What had I become? What will I become. I knew the other girls didn't like him as I, we old, no we would stage a break out! Yes! I would not --just stand by and...
The fiery red head started reciting something, no not just a something. Something evil. I tried to think of my abundance of languages and knew then that it had been long lost and I didn't like it. Until of course I got free. Then I didn't need even a moment of hesitation to know what to do. I turned to the guard who saw me straight away and cowered away.
"You killed my parents" The fire in her eyes even rivalled the flames of the great fires from a couple of years back that destroyed many houses and fields. The fury burned in her mind and the hatred burnt in her heart.
I charge at him and duck his on coming punch. I was low enough now so I did a special punch of my own... down low. I probably did the most despicable thing you could do to a man but then again he did the most despicable thing he could do to me. All's fair in love and war.
I stole his crossbow in one foul sweep and put it to his chest as he lay pitifully on the floor. No aiming needed, just straight into the heart.
"Balleshin rio marleet kou?" (Any last words?)
"Jun El barle saque willo kun washi. Vou gren fi la cost xinsha proile. Lisbon jrei kringou, fei boypishin dae. Houlilem, fuka lurine pore shuwi." (My capture has bested me and now I die. Just know, the bounty didn't compare to your beauty. I do not expect my last wish to be granted, I didn't grant yours. As such, I won't bother voicing them.)
"Pore shu lur." (Voice them.)
"Vei, fuka lurine wai." (No, I won't bother.)
"Fuka." (Bother.)
"Haire. Quolem IEEE fore ku guin sha pushij, Horrendul. Rexou shrout weas ku Farradays; Harabu maie doin halil shik zeian pou te... Lime vrien a sek." (Fine. Some family are in the town near here to the east, Horrendul. Ask for the Farradays; Find them and tell them why I haven't shown up... And give them this.)
He hands me a necklace, rope for a chain and a wooden cross. I nod.
"Harukvei." (Goodbye) With that, I shoot the arrow straight into his heart. I then lifted the crossbow and tried to analyse it's weight. The trajectory would be different to archery as the bolt was metal. It also didn't have the range but I could work with that. I saw a guard run at me and smirked.
"Vroushin, haluke ala wiong dei." (Idiot, he has guts to face me.) I whisper and load with bolts I steel from the other guard. He gets closer, I aim just above his heart. I fire and hit him straight in the heart. I smirk.
I continue on. The battle rages.

"I don't know!" the girl with the copper hair yelled piteously, struggling to draw herself up beside Baichu's horse as frantic tears came to her eyes. "I haven't read much of the book, and now I'm so tired-"

She was cut off with a yelp as the horse whinnied and fell, throwing the Miao woman clear. The beast rolled onto its side, the shaft of a quarrel emerging from its eye. A crack shot. Without the speed and momentum of a horse, the lance was now an awkward, cumbersome weapon.

Peschek the Slaver advanced, malice in his eyes as he swiveled the crossbow back onto his back while taking the whip coiled on his belt. He cracked it once in the empty air as he advanced on the two women, a sound like spring thunder echoing through the frigid air. "I didn't have to miss you, woman," he warned. "I chose to hit the horse." Behind him, his men gathered their courage, taking their eyes off the count's smoldering corpse and his rapidly slaughtered escort, grabbing their staves and warily watching the escaped slaves. A standoff.

"Let me offer a deal," Peschek proposed, loud enough for everyone to hear. "You take half this silver," he said, patting at the pouch of ingots at his side. "You go free, and you let me have the witch. Money and your freedom, eh? Can't lose! The Grand Duke will be pleased if I present to him the witch who murdered his kinsman!" he yelled, pointing at the charred lump of warped iron on the side of the road. He cracked the whip once more for emphasis. "So what will it be, serfs? Freedom and a full purse? Or the alternative?"

The Khan was surprised about the panic in the copper one’s eyes. Had she not known how to properly control the power at her fingertips yet? She said something about a book and was scrambling against Baichu’s stolen steed in frantic urgency. ‘I need to focus on the fight at hand or flee with this one…. No, a Khan does not run merely regroups.’ She offered her hand down and wore a kind smile like one she would have used on the women of her village when they needed guidance. “Take my hand, you’ll be safest on the back of my horse Magi-UMPH!”

Her horse screamed pitifully and Baichu felt herself start to fall with the dying animal. As a Miao she knew what it meant to have your legs trapped under your mount so she kicked herself away. Hands curling around her head in an effort to protect herself. Body crashing hard against the plains a few feet away with skin tearing and mashing against gravel as she slid through the tall grasses.

“Kharaakh!” ((swear word basically, that’s how you say it. The written word is хараах in Mongolian.))

Hissing angrily the black haired noble pushed herself up with hot eyes and stinging wounds flaked with debris. The side of her face hurt something awful and she could feel the blood running down her chin in rivets. She staggered back towards the girl shaking her head to focus, foot brushing against the lance which a strong hand curled around and unsteady feet tried to balance the large weapon. ‘ This is why I needed a real staved weapon. Good for horseback and ground…’

“I didn’t have to miss you woman. I chose to hit the horse.” Peschek said with a haughty air.

Baichu wasn’t sure if he was talking to her or the red haired witch but she didn’t care. All she cared about was this man needed to breathe his last foul breath. Most the actual soldiers had fallen now with their Duke. The numbers were prettily evenly matched among guards and slaves. So Peschek did exactly what she expected a coward to do from a position of strategy. He offered a deal to all of them. She glanced at the other slaves through her black curtain of hair, wondering if they’d actually fall for such a lie. Calculating if she could protect the witch from both slaves and guards if they did turn on them like feral dogs. For a brief moment even she considered his deal. Freedom and coin to chase after her brother but it was a charade and he was a puppet master of deceit. She owed her gratitude to the one who freed her of chains and brought back the fuel to her fire.

Strong feet with purpose led the beige skinned woman to stand in front of the witch and spit blood at the short Slaver. “I may have fallen into bondage short one, but my honor does not escape me. This child has freed me. Not you. I refuse your deal. Bi ta ükhekh gej naidaj!” (I wish you death.) Native words sundering out her angry and blood-stained lips.

She raised her head high looking her enemy in the eye and pushing back the curtain of hair to frame her face in a black mane. She’d hide no longer behind it. The other slaves were beginning to give their answers as well and it looked favorable. This group actually did have a spine. So she gripped the lance, lifting it like it was one of her old spears. Brown eyes watching the devious man and she whispered softly, “Stay close Magic-flinger or use the horse’s corpse as a shield. I want you to breathe in and out slowly and calm yourself. Then try another spell. This is a battle now and for helping me redeem my honor I will protect you to the best of my ability. But just because you’re a woman doesn’t mean you should hide behind another, we are not weak. We don’t need protecting. Now fight!”

She ended the last two words with a roar. Throwing her lance with all her strength like it was a spear towards Peschek and not checking to see if it actually hit. She knew that was a long-shot. The lance had merely been a distraction. She bolted for the body of the man she decapitated earlier and grabbed at his stave before standing ready for battle to face the whip and chain. Both mentally and physically.

I start running for the main head guard now, the one who was endangering two of our fighters. I lay low and shuffle on my elbows. I was as low to the ground as I could get and I managed to get a good shooting point. The soil was dry under my fingers but I managed to dig some I strongholds to support my elbow and get up to a good position. The cross bow, although lightweight was different to carrying an archery bow. It was a bit awkward and made my stance almost awkward. The guards were close by now. I shot from the side and shot a guard right next to Peschek. "We don't make deals with the likes of people like you! Farvel!" (Idiot) I then swiftly swing and clamber my way down. "You know... I didn’t have to miss either.
I spat at him. And then let my white hair whip behind me as I clutched the crossbow. I then squatted and inched closer silently behind the long grass and shot at the guard to Peschek's other side. I could aim with this thing perfectly now. It was different to archery but it wasn't like I had to entirely reopen the old drawing book. I swiftly moved from my place, knowing a bow would be sent that way soon. I mean it was obvious where the bow had come from. Probably archery's only weakness.
I curse my white hair, I knew it would make me easier to spot but none of the guards seemed to be able to spot me at the moment. My legs killed as I squatted, disguising myself and constantly moving in the thick and long grass. The callouses on my feet hated the position no less but I had to bare it. I noticed I had significantly weakened because now that I'd been holding the crossbow for a while my arms were starting to ache where they once could've coped

Nikolai Vedeneyev
“ATTACK IF YOU HAVE ANY HONOR!”

The words seemed to propel both Nikolai and Pietr into action. Training, experience and discipline have that sort of effect on a person. There is no time to take a personal evaluation of the situation. There is no time to ask questions or wonder about whether you will do well or die. There is only do and maybe die, but not concerning yourself with the latter, just do!

A recently fallen soldier yielded a sword Nikolei found fit his bear like paw quite well. He grabbed the sword and hefted it over his head and to the right. His right arm up, bent and parallel to the ground. His left arm bent and hanging low across his chest. A horsemen charged into him. The lance works great in tightly packed formations against infantry defending without pikes in tightly packed formations, but not one on one in open ground, without trees anywhere in sight, like this situation. One rider with a lance against an agile foot soldier has no chance, especially against an experienced footman. Nikolai was able to sidestep the destrier with ease. As the rider passed, Nikolai swung the sword up and through the man, forcing him to fly backward off the mount as it charged forward. The former horseman hit the ground with a thud on his back, knocking the wind out of him. The sword may have penetrated a layer of his armor or even given him a nice laceration across the abdomen, but it was not enough to kill the man. Pietr rushed in, pulled a dagger from the man's scabbard at his belt and jabbed it repeatedly into his torso until he lost consciousness. The man's blood flowed into the soil, his last breath polluting the air.

Pietr dropped the dagger and yanked the man's sword from its scabbard at his side, jumping to his feet and joining Nikolai where they stood with swords at the ready. Two guards attempted to move in on Pietr and Nikolai. The Khoszul men stood back to back, shoulder to shoulder. Each parried and attacked, dodged and thrusted in a death dance with two of Peschek's men. At one point, Pietr bent over and Nikolai rolled over and onto his back then landing on his feet on the opposite side of Pietr. Both men were down on one knee looking at the guards charging at them. They leaned in, while thrusting with their newly found swords, piercing their former guardians' bowels.

The guards fell to the ground adding more blood to the dry cold soil. The two Khoszul men stood by the three women and the third man who appeared to come from the mountains of the Patriarchy. By this time, the tiny little ferret-faced slave master had mustered his remaining guards behind him and attempted to make a deal in order to save his own sorry hide. This day would provide no life saving settlement for Peschek and his men.

The dark haired woman who appeared to have elected herself leader of this impromptu army of six spoke to the man from the Patriarchy, “Stay close Magic-flinger or use the horse’s corpse as a shield. I want you to breathe in and out slowly and calm yourself. Then try another spell. This is a battle now and for helping me redeem my honor I will protect you to the best of my ability. But just because you’re a woman doesn’t mean you should hide behind another, we are not weak. We don’t need protecting. Now fight!” With those words, the woman tossed the useless lance towards the group of soldiers and the slave master. It clattered to the ground making a loud noise. And then she charged into them.

Her actions spurned the two Khoszul swordsmen to follow suit. They followed their new found leader into battle, flanking her on both sides. Once again, Nikolai was the reluctant warrior as he had been for the past thirteen years. Again, training and experience precipitates all other emotions and desires. The consummate professional warrior doing what he knows how to do. They were not hunting game or planting crops like he had done as a boy. That world was a lifetime ago. All he knew was fighting and killing. He hated it, but it was what he did well.

_________________

My Characters
My Writing Styles
Galileo Corporation
Modern Wargaming Rules
Bakushima; Fantasy Feudal Japan

Best Days for RPing
Fri - Sun

The now liberated slaves skittered around the copper haired girl like ants flocking to their newly discovered queen. Aelus watched the band of warriors assemble in a loose formation with the Khanate woman at its core. The sudden display of unity was heartwarming, but not a course of action Aelus planned to follow. He owed nothing to the witch. She gave him freedom from his chains, he gave her the blood of her captors. But the battle raged on, regardless of his allegiance. His escape routes proved to be a frustratingly unique combination of abundant and useless. While fleeing in any direction could facilitate his escape any surviving guards would be able to pick him off long before he was out of range. It was possible for his fellow slaves to defeat Peschek and his men, though their chances could be significantly reduced without Aelus' intervention. He was presented two equally distasteful choices. Flee and hope no begrudging guard lived, or risk his life to ensure that all of his enemies fall.

Aelus growled. The display of unity disgusted him. Reliance on others could only lead him to painful, gruesome failure, but it gave him better odds than running. He knelt beside the fallen rider, grabbing cadaver's chest plate. As he began to lift the body its head turned, looking at Aelus from the concealing shade of its helmet visor. It spoke to him in a familiar voice, cutting into Aelus' heart with every word.

"We were never brothers."

His pupils dilated, heart racing at the sight before him.

"You're lying. I know you are."

The body laughed, mocking Aelus. It rolled its head back, looking up at the sky.

"You were never anything more than a tool. You were born to be used Aelus. Your parents knew it, the Patriarchy knew it, and most of all, I knew it."

Aelus scowled at the corpse, spitting his words through clenched teeth.

"Stop it."

"See? You can't even bring yourself to deny it. You're a slave, you always have been. You never escaped captivity, you just traded one master for another. It's all you've ever done and it's all you ever will do."

"You didn't let them kill me."

"Is that what's kept you going? Believing I did that to protect you? Sweet, naive little Aelus. You don't throw out a hammer when you no longer need it, you lend it to a friend so they can use it until they no longer need it. That's your destiny 'brother'. To be used over and over until there's nothing left but splinters."

Aelus found himself attempting to throttle the corpse through it's chain mail, pressing against the metal rings until his fingers went numb.

"Shut up."

The corpse leaned forward, grabbing Aelus by the throat.

"If you just accept it everything will be so much easier."

Aelus grabbed the body's head with both hand and snapped its neck. He whispered as he armed another bolt.

"No."

He took a deep breath, teeth bristling between the slowly rising curtain of his lips. The Skinwalker stood up. His fingers caressed the heavy trigger as he shouted, staring down Peschek.

"I accept. Take her."

_________________
http://www.youtube.com/user/RacoonJones

I've posted a new Brothers, a Tale of Two Sons video for anyone interested.

"Well, I'm glad one of you is talking some sense," Peschek the Slaver said, his cracked and yellow teeth bared as he deftly shoved one of his men into the path of a swung sword. The brief moment gained as the man fell with a blade in his gut was all the time Peschek needed to nimbly dance a few steps back, his cracking whip buying him a little bit of space. Out of the brawl, he looked around, rolled his eyes as he saw his untrained men falling like wheat to a scythe. Peschek knew as soon as the last of his slave drivers were down he'd be next, regardless of what the man from the mountains might choose to do. If they already wanted to keep the witch, so be it.

Peschek folded his whip over itself, skirted around the brawl to the young woman, the girl with the copper hair, cringing and panting. The old stories said that using too much magic would exhaust the sorcerer, especially an inexperienced one. Perfect.

The leather strap looped nicely around the girl's neck, her green eyes going wide as Peschek tried to position her to cover as much of him as possible. No sense in getting a crossbow bolt in the belly. He saw the last of his men fall, uselessly swinging his club as though it would save him from the obviously well-trained slaves. Their attention was on him.

"I'm out of patience here," he snarled from behind his human shield, tightening the noose ever so slightly. The girl with the copper hair could still breathe, but was otherwise completely in his power. He nodded to the mountain man. "Get horses. We ride to Maksenny. If any of you try to follow, I will choke the life out of milashka here."

"My name is Katerina, damn you," the girl grunted through grit teeth. Her lips, tinged with blue and flecked with exhausted foam, began to move in another whispered incantation. Peschek went pale, desperately tried to smother her words with a leathery hand over the mouth. He howled as her teeth bit into his thumb, hard enough to draw beads of blood, hard enough to make him let go, stumble back clutching his hand. There was nothing he could do.

The dropped whip rose into the air, untouched by any visible hand. Undulating with the fluid motion of a snake, it crawled through the air towards the gaping slaver, the strand wrapping itself around his legs, forcing his arms to his sides as it curled around his torso. "How tight would you like your bonds, slaver?" the girl with the copper hair asked tauntingly. "Tight enough to draw blood? To break bones?"

"Please," the man gasped. Trying to loosen himself, he fell to the ground, flexing uselessly against the whip wrapped around him. He had become almost like a spiraled bar of iron, inflexible.

"Lie down and have a rest, you lazy bastard," she said, something cruel in her green eyes. She looked towards the other slaves, weariness in her face as she bent over, exhausted. "We are free now. Where shall we go?" she asked. "I'm so, so tired. Please, someone carry me."

The battle went as most battles go. Quick, exhilarating, gruesome, and full of dead foes… She loved it. The two men on either side of her, from the Cold lands, were strong and worthy of her respect. They had much battlefield experience, she could tell by the ebb and flow of their weapons and the way they’d glance at one another interchanging their dance with bloody ribbons intertwining them in partnership. They were like the tigers she read about in her books of study. Fierce and sturdy. They had more experience on the field of battle than her, but she wasn’t about to let that intimidate her! She’d prove her worth to them, and she knew how to fight on flat lands like these.

The white haired girl was prancing around the edge of battle firing bolts at the slavers. She reminded Baichu of a Coyote; Wary of wolves but still packing a strong bite of her own. Just as the butt of her stolen staff crushed a man’s windpipe she heard the Mountain Dweller, the only slave to not jump into combat, say he’d take the deal. Her face twisted into a sneer as she accepted a hand from one of the Cold Landers to swing her body at another guard, her foot cuffing the foul human in the jaw and then she stood over him. The sound of the Cold Lander’s destroying the rest of the Slaver’s behind her with finesse became background noise. Even the man’s dying gurgle under her heel was quiet as she locked eyes with Aelus, the Skinwalker, who was now labeled an enemy. “Stupid coward! Stay enslaved then to your weakness. Accept another Master under the pretense of coin. He will be dead soon anyway-”

The sound of battle had died away and the man under her foot was silent now too, but the reason she didn’t finish her sentence as that Peschek had entrapped the Magic-Flinger. The Miao woman cursed in her native tongue and her hands tightened on her stave. “Slippery weasel.” She was at a loss for a few seconds before coming up with an idea. An idea that she’d never have to put into play due to the Fiery One proving she had the Spirit and Power to fight back against bondage…. Peschek asked the Mountain Dweller to gather the horses still alive and skittering around the battle. The Slaver wanted the Witch enough that he probably wouldn’t kill her…. And if he did Baichu would just slay him to avenge the Magic-Flinger who was weaker than she had hoped. There was no losing.

“Advance on the Slaver.” The Khanate said, keeping an eye on the Dweller, as she moved forward aggressively. That was when the Magic-Flinger fought back. In mere moments Peschek laid tightly bound. Strangled by his own whip that had moved like a viper. She was impressed.Thoroughly impressed by all here today expect for one whom had lost his ‘deal’ and was surrounded by equally experienced foes. Brown eyes caught the falter in the Witch’s form and the look of utter exhaustion that crossed her façade. "We are free now. Where shall we go?" she asked them. "I'm so, so tired. Please, someone carry me." Steady hands supported the other woman and Baichu smiled patting her shoulder. “You did well, Magic-Flinger. I will catch us a horse and take you to a town. There my debt to you will be paid.” The dark hair woman looked to the two men and pursed her lips before bowing head that still dripped with the blood of her wounds from earlier. Her own exhaustion coloring her voice. “I, Baichu Khan, thank you for your help in this fight. You are honorable men. May I trouble you to help the Magic-Flinger as I catch us horses? Your freedom is your own now. You can do what you'd like, but I ask of you this one favor.”

Nikolai and Pietr charged into the fray as though they were fighting against veteran plainsmen or Miao men. They had spent years in combat and for them, this was no different. They were in the right place at the right time, creating a buzz saw with their blades whipping back and forth, parrying, slicing, and in some cases decapitating their former guards. These men may have been decent crossbowmen, possessing a familiarization with sword techniques, but they were no match to the two Khoszul men who had been using the weapon for more than a decade in actual combat situations. Nikolai didn't like the killing, he took no pleasure in it, even for men who deprived him of his liberty, but it was something he knew well, a task he could perform quite easily.

At one point during the fight Nikolai offered a hand to the Miao woman, Baichu who accepted. He hefted her weight in a jerking motion, spinning her toward one of the slave guards, her foot striking the poor man in the jaw. She then dispatched him to the underworld.

When all the guards were dead and the ferret-faced Peschek remained, Nikolai and Pietr stopped to watch. They gathered equipment from the dead as the death of Peschek unfolded. They observed the focus of the copper haired woman who Peschek referred to as Milashka but insisted her name was Katerina. Nikolai really did not care what her name was. He was curious to see what would happen next. The man's whip coiled slowly around the slaver's neck and smoothly tightened upon his windpipe crushing it in the process. The whip restricted the flow of oxygen to his lungs and oxygenated blood to the brain. With a crushed trachea, the man would be unconscious in two minutes and dead in eight to ten minutes. Although Nikolai felt no pitty for the dying slave master, he was just as respectful to the magic caster. He'd never actually seen a magic spell cast let alone meet anyone with those gifts. His appreciation was coupled with equal parts fear and curiosity.

The Miao woman spoke in an exhausted manner, “I, Baichu Khan, thank you for your help in this fight. You are honorable men. May I trouble you to help the Magic-Flinger as I catch us horses? Your freedom is your own now. You can do what you'd like, but I ask of you this one favor.”

"Yes, ma'am. I'll help this Magic-Flinger," Nikolai responded to Baichu. "I am Nikolai Vedeneyev and this here is Pietr," Nikolai stopped and looked at him. "What is your last name?"

"Sheremetev, my friend."

"Let us finish gathering supplies." He finished picking up armor and equipment off the dead. These could come in handy as a soldier. He took a mail coat and some leather pieces, including a steel helm, belt with a scabbard for the sword and dagger with a scabbard. Once he was equipped, he approached the one who referred to herself as Katerina and picked her up as gently as possible. Cradling her in his arms, he noted that he had undoubtedly carried heavier loads over great distances upon his back while on campaign with General Zolnerowicz. Fortunately, he would only need to toss her up onto the back of a beast once Baichu had gathered them together. Pietr sehremetev equipped himself comfortably with the deserted gear of the recently deceased. They wouldn't need this stuff any longer.

Once Baichu returned to earshot after pulling the horses together, Nikolai was curious about Aelus, "Khanate Baichu, what is your intention with this useless wretch?" He pointed to Aelus the skinwalker. "He did absolutely nothing to help us get free from our bondage. It would give me great pleasure to plant his corpse in this god forsaken land, if you wish?" Nikolai and Pietr both squared off at Aelus believing that the man was about as useful to them as a warm coat at the height of summertime.

_________________

My Characters
My Writing Styles
Galileo Corporation
Modern Wargaming Rules
Bakushima; Fantasy Feudal Japan

Best Days for RPing
Fri - Sun

When the last guard had fallen I got out from hiding in the long grass and saw that magic fingers had destroyed the main slaver. Everyone else was saying that they would pay a debt to her. I guess I owed her as much, I stood up and came forward to her. I had heard her call herself Katerina but everyone was calling her magic fingers. To me she looked like a Red Scorpion. “I am indebted to you, Red Scorpion.” The adrenaline from the battle was still coursing through my veins and I didn’t know how to subside it. I was with the other slaves, having been victorious. Our goal was logically to get to the next town. Before I went from the battle field I took more ammunition for the crossbow and walked with the rest. Then I decided to grab a dagger discretely for myself. I hoped it wouldn’t draw to much attention, I was an idiot that way. If need be I could carve my own set of bow n arrows anyway, as long as I had something sharp enough. I didn’t like to think that I killed so many people but then again they were just going to sell us just for money, as if a human life was actually worth a monetary amount.
The system shouldn’t work like that, a human life was precious and not something to be taken for granted. I helped pick up some supplies. No food as such but I took a coat and a lot of money off the guards. It was funny how they had more in their pockets than what I made in a month back when I was with my parents. I tried to find anything on them that could be useful but I couldn’t find anything else. I waited for what the others wanted to do until I found a body nobody had searched yet. I went to the guard and he had a pack filled with food and two pitchers of water. “Jackpot over here. Two pitchers of water and some of the food rations they’ve been feeding us.” I say. I continue to search through the pack. Nothing. It was still a good find. I put the rations back in my bag but then I also managed to fit the ammunition for the crossbow. I kept my dagger close to me at all times secretly and kept the crossbow held comfortably on my shoulders.

Katerina's brow knit at the odd phrase the blond woman had used. "Red Scorpion? Please, madam, what is a scorpion?"

Her confusion turned into a harsh glare as her eyes fell on the man from the Patriarchy. "Aelus Ekkard, is it not?" she said to the man who had never shared his name. "The Skinwalker. I dissolved your chains and freed you from bondage. And then you sided with that man over there, rather than the one who actually helped you," she said with a nod to Peschek's convulsing corpse. "I have had cause to kill two men today. You would do well to remember that. To remember that in the first moment of my life that was mine to control I killed a man. I liked it. But it will not happen to you. Not today. I am saving your life, Skinwalker. I will not harm you, nor will I allow you to come to harm for your cowardice. What I ask in return is your loyalty, complete and unquestioning."

Katerina smiled up at Kolya as the man gently lifted her onto a horse. "Thank you, big brother." The man did remind her of her older brother, far over the mountains, outside of Ruthen in the land of Suomark, by the cold gray sea. Before he was slain by the pirates, before her coward father sold her to them in tribute to avoid another attack. Years ago now.

Before she had found the book.

"To the nearest town, then?" she asked, quickly and perhaps too loudly, anything to keep the memories from rushing back.

“A Scorpion is a reptile that lives in the desert. It has pincers. More importantly it is small and sneaky but can be extremely lethal when it wants to be. I got stung by the tail of a Scorpion once and I’ll never forget it. I almost died however I didn’t because of medicine. The main lesson to learn is that you should never underestimate a scorpion, just like I shouldn’t have underestimated you. This is why I am devoting my unquestioning loyalty; Red Scorpion.” This woman had freed me and allowed me to wreak vengeance on the man who killed my father and kill the symbol of my people’s hatred that had been haunting me throughout this entire journey. If that meant unquestioning loyalty towards her, she didn’t even need to ask me like she had to ask the foolish Skinwalker. “Yes the next town is the way forward I guess. We have enough supplies to make it. Are there any other horses left to shorten the journey?” I started to look around the area.