Steady...focus.
"Here he comes!"
Weimar's eyes were trained on the advancing outlaw, who was raising his iron mace. Beside him, Syras stood by his side in a defensive posture. The farm boy wasn't sure how effective wooden swords would be against an iron mace or some chain mail, but it was better to put up a fight than go down like a craven fool.After all,he and his older brother sparred once all the farm work was done.
"You know what to do," Syras whispered as they prepared to meet their assailant.
"I don't, but we can always improvise." Weimar watched the man bear down on them before making his move. As the ruffian prepared to bring down his deadly weapon, Weimar struck him on the side of his left knee. As expected, his weapon wasn't strong enough to do enough damage to his attacker, but it was more than enough to inconvenience him. Veerus had taught him that the back of the knee and the neck are vulnerable spots in an attacker, especially those that wore chainmail or armor. Muttering curses,the outlaw was on his knees, grimacing in pain.
"Hrah!" Syras leapt in the air and struck the man on the nape of his neck. Utilizing his ability, Weimar's fellow villager downed the man for the count.
"Good one." The two boys bumped fists. Around them, chaos was rampant as the smell of burning reached their noses. Among the burning tents and pavilions, the sight of women, some with babies in their arms, as well as teenagers fleeing their assailants greeted the eyes of the boys. From the corner of his eyes, Weimar noted anyone that possessed a weapon engage the mountain men. These included members of Aislundia's Territorial Guard as well as the participants of the melees and jousts. Even the Undaunted Dragons had their members engage several invaders.
"Look!" Syras pointed at the stands. Following his friend's index finger, the young farm boy noticed Seline and Adel hiding under the seats as few gray and tan cloaked outlaws scoured the area for them.
"We need to give them our assistance!" Weimar raised his wooden weapon, already dented from the tangle with the first outlaw. Before either boy could make a single move, an arrow shot past him. Feeling it nick his exposed shoulder, he watched it bury itself into the throat of the outlaw they thought they had taken down earlier.
"Ah don't get a simple thank ye for saving yer sorry arses?" Sangrid walked over, bearing an arrow and a quiver of bows.
"You nearly nailed us instead!" Syras protested.
"Ah, quit yer incessant whining! "The Backwater girl chuckled. "Besides, we need to get to those two losers on the stands."
Syras breathed out. "I think someone else beat us to them."
Weimar glanced up at the stands to see Sir Varryn of the Veneshian kingdom engage two of the outlaws. The other outlaw, a balding man with a squashed nose was on the floor in a pool of blood, his side slashed. His brunette curls reaching the base of his neck, the renowned Veneshian knight sparred with two opponents at once, but proved agile enough to take on them both simultaneously. Within seconds, both of the remaining outlaws lay dead on the stands, one of them without his head. Seline and Adel crawled out of their hiding spots hesitantly as Sir Varryn greeted them.
"Well, it appears we don't have to intervene after all." Syras grinned.
"Don't celebrate just yet!" Sangrid nocked an arrow and fired it over the boy's head. "They just keep comin' and comin' like droves of Hyder ants."
Weimar glanced over Syras to see the arrow pierce the shoulder of an advancing outlaw boy. The boy on the receiving end of Sangrid's arrow cried out as he fell to his knees on the blood-stained grass.
"We really need to regroup with Seline and Adel," Weimar suggested. "Who knows how long they can hold their own against all these ruffian scum!"
As they tried to navigate their way through the chaotic crowd and tear-inducing smoke, the group dodged bodies of the fallen-both foe and friend alike-before colliding with other individuals.
"Excuse you!" Syras grumbled.
"What did ye say?" A tall and sturdily built man wearing the sheepskin outlaw cloak turned to face them. Beside him were two of his comrades, their weapons bloody.
"He said he's sorry." Weimar backed away slowly, like a retreating Goth cat. "He should have watched where he-"
The boy then backed into something hard. Turning around, he noticed that they were surrounded by a few newcomer outlaws whose presence were meant to augment their buddy's ranks. Among them was a sneering woman who bore a bloody Alsatian battleaxe. The blood splattered on her clothes was a good that she was quite busy that day.
"Uh oh." Sangrid gulped. "We ah now surrounded. There is no way we can take ' em all down."
"If we are to fall, we should take as much of them with us as we can." Syras wielded a couple daggers he had just scavenged from the grass. "It is only honorable, not to mention valiant."
"I won't ask where you got those silver daggers from, but you surprisingly shared a bloody brilliant idea." Weimar glanced at his friend's newly acquired and blood-soaked weapons as their enemy eyed them like urchins over a discarded meal. "No pun intended."
As one of the ruffians stepped forward, a gleaming sword erupted from his chest. Falling to his knees, the dead man gradually collapsed to reveal a new figure standing in his place.
"Why hello there, marblebrain." Sir Globar smiled.
The sturdy man, the presumed leader of this bandit cell, whirled around 90 degrees to face the brown-bearded man donning cream tunic and pants as well as some chainmail around his upper torso.
"Talkin' to me?" He grunted.
"Well, since you responded to me saying marblebrain, then I would assume so." The knight winked.
Letting out a loud bellow, the man raised his club and charged his offender only to receive a large slash across his upper body. Weimar could stand there, watching in awe as Sir Globar fought off the remaining attackers. The ruffian woman tried to blindside Sir Globar, but Sangrid had recovered enough to bury an arrow in the nape of her neck. It wasn't long until the knight had dispatched all of his attackers. Breathing heavily, he glanced over at the three teens.
"Run along now."
Suddenly, a beige-cloaked outlaw rode his black stallion from around the corner of a burning white and purple tent and charged at Sir Globar, raising a battlelance. Before anyone could react, a large armored figure appeared between the knight and his would be attacker. Weimar recognized him as the Massalan knight, Sir Mordgard.
"Hrah!"
Drawing his large battleaxe, Sir Mordgard hewn the outlaw and his steed in one swift stroke, resulting in a bloody heap on the floor. Sir Globar turned to meet his savior.
"Thanks again, Sir Mordgard."
As one knight conversed with the other, the three friends slipped off to find the other members that constituted their group. It wasn't long until they were reunited with Seline and Adel underneath a lone Peckerwood. The two were hugging each other, apparently, scared out of their wits, but once Weimar, Sangrid, and Syras arrived, the two loosened up.
"I'm so glad you are okay!" Seline threw herself in Sangrid's arms.
"Bah!" Sangrid embraced her. "It was nothing! Ah survived worse! After all, Ah hail from the Backwater woods where we experience near daily marauder incursions."
"Well, we have those happen here in the Outer Rim territories as well in case you forgot." Weimar reminded her. "The Aislundian military sends a tiny detachment known as the Territorial Guard to provide security at the request of Viceroy Tesla-"
Syras pulled Weimar and Adel down as a couple of flaming arrows shot past overhead.
"Let's take cover behind something," The dark-haired boy suggested. "Out here in the open we are vulnerable to projectiles and whatnot."
"Let's go!" Adel lead them to the back of what had remained of the visitor center. The five teens crouched down to avoid being detected by the murderous marauders as well as staying out of range of throwing axes and arrows.
"Hey, look!" Syras's eyes fell upon a throwing a golden dagger with runic inscription from Varitan clasped in the hand of a fallen outlaw. "That relic is rare. Stay back as I get it."
"Don't you dare, ya big dolt!" Sangrid warned, but the energetic young boy darted over a fallen log and started to retrieve the dagger. Once it was in his hands, Syras turned to face his friends. He shouted something to them, but the words never registered with Weimar. Instead through the embers and smoke, he noticed an outline of a cloaked figure knocking an arrow and aiming it straight at his friend. His silver helm gleamed in the sunlight and the glow of the flames nearby as he was prepared to let an arrow fly. As Weimar stood up to shout a warning to Syras, a throwing axe whooshed past him like an arrow and buried itself on the shoulder of the outlaw.
" Don't make meh save yah again ye big ninny!" Sangrid snapped at Syras as Weimar helped him over.
"Where did you get that throwing axe?" Syras frowned. "Moreover, I am surprised that you are strong enough to lift it, not to mention hurl it."
The village girl motioned to a dead ruffian laying on the grass nearby, staining it red. " This fool had it buried in his stomach."
" You would notice that." Weimar smiled.
Soon, the chaos died down as the remaining bandits who weren't killed or captured fled. Still wary of stragglers from the outlaw camp, the five friends stepped out of their hiding place and made their way to the center of what used to be the event center. What was left of it was burned out tents, leftover fires, smoke, ashes, and corpses littering the blood-stained ground. The survivors of the attack, including the participants in the joust and melee events, were occupied with surveying the damage and cleaning up the gore, damage, and bodies from the vicinity.
This is surreal! Just a mere couple hours ago, this place was jovial and bustling with activity, but now it seems like a monster storm ripped through the land.
"Hey Weimar! There you are! Where in blazes were you?"
Startled out of his thoughts, the young farm boy turned to see his older brother running toward him, his dark brown hair tied back, his breathing labored.
"Veerus, what are you doing here?" Weimar was surprised that his brother went through the trouble of coming all this way for him. What could he want though?
"Didn't you hear?" The older Rice brother sighed. " It's about father and his condition is dire."
"What?" Weimar's heart skipped a beat. No way, the outlaws couldn't have dealt him a fatal blow, couldn't they?
Not wasting a minute dwelling on that horrendous thought, Weimar followed his brother.
64Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIxg2NKRaNv
Weimar, his friends, and the other attendees to the jousting event get caught up in an assault by the bandits yet it is remarkable how they were able to survive it, especially the titular character, his friend Syras, and Sangrid. Unfortunately, we receive urgent news regarding his father. Is he a possible casualty in the cowardly assault by the ruffians? Let's hope for the best.
64Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmjCQ795kPi
64Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSizFtGpPsY
64Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡiCOz1M9wVl
64Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ20PvfHGkCY
