Whispers and Mutterings-- Outsider

[DwMcAliley]

The two Ogres were big, but they were slow. They moved with great, lumbering steps, awkward and off-balance. Still, the spiked clubs the brutes swung were enormous, and would cave in Ascher's shield, or his helm, with one square hit.

Ascher darted among the trees, using speed and careful timing to stay just out of their reach. Finally, one of the Ogres tripped as he rounded a large wide oak. The monster toppled over and fell heavily across a log. Its club went flying as it fell, and smashed the other one across the face. With a roar, the bloodied Ogre raised its club and aimed it at its fallen commrade.

Ascher darted forward. With two swift strokes, he hamstrung the standing Ogre. The creature lurched backwards, and Ascher spun his kryss into a back handed grip. He stepped forward and drove the blade deep into the fallen Ogre's outstretched throat. The monster shuddered, and lay still. THe hamstrung Ogre was trying to claw its way over to retrieve its fallen club. Ascher ended its misery with one swift stroke.

THe Ogres dispatched, Ascher whistled, and Stepper came trotting out of the trees. The seasoned warhorse sniffed hard at the Ogres, but didn't balk at the scent of death. He was well-accustomed to it.

Ascher bent and went through the packs the brutes had been carrying. In one, he found a pouch with several small gemstones. The other carried a tattered, smeared treasure map and a small, faintly glowing dagger. Along with a combined four hundred gold pieces, the two Ogres had been well paid for their mischief. Ascher briefly wondered how many farmhouses they'd torched, barns and stables they'd ransacked.

He shook his head, and stood. Someone was paying to have the Village attacked, he was sure of it now. The number of trolls, Ogres, Ettins, Orcs, and other dark creatures was too great for such a remote area, for one. The Shrine itself would draw some darkness to it, the way a candle draws insects at night. Still, the woods around the village were crawling with vermin. And the loot they were carrying had been steadily increasing. Something had been bribing this evil, paying its way into the heart of the village.

Ascher bent and wiped his blade clean on the tattered vest of one of the fallen Ogres. When he straightened, he swung smoothly up into Stepper's saddle. He headed off to the northeast, toward the fens. There was a hermit that he'd known long ago. A gnarled, twisted old wizard who'd walked the fens for as long as memory held. When things moved in and around the fens, the Hermit knew of them. But his answers were never easy or free.

Ascher rounded a bend in the path, and Stepper froze. The horse's muscles all went rigid, and his ears shot forward. The animal quivered and snorted softly. Asher slowly eased his blade in its sheath, and he scanned the trees around him.

Suddenly, a shadow between two trees moved swiftly and fuidly. Moonlight flashed on bare steel, and Ascher barely had time to roll backwards out of his saddle as a dagger whistled through the air where he'd been. Stepper reared, and kicked the air wildly, but Ascher slapped the horse's rump as he rolled to his feet, sending the animal running. In this kind of situation, a horse in the way could get a man skewered.

The shadowy figure circled smoothly, effortlessly to Ascher's left, so Ascher circled to his right, keeping distance between them. Both men's serpentine blades moved in slow, sinuous arcs, flashing in moonlight and shadow. The attacker struck, swift as a snake. In two steps, the gray-clad figure was before him, blade flashing in quick, dangerous slashes. Ascher parried several blows, turned a thrust, and opened the man's right forearm and shoulder.

The two sprang back from each other, and Ascher felt a sudden burning in his side, and warmth running down onto his left thigh. Apparently he hadn't turned that thrust as much as he'd thought. The two men circled each other again, blades still moving.

The assailant stumbled slightly, his foot catching an unseen root, and Ascher sprang forward. He opened the man's left leg from calf to thigh, and cracked a rib with a thrust, though the man's armor stopped it from being a fatal blow. Ascher barely parried a slash at his throat, and missed the back-handed following cut with his shield and the attacker's kryss sliced through his left tricep. It wasn't enough to make him lose his shield, though...not yet.

As he stepped back, the shadowy assassin muttered, "I don't have time for this."

With that, the man turned, took two steps into the shadows, and was gone. Ascher blinked, spun around, his eyes wide. But he was alone. Still, Ascher kept his blade in his hand as he checked his wounds.

The thrust had missed his liver, and his ribs, though just barely. He would need a needle and thread, and lots of bandages, but if he could get the bleeding from his left arm to stop, he should live. That was a relief.

Ascher whistled weakly, and Stepper came trotting out of the trees, snorting and tossing his head. The horse never liked being sent away from a good fight, but he always listened anyway. Ascher took out bandages, a needle, and some thread. He tried to speak the words of power to lift the darkness from his eyes, but his strength and concentration failed him. Instead he downed one of the foul tasting black potions the alchemists sold, and waited for it to take effect.

The adrenaline was fading from his system now, and the various places he was leaking from began to ache.

Pain was good, though. Pain meant he was still alive. Pain meant he had survived. Pain meant he had a purpose.

[Jupiter]

Another riveting tale to study and analyze.

While I am away tending to my studies, I am sincerely pleased for the actions of this brave Ascher Kraw.