Ryffka sighed for what he felt was the thousandth time when his elf compatriot tripped over another exposed root, letting out a string of curses that echoed through the forest.
“Can you be any louder!?” Ryffka hissed, placing a finger to his lips, signaling Talarion to maintain silence. “You’re going to get us killed!”
The elf struggled to get up and shot the Stymph a sour look. “I’m sorry if I’m not some light-footed harpy spawn!” he retorted, brushing off leaves and picking out twigs off of his laminar armor. Talarion's frustration was palpable, but it was clear he was trying to regain his composure.
An annoyed groan left Ryffka’s mouth as he hung his head as he realized that berating Talarion wouldn’t help their situation. “Look, I understand this isn’t easy for you,” he said in a more measured tone, “but we need to keep moving. If we’re caught…”
His voice trailed off, the implication clear enough without finishing the sentence. The threat of being captured by the patrolling wyverns or the Empire’s various beast riders was a fate best avoided. If they ever managed to be captured, it was all but certain the two would be made an example of why it was unwise to desert your post even in the most hopeless situations.
Talarion opened his mouth to insult the Stymph and say he never asked to be saved, but the words were caught in his mouth. He was lazy, crass, and crude, but he wasn’t an idiot. If he had to choose between dying pointlessly for an Empire that cared very little for him and becoming a fugitive? Then the choice was simple. He sighed heavily, resigning himself to their current predicament. “You’re right,” he muttered, almost begrudgingly. “Let’s keep moving.”
With a grunt, the Elf stood to his feet and brushed his head, shaking off the debris that clung to his short, dark green hair. He then stooped to retrieve his iron kettle hat that had tumbled off in his fall. After placing it back on his head with a firm tug, Talarion’s hands then went to his waist to readjust the thick and rugged two-handed falchion. The straps holding the scabbard in place hand twisted uncomfortably, but as he adjusted it, the familiarity of the weapons weight shot a blast of comfort through him.
At least he wasn’t unarmed.
Regardless, Talarion couldn’t help but curse his fate as he followed Ryffka through the dense forest. This assignment had seemed like a golden opportunity initially – an easy post at a remote fortress, far from the front lines of any major conflict. It was supposed to be simple: watch over the lands, keep an eye on any unruly locals, and enjoy some relative peace. But that illusion had shattered spectacularly with the arrival of those black, wingless monstrosities and their horrid passengers.
The Empire had always seemed invincible in Talarion's eyes, a mighty force that no one dared challenge. Yet, in mere hours, he had witnessed its formidable fortress being reduced to rubble. The brutal efficiency of the attackers, clad in their foliage patterned uniforms, had been a shock to his system.
Internally, Talarion was grateful to Ryffka for pulling him out of the fortress before it was too late. Despite the fact he thought of them being abominable half-breeds, the Stymph had acted decisively and had saved them both from a fate that had befallen many of their former comrades. Yet, gratitude didn't make it easier to come to terms with the reality of their situation. They were deserters now, fugitives in a land that he once called home.
The thought was a heavy weight on Talarion's mind when they moved further away from the fortress, but no matter how far they went the carnage seemed to keep up. They couldn’t even count how many intersections and roads they passed that were once bustling with the movement of merchant and supply caravans. Now, those roads were silent graveyards, strewn with the bodies of Imperial Auxiliaries and regular Imperial Legionnaires, all rushing to reinforce the fortress.
Each scene they encountered was more harrowing than the last. Bodies of soldiers, some still in their youth, lay twisted and lifeless, their faces frozen in expressions of shock and agony. The beasts, magnificent creatures that had once symbolized the might of the Empire, were now just lifeless husks. It seemed to be that the quiet and quaint countryside was rapidly becoming a warzone of a scale and ferocity they had never imagined.
Snapping back to reality, Talarion watched Ryffka deftly traverse the rough terrain as his head shot in every direction, looking for any sign of patrols or wandering beasts. The Stymph's feathered head would turn at every rustle, every snap of a twig, his keen eyes scanning for any sign of danger. Talarion followed silently, his mind a whirlwind of emotions. Anger, fear, disbelief, creating a turbulent mix that he struggled to keep in check.
“I cant believe a damnable Stymph saved me…” He murmured under his breath as he struggled with his wounded pride. The roles had been reversed – the once carefree and skeptical Talarion was now reliant on a being from a people he had often mocked for being small, weak and cowardly. The irony of it all was not lost on him.
As the sun slowly descended in the sky, Talarion continued to shadow Ryffka through the dense treeline, keeping a cautious eye on the road. The twilight hours brought a sense of foreboding, and he knew venturing deeper into the forest would be tantamount to inviting death. The untamed beasts that roamed these woods were known for their ferocity, especially under the cover of darkness. Staying close to the road, while risky, was their best bet for survival.
Talarion looked at the familiar landmarks and immediately knew their destination. The port city of Aldenshore loomed in his thoughts as he stepped over a felled tree. The city was a bustling trade hub and was renowned as a gateway for ships from all corners of the known realm. Its docks were always teeming with activity, its markets overflowing with goods from distant lands. And with their new status as fugitives and outcasts, Aldenshore represented a beacon of opportunity. It was a city where one could disappear in the crowd, or find work as a freelancer taking on straight edge bounties or you could take more unsavory jobs and work for more illicit actors. Nevertheless, the city was plenty far away from the watchful eyes of the Empire despite its proximity to more faithful Imperial vassals.
"We should head to Aldenshore," Ryffka finally broke the silence, his voice low and cautious. "It's our best chance to blend in, maybe even find work to sustain ourselves."
Talarion, still reeling from the day's events, nodded in agreement. The thought of becoming a mercenary or a freelancer was something he had even considered before enlisting in the Auxiliary Corp and so the transition wouldn't be too terrible.
They were still a few day’s travel from the city on foot and the journey wouldn’t be easy, but the prospect of reaching a place where they could blend in and start anew kept them moving. Perhaps they could even make a living in the shadows of its bustling markets and crowded docks or even make a name for themselves and gain some form of immunity against the Auxiliary Corp. Stories of individuals pulling this exact thing off provided a glimmer of hope in these desperate times.
"Aldenshore is no saint's haven," Talarion mused aloud, stepping carefully over the uneven terrain. "But it's got its nooks and crannies where two deserters can lie low."
Ryffka, ever vigilant, nodded in agreement. "Yes, and if we're careful, we might even find those willing to pay for our... unique skills," he added, his eyes scanning the surrounding forest for any signs of danger. “Plus I always wanted to-”
The Stymph suddenly paused mid-sentence as his sharp ears picked up distant sounds that didn't belong to the forest. Ryffka's body tensed, and his hand instinctively went to the grip of his blade staff, his eyes narrowing as he tried to pinpoint the source of the noise.
“What’s wrong-”
"Quiet," Ryffka whispered urgently to Talarion, signaling for him to be silent. The two of them stood still, their breaths shallow as they listened intently.
From a small cluster of clearings on their flank, where the treeline began to thin out, came the unmistakable sounds of battle – the clash of steel, the shouts of men, and the cries of the wounded. Ryffka's eyes flicked towards the direction of the commotion, weighing their options.
"We should check it out," Ryffka murmured, his voice barely audible. "It might be nothing, but if it's a skirmish... we could learn something useful."
Talarion stared at the Stymph as if the teal feathered idiot had truly lost his mind. "Are you mad!?” He gestured his hand in front of his face as if he was trying to clutch at any remnants of his sanity. “We're trying to avoid conflict, not walk into it!"
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Ignoring Talarion's protests, Ryffka began to maneuver closer to the sounds of fighting. Each step was taken with care while his feathers plumed out to keep his senses alert to every rustle and snap underfoot.
A look of complete disbelief clouded Talarions face as he soundless yelled into his own hands before reluctantly following after Ryffka’s lead. The two cautiously neared as the sounds of clashing steel and the voices of the combatants became clearer.
“Just give it up Azeline! You’re outnumbered, you’re just gonna die tired!” A voice in the distance yelled at as the two deserters neared the clearing.
There they saw a woman with a fierce determination in her pale blue eyes, which gleamed with the clarity of someone who has faced death countless times and spat in its face. Her platinum blonde hair, rolled pragmatically into a tight bun, kept it out of the way in battle as she blocked, dodged and parried with the competence of a seasoned warrior.
In what seemed to be just a fraction of a moment, the two hiding men watched as a flash of a double sided axe streaked towards the woman. Just a moment later a resounding clang rang out followed by a horrid shriek. At first they thought the woman had been struck down, but the scream had been from her attacker as he clutched his stomach.
At least what remained of it.
Talarion had seen it clearly, her attacker thought her distracted as he dashed out to cleave her in half, but as he brought his weapon down, the man found the iron core of his supposed victim’s shield instead of her soft flesh. And just a moment later, before one could blink, the woman had retaliated with her broadsword. A flash of metal almost cleaved the man in half as she bounced back to put some distance between her and her attackers.
But they weren’t keen on giving her a break as spears, swords, maces and another axe shot out towards in an effort to take her life. A dozen men with an assortment of weapons lashed out towards her, but with prompt and fluid motions, the blonde countered, dodged and counter attacked each blow.
That was until the woman had stomped viciously on the ground, causing the earth itself to ripple and sending everyone stumbling.
"They’re damnedable mana users! What the hell are you thinking, Ryffka?" Talarion hissed in a low, yet panicked whisper while grabbing the Stymphs arm to make an escape. "Why in the infinite hells are we heading towards a damned battle!?"
Ryffka opened his mouth to protest as he turned around, but instead he put a panicked finger over his mouth and pointed over Talarion’s shoulder.
As the clash of steel continued to resound through the air, Ryffka's sharp gaze fell upon a sight a mere dozen meters away, enough to send a chill down Talarion's spine. "Don't... move," Ryffka instructed in a hushed tone, the urgency in his voice unmistakable. "Not a muscle."
Talarion felt his blood run cold as he slowly turned his head to follow Ryffka's pointed gaze. Lumbering through the forest, drawn by the cacophony of the skirmish, was a massive creature, a monstrous behemoth known as a Grovemaw.
The beast's fur was a bristly shield, each strand thick and stiff like the quills of a porcupine, a natural armor against both the elements and the strikes of would-be assailants. Its head was broad and powerful, housing a maw that could swallow a man whole, lined with rows of serrated teeth eager to rend flesh from bone. The long snout, reminiscent of a badger, twitched as it sniffed the air, nostrils flaring as it detected the scent of blood and magic that hung like a miasma over the battlefield.
But it was the creature's paws that spoke true to its power; they were like the roots of ancient trees, thick and heavy, each step leaving deep impressions in the earth. The claws, caked with dirt and sap, gleamed with a deadly promise, capable of tearing through the toughest hide or armor with ease.
Unaware of the two fugitives in its midst, the Grovemaw's attention remained fixed on the battle ahead, its predatory instincts drawn to the chaos and the prospect of an easy meal amid the frenzy. It stalked through the forest with a quiet menace, each step deliberate and unhurried, as if it were the sovereign of this wooded realm and all within it was its domain to command.
-
“Azeline!!” One of the assailants hissed angrily as his spear lashed out only to be caught by a shield while the dying screams of his comrade were still echoing out behind him. “You dirty fucking whore!”
After shoving a spear in her back and cutting down the rest of her pitiful party, they thought her to be just as easy.
However, they had SEVERELY underestimated the woman.
Azeline had dodged and weaved through the onslaught with a dancer's grace with a fluidity that spoke of years honed in martial combat. In one moment she ducked under the swinging arc of an axe, its blade whistling through the air above her head and in the next, her blade arced upwards, deflecting a cleaver-like weapon with a reverberating clang. Her sword then found the neck of another assailant who had rushed her from the flank, slicing through flesh and bone, sending his head arcing into the air.
Not one to lose momentum, Azeline capitalized on the shock, she channeled her mana, feeling the familiar rush as it infused her muscles, and leaped backwards with supernatural agility. A man, bulky and overconfident, swung his heavy mace down where she had been just a heartbeat before. His weapon met only dirt as he grunted in frustration from the wasted effort.
Landing nimbly, Azeline took a defensive stance, her shield raised at an angle to deflect incoming blows, her sword poised above it, ready to strike. Despite the blood that seeped from the spear wound in her side.
"I’m afraid to say I’m a little disappointed," she taunted, a wry chuckle escaping her lips despite the pain. "I expected Einar’s dick suckers to be a lot more competent than this.”
Her attackers circled with a mix of wariness and anger in their eyes as she continued, “Wasn’t being the ‘elite’ troops of that shitty syndicate your whole entire thing?” Her blade then lashed out to deflect the sword coming for her neck before Azeline’s shield shot forward only to slam into her attacks face.
The attacker's grimace turned to agony as Azeline's broadsword plunged deep into his belly. She twisted the hilt cruelly, ensuring the steel wreaked havoc within before she yanked it upward, tearing through flesh and sinew in an effort to not only disembowel the man, but to destroy every organ in his abdomen. With a forceful shove with her shield, Azeline sent the man reeling back as he clutched at his stomach.
“You backstabbing fucks are going to have to do better than that!” Azeline sneered as magical power started to swell within her.
The remaining ten men, enraged by another slain comrade, the thugs charged towards her in a reckless rush. Azeline's lips parted, and voiced a single word, "Erdbruch!" The power of her voice seemed to infuse her foot with her mana, and with a swift stomp, she slammed her foot down causing the earth to respond in kind.
Shockwaves erupted from beneath her in a cone which rippled through the soil like a stone cast upon water. Her attackers then stumbled and their coordinated assault turned into a disarrayed mess as the ground buckled and heaved beneath them. Several fell, caught off guard by the unexpected tremor, while others struggled to maintain their balance.
Not letting this opportunity to slip through her fingers, Azeline put more power into her legs, causing her to explode forward. Her shield then met the face of the man who had initially hurled insults at her, eliciting a sickening crunch as he was sent sprawling backward while his spear arced through the air for a few moments only to land with a dull thud at her feet.
With a swift motion, she pivoted, her gaze locking onto another thug who had managed to stay upright. He came at her with an overhead swing of his axe in an effort to cleave her in two, but Azeline was faster. The woman’s sword rose in an arc, her blade singing through the air and caught the wooden shaft of the man’s weapon, slicing it clean in two. Not missing a beat, she used the momentum of her swing to pivot, bringing her sword around in a vicious backhand slash that severed the man's head from his shoulders.
As she turned to assess the rest of her foes, a chilling sensation gripped her. There, charging toward the fray with terrifying speed and ferocity, was the Grovemaw. Its quill-like fur bristled, its wide maw stretched open to reveal rows of serrated teeth ready to tear through anything or anyone.
For a fleeting moment, Azeline's determination faltered, replaced by the primal fear as the thunderous sounds of the monster's gallop resounded.
And it was heading straight for her.
In that moment of life or death, Azeline acted on pure instinct. With a swift movement, Azeline snatched the spear from the ground, and channeled as much of her power as she could into her arm. Magical energy coursed through her veins, amplifying her strength several times over and with a warrior's cry, she hurled the spear with pinpoint accuracy towards the beast.
The spear flew in a blur of vengeance, and struck the Grovemaw squarely in its eye, causing the beast to howl in agony. The sound reverberated through the clearing as the Grovemaw's pain quickly turned into a frenzied wrath, and with a swipe of its massive paw, it sent Azeline flying through the air.
Azeline’s body slammed into the ground as she was sent head over heels and each impact jarred her bones until she finally was caught in the underbrush of the treeline. As she tried to right herself, the poor woman’s leg gave out from under her as her ragged breaths soon turned into gasps for air.
The Grovemaw, blinded and maddened by pain, became an avatar of death and destruction. It's great paws, each the size of a grown man’s chest, swiped through the air with devastating force. The thugs and warriors who moments ago had surrounded Azeline with murderous intent now found themselves the targets of the beast's blind fury as they screamed in fear.
Once again the clearing was full of the sounds of clashing steel and flesh as it turned into a tableau of primal horror. The creature's claws cut through the men's armor like a hot knife through butter and the sound of rending metal and snapping bones filled the air, as the beast bit down with its gaping maw.
Sucking in as much air as she could, Azeline peered around in a daze. Her eyes briefly floated over to two figures who quickly made their escape deeper in the woods and thought to herself how great of an idea that was.
With renewed determination, Azeline mustered whatever strength she could, and dragged herself deeper into the forest as the background was punctuated by the dying screams of men who had originally come to take her life.