“This is not good…”
The man scratched his rugged face while staring at them.
Them, yes, “Those pesky plated buggers who had been squashed like beetles” he remembered he called them by that name a few hours ago, in a road-side tavern.
And now they stood uncomfortably close in front of him with whatever they have as weapons in their hands.
“C’mon, lads, it’s just a bad joke…” He gulped while he noticed a mace, a long sword and a hard, wooden pike with metal tip approached along their angry wielders, crossing through the curtain woven by sky-fallen water drops.
“Yeah, we get that, but we just don’t handle jokers like ye nicely.” Said the tallest man among the three attackers, then spat on the muddy ground, he wrapped himself in gray iron plates, banded with stripes, fixed on a hard leather shirt.
He reached for his back, he wished he still had that piece of old scrap that he called a sword with him, unfortunately it was no longer with him, traded for a bowl of hot stew and a cup of ale.
“What’s the matter? Why don’t ye joke yer way out of this, ye clown, dare to insult the brothers of the ‘Grey Banner’, now you pay the price.” The tall one gave out a horrible smug, pointed his mace toward the man in embarrassing distress.
“I’m no clown you buggers.” He mumbled as rains seeped through his shirt.
“What’d ye say?” The tall man stepped closer, grabbed his opponent by the collar.
“I said, I’m no clown, you bugger.” Said the man who then combed his hair, raven in color and straight in shape:”I am Alwyrn of the Eilan.”
“Why by Ja’shan’s lumps should we know ye, mister Alwyrn? ”
There was a moment of awkward silence between the two, it seemed Alwyrn was totally embarrassed by the scenario, except he wasn’t.
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“Because I’m going to take you buggers out by surprise.” A grave smile climbed upon the seemed to be doomed man's face.
From the back of his belt, hidden under his jacket, the grabbed man drew out a knife, no bigger than a kitchen cutter but curved like the one of the moons. He spun the dagger faster than a tornado arisen from empty field, a deep breath he took and drove his knife into the tall one’s neck.
“Bppuuuurrrghhh!!!!”
The tall one was not killed, but blood and saliva spilled from his mouth and his wound, before his throat found more blur sounds to produce, the curved dagger slit open his windpipe, dividing that knot on his neck into two bloody halves.
“Well, well, isn’t that messy…” Alwyrn pulled the dead man’s hand away from his collar, he picked up the mace then set his sight upon the sword-wielding man:”Nice sword you’ve got, citadel forged good stuff, fine by me.”
The remaining two soldiers of the “Grey Banner” looked into each other’s eyes, dashed toward the killer of their comrade at the same time.
Alwyrn, swung his knife holding left arm, gentle and elegant he always lacked, throw the curved small blade while turning away from incoming spear tips. The projectile cut open some drops until it hit the swordman, he immediately fell and knelt into the mud, burying that dagger deeper into his stomach.
The spearman, on the other hand, dashed too quick to notice his comrade’s peril, also, too quick to notice the rugged faced man waved that mace in front of his calf.
“Crack!!”
“I know you Grey banners like to dash like some headless fly but this is beyond my imagination.” Looked down to the blood stained mace, Alwyrn mocked his victims before he raised the mace again, and again, delivering relentless blows upon the half-dead soldier’s head.
When he finally dropped that deformed mace, he sighed.
“What a waste…”
Pitiful looks he cast, upon the broken helm of the spearman, pasted with damaged brain tissue.
“Mercy,I beg of you, kind mister, mercy…”
Plead the swordman with a dagger in his belly, he threw away his sword, giving away his two arms and begged for mercy.
“I get it.” Alwyrn fetched the spear, the wooden shaft of the spear felt sticky with blood and mud on it.
“But I just don’t handle buggers like you nicely.”
A thrust he delivered, straight through the swordsman's head the spear went. The head that just begged for mercy lowered along with those arms until the spear shaft held it with the other side of its stick against the ground.
“Now where did he throw his sword…”
The sole survivor of this showdown padded the lowered head of that swordman, started to searching for that good steel sword he set his greedy amber-colored eyes upon a few moments ago.