He's been left to die on an inhospitable world, surrounded by criminals and enemy forces. Enough is enough, and Walters doesn't care who knows it.
lunes, 16 de abril de 2012
SD IV Chapter 15 Part 1
Cemetary Plain Zone III
Butt stared at the tower in the distance, lost in thought. He did not believe in prescience, but the dream had foreseen this. All it needed now was the arrival of the winged creature and he would begin to change his mind. Instead the crack of pistol fire shocked him back to reality.
Kam had disappeared, the waving grass giving away his position, that and the angry roaring.
The sniper nodded; he had already seen the action and had dropped to one knee, rifle ready. There was a thudding sound, growing ever louder to their rear and Butt span, pistol ready. What he saw stopped him short, and that took some doing.
Barrelling down on them was a trio of heavily armoured knights; lances couched and pennants flying. They seemed not to have noticed the humans and were quickly past, aiming directly for Kam’s position. A horn sounded and Cornelius looked on in amazement as the lead Knight winded the instrument again.
“Don´t ask me,” muttered Burns, as he set off in pursuit.
For Sir Frederic D’Aix the chase was everything; they had followed the tracks of the beast for three days, crossing one of the magic portals in their pursuit of the monster. A village had been decimated, the remains of its inhabitants telling their own story. Sworn to defend the populace at large and with the love of battle singing in their blood, they had accepted the challenge.
He had noticed the two warriors, dismissing the strangely attired child and the soldier with his long stick as less than worthy of his attention, the Knight was now concentrated on the kill. It was close now.
Sir Frederic loved the charge; his horse and he as one, muscles in synchronisation as his vision narrowed to the target. The lance felt weightless in his hand as he prepared for the strike, knees gripping tightly against his mount, ready to transmit any minute adjustment necessary.
“Vandron!” he roared, and struck.
Kam was unaware of his rescuers, until he was bowled aside by one of the horses. He had been transfixed by the creature in front of him, unable to categorise it, apart from it being aggressive and deadly. His first two shots had bounced off its leathery skin, annoying it more than inflicting any lasting damage, and he was in the process of praying when the Knights joined the fray.
Thinking that he was hallucinating, but unwilling to look a gift horse in the mouth, literally, he turned and ran, crashing into Burns as he tried to make his escape. Cornelius raced past, his short legs pumping furiously.
“We´ll talk later,” he promised, as he continued on his way, Clari screaming her own retort.
Emerald Forest Zone I
Harms peered around the thick trunk of the tree. Somehow they had gotten switched around here and once more, had found the Taurans, or at least their handiwork. The clearing in front of him showed the results of one of their typically brutal attacks. Men, women and even children had not been spared; rough, home-spun clothing was torn and rent, flesh burnt and bodies defiled. It must have happened recently, as evidenced by the still-rising trails of smoke from the camp fire and corpses equally.
They cautiously approached and could see that the fight had not been all one-sided, discarded rifles, an occasional Tauran soldier sprawled arms akimbo, all testified to some resistance. There was the jingling of horse tack, strange shouted commands and suddenly they found themselves surrounded. A body of Knights had appeared, their visors lowered making impossible to read their intent.
Harms was aware that in such a stand-off, their firepower would take a heavy toll, but eventually sheer numbers would win out. They were few and in a strange land. Friends would be an important tool of survival. He made his decision.
Carefully, the Sargeant lowered his rifle, holding his hand out in what he hoped was a peaceful gesture. Silence greeted him and he opened his mouth to speak. With a curt command, the lead Knight, whose rich apparel spoke loudly of his status, drew his sword. The other Knights followed his actions, kneeing their horses forward. This, thought Harms, is not looking good.