BLOOD IN THE MUD

[lawnmowerman 3040]

BLOOD IN THE MUD

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

 

"In the end, every plan relies upon a strong arm and tempered steel."

 

 

 

Harsh winds flurry through the cold Westerlands as a rider halts his steed by the front of Death’s End, alighting off his mud-brown destrier from the left; the same side he used to wield his weapon. As he entered the industrial, outer courtyard, reigns of his travelling companion in his hand, he brings it to the stables before nodding to a trio assembled right by the entrance; Sigman, Berengar and his mentor, Ser Rakim. The winds calmed down, and grew eerie.

 

“Ser Rakim.” he’d salute with a scrunch of his nose. Ser Rakim nodded sagely towards his squire, before cutting to the chase.

 

“Philip, are you ready for your knightly quest?” the Qalasheen knight asked, only to receive a nod from his student.

 

Berengar glanced at the two, before piping up, “I need armor and a weapon.”

 

“Very well then.” the knight proclaimed, “I’ll fill Sigman and Berengar in on the matter while you fetch them gear.”

 

Philip grumbled, fetching his steed from the stables before scaling it anew, forcing it to gallop quickly to the capital of Johannesburg. As he reached the capital of Oren, he stored his horse in the stables, trekking confidently into the Imperial Palace. Philip used an odd exit of the palace to reach Senntisten quicker. He acquired the needed supplies, before travelling back to the Westerlands with great speed.

 

The sky was clear, clouds absent and bird chirping heard in the tree-lines. He entered the stronghold once more, offering his brothers-in-arms the needed equipment before they started the journey.

 

 

Spoiler

 

 

 

They had not travelled for long before they encountered a lone wolf gnawing at the flesh of a Southeron, straw-hat displayed on the ground, alongside intestines and blood. The three soldiers raised their spears defensively, before a howl brushed past Sigman’s ears. The stray dog was no longer alone as his pack had arrived, making a cruel flank for the two in the back whereas the squire was at the front. Fighting commenced, and ended swiftly with two of the creatures slain, one having escaped. Philip picked up the straw hat and attached it to his belt, catching his breath like the rest of the retinue.

 

They continued venturing over the grassland, finally meeting a ravine, gazing about to notice their surroundings. An odd, orcish totem was set up a few metres away from the party, budging back and forth in the breeze. Sigman curiously perked a brow as he shifted his figure about, before hearing large, conquering steps encroach on the group, a few of the larger pine-trees cascading down in a hurry. The three moved away from the edge of the gorge, ducking behind a thick bush and a tree.

 

 

It didn’t take the hill-giant long to track their scent, as he swung his rough axe in their general whereabouts, Sigman and Philip looping around their hiding spot whilst Berengar distracted the beast. They both emerged from their secretive location, pouncing on the giant’s leg, impaling it with their spears. The giant roared viciously, saliva and chunks of flesh spouting from his mouth, before he raised his weapon and arched it down in a long, horizontal swing, striking two of the men, whilst the squire clumsily barrel-rolled to his left.

 

A crack emitted through the treeline as one of Berengar’s rib cracked, Kaedreni cursing following after. Philip frowned before he leapt forwards, only to see Sigman be picked up by the hungry giant, its’ mouth opening up to chomp on the Westerlands warrior. However, Sigman did not falter, and deeply jabbed his weapon into one of the giant’s eyes.  The squire went ahead and sunk his spear deeply into the back of the creature’s knee, giving it a crude twist, pressing his weight onwards to plunge it further into its’ leg, blood sprayed all over the young de Capua. The giant croaked in pain before flinging Sigman at the Helvets, hindering the Kaedreni youth from striking at it. The de Capua finally yanked the spear out with great effort, going to ram it into the giant’s lower leg in a repetitive action, mumbling to himself,

 

“Blood in the mud.”

 

The giant fell to one knee as his left leg was immobilized, Philip jogging to his face before he’d poke his spear up to rip through the giant’s jaw, a wave of ichor and gore falling on top of his hardly dented plate - and with that, the giant went limp and fell flatly into the muddy ground. Philip slung his spear over his bloody back, ripping his slayer-steel out of its’ scabbard, chopping the beast’s head off in a singular strike.

 

“Oi, get me one of its’ toes.” said Berengar, the intention being to use it as a pouch.

 

Philip nodded briskly, chopping off both of the giant’s great toes, throwing them at Sigman and Berengar so they could keep them. He’d grip the giant’s head by the greasy, muddy hair, dragging him to Death’s End alongside the two other men sporting the tenebrous armor, reporting back to Ser Rakim 'the Good'.

[ooooowee 559]

"My kill was better." Abram would state.

[Malgonious 2758]

Belgor Ireheart would hear of the accomplishment of a particular 'Umri, nodding and raising his cup to his success.

[Reckless Banzai Screamer 15456]

"Guess Philip isn't a total little **** after all." Ser Rakim muses to himself after reflecting on his squire's accomplishment. "Wherever Vitallius is, he'd be proud. Now it's a matter of exceeding your father, Philip..."

[Heff 2460]

@Alterazgohg

[ARCHITECUS 4788]

Just now, Heff said:

@Alterazgohg

((These Cryptosavoyard hunts are certainly less entertaining than the old Chivay ones. @Stevie

[Heff 2460]

this is what happens when viking barbarians try to write in english.