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Faerdin -> RE: (DF) Faerdin, or The Shadow of Ignorance (12/4/2011 22:05:32)
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Chapter Three: Clash of the Wills "So, what's he doin' with tha' prisoner?"
"Eh, beats me. As long as we get some gold out of this, I'm not gonna ask any questions."
"Y'know wha's fer dinner?"
Determined not to give away his position, Faerdin crouched lower behind the thick bushes that concealed him from the view of the Darkwolf Bandits. Nearly an hour had passed as Faerdin patiently observed the leather-clad thieves. Surely they knew that the warriors of Oaklore Keep would attempt a counterattack, since they had kept watch over the entrance to their camp with admirable diligence. However, they did not know that the force they would have to confront had come in the form of a single man.
Scowling as the bandits' incessant chatter grew all the more boisterous, Faerdin instinctively reached down toward the top of his boot. The knight's eyes widened in genuine surprise as his fingers wrapped around the hardened leather of a knife's hilt. He previously had no idea of the blade's existence, nor could he truly remember anything before the events that took place in the forest. The dull throb caused by his damaged chestplate sent Captain Rolith's parting words rebounding against the walls of his skull once again.
Faerdin would not show these men mercy.. by the Gods, and nor will I.
Deftly, Faerdin drew the dagger from its battle-worn cage and hurled it at the nearest thief with all of his might. Caught mid-sentence by icy steel, the man crumpled like a marionette whose strings had been cut. The other bandit fell to his knees with a frightened gasp, cursing to himself as he desperately groped the ground for his weapon. Finally Faerdin raised his blade with a ferocious war-cry, pleased by how hard the scoundrel before him flinched. With a burst of speed, Faerdin leapt from his hiding place and brought his gleaming blade down upon the man.
At the very last moment, the thief swept aside the bloodthirsty bite of Faerdin's sword with an iron club, though it did not stay in his hands for long. With a few decisive strikes, Faerdin tore the clumsy weapon from the thief, sending him running back into the dark recesses of their camp for fear of his own life. A harsh chuckle escaped Faerdin's throat, clearly amused by his foe's lack of fortitude. Falling silent at the telltale patter of leather boots upon soil, Faerdin retreated into the shadows behind a nearby tree.
The man that Faerdin had attacked returned with at least a dozen of his adversaries, all of whom appeared dismayed to find one of their own useless upon the ground. Scarlet blood poured freely from the wound upon his throat, glittering like tainted rubies. Outrage and the slightest trace of fear was evident in their voices.
"Where's the snake wha' did this?"
"Where'd he go?"
"Quiet down! We're not accomplishing anything babbling like old ladies! Let's look for the filthy coward!"
Immediately, four of the men took off into the darkness of the forest, leaving in their wake a certain calm amongst the other bandits as their initial feelings of hopelessness faded. Finding the perfect opportunity to strike while the thieves talked among themselves, Faerdin truly began to take action. Gathering all of his strength, the warrior leapt from the shadows and wrapped his arm around the neck of an unaware bandit. Before the others could react, Faerdin ruthlessly tightened his grip and caved in his skull with the pommel of his sword.
Heaving the lifeless man to the ground, Faerdin drew his remaining dagger and viciously threw it at another man, impaling his right leg and leaving him immobilized. Brandishing his blade while the panicked bandits attempted to rally themselves, Faerdin shouted, "Come, cowards! Fight me like an honest man, else you shall taste the blood of your brothers upon my sword!" Satisfaction was Faerdin's as he noticed the bitter sting of his words upon the faces of his foes.
Attempting to flank him, two of the bandits leaped forth in order to answer his call. Ducking past one thief's iron club, Faerdin grasped his wrist and ferociously wrenched him toward his ally, sending them both falling to the ground in a confused heap. With a quiet grunt Faerdin kicked at their heads, leaving them unconscious upon the bloodied earth. Another thief boldly rushed forward to aim a powerful, two-handed strike at Faerdin, coaxing the slightest of smiles from him as he simply raised his hand.
With a dull clank of wood upon steel, the handle of the bandit's club collided harmlessly with Faerdin's plated forearm. In a movement so elegant and powerful it appeared practiced, Faerdin then ripped the club from the bandit's hands and struck him across the face, staining his gauntlets with the blood of a surely broken nose. Now only four of the men before Faerdin were capable of fighting and, at the sight of their fallen comrades, they appeared to be only all the more unwilling to confront him. "What is this? Won't any of you give me an actual challenge?"
"I can."
The poorly veiled virulence of those few words gave Faerdin cause to become completely still, like a ravenous wolf that had caught the scent of a rabbit. Tightening his grip upon his sword, Faerdin turned toward the entrance of the thieves' meager camp in order to face the man who dared to challenge him.
It wasn't a man. The boy couldn't be any older than seventeen, yet the others seemed to look up to him, awe glittering like starlight within their eyes. Though the violet cloak draped about his shoulders was the only possible sign of wealth, he carried himself as though he were the descendant of a great monarch. Strangely, the boy's raven-black hair refused to shine even in the glorious rays of a retreating sun.
"You came. Fancy meeting you here." Recognizing the voice, Faerdin glanced past the newcomer to find the sole reason for embarking upon such a dangerous quest; Lady Celestia. Despite the troublesome journey that lead her to such a place, her robes had remained white and pure like snow. Immediately she ran to Faerdin's side, the determination within her silver eyes and air of authority about her preventing even the most lawless of thieves from ordering her back.
With barely contained rage distorting his features, the boy growled, "Allow me to introduce myself, hero. My name is Drakath, and I am the leader of the Darkwolf Bandits and the rightful ruler of this land. Stand down or, like the trash you are, you will be blown away by the winds of my great destiny-!"
Faerdin had been utterly silent throughout "Drakath the rightful ruler's" introduction not because of the boy's speech, but the undeserved arrogance that poisoned his words like arsenic within water. Growing weary of such tactless and conceited words, he interrupted, "You talk big, but you don't look very tough, pipsqueak. I was only going to take Lady Celestia and leave you and your men to grovel, but you've just made this personal." The warrior then hooked his fingers around the edges of his helm, prying the worn steel away so that his sapphire hair was free to move with the scarce wind's influence. Casting down the gleaming metal that had imprisoned his sight, Faerdin murmured, "Let us see what you're made of, Drakath."
Incensed by the audacity of Faerdin's display, Drakath howled and prepared a brutal overhead strike. With a lazy flick of his wrist, Faerdin repelled the attack and leaped forward to slash across his chest. Pleasantly astounded to find his blade met by Drakath's, the knight simply began to flow from one ferocious attack to the next. Distress glimmered clearly within Drakath's eyes as he struggled to fend off the experienced duelist that continued to advance with each heartbeat, each stupefying clang of steel upon steel. Sensing two others coming from behind him, Faerdin aimed a spiteful kick at Drakath's chest, pulling a rough grunt from deep within his throat and sending him down onto his knee.
Endlessly delighted by the poor sportsmanship his opponents had resorted to, Faerdin whirled around to hew the throat of one bandit and force the other to flinch. Wishing to dispose of him whilst sparing his worthless life, the warrior mightily kicked in the fork of his legs, evoking a sharp cry from him before he too fell upon the ground. Then Faerdin returned his gaze to the would-be ruler of the land, narrowly evading the razor edge of Drakath's sword as it whistled past. He restricted Drakath's wrist with an unyielding grip and, with a burst of strength, Faerdin heaved him over his shoulder, throwing him ruthlessly down to the ground beside his comrades.
Before Drakath could recuperate, Faerdin ground the wrist of his sword-hand mercilessly into the forest floor beneath the heel of his boot, finally forcing him to relinquish his princely weapon. With the utmost resentment, Drakath mumbled, "You.. were lucky this time, peasant-!"
"Luck had absolutely nothing to do with this, kid." Reluctantly, Faerdin added, "And.. and my name is Faerdin. Remember it before you kidnap or get into any other nonsense again."
A smile so devious formed upon Drakath's face that he couldn't help but feel wary. "Oh I will.. and you can count on that." From nothingness came putrid smoke that stung Faerdin's eyes, leaving him no other choice but to retreat in an attempt to find fresh air. Once the acrid fumes had dissipated, the warrior found himself alone excluding the company of Lady Celestia, whose tender smile cleared all evidence of villainy and shadow from the worn and weary world of Lore.
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