The Mercenaries Meet A New....Friend.
Wow! This is late! Sorry everyone.
~~~~~~
A random place on the dirt road.....
Gildor is walking along the road, his many pouches seeming to have been added too lately. He is heading toward Ferravle, most likely needing more bottles.
The day is cold, and the remnants of the recent storm are clearly visible. *Chrunch, chrunch...* /Footsteps.../ Shadows, dozens of them, flit through the trees. A pure-white male fox steps in front of the cat, his golden eyes laughing wickedly. "A traveler...I hope you have money. It costs quite a pretty penny to pass this way."
Gildor's eyes travel up the fox until he comes to meet the other beasts gaze. He smiles in a friendly way to cover any unease he might be feeling and holds out both his paws in an upraised gesture. "Friend, why strip a chap of his worldly goods? Have you ever heard of charity?" He's not really sure where he is going with this speech, but he shrugs to himself. It's buying time, isn't it?
The fox trows his head back and laughs loudly. "Charity? If you want charity, go to Redwall. Now hand over the money or my employees will have to...well, just hand over the money, and we won't have to talk about it.
Gildor smiles, but it does not seem to reach the upper half of his face. "Employees? So you gain their trust through money? I should have thought as much. And I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I seem to have left my money at home. It is a shame, though." And truthfully, there seems to be some sort of remorse in his eyes.
Half of the employees charge the figure, the other half waiting to see if their boss needs help. The fox lunges at slices, thrusts, then slices again, trying to get the cat, a wicked gleam in his gold eyes
The fox shakes his head. "What a pity." he whistles, and about 25 various 'vermin' exit the trees and surround the lone cat. "And here we were, hoping you'd be easy."
Gildor steps back a step and looks at all the vermin around him. He looks pretty grim. "Oh come on now. This is hardly a fair fight."
The white, golden-eyed fox takes a step foreward, and his employees take his lead. The fox's smile is not friendly, nor is it merry. "Life isn't fair. Get used to it." He swings his claymore, yelling like a pack of wolves.
But packs of wolves aren't the only hunters to be wary of in this region. Screams of pain and the wet thump of falling corpses...Three of the white fox's comrades fall slain, arrows taking them through the throat from behind. Guess who-oo! Gildor should be happy about this.
Gildor ducks down quickly, avoiding the claymore by a mere inch or so. As he does this he also unsheathes his claymore, bringing it around in an attempt to at least cut the white foxes foot paws. His ears perk as he hears the sound of bodies falling, but he is not sure what to expect. He tries to back up a little so as to get into a better position to stand back up.
Leaping neatly over his enemies blade, the arcit fox laughs, even as his employees fall. "Hold still, cat." The other 'vermin' look around nervously...they /really/ don't want to get shot, thankyouverymuch.
Gildor gives the fox what could be called a withering stare. As the fox jumps, Gildor scoots back and manages to get to his feet once again. He glances at the surrounding employees, not sure what to expect from them.
Another two fall, and a voice roars out, "STORM AND SHADOW!" A dark figure powers across the road, charging full tilt at the rear of the force, longbow being stowed even now in the quiver and twin daggers drawn, gleaming under the frosty winter sun, twirling and flashing like starlight.".
Half of the employees charge the figure, the other half waiting to see if their boss needs help. The fox lunges at slices, thrusts, then slices again, trying to get the cat, a wicked gleam in his gold eyes.
Gildor manages to block most of the blows, though one lands on his lower arm. Thankfully it was not his sword arm, for then he surly would have lost hope. He keeps blocking, letting himself be pushed back, which might not be the best idea considering what is behind him.
The troops sent after the approaching figure are swiftly dispatched in the wink of an eye, their killer barely slowing down, whirling his blades with expert precision, the whole time approaching.
The screams of the dieing shake the remaining employees out of their stupor, and they do the most natural, sensical, logical thing...the run for dear life! The fox slices at Gildor, the roars after them..."Where are you going, you snivleing cowards?! Get back here!!"
Gildor glances behind long enough to see Darkwatcher and he smiles grimly. He blocks yet again, then runs his blade off of the white foxes and brings it around quickly, hoping to cleave the fox somewhere in the middle.
"Coward? 'sez /you/, who hides behind a wall of bandits. Don't come with a gang to fight enemies you don't have the guts to fight alone," Darkwatcher calls, leaping and bowling over a straggler, stabbing downward in the same move, joining blade with flesh, holding the weapons in reverse grips.
The fox laughs. "Well, what have we here?" he doesn't avoid the blade, and gets a nice, bloody, icky, oozing slash on his belly. Howling in pain and rage, he stabs at the cat, refusing to die alone.
"There is one opponent remaining, " Darkwatcher states, making no move to intervene. "I believe you can handle him yourself?"
Gildor was expecting a fierce reprise from the white fox, but not quite /that/ fierce. Gildor doges half way out of the white foxes reach, meaning to go further, but he is stopped as the searching blade of his enemy finds his leg. The white foxes claymore goes deep and Gildor howls in pain, tripping away from the revenge seeking beast. He stays back, panting, letting his adversary make the next move.
The fox howls in triumph, then coughs up blood. Staggering foreward, he stabs at the cat again, then cooughs up more blood, which promptly starts to stain his white fur pink...then red...
Darkwatcher watches impassively. The fight is won, there is no need to dishonor the victory by interfering.
Gildor barely manages to block the others blade, taking another step back. It's really quite a shame he could not take the white fox alive for he still has many things to test.
The fox collapsesses to his knees, weakly swinging his claymore at Gildors' abdomen. "You...can't...get...away...alive..." he manages to gasp out.
Gildor watches the dying fox for a moment, then turns away and winces his way toward Darkwatcher. "Thanks for the backup." He says this with gritted teeth, so it might be hard to tell if he means it.
The fox's paw raises to the sky. "Moth...mother? Is...is that you?" then he falls to the ground, convulses, and breathes one last shuddering breathe...and then he is gone, forever nameless to the mercenaries.
"You're welcome," Darkwatcher states, without looking away, although something about the fur color of the fox seems to affect him...
Gildor frowns as he notices the change in Darkwatcher. "Are you okay?"
Darkwatcher shakes his head slightly, so minutely that it's barely noticeable, and says, "I...I'm fine." His eyes go cold and hard again, as Gildor has always seen them in the past.
The arctic foxes thick white fur moves slightly in the breeze, making him almost blend in with the snow...who was he?
Gildor nods. "If you say so. I'm going to head home and see what I can do about my leg." He turns and starts into the woods, limping. Hopefully he makes it back.
Groups:
