Post by crestor on May 9, 2014 6:09:03 GMT
Based around my guardsmen character I once played when I had interest in Guild Wars 2.
~
“Pays good right?”
“Best job you’ll get if you’re that interested in the minions. I can always give you a team and take on the rumors of other lieutenants.”
“No. Too much risk, and the pay isn’t enough.”
His mind reels out from how he got this eventual job, something on the side. Just enough coins to cover basic food and armor repair. As he pulls tightly on his weapon belt, making a list of which to bring and leave behind. The door to his armory opens with a thud, a glass enclosed case to ward away dust and the elements while he’s in the city. His mind fades back to the previous meeting the moment he touches his ax.
“Security guard at a learning institution, and you’re interested in cleaning up what The Pact missed?”
“Correct. Gold on the side when I don’t got nothing to do.”
“Don’t want anything more?”
“I’m a simple man with simple needs. With no great purpose in this world. I just need to get through day to day.”
The man shoves the contract papers at Bael, confused over his choice of something that was not parallel to his skills, in fact he picked a job that was intended for the new blood that came through the posted jobs office. A group of mercenaries issuing bounties for various at-risk areas as the main military forces of the Six Races focus on fortification of their homes before focusing on the bigger threat, The Elder Dragons.
Bael himself was not new to this system. Having hardened himself as he surveyed the land that Tyria provided, and grew to understand the minor threats that if left unchecked could lead to the downfall of the current races of Tyria. However he quickly noticed that more people wanted to push for focus on the Elder Dragons and less on the homes of the races. Bael understood that focusing everything on just the Elder Dragons formed the end for everyone regardless of the issues solved.
The job he picked up, however, was to help neither side of the growing issue. During his time in the Shiverpeaks, Frostgorge Sound to be exact, the Kodan spoke of a Frostbrood shaman that carried a powerful artifact of Jormag’s. This job was close to that, and it’s only to scavenge the bodies of the deceased Pact members for tags, and thin down the population of the Ice Dragon’s minions in that area. An easy job with a few gold as a reward. Simple.
As Bael pulled himself from his account of how he got his hands on this one, and determined to look further into this artifact. During the time spent over viewing his task mentally he’d already gathered an axe of his, good for close combat accompanied with a shield to hold the line over anything menacing. Second he’d brought his Claymore, a prized one of his. Scrounged from the wreckage of another Canthan trading barge that’d gone off course and crashed into the coasts of Tyria. The blade weathered by only a few months submerged in the salty ocean, and an intricate design of crosses ending the hilt. His own personal modifications were just enough to adjust the balance and weight of the weapon. A favorite of his was to reinforce the hilt, and add weight to it through a heavier pommel or a coiled balancing brace. Either was wrapped tightly in hardened leather dyed a dark jade green for representation of his home.
After grabbing his helm and placing it securely on his head he exits his hidden armory, a cellar in the Collapsed district. Previously was the Canthan district until it sunk suddenly into the ground beneath Divinity’s Reach. He peaked his head out from the cellar, and carefully climbed from the rubble covered door. Quickly securing the lock, and recovering it with rubble to deter off any would be thieves. As Bael walked down the ruined alleyway of the previously beautiful district, eventually leading himself to one of the entrances leading to the main road that encircled the base of the palace above. A guard of the Shining Blade stood at the top of the stairs, holding his hand out to flag down and stop Bael.
“Sir! By the orders of Queen Jen—” The guard was cut short as Bael continued them. “By the orders of Queen Jenna this district is off-limits and not safe for citizens to enter.” The guard shook his head, and stepped back. Bael continued, “If these are issued orders you’d have fencing and gates all around this district deterring civilian entrance. Standing at an open gate is going to do nothing for your sake. Until you put the proper gates up people are not going to listen to you.” Bael coughs into his hand politely. “Previous experience.”
The guard already hot-headed by Bael’s remarks, and criticism of his orders. He steps to the side with an angry grunt. “If I see you come in here again I’ll have the Seraph lock you up.” Bael shrugs his shoulders and waves dismissively at the guard as he continues walking issuing a taunt.
“Try it.”
Instead of taking his usual trip up the stairs and to the gardens of the palace to get to the Asuran gate faster, and quicker he chose to take a more scenic route. He walked along the main market route looking at the book carts and listening to the calls and sales of various goods or the usual shout about a bouncer at a Tavern. The one tavern that had the frequent job opening for Bouncers was the Busted Flagon. A tavern near the Dwayna’s Plaza that had the hushed word of having some questionable business going on within it. While Bael himself only been in there a few times on several other occasions and determined the usual crowd there was too strange to fit within the environments of the other Taverns.
The only two images that came to his mind when he thought of the Busted Flagon was the one day where there was nothing, but Charr showing off their more personal equipment. Then the other of the strange Asuran bartender. Both thoughts were sudden and did their job to stray his thoughts away from the tavern in general. As he walked under the festive weather of confetti that poured from the skies above the carnival, and sometimes over Dwayna’s Arm, he heard a distant disturbance coming from the direction of the Flagon. Finally coming to the conclusion that’d he’d need to lose a few points of his intelligence or turn into a Norn to be a suitable bouncer for that Tavern.
When he approached the Asuran Gate that lead to Lion’s Arch he looked into the swirling purple abyss that made up the gateway. He looked through it, still not quite used to traveling by these and their smaller shorter ranged way points that some encampments have taken up using them. Just another type of transportation that he didn’t enjoy. He steps away from the portal as an Asura gatekeeper rolls his eyes at Bael, confused over how humans are easily confused over the technology. The gatekeeper gruffly droned at Bael, pointing out how to use the gate; the Asura also had a rough gravely roll to his voice as if it was enjoying tobacco for far too long. “Human! You walk up to the gate and step through it. I assure you that you will not turn into ooze on the other side.” Bael shook his head as he calmed himself blocking out the Asura and stepping through the gate. He loses himself in his thoughts making hours feel like seconds as he travels from gate to gate; making his way to his target.
The quenched carnal sin lingered in his mind a heavy thought he’d needed to clear from his focus or he was doomed to fail before his adventure began. The intrusive thought pained his thoughts as a sense of betrayal lingered in his mind. A consquence to the agreement; a simple afterthought that lingered solely in his mind that couldn’t escape. This thought made the asura gate feel longer as if trapping him in a transdimensional prison for hours on end. He breaks the hold that the feeling wrenches his mind with thinking on the string of words he’s connected to tell others who question his motives. “I’m a simple man with simple needs. There is nothing to question, or nothing to gain out of this conversation.” The hold of the Asura gate’s jailing illusion sends him to realise he made it through to Lion’s Arch. Giving him just enough time to hop the next gate to Hoelbrak and recollect his mind. Directing himself to bury his desires for a time incase he does come across a fight. After walking across to the pier to the Hoelbrak asura gate he inhales deeply exhaling the held air after a few long seconds just as he steps into the last gate.
It was a couple nights ago, clear in Divinity’s Reach late enough that the usual citizens didn’t venture out at night, or didn’t bother to bravely tread within the collapse during the dead of night. Bael, however, was on his way to his armory a routinely endeavor that he did most nights if not spending time with a woman he recently met and is highly interested in. Bael came in his usual route, from the front entrance. He changed this to his routine, just to annoy the guards.
“Hey you! Get out of here this ar—” As usual Bael interrupted the guard and waved them away with a simple, but snide remark. His voice coming off crude and uncaring; vocally spitting at the guard. “I know. My funeral.” He shook his head turning his mind to think of a better come back for the stubborn and arrogant guards. He stuck to the back alleys of the collapse that eventually lead him to his cellar door. As he reached the plaza of houses within the collapse, the ones that still stood partially undamaged, but close to the terrain tettering over the edge.
A familiar dark green eyed woman caught his attention, fair skin and a hood covering her head, and partially one of her eyes. Both hidden from view by her hair, and the fabric. After being taken a back for a moment after not seeing, or looking upon her frame in a while. “Chrysalis, good to see you. Have you been enjoying your Risen vacations?” Bael shot a laugh in his odd greeting, if it could be called that.
“I came back from a failed expedition to the Crystal Desert.” She replied, Bael had not noticed anything different in her voice, imagining her words coated with a familiar sultry flavor to it when she talked. Usually he imagined this between conversations between her and himself; not when others are thrown into the equation. Before he could speak he pulled himself from his trance that he always entered when he was near her. His sense of loyalty increased, and he became more protective a natural trait of his that came from his years of being her guard captain from back in Cantha.
“Failed? Couldn’t make it, and far too many Branded to count?” He replied, curious about her expedition. As his guard dropped he noted this may just be a friendly once-off conversation, his arms crossing over his chest, light clangs of rubbing metal against metal as he does so. As he entered his trance to listen to her reply. “The terrain was rougher than we expected. The expedition to Elon was a failure.” Bael paused, thinking of tips to give words of advice as he draws up blanks assuming she knows the obvious of properly scouting the area before going on an expedition for any powerful branded artifacts. Seeing that the only reason for Chrysalis to set off on one.
“Anything else that you’ve been up to Chrysy?” He’d ask, still acting as if in the presence of a Queen rather than his closest of friends. Content with his position like always.
“I attended a meeting with the Ministry. They’re focusing on hiring mercenary groups to provide security to the city instead of focusing on the Elder Dragons.”
“No. We got to secure our holdings in our homes before focusing on the bigger threat. The Elder Dragons may be the biggest threat on Tyria currently, but rushing everyone to hold hands and focus on the Dragons isn’t the best route. We got to secure what we can, and make sure they can hold until the Dragons have past.” Bael pauses, evaluating the best course of action applying what he has overheard from other people, and has read in various history books about the Rubicon, and it’s contents on the Dragon’s threat. “I have a feeling that stopping the rest will not be as easy as Zhaitan.”
He turns away from Chrysalis noting her want to have everyone focus on the larger picture instead of the smallest. He turns around, uncrossing his arms allowing them to hang at his sides. Idly examining the bit of the alley, and the plaza of houses. In the dead of night, and her form visible to his gaze.
He’s pulled out from the conversation after his thoughts race forward on that night. Commiting a sin that could eventually harm his personal interests. Bael finds himself in the Wayfarer Foothills. Treading lightly across the hard packed snow that covers the area of the world that the Norns call home. The chilling wind blowing through the soft spots in his plate, and the falling snow packing onto his abyssal black armor. The white shine of the environment blinds him for a moment just before he swips his hand along the side of his helm, closing the vision slots in his helm to half-way; closing out most of the white landscape. The hard-packed snow crunches under his feet with each step as he trudges along the landscape heading north towards Frostgorge Sound, the recent location of Frostbrood Intrusion, keeping his head set on his job.
The first foe of the mission was the Blizzard that hammered Bael as he blindly progressed through it, limiting his vision with the thick icy air and the sheets of snow freshly blanketing the landscape. The hard crunch of snow was abruptly replaced with the sound of metal boots on hard ice, he’d escaped the white hills of the tundra but only for a short while. This lake while expansive did house a tribe of Grawl with a strong connection to the Frostbrood. The forces of Jormag know no bounds in thier skirmishing push south into territories further into Tyria.
The air turned still in the Blizzard as Bael progressed over the lake, taking careful defensive steps over the ice wary of the Frostbrood, or ice wurms that tunnels just beneath the lake’s surface. A loud crack echoes in the distance, eminating from the ice cracking from a change in tempature. Instinctively the hardened, experienced Warrior unhooks his axe from his belt, and removes his shield. As he gleams the shield upwards over his head it shifts from a dull, rusty spiked bulwark to a blue fire, the same that the cursed Ascalonian soldiers and citizens wield in their painful immortality, that purged over Bael’s armor leaving a hot metal aroma in the air. The shield sparked a blue flame around the edges as a large skull appeared on the face of the shield.
Close to Bael’s position on the lake was his stalker, a huntsman and his hounds. The hounds were not ordinary hounds instead they were wolves corrupted by the Dragon Svanir’s magic and followers as the same with the huntsman. The huntsman stops, kneeling to take a handful of snow as he tracks his prey, Bael. With a commanding huff the huntsman points his hounds in the direction forward. The hounds howl as if victorious in a hunt, or just found a deceased creature to feast upon.
The hounds disappear into the grayish sheets of snow, locking onto their target, and preparing their jowls to break open the lone warrior their master spotted several hours ago. The exact moment Bael exited the pass north of the hunting lands of the Norn. The huntsmen followed after his hounds at a slow pace having hope that his target would be deceased by the time he got there. Already seeing the stories told about his fulfillment to Svanir and Jormag by slaying one of the many adventurers that have meddled in events and areas that were not meant to be meddled in.
The warrior stopped in his tracks as he heard the ever growing louder sound of claw against ice. Pattering down, and raking the glass-like surface of the lake. As he narrowed down the sound he noticed quickly that this was not just one beast narrowing down on his position, but rather three. His hold on his ax tightens as he turns holding his shield out in preparation for the hound’s attacks. As the sound of the hound in lead grows louder the Warrior couches as he raises his shield, holding it tightly as he positions the shield to cover his body from thigh to head. Holding his ax inverted behind the shield. Just as the sound died, Bael braced for impact as the loud metallic resonating ‘bang’ against his shield pushed him along the ice as he braced the hit from the wolf. In close timing with the hit the Warrior raised his shield, bashing it into the wolf with a battle cry as the Warrior swings the ax up, and around slicing the hound’s neck.
The packed ice that gave the hound armoring was no match for the warrior’s decisive blow. As the ax tore it’s throat it fell dead and skid back away from the warrior. The man heaves his chest as his eyes determine the location of the next wolf. Instead of waiting again with a block he takes his shield and rushes towards the wolf and at the last few feet just as the wolf makes it’s pounce towards the warrior, it’s maw wide and seeking to penetrate the metallic shell of the warrior. A primal thirst in combat to rend the flesh of it’s enemies with the sharp, arctic teeth within it’s maw.
Determined to stop this frostbrood corrupted wolf in it’s tracks the warrior slams his shield into the head of the wolf, and bashes it away with a hit to it’s neck with the sharp burning blade guards on the face of the shield. A pained whine from the wolf alerts the final wolf to skid to a stop; the sound of claw against ice felt the same as nails on a chalkboard. The wolf howls as it turns around for a decisive retreat back to it’s master. Executing the increased intelligence of the trained animal and not going into the fight alone and without back up.
As the wolf flees the Warrior swings the ax through the air the blade glides through the fresh falling snow Bael without a glance or a second thought releases his ax mid swing. The weapon leaves his hand akin to a tomahawk. Flying through the air at a quickening speed as it makes contact with it’s target. The loud pained whine echoes with the hard slice through the frozen flesh of the frostbrood the hard hit that ended the creatures life rings through out the howling blizzard. The pained dying howling was just enough from the creature to deter Bael away from retrieving his weapon. He could always find another ax.
Bael grunts as he lowers his guard, looking at the two wolves with a content bow to each of them. Thanking their bodies for the attempt at glorious battle, and the practice that came with. With a slick turn on his heels he turns towards his intended direction with a determined grin appearing on his features as he follows his footsteps back to the his original route. Having experienced the Frostbroods tactics before he knew he had a huntsman following him, tracking each step, and predetermining his next move. Now that the huntsman lost his tracking hounds he’ll be lost, or enraged.
He dismisses both thoughts with a high amount of consideration, disappearing in the cascading grey and white of the blizzard. He’d needed to find a rest stop soon, or a Tavern the cold was getting to him, and his furs were not enough.
~
~
“Pays good right?”
“Best job you’ll get if you’re that interested in the minions. I can always give you a team and take on the rumors of other lieutenants.”
“No. Too much risk, and the pay isn’t enough.”
His mind reels out from how he got this eventual job, something on the side. Just enough coins to cover basic food and armor repair. As he pulls tightly on his weapon belt, making a list of which to bring and leave behind. The door to his armory opens with a thud, a glass enclosed case to ward away dust and the elements while he’s in the city. His mind fades back to the previous meeting the moment he touches his ax.
“Security guard at a learning institution, and you’re interested in cleaning up what The Pact missed?”
“Correct. Gold on the side when I don’t got nothing to do.”
“Don’t want anything more?”
“I’m a simple man with simple needs. With no great purpose in this world. I just need to get through day to day.”
The man shoves the contract papers at Bael, confused over his choice of something that was not parallel to his skills, in fact he picked a job that was intended for the new blood that came through the posted jobs office. A group of mercenaries issuing bounties for various at-risk areas as the main military forces of the Six Races focus on fortification of their homes before focusing on the bigger threat, The Elder Dragons.
Bael himself was not new to this system. Having hardened himself as he surveyed the land that Tyria provided, and grew to understand the minor threats that if left unchecked could lead to the downfall of the current races of Tyria. However he quickly noticed that more people wanted to push for focus on the Elder Dragons and less on the homes of the races. Bael understood that focusing everything on just the Elder Dragons formed the end for everyone regardless of the issues solved.
The job he picked up, however, was to help neither side of the growing issue. During his time in the Shiverpeaks, Frostgorge Sound to be exact, the Kodan spoke of a Frostbrood shaman that carried a powerful artifact of Jormag’s. This job was close to that, and it’s only to scavenge the bodies of the deceased Pact members for tags, and thin down the population of the Ice Dragon’s minions in that area. An easy job with a few gold as a reward. Simple.
As Bael pulled himself from his account of how he got his hands on this one, and determined to look further into this artifact. During the time spent over viewing his task mentally he’d already gathered an axe of his, good for close combat accompanied with a shield to hold the line over anything menacing. Second he’d brought his Claymore, a prized one of his. Scrounged from the wreckage of another Canthan trading barge that’d gone off course and crashed into the coasts of Tyria. The blade weathered by only a few months submerged in the salty ocean, and an intricate design of crosses ending the hilt. His own personal modifications were just enough to adjust the balance and weight of the weapon. A favorite of his was to reinforce the hilt, and add weight to it through a heavier pommel or a coiled balancing brace. Either was wrapped tightly in hardened leather dyed a dark jade green for representation of his home.
After grabbing his helm and placing it securely on his head he exits his hidden armory, a cellar in the Collapsed district. Previously was the Canthan district until it sunk suddenly into the ground beneath Divinity’s Reach. He peaked his head out from the cellar, and carefully climbed from the rubble covered door. Quickly securing the lock, and recovering it with rubble to deter off any would be thieves. As Bael walked down the ruined alleyway of the previously beautiful district, eventually leading himself to one of the entrances leading to the main road that encircled the base of the palace above. A guard of the Shining Blade stood at the top of the stairs, holding his hand out to flag down and stop Bael.
“Sir! By the orders of Queen Jen—” The guard was cut short as Bael continued them. “By the orders of Queen Jenna this district is off-limits and not safe for citizens to enter.” The guard shook his head, and stepped back. Bael continued, “If these are issued orders you’d have fencing and gates all around this district deterring civilian entrance. Standing at an open gate is going to do nothing for your sake. Until you put the proper gates up people are not going to listen to you.” Bael coughs into his hand politely. “Previous experience.”
The guard already hot-headed by Bael’s remarks, and criticism of his orders. He steps to the side with an angry grunt. “If I see you come in here again I’ll have the Seraph lock you up.” Bael shrugs his shoulders and waves dismissively at the guard as he continues walking issuing a taunt.
“Try it.”
Instead of taking his usual trip up the stairs and to the gardens of the palace to get to the Asuran gate faster, and quicker he chose to take a more scenic route. He walked along the main market route looking at the book carts and listening to the calls and sales of various goods or the usual shout about a bouncer at a Tavern. The one tavern that had the frequent job opening for Bouncers was the Busted Flagon. A tavern near the Dwayna’s Plaza that had the hushed word of having some questionable business going on within it. While Bael himself only been in there a few times on several other occasions and determined the usual crowd there was too strange to fit within the environments of the other Taverns.
The only two images that came to his mind when he thought of the Busted Flagon was the one day where there was nothing, but Charr showing off their more personal equipment. Then the other of the strange Asuran bartender. Both thoughts were sudden and did their job to stray his thoughts away from the tavern in general. As he walked under the festive weather of confetti that poured from the skies above the carnival, and sometimes over Dwayna’s Arm, he heard a distant disturbance coming from the direction of the Flagon. Finally coming to the conclusion that’d he’d need to lose a few points of his intelligence or turn into a Norn to be a suitable bouncer for that Tavern.
When he approached the Asuran Gate that lead to Lion’s Arch he looked into the swirling purple abyss that made up the gateway. He looked through it, still not quite used to traveling by these and their smaller shorter ranged way points that some encampments have taken up using them. Just another type of transportation that he didn’t enjoy. He steps away from the portal as an Asura gatekeeper rolls his eyes at Bael, confused over how humans are easily confused over the technology. The gatekeeper gruffly droned at Bael, pointing out how to use the gate; the Asura also had a rough gravely roll to his voice as if it was enjoying tobacco for far too long. “Human! You walk up to the gate and step through it. I assure you that you will not turn into ooze on the other side.” Bael shook his head as he calmed himself blocking out the Asura and stepping through the gate. He loses himself in his thoughts making hours feel like seconds as he travels from gate to gate; making his way to his target.
The quenched carnal sin lingered in his mind a heavy thought he’d needed to clear from his focus or he was doomed to fail before his adventure began. The intrusive thought pained his thoughts as a sense of betrayal lingered in his mind. A consquence to the agreement; a simple afterthought that lingered solely in his mind that couldn’t escape. This thought made the asura gate feel longer as if trapping him in a transdimensional prison for hours on end. He breaks the hold that the feeling wrenches his mind with thinking on the string of words he’s connected to tell others who question his motives. “I’m a simple man with simple needs. There is nothing to question, or nothing to gain out of this conversation.” The hold of the Asura gate’s jailing illusion sends him to realise he made it through to Lion’s Arch. Giving him just enough time to hop the next gate to Hoelbrak and recollect his mind. Directing himself to bury his desires for a time incase he does come across a fight. After walking across to the pier to the Hoelbrak asura gate he inhales deeply exhaling the held air after a few long seconds just as he steps into the last gate.
It was a couple nights ago, clear in Divinity’s Reach late enough that the usual citizens didn’t venture out at night, or didn’t bother to bravely tread within the collapse during the dead of night. Bael, however, was on his way to his armory a routinely endeavor that he did most nights if not spending time with a woman he recently met and is highly interested in. Bael came in his usual route, from the front entrance. He changed this to his routine, just to annoy the guards.
“Hey you! Get out of here this ar—” As usual Bael interrupted the guard and waved them away with a simple, but snide remark. His voice coming off crude and uncaring; vocally spitting at the guard. “I know. My funeral.” He shook his head turning his mind to think of a better come back for the stubborn and arrogant guards. He stuck to the back alleys of the collapse that eventually lead him to his cellar door. As he reached the plaza of houses within the collapse, the ones that still stood partially undamaged, but close to the terrain tettering over the edge.
A familiar dark green eyed woman caught his attention, fair skin and a hood covering her head, and partially one of her eyes. Both hidden from view by her hair, and the fabric. After being taken a back for a moment after not seeing, or looking upon her frame in a while. “Chrysalis, good to see you. Have you been enjoying your Risen vacations?” Bael shot a laugh in his odd greeting, if it could be called that.
“I came back from a failed expedition to the Crystal Desert.” She replied, Bael had not noticed anything different in her voice, imagining her words coated with a familiar sultry flavor to it when she talked. Usually he imagined this between conversations between her and himself; not when others are thrown into the equation. Before he could speak he pulled himself from his trance that he always entered when he was near her. His sense of loyalty increased, and he became more protective a natural trait of his that came from his years of being her guard captain from back in Cantha.
“Failed? Couldn’t make it, and far too many Branded to count?” He replied, curious about her expedition. As his guard dropped he noted this may just be a friendly once-off conversation, his arms crossing over his chest, light clangs of rubbing metal against metal as he does so. As he entered his trance to listen to her reply. “The terrain was rougher than we expected. The expedition to Elon was a failure.” Bael paused, thinking of tips to give words of advice as he draws up blanks assuming she knows the obvious of properly scouting the area before going on an expedition for any powerful branded artifacts. Seeing that the only reason for Chrysalis to set off on one.
“Anything else that you’ve been up to Chrysy?” He’d ask, still acting as if in the presence of a Queen rather than his closest of friends. Content with his position like always.
“I attended a meeting with the Ministry. They’re focusing on hiring mercenary groups to provide security to the city instead of focusing on the Elder Dragons.”
“No. We got to secure our holdings in our homes before focusing on the bigger threat. The Elder Dragons may be the biggest threat on Tyria currently, but rushing everyone to hold hands and focus on the Dragons isn’t the best route. We got to secure what we can, and make sure they can hold until the Dragons have past.” Bael pauses, evaluating the best course of action applying what he has overheard from other people, and has read in various history books about the Rubicon, and it’s contents on the Dragon’s threat. “I have a feeling that stopping the rest will not be as easy as Zhaitan.”
He turns away from Chrysalis noting her want to have everyone focus on the larger picture instead of the smallest. He turns around, uncrossing his arms allowing them to hang at his sides. Idly examining the bit of the alley, and the plaza of houses. In the dead of night, and her form visible to his gaze.
He’s pulled out from the conversation after his thoughts race forward on that night. Commiting a sin that could eventually harm his personal interests. Bael finds himself in the Wayfarer Foothills. Treading lightly across the hard packed snow that covers the area of the world that the Norns call home. The chilling wind blowing through the soft spots in his plate, and the falling snow packing onto his abyssal black armor. The white shine of the environment blinds him for a moment just before he swips his hand along the side of his helm, closing the vision slots in his helm to half-way; closing out most of the white landscape. The hard-packed snow crunches under his feet with each step as he trudges along the landscape heading north towards Frostgorge Sound, the recent location of Frostbrood Intrusion, keeping his head set on his job.
The first foe of the mission was the Blizzard that hammered Bael as he blindly progressed through it, limiting his vision with the thick icy air and the sheets of snow freshly blanketing the landscape. The hard crunch of snow was abruptly replaced with the sound of metal boots on hard ice, he’d escaped the white hills of the tundra but only for a short while. This lake while expansive did house a tribe of Grawl with a strong connection to the Frostbrood. The forces of Jormag know no bounds in thier skirmishing push south into territories further into Tyria.
The air turned still in the Blizzard as Bael progressed over the lake, taking careful defensive steps over the ice wary of the Frostbrood, or ice wurms that tunnels just beneath the lake’s surface. A loud crack echoes in the distance, eminating from the ice cracking from a change in tempature. Instinctively the hardened, experienced Warrior unhooks his axe from his belt, and removes his shield. As he gleams the shield upwards over his head it shifts from a dull, rusty spiked bulwark to a blue fire, the same that the cursed Ascalonian soldiers and citizens wield in their painful immortality, that purged over Bael’s armor leaving a hot metal aroma in the air. The shield sparked a blue flame around the edges as a large skull appeared on the face of the shield.
Close to Bael’s position on the lake was his stalker, a huntsman and his hounds. The hounds were not ordinary hounds instead they were wolves corrupted by the Dragon Svanir’s magic and followers as the same with the huntsman. The huntsman stops, kneeling to take a handful of snow as he tracks his prey, Bael. With a commanding huff the huntsman points his hounds in the direction forward. The hounds howl as if victorious in a hunt, or just found a deceased creature to feast upon.
The hounds disappear into the grayish sheets of snow, locking onto their target, and preparing their jowls to break open the lone warrior their master spotted several hours ago. The exact moment Bael exited the pass north of the hunting lands of the Norn. The huntsmen followed after his hounds at a slow pace having hope that his target would be deceased by the time he got there. Already seeing the stories told about his fulfillment to Svanir and Jormag by slaying one of the many adventurers that have meddled in events and areas that were not meant to be meddled in.
The warrior stopped in his tracks as he heard the ever growing louder sound of claw against ice. Pattering down, and raking the glass-like surface of the lake. As he narrowed down the sound he noticed quickly that this was not just one beast narrowing down on his position, but rather three. His hold on his ax tightens as he turns holding his shield out in preparation for the hound’s attacks. As the sound of the hound in lead grows louder the Warrior couches as he raises his shield, holding it tightly as he positions the shield to cover his body from thigh to head. Holding his ax inverted behind the shield. Just as the sound died, Bael braced for impact as the loud metallic resonating ‘bang’ against his shield pushed him along the ice as he braced the hit from the wolf. In close timing with the hit the Warrior raised his shield, bashing it into the wolf with a battle cry as the Warrior swings the ax up, and around slicing the hound’s neck.
The packed ice that gave the hound armoring was no match for the warrior’s decisive blow. As the ax tore it’s throat it fell dead and skid back away from the warrior. The man heaves his chest as his eyes determine the location of the next wolf. Instead of waiting again with a block he takes his shield and rushes towards the wolf and at the last few feet just as the wolf makes it’s pounce towards the warrior, it’s maw wide and seeking to penetrate the metallic shell of the warrior. A primal thirst in combat to rend the flesh of it’s enemies with the sharp, arctic teeth within it’s maw.
Determined to stop this frostbrood corrupted wolf in it’s tracks the warrior slams his shield into the head of the wolf, and bashes it away with a hit to it’s neck with the sharp burning blade guards on the face of the shield. A pained whine from the wolf alerts the final wolf to skid to a stop; the sound of claw against ice felt the same as nails on a chalkboard. The wolf howls as it turns around for a decisive retreat back to it’s master. Executing the increased intelligence of the trained animal and not going into the fight alone and without back up.
As the wolf flees the Warrior swings the ax through the air the blade glides through the fresh falling snow Bael without a glance or a second thought releases his ax mid swing. The weapon leaves his hand akin to a tomahawk. Flying through the air at a quickening speed as it makes contact with it’s target. The loud pained whine echoes with the hard slice through the frozen flesh of the frostbrood the hard hit that ended the creatures life rings through out the howling blizzard. The pained dying howling was just enough from the creature to deter Bael away from retrieving his weapon. He could always find another ax.
Bael grunts as he lowers his guard, looking at the two wolves with a content bow to each of them. Thanking their bodies for the attempt at glorious battle, and the practice that came with. With a slick turn on his heels he turns towards his intended direction with a determined grin appearing on his features as he follows his footsteps back to the his original route. Having experienced the Frostbroods tactics before he knew he had a huntsman following him, tracking each step, and predetermining his next move. Now that the huntsman lost his tracking hounds he’ll be lost, or enraged.
He dismisses both thoughts with a high amount of consideration, disappearing in the cascading grey and white of the blizzard. He’d needed to find a rest stop soon, or a Tavern the cold was getting to him, and his furs were not enough.
~