Loch-Shorn Skirmish, Rumeria (One Year Ago) [Closed]

[Logen Wolfsbane]

"...You're sure of it?"

    Logen's question sounded in disbelief as the Zorcan informed him of the pilgrimage from Lochspell to Shorn Abbey. The Northman's fingers joggled on each hand in and out of a curl. It was an aggravated tick that had developed over the time spent fighting the war between Alzorc and Rumeria. It had been a year since Logen cast his lot in with the Bloodied.  The Zorcan before him simply gave a slow nod of affirmation with a dead set gaze.

"The Chief is, Wolfblade. That is what matters."

    Boe responded in a hushed tone as he leaned towards Logen. There were laws and practices in Zorcan culture that Logen wasn't privy to, but it didn't mean they wouldn't hold him accountable to their laws while in their company. Boe wasn't without understanding, though and knew that Logen was ignorant. He was a foreigner, after all. Logen gave a nod of compliance picking up on the subtle hint.

"How long until we head out?"

    The Northman posed the question but he knew the answer before the Zorcan spoke. The grin that grew between the fur on Boe's face told him not long. Logen offered his arm out and Boe grasped on to the strong forearm and gave it a shake before releasing the grip. Logen nodded in turn as he moved away from the meeting. He had his effects to collect and his horse to set up before the Zorcan war party moved camp.

    As Logen passed by small campfires, the men around him would nod in approved greeting, some of them muttering his Zorcan title, Wolfblade. Every greeting was met with direct eye contact and a slight nod of his head in a returned respect. He was a foreigner, but he had gained some respect. Enough respect that one of the greenhorns had to ask.

"Why do you call him Wolfblade? He is not a Named Man."

    The seasoned veterans would all smirk and answer the same.

        "Because that man and his blade feeds the wolves wherever he goes."

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    Moving camp proved uneventful in the late winter below the Knockskull. Camp was a few miles south and east off the main road. More pointedly, away from where the Chief had planned to seize the train of "pilgrims". The night before the raid was to take place,the Chief had gathered his Named Men and their crew. He went about explaining the plan. There were carriages with precious cargo. Cargo that was key in aiding Alzorc in it's war. Key to Alzorc's freedom and right to keep it's lands. The crews were to set two men to capture each carriage and get them to safety further up the road where other's would keep them safe. Most of the war party would then assault the Vaekur and Kriger. Orders were to kill them to the last man.

    Logen was kept out of those type of meetings. No matter his actions, Logen was a foreigner. He was not to be trusted with plans, only the fighting. This allowed him moments of peace and solitude. He remained on the outskirts of camp, watching the horizon as the moon crept above the ridgeline of the Knockskulls. In this place and in this time, he couldn't afford to let his thoughts wander too far. He thought a moment trying to recognize the amount of time that had passed since he opted in to this war. Luckily for him, some movement broke his attention.

    Just beyond the light of the camp a set of eyes began to glow. It was a predator's gaze showing it's pace back and forth. The Northman had seen those eyes before many times. He pursed his lips together and let out a low whistle just to get the wolf to stop pacing back and forth. Slowly, Logen rolled a bit of dried beef between his fingers that he had been snacking on. With a roll of his shoulder, he slung the jerky out towards the beast. The movement had made the beast scurry off a bit but eventually it'd return. Logen remained still, watching the wolf trying to weigh the pros and cons of eating the offered treat.

    Behind Logen, Boe and a few others were watching. It was a small entertainment, watching the foreigner play with the wildlife. Whenever the wolf darted in to snatch the treat and dart back out, Logen turned to look what spooked it. Boe was approaching.

"You keep that up, we'll change your name from Wolfblade to Wolf-bitch. Quit feeding your cubs. They'll have enough to eat tomorrow."

    The statement was a jest and Logen knew it. He had come to tolerate it from Boe and the Chief. But not from anyone else. The Northman had a sneering smirk on his face when Boe could finally see it.

"It's going to be that kinda day tomorrow, is it?" Logen asked. He needed to stop asking questions that he knew the answers to. It was always going to be that kinda day.

"Yah... And we'll be in the middle of it..."

 Boe rubbed at his own lower back for a moment as he stretched upright to relieve the tension built there. Boe spared Logen the details of the future of Alzorc and simply told him his job and what he's to do. Logen was to clear the men off of a carriage and cover the theft of it. He was to hold his position until all other carriages were cleared and then he could pursuit any who fled.

"Get some sleep, Wolfblade... We have a red dawn before us."

    Logen had started back off to his camp before the later statement. A hand raised in a wave goodnight as he stepped off. Would it be a terrible thing if he could sleep after all this time? After all the conflicts, the killing, the blood..? Was Logen walking the same path that created the Bloodied? Time will soon tell if another monster will be born in to the world.

[Logen Wolfsbane]

    It was a beautiful sight, Lake Shivering. Late winter had the edges still slightly frozen. The waters themselves were calm allowing for a mirror finish spread out across the lake. The morning sun, with it's deep orange and red hue shined down and painted it's image into the surface. A beautiful and calm morning.

    Petra didn't care for it. The Rumerian lieutenant did not trust it. He did not feel comfort in the warmth of the sun nor inspired by the oncoming spring and summer. All that he wanted was to move this caravan down the old road towards Kullyr where his responsibility would end. And he wanted to do it without an event.

    The officer looked down the line of carriages, cavalry and footman with an appraised stare for a moment or two before nodding to the lucky souls that were to take point. At his suggestion, the men on horseback took the lead and started heading the train of people out of Lochspell and down the road towards Shorn Abbey. Petra sat there in his saddle as they began to pass him. Some faces familiar and some were not. His mentor and commander had told him something about missions, the importance of withdrawal of emotion. The need for the lack of compassion. Petra wasn't that kind of man. He feared for these people under his watch and rightly so. If everything went according to plan, only a few of them would die...

    He found a decent place in the train and veered his horse in to join with them. His eyes never met another man's face for the journey. His eyes were set to the scenery around him, searching for sign. Sign of anything out of place, out of ordinary.  It was how he was going to be able to make his report to the commander. It was how he was going to survive this escort.

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    It had been six hours since daylight. Six hours since the caravan had left Lochspell. Six hours of slow travel due to the deadfall of the winter. The Zorcan war party had been setting up their ambush, creating more deadfall for the Rumerians to clear off of the road. Using horse and rope, they had pulled dead or dying trees over as to not give away their presence. No axe would be used to cut a tree this day. The blades were kept pristine and ready to cleave through steel and flesh.

    Logen himself was resting behind a brush pile with one other man. There had been no conversation between the two. They both knew their job and idle conversation made for idle minds. Six hours they had been there, waiting for their work to start. At first sight of the caravan, every man's muscle became tense. Bodies lowered as if to merge with the ground below them to remain out of sight.

    He could hear the conversations of the Rumerians as they passed. Tongue that sounded like gibberish to him. All he had to judge by was the tone and so far, no Zorcan had been spotted yet. The more and more people passed by him, the more the tension grew. It grew to a point until Logen realized that it no longer mattered. There were no thoughts of regret or reservation. This was a war and there wasn't room for that right before the fighting started. The artic hues in his head focused on nothing except the ground beneath his feet.

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    Once again the caravan had caught up to the forward rider's being held up by the deadfall across the road. Men with axes worked diligently trying to cut the stalk of the tree away from the root ball. Petra had returned to his previous position in the middle of the caravan where a few others from the end had road to meet him. The new voices and conversation caught hold the attention of the Northman. Only glimpses through the brush allowed Logen to identify they were officers. They were obviously discussing the situation ahead. They needed to hurry and get out of his way...

"The men at point will be done in five more minutes. Mikael, Olaf... Keep your eyes open... This deadfall is too thick, even for this time of the year."

    Petra was beginning to be suspicious and had passed that on to his subordinates. With a sharp nod of his head, the other two men saluted and reined their horses in the opposite direction, speeding down the road to inform and order the men underneath them.

    And that's when it happened. The short horn sounded in it's quick, repetitious bleating to signal the attack. Logen had to be the first one around the brush pile. The Northman surged forward rushing towards the carriage and driver. With one step the Northman raised himself up enough to grab hold of the driver with both hands. Once secured, Logen fell back with his grip locked on the Rumerian, bringing him off his seat and placed on to his back over one of the logs in the brush pile. A sharp branch, cut to a stake impaled the man through his back then erupted through his chest.

    Petra had only enough time to witness the removal of his man from the carriage. It was only a split second before he yelled out ambush in Rumerian. Down the line of the caravan, the other Zorcans were doing the same thing. The man with Logen had rushed up behind Logen to take the driver's place once the path had been cleared. Another surge of Zorcans came from further in the treeline into the road, engaging the footman between the carriages.

    Petra drew his pistol intent on killing the Zorcan that had just taken the reins. His reaction was quick and so was his shot. The steel ball flew through the air and found the flesh just below his ribs. That Zorcan would die, but not before his job was done. Just as the man tried to fall off of the carriage, Logen had turned and pushed him back in to his seat only to reach down and smack one of the gelds on the ass to get it moving.

    The front of the line stopped their work on the tree once the fighting started. Just as they turned to help the other, Zorcans on horseback came charging down the road with weapons drawn catching the Rumerians with their backs turned. The charging party continued past the carriages down either side of the road, bull rushing any Rumerian caught in their path. A few others had come from up the road on foot, finishing off any who still dared to breathe. The Zorcans quickly set ropes to the tree and then the horns of the Rumerian saddles. Their objective was to finish clearing the path to allow the carriages past. A minute later and the Rumerian horses were dragging the large tree up the road and the caravan was moving again with Zorcan drivers.

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    The Northman got back to work as soon as the carriage started moving forward. There was an officer that needed killing and their were only a few men in the way. The Righteous Bastard was drawn immediately in a defense against a footman's aggression, the blackened steel catching a Rumerian long sword. Five artistic steps and four positions of the Bastard later, there were three dead Rumerians, severed, pierced and sundered. The Northman took two more steps to be on the other side of the road just as another carriage flew by. Petra had only removed his blade by the time Logen was approaching him. That's when he realized this was to be his death if he chose it.

    He could join his men in the abyss if it was what he wanted.

    Petra was a survivor, though. An informed officer. He was told this was the likelihood of the mission. His mentor told him this was what was going to happen. His next decision would save his life. He turned his horse and spurred it back down the road heading towards Lochspell, shouting orders of retreat as he did so. With the Rumerians routed in a matter of less than ten minutes, the Zorcans focused more on securing the carriages.

[Logen Wolfsbane]

Logen watched as the Rumerians turned to run, the Zorcans pursuing only so far past the last carriage. The men of Alzorc allowed those that made it past that slinking line to take their lives with them. The unlucky that had further to run died in the pinched ambush that was levied against them. With no enemies behind him, the Northman began to back up towards the rendevous, timing his next move. As the carriage rode past him, his right hand reached as his legs leapt to jump on the back step of the carriage. The day had been easy in his eyes.

As it came to a halt when it joined the others, Logen stepped off the platform. The Bastard was sent back to it's scabbard after being cleared of blood upon his own gambeson. Boe was there to greet him with a long face. Most of the Zorcans around him had the same look. Something must have gone awry.

"You're bleeding, Wolfblade..." Boe would gesture to his own face above his eye to serve as a mirror. Logen raised a bare hand to wipe at his brow. The amount of blood was fair for a flesh wound. It would heal on it's own easy enough. It wasn't swollen nor was it too sore. It was just superficial. He must have caught the edge of a sword in the fight with the three.

"It's nothing... What's going on?" The Northman peered up ahead at some of the gathered men.

"Aevor wishes to speak with you." With that, Boe turned and moved ahead of Logen, clearing a path for the Northman to follow. Logen wasn't familiar with the name. The name hadn't ever been an important one until now. The closer he got to the thicker crowd, he started to make sense of it. Every Zorcan regarded Logen with a nod as he pushed to the center. Once he had broken through, he realized the importance of the meeting.

Aevor was laying on the ground with his hand holding his sword to his chest while his head rested on a woman's legs. A woman who wasn't part of the war party. The Northman took a knee next to the rested man as his eyes surveyed him. He was bleeding, profusely from just underneath the ribs. This was the rider of the carriage that Logen cleared. This was the man Logen forced to ride to his death.

"Y-you... Northman..." Aevor reached with his free hand, strained by the pain in his core. Logen reached and took the man's hand in his own in a thumb-laced arm lock. "You saw to it... That I die with honor..." Aevor continued past the blood spilling from his mouth. The steel ball had pierced into his stomach, allowing it to fill with blood. "May Rig...keep....you...in---" Logen's brows furrowed as he watched the light fade from the Zorcan's eyes. The Northman dwelled there, not releasing the man's hand just yet. He understood the gratitude and left it at that.

Boe spoke up in the crowd after the silence had remained long enough.

"Aevor Deadrider... Your name will not be forgotten." The words spoken in the tongue of Alzorc, for a dead son of Alzorc.

Logen released his grip and raised back up to stand. He would slowly back up and away from the crowd so the Zorcans could do right by the fallen. Once he was cleared, he turned and stepped back to the carriage he rode in on. He started to notice now, that there were a lot more women surrounding the men. Women that were stepping out of the carriages. Boe followed up to Logen to explain before he asked.

"They were slaves on their way to Kullyr for sale... Zorcans, Voivian, Doxenians." Logen stopped in midstep, looking over his shoulder towards Boe. Right after, Logen hurried around to the back of the carriage withdrawing his saex. It wouldn't brake the steel lock but it'd tear the handle off that was bound by steel. After splintering the wood, the saex was set back in it's sheath then Logen tore the door off of it hinges by the handles.

The smell that escaped told them that no living creature resided within. The scent of a rotted and bloating corpse filled the nostrils of the men that came near. Logen and Boe did their best not to retch instantly, both covering their noses and having to turn away. There was a body in there, resting in the shadows of the horse drawn coffin. The Northman looked to Boe, which in turn shook his head. With a grunt, Logen stepped up into the carriage while holding a breath. He found the chains binding the bodies feet and began to drag the corpse out. The movement shook the flies in to a frenzy that were feeding on the decaying flesh. Boe lost his composure as the servants of pestilence flew out of the wagon.

Logen emerged with the corpse, letting it fall to the ground in a mess. Boe was leaning over a wheel, losing his meal from the night before. The Zorcan had no problem seeing the insides of a Rumerian but the sight and smell of a corpse that should have been burned weeks ago was too much. The corpse wasn't familiar to Logen. He couldn't identify it. The commotion brought the attention of others who regretted their curiousity almost immediately.

"It is Hrolth Vulndgar of Northness." One man spoke out. By now, Logen had acclimated to the sight and smell. The obvious stood out with the corpse. From how he was dressed, his clothes had been put on after he had died. The blood stains on the man's breeches must have been post mortem, blood escaping from a swelling body. He died from his neck being cut, but after being beaten to a mess. The final detail of note was the man's lips had been sewn shut.

The Northman crouched down, retrieving his saex as he did so. The blade was drawn across the sinew thread, cutting the man's mouth free. Rigor mortis had set in, so Logen had to force his jaw to unlock. After looking inside, Logen closed the mouth as much as he could before raising back to his feet. He refused to say anything and simply walked away. Logen's path took him to see the women gathered in a group, scared and relieved at the same time. They were free but in the company of the wild men from the North. It was a day's work and still there was more that needed to be done.

Behind him, Logen heard one of the men shout in disbelief...

"The bastards made him eat his own balls!"

[Logen Wolfsbane]

    The base of operations in Lochspell was a large home owned by one of the more successful fisherman. The Rumerian military had laid claim to the home by imminent domain when the war had spilled over in to Rumerian borders. It had certain luxuries and comforts that the current Commander found to his liking; furniture with cushions and pillows and a large hearth framed with somewhat decent paintings for a private collector. It was here that Lieutenant Nicolae Petra found himself waiting to make his statement and report on the fate of the caravan.

    The young man stood tall and attentive with his hands restricted behind his back. He was standing outside the door of the "office" of the commander. Inside the master bedroom, there were raised tones and disciplinary orders being blasted against the door. None of which brought comfort to the young officer outside. Thinking better of it, the young man let his eyes wander around the home, focusing on personal belongings of the previous owner. The man had started out as a humble fisherman, worked hard and gained enough finances to start his own business and eventually cornered the market in Lochspell. He became a boon to the town, becoming the main support of commerce and career for his community.

    If the Rumerian government so easily swept aside the man that had brought so much to the community, what exactly were they going to do to a less-than-par officer?

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    Boe grimaced as the pain in his lower back flared up as he bent over to grab the ankles of a dead Rumerian. Logen was right there with him grabbing the wrists.

    "I'm not made for this, Northman... Give me a blade, Hell, give me a rock and an enemy.." Boe offered a grin to the Northman. The Zorcan was trying to hurry the time along as they gathered the dead and loaded them in to one of the carriages. The Chief had decided that they'd return the favor of sending the Rumerians their dead. Along with Hrolth, who had been tied sitting upright on the carriage sitting in the driver's place. They had secured him with water-soaked rope and doused the carriage in the fuel of all of the other carriages' lamps. Zorcans didn't deal in passive aggressive tactics. They wanted to send a declaration. It only takes one Zorcan to drive ten Rumerians into the flaming depths below with a deathly smile placed on their lips.

    Logen had been lost in thought to pay attention to Boe. The grin and the statement went unnoticed. His body seemed to be on autopilot whenever they had to heave the body in to the carriage. He was thinking on the morning and the ambush. It was too easy. The men he encountered today were not the quality of men he had fought previously. They were routed too easily and too quickly. The bounty the Rumerians had released, the fifty some odd women, would have been worth the fight in the slave markets. And then Hrolth? The Rumerians wanted the Zorcans to see him. What other reason would there be to include his deformed corpse in the caravan?

    Boe had mosied over to the next body and reached to grab at the wrists of another body before he realized Logen was dwelling near the wagon. The damn Northman made Boe deal with back pain that was unnecessary.

"Hey! Get out of your head and help!" Logen snapped out of his thoughts, looking to Boe with an aggravated and confused look. He then made his way over to the body, grabbing the collar and the waist of the Rumerian and hefted him on to his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Boe was taken back from the eased display of strength.

    "What's on your mind, Wolfblade?" Boe asked while he rubbed at the muscles in his own lower back. Logen tossed the man like a rag doll into wagon.

"You don't think it was too easy?" Boe hated it when people answered a question with a question.

"You're thinking too hard on it." The Zorcan watched as Logen moved to the next corpse, hefting it up once again in the same fashion. He didn't mind Logen doing the labor since he had the energy for it.

"You're not thinking enough." Logen didn't mean to call him slow or lazy. "There's more to it, Boe. I know it." He tossed the body in to the carriage. Afterwards, he looked about making sure that was the last one. Logen looked towards another Zorcan holding a torch. He stepped away from the carriage after giving him the nod to set it ablaze. As the fire roared, the horses drawing the wagon rear and then took off carrying the Hell rider and company off towards Lochspell.

    "War wears men down, Wolfblade. We caught them off guard, killed a handful of men and did it in mere moments. We get a near perfect plan every once and awhile." Boe slapped a hand against the back of Logen's shoulder. "Come on, we've got to get back to camp and figure out what to do with the women."

    Logen could only shake his head and follow after Boe. There was more to it. More coming and soon.

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    The door opened to the office and two men stepped out without emotion on their face. They were not angry or upset in any fashion. They just had orders to carry out. When the men were clear of the doorway, Petra stepped inside to once again stand at attention. The Commander looked up from his desk to his apprentice. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. From the expression on Petra's face and the sweat beading at the crown of his hair line, the Commander could easily guess what he was about to hear.

    "Mission successful, Commander. Zorcans have taken the care package. Casualties at above minimum, seventeen men."

    The final statement made the Commander's lips draw together in a purse. He was going to do that no matter the number. While the mission standard had been set and the total loss was more than proposed, it was still less than what the Commander had expected. Sharp green eyes weighed the Lieutenant as they sat in silence. Petra spoke up to break the silence, "There were a few men of renown that I recognized. One of them being the murderer that's been targeting Rumerian officers. Logen Wolfsbane, I believe."

    That statement did raise the eyebrow of the Commander. It was a small detail in the matter at hand. Hunting down a felon versus wiping a Zorcan war party out, the Commander would rather achieve the latter.

    "Then I guess things are set in motion; prepare the Vaekur. If all goes according to plan, we'll be in the Zorcan camp just past night fall." The Commander's voice was calm and collected, which confused the Lieutenant.

    "Permission to speak freely, Commander."

"Granted."

    "Why do you think this will work?"

"What do you think a man wants to do after a year in the wilderness, bearing witness to the evisceration of a man's genitals, being the hero and saving an arm load of women?"

[Logen Wolfsbane]

    "He said we couldn't approach their tent. He didn't say nothing about they couldn't approach ours." Boe had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face. If it weren't for the pearly whites reflecting in the fire light, Logen wouldn't have ever noticed. All the Northman could do was shake his head in disapproval and disbelief. On one hand, he knew that getting between a lonely Zorcan and a piece of ass after a year of bloodshed and hard life was no place to be at all. But on the other, he knew they weren't out of the fire, yet, and had one Hell of a distraction to deal with before they could remove themselves from the Rumerian lands.

    Logen looked past Boe across the camp to the Chief. He was a tall Zorcan but still an inch or so shy from Logen's height. The gnarled beard framed the man's face in a thick, red strap. The nose that sneered at everyone had been broken a few too many times to be considered devil may care. He was by no means eye candy, but he had the affection of two younger women. The devils had his ear, Logen thought to himself. No man in charge would allow for something like this. The aggravation of it made Logen's eye twitch just slightly before he forced himself to look elsewhere.

    Boe chose at that time to slap Logen on the back and berate him a little for his lack of manners.

"Relax, Northman. It's one night and then we're off to the Keep. We kept our tracks hidden, sent the Rumerian wagons down the road and the campfires are small. We still have our watchmen and our schedule."

    Logen still wasn't going to relax. The day had been bothering him. The ease of events unfolding. None of it seemed right. Boe simply threw his hands up in the air and walked off shaking his head. The Zorcan had a little swagger in his step like a cock trying to attract the hens. Logen stepped off to his small tent camp not willing to partake in the fruits of the Zorcan's labor.

    Sleep. That's what Logen wanted. He wanted to sleep through the night and make it to tomorrow morning. A large, fang-bared yawn escaped the Northman's mouth as he walked on towards his camp. As he drew near, he noticed the glow of a lantern within. He'd only ever had one incident with a Zorcan putting his nose where it didn't belong. Logen thought he had made enough of an example out of him, but then again, there were some new recruits taken on this last winter.

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    Every page she turned, she gained new insight and understanding of the man. There wasn't a more educational dossier than someone's own private thoughts put to paper.  Her feet waved back and forth, rubbing against one another in an idle habit. She had made herself at home in his bunk, laying bare within the warmth of his bedroll and furs. While being on her stomach, her knees bent which had forced he furs to cover just beyond her thighs.

    With her head propped up, she drew a long inhale of rum-accented smoke in to her lungs from a cigar she had found next to his little black book. Currently she was reading about one of the expeditions he had gone on to the Kingdom of Dunsany. The undead beasts, the cursed King Hexenthal; It was almost like reading a novel. A steady stream of smoke escaped through pursed lips, breaking against the pages before her. As the next page was turned, her other hand reached out and tapped the excess ashes off next to the lantern.

    When released from the pressure, a bound lock of hair slid down from it's home. It had been tucked into the crease of the spine of the book. The woman picked up the lock as to inspect it. Soon, the scent of spiced orange filled her senses. It was a lock that Logen had stolen from his gypsy while she slept. A lock that rested against her skin and absorbed the oils she had always used. On the same page, there was a sketch of a woman with dark hair, curled naturally. The features of the woman were soft, sketched in lead and obviously meant as a memento in pairing with the scent-soaked lock.

    One more turn of the page and a confused look crossed the woman's features. Confused turned to concern as she read over the Rumerian names. Some of them had lines marked through them. Some of them she recognized. It was then she realized who she was choosing to pair. This was the man killing off Rumerian officers. She didn't have enough time to remember the list. She heard the yawn of a large man and then the foot steps drawing nearer. She only had enough time to tuck the lock back in to the book, close it and store it underneath the saddle she had been using as a prop for the book.

    Logen began his speech once he knew he was within earshot of his tent. "I may not be the foremost in courtesy and manners, but there's something I can teach you, Zorcan." The Northman was working himself up to get ready to thump someone. He was hoping his voice would send whoever was inside running. It had failed to do so. Logen slung open the flap to his tent to step in but he was forced to stand there. What resided inside was not what he expected.

    Anya was kneeling their with the furs wrapped taught around her form, outlining the curves of a buxom woman. The waves of sandy tendrils touched just below her shoulders, dancing among the speckled and sun kissed shoulders. Two fingers just pulled a sizzling cherry stem away from her lips and a narrow stream of smoke escaped below. Her eyes of emerald green had a predator's gaze that matched perfectly with a mousey and mischievous smile. From within that mouth, a Doxenian tongue rolled about.

"What is it that you can teach me, hero?"

[Logen Wolfsbane]

    "This is not your tent.." The Northman spoke after dwelling for a few moments. He wasn't prepped for something like this. In to the tent he stepped, closing the flap behind him to shut out the cold.

    "No one was here when I found it." The remark was playful and familiar. It was something that she would say. Anya slowly rose to her feet, furs drifting glimpses of her bare form. After they were rearranged to drape around her body like a cloak, she approached Logen offering the cigar she had stolen from him. It only garnered a glance from the man before he stepped past her. He intended to sleep and the cigar would just wake him up.

    "I'm not interested in games. Off with you." Logen was pretty blunt about his wanting of privacy. The Northman loosed the straps of his battle harness belt, setting it off to the side. Hidden within the belt was the sheath that held his saex knife. It was something that Anya would note before pressing her agenda further.

    "If you send me away, they'll send another." She had to make an argument of logic he couldn't refuse. "Let me remain and I'll not bother you." Logen had to think about it for a moment. He was in the midst of loosening the buckles and straps that held the Bastard in place whenever she had posed the question. After wrapping the straps about the scabbard, the Bastard was set against the saddle. He could either allow her to stay and ignore her, or keep throwing people out of his tent.

    "Remain quiet and stay" Logen thought that had been enough of a request, but then he added, "if you can't then leave." Effects were removed after that and set in their place. The Northman did manage to keep his breeches on. He wasn't without fault, though. The scent of a woman within his tent was welcomed and even yearned for. But not his woman. She wasn't the one that he wanted sleeping next to him. Eventually, he'd manage to get in to his bedroll, resting his head against the saddle.

    The Northman would soon close his eyes, trying to get his body to relax. There was some solace in the warmth of the bed roll. It kept the cold at bay and the moisture of the ground off of his body. Though the light would have kept him awake, he did not turn it off. He simply used one of his arms to curl over his eyes so that darkness was his alone. Every once and awhile his muscles would twitch and shudder like a horse still ready to race. Eventually, all would subside and Logen would seemingly drift off to sleep signaled by a soft snore of a tired man.

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    Anya had patience. It was shown as she lie awake in waiting. Waiting for hours for the Northman to drift further in to the realm of dreams until there was no coming back. With grace and silence she rose from the ground to move towards her destination. It was towards the Northman with a small detour to the harness in which the saex knife was sheathed. The collection of the blade made for a steely song as the edge drew across the leather. She paused for a moment, not wanting to have made the sound. She didn't want it to wake the beast she was about to kill.

    With no sign of disturbance, she continued her slow crawl to the sleeping man with the large knife in hand. If she were to make it out of the Zorcan camp alive, she couldn't allow Logen to cry out. She was poised, steady handed and ready to draw the blade across his throat when she noticed a small detail. He had stopped snoring. For some time now, the man had been quiet.

"Don't.."

    The word made her do as such. She didn't move, not knowing what to think or do. The only thing she could do was hide the blade behind her and just in time of Logen uncovering his eyes from his arm. Since he didn't leap to disarm her, he must have not noticed anything until she had gotten too close. Some relief washed over her but she had to correct it with an impish smile on her face.

"I was cold... I wasn't going to do anything... I was just cold." The look on her face was pleading. And to Logen it looked genuine. He had to contemplate for a moment, but before he could invite the viper to bed, one of the Zorcans let loose a holler, blood curdled and foreboding. This had him sit upright, listening for more. One of the girls failed to keep their mark silent. Anya realized this before Logen and so had to act.

    The saex came around, following a circular path, aimed to pierce Logen through the middle. His reaction was to swat the weapon off it's path, only to send it directly in to his lower left side. Instantly the muscles contracted to aid in stopping the weapon from traveling more. A large hand was set to the wrist of his assassin, grasping a bone crushing hold. Anya wasn't done at all. Her left hand came across with a  flat palm to strike Logen across the jaw. It hit it's mark and continued through to grab on to the handle of the saex. An adrenaline fueled tug set the blade free and then started to carry it up and then across with the intention of opening Logen's throat.

    This time Logen had been more ready. His free hand grabbed at Anya's hand just as the blade licked at his neck, just opening a half inch gash. It would scar but it wouldn't kill him. Now that Logen's left hand had control of the hand that held onto the blade, he made sure that she couldn't let go of it. His right hand clamped on to her left in that bone crushing pressure once more. Now the left would release her broken wrist and start traveling to a more vital area. Try as Anya might, the strikes from her right fist couldn't daze or deter the Northman. Every hit broke weakly against his jaw as her wrist couldn't function correctly.

    A rotation of his body came after he had set his left hand to her throat, forcing her down and onto her back. The motion wasn't slow. It was forceful, fluid and had an impact. They had now switched positions with the Northman now bearing down on top of her. Her head was pushed back against the saddle, forcing her to bend her neck forward which only aided in the strangulation. Her hand wielding the knife had been stretched further than she could possibly control, pinned to the earth. All the while, Logen remained uncannily silent.

    Blood was dripping from his neck, falling down in drops against her lips. The sight of it bringing a darker animal from within Logen.

"Taste it... Drink of me!" There was a sadistic grin growing across his face. The scarred and battered face filled with hate. With rage.

    The hold he had on her neck couldn't even allow her to spit. The clench only making her want to pull air in, to even swallow her own tongue if only to breathe. Eventually, Logen would wrest the knife away from her hand, tossing it to the side. This would allow her the futile attempt to scratch at the massive arm, to try to break his elbow loose. Tears filled the woman's eyes from pain and panic. She felt death pulling at her from below, losing her focus, the vibrations of deprived limbs going numb.

    "No..? Not to your liking?" Logen asked the question to the the weakening Anya. The higher her eyes rolled the less her body moved. And just before she gave in to asphyxiation, Logen relaxed his steel-like grip allowing her to take in a rush of air into her lungs. The hyper-ventilation would oxygenate her blood quickly, giving her a euphoric state of mind. A dazed state of mind. After five breaths and coughing fits, Logen sent a fist straight down against her forehead, jarring her brain within enough to send her unconscious.

    Logen would rise up to his feet after collecting his saex once more. He had to get ready once again. There was a long night to prepare for. As for his would-be assassin, he'd come back to deal with her late. His blood was on her tongue, his essence stuck to her skin. If karma was kind, it'd remain there for as long as she lived.

    Ten minutes later, Wolfblade was ready for war.

[Logen Wolfsbane]

    When Logen went to check on Boe, his fears had come to light. Once he opened the tent, Boe's body was in plain sight, slaughtered without dignity. His body bare as the day he was born. From what he could see, something had been shoved through his neck, keeping him from screaming. Dark blues went to the ground to check for tracks leading away. Not seeing any, he wagered the female was still inside hiding. Waiting to strike another fool that came to check the throats of his brethren.

    Just as soon as one of Logen's boots stepped through the door, one of Boe's axes came from a blind side on Logen's right. The side long hack missed it's target as Logen side-stepped away. The next time she came at him, she swung wide. This allowed Logen to lunge forward in a bull rush, checking her face with the right, rending pauldon. It was enough to send her to the ground with a face shredded by sharp, jagged lames.

    The Rumerian lost her grip on the haft of the axe as she fell to the ground. Logen's left hand caught a hold of it as the head touched the earth below. Being right handed, he'd pass it off to the other to raise back in to the air. Before the woman could open her eyes, the Northman buried the crescent blade through her nasal cavity. The axe was left to remain creating dividing wall to the symmetry of her face.

    It was a dark justice, but Boe was avenged by his own axe. He stood there, looking upon his handiwork. It was only a slight satisfaction to know the person that killed Boe was no more. Those artic-hued eyes gazed about once he was outside of his friend's tent once more. Zorcans were scrambling about doing as Logen had done once the Rumerian tactic had gone full tilt into action. The death cries of men and women filled his ears as he scanned the area. Some motion had caught his attention. One of the women had made it out of the camp and disappeared in to the darkness beyond the camp fire light.

    Logen had been right. Something hadn't been right about the ease of the day. And the chief had fallen for it. He now looked towards the Chief's tent, noting him exit while finishing donning his gear. He was alive. Wounded, but still alive. Logen had just started in his direction, hearing the call to rally. It was then that he heard the rumble of horse hooves. The Vaekur were coming.

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    She woke up in a daze with her head pounding from the knock she took earlier. Her face was covered in a mix of her own blood and the Northman's. All she could do for the moment was cough, her throat damn near crushed from before. She had to get up. She had to get out. Anya pushed herself in to a stand, trying to gather her senses. First and foremost, she found her clothing from before the Northman entered the tent and dressed herself, all the while listening to the clash of steel outside. The Vaekur had made it. Someone had made it out.

    She had gotten ready to step out of the tent and enter the fray but then she remembered something. The black book with the list. Rummaging underneath the saddle, she found it and tucked it away for safe keeping. There were a handful of Rumerian men she could save with it. Once she stepped outside, she could make a better decision as to what her next action would be.

    The camp now looked like a battlefield. Men, women and horses flayed open waiting for the crows were strewn across the camp. The impact the Vaekur had against the Zorcans was devastating at first but then the blood rage took them. There wasn't a piece of armor that would hold them back and there wasn't a creature safe from a blood-drenched blade. The Zorcans were fighting a battle already lost but they were going to make the Rumerians pay with as much lives as possible.

    It was at that moment that the tide changed. The sentries had finally made it back, flanking the Rumerians on both sides. Fourteen arrows flew from well-aimed bows striking their targets. Some bounced off of armor but most found their mark, sending the mounted knights to the mud below.  Once her attention was drawn, it was there that she witnessed the Northman in the thick of it. She watched as that Bastard seemingly phased through the armor, stopping a Vaekur dead in his tracks. It was as if the blade itself only had a taste for flesh, passing through the armor like an apparition.

                The Zorcans were going to win. She was going to die.

    That was the ominous feeling she had until she saw one of the Vaekur break through without engaging an enemy. He had his geld going full sprint towards her, trampling the dead in it's path. The Lieutenant had spotted her further on and knew he had to get to her. She was a survivor and duty obligated him to retrieve her. Logen had a moment to turn and look towards the Vaekur and then further on to his target. The bitch was alive. He knew that he would never catch them in time so the Northman focused on the fight at hand.

    At the end of it all, only six Zorcans would be left standing with no chief. Six Zorcans and a foreigner to gather what they could to get back to Alzorc. There would be no stories of the fight. There was no glory to be had, only a lesson to learn. The skirmish had cost them too much.

    With Boe gone, Logen needed to find Fenris and the others.