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Frozen Shadows ((Closed)) - Barengar - 05-08-2015
The frozen wind ripped through the skies of the Coerthas Highlands, threatening to siphon every last bit of warmth from those caught within it chilled embrace. With the daylight dwindling into twilight, anyone unprepared caught out within the blizzard was unlikely to see the next morning. Between the killing frost, dangerous wildlife and lurking Dravanians there was simply no reason to find oneself beyond the walls at current.
Barengar found himself stranded in Whitebrim until the worst of the weather had passed; much to the man’s annoyance. He’d been out with a party of sell-swords, skirmishing with a small group of Dravanian heretics when the blizzard rolled in. As much as he detested being kept from what he wished to be doing, he could not protest overly much. Had he been caught further from the fort in this weather it would have made for quite the harrowing return journey. These peaks were far from familiar for him to navigate.
The Ala Mhigan, a man who’d been suffering from a foul mood more often than not these days, did not care for the occasional glare directed at him by the Ishgardian soldiers and accompanying residents of the fort. Any other day there he couldn’t have cared less, but as agitated as he’d been recently he thought it wise to separate himself from potential assault victims. Sequestering himself at the top of the fort’s tower seemed to be the best option.
The man’s chosen sanctuary did very little in the way of granting reprieve to his body from the hostile climate, but it was the perfect escape for his thoughts. The thick grey that blanketed the air around him coupled with the howling of the wind provided just enough sensory deprivation that the world seemed to fade away around him.
Trouble. That’s what this entire business with Lucaell had been. He didn’t need the work, there was plenty to be had elsewhere. ‘It’d be easy work’ he’d thought, ‘Quick job between contracts’. The mercenary snorted derisively. All it got him were a headache and more accusations than he cared to deal with. It all served as a fierce reminder as to why he preferred to keep a professional distance. Fewer complications for a man that despised complications.
Armsbreaker’s thoughts were interrupted by the telltale shuddering and dull thud of the heavy wooden door to the tower’s crown opening and closing. Wonderful, the last he wanted, company. With a perturbed sigh Barengar glanced over his shoulder to see just what Ishgardian he’d “inconvenienced†this time.
No one was there.
Suddenly Barengar was cursing the cacophonous noise of the blizzard and the terrible visibility as he attempted to scan his surroundings to see if anyone had slipped past his guard. His hand resting comfortably upon the heel of his axe, prepared to ready the weapon.
There was nothing.
Suspicion wracked the warrior’s mind as he stood frozen upon the tower, trying to determine if his stressed mind had been playing tricks on him in the blizzard. A particularly harsh gust of wind caused the tassets attached to his lorica to rustle slightly; his hand slowly falling away from his weapon. Relenting to the idea that he was being paranoid.
“Godsdamn wind…†he muttered to himself before turning back around.
Just as he had leaned his weight back upon the rampart, there was a sudden sound behind him; the distinct sound of fresh snow crunching as it was compressed beneath the weight of a boot. Barengar’s instincts snapped into action, wheeling about on his heel to lash his arm out in a wide arc with the intention of making space between him and whoever it was behind him. It was fortunate that he had done so as well. Mere inches away from his body was an arm, outstretched and capped with a hand grasping a gleaming dagger. The force of Barengar’s blow caused the approaching arm to be knocked aside and back toward the body upon which it was attached.
Before himself a shrouded individual, body covered entirely in heavy cloaking while his face was obscured by a mask. Whether it was for warm of secrecy Barengar had no idea and, truly, he didn’t care. Whoever this person was, they’d just tried to kill him. This was something Barengar did not particularly care to allow. He wasted no time in trying to determine who it was; he didn’t care, he just wanted them to die.
The Ala Mhigan’s fist opposite of the one that has just tossed the man back, now flew directly at the masked-man’s head. However, his attacked was similarly quick on his feet and swerved out of the trajectory of the punch before sliding back on the ice-slick stone from the momentum. From this new distance Barengar could see that the man carried many knives on his person, clearly he was no simple traveler.
The closed space was far from ideal conditions for a weapon the size of Barengar’s axe and his opponent was clearly aware of that, as he quickly sought to close the distance between them again. The mercenary found himself in a precarious position, an able fighter with short bladed weapons coming directly at him and all he had been able to do was remove his weapon from its place on his back.
Barengar attempted to deter his attacker by thrusting the eye of his axe toward the forward charging man, but the masked-man proved more nimble than he had been hoping. Once again the man moved like water around Barengar’s attack and maintained his forward momentum, blade held ready to perforate the Ala Mhigan’s armor. Barengar might not have been as nimble, but he was just as quick thinking. The warrior stepped forward into his assaulter’s path, effectively cutting him short and thrusting a stiff arm into the crook of arm that held the blade.
Not much was to be done with his weapon with a single hand, so he allowed it to clatter unceremoniously to the stone for now. Freeing his other hand while its counterpart kept his enemy’s blade from finding purchase. Knowing himself to have been caught unprepared for the move, the shrouded attacker attempted to retreat from the warrior’s grip but ultimately failed. Barengar threw several vicious punches into the attempted-killer’s gut which force the man to bow forward from the force of the blows.
Ringing metal was drowned out by the wails of the icy wind as the masked-man abandoned his short blade to the ground and used the freed grip to grab onto Barengar’s pinning arm. Using Barengar’s wide footing and the slick surface of the snow, the attacker abandoned his footing and pulled forward upon the Ala Mhigan. The man slide cleanly between Barengar’s legs and sprang back to his feet behind him all in one fluid motion.
Somewhere between his descent and ascent, the attacker had removed another one of his knives and was whirling about to drive it home through Barengar’s back. It was by sheer luck that Barengar had managed to turn about in time to take the blade in the abdomen. The Ala Mhigan’s breath vacated his lungs and he remained momentarily stunned by the successful attack. It seemed that his attacker was similarly surprised by Barengar’s quick movements, having assumed that they had a clear angle on the Hyur’s more vital organs.
“Ahhggg..†Barengar groaned.
The mercenary wasted little more time being surprised by his wound, instead he quickly found himself succumbing to a sense fervent rage. He lashed out with a bestial growl and ripped the weapon from his attacker's hand before casting it away across the frosted stone. Barengar’s grip came upon his attackers cloak and tore him from the ground, all whilst the man struggled to free himself from the that was now behaving as a raging bear.
It was all for naught, however, as Barengar’s grip proved stronger and hoisted him up from the ground … and over the rampart’s ledge. The heavy cloaking of Barengar’s attacker billowed rapidly during his descent to the ground. Yet he simply stared up at the Ala Mhigan until Barengar could no longer force himself to stand. Simply the act hoist his assaulter over the ledge aggravated his wound more than he would have prefered.
“Damn it all ta all the hells!†He cursed loudly as he collapsed against the rampart wall.
He knew that he couldn’t stay there though, hell, the cold alone might’ve killed him but he knew for certain the bleeding would if he didn’t get some attention promptly. A steady stream of curses escaped the man as he forced himself back to his feet, taking one look over the ledge of the rampart to see if he had hit anyone with his makeshift projectile.
Yet there was nothing. Simply a small collection of Durendaire Knights on patrol within the fort, everyone else had chosen to shelter themselves for the remainder of the blizzard. Barengar blinked in disbelief but did not allow himself to dwell on it much longer. He wouldn’t live to kill anyone if he stood around gawking like a fool now.
Curses ready on his tongue and a hand held helplessly upon the puncture in his stomach, Barengar made a very unsteady descent of the tower’s winding stairway...