[Sweetwine Woods] Anguished By The End

[Volker]

Date

Volker watched the flaming men from his place in the treeline. He was circling again, keeping his distance to make sure he stayed out of the way of most of the battle. He was best taking down people like he was; sudden strikes from behind. He hadn't appreciated Oor taunting the mage and his companion...but it couldn't be helped. The moment the Harvester realized you were scared of him, you became a target for irritation if not outright bullying. Volker left it at that. Oor was enjoying himself and as long as he was enjoying himself he wouldn't bother Volker. The killer took the time to grab the incapacitated man he'd left screaming in the woods. He dragged him to a safe distance and butted his shoulder against a tree. He was leaving a scent marker for himself to find his prey later. The unconscious man in the pit would be fine; he wouldn't be able to drag himself out after a hit that strong.

So Volker's concern laid squarely with the bandit pair and the mercenaries surrounding them. Four of them, now five with the mage's newest spell, were aflame. The other five were quite possibly becoming demoralized with the prospect of it all. A firebug who they couldn't seem to put down, a capable swordswoman, and a monster in the woods that had turned one of their fellows to ashes. With Oor vanishing in front of them, they were cautiously returning to the battle with the two in front of them. That was a mistake. Volker was waiting, and positioning himself. The second any of them put his back to the woods, he'd strike again.

After feeding Oor twice, Volker was feeling power buzz through his veins. He already felt younger, stronger. Such feelings could easily become addictive. It made him feel a little more risky, so when one of the mercenaries backed away from his flaming compatriot, Volker stepped out of the treeline and attacked him directly. Volker's teeth sunk into the back of his neck to keep him still, while the blade in his hand bit deeply under the mercenary's leather jerkin. That strange gap between the bottom of the jerkin and the top of the man's pants was the perfect weak spot. Volker sliced across it, let the man go, and stepped back into the trees again. They'd gotten a good look at him...if they weren't distracted by the sudden image of a man's intestines falling out of his body. They hit the ground with a sickeningly wet plop, and their owner stood and stared at them for a few seconds before collapsing.

Volker snarled loudly. Max. That must have been the female that Oor had touched. The Harvester felt nothing but amusement at the mage's cries. Volker felt a little frustrated. Even after they'd done their best to eliminate most of the mercenaries, they still had the other pair to contend with. He doubted the pair would want to split it fairly. He'd get his share of the meat; humans didn't care for bodies of their own. They'd leave them to rot if they didn't respect them enough to bury them. But Volker needed nell. He was half-tempted to go back to the pit and try his hand at the lockbox again.

'Cute, a mated pair of highwaymen.' Oor chuckled in his ear. 'Well it looks like we're going to have to come to some arrangement when all these chucklefucks are either dead or running home to mama.'

Volker waited and circled...and struck again. This time was nothing fancy. He buried his blade in the spine of the mercenary foolish enough to position himself poorly, and stepped back again. He was running out of time. He hissed angrily at the other pair and headed back toward the pit. He had to get that lockbox open before they had their eyes on it. The weaponry and armor he would consider their share. The nells were his.

[Max]

This ensuing battle was a rush unlike any other. The adrenaline that pumped through both Max and the mercenaries' veins was elicited from fear and fury, a toxic combination that would see some to victories while others fell. Their minds were scattered. Death seemed to reach from every angle. By blades or ghost, and for the mercenaries, murderous flames that clung to victims like a leech at Merces' will. Max felt a significant advantage with her lover fighting at her back. She trusted him to beat back the threats that would dare surprise her from behind, just as she fiercely chose to do the same for him. The remaining foes before her would have to cut her down to get to him.

While Merces took the bold fisticuffs strategy, Max bore her sword before her with wide, angry eyes. It was a wonder her remaining opponents hadn't high-tailed into the woods after they saw what the creature had done to their friend beside them. In hindsight, the reason was rather obvious: that's where the monsters lurked. One of the men rushed toward her while the remaining on her side hesitated, all but turning in circles as though unsure where to direct the wrath of their weapons. The axe-man from before knew which nemesis' skull he wished to cleave open first. His beast-like stare through his skull helmet was ghastly.

This time Max didn't make the mistake of sending her sword forth to get plucked from her grip again, and needn't wait long for the axe-wielder to seek his revenge. The battle axe came for her neck with a dramatic swing. The Rusalka gasped and dropped into a crouch so low she almost seated herself on the snow. As soon as the whoosh sound indicated the threat had passed, she jabbed her sword in n unprotected place the brute never expected as she popped back up. Merces Embrace split open the flesh of the mercenary's left inner thigh. A spray of red erupted from the gash, nearly immediately soaking the man's leg and coloring the ground beneath them. Max stumbled back with a proud smirk that didn't last long. Just as the axe-wielder began to realize his femoral artery had been severed, more shrieks filled the air.

Behind her, Merces had set a man's skull on fire. Before her, she'd only spied the sinking teeth and glint of a knife across a mercenary's abdomen before bloody ropes of intestine spilled from the man's body. The sound of the organs slapping at the man's feet was enough to make any strong stomach lurch. In fact, one of his friends did. After a brief look of horror, the last intact mercenary on Max's side collapsed on hands and knees to spill his own guts into the snow. The disemboweled warrior fell beside the puker, which seemed to only make him vomit more. Max tore her eyes from the sight to find the source of the snarl that rang from the treeline. This time the culprit hadn't been the creature from nightmares. The killer was a man, and one that appeared older than most of the young warriors he'd been picking off like sickly cattle from the herd. His mouth was smeared with fresh blood like the stalking predator he was. Her head tilted despite herself as she watched him duck back into the cover of the Cylus twilight, a shark diving back into its depths only to breach shortly again later on.

Try as he might, the axe-wielder couldn't battle the drop of blood pressure nor the loss of volume. The axe slipped from his meaty hands. His rear hit the snow, his hands clutching his inner thigh as though they might be able to plug the spurting, bright red stream. He seemed to sway even from his sitting position. It wouldn't be long before the wound finished him, and thus Max set her sights on the final living target before her. She felt her lover bump into her back. She licked her lips, shaking her head at his words. Then, despite herself, she found herself reaching back to clutch Merces by the shoulder. In a trill she'd spun them both about, switching places so that it was she facing his enemies that remained while he was left to stare at the pathetic, vomiting wretch all but weeping on his knees.

"If you're going to kill that fucking thing," Max reasoned while she eyed her new adversaries, trying to suffocate her nerves while she did. "You'll need to save your energy for a good flame." It was then that she spied the man enter the woodsy arena to jam his knife into the back of another unsuspecting victim. Frankly, she expected him to vanish back into cover again. Instead she saw his attention turn toward the wagon before heading for what didn't belong to him.

You little cocksucker...

Max nudged Merces with her elbow and nodded toward the man as he slunk off toward the pit. Only a sniveling fool remained in Merces path. While she was no true swordswoman, she felt confident she could at least distract the charred remnants of the mercenary company while her lover secured what they'd sacrificed their safety for. They needed that loot. Every nel, every shiny piece of goods that might've been hidden inside. It was all theirs. No walking corpse or cannibal hack man was going to change that. They could find themselves a comfy grave beside the felled mercenaries if they'd like. For the time being, however, her first order of business was putting down the men Merces had turned to prisoners of his flames.

"I'm betting when you lot were walking along the wagon, wishing for a warm fire, this wasn't quite what you had in mind," Max murmured as she approached with raised, cerulean sword in hand to begin cleaving them out of their misery.

[Mercedes]

The tides of battle turned swiftly, as all of the men that had been set ablaze finally lost their will to fight. The fourth degree burns set in, and the flame eradicated the flesh and muscle above the bone. With exposed bone the mercenaries came to a screeching halt, and collapsed to the ground. The men were suffocating from the smoke produced by their charred bodies. The sounds of choking, struggling, and screams continued. However, just as Max thought she had a moment to breathe; another opponent struck her. One armored to the teeth, and obviously stronger than the average combatant. He brought down the might of a large axe upon her, and as it cleaved the air a sound erupted. However, Merces followed the motions of his beloved Maxine; he ducked right along with her in unison. With the narrow evasion of the strike; Max wasted no time with a counter attack. The counter-strike had been vicious and left the thigh of the man to run red with blood. A pool of blood seeped beneath the dynamic duos heels. There were only three opponents left, but as the battle dwindled down; Max switched their positions in a trill.

The sorcerer turned about to find the pathetic man who begged for mercy as he bled to death. With a single raised heel; Merces delivered a signature boot to his visage. The man fell backward, and seemed to accept death. Max spoke aloud, and reminded Merces that he would burn out quickly if he continued to press the attack with ether. Merces knew just as well as she did; he could only cast approximately one more attack before he overstepped. The sorcerer felt the warrior elbow him which forced him toward the cargo they fought so viciously over. The coward who previously chose to hide himself struck again. Merces with his one functional hand charged at the cargo as to intercept the man and creature who wanted to steal from them. Truth be told, Merces would rather make an ally than an enemy in any case. Why did they have to fight over the loot when they could divide it somewhat evenly amongst themselves.

A compromise could be made for the large amount of treasure. After all they certainly did expend quite a bit of energy in combat. The sorcerer began with an interception, and as the “old man” continued to walk Merces cut him off. With a swollen hand from the strike which landed upon a victims skull; Merces parted his lips to speak. “Listen here, old man and creature alike if you can hear me. I will not allow you to take what is mine.” He spoke with quite a bit of confidence for an injured man.

“Truth be told, I am the man who has single handedly created a comet and brought it crashing down into the soil. Do not test my patience; I will make you an offer and if you choose not to accept you and that creature both will die. Make any moves and I am certain that you will meet your end here, and now.” Merces spoke clearly, and slowly as to be understood by the elderly man. After all; if he could avoid expending excess ether he would.

Being conservative and making attempts to negotiate had never been his strong suit. Typically if he could kill everyone he would. However in this case while he certainly could set the man ablaze and go on about his business he chose not to. Why fight when resources in the form of bodies, numbers, followers, and nel could be gained.

“The offer is this, if you share the loot with us, although it may not be evenly I will allow you to live alongside us. We will soon overtake all of Scalvoris, and make it our own. You will take a seat right alongside us if you agree to accept me as your leader. Trust me when I say that I am no tyrant, but you will follow me... Give me your loyalty, and service in exchange for a lifetime of power.”

Merces spoke aloud and extended his not-damaged hand toward the elderly man as to give a handshake. Yet, as he had done so; a strange feeling overcame Merces. His hair felt odd, and the appearance of strange embers of various colors combined with ashes spread across every strand. The sorcerer mutated again.

Enemy Tracker

All Enemies have been slain

[Volker]

Date

Volker didn't take kindly to being cut off. He stopped and stared at Merces, then silently stepped to one side and went around him. He already didn't like him. He didn't need to be spoken to slowly like some half-deaf invalid. Hell, his hearing was probably better than that young pup. He seemed to treat Merces like a rock that just kept popping up in his way; something to just...step around. He was headed for that pit and very little was going to stop him. Especially not a creature half his age who talked a big game about ruling Scalvoris. "The armor is yours, I cannot carry it." he said simply, as if that completely solved the matter.

'Sorry sweetheart, he's already got that deal with someone.' Oor told Merces. 'Loyalty is gained with that one, not demanded. Might want to choose a different tactic, you're wearing the wrong outfit to convince someone you're a general.' The Harvester smirked and followed Volker down into the pit. Volker was checking on the unconscious mercenary, who seemed to have woken up to his predicament. Volker punched him in the face to solve that particular problem, and headed into the wagon. There was the lockbox. He grabbed it, hauling it up to his shoulder and hopping back out of the wagon.

'You know, call me crazy but you could use some friends.' Oor suggested. 'Even if he is certifiable. He's an ambitious kid. Could do you well to follow them around. After all, they got you the lockbox. Even if they get get a bunch of useless metal in return.'
Volker ignored him in favor of gently working the pins out of the lockbox's hinges. People never thought to secure the backs of these things, and everyone attacked the lock like an idiot instead of using the less complicated entrance. He wouldn't accept a leader; he was no one's dog. Out of all the things Oor was wrong about, he was right in one thing: one could never demand loyalty from Volker. 'You could teach them to be less wasteful.' Oor knelt in front of him.
Volker grunted and wedged the first pin loose.
'You'd be doing me a solid with the hot one.'
Volker worked on the other pin, shaking his head a little. A bad habit to get Oor out of his head that didn't work.
'You cant eat all that alone.'
Volker looked up at his Harvester and growled. He popped the other pin loose, sheathed his knife, and carried the lockbox out into the pit. He settled it on top of the broken wagon seat, and eyed the two of them. Young, impetuous, arrogant couple. They'd be dead in a month.

"I accept." he told Merces simply. He didn't have to reiterate that he wasn't taking orders; that was going to become crystal clear in an astoundingly short time. "You have overextended yourself. Do not attempt to take the box from me. I am taking them." he nodded to the snoring man he'd pummeled twice now, and gestured to where he'd stashed the disabled mercenary. "You may sell off the armor and weaponry. I need and want neither."

[Max]

The flames had consumed the fools that had stared down Merces, but Max was intent on leaving no survivors to tell this tale. She moved to one charred body after another to jab her blade fatally into their smoky bodies. One of two still held breath in their lungs when she extinguished their life. It wasn't so cardinal a sin. The death she'd brought them was more of a mercy killing compared to the slow end they were fated to endure. By the time she'd finished with them she could hear Merces' confident voice ringing out to challenge the old man and his ungodly companion.

She took a moment on the bloody battlefield to center herself. A big inhale, a likewise exhale, and her expression was squarely ominous by the time she'd turned around to face the negotiating trio. She didn't dare sheath her bloodied gladius when she marched up to stand beside her man. Merces was always an ambitious man. She knew that the first night they met. What surprised her, however, was just how ambitious he really was. It was one thing to carve a name for themselves in Almund. It was quite another to admit a fantasy of overtaking the island as a whole. Her brow knit in light of the revelation but she dared not voice her confusion. She could undermine him privately when their loot wasn't in question.

The Harvester was as much a heckler as the stranger was pragmatically dangerous. Max turned to frown at Merces with disdain as the pair walked right past them and began to wrestle with the lockbox. She wasn't used to Merces not getting his way, and given he was the most powerful in their union, this failure wasn't one that sat particularly well with her. Against her better judgement, Max went down on her own volition into the pit to search the wagon contents the stranger was apparently already aware of.

Dammit. He's right.

She shoved the chunky metal pieces aside with a roll of her eyes. Chainmail and plates rattled together as they collapsed in her wake. Her hand fished indiscriminately about the cargo with disregard to maintaining order.

The wagon is fucked. The armor is too heavy. If he knew it would be a shit shoot getting any worth out of this, how does he think he's just going to walk away with that pretty little box?

The Rusalka sent her boot into a small wooden box in her frustration. It careened into one of the wagon's sideboards, splitting open with a defeated snap to reveal a pair of silver bracelets. She tilted her head before sheathing her sword and scooping the jewelry up. They seemed simple enough. They certainly wouldn't be missed by any distant noble or merchant kingpin at least. Interest finally piqued, her eyes glanced about in search of more valuables. Max dumped out a sack of useless accessories and began filling it with what she deemed remotely worthwhile: a chalice, silver cutlery, and other such small items. The more she searched the less irritated she became with the deal Merces had supposedly sealed with this stranger. Perhaps she'd even find some upgrades for her own gear on the bodies of the slain if not in the wagon.

"So," she finally broke her silence, jumping down from the wagon with her half-filled sack over her shoulder. "Apparently Merces is recruiting for island domination now?" Her gaze was locked on the stranger. Her face might've betrayed little, but beneath its surface she could still see the image of teeth bearing down upon one of the mercenary's throats. "Might as well ask then. You got a name, forest stalker?" She raised her brow at the man expectantly. Max and Merces had been out in those woods to kill in the spirit of robbery. A lone wolf with a knack for homicide with his equally murderous pet alone in the woods? It smelled of trouble. Trouble at least should be given a name.

Off Topic

Kind Bracelets: -30 PB
When two people are wearing one of these bracelets each they are always aware of when the other is in life-threatening danger.

Chalice of Fortune: -30 PB
A lottery of sorts that must involve a Prophet to witness for completion. The results must be posted in the player's Prophets' Notes thread. This is an ornate chalice which, if the character drinks from it, may experience one of the following events: (7) Find 1gn.

Cloak of Hiding: -60 PB
Any weapons or valuables tucked within this cloak will not be found by anyone attempting to search for it, as long as they are small enough to hid within a cloak and light enough to carry. The only one who may find the items is the character who hid them. The cloak will not hide a person.

[Mercedes]

There were several things subject to change with the strange ocean of emotions bottled up within the sorcerer. In one moment; he could be wild, and destructive much like a storm. In the next, He could be steady, kind, and generous like a soothing wind. While there were several opportunities to slay the old man where he stood Merces simply chose not to. The man had been right about several things; to include the heavy expenditure of ether. However, the question had been why he knew anything about how much 'energy' Mercy used. For all that he knew the sorcerer had far more abilities, and could be more than capable of an onslaught. Destructive forces were powerful, and more often not natural; Defiance had been a relationship between sorcerer and natural force. Had the elderly man understood just what he was too?

A look of disgust overtook the once calm demeanor upheld by Mercy. The man knew something, and had obviously been far more powerful than he lead on. However, without a qualm the man accepted his offer of leadership. All that he required was a box filled with nel, but Merces needed no more currency. Metal should not have been the way to measure the wealth of a person. Worth should have been measured in terms of skill-set, and how efficient one could be at performing simple tasks. The elderly man had a talent for assassinating targets using ambush tactics. He was weak, and cowardly in an all out fight from the vanguard; that was the assumption Merces made.

However, what good would come from slaughtering an “ally” the moment they joined you? Max had been correct, they needed to know his name at the very least. Mercy needed to know the name of the man that would either betray him, or save his life in the future. The wrinkly old man provided enough of a service, and did not attempt to steal from the party. That was a start, and although he knew nothing about the fool outside of his expression of greed. He obviously lacked the amount of currency necessary to sustain himself, and thus decided to take from his “Leader”. The first impressions were not well made, and certainly would not last for long. Perhaps a man with a need for nel required aid in his time of need.

The elderly man with the dead companion seemed to be incredibly socially awkward. However, that meant he did not have very many friends. Perhaps the two mercenaries who stood before him could provide a level of companionship. “Very well, you can have the nel old man. However, I want your name as well. If we are to be together I need to have a method of getting in contact with you. If you wanted more Nel we launch attacks frequently. This certainly is not our first dance with death against multiple opponents at once. We would love to have an extra helping hand here in a few trials as well if you like.”The Sorcerer spoke.

[Volker]

Date

Volker behaved strangely when Max leapt into the wagon with him. He moved his back to face one of the wagon's sides; he clearly wasn't comfortable with someone behind him. He tilted his head ever so slightly, lowering it on his shoulders and his chin cocking ever so slightly sideways. He didn't like the proximity. A low growl rumbled through his nose. She didn't mind going around him to kick open a box and gather up a few little pretties. Volker watched her closely and came out of the wagon first so he could safely keep his front to her.

"Volker." he said simply. The nel would keep him in good stead for a little while. He had his apartment in Almund to maintain, and he wouldn't mind a larger cart if it was in the cards for him. He'd planned to take the entire thing; wagon, horses and all, from the mercenaries but the pair of highwaymen had obviously missed some of the larger value here. Now they'd spoilt half the booty with their carelessness. "If I am to join your side, there are provisions." he added, tucking the box into his knapsack. He went to the unconscious man in the pit, slung the man's arm over his neck, and dragged him out. Volker might have been older, but he hauled around a man equal his size and wearing plate armor without so much as a sweat. He dumped the groaning man on the ground, then disappeared into the trees to grab the other.

'You two are an interesting pair.' Oor walked around Merces and Max in a wide, lazy circle. 'You're too skilled in magic to be a mere highwayman. And your girl there looks like she was born to hold a sword. Well, since the conversationalist is currently dragging something through the woods and neglected to introduce me, I am Oor. Been with him since he was nine. It's been a very conservative existence.'

Volker didn't come back silently. The man he'd disabled at the shoulders and knees was screaming at having his wounds bumped and dragged over the rough ground. "No no no wait wait!" the man shrieked right before he was dumped on the ground unceremoniously. He opened his mouth to scream again and Volker shut his jaw sharply with a short kick. The man's teeth clicked shut loudly.

'Dinner?' Oor offered.

"I will join you in your assaults. But this..." Volker gestured. "Is wasteful. The wagon could have been used to haul the armor, which now has to be abandoned. The horses were valuable in themselves. Now we will have to eat them."

'Thus the dinner invitation.'

[Max]

Oh, here we go.

Max rolled her eyes. Besides the fact the whole "let's take over Scalvoris" idea Merces had was brand new to her, this Volker stranger was all too quick to start spitting out rules. They were poor. They had no jobs. The crimes they'd committed this trial in these woods was entirely for the purpose of survival. Without nel they'd starve and die in the streets, and if it took one more bout of thievery and murder to stay afloat, self-preservation dictated they do whatever necessary. One more. Just one more. She'd been telling herself that for some time now. They couldn't keep doing this forever. One way or another it would end.

The Rusalka's brow rose as she watched Volker prove age was just a number by the way he easily lifted his armored victim from the ground. The old man was certainly not hindered much by the passage of time. While the wraith that was apparently dubbed "Oor" introduced himself, she couldn't help but wonder if Volker's vitality had anything to do with the sentient creature. The fact the manifested spirit spoke was still a hard thing for her to get used to. Its very presence raised the hair upon her skin. What she didn't expect was for this strange Oor being to burden them with compliments. Few in Scalvoris would've watched and found what they'd just done worthy of commending. It was almost as if he found them to have potential. The sound of screaming tore her attention away from The Harvester just in time to watch Volker silence his prey.

The old man was right. Perhaps they had been wasteful. They'd looted enough to likely sustain themselves for a short while, but had they planned more carefully, far more items of value could've been salvaged from the job. Surely someone out there would've been interested in quality armor for far less than market price. It would seem that Volker was the type of careful man that knew exactly how to reap the most benefits from any given situation. Where Max and Merces were unpredictable and forward, this new ally was one of intellect lingering safely in the shadows until the most opportune time to reveal his strengths.

"Fine," she accepted the dinner offer with a shrug offered in Merces' direction. It wasn't like they had any food on them to sustain them presently. Horse wouldn't be the worst meal she'd ever had. It was better than the scraps some orphanages had fed her. "We can stay...just to eat. We shouldn't stay here much longer than that though." It was a rare thing to find a caravan traveling at this time of the season. That didn't mean it was impossible another could come by to discover the bloody scene. Worse, an Element convoy could make an appearance. Maxine drew her sword and directed her attention to the mercenary Volker had just kicked in the face. "No good reason to keep them alive now. Best we cut their throats now and be done with it."

[Mercedes]

Scalvoris needed to be conquered, and restored to its former glory. Hatred, rivalry, and piracy fueled the once criminal ruled city. Pirates were a prime example of what a true rogue represented; they were cunning, and proficient at taking things by force. A pirate could single handedly command a ship, and mercilessly kill his or her opponents. Gildres remained at Merces side through the entirety of the fight; however she did not bother to show herself for the duration of the battle. Rather than materialize, or act recklessly she remained silent. A sigh exited the sorcerers lips, and he looked toward Max in agreement. They could only stay for a limited amount of time; there was no telling who else would come for the precious cargo. The Mercenaries needed to gather what supplies, and equipment they could. The season had been an unforgiving one, and with blood-soaked snow predators would come from every direction. Animals were a known threat to the wary traveler; especially those with aqua de vitae on their hands.

“Very well, we stay in order to eat. After which we salvage everything in the immediate area. I will bury that cargo once we have scavenged what little we require. I agree with the both of you we should off the remainder of the men. IF there are any stragglers left around we have to eliminate them too.” Merces concluded his brief speech, and finally felt his once burning hand become numb with the cool temperature. The hand had been swollen, but he certainly did not lose mobility; the sorcerer wiggled his fingertips as to demonstrate how little damage the injury appeared to have done.

The dinner invitation had been accepted, but The Sorcerer had a multitude of questions to ask. Firstly, what was the creature that accompanied the old man? Why had the elderly man so eagerly agreed to appoint Merces a position of authority? Why did he display such bravery in the face of death? What was his reason for being in the area? The creature had been correct; they were no highwaymen, and that battle certainly had not been their first brush with death.

“You're right about that, if I may ask your name, and what you are so that I can avoid calling you creature? Anyway... I wield multiple forms of magic, and Max and I have fought together for quite some time.. We find that our combat styles go hand in hand.” The sorcerer spoke aloud, and then directed his attention to the woods. The area had been incredibly quiet, and perhaps there would be no more visitors. Merces had quite a bit of time to ponder, but rather than beat around the point he simply asked the question directly.

“Volker.. Right? You are obviously a mage.. This thing is not simply attached to you without reason. Why don't you tell me more about what it is you are capable of.. I want to help you hone your skill. If you are to be at my side.. I want to make you stronger than me, so that perhaps you can take the lead if I am brought down.” The sorcerer spoke.

[Volker]

Date

"We are not staying here." Volker corrected Max simply. He was much further in the woods. He'd only heard the caravan from his own camp. Hopefully his fire wasn't too dead by now, but in the middle of Cylus the chill might have been a bit too much for it. He was eyeing his prizes when Maxine drew her blade. Volker bared his teeth at her. She wasn't dispatching something he'd spent effort trying to keep alive. Though for probably a more nefarious reason than either of them could pick up. Oor considered it a bomb test; if someone could stomach Volker and what he did to both survive and maintain sanity, they were alright. If not, well, there was always room for a cache around here somewhere.

'Hey. Can't carry both. Pick one.' Oor told him sharply. Volker snorted at the one with the plate armor, and extended his palm toward him. He only touched the half-conscious man on the foot, but grey death spread through him like a disease. The man collapsed inward with the faintly tinny noise of dust crumbling inside of a metal container, and soon enough there was little more than a suit of sweaty armor. Volker eyed the other, grabbed the incapacitated man, and slung him over one shoulder. He didn't trust Maxine alone with his kill. He disappeared again, and when he returned he was dragging the rear leg of one of the horses. He set that in the snow in front of Merces. "Carry that, and follow." he muttered simply. "If you wish to know more about Oor he can tell you himself."

Oor wandered along behind Volker, looking at the pair. He smirked. 'Oor. Said it once already, try and keep up.' The Harvester said. 'We have a nice agreement. He feeds me, I help protect him. It's not a usual relationship even for Aberrants and Harvesters, but we make it work. I've tried to get him to work on his skills in magic, but when snows are on the ground the only thing he can think about is storing food and keeping warm. Which is understandable. Comes from the whole orphan thing. Always got your mind on your stomach, dick or a fire.'

They reached Volker's camp soon enough. He slung the shivering mercenary by the fire, stoked it, and started to add kindling. It had grown so low it was practically embers, and he had to work to get it going again. His camp was small and humble, as he'd only meant to be out here temporarily for hunting. Now it seemed they'd need to be here a few hours cleaning up the mess on the road. That meant dragging everything off of it, and dealing with the rest. The mage could move the cart out from the pit, and push everything upward so the road looked normal to passersby. Volker wandered about, gathering sticks and beginning to sharpen them with one of his knives. Soon he had the horse leg skinned, partitioned, and cooking over the fire.

Now it was time for something a little more important. Volker had a ritual when it came to some of his kills. Most of them were out of necessity but when he had meat to spare he liked to take his time. He flipped the mercenary onto his back, cut off his boots, trousers, and ripped his leather jerkin off. He gave no care for the man's whimpering about the cold or demands of what they were going to do. He couldn't move much more than squirming his back around. Volker used strips of the leather to tie tourniquets around the man's elbows, shoulders, and right up against where his thigh met his hip. They were tight enough to illicit hisses of pain. That wasn't the half of it. The man only truly began shrieking when Volker began cutting his feet off. Volker was slow, methodical, and didn't waste more than he had to. He cut neatly through tendons, and simply tossed the feet into the woods. He'd tried to eat them before. No meat, all bone and gristle. Then went the man's hands at the wrist.

'So what are you trying to build exactly?' Oor asked Merces when the screaming had died down to moans and begs for help. 'Sounds like you're trying to stir up shit to me. What with this whole building a group of people thing. Or are you just a mercenary company? That would be sorely disappointing.'

Volker worked off the man's legs at the knees. He cut through tendon and bone, sliced through the skin, and laid the flayed calf on a neat little square of its owners upturned skin. It would protect it from dirt while it froze. The other calf got the same treatment, then the upper and lower arms. They were all neatly in a line, and the man was staring blankly at them. Volker quietly turned the meat on the spits near the fire, then began carving out the mercenary's shoulders and thigh muscles. Instead of removing the entire limb he worked to remove the largest muscles like a butcher at a pig. He avoided the large femoral artery on the thigh, and the bracchial artery stem near the shoulder. It was a clever thing, to stay death away from the mercenary as easily as Volker had. If he had enough time, he'd start removing offal. Intestines, liver. Those could go to the animals, he had no space to preserve them. The unfortunate victim watched his own intestines being pulled out like large, shining ropes. Volker reached into his body cavity, and pressed upwards on his heart. The muscle was already beating faintly, and the bit of pressure on top of all the other trauma was all it needed to stop beating.

"You may take half of this." Volker nodded to the neatly trimmed and dressed human steaks and shanks laying on their little carpets of skin. "I cannot freeze all of it, and the caches will be attacked by wolves. As for your offer to teach me magic, I will take it. I have become aware of the need to accelerate my skill. I cannot waste time like I did when I was younger."